Wolves of the Northern Rift (A Magic & Machinery Novel Book 1) (8 page)

They ate breakfast with the governor the next morning. Simon sat at the governor’s left once again, with Gideon across from him. The rest of the guests from the previous dinner were gone, allowing Luthor a better seat of honor beside the Royal Inquisitor.

Simon stuffed a slice of eggs Benedict into his mouth and dabbed runny yolk from the corner of his mouth. He looked up as the governor spoke, though the man’s attention was turned toward the businessman across the table.

“You look practically exhausted, Gideon,” the governor said. “Another long night entertaining?”

Gideon smiled, but the mirth didn’t extend to his eyes. “You know me, My Lord. The social life of the aristocracy never ends. There is always someone new to court.”

The governor laughed heartily. “Say no more. Perhaps you’ll take leave of your busy schedule today and spend time playing chess with me? It’s not threatening and with you being tired, I stand a far better chance of beating you.”

Gideon flashed a thin-lipped smile. “I’ve never been so tired that I couldn’t beat you in a game of chess. Perhaps if you didn’t open with the same risky gambit every game.”

The governor laughed again and turned toward Simon and Luthor. “Tell me, Inquisitor Whitlock, what do you and your associate have planned for today?”

Simon glanced briefly toward Gideon before turning his attention back to their host. “We’ll be going beyond the city walls today.”

The governor choked and coughed roughly, as he tried to swallow a bite of food. “Beyond the wall, you say? The werewolves live beyond the wall. Good men have already lost their lives to those beasts.”

Simon wiped his fingers on his napkin before setting it back in his lap. “All the more reason for us to go. I was sent to find out if these werewolves were real or not, and I simply can’t make a decision one way or the other by remaining here.”

The governor shook his head. “The bravery of the Inquisitors knows no bounds. Were it me, I would gladly remain safely behind these thick walls and let the savage werewolves have their frozen wasteland beyond.”

Gideon flashed him an irritated glance, and the governor quickly fell silent.

“Were it not for my refineries and drilling rigs beyond the wall, he meant to say,” Gideon corrected. “Of course, the governor has enough compassion to be concerned about the well-being of those men and women who work beyond the wall.”

The governor stuffed a bite of bread into his mouth, squelching any possible retort.

“Of course,” Simon said, saving him any further embarrassment.

“Though I am forced to agree with the governor,” Gideon continued. “I do so wish you’d take my word on the validity of these monsters. It would save you an arduous trip into the arctic plain beyond the walls.”

“Were it only the proof of their existence that I needed, then I would gladly take you at your word and enjoy another snifter or two of brandy in my suite,” Simon joked. “Unfortunately, the matter is far more serious than that. If these werewolves are real, then I must know how they got into our lands. If they slipped through our sea defenses, then there’s a weakness that must be closed before it’s exploited further. If the werewolves are real, then are they the vanguard for a larger invasion? For what purpose have they come here, of all places? No insult intended, of course.”

“Of course,” the governor replied.

“These are the questions that must be answered before I can satisfactorily conclude my investigation. It’s not merely a confirmation that magic has infiltrated our lands. It’s answering the question of
why
magic has infiltrated our kingdom.”

“Then let me ensure you are safe and expedited on your journey,” Gideon interjected. “I have a sled master in the stables near the northern gate. There’s no one quicker in Haversham. I’ll send word for him to be at the ready. He is at your disposal and will take you wherever you need to go.”

Simon nodded. “You are most kind.” He took his napkin from his lap and neatly folded it before setting it on the table. “I guess we really must be off. I’m sure Luthor and I will have an exhausting day ahead of us.”

The governor and Gideon rose from their seats politely as the Inquisitor and apothecary excused themselves from the breakfast table. Walking out of the room, they let the door close softly behind them. They walked into the foyer, and the butler appeared with their coats and hats. After collecting their garments, Luthor walked to the front door and retrieved his cane from a rack. The apothecary patted his inner pockets, ensuring the vials he had retrieved from his doctor’s bag that morning were properly secured.

With Luthor out of earshot, Simon turned to Archibald. “Forgive me for bringing up a difficult subject, but it appears your maid staff is doing an inadequate job with their cleaning.”

The butler arched his eyebrows in surprise. “Indeed, sir? Please let me know what shortcomings you’ve noticed, and I’ll ensure they are rectified immediately.”

Simon leaned in closer and glanced to Luthor as the apothecary affixed his bowler cap on his head. “My associate spilled some caustic-smelling chemicals in his room, and the scent lingers despite numerous attempts at cleaning it.”

The butler cleared his throat hoarsely. “That’s impossible, sir. Mr. Strong has strictly forbidden any of my maids from entering his room without his expressed permission, which he has yet to give.”

Simon furrowed his brow and stared at his friend. “My apologies, Mr. Archibald. It appears there has been a misunderstanding.”

“Think nothing of it, sir.”

“Are you coming?” Luthor asked from his place by the door.

“On my way,” Simon replied.

He joined Luthor at the door before they walked into the wintery outdoors. As they walked down the building’s front steps, Luthor stifled a yawn. Simon arched his eyebrow toward his partner.

“I hope you’re not tired as a result of my intrusion last night,” he said.

Luthor shook his head as he finished his long yawn. “If only I could place the blame solely on you. Sadly, I had trouble sleeping even after you left. It seems I had quite a bit on my mind.”

Simon stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and lowered his head against the biting breeze. Despite the tall walls around the city, the wind was still strong enough to threaten to pull his top hat from his head. Luthor, who wore a bowler cap with a far shorter profile, merely pulled down the brim to keep his eyes from watering in the cold.

“What’s on your mind, pray tell?” Simon asked as they walked toward the front gate of the estate. Not for the first time, he wished Haversham had some of the autobuses that had become the technological rave in the capital city.

“I wonder about the truthfulness of the werewolf mythology,” Luthor replied. “Everyone knows the story of silver being the bane of werewolves. There’s also the more alchemical myth of Wolf’s Bane being harmful to the monsters, though I have yet to discover the best way to administer the proper dosage, or if there is a proper dosage at all. It seems so simple to call a plant Wolf’s Bane and assume everyone knows its uses.”

Simon laughed. “Always the scientist, aren’t you?”

Luthor frowned. “So says the trained medical doctor and forensic scientist. In this regards, I prefer to think of myself as a historian. While most of the texts pertaining to werewolves have been nothing more than horror stories used to scare children, they were clearly based in some sort of truth. More importantly, most stories refer to werewolves as people who were infected with lycanthropy. If true, that would mean that it’s an infection rather than a state of being. Perhaps there’s a cure somewhere in the natural world for their disease.”

Simon ran his hand across his thin moustache thoughtfully. “Perhaps the cure resides in the Wolf’s Bane?”

“Perhaps,” Luthor replied thoughtfully, “but I have only a small amount of
Aconitum
root with me. If there are as many werewolves as Mr. Dosett claims, the quantities I have would hardly be enough to treat the entire population, even if a cure could be devised from the plant.”

“Then perhaps we could use a small amount merely as a test, if we captured a live creature.”

Luthor nodded. “Perhaps, though I would need time to purify the root.”

They passed through the estate’s main gates. “Would it not be effective as it is now?”

Luthor shrugged. “It would be effective, but not for what we want. Pure
Aconitum
root is lethal even in smaller doses.”

“I guess ‘Wolf’s Bane’ is an accurate moniker, then.”

The wind kicked up again as they passed beyond the estate, and Simon found himself clinging both to his top hat and to his coat as it threatened to fly away. He looked to his associate, who was similarly huddled against the biting wind and using his cane as support on the cobblestones.

“The weather seemed to have turned against us,” Simon remarked. “Perhaps we’d be better suited in the tunnels.”

Luthor nodded his agreement, and the pair made for one of the cavern entrances. The street-level entrance barely resembled a cave opening. It looked far more like an autobus stop, with glass doors framing the front of a squat gray-stone building. It was fairly nondescript, and Simon would have potentially passed right by it unaware had it not been for the handful of people that entered and exited the small structure.

Simon held the door for the apothecary before following the diminutive man inside.

The entrance to the tunnels was the same they had exited from earlier. They soon found themselves in the expansive underground hub and were once again surprised by the mercantile world that existed just below the barren surface streets.

The hub was a chaotic whirlwind of noise and activity, with people hurriedly arriving and departing down the myriad of interconnecting tunnels. Simon felt temporarily overwhelmed until he caught sight of a carved stone sign protruding from one of the side tunnels. It read—Western Gate. Simon followed the curve of the cavern until he found the next major tunnel to the right and led Luthor in that direction. He nodded happily when he read, “Northern Gate” on the carved sign.

Once beyond the hub, the din of conversation died away. They passed a few other pedestrians and even a wagon clattering along the hard stone and packed dirt floor. They nodded politely to the people they passed but continued strolling toward the distant gate in relative silence.

Simon felt genuinely apprehensive about their trip beyond the wall. Though the trip itself would be arduous, it wasn’t the strain of the journey that had him concerned. He knew that one way or the other, he should be able to confirm the presence of werewolves by the time they returned to Haversham. Though he had trained for years as an Inquisitor for the sole purpose of identifying and eliminating magical threats, the idea of coming face to face with one was almost horrifying. More than that, he knew that confirming the identity of the werewolves was only the beginning of his mission. If they truly were the spearhead of a much larger invasion, then he knew just how dangerous today could be for both Luthor and him.

Lost in his reverie, he didn’t notice they had arrived at the spiral staircase leading to the northern gate until Luthor tapped him politely on the arm. Simon looked up at the natural sunlight filtering down from the man-made shaft to the surface and smiled. Whatever was to come, he knew he had no choice but to face it with a smile on his face. It wouldn’t do at all for a Royal Inquisitor to appear scared in the face of a paranormal threat.

Their booted feet clanged on the metal spiral staircase as they climbed toward the surface. Simon made the mistake of placing his hand on the railing and immediately regretted that decision. It was colder than ice and seemed to sap the strength from his hand. Even the short grasp of the frigid metal left his fingers stiff. He flexed them cautiously as he continued to climb.

By comparison to the streets in front of the gubernatorial estate, the streets where they exited near the northern gate were considerably warmer. The arctic wind that seeped over the top of the tall wall surrounding the city drifted down and over the streets this close to the wall. They were happily protected from the cold breeze. Even so, Simon still noticed the puffs of warm air escaping his lips with every breath.

“It’s impressive,” Luthor said, craning his neck to see the top of the city wall.