Krampus: The Three Sisters (The Krampus Chronicles Book 1) (20 page)

“But,” Harriet interrupted. “We won’t need to worry about that once Henry and Catharine return with the final Sister Wheel and all of you retrieve the key.”

“And what if we aren’t successful?” Maggie asked hesitantly.

“Then the Garrisons will still know the Foundlings helped the Van Cortlandt descendants,” Ward said. “And we’ll have to protect ourselves either way.”

“Then maybe we shouldn’t go,” Clemmie suggested a bit too eagerly.

Ward shook his head. “It’s too late to turn back now. And even if it wasn’t, we need to take this chance. So we shall either bravely save or tragically lose Poppel. But whatever happens, it will happen tonight.”

he steamboat treaded up the Hudson River as Catharine and Henry remained below in the hull, huddled behind sacks of cargo. The water was relatively calm that night, but every bump tossed about the stowaways.

Exhaustion eventually caught up with Catharine and Henry, and they were soon drifting in and out of sleep. Henry would occasionally stir awake, fearing that the Garrisons were about to discover them. Also, Catharine had gravitated to the nook of his arm after falling asleep, and Henry found it difficult to focus on anything but how her body situated perfectly within his own. But sleep did finally overtake him.

However, Henry wasn’t asleep for long. Loud screams erupted in the air outside and feet pounded on the deck above.

Henry’s eyes shot open.

“What’s happening?” Catharine whispered, but she was barely heard over the sound of gunshots.

“Someone’s attacking the boat.” Henry pushed aside a sack with his shoulder before leaping out of the hiding space. “Stay here,” he instructed Catharine.

But Catharine ignored Henry and toppled out from the gap, chasing after him. Henry was climbing the mound of sacks when she caught up.

“I told you to stay hidden,” Henry said, pulling Catharine up beside him.

Catharine shot him a glare as she crouched near the hatch. “And for your own wellbeing, we’re going to pretend that you hadn’t.”

Henry quickly joined her at the top of the mound and they both anxiously peered out of the hatch.

The deck of the steamboat resembled a battlefield―and the Garrisons had lost the fight.

Garrisons were slumped on the bloodstained deck as well as one man wearing a gray jacket. Being the closest body to the hatch, the gray-jacket man’s motionless eyes were quite visible. A single bullet had pierced his heart, and dark blood pooled around his body. The man’s outstretched hand rested inches from a pitchfork that he must have held in his last moments. But his death seemed relatively peaceful when compared to the murdered Garrisons who had been sliced and stabbed by less conventional weapons.

Henry stood on the deck next to the hatch, bent over with hands bracing his knees. He tried to steady his breath as the smell of death filled the cold air. But he couldn’t contain his dry heaving. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a group of men approaching. Bloodied scythes, sickles, and hammers gleamed in their hands.

“Henry!” Catharine cried, leaping from the hatch.

Grabbing the pitchfork from the dead man, Catharine jumped in front of Henry, aggressively waving the weapon at the strangers.

One man tentatively stepped forward. Thick sideburns ran down his stubbly cheeks.

“We mean you no harm, Catharine.”

“How do you know my name?”

“I’m Albers from Furnace Brook. Ward sent sugarplums preparing us for your arrival. We were told you must be taken to Van Cortlandt Manor, and also that the Garrisons could be on your trail.” Albers looked down at the dead bodies and sighed. “But we didn’t know they were on the steamboat with you. I’m afraid we surprised them as much as they surprised us. Terrible tragedy.”

Another man with curly blond hair tilted up the straw hat on his head before spitting over the side of the boat. The ball of saliva splashed into the river.

“Any dead Garrison is a good one.”

“Not if it costs us the life of our own, Wesseling,” Albers said, nodding down at the body in front of Catharine and Henry.

“Ah, Schaddelee,” Wesseling murmured, respectfully touching his hat’s brim with two fingers. “Ain’t much of a thinker, but had a good heart.”

An older man next to Albers sniffled through his bulbous red nose that hung over a gray handlebar moustache. Bringing his forearm up, the old man blew his fat nose into his sleeve.

Albers rubbed the man’s shoulder. “There, there. It will be all right, Boe.”

A few other men tried to hide tears as they looked at their dead friend.

“Where is Captain Noble?” Catharine asked.

Albers pointed toward the wheelhouse. “Captain Noble is unharmed. My men are keeping watch over him, and will do so until you have successfully returned from the Van Cortlandt Manor. Then we can head back to Poppel.”

Henry finally regained his composure and approached the armed men, carefully stepping around the bodies. Catharine continued to keep a safe distance, pitchfork firmly grasped in her hands.

“You know how to get to Van Cortlandt Manor?”

“Henry Livingston, is it?” Albers passed the bloody scythe he was holding to his left hand and then dropped it to his side. “A Poughkeepsie lad, I hear.”

Henry couldn’t take his eyes off the glistening weapon even when Albers reached out and offered his empty right hand. Henry slowly shook it, but his eyes remained on the scythe.

“We know the history of the Van Cortlandts quite well,” Albers said, looking around at the other men.

“How are we getting to Van Cortlandt Manor?” Henry asked.

“Don’t worry none,” Wesseling spat, nodding toward the shore. “We’ll get you there.”

Bordering the river, there was a visible stretch of rocky land in front of a wintry forest where a dozen horses pawed at the ground, exposing snowless patches of brown flattened grass. Shaking their long manes, the horses let out a cadence of snorts and whinnies.

While Boe and the rest of the Furnace Brook men carried the dead bodies off the steamboat and lined them along the dock, Albers and Wesseling took Catharine and Henry over to the horses.

“Van Cortlandt Manor is a few miles south of here,” Albers explained, grabbing the reins of a white horse. “Wesseling and I will ride with you, offering whatever assistance we can.”

Catharine looked over at the dock just as Schaddelee’s body was delicately placed beside the row of dead Garrisons.

“I think your men have done enough,” she said coldly. Seeing Albers and Wesseling stiffen at her comment, Catharine added, “We do appreciate all of your help.”

“Our job isn’t complete until you’ve successfully reached Van Cortlandt Manor,” Albers said. “But we shouldn’t experience any trouble. This area is fairly peaceful. I’d be surprised if we came upon so much as a squirrel.”

“I’m not too concerned about getting there,” Henry admitted. “It’s finding what we’re searching for that may pose the greatest issue.”

Albers locked eyes with Henry and whispered, “The Sister Wheel.”

“You know of it?”

Albers smiled for the first time―not out of happiness but rather understanding. “We in Furnace Brook do not experience the same, shall I say,
life
as those in Poppel.”

“You mean extended time,” Catharine said bluntly.

Albers nodded. “Some in Furnace Brook resent this. Others are happy for a life of more freedom, since we’re not always under the watchful eyes of the Garrisons.”

“We’re allowed to live our lives,” Boe said, approaching the group with an armful of coats. Henry and Catharine each took one to put over their colorful Poppel attire. “Our village is east of here, and we farm, raise our families, and occasionally the Garrisons will come by to check on our work. But so long as we deliver what is asked, there’s no trouble. It’s a simple existence, but I wouldn’t trade places with a Foundling for any extra day of life.”

Albers frowned. “Not everyone from Furnace Brook has felt that way.” And without saying an additional word, he stomped away to gather the other horses.

Catharine and Henry looked to Boe for an explanation.

“Ah, poor Albers,” Boe whispered, shaking his head. He took off his hat and slipped it underneath an arm. “Once was in love with a young Furnace Brook girl. But Albers crossed a Garrison, and as revenge, the Garrison offered the girl a position in Poppel.”

“And she went?” Henry asked.

Boe nodded. “Crushed Albers’ heart. Not just that she had left, but knowing that she’s still the youthful girl he had loved, while he fights to hide the gray hairs that sprout up, more frequently nowadays.”

Albers returned guiding a horse on each side of him. He handed a set of reins to Wesseling. The blond man effortlessly hopped on the horse and looked down at Catharine.

“You can ride with me, lovely,” Wesseling said, reaching down to her.

Catharine hesitantly grabbed his hand.

“I should’ve worn trousers,” Catharine muttered as she climbed behind Wesseling with the assistance of Henry.

As Catharine uncomfortably situated sideways in her dress, Henry glowered at Wesseling, not appreciating the man’s wandering eyes.

“Don’t worry, girl,” Wesseling said to Catharine, even though his wink was directed at Henry’s brutal glares. “I’ll take it nice and easy.”

There was a pause before Catharine harshly replied, “Sir, you better be addressing the horse with that tone.”

Embarrassed, Wesseling was only able to mutter, “Yes, ma’am.”

Albers rubbed the neck of the unoccupied horse next to Wesseling and looked over at Henry. “Although we’re not going far, I think we’re too heavy to double up. Would you be comfortable riding her alone?”

“Yes, I am quite capable,” said Henry defensively as Wesseling beamed down at him.

“Very good,” Albers replied, bringing over the horse.

Catharine’s gaze was focused on the forest up ahead. “We haven’t much time.”

Waving goodbye to Boe and the others, the riders dashed through the great mass of trees.

Henry looked back only once before the forest completely vanished the sight of the river.

As the Furnace Brook men returned to the dock, no one spotted the face that was peeking between the blades of the steamboat’s paddlewheel. Although Catharine had never encountered the face before, Henry would have recognized it, for the bruise on his chin offered a chilling reminder.