The Blood Thief of Whitten Hall (A Magic & Machinery Novel Book 2) (12 page)

Caught unaware, warm tea rolled into the wrong pipe in his throat, causing him to choke. Simon laughed at his friend’s discomfort. “There’s the rise I was expecting.”

Luthor coughed again, his face brilliant red from both choking and embarrassment. “Forgive me, sir, but you caught me a bit by surprise. No, we have no plans as of yet.”

Simon arched an eyebrow. “That seems surprising, considering you’re living together. You care for her, don’t you?”

Luthor flushed deeper and he averted his gaze. “Very much so.”

Simon suddenly sat forward and smiled mischievously. “My word, you haven’t consummated your relationship, have you?”

“I hardly think that’s any of your business,” Luthor quickly retorted. “Regardless, we only live together due to her awkward position, being…” He glanced over his shoulder to ensure he wasn’t overheard. “Due to her being what she is.”

Simon laughed heartily. “You are full of surprises, my young apothecary.”

“What has he done to surprise you today?” Mattie asked as she approached from the back of the dining car.

Both men quickly cleared their throats and stood politely, neither man meeting the other’s gaze.

“Nothing, at all,” Luthor replied. “He’s merely chiding as usual. Did you find the powder room?”

Mattie walked around the table. Luthor pulled her chair away from the table, allowing her to sit. He gently pushed her chair in before both men sat.

“I did,” she answered. “Thank you. Did you boys enjoy yourselves while I was away?”

“I certainly did,” Simon replied with a wink.

Her eyes widened with pleasure at the sight of the sandwiches. She reached for one of the fish sandwiches, but Simon politely shook his head as a warning.

“Is it that bad?” she asked.

Simon frowned. “How they can have such opulent surroundings and yet still create such atrocious food is absolutely beyond me.”

Mattie raised her hand, signaling for the waiter. The man quickly approached.

“Yes, madam?”

Mattie flashed the man a warm smile. “Do you serve any beef dishes?”

The waiter nodded. “Traditionally, our beef is reserved for dinner meals, but if the lady would like one now, it can be arranged.”

“I would, very much.”

“How would you like your steak prepared?”

Mattie shot a warning glance toward the two men before she replied. “Rare, if you please.”

The waiter seemed momentarily taken aback but quickly recovered. “Very good, madam. I’ll have it prepared at once.” He turned his attention toward Simon and Luthor.
“How are your meals, gentlemen?”

“It’s as good as my mother used to make,” Simon replied with a broad smile.

“Excellent, sir,” the waiter said before departing.

Luthor glanced at the plate of tasteless, unseasoned food before him. “I thought you told me that your mother was a dreadful cook.”

Simon sneered at the fish sandwich. “She was.”

Simon stretched and tried to sit upright in bed, but his forehead struck the shallow roof directly above him. For a moment, the grogginess of sleep clung to his mind and he felt disoriented. Slowly, he shifted his gaze to the narrow opening out of his stacked bunk bed and reality settled over him. He was suddenly acutely aware of the gentle rocking of the train as it clattered endlessly along the tracks.

Rolling onto his stomach, Simon slid from the bunk and dropped his feet to the carpeted floor below. As he had done for the past two nights, he had slept in his clothes rather than attempting to change into a gown. Despite the partition, the cramped sleeping car offered little privacy. It was as easy to sleep in his vest and pants as to bother changing into something more appropriate.

He slipped on his shoes before stumbling toward the vestibule that connected the sleeping car to the first of the passenger cars beyond. The cabin he shared with Luthor and Mattie was near the rear of the train, and he would have to pass through the rows of workers to reach their private car.

Despite this being the third day of their train ride, many of the workers looked none the worse for wear. Simon, however, felt utterly disheveled. His suit was wrinkled. His sleep had been constantly broken by the opening and closing of the car doors; each opening of the door introduced a roar of clacking train tracks and howling wind. His normally coifed hair was unkempt, despite his futile attempts at brushing.

Under normal circumstances, he cared deeply about what people thought of his appearance. He was a Royal Inquisitor, an honored member of the king’s retinue. His appearance was a direct reflection of his professionalism.

Today, however, he felt his appearance justified the seriousness of their assignment. He was reminded of his and Luthor’s misadventures with the “mummy” in the catacombs beneath Callifax, which, like nearly every other mission on which they’d been sent, had been nothing more than a hoax. Every Inquisitor had been aware that the report would result in nothing substantial, but Simon and Luthor had willingly investigated, as was their duty. This mission felt similarly useless. All reports pointed to a charlatan, keeping visitors to Whitten Hall at bay during a time of political upheaval.

Somehow, Simon doubted his current appearance would make much of a difference in regards to the conclusion of their investigation.

Entering their passenger car, Simon walked to the sliding door that opened to their private cabin. As he slid the door aside, he faced a pair of bright-eyed companions, both of whom stooped over the table as they perused the assorted mission files.

“Morning,” Simon muttered, intentionally neglecting the addition of “good”.

“Good morning, sir,” Luthor replied, as he removed his glasses. “We’re quite glad to see you awake.”

“I’m not entirely convinced he is fully awake,” Mattie whispered loudly enough to be heard by the Inquisitor.

“An astute observation, Miss Hawke.” Simon spotted the teapot resting near the window. “Oh, tea! Glorious.”

Luthor set his glasses on the table and retrieved both the teapot and a clean cup. He poured the dark liquid into the glass before dropping a pair of sugar cubes into the steaming tea. He handed the teacup to Simon before replacing his glasses on the end of his nose and reading quickly through the paper before him.

“Thank you kindly, Luthor,” Simon said as he took a sip of the tea. His face screwed as the bitter fluid rushed over his tongue. “I see their culinary fouling isn’t reserved solely to their sandwiches. Is there any milk, per chance, that could cut through the bitterness?”

“None, I’m afraid,” the apothecary replied without looking up.

“Not at all surprising.” Simon gestured over his shoulder toward the passenger car filled with miners and other manual laborers. “You know what I don’t understand, if you would humor me?”

“Pray tell, sir.”

“If Whitten Hall is in such an upheaval, why would there be so many workers aboard the train?”

Luthor shuffled aside some of the papers before him and retrieved a crumpled section of the newspaper. “How very coincidental you should ask, sir, for I made the same query earlier. It seems that Whitten Hall placed an advert in the paper, requesting miners and other assorted workers.”

Simon took the paper and read through the column as he sipped his foul tea. “Yet, I see no mention of the political unrest.”

“None, but I doubt very much it would matter. When the economy is suffering and jobs are scarce, the circumstances of employment matter less and less.”

“It’s true,” Mattie added. “I was once forced to take a position as a servant’s maid to provide income.”

Luthor turned toward her in surprise. “Truthfully? I can’t imagine that went well, considering you were no longer employed when we arrived in Haversham.”

“No,” Mattie replied, blushing. “My employer and I had a disagreement about what extracurricular activities were expected of a maid.”

Simon smirked. “I can’t imagine that ended well for him.”

“Unfortunately, no. In my frustration, I might have bitten him.”

“Hard enough to draw blood?” Luthor asked as he tried to stifle a laugh.

“Hard enough to remove a pair of fingers from the offending hand.”

The two men shared a look and humored smile. “Then it’s settled,” Simon remarked. “No one shall touch Miss Hawke without her expressed consent.”

“Indeed,” Luthor concluded. “I’m far too attached to my hands.”

“On the contrary,” Mattie joked, “I wouldn’t bite either of you
unless
I had your consent.”

Both men blushed furiously, having been outwitted by the diminutive redhead.

“To the issue at hand,” Simon hastily said. “Why would Whitten Hall request workers if it had ceased shipments of iron to the crown?”

“Forgive me, sir, but I have no answer,” Luthor stammered as he tried to regain his composure. His eyes continued drifting to the still-smiling Mattie. “I know as much as you.”

“Don’t be absurd, Luthor. I know far more than you.”

Before Luthor could reply, Simon glanced over his shoulder and scanned one of the handwritten witness accounts provided. “Have you found anything interesting?”

Luthor sighed, happy to be focused once more on the task at hand. “That depends solely on your definition of interesting, sir.”

Mattie looked up and frowned. “Your definition of interesting hardly matters in this case. There’s nothing remotely interesting about Whitten Hall.”

Luthor smiled and sat on the bench. “Perhaps not the mining community itself, but there is quite a bit fascinating about the eyewitness reports, especially as they pertain to the attacks that took place on this very train.”

Simon took another sip of tea before he recalled his displeasure with his first drink. “Yes, the attacks,” he groaned as he set the tea down lest he make the same mistake again. “What have you discovered about the monsters that have attacked the train?”

“Quite a bit,” Luthor replied, “and yet, surprisingly, next to nothing at all.”

“Do explain.”

“Well, sir, it appears that the attacks weren’t against the train, as one would surmise, but instead took place within the train itself. Witnesses report seeing a thick mist filling the car moments before a monster appeared.”

“Does the report give any inclination as to what manner of monster attacked the trains?” Simon asked.

Luthor turned the pages but shook his head. “It does not, only that the creatures emerged from a supernatural mist.”

Simon frowned. “That hardly narrows down the genre of beast. How could they not know?”

“Normal men aren’t like you and me, sir. A normal man doesn’t stare into the face of the monster with abject curiosity. They merely turn and run.”

Simon crossed his arms as he leaned against the wall behind him. “Then they’re missing the best part.”

Luthor reached up and pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Agreed, sir, but that’s why you’re an exceptional Inquisitor but a queer sort of human being.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

“As well it was intended, sir.”

“So then the mystery continues,” Mattie remarked.

“Indeed, but the mystery will have to wait until after breakfast,” Simon offered.

“They’ve already stopped serving breakfast, sir. You slept through it.”

“Then brunch and, failing that, lunch. I’m truly not a picky man.”

Luthor shook his head. “No, sir, that you most certainly are not, though you are one that clearly thinks with his stomach.”

“On the contrary, Luthor, I think with my mind, which, in turn, is fueled by a full stomach. Isn’t the human body a magnificent invention?”

Luthor laughed despite himself and glanced at Mattie. “Shall we break for a meal?”

Mattie smiled sheepishly. “Blame it on my animalistic metabolism, but I could most certainly eat again.”

“Then it’s settled,” Simon said. “To the dining car.”

The Inquisitor led the trio back through the passenger cars. Their own sleep car beyond was nearly empty, save for a pair of inebriated gentlemen who still hadn’t arisen from the previous night’s festivities. Or, Simon realized with a sly grin, they had already begun the day’s festivities a little early.

The second sleeping car was likewise nearly empty, though it was a narrower walk through which they had to traverse. Their passage was made more complicated by personal affects hanging from the sides of the beds, filling up the narrow walkway even further.

As they opened the door separating the sleep car from the dining car, they were nearly bowled over by a small group of men hastily retreating. Simon stood his ground even as the first of the men crashed unceremoniously into him. He grasped the man by the shoulder and thrust him against the nearest bunk beds. The other men halted behind him, though they glanced nervously over their shoulders.

“Have you forgotten your manners?” Simon asked angrily. “You nearly knocked over the lady.”

“There’s mist in the dining car,” the man stammered, his eyes wide with fright. “It’s like they said; something is coming!”

To his surprise, Simon let the man go. He and his compatriots hurried past the trio and escaped toward the rear of the train.

Simon and Luthor exchanged knowing glances as they turned toward the vestibule. Simon drew his pistol and pulled back the hammer, ensuring he was ready to fire when needed.

The dining car door had swung shut behind the men, but the narrow glass window gave them ample view of the room beyond. A white mist clung to the floor. It appeared to originate near the far end of the dining car, where it was thickest and had billowed upward, concealing the far wall completely. Its tendrils of smoke drifted across the dining car until they crashed silently against the door before Simon.

Simon pulled open the door and stepped aside as the mist wafted over the narrow catwalk and was quickly carried away by the strong cross breeze. With his pistol at the ready, he stepped into the room.

Despite the fleeing gentlemen they encountered earlier, the car was not empty, as he would have surmised. A few dinner guests appeared transfixed, either with fear or curiosity. They watched the mist ebb and flow from its point of origin, as though anticipating the inevitable emergence of the monster.

“You,” Simon said, pointing toward the closest group of startled patrons, “come here. Hurry now, we haven’t much time.”

His calm words broke them from their stupor, and they rushed to his side. Luthor led them through the dining car door and to the relative safety of the sleeping car beyond.

“Madam?” Simon asked, gesturing toward a blonde woman. She stood unmoving even as the growing cloud of mist swallowed the table beside which she stood. “Madam, come to me.”

As she turned toward him, a dark shadow emerged from the mist directly behind her. The creature looked nearly human, with the exception of its bloodless pale skin and elongated fingernails, which it used to point menacingly toward the woman. She screamed as her humanoid attacker stepped to her side and clutched her shoulders firmly in its grasp.

The creature tilted its head backward and opened its mouth, revealing a pair of spear-like fangs. The woman’s eyes rolled backward as she edged toward a faint and her head lolled lazily to one side, exposing her uncovered neck.