The Witch Watch (24 page)

“His title is ‘headmaster’, but he was really just the viscount’s right-hand man. He ran whatever staff worked at the academy, and he ran the men who guarded the manor. Twisted fellow.”

A few minutes later the door shot open and Simon rushed in. He slammed it shut again and leaned against it. He looked around the room, wide-eyed.

“Are you alright?” Alice asked.

“Headmaster. I saw him. He saw me. It was... I came around the corner and there he was, grinning with those awful teeth of his.”

“Blast it,” said Gilbert. “I’m sure he’s in steerage. I didn’t expect him to be prowling around the upper decks.”

“I would like to have gone a bit longer without him knowing we were trailing him,” Alice lamented.

“I’m so sorry!” Simon said.

“It’s not your fault”, Alice said gently. “I’d rather blame the one who sent you out on so frivolous an errand in the middle of the night.”

“Oh! That reminds me,” said Simon. “I found you some shoe polish.”

Gilbert felt like the walking dead. He staggered into the barracks, listing like a sinking ship. He’d been awake for, what? Two days? Since the last time he slept he’d finished repairing the barracks, gotten in a fight, and stood watch in front of the manor for thirty-two consecutive hours. His vision had narrowed. The world around him seemed muffled and distant. The only thing he could perceive with any clarity was the relentless pain in his legs and back. His head drooped forward, and it took a great deal of concentration to keep from going face-first into the floor.

Gilbert shuffled across the room and stopped. Ivar was standing between him and his bed.

“The scullery maid looks tired out after all her cleaning. Maybe she wants to go to bed?” Ivar grinned.

Gilbert looked around, wondering what scullery maid Ivar was talking about. The punch in the side of his face woke him up a bit, and he realized what was going on. He lunged forward to repay Ivar for the unsporting opening, and found his arm was caught on something. A blow to the opposite side of his face gave his mind another jolt, and somewhere in the back of his mind he became aware that he was in trouble.

He tried again to strike but his other arm was caught as well. He realized someone had grabbed him from behind. He threw himself backwards into the wall, crushing the man behind him. A yelp sounded, and he recognized the voice as belonging to Soot. Ivar drove his knuckles deep into Gilbert’s sternum, which put a stop to his breathing for a few seconds. Gilbert stumbled onto his hands and knees, at which point his attackers switched to kicking.

Gilbert looked up. Before he passed out he saw that the walls of the barracks had been defaced. Ugly, lewd scrawls covered the walls around his bunk.

The Saloon of the SS Callisto was a grand hall that extended the entire width of the vessel. Generous portholes opened to give patrons a view of the sea. The top of the room opened to a great dome, which was crowned with a skylight. Beams of richly colored wood crossed below this, with pots of green plants hanging from them. At the front was a piano that filled the air with gentle music.

“You don’t remember your parents?” Alice asked.

Simon shook his head. He opened the corner of his mouth to draw in a noisy draught of air as he chewed the enormous mouthful of meat pie. After some furious work the food was driven home, and his fork immediately delivered another.

“Do you remember anything about your life before you began serving the viscount?”

“Rrphnage,” he gulped.

“Orphanage?”

Simon nodded and his fork scooped up another heap of pie.

“My goodness, Simon,” Alice said when his appetite showed no signs of diminishing, “Did Gilbert feed you at all while you were with him?”

“Lots,” he choked.

“Then why do you eat so ravenously?”

Simon looked down at his food, and then he met Alice’s eyes. He gave a slight, apologetic shrug and returned to work.

“I see. He fed you well but didn’t bother to teach you any manners. Typical. This won’t do! You’re making a spectacle of yourself,” she warned.

Simon slowed and looked around to the other patrons. The saloon was sparse at this hour, being slightly past midday. Some passengers were travelers, connoisseurs of cultures and exotic sights. Others were industrialists, men of wealth and power conducting their trans-Atlantic business. Simon and Alice were among the youngest of the passengers, and a few people took them for newlyweds. (Since they could apparently imagine no other reason that two people of their age might be sharing a room across the Atlantic.) One man even shook Simon’s hand and wished him well, although the man’s eyes had been on Alice while he did so.

At the moment, a few people were glaring at Simon. The rest were pretending they didn’t see his display, lest they become enraged and so spoil their own meal. The center of the room was brilliantly illuminated by the sun streaming in through the windows, but their table was in one of the dim spots at the edge of the room. It was hardly secretive or even private, but at least it didn’t bring them additional attention.

“Sorry,” Simon said, once his mouth was properly empty. He sat looking at the food for a few moments. After what seemed like a polite interval, he took a more conventionally proportioned bite, and then began chewing furiously.

Alice winced. “Slowly!” she pleaded.

Simon stopped his chewing and sat for a moment with the food still in his mouth, as if waiting for permission to begin again.

“I didn’t say stop. Just... eat tiny bites if you must, but try to slow the rate of your intake. You should not need to gulp for air.” She held up her own fork and took her own small bite in demonstration.

Simon nodded and did his best to emulate her.

“Nobody will snatch the plate from you, and I’ll be happy to order more if you need it.”

“Thank you!” Simon grinned through another bite of food. As his meal drew to an end he looked down at his plate thoughtfully. “I’m sorry again for my manners,” he said.

“You already said so,” Alice said dismissively. “With practice I’m sure you’ll learn the art of eating without drowning in your meal.”

“It’s just that... at the academy... we never got to eat like this. We were only given a few minutes to eat, and groups of us often shared a common bowl. If you didn’t eat quickly, you wouldn’t get enough.”

“Well take heart,” she replied. “Those days are behind you now.”

A shadow passed over the table. Alice ignored it, thinking the waiter had returned prematurely and was trying to hurry them along. But then a foul smell reached her nose. She looked up and saw a man in a ragged suit standing over them, leering menacingly.

“What do you want?” she demanded. She assumed he was just there to beg. She was not normally against charity, but this fellow had an unwholesome look. She glanced across the table to see that Simon was paralyzed with fear. His eyes were open wide and he was clutching the tablecloth desperately.

The man took a seat without asking, grinning at Simon. “Having fun, Mouse? Got your belly nice and full?” His accent revealed him to be a man incapable of pronouncing the letter ‘H’.

“You must be this ‘headmaster’ I keep hearing about,” Alice said hotly. “Get yourself below decks before I call for help. Steerage passengers aren’t permitted in the saloon.”

He laughed at this, “Abominations aren’t permitted on the ship at all, I’d imagine. Along with a couple of traveling witches. If you give me up, I’ll make sure to return the favor. We’ll see who comes out worse for it.”

“Make your accusations if you like, assuming you can find an ear among the crew willing to hear them.”

Graves lowered his voice, “The master is very displeased at what you’ve done, but he’s of a generous disposition right now.”

Simon let out a fearful squeak at this, which amused the headmaster. Alice glared at the boy, but he was transfixed by the headmaster and would not look away. “Is he really?” Alice replied. “And what can a traitorous, dead, cursed,
failure
like Lord Mordaunt offer us in his generosity?”

The headmaster was amused by her anger, “Well, Mouse here can scurry away, free as you like. The master is done with him. And His Lordship will grant a reprieve for Maypole’s mother. Just don’t go back to England. Stay in America or go where you like, but England belongs to Lord Mordaunt now.”

Alice raised an eyebrow, “So your master’s generosity consists of offering us what we already have? And in exchange, all he asks for is a continent? Grand dealings for a man who has yet to escape the dirt he was buried in.”

“You’re a cheeky bird, aren’t you?” Graves said. “If that’s your thinking then we’ll see to Maypole’s family. His mum, and whoever else shares his name or blood. We’ll cut their throats and find out if a dead man can weep. After that we’ll take Mouse here back home with us.”

“No!” Simon gasped.

“Your threats are empty. We’ll be allowed off the boat long before the steerage passengers. You have no chance at reaching Mrs. Hiltman ahead of us, and you cannot hope to prevail against us in a fight.”

Graves rose up as if he were going to make some move, but stopped when a man cleared his throat behind him. Three crew members had gathered around him. They grabbed him and hauled him out before he could speak in his defense. Their waiter came and apologized profusely for the intrusion. He asked if Alice was unharmed so many times that she nearly got angry with him.

Gilbert awoke in confusion. A bell was ringing. Did he hear gunshots a moment ago, or was that a bad dream?

He found himself soaking in the tub. It was a small thing, more suited for a lady than for a soldier, much less a man of his size. He stirred, and was suddenly reminded of the numerous wounds and bruises all over his body, which is what led to the bath in the first place. The water was murky with dirt, and tinged red.

He rubbed his eyes, gently. He drew a deep breath, despite the protest from his ribs. How long had he been asleep? The water had long gone cold. The barracks were inexplicably empty. Even the beds were stripped. The place was deserted. He sadly noted the fresh graffiti on the walls. Also, the wall he’d repaired had been smashed open again.

He lifted himself out of the tub uneasily. Once he was standing on the cold wood floor, he noticed that all of his things were gone. There was nothing that he might use to dry off, much less clothe himself. He sighed. The men had returned to their pranks.