Wolves of the Northern Rift (A Magic & Machinery Novel Book 1) (15 page)

Simon walked toward the redheaded woman while Luthor begrudgingly went for more drinks. The Inquisitor skirted the edge of the dance floor as couples waltzed around the polished wooden floor, though his eyes never left the strange woman. Throughout it all, her eyes never left the head table.

As he approached her, a servant with a tray of champagne happened by. Simon grabbed a pair of flutes, holding one in each hand. He stepped innocuously to the woman’s side and turned toward the head table as well. From her periphery, she noticed the tall man and frowned.

“I’m not interested,” she said gruffly. Her accent was thick and her words seemed muddled as she barely opened her mouth to speak.

“You don’t even know why I’m here,” Simon replied calmly.

“Nor do I care,” she said curtly. “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested. Just go away.”

Simon offered her the champagne glass, but she refused to even look at the drink. “You’re not being at all polite.”

The woman turned sharply toward the Inquisitor. “Nor am I trying to be. I’ve made myself quite clear that I’m not interested in your company. Do the gentlemanly thing and oblige a woman’s request. Kindly go away.”

Simon set her champagne flute down on the table beside him and took a slow drink from his own. With a satisfied sigh, he set his half-empty glass down and turned toward the woman, flashing a broad smile.

“Sorry,” he said, “but you’re far too interesting to leave be.”

The woman sighed dramatically and turned her attention back to the head table. She took a step away from him but he merely followed suit, stopping beside her once again.

She threw up her hands in disgust and turned back to Simon. “Why are you even talking to me?” she asked. “There are plenty more attractive women here with whom you could discuss the finer points of aristocracy.”

He looked to the other women, who fawned over their dates as they paraded around the dance floor. “The other women here are draped over their dates like pieces of jewelry, like they’re struggling to be the most fashionable new bracelet or fanciest pocket watch. They lack a sense of self-worth, as though their mere existence is defined by the political station of their date for the evening. You’re something different, independent and abrasive. Frankly, you intrigue me.”

The woman frowned. “I’m not intriguing. I’m boring and should be duly left alone.”

“Quite on the contrary,” Simon replied. “Everything I know about you is intriguing.”

“You know nothing about me.”

“Again, on the contrary. I know you’re one of the locals, are you not? I don’t mean one of the people who have settled in Haversham. I mean those who lived here long before the city was more than a trading outpost in an inhospitable land.”

She looked at him suddenly, startled.

Simon raised his hands, begging her to remain calm. “I’m not a threat to you. I’m merely remarking on the texture of your skin, which shows signs of extended exposure to strong winds, rather than the polished alabaster of the other women in the room. The lines at the corners of your eyes are indicative of someone who squints against the glare of sunlight reflected off snow. I know that you have an unhealthy interest in the governor and the businessman who even now laugh irritatingly at the head table.”

She turned toward him slowly, her eyes widening in surprise. Simon acted as though he hadn’t noticed her obvious concern as he continued.

“I know that you’re an imposter and feel that you don’t belong at this event. Your eyes constantly dart around the room, as though searching for that certain someone who will march over and reveal you for the charlatan you are before summarily and unceremoniously removing you from this Winter Ball.”

The woman’s pale skin blanched even further, and her lower lip quivered in fear.

Simon turned toward her, his soft expression hardening. “And I know that you’ve been exceedingly rude to a Royal Inquisitor.”

The woman tried to turn away, but Simon grabbed her painfully by the wrist.

“Let me go,” she hissed, as she struggled against his iron grip.

Simon was surprised by the lithe woman’s obvious strength. Though his hand remained firmly affixed around her wrist, he struggled to maintain his balance as she pulled away.

“I don’t want to have to hurt you,” she threatened.

Simon shook his head and pulled her closer to him. “You couldn’t if you tried. Why don’t you calm yourself and tell me exactly why you’re here.”

The woman shook in his arms. Simon glanced around the room and saw a few faces turned toward their direction as she struggled against his grip. He slipped a hand around her waist and forced her to step to the side and onto the dance floor.

“Quit struggling, unless you want to draw the attention of every person in this room,” Simon warned. “If you wish to remain inconspicuous, you’ll do exactly as I say.”

Simon stepped back, pressing on the small of her back as he did so. She obliged, taking a step forward, beginning a slow waltz with him on the far corner of the dance floor.

“Are you going to kill me?” the redhead asked nervously.

“You’ve hardly given me good cause to kill you. Is there a reason I should be considering that course of action?”

The woman shook her head slowly.

Simon took her right hand and placed in on his shoulder. Taking her left hand, he held it properly out to the side so they looked more like a formally dancing couple.

“Then let’s begin at the beginning, shall we?” Simon asked. “What shall I call you?”

The woman sighed in surrender. “Matilda Hawke. Mattie.”

“Excellent, Mattie. Now why are you at the Winter Ball? Do you intend harm to the governor or Mr. Dosett?”

Mattie blushed furiously, the color quickly replacing the paleness that had previously overcome her. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I’d be wasting my time trying to explain it to you.”

Simon shook his head. “Don’t presume to know my mind. Explain.”

Mattie set her jaw, the muscles beneath her cheeks flexing and relaxing in frustration. “Gideon Dosett is not what you think he is. He’s a monster.”

Simon spun Mattie in beat with the string quartet. As she came back around, he slipped his hand around her waist and pulled her close once again.

“I believe you,” Simon said matter-of-factly.

Mattie stared into his eyes, her own narrowing as she weighed her options. “I believe that you believe me.”

“Good. Mildly convoluted, but good. So you came here to, what, harm him?”

“I… I don’t know,” she admitted as she was forced to look away. “I guess I just had to see him for myself.”

“What has Mr. Dosett done to you that has filled you with such loathing? You look practically ready to skin him alive.”

“It’s not just what he’s done to me, it’s what he’s done to my entire tribe,” she said quickly, the words spilling from her. “In just a few months, he’s managed to destroy what we’ve built for generations. He marched into our villages, one after another, using his silver tongue…”

Her words trailed off as she glanced over Simon’s shoulder. Despite his attempts to keep her dancing, her feet seemed rooted to the floor. Simon turned slowly and looked over his shoulder. At the top of the entryway stairs, a small contingent of armed guards stood, scanning the crowd. The servant at the door spoke to the captain of the guards in a hushed tone before turning and scanning the room. As the servant’s eyes fell upon Mattie and Simon, he pointed excitedly. The captain followed his gaze before stepping quickly down the stairs.

“Please,” Mattie begged, “you have to let me go. Don’t let them catch me.”

“There appears to be trouble coming your way, sir,” Luthor said from Simon’s side.

The apothecary held three glasses, delicately balanced in his grip. Mattie turned sharply toward Luthor, who merely smiled awkwardly.

“Luthor, Mattie,” Simon said. “Mattie, Luthor.”

“Please,” Mattie said again.

Simon looked at the redhead and saw the petrified look painted on her face. He stepped back and bowed slowly.

“Miss Hawke,” he said. “It has truly been divine dancing with you this evening.”

Mattie shook with relief. Leaning in, she kissed his softly on the cheek. She held her place and spoke softly in his ear.

“Find out what Mr. Dosett has done to my tribe and you’ll understand our hatred. More importantly, you may start to understand just what type of monster he truly is.”

She stepped back and curtsied to Simon. “Thank you for the dance, Inquisitor, but I must depart. Please don’t follow me.”

Mattie nodded quickly to Luthor before walking hurriedly toward the doors to the balcony. The captain of the guard pointed toward her and yelled for her to stop. The redhead kicked off her high-heeled shoes and ran barefoot across the floor, as the guards struggled to push their way through the crowd.

The quartet stopped playing, and the dancers ceased their movement. The entire room turned their attention toward the indigenous woman fleeing from the pursuing guards.

Luthor set the forgotten drinks on the table and turned toward the Inquisitor. “You’ve done a fine job scaring off yet another woman.”

“Surprisingly, it’s not my fault this time.”

The apothecary paused as he saw Simon’s gaze flicker between Mattie and the guards. “Sir, I know that look all too well. She quite distinctly asked you not to follow her.”

“Never have I met a request more eager to be blatantly disregarded. Come, Luthor, I believe our services are about to be needed.”

The duo set off in chase. Mattie threw open the doors to the balcony, and a blast of arctic air rushed through the ballroom. She hurried barefoot onto the balcony, stepping in the soft coating of powdered snow that covered the long veranda.

The guards exited the ballroom just as quickly with Simon and Luthor on their heels. Mattie ran to the far end of the balcony and leaned out over the railing, glancing at the plummeting three-story drop to the frozen ground below. She spun back toward the ballroom, only to face a row of guards blocking her escape.

Simon struggled to see past the captain, who stood at the center of the line. Beyond, he could see a frightened Mattie, who shivered as much from fear as from the biting cold.

“Halt,” the captain yelled out. “Stay where you are.”

Mattie took a step back and glanced over her shoulder once more, as though debating the merits of leaping from the tall balcony. Her gaze fell on a smaller balcony extending from a room a floor below her, though the leap was nearly twenty feet.

“I told you not to move,” the captain said. “One more step and I’ll fire.”

The captain drew his pistol, as the other guards drew their swords. He trained his weapon on the scared redhead as she glanced around once more for an escape.

“He’s going to kill her,” Luthor whispered. “You have to do something.”

Simon glanced toward the captain and saw the man slowing his breath as he took aim. His finger shifted as he prepared to pull on the trigger of his flintlock pistol.

The Inquisitor lashed out, striking the captain’s wrist just as the man fired. The shot went wide, ricocheting off the stonework just to the right of Mattie’s head. She ducked involuntarily as stone debris showered over her.

The captain wrenched his hand away from Simon and spun angrily toward the Inquisitor. A brief flicker of recognition gave the guard pause, but his anger quickly flooded back into his face.

“What are you doing?” the captain yelled. “You’re going to let her get away!”

“Who?” Simon asked. “The harmless unarmed redhead you nearly shot dead in cold blood?”

A low growl caught Simon’s attention. Both he and the captain turned slowly toward Mattie, who was doubled over as though in pain. Simon was certain the bullet had ricocheted high, falling harmlessly near the wall rather than striking her. Still, she exhibited all the signs of having been shot.

Mattie suddenly stood upright as though she were a puppet on the end of strings controlled by a tactless marionette. Her arms jerked, and her head flopped to the side. One of her hands flashed to her chest and she drug her fingernails across her skin, leaving bloody tracts in their wake.