The Blood Thief of Whitten Hall (A Magic & Machinery Novel Book 2) (11 page)

Simon slipped the porter a pair of copper coins, hardly feeling generous after the young man barely carried his suitcase more than a dozen feet. With a frown he quickly tried to hide, the porter nodded and left the room.

“Pull the door closed, if you please,” Simon said to Luthor.

The apothecary pulled and latched the sliding panel behind him, ensuring it would stay closed as they began their journey. As Mattie sat on one of the benches, Simon pulled the mission folder from his bag and tossed it haphazardly upon the table.

“Come, Luthor,” he said as he sat across from the redhead. “We have much to discuss over the next few days.”

As they began perusing the files within the folder, a whistle split the morning air and, with a lurch that rattled the trio in their seats, the train pulled away from the Callifax station.

The train rattled along the tracks as the scenery drifted lazily past. The plains beyond the city walls of Callifax quickly gave way to the forest that would parallel their journey the remainder of their way to Whitten Hall.

Simon stared out the window absently, and Luthor and Mattie discussed the mission ahead.

“Whitten Hall is an outpost,” Luthor explained, “with a population of no more than one hundred and fifty, most of whom are indentured servants. Those numbers may be inflated, however, especially if there is a revolt in progress against the crown. I can’t imagine all one hundred and fifty people have thrown their hats in behind this coup.”

“One hundred and fifty is a small number,” Mattie remarked. “Even Haversham had…”

She paused as she realized she had no idea the number of people that lived in her former home.

“It’s a veritable metropolis by comparison,” Luthor concluded, saving her the embarrassment of the ensuing silence.

Mattie laid her head on the apothecary’s shoulder, pressing her body against his as she did so. “Why doesn’t the governor stop this nonsense? Wouldn’t he have a vested interest in stopping this revolution, since his station and funding come directly from the crown?”

Luthor breathed deeply as he tried to focus on the question at hand, rather than her close presence. “You have to remember that Whitten Hall is insignificant, or would be were it not for the veins of iron under its streets. The outpost has a chancellor of sorts, but the actual governor is located miles away.”

Mattie huffed as she sat back. “You’re letting a vocal minority control the financial future of the entire kingdom. It seems silly to me.”

“Let me guess,” Luthor said, suddenly amused by her fervor. “Were it your choice, you’d march an army into Whitten Hall and destroy the resistance with claw and fang?”

Mattie smiled at his obvious baiting. “I would and it would be effective. I’d have iron ore flowing again within a week.”

“I would assume this is what you did in your tribe?”

“We did.”

Luthor smirked. “Was it effective?”

Mattie crossed her arms as she leaned back in the booth. “Did you ever hear of a revolt within the tribes?”

“Only once, and that resulted in the death of Haversham’s governor, one of its major business contributors, and half its arsenal of gubernatorial guards.”

Mattie laughed. “Which, I might add, took less than a week to restore the balance of power in Haversham. Like I said, it’s effective.”

Luthor turned his attention to Simon, who still stared blankly out the window. “What of you, Simon? Where do you weigh in on the use of force to enact laws?”

The Inquisitor looked from the window and arched an eyebrow inquisitively. “Come again?”

“You’ve been so deep in thought since we left Callifax. What are you contemplating so deeply?”

Simon reached up and stroked his thin moustache. “I was considering the physics of how long I’d have to grow my moustache before I could properly sculpt it with wax. You know, with a proper curl on either end or perhaps even straight out like daggers that reached nearly to my ears.”

Luthor frowned. “Do be serious, sir. We have a mission ahead of us that requires our utmost attention.”

“You see, I would, Luthor, but it’s incredibly boring. We have four days ahead of us on this train, during which there will be more than ample time to peruse the files and determine a strategy. For now, I’m far too interested in the lunch options in the dining cars.”

“The Grand Inquisitor thought this mission important enough to assign us to it. The least we can do is take it seriously.”

“On the contrary, the Grand Inquisitor assigned us to this mission because he didn’t want a werewolf in the middle of Callifax and figured this would be the easiest means to an end. As such, I will take this mission exactly as seriously as he did and, at least for the time being, think with my stomach instead of my brain. Did you happen to see the lunch specials as you boarded the train earlier?”

Luthor didn’t reply but instead fixed Simon with a disapproving stare.

“To be honest,” Mattie said, interrupting their amusing repartee, “I’m feeling a bit puckish myself. Perhaps a break for lunch is in order.”

“With the two of you around, I can’t help but feel perpetually outnumbered,” Luthor said, exasperatedly.

“If everyone around you is always wrong and you’re the only one that’s right, perhaps everyone else isn’t the problem. Perhaps your real problem is perspective.”

Luthor stood and offered his hand to Mattie. As Simon joined them, they made their way out of their private cabin.

The hallway leading through their passenger car was narrow and, as they passed another patron, they found themselves pressed tightly to the wall. The constant rocking of the train cars did little to help their predicament, and Simon braced himself with a hand on one wall and the other on the glass windows. He felt as though he were struggling to find his sea legs during a first trip aboard a ship, rather than rolling steadily along the railroad tracks.

Behind Simon, Luthor similarly stumbled with each step. Only Mattie seemed utterly unaffected by the motion of the train. Her exquisite balance kept each step perfectly in the middle of the hallway with no deviation as she made her way to the divider between rail cars.

As Simon opened the door at the end of their car, he was overwhelmed by the sudden gust of wind and roar of the train. The air itself was malodorous, filled with the pungent smoke from the engine.

A small catwalk spanned the space between the cars, with a narrow chain hung as railings. Simon grasped the chains firmly and groaned as they shifted more than he would have liked due to the slack in their hanging. With tentative steps, he led their way into the second passenger car.

Unlike their partitioned private rooms, the second passenger car was lined with long benches, which were half-filled with men and women, most of whom were dressed in workman’s clothing. They looked to the suited men and the weathered redhead with a mixture of surprise and disdain.

The workers on their way to Whitten Hall intrigued Simon. Surely, they would have heard that Whitten Hall was in revolt against the crown and that work, if there was any to be had at all, would be scarce. Furthermore, it was doubtful those who controlled the iron mine would be so willing to accept strangers from the capital as a labor pool, since they would rightfully be on guard for soldiers of the crown. Still, during times of civil unrest and weakened economies, jobs were scarce. Perhaps Whitten Hall truly was the best option for men and women of their station.

The following two cars were sleeping cars. Like the passenger cars before them, Simon, Luthor and Mattie had designated private sleeping quarters, though a curtained partition was all that separated their stacked bunks from those nearby. The beds were shallow and were barely three feet in height. It allowed three beds to be stacked, one on top the other, but Simon loathed the time he would awake in the middle of the night and attempt to sit upright, only to strike his head on the ceiling directly above him.

Beyond the sleeping cars, they came to the first of the dining cars. A waiter met them at the door, though Simon didn’t hear what the man had to say. He was far too involved in admiring the extravagant interior of the train car.

Though he had seen the well-dressed tables prior to boarding, his earlier impression didn’t do justice to the actual interior. The dining car was slightly wider than the cars through which they had just passed, allowing for more space between dining tables. The walls and floor were the same rich red oak as had lined the exterior of the train cars. Above their heads, two chandeliers were affixed to the ceiling with straight poles, allowing for the glow of electric lights without the traditional sway of the glass chandelier. Instead, the room was bathed in a combination of quiet conversation and the faint jingle of glass and crystals in the chandeliers striking one another.

“A table for three, sir?” the waiter asked again, finally catching Simon’s attention.

“Yes, please,” he replied.

They were led to a table near the middle of the room, which suited Simon well. The Inquisitor took the seat against the wall, which offered him the best view of the entirety of the room.

Though Luthor waited for Mattie to sit, she remained standing and perused the room.

“Is something the matter?” the apothecary asked.

“I was just wondering if there was a water closet nearby,” she replied.

The waiter gestured toward the far end of the car. “Just beyond those doors, madam.”

Mattie smiled, knowing she hardly looked the part of a “madam” in her current attire. “Thank you. Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me for a moment.”

Both men nodded. As Mattie walked toward the end of the dining car, Luthor sat down heavily across from the Inquisitor. Simon glanced at his friend as the waiter brought them a steeping pot of tea. Luthor clearly looked distressed, which had been readily apparent in his curt attitude since their departure.

“You’ve seemed unhappy ever since we left the station,” Simon said, as he sipped his tea. “What’s bothering you?”

Luthor gestured toward the train car. “This is what is bothering me, sir. We’re already on assignment so soon after returning from the last. I’d only just removed the dust covers from all the furniture before we’re off again.”

“That’s hardly my fault.”

“It’s entirely your fault,” Luthor retorted. “You chose to tell the Grand Inquisitor about our misadventures in Haversham, and we were casually dismissed from the capital for it. That qualifies, in my book, as a poor life choice on your part. As a result, instead of enjoying the townhouse that I purchased and yet so rarely see, I’m with you, gallivanting across the countryside.”

“Gallivanting?” Simon replied, aggravated. “That hardly seems like a worthwhile descriptive word for what we’re doing.”

The conversation halted temporarily as the waiter returned with a plate of assorted finger sandwiches.

Luthor glanced at the plate before him and selected the cucumber sandwich, knowing there was far less of a chance of ruining so simplistic a recipe. He took a bite before lifting his teacup and taking a sip. “All that I’m saying is that I would appreciate a little predictability in my life.”

“You should feel blessed,” Simon said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “At least Mattie gets to accompany you on this trip.”

Luthor nodded, setting his teacup down before him. “For that, I am most certainly grateful.”

“This isn’t easy for me either, you realize. I had to leave Veronica, the woman whom I intend to marry.”

Simon looked up at Luthor, expecting a rise from the apothecary. Luthor furrowed his brow but remained silent.

“Do you have nothing to say in response?” Simon asked.

Luthor looked down, acknowledging the teacup resting on its saucer before him. “Would you feel better if you repeated your dramatic news as I took a sip of tea, so that I might choke on the fluid in surprise?”

Simon frowned. “It would be thoughtful of you if you did.”

Luthor smiled disarmingly. “I may not always approve of your… future betrothed, and I might even categorize this in what is becoming a growing month of Simon’s poor life choices, but believe it or not, I’m genuinely happy for you.”

Simon took a bite of a fish sandwich before pursing his lips. His chewing became slow and deliberate before he swallowed painfully.

“Well, thank you,” Simon replied. “It seems like an appropriate time. After all, I’m hardly getting any younger.”

Luthor shook his head. “Sir, I’m not sure you were ever young. For, you see, young people enjoyed their youth by laughing and playing. You spent your ill-begotten youth pulling the wings from flies and pulling the entrails from frogs.”

Simon arched his eyebrow in consternation. “Luthor, when I describe those events to you, I ensured it sounded very much like biology. When you describe them, somehow, they sound mildly sociopathic.”

Luthor took another sip of his tea, concealing his smile behind the cup.

Simon glanced out the window, watching a copse of trees roll lazily past as the train chugged steadily along the tracks.

“What of you, Luthor?” Simon asked. “Are you considering marriage with Mattie?”