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

by Halbach, Sonia

  “Was McNutt with them?” Maggie asked. Albers gave a puzzled look, so she added, “The redheaded Garrison.”

  “I… I don’t know.” Albers paused for a moment and then shook his head. “No, I don’t think he was with the others. He may have slipped out earlier.”

  Clemmie unbuttoned the top of his shirt, exposing a copper ascot. Maggie arched an eyebrow as her brother untied the ascot from around his neck.

  Maggie and Louis gave Clemmie questioning gazes, and he looked back at them sheepishly.

  “Is that silk?” Louis asked in disbelief.

  “Hostrupp said I could have it.”

  Maggie suppressed a tired eye roll, imagining Clemmie exploring Kleren for an accessory to complete his outfit. Only Clemmie would be concerned about looking dapper in the midst of battle. But Maggie soon regretted judging Clemmie, for he quickly used the ascot to bandage Alber’s wounded arm.

  Albers admired Clemmie’s work, but then asked solemnly, “Where are the Sister Wheels?”

  “There was a setback,” Clemmie reluctantly admitted. “Two are now missing.”

  Louis sighed. “My brother Francis took off with one.”

  Alber’s pale face turned even whiter. “Could he be working with Castriot?”

  Maggie bit her lip. She didn’t want to believe it. It was easier to think that only McNutt had betrayed them, and not Francis, too.

  “Catharine and Henry went after him,” Louis said. “So they’ll soon find out.”

  “And the second wheel?” Albers asked.

  Maggie explained that it had been given to the Foundling named Nellie, and that she was now being held in the Kelder.

  Albers’ eyes shot open as he struggled to get to his feet.

  “I must go,” Albers stammered.

  Louis and Clemmie tried to keep him sitting.

  “You’ve done enough to help,” Maggie said. “You should rest.”

  “We sent Foundlings to retrieve Nellie and the wheel,” Clemmie added.

  Albers fiercely shook his head. “No, no, no. You don’t understand. I must go to her. I must go.”

  Even with Louis and Clemmie’s best efforts, Albers could not be restrained. Soon he managed to get to his feet and bolt toward the doorway.

  “But… but do you even know where you’re going?” Louis called after him.

  However, it was too late. Albers had already disappeared.

  “I’ll go after him,” Clemmie said. “Ward showed me how to get to the Kelder. He probably will get lost trying to find it.” Clemmie then took off after Albers, leaving Maggie and Louis alone.

  “Now we’re not any closer to finding McNutt or the Horologe key,” Maggie observed glumly.

  “Well, if any good comes out of this, it’s the realization that Clemmie isn’t completely useless,” Louis joked with a forced chuckle. “Where did Clemmie learn to bandage an arm? I didn’t even know he could read.”

  Maggie’s eyes lit up and she grabbed Louis’ hand, tugging him toward the doorway.

  “I know where to find McNutt.”

  The Kelder was farther than the workshop, deeper than the Sleigh Pit and colder than the steamboat. But since Albers didn’t know how to get there, Clemmie had no trouble catching up to the injured man.

  “Albers, the Foundlings have already gone down to find Nellie,” Clemmie explained again. “They probably have reached her by now.” But Albers brushed aside Clemmie’s comments and kept insisting he must go to her.

  Giving into Albers’ persistent pleas, Clemmie led him toward the Kelder through the Foundling tunnels. Clemmie had a candle, but its glow only extended so far, and he didn’t see the other Foundlings walking his direction until Lloyd nearly smacked into Clemmie’s elbow.

  “Is that you, Clemmie?” Harriet asked and then let out a gasp when she saw Albers, thinking he was a Garrison.

  “It’s all right,” Clemmie said quickly. “He’s from Furnace―”

  “Were you able to get Nellie?” Albers interrupted.

  “No,” Lloyd said. “The Kelder is too well guarded.”

  “We were coming back to get more Foundlings,” Harriet added, and then eyeing Albers’ uniform said, “But maybe now we won’t need them.”

  Minutes later, Albers walked down the Kelder passageway alone while Clemmie and the Foundlings waited in the tunnels. They had directed Albers to Nellie’s cell and briefly orchestrated a plan that depended entirely on deception.

  Two Garrisons confronted Albers as he entered the Kelder, which was a grisly, dirt-covered burrow full of windowless, wooden doors.

  “I’m here to retrieve a Foundling,” Albers stated in a steady voice.

  The Garrisons looked at Albers with uncertain expressions. He still had his bloodstained tourniquet around his arm.

  “There was an accident in the Sleigh Pit,” Albers explained, nodding to his injury. “We need the Foundling to help clean up the mess.”

  “Which?” grunted one of the Garrisons.

  “Cell number four,” Albers replied, trying not to appear too anxious. “The blonde girl.”

  The two Garrisons exchanged hesitant looks, causing Albers to lose his composure.

  “Do I need to get…” Albers paused, trying to remember the name the Foundlings had given him. “Cockrell? Do I need to bring Cockrell down here? Or are you going to follow orders and take me to cell number four?”

  One Garrison pointed down the hall. “On the right,” he directed.

  Albers nodded and marched on, trying to hide his apprehension.

  Reaching the cell marked number four; Albers unlocked the iron bolted door and pushed it open. He stepped into the darkness, unable to see his own hands in front of him.

  But then a set of blue eyes appeared. They were frightened at first, but a look of recognition soon swept into them as a voice muttered, “Albers?”

  Albers shivered, but he didn’t know if it was the temperature of the cell or the reunion he had anticipated for over the past decade.

  “Albers?” the voice repeated.

  “Nellie,” Albers replied softly. There was so much he wanted to say, but all he managed to choke out was, “Do… do you have the wheel?”

  A pair of familiar arms quickly wrapped around his chest as a head of blonde hair settled under his nose. It smelled like a past he had nearly forgotten. But instead of giving him back the comfort he thought he had once lost, he became very aware of his age and the years he would never get back.

  Although he wanted to stay in the embrace longer, the sound of footsteps approaching pulled them a part. The Garrisons were coming.

  “Do you have the wheel?” Albers repeated, looking down at Nellie.

  Albers stared at the girl’s glowing skin. He couldn’t remember her ever looking so youthful. Although he had imagined this reunion from the moment Nellie left Furnace Brook, convinced that the passing of time was insignificant when it came to love, he now realized that time may be the only thing that mattered.

  “How do you know McNutt is here?” Louis whispered as Maggie led him through the tunnel Harriet had shown her earlier.

  Maggie didn’t respond. The truth was she really only had a slight hunch.

  The Boeken Kamer was eerily quiet as they slipped out of the bookshelf. Maggie and Louis tiptoed through the rows of books. With Henry and Catharine probably closing in on Francis and Ward, and Clemmie retrieving Nellie and the Sister Wheel, Maggie needed to find the redheaded Garrison.

  “McNutt!” Maggie called, knowing she was taking the risk of someone other than McNutt hearing her.

  But nothing stirred.

  “McNutt!” she called again.

  Maggie began to worry she had led them astray. But then out of the last row of bookshelves, McNutt finally emerged.

  “You!” Without hesitation, Maggie charged toward him. “You betrayed us! You led Castriot to the Horologe Hall! People died because of you!”

  Wide-eyed with his mouth slightly open, McNutt looked stunned.
“Maggie, I did not betray you. I know you don’t believe me, but you must.”

  Maggie folded her arms and looked at McNutt doubtfully.

  “When we arrived in the steamboat and Francis sent the other Garrisons away, he must have told them to alert Castriot of your arrival. After I left the Furnace Brook men behind, I ran into the Garrisons just as they were coming to find you. I know it may be hard to believe, but it was Francis who betrayed you, not I.”

  “Considering that Francis just fled with one of the Sister Wheels,” Louis said, “It’s not too hard to believe, actually.”

  Maggie didn’t speak, but she knew that Francis’ actions did give McNutt’s version of the events some credibility.

  “How did you know I was here?” McNutt asked.

  “Your reputation precedes you,” Maggie said, but seeing McNutt’s confusion, she added, “I remembered that you had a book when Henry and I first ran into you.”

  Maggie also wanted to say that McNutt probably needed an isolated space where he could get away from the other Garrisons who hated him. But she didn’t.

  “Did you take the key from me?” Maggie asked instead.

  McNutt was quiet for a moment, but then nodded. “I suppose you’d like it back.”

  Maggie looked at him with uncertainty. “You didn’t give it to Castriot?”

  McNutt shook his head. “He doesn’t even know about its existence.”

  “Then how do you know about it? And why did you bother to even steal it?”

  McNutt scratched his prickly red hair. “Henry and Catharine had mentioned the key on the way back from Van Cortlandt Manor. I wasn’t sure what I would do with it. I just knew I didn’t want you to have it until I was sure of what should be done. But now I don’t know what’s right anymore.” McNutt reached in his jacket’s pocket and pulled out the key.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said, handing it over to Maggie.

  Maggie sighed. “Oh, how I wish that I did.”

  Catharine and Henry didn’t see Ward’s body when they rushed into the banquet hall, searching for any sign of Francis or the Garrisons. It wasn’t until Henry’s foot smeared along a puddle of blood that they finally noticed the dead Foundling.

  Henry gasped while Catharine bent down to examine the body.

  “They shot him,” she observed, touching Ward’s neck.

  The ominous sound of guns being cocked filled the banquet hall. A moment later, Garrisons stepped out from behind the columns under the mezzanine, pointing their rifled muskets toward Catharine and Henry.

  “Yes, another unfortunate casualty that your interference in Poppel has caused.” Castriot appeared on the mezzanine with Francis at his side. Comstock and Cyrus lingered in the background.

  Unknown to everyone else in the banquet hall, Maggie, Louis, and McNutt were just sneaking out from the Boeken Kamer through the door hidden behind the maroon curtain.

  Seeing the armed Garrisons through the slit in the fabric, Maggie leaned over to Louis and whispered, “We may have to bring the Horologe to the remaining Sister Wheel. Go back to Kleren. Find the others.”

  Louis understood and dashed back into the Boeken Kamer while Maggie and McNutt watched Castriot stroll down from the mezzanine.

  “You should have learned a thing or two from Clement Clarke Moore,” Castriot continued. “He was wise enough to stay away from Poppel. But do not be confused, for he was not any less noble. I actually did not realize the extent of your grandfather’s gallantry until tonight.”

  McNutt led Maggie over to a ladder that was against the wall. She slowly followed him onto the mezzanine where they hid in the shadows. Even Francis, Comstock, and Cyrus didn’t see them as they walked down the creaky steps to the banquet hall.

  Meanwhile, Castriot circled Catharine and Henry, looking ready to strike.

  “I wasn’t aware that the Livingston family also knew of Poppel’s existence until Francis told us about Henry’s visit to Chelsea Manor tonight. If I had known, Sidney would have been killed alongside Catharine and Margaret Moore all those years ago.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Catharine cried while Henry placed a hand around her shoulder to keep her from charging at Castriot.

  “Didn’t you know?” Castriot feigned an innocent, wide-eyed expression. “After that delightful little Christmas poem was published in 1823, exposing Poppel once and for all, we soon learned about Catharine and Margaret’s connection to the village. But we weren’t aware of Sidney Livingston until tonight.”

  “You killed Clement Clarke Moore’s wife and daughter,” Henry said bitterly.

  Cyrus nodded from behind Castriot. “Quite right.”

  “Years apart, of course,” Comstock cut in. “So as to not make it too suspicious.”

  “Both poisoned. Rather sudden deaths,” Cyrus added. “Easy when one has such access to their home.”

  “Arsenic dusted sugarplums,” Comstock said without emotion. “Delivered right to their pillows in the early morning hours. Catharine and Margaret both easily mistook the candy as messages from Poppel. An unfortunate, but understandable error.”

  Henry continued to restrain the thrashing Catharine, who was using all her strength to claw her way toward the Garrisons.

  “That was my mother!” she cried. “You killed my mother!”

  “What’s done is done,” Castriot said calmly. “We couldn’t risk Poppel being brought to the public’s attention after our takeover. And unfortunately, the knowledge they held posed a threat that had to be eliminated. However, after Margaret’s death, it seems that Clement Clarke Moore must have become suspicious, conducting his own little investigation over the years. Eventually, he traced their deaths back to us, which is why it seems he finally laid claim to authoring ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” Henry snapped. He grimaced in pain as his arms, including his injured one, were now completely wrapped around Catharine’s waist as she continued to scream at the Garrisons.

  “My dear, Mr. Livingston, it’s the sole reason your father was able to live,” Castriot sneered. “Once Clement Clarke Moore realized what had happened to Catharine and Margaret, he knew we would come after Sidney and the Livingstons if it were discovered that they knew of Poppel’s existence. But as it were, Clement Clarke Moore took credit for the poem, making it highly unlikely that we would come to know the truth. At least until all of you arrived tonight.”

  Maggie slid down the mezzanine wall as her legs suddenly became weak. It had never even crossed her mind that Grandfather Clement’s actions had been to protect the Livingstons.

  “But then why didn’t you kill Clement Clarke Moore, too?” Henry asked.

  “Mr. Moore’s death would have been too heavily profiled. We didn’t want to risk the attention. And we had no interest in harming any other family members who were unaware of Poppel,” Castriot explained, and then added slyly. “But now since all of you know about it, this changes matters.”

  Catharine stopped moving about in Henry’s arms; once again becoming aware of the muskets pointed their direction.

  “Francis has told me of some other important secrets,” Castriot said, gesturing to Francis who no longer looked as confident as he had earlier. “He shared in great detail the existence of some hidden tunnels belonging to the Foundlings that the Garrisons are now infiltrating. And more importantly, he informed us about the location of the true Horologe.”

  Francis’ face was white and he looked down at the floor. He didn’t resemble the same arrogant boy Maggie could imagine running to the closest authority figure, eager to share his important news. Instead he appeared trapped and afraid. She watched as Francis stepped back into the shadows behind the columns.

  Castriot didn’t notice Francis slink away as a crowd emerged through the doors. Armed Garrisons roughly escorted Clemmie, Albers, Nellie, Lloyd, Harriet, Wendell, and a dozen other Foundlings into the banquet hall. Madame Welles, Hostrupp, a
nd Houten were also in the group.

  Maggie was relieved that Louis hadn’t been caught. But her stomach sunk when a Garrison walked in carrying the Horologe, stripped right off the wall in Kleren.

  “Ward!” Wendell sobbed, spotting the dead Foundling.

  But as Wendell and the other Foundlings sniffled back their tears at the sight of Ward’s body, Cockrell presented the Horologe to Castriot.

  “A Foundling was also carrying the Sister Wheel,” Cockrell gruffly said. He bowed his heavy body as low as it would go and held out his chubby hand with the final Sister Wheel gleaming under the chandelier’s light.

  Castriot’s eyes lit up. “At last!”

  The Horologe was placed down on the table in front of Castriot who didn’t hesitate to open the clock’s face, exposing its rotating gears. Castriot reached in his pocket and pulled out the Sister Wheel given to him by Francis, so he was now holding a wheel in each hand. He set one wheel down in the Horologe, not aware that he still needed the key to truly unite all three.

  Maggie gripped the key tucked away in her pocket. It was still there this time.

  “Finally, the Garrisons have control of the Sister Wheels,” Castriot announced and then tossed the third wheel to Cyrus. “Dispose of that one. Melt it down and destroy it. Then the possibility of St. Nicholas returning is gone forever.”

  Cyrus gleefully took the wheel and started toward the mezzanine steps.

  “With just the two wheels, we will be able to further extend our time in Poppel,” Castriot explained. “Unfortunately, none of you will be here to take advantage of it.”

  Castriot nodded to the Garrisons who tightened their grips on the muskets and aimed for the captives crammed in the middle of the hall. But before they could shoot, the chandelier came shrieking down from the ceiling before crashing against the floor, striking near Castriot and sending shattered glass soaring across the room.

  Amidst the chaos, Maggie spotted Francis in the darkened corner standing next to a dangling rope. It was clear he had been the one to loosen the line, causing the chandelier to drop. But she lost sight of her cousin as Cyrus came bounding up the stairs right in front of her hiding place.