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.
Simon felt nauseated at the sight, and he could see Luthor raising his hand to his mouth in disgust.
Mattie’s hand rose to her chest again, scraping her nails again over the same spot on her chest. Long strips of flesh tore free, dangling over her tight corset as she scratched herself once again. Instead of blood in the wounds, stark white fur jutted from the holes left on her body.
“Stop her before she transforms!” the captain yelled. The guards remained frozen at the sight of the self-flagellation for a moment longer before responding to his request.
The redhead grasped the edges of her wounds with both hands as she threw her head back in pain. She let out a piercing howl as she pulled the skin apart. It ripped, falling away in sheets like a present being unwrapped during the holidays. The corset tumbled to the ground, falling beside the discarded skirt.
The werewolf stood at the end of the balcony, snarling at the guards who suddenly rushed toward her. The creature that had once been Mattie turned toward Simon, locking eyes with him briefly. She suddenly turned and leapt over the railing.
Simon and Luthor rushed forward in pursuit, reaching the balcony just in time to see the werewolf leap from the lower room’s narrow balcony and land gracefully on the ground far below. Dropping onto all fours, like they had seen at the drilling site, the werewolf sprinted across the lawn of the estate and disappeared into the city proper.
Simon turned as the businessman stormed toward him. “You let that monster get away!” Gideon yelled, his face a brilliant crimson.
Simon shrugged noncommittally. “With all due respect, Mr. Dosett, I had no idea the woman with whom I was dancing was in fact a werewolf. I guess the better question would be for how long have you known that the monsters we were hunting had the capability to transform? That seems like a far more interesting line of questioning, since you obviously felt it necessary to exclude that knowledge from any of our discussions.”
Gideon clenched his teeth, grinding them back and forth behind his narrow, bloodless lips. “If she causes any death or wonton destruction within the city, I’ll hold the Order of the Inquisitors personally responsible.”
The businessman spun on his heels and stormed back inside the ballroom. A few patrons lingered at the doorway a moment longer before stepping back inside as well.
The captain glared at Simon and Luthor briefly before ordering his guards back inside, leaving the Inquisitor and apothecary alone on the frigid balcony. Simon watched them depart before turning back toward the estate’s grounds across which Mattie fled.
“It seems this investigation is growing progressively more complex,” Luthor remarked.
“Indeed, though you know what I find most interesting?”
Luthor shrugged and shook his head.
Simon smiled as he patted his friend on the shoulder. “I find it absolutely uncanny, Luthor, that of all the women you could have selected at the ball, you happen to find the only werewolf in the crowd. You either have the most remarkably good or incredibly bad taste in women I’ve ever seen.”
Simon gestured toward the exit to the ballroom as his jovial demeanor melted away. “Come, Luthor. We have work to do. If Gideon Dosett won’t tell us more about what he knows of these monsters, I believe it’s time to demand such answers from the governor himself.”
Simon stormed up the stairs with Luthor in tow, still dressed in their finery from the Winter Ball. Though the Inquisitor didn’t speak a word, the red flush across the back of his neck prominently displayed his seething rage.
At the top of the stairs, he pushed through the closed double doors, startling Patrick Mulvane as the governor’s advisor stacked papers on his desk in preparation for retiring for the evening. A stack of folders tumbled from the desk and spilled across the floor, much to Patrick’s dismay.
“The hour is late, gentlemen,” he said. “Is there something I can assist you with?”
“Yes,” Simon said through clenched teeth, “you can get out of my way so that I may pay a visit to Governor Godwin.”
Patrick eyes flickered to the doorway behind him, across which drapes had been pulled. The movement was incredibly subtle but didn’t escape Simon’s gaze. Without awaiting the advisor’s reply, Simon stomped toward the doors.
“You can’t go in there,” Patrick said quickly, moving to block the Inquisitor’s way. “The governor’s not in. He was tired after the ball and departed straight to his quarters.”
Simon didn’t stop. Patrick moved himself against the doors, spreading his arms as though to block the entirety of the entrance.
“I said he wasn’t available. Please show proper decorum and leave at once.”
Simon grabbed the advisor by the collar and pulled him close. “What you said was that he wasn’t in his office. Now you’re saying he’s not available. I’ll give you a chance to revise your story once more before I use you as a knocker while I open the door anyway.”
Patrick swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he stared in the angry face of the Inquisitor. Luthor stepped forward, placed his hands on the advisor’s shoulders, and gently moved the man aside before he got himself into further trouble.
The way now cleared, Simon grasped the door handles and pulled both doors toward him. The light curtains billowed as the doors flew open. Across the office, sitting behind his chair and clearly not surprised by the late visit, sat Governor Godwin.
Simon stared intently at the portly man. Even from the distance, he could see a thin sheen of sweat on the man’s brow. Though the governor tried his best to appear calm, he drummed his fingers impatiently on the table with one hand while absently straightening his fountain pen with the other.
“What can I do for you, Inquisitor Whitlock?” the governor asked.
“I suspected the truth, you know?” Simon began as he stepped into the room. His angry façade had faded, replaced by his normal stoic demeanor. “There were signs—pieces of the puzzle that I had to build on my own.”
“I’m not sure to what you’re referring,” Godwin replied.
“The werewolves, my good man. Do keep up. More importantly, there were signs that the werewolves were more than just mindless, savage brutes terrorizing your region. I would have brought all my findings to you earlier, but I didn’t see the point. You see, had you been aware that the werewolves were able to walk among you in human form, you most certainly would have told me. It would have been your sworn duty as a member of the Royal family.”
Simon’s voice began to rise, the anger creeping back into his words. “Certainly, a cousin of the king himself wouldn’t withhold such crucial information to an Inquisitor’s investigation, would he? Honestly, what would be the point? What could he possibly have to gain from lying and impeding an active investigation?”
Simon turned his attention fully toward the governor, who remained silent in his plush, high-backed chair. The Inquisitor locked his hands behind his back and strolled into the room.
“I found it odd when we first arrived, that you had so many foreign guards under your employment. With such a rich, indigenous population, it would only make sense to find cheap labor from the region in which you hoped to rule. What good would a governor be if he alienated the locals during his tenure? That alone was odd, but not suspicious.”
Simon strolled to the large window overlooking the courtyard below. The wind had picked up, carrying powdered snow across the road leading to and from the manor. It was practically indiscernible from what he had to assume was grass beneath the larger snowdrifts on either side of the path.
“On our way to the drilling sites, I noticed the campfires in the distance. I even remarked to Luthor that it was odd that the indigenous population and the werewolves could live in a form of stasis, if not peace with one another. Yet, when performing the autopsy on the wolf I slew, I found cooked meat in its gut, the likes of which would have been cooked and charred over a campfire.”
He turned away from the window and stared at the governor. The heavyset man glanced back and forth between Simon and Luthor nervously, drumming his fingers with an ever-increasing cadence.
“You can, of course, see where all this is leading. The werewolf that Luthor fought dropped a special brand of rifle, its kind I’ve only seen carried by your personal retinue. That’s when it struck me. Perhaps you had indeed hired the indigenous population to serve on your gubernatorial guard. Perhaps their desertion coincided remarkably with the first reports of werewolf attacks around Haversham.”
Simon walked over and rested his hands on the governor’s desk, leaning forward until he could smell the rotund man’s sour breath, as though he had imbibed far too much alcohol during the evening’s festivities.
“All my suspicions were founded this evening, of course. You, yourself, saw the woman transform before our very eyes, flesh tearing away to give room for the strong, fur-covered body. Her narrow face ripping as the beast’s elongated maw burst forth. While I stared at the creature in horror, knowing it had been a diminutive, red-haired woman not moments before, you and Mr. Dosett seemed far more upset that she had escaped.”
The Inquisitor lowered his voice, as to ensure his words carried the extra weight. “Which begs the question, for how long have you known the truth?”
The governor looked over,
making eye contact with Simon. His pupils were dilated and beads of sweat dripped visibly from his brow. “I don’t have to answer your inquiry. You forget yourself. You forget to whom you’re talking.” With every word, he grew more emboldened. “I’m the governor, cousin to the king himself. How dare you interrogate me as though I were a common criminal?”
Simon slammed his open hand down on the table, and the fire that had grown in the governor’s belly extinguished itself immediately. “I have not forgotten who you are! Perhaps it is you who have forgotten your place. The king, your cousin, charged me to conduct this inquiry. It is the king, your cousin, who fears the infiltration of magic into our kingdom. What do you think our king will do if he found a member of his own family impeded my investigation? Do you believe he would turn a blind eye to your transgression because of your relationship? I’ve been to the capital city, Governor Godwin. I’ve seen nobles dragged into the square, and I have seen their heads taken from their shoulders for less!”
The governor blanched as Simon’s final words echoed in the broad room. The portly man raised his hand to his neck subconsciously and rubbed the soft flesh.
“This will be the last time you and I have such a conversation, sir,” Simon said, his voice deadly calm once more. “You will tell me what you know about the werewolves, all of it.”
Simon took a seat in one of the two chairs across from him and motioned for Luthor to sit in the other. The apothecary took his seat, but his eyes shifted toward the Inquisitor.
The governor coughed and fidgeted with his formal attire. “It began a few months ago. We noticed some of our local guards missing from their posts. We inquired as to their absences, of course, but none of the tribespeople seemed any the wiser as to their whereabouts. It wasn’t long before nearly all the locals were missing from their positions, both within this estate and without. We, that is, Mr. Dosett and I, cornered one of the last remaining locals here in the home. The woman, a maid, sought to evade us, but Mr. Dosett was far quicker. When cornered, the queerest thing happened, an event that you yourself witnessed this very eve. The maid tore away her dress until she wore only her unmentionables. Then, as though her own skin had become a prison, she clawed at her flesh until the werewolf concealed underneath burst free.”
Wolves of the Northern Rift (A Magic & Machinery Novel Book 1) Page 14
