Luthor knelt in front of his mentor so that he might look into Simon’s eyes. “Sir, do you genuinely have no recollection of this very night’s events?”
Simon shook his head, perplexed. “I remember visiting Mr. Dosett and you taking suddenly ill. After that I remember… nothing.”
Luthor placed his hand on Simon’s shoulder and raised the glass. “Drink some more of this. It will help immensely with your headache.”
Simon took the glass but examined it hesitantly. “Is it worth inquiring what’s in this brew?” He sniffed the glass and arched his eyebrow in surprise. “Aside from scotch, which is readily apparent.”
“Poppy extract to control the pain,” Luthor replied.
“Naturally,” Simon said with a smile.
“Powdered willow bark to help with the inflammation.”
Simon took a draw from the glass before Luthor had to explain any of the other more mysterious ingredients. The Inquisitor sighed as the alcohol ran over his raw throat.
“Is it helping, sir?” Luthor asked.
Simon nodded. “Impressively so.” His gaze fell to the brilliant red finger marks on Luthor’s neck. “My good chap, I believe it’s time you told me what in the bloody hell has happened.”
Luthor looked Simon sternly in the eyes. “You attacked me, here in my room. Don’t worry, sir, it wasn’t of your own volition.”
Simon blanched before turning scarlet red. “That in no way sets my mind at ease. Are you insinuating that I fell under the sway of a mere hypnotist? Have I truly become so simpleminded that a parlor trick such as having me stare at a swaying watch would so readily put me under—?”
“Sir,” Luthor interrupted, “I don’t believe you were hypnotized.”
“I don’t understand. You said I did this not of my own volition. If not hypnotized, then what would overcome me that I would assault my dear friend and yet have no recollection of the event?”
Luthor motioned toward the half-finished glass resting forgotten in his hand. “Drink more, if you please. I believe it will help restore some of those lost memories.”
Simon looked down at the liquid once more before finishing the drink in a single large gulp.
“Tell me again, sir. What do you remember of this evening?”
Simon furrowed his brow as he struggled to remember. “I told you once already. I remember confronting Mr. Dosett, and then I remember you growing ill and asking me to accompany you back to your room. Is that when this happened?”
“Concentrate,” Luthor reprimanded. “Speak less and focus more on retrieving those lost memories. Again, tell me what you remember.”
“I remember nothing else,” Simon chided. “We went to Mr. Dosett’s office to confront him about being a hypnotist. He poured himself a drink, and you fell ill.”
“What happened following my departure?” Luthor prodded.
Simon shook his head. “Mr. Dosett returned to his desk and then… I just can’t seem to remember.”
The Inquisitor rested the cool glass against his forehead. The pounding of his headache had receded to a barely noticeable hum and his eyes no longer ached when he looked toward the lamps in the room, but he still felt out of sorts.
Luthor sighed and stood, pushing splinters of the broken table away from him with his heel. He absently raised his hand to his neck, rubbing the red marks on his skin.
“Wait,” Simon said excitedly. “I feel like the veil holding back my memory is receding ever so slightly, as though I’m on the cusp of remembering something very important.”
“Do go on,” Luthor said. He knew that Simon had to arrive at the answer on his own, rather than being told the truth.
“He sat down and began to explain how we had misconstrued the facts of the case. I scoffed at the notion that I could misconstrue facts, as though it were in any way in my nature.”
Luthor crouched again. “Then what happened, sir?” he asked quietly, his voice barely louder than a whisper.
“Then he… he said something,” Simon said, though the difficulty remembering was evident as he pursed his lips in thought.
His eyes suddenly flew open in shock, and his breath froze in his throat. “Oh dear God!” the Inquisitor said breathlessly. “It wasn’t what he said. It was him or, more precisely, it was what he became.”
“What did he become?” Luthor goaded.
“His skin turned black like the night and from his forehead, curved horns like a ram’s grew, curling into a spiral around his ears.”
Simon reached forward and grasped Luthor by the collar. “My good man, I’ve been the greatest of fools. Gideon Dosett isn’t a hypnotist at all. He’s—“
“A demon,” Luthor replied sternly.
“You knew,” Simon said accusingly.
“I… well, sir, I—”
“You knew he was a demon, and yet you left me to my own devices in the presence of such a monster.” Simon tried to set his empty glass down but quickly realized that the coffee table was in shambles. “It all makes perfect sense now. You taking suddenly ill in Gideon’s office wasn’t because of a bout of gastrointestinal distress. It was a façade by which you could escape his presence. Why, Luthor? Why would you abandon me to his clutches?”
“I was mortified!” Luthor hastily responded. “Yes, sir, I saw what he truly was. As he looked into the mirror, the illusion melted away and I saw the abysmal beast beneath.”
Luthor crouched before Simon, ensuring the Inquisitor could see his sincere concern. “In my defense, I tried my damnedest to get you to leave with me.”
“Clearly, I should have heeded your advice.”
Simon stood and walked toward the vanity, intent on finally setting down his drained tumbler. Halfway across the room, he paused. His gaze fell to the silt residue floating amidst the few droplets that remained in the bottom of the glass.
“He had me under his sway,” Simon said. “While I was still aware of my actions, I could feel his words in my mind like the fingers of a puppeteer, pulling my strings. All the facts remain a bit obfuscated, but I remember clearly that it wasn’t so much that he controlled my body. I genuinely felt obligated to kill you. No, that’s not quite accurate either. I genuinely wanted to kill you, on behalf of Gideon Dosett.”
Luthor swallowed hard and nodded. He slowly rose from his crouch and took Simon’s place on the couch. “It must have been horrible, especially looking back on your actions in retrospect.”
Simon nodded without turning toward his friend. “Oh, it was, which is why it’s all the more confusing as to how you are still alive.”
“Divine intervention?” Luthor offered.
Simon scoffed at the idea. “Rubbish. I don’t mean how did you survive, though that question vexes me as well, since I am clearly the better swordsman and excel at martial combat. I simply mean, why aren’t I still trying to kill you?”
“Ah, that I can answer. The drink in your hand, sir, contains an odd concoction of extracts, powdered bark, and a few other insignificant ingredients. Taken apart, they’re good for pain, inflammation, and little else. Combined, however, they become a potent blend capable of shattering the demon’s hold over your mind.”
“Alchemy trumps mysticism?” Simon asked, his skepticism evident. “Your brew was capable of shattering the monster’s hold?”
Luthor shrugged. “You’re a man of science who prefers to let facts and evidence speak for themselves, rather than to be open to loose interpretation. What does the evidence tell you?”
Simon frowned and finally set his glass on the vanity beside the washbasin. “I cannot refute your claims, Luthor. I came to this room to kill you and though the memory of what transpired once I passed through the doorway remains unclear, I am clearly no longer a thrall of the demon.”
Luthor stood, using the toe of his shoe to push more of the debris away from the couch. “Moreover, sir, the brew will keep Gideon Dosett from regaining control over your mind. While no one is happier that you have returned to yo
ur former self than I, sir, and I realize you have had little time to absorb the evening’s events, but there is an elephant in the room that needs to be addressed. What do we do now?”
Simon shook his head. “I honestly don’t know. I’ve prided myself on my keen mind, a mind trained by the Inquisitors to withstand torture and even mystical probing without faltering. Yet Gideon Dosett brushed aside my defenses as though he were brushing newly fallen snow from his lapel. I can’t in good conscience—”
Simon attempted to step further away from the vanity, but his knees buckled. He braced himself against the marble countertop as he clutched his chest.
“Luthor?” he asked as the apothecary rushed to his side. Luthor slipped his hand under Simon’s armpit to support the Inquisitor’s weight. “Luthor, did you strike me in the chest? It hurts like the dickens!”
“Forgive me, sir, but it was unavoidable. You were trying to kill me at the time.”
Simon rubbed his chest again. “You are deceptively strong. I believe I have a cracked rib.”
Luthor led him back toward the couch. “Perhaps you should sit again.”
“Don’t be preposterous,” Simon said, brushing aside Luthor’s supporting hand. “We don’t have time for that. What I was trying to tell you before I was overcome with a bout of discomfort was that the demon would know quickly that I’ve failed. He will surround himself with other servants. We cannot in good conscience harm the citizens of Haversham for no other reason than they are unwilling pawns of this demonic creature.”
“Then what would you have us do?”
Simon ran his fingers through his unkempt moustache. “Though I’m loathed to admit it, we need space in which to think. That space is clearly not in this estate and, dare I say it, I can’t think of a place in all of Haversham that is safe enough. There is no telling how far Gideon’s reach has extended.”
“If not Haversham… sir, you can’t be serious.”
“Yes, my good chap, I’m very serious. There’s only one group in this land that I can say with all sincerity are not enthralled with Gideon Dosett.”
They packed quickly, taking only belongings that could be carried hastily in over-the-shoulder bags. Luthor carried little in the way of supplies, opting instead to keep his doctor’s bag close at hand. When they were done, they gathered just inside the door of Luthor’s suite.
“I assume you have a plan,” Luthor remarked.
“I always have a plan,” Simon said, before adding, “It just may not be as well formulated as I would have hoped.”
Luthor stood impassively for a second before sighing in exasperation. “Would you do me the honor of enlightening me? We have truly moved beyond the time where you do your cryptic deductions while leaving me in the dark.”
Simon smiled sympathetically toward his friend. “We will leave the city by means of the tunnels. At this late hour, they’ll be practically abandoned.”
“Excellent,” Luthor replied. “Then we’ll need to leave with the utmost haste. We have the cover of darkness, which should work in our favor.”
Simon shook his head. “If we move toward the front door, we’ll be spotted almost immediately. If we attempt to hurry across the open courtyard of the estate, we’ll most certainly be spotted. In either scenario, we’ll be captured long before we make it to the tunnels.”
Luthor frowned deeply. “You’re an infuriating man. You realize this, of course? Why propose using the tunnels if you’re only going to immediately point out the numerous faults in your own plan?”
“I bring up those inevitabilities to frame the simple fact that we’ll have to find another way into the tunnels.”
“What other way? How else can we get into the tunnels if not…?”
Luthor’s voice trailed away as a brilliant smile spread across his face. “You cheeky bastard. You’re referring to the entrance in the fencing room. You mean to use Gideon’s own secret passage.”
Simon’s smile matched the apothecary’s. “I told you that sometimes an opponent gives away more than he intends. Still, the way will be treacherous. As we make our way into the basement, trust no one, least of all anyone to whom Gideon himself has introduced us.”
“Are we ready, then?”
“We are.” Simon grasped the door handle but let his hand fall away. “Do try to relax, Luthor. I’ve never met a man who looked less incriminating.”
Luthor laughed nervously. “Is it that noticeable?”
“You actually look like you’re about to steal something.”
Luthor took a deep breath as Simon opened the door. The hallway beyond their rooms was empty as far as Simon could see. The hallway ended at the landing for the stairwell, which spiraled gently to the foyer. Though he had moved back and forth to his room when packing his meager belongings, he anticipated resistance every step of their journey.
They exited the room in silence. From the corner of his eye, Simon could see Luthor practically bending at the waist as he fought an internal struggle against actively sneaking down the hallway. Simon walked upright with a soft smile on his lips, as though their late night stroll was nothing out of the ordinary.
The landing was empty, and a quick glance over the railing confirmed that the stairwell was as well. The duo padded quietly to the top of the stairs, walking gingerly on the woven rugs that lined the floor. The stairs were unadorned, exposing the white marble. Simon’s first step onto a stair clicked loudly as his cobbled sole struck the floor. It echoed through the vaulted room, and both men cringed. They paused for a moment, straining to listen for any approaching footsteps. When they were satisfied that there was none, they continued down the steps with more caution.
The foyer, as with the stairwell, was empty. Simon didn’t fully appreciate how late it was until he realized that the entire estate was asleep. They turned sharply from the base of the stairs, heading toward the hallways that housed the stairs down to the basement. Luthor stopped suddenly and hurried toward the front door. His cane jutted from the open top of a tall, bronzed cylinder. As he withdrew it, the metal tip of the cane grazed the edge of the barrel, and the noise rung faintly across the room.
“Did you hear something?” a voice asked from outside the front door.
“What did it sound like?” another voice replied.
Simon and Luthor froze in place, Simon scowling at the apothecary. They were exposed in the open foyer. A shadow fell across the pane of glass beside the front door. The glass itself was frosted and nearly impossible to see through, though the guard evidently tried his best to look into the mansion’s interior.
“I didn’t hear anything,” the second guard said. “You’re being paranoid.”
“Paranoid, my arse,” the first said. “You heard Mr. Dosett’s orders. If we spot the Inquisitor or his companion, we’re to shoot them on sight.”
Simon swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. The shadow remained in the window for a few seconds longer, seconds that felt like an eternity to the two men frozen in place like statues carved out of the very marble that surrounded them.
“You’re probably right,” the guard finally said. “I’m just hearing things.”
The shadow disappeared, and both men let out breaths they’d been holding. Simon motioned quickly for Luthor to follow and the two men hurried quickly, albeit quietly, toward the next stairwell.
They rushed down the last set of stairs, unconcerned about any sounds they might make. The hallway was illuminated, but the rooms to either side were unlit. Luthor shivered as they hurried past the autopsy room. The mixture of stale blood and viscera in the air mixed with the eeriness that came from the pitch black of the room. He practically anticipated a monster to come charging out and attack them. Gladly, his fears never came to fruition.
Simon reached the fencing room at the end of the hall and fumbled around the interior wall until his hand closed on a light switch. He flipped the brass knob upward, and the harsh overhead lights flickered to life.
Tho
ugh the secret door he had noticed earlier was to his left, he skirted the right wall until he reached the rack of fencing swords. He withdrew the same saber he had used earlier, swinging it gracefully in his grip as he admired the weight once more. Retrieving its scabbard from the rack as well, he strapped it comfortably around his waist.
“Take one,” Simon offered in a whisper. “You might very well need it before this night’s through.”
Luthor detached the pommel of his cane, exposing the blade concealed within. “I’m already sufficiently prepared, but thank you all the same.”
The two men hurried across the floor to the left wall. Simon stooped low, brushing his hand across small granules of dirt ground into the floor.
“It’s here,” he said. “Look for a lever or switch of some kind that will release the door.”
The wall was barren aside from a single sconce mounted just above Luthor’s head. A naked light bulb glowed in the stand, and the copper wiring disappeared into the wall. He looked over to Simon, who ran his hand over the unseen edges of the invisible doorway, searching for a pressure plate or recessed section of wall, which could be depressed. Luthor turned his gaze back to the sconce.
“Certainly it can’t be this simple,” he remarked out loud. Simon paused to look at the apothecary.
Luthor reached up and pulled on the sconce. It slid easily forward, tilting at an angle as he pulled down. A metal arm protruded from the back of the sconce and disappeared within the wall. As it reached a forty-five degree angle, a click sounded and the secret door glided inward.
“The wall sconce?” Simon asked. “It seems a bit clichéd.”
Luthor suppressed a laugh at the absurdity. “Indeed, but I give credit where credit is due. If you are to live in such utter opulence and you don’t have a wall sconce secret door or a passage that can only be exposed behind a fireplace or bookshelf, then certainly you’re spending your money incorrectly.”
“Come,” Simon chided as he stepped into the tunnel.
They hurried down the tunnel, which was illuminated by evenly spaced electric lanterns mounted on the walls. A multitude of exposed pipes ran overhead and copper tubing coated the walls, disappearing occasionally into the rock face only to reemerge a few feet further down the passage.
Wolves of the Northern Rift (A Magic & Machinery Novel Book 1) Page 18
