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

by Jon Messenger

  Simon nodded. He remembered being so excited about these festivities when the day began. Now it seemed he spent more time dreading his next encounter, and this meeting with the Grand Inquisitor was even more nerve wracking than a meeting with the Grand Maester would have been.

  The Grand Inquisitor stepped away, heading toward the hall’s main entrance. Simon turned quickly to Ambrose, knowing he had but a moment to spare.

  “Will you still be here when I return?” Simon asked.

  “If I were to judge the sour expression on your face, I would assume you meant to ask if I’d be here if you ever return. In either case, however, the answer is yes. I have yet to turn away from an opportunity for free liquor.”

  Simon nodded, though he lacked any mirth in his eyes. “Do be certain to keep control of your faculties between now and then. I may yet have need of your council.”

  Ambrose smiled warmly. “I make no promises.”

  Simon followed the Grand Inquisitor out of the hall and into the foyer. Inquisitors moved aside as they passed, walking in silence. Beyond the entryway, a hallway led to offices near the rear of the structure.

  The Grand Inquisitor’s office seemed innocuous compared to the trappings of his attire. A simple wooden door, currently closed, marked its entrance into the wide but subdued interior.

  They stopped at the doorway, and the Grand Inquisitor turned toward Simon. “Thank you kindly for the walk, Simon. Have a good rest of your day.”

  Simon arched his eyebrow in confusion. “Sir? Did you not have something to discuss?”

  “Oh, I do, but nothing that won’t keep until a later date and time. In truth, I saw the discomfort in your eyes when asked to visit the Grand Maester and figured I would save you from that horror.”

  Simon forced a smile at the thought. “You were right to do so, sir. For that I am eternally grateful.”

  The Grand Inquisitor patted Simon on the shoulder. “It wouldn’t do to have my own apprentice courted by the Order of Kinder Pel, would it?”

  “Former apprentice,” Simon corrected.

  “Former,” the Grand Inquisitor agreed, smiling at his former pupil. “Even so, you’re one of the brightest Inquisitors currently under employment. I can’t very well have Arrus foolishly attempting to bribe you from my side.”

  Simon leaned forward and lowered his voice. “It would never work, sir. I simply couldn’t bring myself to be, how did Inquisitor Supperwood so eloquently put it, ‘a veritable battle axe in an ocean of refined sabers.’ It was something to that affect, at any rate. He’s far better spoken than I.”

  The Grand Inquisitor laughed heartily. “I can certainly discern the intent, even if you butchered an otherwise well-designed quote. Go home and enjoy your reprieve from work, Simon. We’ll call upon you once more when we have an assignment.”

  The Grand Inquisitor began to turn, but Simon politely cleared his throat. The elder gentleman turned back toward him.

  “Do you, per chance, happen to know how many Inquisitors are before me in the queue for assignments?”

  A pair of Inquisitors walked past the two men, and they were forced to step out of the way. The passing Inquisitors nodded politely to the Grand Inquisitor. They waited for the men to pass before continuing their conversation.

  “Are you so eager to be deployed? Was not a battle against vicious werewolves and a demon more than enough excitement for you? Are you building a resume on the backs of the mystical investigations?”

  Simon chuckled but shook his head. “You know me well enough to know it’s not the fame I seek. I’m merely not one to sit on my laurels for too long. I yearn for adventure and travel. It’s a wanderlust that burns in my veins.”

  The Grand Inquisitor smiled. “For someone who claims not to be well spoken, you certainly do have a flair for the dramatic.”

  “I merely wish to know when I might expect another assignment.”

  The Grand Inquisitor stroked his smooth-shaven chin thoughtfully. “There are a number of Inquisitors still awaiting assignments, many of whom have been in Callifax for far too long, in my honest opinion. Perhaps a few weeks’ time, maybe as long as a month.”

  Simon sighed. “A month is a long time, sir.”

  “Poppycock. A month is the right amount of time for an Inquisitor to unwind from his latest expedition, spend some time with that lovely lady friend of yours, and enjoy the sights of the city. You fought demons and werewolves, for God’s sake. You deserve some time to yourself.”

  Simon furrowed his brow at the second mention of werewolves. He glanced over his shoulder to ensure no more Inquisitors could overhear their conversation.

  “Have you, per chance, had the opportunity to read my report from Haversham, sir?”

  The Grand Inquisitor frowned apologetically. “I regret to admit that I have not. These past two weeks have been a myriad of issues from the crown, one after another. I haven’t yet found the time, though your report is in the top drawer of my desk even now. Is there something important you need to discuss from it?”

  Simon bit his bottom lip but slowly shook his head. “As you said earlier, sir, it’s nothing that can’t wait until a later date and time. Please be sure to let me know the moment you do review my report.”

  It was the Grand Inquisitor’s turn to furrow his brow inquisitively. “Is anything the matter, Simon? Did something occur of which I need to be made aware?”

  Simon thought about his report, which was honest to a fault about his adventures in Haversham. It described Simon and Luthor’s encounters with the werewolf tribe and, more precisely, how they allowed the werewolves to live following the destruction of Gideon Dosett. Even more damning was the admission that Matilda Hawke had returned to Callifax, a werewolf amongst the overly conservative residents of the capital city.

  The myriad of thoughts fluttered about his mind, but he finally shook his head and smiled disarmingly. “No, sir, nothing that cannot wait. Have a good day, sir.”

  The Grand Inquisitor turned the handle to his door and opened it wide. “You as well, Simon. Give my best to both Mr. Strong and Ms. Dawn.”

  “I most certainly shall, sir.”

  Simon waited until the door closed behind the Grand Inquisitor before turning back toward the entry hall. A small group of Pellites huddled at the end, but they gave him barely a second glance as he passed.

  The foyer itself was practically empty, though a fair number of voices escaped from the sitting room on the far side. Simon could see Ambrose leaning against the hearth, speaking with great enthusiasm to an older Inquisitor whom Simon didn’t recognize.

  Simon entered the room. Ambrose glanced toward him and raised his glass in salute, inviting him to join their conversation. As Simon walked toward the pair, Ambrose arched his eyebrow inquisitively.

  Ambrose turned toward the other Inquisitor. “Forgive me, Bertrand, but I didn’t expect that my counsel would be needed so hastily.”

  Bertrand laughed heartily before nodding to Simon. “A pleasure, Inquisitor Whitlock. Ambrose, we will speak again soon.”

  “Of course,” Ambrose replied as Bertrand turned and walked away. Ambrose turned back toward Simon. “I see it was unwise of me to get so tall a tumbler of liquor. I honestly expected your meeting to go much longer.”

  “As usual, he was merely acting as a guardian angel, protecting me from the evils that are the Pellites. Our actual conversation was rather abrupt.”

  Ambrose shrugged. “Then do you have need of my counsel?”

  Simon’s gaze fell to the drink in Ambrose’s hand. “What I need is a drink. Would you care to join me?”

  Ambrose drained his glass of liquor, despite the hefty quantities, and set the empty tumbler on the top of the fireplace. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Ambrose drank deeply of his stout, wiping away the foam from his lips with the napkin before him. His gaze never left Simon, who merely watched the people in the bar from across the table. Simon had barely touched his scotch, and
most of the ice had already melted in his glass.

  “If you don’t drink that soon, I’ll be forced to intervene before it grows far too diluted. I would drink it, you know, for the sake of the liquor.”

  Simon looked at his glass. With a smile, he lifted it to his lips and took a drink.

  Ambrose leaned back in the bar’s privacy booth. The curtains were not yet drawn, allowing a view of the moderately busy barroom beyond.

  “Would you like to talk at all about what is on your mind, or shall we merely enjoy our liquor? By ‘we,’ I clearly mean ‘me’.”

  Simon impulsively took another drink from his scotch in spite of his friend’s observation. The large swig of hard liquor burned slightly as it went down his throat and settled in his stomach. A warming sensation spread to his limbs.

  He fiddled with the nearly empty tumbler as he glanced around the room once more. Simon found himself doing it more and more often, as though some unknown assailant was waiting patiently to strike when he was unsuspecting.

  “You seem rather pensive,” Ambrose remarked as he signaled the barmaid for another round of drinks. “You’ve actually seemed rather out of sorts since your return. Is anything the matter?”

  Simon examined the faces of the disinterested bar patrons. “It’s off-putting to know that there was a demon walking amongst us and no one was any the wiser. I, myself, held numerous conversations with the demon in human form and never had the slightest inkling that it was anything other than a smug businessman.”

  He leaned back in the booth and let his gaze drift across the room once more. “I’m not one to overlook details, as you well know, but that demon truly had the wool pulled over my eyes. It makes me feel…”

  “Incompetent?” Ambrose offered.

  Simon frowned. “I was going to say ‘inadequate,’ but thank you for your contribution.”

  Ambrose laughed, his mirth continuing even as the barmaid delivered their drinks. He flashed her a warm smile and winked as he handed her a silver coin. As she walked away, Ambrose composed himself, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

  “You’re neither incompetent nor inadequate, and you damn well know it,” the charismatic man said. “You’re one of the best Inquisitors in the field. I know it, you know it, and even the Grand Inquisitor knows it.”

  “Then what hope do we have if even I was duped by a magical monster?” Simon asked. “I just find myself perusing rooms, wondering if one of the faces on which my gaze nonchalantly passes is in fact another demon set to spread chaos within the kingdom.”

  Ambrose scanned the room, catching the passing eye of a half-drunk patron or two. “Certainly, Simon. Why that man over there, the one who is walking toward the water closet as though one of his legs was far shorter than the other, he most certainly could be one. Perhaps the man across the way whose head is nodding with a combination of exhaustion and intoxication, perhaps he is a demon as well.”

  “You mock me,” Simon said flatly.

  Ambrose turned his gaze back toward his friend. “I mock you because you deserve to be mocked. Your demon, this Gideon—”

  “Dosett.”

  “Yes, this Gideon Dosett was in a position of power in Haversham. He was able to shape and influence the politics of the region, with the obvious help of his abyssal powers, of course.” Ambrose spread his arms, gesturing wildly toward the assorted patrons. “The men and women you’ll pass on a daily basis hold no influence and no affect to politics, literally, not at all.”

  “So you’re saying I’m being paranoid?”

  “You are being paranoid, but justly so. You fought and killed a demon. No one else can claim such a feat. As soon as word spreads to the corners of the kingdom, you’ll be a celebrity. You’ll have enough women throwing themselves at you that even I might get jealous.”

  “My God, that is an asinine number of women.”

  Ambrose laughed. “Exactly. You should be laughing and enjoying this time. Revel in their adoration; I know I do.”

  Simon shook his head. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “You keep saying that, when what I think you mean to say is that I’m adorable.” Ambrose looked down at his drink and arched an eyebrow in surprise. He didn’t remember drinking most of his pint, and yet, it was nearly empty.

  In contrast, Simon looked at his two-fingers of scotch, which was still mainly untouched.

  “Another round?” Ambrose asked, reaching for his coin purse.

  Simon glanced out the bay windows across the room and noticed long shadows stretching down the street in front of the bar. He fetched his pocket watch and glanced at the time. “Sadly, I must decline,” he remarked. “I have a few errands left to run before I enjoy an evening date.”

  “So it begins,” Ambrose chided.

  “Nothing is beginning. My date is with Veronica.”

  Ambrose leaned back in the booth and picked up his pint of stout. He raised the glass in salute. “Give Ms. Dawn my regards. Perhaps we shall have to double date in the near future.”

  Simon furrowed his brow as he realized Ambrose had no intention of vacating the booth. “Are you not coming?”

  Ambrose took a long draw from his beer before setting the empty glass on the table. He looked past Simon to where the barmaid stood near the bar. “No,” he said, smiling knowingly. “I believe I’ll have other plans this evening.”

  He motioned for the barmaid and pointed at his empty glass.

  “Incorrigible,” Simon repeated. “Enjoy yourself, but behave.”

  “That’s unlikely.”

  Simon smiled as he wove his way through the bar toward the front door.

  “I hope you’re hungry,” Luthor said as he walked into the dining room. He set a plate before Mattie before walking to the opposite end of the long table and setting down his own meal.

  The electric lights were turned off in lieu of a series of candles lit in the middle of the table. The flickering light cast long shadows on the walls as Luthor moved around the room.

  “This all smells delicious,” Mattie remarked as she closed her eyes and savored the scents. “You’ve truly outdone yourself.”

  Luthor took his seat and smiled. “That’s high praise from someone with such an exceptional sense of smell.”

  “It’s the wolf in me. Fear not, I’ll do my best to use restraint while eating, rather than simply devouring the meal.”

  “I do appreciate it,” Luthor said, laughing softly. “It would be a shame to slave in the kitchen for nearly an hour only to have the meal decimated in mere minutes. Besides, tonight is hardly just about the meal. This is about enjoying one another’s company.”

  Mattie smiled and brushed a loose strand of her red hair out of her face. “I’m certainly looking forward to it.”

  A loud knock sounded on the door, disrupting the otherwise touching moment. Luthor frowned, recognizing the knock almost immediately. Without waiting for someone to answer the door, Simon hastily entered the foyer.

  “Luthor?” the Inquisitor called.

  Luthor lowered his head and covered his face with his hands.

  “We’re in here, Simon,” Mattie answered when it was evident Luthor had no intention of responding.

  “I was hoping if we didn’t reply, he would merely go away,” the apothecary said.

  Mattie laughed as Simon appeared at the entryway to the dining room. “Have you ever known Simon to merely go away?”

  “Sadly, no.”

  Simon paused, taking in the lit candles and carefully prepared meal. “Forgive me, but I’m not interrupting, am I?”

  “Perpetually,” Luthor replied. “I should have locked the front door.”

  “You most certainly should have. It was foolish not to; anyone could have simply barged in on your otherwise romantic evening.”

  “Anyone wouldn’t,” Luthor chided. “You’re the only man in all Callifax who would enter someone else’s home completely and totally uninvited.”

  Simon shook his head
. “Nonsense, Luthor. I’m always invited. Your meal smells delicious, by the way.”

  Luthor gritted his teeth. “It does, and I would very much like to enjoy it undisturbed. What do you want, Simon?”

  “I need to borrow a black tie, if you please.”

  Luthor finally turned toward the Inquisitor and frowned. “I most certainly don’t please. Don’t you have a black tie of your own?”

  “Stained, sadly. Come, Luthor, I’m running late as it is. I’ll merely need to borrow it for the night.”

  Luthor sighed as he twisted awkwardly in the dining room chair to better face his mentor. “The last time I lent you a tie ‘for the night’ as you so eloquently put it, you had it in your possession for nearly six weeks.”

  Simon shrugged. “Yet you did get it back, did you not?”

  “Yes, after constant berating for more than a month.”

  “Yet you did get it back.”

  “Yes,” Luthor replied, exasperated, “but only after I invaded your wardrobe of my own volition and took it back by force.”

  “You’re arguing semantics. In the end, you did get it back.”

  Luthor turned back to his meal and the redhead sitting across the table from him, who wore an amused expression.

  “Arguing with you is simply infuriating,” Luthor grumbled.

  “Then you should stop trying. As for the tie…?”

  Simon left the question hanging, awaiting the apothecary’s response. Luthor merely waved his hand over his shoulder in defeat.

  “You already know where they’re kept. By all means, help yourself.”

  Simon departed without another word, his heavy footfalls echoing as he rushed up the stairs. Luthor pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off the threatening headache. There were days he missed the simplicity of being bitten by werewolves over holding conversations with the Inquisitor.

  Mattie pointed toward the upstairs, where Simon could be heard clumsily searching through Luthor’s armoire. “Don’t you ever worry that he might stumble upon any of your magical paraphernalia in his, what I have to assume to be thorough, searching through your belongings?”