Waltz of the Crows

by L Rollins

  Still shaking from the explosion, Leila pushed off of him and ran down the cellar. Samuel followed close behind.

  Monsieur Martin held his wife in his arms. Her head rocked with each step he took. Her injuries must have been too much, for she appeared unconscious.

  “Inez!” Leila caressed her friend’s cheek.

  Blood stain spread across the woman’s stomach and leg. Samuel had seen many injuries aboard the submarine. For ones like this, the biggest threat was bleeding out.

  “You have to get her back to the castle,” he said.

  The man’s face was drawn. “Yes,” his voice came out breathy and cracked. “We have to hurry.”

  Samuel had always seen the man as a bit hard on those close to him—perhaps a bit too cunning and pragmatic. But in that moment, he was nothing more than a heartbroken husband desperate to save his beloved.

  Samuel put a hand on his shoulder. “You take her. You won’t get to the castle any faster with us running by your side.”

  Leila moved closer to him. “We’ll stay and find the jack-a-napes who did this to her. And then we’ll find enough evidence to put him behind bars.”

  Samuel took hold of Leila’s hand and gave it a quick squeeze. She wasn’t shaking anymore and it seemed she had come to the same conclusion as he.

  Someone didn’t want them down here, and that was reason enough to stay and figure out why.

  “The husband must have heard the explosion,” Winstone argued back. “He’ll be down here soon.”

  “Let him come,” Samuel said. “We’ll be ready for him.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  MONSIEUR WINSTONE GAVE them both a quick nod and stumbled out of the cellar. His boots were the last thing Leila saw of him as he climbed out into the dark night. She prayed he could get Inez the help she needed in time.

  Then she turned her attention back to the cellar. Bending down, Leila picked up the lantern. It was amazing the thing still held a small flicker of light. It was cracked, but hadn’t been put out by the explosion.

  The walls in here were all barren—why protect a room with nothing inside?

  Without needing to say a word to the other, Leila and Samuel began inching their way deeper into the long cellar. Even after several steps, Leila could not see the back wall. Just how deep did this space extend?

  They had to shuffle forward instead of taking steps, lest they risk stepping on a point-upward piece of shrapnel. The silence after the explosion pricked at Leila’s neck. The only sound was the occasional clink as one of them kicked metal pieces out of their way.

  “What kind of a bomb was that?” Samuel asked.

  “A Russian Barrel.” Leila kept her voice low. Alice’s husband would be down here soon, no doubt. “It’s a barrel that’s been lined with metal shards then filled almost to capacity with steam.” She kicked at a piece of metal and it skittered across the floor. The sound of it hitting other metal shards echoed around them. “Do you remember the hissing sound when Victor first opened the cellar door?”

  Samuel nodded.

  Leila continued. “I didn’t think anything of it at the time. But that was the barrel allowing just enough steam to escape so as to not detonate. It must have been rigged to seal up when the door was fully opened.”

  “The pipe we were looking at was the steam being pumped into the barrel.” Samuel let out a low sigh. “That’s one barbaric weapon.”

  “Yes, it is.” Leila slowed her step, trying not to remember Inez draped in Victor’s arms, bloodied and unconscious.

  Samuel kicked at another piece of metal. It skittered forward, but the echoing sound stopped with a thunk. Leila grabbed Samuel’s arm. That wasn’t a sound made by metal hitting wooden floor or wall.

  They hurried forward. Along the outer edges of Leila’s lamp, a long table crept out of the darkness.

  Leila held up the lantern. Several dozen pots rested across the tabletop. They varied in size and shape, but they all seemed to be made of the same reddish clay.

  Samuel picked one up. “This is what he was protecting?”

  “I’m not sure,” she muttered. Going so far as to rig a Russian Barrel all for pottery? It made no sense. Leila picked up a squat bowl and held it close to the lantern.

  It was ornately carved with oriental symbols and scenes.

  “I’ve seen these all over the castle.” Leila sat the bowl down and lifted a vase. “This used to rest on the table just outside my room. Claude said he’d sold it to pay for the patients.”

  “Apparently not.” Samuel picked up a piece as well. “He’s been stashing them down here. Who knew the man had such an interest in oriental pottery?”

  Leila put the vase down and moved further down the table. Near the end, there was a large pile of red dust. “Stashing and smashing, it looks like.”

  “Lud, why buy something so priceless, only to turn it to dust? Unless Alice got down here and did it herself.”

  “Oh no, if there was even the smallest chance that Alice would ever find her way down here the Russian Barrel wouldn’t have been rigged.” Leila twisted her mouth to the side. There had to be another explanation.

  She fingered the dust. It was incredibly fine and shifted under the softest pressure from her fingertips. “There’s one thing all the pieces have in common.”

  Samuel lifted an eyebrow in question.

  Leila showed him her red dust stained fingertips. “They’re all red. They’re all made with the same kind of clay. Do you remember what color your shirt was stained after jumping in the well?”

  “It was this shade of red.” Samuel slowly lowered the piece in his hands. “These are made with mercury.”

  Leila tapped the table, gentle plumes of red dust falling from her fingers. “This is how he’s smuggling large quantities of mercury into Conques. He’s buying up these oriental pottery pieces and crushing them.”

  Leila scooped up a large handful of dust and dumped it deep inside her skirt pocket. “Grab a vase or something. This should be enough to go to the authorities.”

  They had him.

  Next thing Claude knew, he would be behind bars and Conques would be rid of him forever.

  Leila took a step forward. Two forms blocked their exit and she pulled up short.

  “I told you she would figure it out,” one of the newcomers said, his voice deep and confident.

  It was Monsieur Claude Martin himself. And standing next to him was Fowler.

  Anger burned inside her. Blast it all—the words “you are under arrest” bit against her tongue. But she couldn’t arrest him; she had no authority to do so. And he knew it. All she could do was get this proof to the Constable.

  “You’ll hang for this, Monsieur,” Samuel said. Like usual, he must have been thinking the same thing as she; ‘you’ll hang’ was nearly as good as ‘you’re under arrest’.

  Claude shook his head. “Doubtful. The authorities have suspected many people these past years, but I was never one of them. Despite your best efforts, that’s not going to change today.” He gave the foreman a flick of his finger.

  Fowler charged forward, tackling Samuel. The two hit the floor and rolled. Leila lunged for the table. She dropped the lantern and simultaneously swooped up the largest pot she could find.

  Heaving it well above her head, she walked toward the two men, waiting for Fowler to roll back on top. She would smash the hated red pot all over his villainous head and then . . .

  Claude wrapped a strong hand around her wrist, wrenched the pot out of her grasp, and twisted her arm behind her.

  Sharp pain jolted up her arm and she sucked in a staggering breath.

  “No, Leila. I need that pot.” His breath pricked against her ear like dozens of tiny needles. “Haven’t you heard? There’s a waltzing flu that needs spreading.”

  Claude dragged her back and away from the struggling men. Samuel got the upper hand and rained down blow after blow on the foreman. Leila had not seen many fistfights, but it was clear Sa
muel knew how to handle himself.

  Samuel stood, breathing heavily. At his feet, Fowler lay motionless. Blood trickled from Samuel’s nose and mouth and he favored his left side.

  “Not a step closer,” Claude said, drawing himself and Leila backward.

  Samuel stooped low and then stood up again, this time with a metal shard in his hand. “You will let Leila go.” His tone was firm and dangerous.

  Claude laughed; the sound reminded Leila of Alice’s laugh, strangely high and unsettling. “If you put it that way.” Letting go of Leila’s arm, he shoved her from behind.

  She staggered forward. Her toe caught against the raised edge of a wooden floorboard and she stumbled. Samuel’s arms wound about her.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, while helping her stand.

  Leila nodded. “We have what we need. Let’s get out of here.”

  Samuel, metal shard still raised, angled himself in front of Leila, facing Claude. “It’s over.”

  “Who am I to say otherwise? I’m not a fighter like you.” Claude smirked. Leila didn’t like the way he calmly strolled toward the wall. For a man who’d just been caught, he didn’t seem nearly scared enough.

  She and Samuel took a step toward the cellar door. Then another. Her heart pounded. Surely he didn’t intend to just let them walk?

  A streak of light blue shot out of the darkness. Samuel reacted, swinging the metal shard down. It hit the blue light, which shattered on impact. But instead of falling to the ground, the light bent around the metal and zipped up Samuel’s arm.

  He screamed, dropping to his knees. The light encompassed his body and he convulsed. Leila reached for him. Shards of the light jumped from his body to her hands. They brought with them a sharp, jolting pain.

  Leila cried out and fell back.

  The light extinguished as suddenly as it had emerged, draping the room in stifling darkness. Leila couldn’t see, but she heard Samuel fall to the floor.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  NOT SAMUEL. NOT Samuel.

  Leila scrambled forward. What had Claude done? She felt the softness of shirt and grabbed it. Samuel didn’t so much as sigh as she pulled him close. He couldn’t be dead—she wasn’t going to accept it.

  Leila lowered her ear to where she believed his face should be. It was too dark to know for sure. Claude must have extinguished the lantern. Hot breath, shallow but noticeable, brushed her cheek.

  Oh, thank the gears above, he was still breathing.

  Blue light emanated from the wall, like a demon snake slithering between the wooden planks. It pulsed strong, then weak, then nothing, then strong again.

  It was enough for her to spot Claude leaning back against the table of pottery.

  “What did you do to him?” she nearly screamed.

  Claude shrugged a single shoulder. “You’re lucky you didn’t get singed as well, young lady. It’s as they say. Luck favors the beautiful.”

  Leila’s hands clenched tight. “What does he need? An antidote?”

  “Oh no, there is no antidote for dark magic. But worry not. He’ll live. Most likely.”

  Leila slowly lowered Samuel’s head back to the floor. She may not know anything about defending herself and even less about attacking a perpetrator, but she was not going to sit back and be the victim.

  She was a London spy, and she was walking out of here with enough evidence to put Claude behind bars for good.

  Keeping her eyes trained on Claude, she leaned to her right. Samuel had dropped the metal shard somewhere that direction.

  “Even if he does die,” Claude continued, kicking several pieces of metal away from himself. “No doubt he shall find peace in heaven. After all, he did his duty and gave his life so that his sovereign”—he placed a hand against his own chest—“may live.”

  “You don’t rule this people. They owe you nothing.”

  His voice turned cold. “My family has watched over Conques since time immemorial. We have guarded over disease and poverty. Who do you think opened their stores of food and water whenever famine hit? Who do you think convinced Monsieur Jus to build his factory here?” He turned toward the wall. A small box with rows of switches rested within the wooden framework. “And now, it’s time the people of Conques paid us back in kind.”

  Claude pushed a switch up and several other snakes joined the first, slithering their way across the full length of the wall and disappearing at the back of the room.

  A glint of metal caught Leila’s eye. The shard of metal Samuel had been holding was only an arm’s reach away, to her right.

  Claude turned toward her. Leila pulled her arm back in. She needed to distract him again—at least long enough for her to get hold of the metal, then get herself close enough to use it.

  “This all circles back around to Alice, doesn’t it?” Leila wasn’t sure if this line of conversation would work, but her experience told her that nothing was as all-consuming for Claude as thoughts about his sister. “You are poisoning everyone in the hopes of finding a cure for her mad hatter’s disease.”

  His expression crumpled. “Her husband never grew ill. Only she did. Alice, the most beautiful and gentle creature on earth.” His brow hardened, and his gaze dropped to the floor. “The people would willingly give their lives if they knew the truth. Their sacrifice is not in vain. With them, I can save Alice.”

  “Then why not ask them before poisoning them?” Leila kept talking, even as she leaned far to the side. Her fingers brushed against the metal. It was hot. Claude had said she was lucky she hadn’t gotten singed; did the light bring with it intense heat then? Her hand spread wide, ready to grab the shard. “If they truly were as willing as you proclaim, then why the subterfuge?”

  Blue light jumped from the wall, flying through the room, and hit the shard. Heat flared against her palm forcing her to pull back.

  “Don’t touch the metal, Leila.” Claude’s tone was once more condescending. “It attracts the magic.”

  Another shot of light flew from the wall to a metal shard a meter behind Leila. She stood abruptly. More light, angular and fierce, shot from the wall to several shards all around her. It was like being in the middle of a lightning storm, only the light was striking far closer than anything she had ever experienced.

  Leila looked around. There was no metal near Claude, and no blue light shot out his direction. Cold tendrils of realization jarred against her spine. Holy gears above, it was lightning. Only, he’d learned to control it. Leila kicked at the metal nearest her and the unconscious Samuel. Blast. How did one fight against lightning?

  Claude motioned toward Fowler. “Alton did suggest we ask for volunteers.” He shook his head. “He’s barely better than a simpleton. He couldn’t understand that we needed them all.”

  Leila kicked a metal shard just as the blue light hit it. It was like pure power, heated and shocking, as it raced up her leg to her knee. She cried out and hunched over, holding her leg.

  Her toes and foot felt burnt and her leg wouldn’t stop shaking. “What is his role in all of this? Why would he ever agree to help you?”

  Claude listed his head. “You don’t know? Well, for one who pieced everything else together, I would have thought you found this part out first. After all, he’s the reason Natalie is dead.”

  Leila blinked several times trying to clear away all her tears so that she could see clearly again.

  “Alton wasn’t always a foreman. He used to be a hatter.”

  She lowered her foot back to the floor. Putting weight on it was like stepping on dozens of needles. “He’s Alice’s husband.” The last few lose ends tied themselves nicely up in her mind.

  Fowler was never interested in other women—such as Natalie—because he was already married. He just couldn’t tell anyone he was married because he and Claude were keeping Alice’s presence in Conques a secret.

  While interrogating Victor, with black magic like she was facing now, he said it was all for a woman—a woman who only liked Cla
ude. He was speaking of Alice.

  All this time, it wasn’t a woman behind the poisoning, but a woman who was the reason. A poor, sweet, unsuspecting woman.

  “You had Natalie killed. Why? Because she showed interest in Alton Fowler?”

  “Interest in my sister’s husband,” he said in harsh, clipped tones. “It’s like I said before. I couldn’t hurt Alton without also hurting my sister. I had to deal with Natalie directly.”

  The man would hang. So help her, if she were permitted to live through this, she would see him hang.

  “What would Alice say?” Leila asked. “If she could understand what you were doing?”

  “It doesn’t matter, because she never will.” Claude pulled one of the blue light snakes from the wall. Leila stumbled back a couple of feet in surprise. How was he able to hold it without being attacked by the light? If only she knew that trick. He flicked his wrist and the long wire cracked like a whip.

  “Do you know what else doesn’t matter?” Claude strode toward her and flicked the whip toward a metal shard. It hit the metal and the light sparked across the metal, sending it skittering to a nearby wall. “That you know what I’ve been doing. It doesn’t matter because you’ll never tell.”

  Oh, she wasn’t giving up yet. Leila only needed to think a moment. There was a solution here, and she would find it.

  She stepped in front of Samuel, placing herself between him and Claude.

  What did she have? Nothing. She couldn’t use the metal shards and there were no other weapons available. There were the pots.

  She dashed to the side. Picking up one then another, she flung the mercury laced pottery at Claude.

  He barely batted an eye. Instead, with a simple flick of his dark magic whip he shattered each pot before it came within a hand’s breath of himself.

  Dust plumed in the air as splintered pieces dropped to the floor.

  “You can’t fight your way out of this one,” he said. “The light doesn’t run out and now that it’s had time to warm up, it will kill.”

  Several bolts jumped from the wall to shards nearby, as though confirming Claude’s statement.