Curiosity Killed The Cat

by T. H. Hunter

  Finally I produced them and lit the first match. Both of us peered into the corridor. Unlike the rooms above, it was packed with boxes and crates, similar to the ones I had seen in the catacombs when I had followed Jayden to the blood addicts’ den.

  “Look,” I whispered to Lynn. “No cobwebs, no dust. Someone’s still using this place.”

  Lynn took the matches from me and lit another, so that we could see further along the corridor. It was circular, as they were in all towers, and so presumably went right around to the other end.

  I stepped out of the corridor again, checking the staircase.

  “I think there’s only this door, Lynn. The corridor’s a dead end. If Vox is still here somewhere, he can’t get out.”

  She looked scared, but nodded.

  Blades still drawn, we inched into the corridor. All of the doors were closed. It was absolutely quiet now, eerily so. I opened the first door to my left, swinging it so that it gently hit the wall. Just in case anyone was standing behind it. A certain amount of paranoia, I noted grimly, made you sharp – at least to a degree. But the room was empty, save for a few boxes and crates of the same variety as outside.

  “D’you recognise these, Lynn?”

  “Yeah, they – they had them down in the den. I think they used them for transporting the goods back and forth.”

  I opened one of them. And sure enough, dozens of empty phials stared up at us. I took one out and uncorked it. Drops of a dark red liquid. It’s pungent smell of iron was unmistakable. But I wanted to be sure, so I gave it to Lynn, who smelled it, too.

  “Definitely blood,” she said.

  “Agreed. They must be using this tower as a trading post,” I said.”

  “It makes sense, though. They’ve been raiding the addict dens regularly. They keep changing their locations because of that. Jayden – well, he told me when I … you know.”

  Lynn broke off. She had stopped seeing Jayden after the incident in the catacombs. But I could tell she was still in love with him.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I wonder if Vox is involved in the trade somehow. Come on, let’s check the other rooms.”

  There were only two doors left. The first was even smaller than the last, barely a broom cupboard, and was completely empty. The final room at the end of the corridor, easily the largest, was stacked with dozens and dozens of crates. I lit another match.

  “Beccs,” Lynn whispered, her voice trembling from supressed fear. “Look, there’s someone sitting in the armchair over there.”

  She was right. But I could only see the back of a head. I had to move closer to see who it was.

  19

  “Keep your distance,” I whispered to Lynn. “We don’t both want to get jumped on.”

  I sneaked around the back of the armchair to get a better position. The figure’s head was stiff. I lit a match, but there was no reaction from it. My heart was pumping faster and faster. I could hear Lynn’s heavy breathing in the background. Very gradually, I inched around and held the match to the face.

  It was Vox. His eyes were closed. His face perfectly still.

  I lowered the match to look at the rest of his body. A massive silver bolt had been fired right into his heart. But his chest was still moving slightly.

  “Lynn, he’s still breathing,” I whispered.

  She was too stunned to say anything. Vox, who had finally sensed our presence, opened his eyes with significant effort and began murmuring.

  “We have to get help. Immediately. Go to the Knights’ common room as fast as you can. Get Raphael if you can – or Yurasov. Or any other knight, just get them fast.”

  “I can’t leave you here with him, Beccs!”

  “He’s in no condition to fight anyone right now,” I said. “Go, Steve should be here any minute now.”

  Reluctantly, she stepped out of the room and headed for the courtyard.

  My body was quivering from fear. I took out my silver dagger, which would be much better in a hand-to-hand situation, and sheathed my rapier.

  “Mr. Vox,” I said gently.

  He looked at me with wide, terror-stricken eyes but wouldn’t speak.

  “Who did this to you?” I asked.

  He opened his mouth, shaking now in his effort to do so. He lifted a trembling finger and pointed to the wall. His eyes were bulging and popping in fear.

  “Yes, help is on the way,” I said, trying to calm him – as well as myself.

  And then, there was a flicker of light from an oil lamp in the corridor. And footsteps. Finally, Steve.

  I was just about to walk across to the door when Vox’s icy hand suddenly grabbed my wrist. In my shock, I dropped the burning match, which went out. Vox was trying to pull me closer. He was trying to mouth something in my ear. But then, his grip suddenly relinquished and his breathing stopped abruptly. He was dead.

  And then, someone entered the room. The light blinded me temporarily.

  “Steve, thank God you’re here. Vox’s been shot and I think he’s d–“

  “He’s got what ‘e deserved,” said a horribly familiar voice. But it wasn’t Steve’s.

  It was Mr. Harrow. The janitor’s shock of white hair was plastered back with wax. Instead of his usual benign smile he was wearing an expression of sinister triumph, his lips curled horribly to one side. Where I thought I had once seen kindliness was only a cold resentment.

  Without letting his gaze slip from me for even just a moment, he slowly placed the lamp on the nearby table with his left hand. In the other, he was holding a crossbow. A silver bolt gleamed from its centre.

  “You killed him,” I said, indicating Vox next to me.

  “Arrogant ponce he was,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of Vox. “Thought ‘e could talk to me like I was ‘is servant. Now, be a good girl, drop your weapon on the ground and kick it over to me.”

  My heart was racing. This was impossible. How could it be Harrow?

  “Now,” he ordered.

  Reluctantly, I unsheathed my rapier and kicked it over to him. He took it from the ground and threw into the corner next to the cupboard. I still had my dagger, which I had placed at my back, though it wouldn’t be any good unless I got in real close.

  “Why did you kill him? He was an addict, I take it?” I said, trying to buy some time.

  “Yes, ‘e was an addict, and one of the worst of ‘em. A war veteran he was. But weak in the mind. Couldn’t resist a bit of the good stuff. They all tried to protect you, y’know. Those Knights who think they’re so smart and noble. Watched every student and every teacher who went anywhere. Only they missed me. I was invisible to them.”

  “Of course, you were perhaps the only one who could go anywhere without arousing suspicion,” I said.

  “Tha’s right. There’s always a toilet that ‘as to be scrubbed, or some fuse not workin’. But I showed them, I showed them all. Outwitted by the janitor, ha. That’ll teach ‘em for a long time.”

  He spat on the floor.

  “But why kill Doctor Wiley?”

  “Orders,” he said simply.

  “The Slayers’ League,” I breathed heavily.

  “Yes,” he said softly.

  “But how did you communicate?”

  “Simple. Letters, down in the village. All typewritten, all in code. Officially from my brother Peter in Croydon.”

  “But what’s in it for you? You’re a vampire, too, aren’t you?”

  “Don’ even know that, do you? Told you, nobody knows nothing about me. But yes, I am a vampire.”

  “The League is your mortal enemy, then.”

  His face contorted into a smirk.

  “They are, are they? All those fancy gents an’ ladies up at the castle, with their noble titles and their smart manners, think they’re so much better than me. But behind the scenes, you wouldn’t believe wha’ they get up to. Private parties, human blood whores. Breaking every rule they make for the common folk like me, who’d get thrown in prison or worse if the
y’d dare do the same as them. And who do you think cleans up the mess when they’re hung over in their beds? The Slayers aren’t my enemy. Mrs. Criswell made me see that. She’s a self-made woman. Clever, she is. Rose up from ‘umble beginnings like yours truly. And so will I. She’ll make sure of that. She’ll make me a rich man. An’ all I have to do is deliver you to her.”

  The light was beginning to flicker slightly. A shiver went down my spine. He kept me covered with his crossbow at a distance. Surely, Steve would turn up soon. I just had to keep him talking.

  “And how are you going to do that?” I said. “There are hundreds of gargoyles circling the castle. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  “Oh, Missy, wouldn’t I?” he said, grinning maniacally. “You’ll see. I’ve thought of everything, I have. They won’ even know we’re gone until it’s too late. They’ll never see us.”

  He moved further towards the outer wall, towards the cupboard.

  “I’ve been busy these past weeks. Bit of a treasure hunt, you might say. You see, there used to be a lot of old tunnels leadin’ in and out of the castle. All blocked up, of course. Took me a while, but I got one open again. Leads right into the village, too. ‘Smatter of fact, we’re waiting for my son as we speak. Should be here any minute.”

  I tried to inch forward a little, to bridge the large gap, but he reacted with surprising speed.

  “Now, now, Missy. I don’t like no quick movement, I don’t. I get itchy in the fingers.”

  There was knocking sound, like knuckles on wood.

  “Attaboy,” he said loudly. Carefully, he placed one foot against the cupboard and slowly began shoving it to the side. To my horror, on the floor, a trap door was emerging from where the cupboard had been placed. Panic was spreading fast throughout my body. Where was Steve? I stared at the door to the corridor. Why hadn’t he arrived by now?

  “You expectin’ someone?” he asked, laughing again. “Your little friend, perhaps?”

  “What did you do to him?”

  “Oh, I didn’t kill him, don’ you worry your pretty little head. But, let’s just say, ‘e won’t be calling for help anytime soon.”

  A flicker of hope grew within my chest. He hadn’t mentioned Lynn, perhaps there was a chance he had somehow missed her on the way here.

  “Better safe than sorry, eh?” he said.

  He walked over to the door and, producing a key from his pocket, put it into the lock and turned it. Then, his eyes still focussed on me, he went back to the trap door, fumbling for the heavy iron ring in the hatch to pull it up. It looked extremely heavy. Whatever would happen, I promised myself, I wasn’t going down that tunnel. I’d rather die.

  “Come over here,” he ordered. “Slowly, mind.”

  It would be like walking towards your own death sentence. He pointed the crossbow at my heart. And then, finally, through the boarded-up windows, I heard a voice outside, yelling my name.

  “Rebecca!”

  It was Raphael.

  “In here!” I shouted, before I could help myself.

  Harrow reacted immediately. He fired the crossbow, but I was ready for him. With reflexes honed by my swordfighting, I ducked behind the armchair as quickly as I could. The bolt missed me by mere inches, piercing the old wall behind me. This was my chance. I kept down and took the dagger in my right hand. Squinting past the side of the armchair, I could see that Harrow was reloading his crossbow as fast as he could. There was no way I could get over there in time. Meanwhile, I could hear footsteps in the corridor.

  “Raphael, in here,” I yelled. “It’s locked.”

  Then, a heavy shoulder was pounding furiously at the door. It was splintering fast.

  Harrow, white in the face with rage and his crossbow lying next to him, was tugging furiously at the hatch with both of his hands. It was very gradually budging. His son, his head now visible through the gap, was pushing from below.

  “Quickly, dad,” the son was saying.

  I couldn’t let him escape, not after all that he’d done. With one last effort, Harrow tore the hatch upward and it finally gave way. The mouth of the tunnel was open. But before he could let himself down, I rushed towards him, knocking him backwards and away from the open hatch in the process. I was on top of him and stabbed with the knife, but he gripped my arm in an iron fist and was now forcing the blade towards me.

  At that moment, the door gave way with a mighty crack. And through the splinters and planks of wood, Raphael emerged, armed with a silver sword of his own. With a furious howl, Harrow threw me aside with a strength that only a cornered animal could summon. I hit the wall hard with a nasty crack and slid back to the ground.

  “Back, into the tunnel, boy!” he screamed at his son, just as Raphael sprinted towards him.

  His crossbow was now exactly beside him. And it was still armed with a silver bolt. He grabbed it and was just about to pull the trigger when Raphael, in a desperate move to prevent it, flung his sword right at Harrow’s head. He ducked in fright, and that bought Raphael just enough time to close the distance.

  They were now fighting over the crossbow. But Raphael was stronger than Harrow, despite the latter’s madness. He was slowly twisting it away from him. Harrow was shaking violently.

  “You’ll never beat me,” Harrow suddenly screamed. “You scum!”

  And then, with a surprising burst of new energy, he hurled himself on Raphael, his every fibre engaged in the struggle. They were both still gripping the crossbow, though Harrow’s hold was tenuous. With a final effort, Raphael finally managed to shake him off. The janitor fell backwards onto the floor.

  Harrow, now without a weapon, crawled on all fours to the corner, heading for the dagger that I had dropped. He grabbed it, drew his hand back in a flash in order to throw it, but Raphael was faster. He pulled the trigger of the crossbow.

  The massive silver bolt instantly released. Harrow was shot right in the heart with his own crossbow, dropping the dagger as the force of the bolt flung him backward. His son, who had witnessed the entire scene from below, slammed the hatch back down after one terrified look at Raphael. The patter of feet told me that he was running along the tunnel as fast as his feet would carry him.

  “Rebecca, are you alright?”

  “Take me out of here,” I said weakly, every bone in my body felt battered.

  Raphael lifted me up from the corner and carried me out of the room, away from that place that stank of death and betrayal, into the corridor and then out into the open. I could barely stand, so I held on to him to keep my balance. The cold air stung in my face, though his embrace was warm.

  “I almost lost you in there,” he said, caressing my hair.

  “Thank God you came when you did.”

  And then, we couldn’t resist any longer. He bent lower, our faces closer than ever before. I wanted to kiss those lips more than anything in the world. But he was far too much the hero to take advantage, I knew that. Although the dreamy yearning in his eyes told me that he felt just the same way as I did. And so, with my left hand, I pulled him towards me until his lips finally met mine.

  20

  I hardly registered the ensuing chaos as more and more Scarlet Knights arrived, notified earlier by Raphael or Lynn no doubt. Feelings of fear and relief mixed with the most heavenly memories of the kiss I had shared with him for just a few moments. I wanted to be close to him, to be near him again.

  But that illusion was immediately taken from me at the foot of the Abandoned Tower. The look on Raphael’s face told me as much. They’d never let us be together. Never. He was the heir to the throne, after all. Soon to be king. And a king’s marriage was always political in nature, especially when so many noble families were considering to side against the new monarch to begin with.

  He seemed to be reading my mind, because he turned to me, looking just as miserable as I was. We had found one another, only to realise that we’d lose each other again.

  Then, Doctor Yurasov arrived with several Knig
hts, followed by Lynn, who had alerted them and then, on her way back, had found Steve tied up in one of the broom sheds along the way. Painfully, I was able to stand, leaning on a nearby wooden post. Streams of other people had arrived, as well. We told the story over and over again, to what felt like every member of staff and every Council member there was, standing out there in the cold, until the First Warden Stephanopoulos himself arrived, and we had to tell the story to him, too.

  He listened intently to every word we said, though there was no sign left of the benign smile he usually wore. It had been replaced by an air of energy and power. When we had finished, he said:

  “I wish to address the entire castle tomorrow morning. In the Great Hall. You have done well, Miss Flynn. And you, of course, Prince Raphael. Your mother, I believe, is already awaiting you at the hospital. The King’s condition is getting worse. He only has an hour at the very most.”

  Raphael nodded. After one last look at me that told me he wished for nothing more than that I could be at his side, he disappeared into the darkness.

  I turned around miserably. Doctor Yurasov approached me. He had waited for Raphael to leave before doing so. I think he knew very well what was going on.

  “I owe you an apology, Miss Flynn,” said Doctor Yurasov. “I was a fool to trust Harrow in that way. It just never occurred to me…”

  “You did everything you could, Doctor,” I said. “Nobody suspected him. Least of all me.”

  “There are still so many questions. I do not know where to begin. You say he was in communication with the Slayers all this time?”

  “Yes. By the sound of it, though, he must have met her in person at least once. He seemed sort of taken by her. Impressed by what she had accomplished.”

  I told him all about the letters that came ostensibly from his brother.

  “We will certainly look into that. Thank you, Miss Flynn. You certainly deserve some rest. We have armed guards at the entrance of every dormitory. Just in case.”

  Lynn, Steve, and I, after what had felt like hours in the freezing cold, stumbled back across the courtyard to the East Tower.