43 – The Sable Hall

  The guard at the end of the tunnel seemed to be telling the truth; when Ward and the others climbed the stairs into the cellars of Dame Ruby’s estate, there was a gas light flickering on the wall, but nobody seemed to be watching the heavy wooden door from which they emerged. As the party filed out, climbing a short flight of stone steps to lurk among the barrels and crates, True moved close to Ward, motioning for him to lean close. “What’s the plan from here, then?”

  “According to Keene, Ruby keeps something like a dozen house guards on duty. Not sure if we can count those assholes down below, but I think so. That means we’ve got eight or so that we might still run into. I’m sure there will be some guarding the door in the library.” Ward shrugged. He could tell True was having second thoughts about going along with his plan. She was thinking about her dead deputy and the prospect of more deaths to come. She probably regretted not going to the city watch; they might not be trustworthy, but Lazlo would still be alive if she’d gone through the process of getting some kind of inquest issued by the city council or mayor.

  She surprised him, however. She scowled in determination and gestured to the cellar door. “Let’s make it quick, then. Straight for the library and subdue any who get in our way.” She turned to the three men Lisa had brought along. “You’ve seen what we’re up against. Don’t play about, and be sure to watch each other’s backs!”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The tallest of the three nodded, his adam’s apple bobbing under his short beard when he spoke. Ward realized he had no idea who he or the other two men were, and he was about to lead them into a likely violent clash.

  “What’s your name?” He stepped forward, holding out a hand.

  The guardsman took it in a firm grip. “I’m Harvey, sir.”

  Ward nodded, released his hand, and looked at the house guard to his left. “And you?”

  “Wence, if it please ya.” He had a lip stuffed full of tobacco, and a bit of brown juice leaked out the corner of his mouth while he spoke. Ward grinned and shook his hand. It was calloused so thoroughly that it felt like gripping a piece of lumber. As he released the fellow’s hand, he turned to the third member of their party, arching an eyebrow.

  “Lommie, sir.” He had a soft voice and light brown eyes that looked too kind to belong to a fighting man. He was younger than the others, and his sandy hair was cut into neat bangs. Ward wondered who’d done that for him. A young wife? His mother? He shook his hand and hoped he could hit harder than he could grip.

  “All right, men. You heard the Marshal. Number one priority is to keep anyone from getting through to Lisa.” Ward nodded to Lisa, where she stood beside Haley. “She’s a sorceress, and if you can keep her clear of the fighting, she can dish out as much damage as the three of you combined in half the time. Understood?”

  “Understood, sir!” Harvey immediately moved beside Lisa, who gave Ward a funny look—narrowed, suspicious eyes. He could see she didn’t know if she ought to thank him or curse him. Ward fought down the impulse to wink at her and turned back to True.

  “If they’ve got possessed men and women, don’t try to go toe-to-toe with ‘em.” He turned to regard the whole group. “That goes for all of you—defensive fighting. If we’re outnumbered, back into a hallway or doorway together. Listen to the marshal or me for direction.” Everyone agreed, either verbally or with a nod, so he gripped his sword and stepped up to the door. Before opening it, though, he looked at Haley. “You bring up the rear. Make sure nothing sneaks up on us.”

  She nodded, her eyes hard, her fists clenched as waves of heat warped the air around them. “Nothing will get past me, Ward.”

  Ward looked into her eyes for a long moment, then nodded and quickly pulled the door open. He peered through, into a long, white-plastered hallway. He could hear kitchen noises to the right, so he turned left and padded toward an arched opening. It was easy to move quietly; the hallway was adorned with long, ornate rugs. The next room, an ample dining space furnished with dark, polished-wood tables and chairs, was also decked in fine rugs, one of which probably cost more than their tickets to Springsea.

  Ward crept up to the archway, pleased at how quiet everyone behind him was, and peered into the room, scanning it corner to corner. On the far side, on the opposite end of the room, he saw the back of a guard as he leaned against a door jamb, murmuring to someone in the hallway beyond. He looked too relaxed to be speaking to an employer, so Ward figured it was either a servant or another guard. He leaned close to True and whispered, “I’ll grab this guy. You surprise whoever he’s speaking to.”

  She nodded, and Ward crept around the big table toward the guard’s back. He could feel True and the others following close behind. When he was just behind the guard, out of the line of sight of whoever was in the hall, he held up his fingers and counted them down from three. When he dropped the last finger, he lunged forward and wrapped his arm around the guard’s neck, dragging him backward.

  “Wha—” a male voice started to say from the hallway, but True was through in a flash, and Ward heard the impact of something solid hitting flesh. Then, he had to focus on his struggling victim. He had him in a perfect choke-hold with his sword arm, the blade waving around in the air as the guy thrashed left and right. Ward had managed to clap his other hand over the fellow’s mouth, silencing his gasps. He wasn’t weak or small, but Ward handled him like a child.

  In seconds, he’d cut the blood supply to his brain, rendering him unconscious. He slowly lowered him to the ground and nodded to Lommie and Wence, who stood ready with shackles and a gag. He looked toward True and saw her dragging an unconscious man, also wearing guard livery, into the dining room. He had an enormous purpling goose egg on his forehead, and that’s when Ward saw that True’s left fist was clad in a leather gauntlet with iron plates on the knuckles.

  “Someone’s coming!” Haley hissed, and Ward whirled to see she was watching the archway to the hall leading back the way they’d come. When she caught Ward’s eye, she mouthed, “Servant.”

  Ward quietly punched a fist into his palm. Haley nodded and turned toward the archway, a fist raised. He hoped she wouldn’t kill whomever she hit—could you pull a Gopah punch? As True and the house guards bound and gagged their two victims, Ward and Lisa watched Haley, holding their breaths. To his relief, Haley was much quicker and more subtle than True. She darted into the opening, and he heard a gasp. Then, Haley pulled a struggling woman in a servant’s uniform through the archway.

  “Mmph!” the girl cried under Haley’s hand.

  “Quiet! I don’t want to hurt you,” Haley hissed, then she spun the girl, pointing her wide, fear-filled eyes at Ward and the others. “We’re here with the law to stop something evil. If you cooperate, you won’t be harmed.”

  True straightened up from the man she’d clobbered and stepped toward the girl, speaking in a low growl, “I’m Marshal True. Keep quiet, and I won’t have my deputies knock you senseless.”

  The girl vigorously nodded, her blonde braids bouncing as tears streamed from her eyes. Ward watched, waiting to see how True would handle things. The marshal stepped up to the girl and nodded to Haley. “Let her speak.” Haley slowly uncovered her mouth and, as the girl gasped for air but didn’t scream, True asked, “Where’s the lady of the house?”

  “She’s in the Sable Hall, milady, with her guests.”

  “Is that the room off the library?” When the girl eagerly nodded, she asked, “And the other guards? Where are they?”

  “One’s in the kitchen, eating; two are always at the gate, and I think the others are standing watch to keep folks out of the Sable Hall.”

  True nodded, narrowing her eyes. “How many guards and how many guests?”

  “I’m not sure, milady! Two or three guards watching the door and…” She paused, clearly trying to remember how many guests she’d seen. “At least five guests and also Dame Ruby’s nephew and his man, who are staying at the house here.”

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  True grabbed the girl’s chin, tilting her face to look up at her. “Where’s the library?”

  “Down yonder hall to the foyer, then straight toward the back of the house. It’s behind the big double doors on the left.”

  “Good.” True’s whisper softened as she asked, “Do you want to live to see tomorrow, girl?”

  “Ye-yes, Lady Marshal!”

  “Get into the cellar then and lock the door behind you. Don’t come out until morning or until one of my deputies fetches you.” The girl nodded, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks, and True nodded to Haley. “Let her go.”

  Haley complied but followed as the girl turned to hurry back the way she’d come. She stood in the doorway until the sound of the cellar door opening and closing echoed faintly out of the hall. Ward looked around his little party of raiders, nodding to each in turn, and then, crouching low, he crept down the hallway toward the foyer. When he reached the arched opening, he peered through but didn’t see any servants or guards.

  He held up a hand for everyone to stop, then darted toward the enormous, ornately carved double doors. The latches didn’t seem to lock, but the doors were designed to be barred, and he saw the heavy oaken beam beside them, held upright by a tarnished bronze chain. He loosened the chain and, with a grunt, lifted the bar, placing it into the thick iron brackets. That done, he waved his companions forward, and they hurried down the hall toward the back of the house.

  He saw the entrance to the library right away: large, double doors with bronze hardware. They were closed, and when Ward got to them, he paused, waiting for the others to catch up. Meanwhile, he listened and sniffed the tiny gap between them. He heard muttered conversations and, more distantly, the rhythmic thump and hum of music. His nose, though, told a more detailed story. Distinct body odors came his way, and though he’d never be able to put into words how he knew one was female and the others male, he knew it was a fact.

  When True came up beside him, he turned and whispered, “At least three in there.” When everyone else was crowded close, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the antidote ointment—the stuff that was supposed to protect them from the alchemical sleep bombs. He dipped his finger into the jar, rubbed the sour-smelling stuff into the whiskers on his upper lip, and then passed it to True. “In case we gotta use these.” He patted the green-glassed sleep grenades on his belt.

  True nodded, stuck her finger in the ointment, and passed it to Lisa. Ward watched everyone put the ointment in and around their nostrils. When Haley finished, he stuffed the container back into his pocket. He was about to yank the door open and charge, but then another idea crossed his mind. He held up his hand and motioned for Lisa to approach. When she was standing beside True, he whispered, “True and I will open the doors. You do your sleep magic. Hopefully, the guards are together.”

  Lisa licked her lips nervously, her eyes darting from Ward to True and then back to him. After a brief hesitation, she nodded and dug a healing tonic out of her pouch. With staff in one hand, tonic in the other, she stood between the two doors and nodded again. Ward grabbed the far door handle and True the closer one. Then, he locked eyes with the marshal and nodded. They pulled the doors wide—thankfully, they weren’t locked—and Lisa uttered her words of power, “Trahl slenvek!”

  Ward winced as the words flew from Lisa’s lips, hissing and grinding as they bounced off the hardwood floors and plaster walls. As True slapped her hands to her ears and blood poured from Lisa’s nose, he peered into the library. It was a high-ceilinged room lit by a pair of large gas-fueled chandeliers. On the far side of a study table and a pair of low bookcases, a short run of steps led up to a pair of red-stained, intricately carved doors.

  Four men and women equipped for battle were there on the dais, dutifully standing guard before the doors. When Lisa’s words of power bounced through the room and hit home, two guards managed to slap their hands to their ears before they all seized up like they’d suffered a simultaneous stroke. They went rigid and then fell to the ground, utterly still. “Hell yes!” Ward whispered, grabbing Lisa’s shoulder and jostling it before he realized she was hurting, blood still pouring from her nose. “Nice shot! Drink your tonic.”

  “They’re sleeping?” True whispered, slowly lowering her hands, her head twitching as her neck spasmed involuntarily.

  “They’re paralyzed,” Lisa whispered hoarsely, clearing her throat and swallowing another swig of the tonic. “I’ve bound their minds. Against four people, the magic will only last ten or twenty minutes.”

  Ward hurried through the doors and motioned for everyone to follow. He could still hear the rhythmic sounds of music coming from the chamber beyond, and he hoped it was loud enough in there to cover for the clamor of Lisa’s spell. As Haley slipped through, he closed the doors and pointed at one of the DeGrand house guards. “Harvey, push some bookcases in front of these doors.”

  “And you two,” True added, shrugging out of her pack. “Shackle them lads and lassies.” She jerked her thumb toward the downed guards and tossed her pack to Lommie. Looking at Ward, she nodded to the closed doors. “So far so good…” She frowned, shaking her head. “Aside from poor Laz. You reckon it’ll be smooth sailing inside?”

  Lisa croaked, “I’m good for a couple of Mana Bolts, Ward.”

  He nodded. “Don’t push yourself; you’ve already saved us a hell of a fight.” Switching his attention back to True, he added, “I don’t want to jinx us. Let’s just be ready for the worst.”

  The marshal nodded, and Ward walked over to Haley, who was watching the DeGrand men shackle the four paralyzed guards. They were binding them in sets of two, hooking their wrists together behind their backs. “Should I try my key?” Haley asked, gesturing to the shiny brass lock plate on the red doors.

  “Yeah, but let’s wait until we’re all ready.” When the three house guards were done with their tasks, and everyone was arrayed on the landing before the three doors, he said, “Get your guns out if you’ve got ‘em. The time for quiet is over.” He took a deep breath through his nose, rolled his neck, and turned to the doors. He switched his sword to his off-hand and drew his two-shot pistol from his shoulder holster. He pulled back both hammers, then nodded to Haley. “I’ll lead the way in. Be ready for anything. Go, Haley. Unlock it.”

  Haley stuck her “lucky key” into the lock and turned it, but nothing happened. Hesitantly, she tried to turn the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. Shaking her head, she slipped the key into her pocket. “I guess it’s not lucky with this lock.”

  Ward frowned, but then he looked at True. “Ready?”

  The big woman nodded and counted down, “Three…two…one!” She and Ward rushed the doors, him on the right, she on the left, and, leading with their shoulders, they slammed into them. The finely tooled wood split near the latch, and the doors flew inward. Ward stumbled through the opening, taking in a scene out of nightmares.

  A gas-lit chandelier hung from the high ceiling, each flickering flame surrounded by a globe of red-tinted glass, illuminating the room like a bloody dream. If that weren’t enough, an iron crucifix stood in the center of the room, bolted to the black slate floor, and a man hung from it, his naked body sheeted in blood from a plethora of gashes in his chest and on his shaven scalp. Surrounding him, like a troupe of macabre dancers, were upwards of twenty individuals in various states of undress.

  What clothes they wore were silken and red, Ward thought—it was hard to tell in the red light. They swayed with arms and hands interlinked, chanting a guttural tune while a number of them played primitive instruments, from hand drums to wooden flutes. At the center of their orgiastic party, a very tall woman wearing a silken robe with her chest exposed stood facing the crucified man, a bloody knife in one hand and a golden medallion on a chain in the other.

  The scene sent flashes of buried memories through Ward’s mind—the chamber under Seattle where he’d thought he was rescuing Grace’s former host. He almost screamed for everyone to get on the ground out of habit, but Haley spoke first, pointing at the man on the crucifix, crying, “Ward! That’s Sonder!”

  Everyone had followed him and True into the room, but the marshal grabbed Ward’s arm and jerked him back. “There’s too damn many!”

  She and Haley spoke nearly simultaneously, and perhaps their voices broke the weird spell on the cultists because almost all of them looked toward the doors. The tall woman with the knife pointed directly at Ward, her red eyes blazing, and screamed, “Kill them!”

  Ward leveled his pistol at her and squeezed the triggers. He didn’t mean to pull them both, but he hadn’t practiced with the gun, and the first trigger was light, and his finger hit the second before he could relax his grip. His gun barked two rapid bangs, a cloud of smoke billowed out of the barrels, and the woman screamed, but it sounded more angry than pained. Another gun fired to his left, then a third on his right, and then True grabbed his shoulder and pulled him backward into the doorway.

  “Don’t let them surround us!” she screamed.

  Ward growled his frustration, yanking his shoulder out of her hand as he dropped his spent pistol. He switched his sword to his right hand, and then he and Haley were standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the doorway as a throng of red-clad cultists, most of them clutching knives, charged them.

  “Hold your ground, you dogs!” True shouted, and Ward glanced over his shoulder to see two of the DeGrand men running to the far end of the library, no doubt ready to throw the bookshelves aside and make a run for it. He wanted to scream at them—to rally them, to get them back in line with True and the guard who hadn’t run—Lommie, as fate would have it. He couldn’t, though, because the cultists were on him, and he had to parry and stab, feint and kick to keep them from overwhelming him.

  Haley slapped a knife aside and punched a red-eyed cultist in the chest, igniting him like he’d been doused in gasoline. He screamed and fell back, giving them a moment to breathe, and then an empty bookshelf sailed over Ward’s head, smashing into the cluster of cultists. “I’ve got more where that came from!” True screamed. “I said fight, you dogs!”

  A low growl began to rise from Ward’s gut, and he could feel his sword getting lighter and smaller in his clawed grasp. With a snarl of hungry frustration, he hacked his sword left and right, deflecting smaller slashing knives and opening terrible red wounds in arms, chests, and bellies. The cultists hardly faltered, though—nothing short of a deathblow seemed to slow them, and the pressure of their numbers mounted, driving Ward and Haley back step by step. “True!” he growled, his voice deep and guttural, “The grenades on my belt! Throw one!”