The Witch Hunter Chronicles 3 Page 27

  Armand nods. ‘It was, but not even McClodden could match von Frankenthal’s strength. The Son of Cain was forced to withdraw down a laneway, and von Frankenthal tore after him. That was the last I saw of them.’

  I cannot help but smile at my valiant, powerful friend. ‘We don’t call him Revelation 6.8 for nothing, do we? Although, McClodden must have managed to evade him.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘We ran into Valentine, and he was being chased by McClodden.’

  ‘How long ago was that?’

  I shrug uncertainly. ‘Maybe half an hour. Possibly a little longer. But I’m worried about Valentine. Fabricius said that he had killed him.’

  ‘Then Fabricius had been lying,’ Prayer says. ‘For we saw Valentine moments before we followed Whitcliff onto the bridge. He bolted past the end of our street, but he was gone by the time we got down to where we had seen him.’

  I breathe a sigh of relief. Thank God for that. Whilst I was worried what had become of Valentine, I hold no such fears for von Frankenthal. A building could collapse on him and he’d walk out complaining of nothing more than a dull headache. I’m sure he’s stalking through the twisting alleyways, still trying to lure the remaining Son of Cain after him.

  Armand draws our attention to the distant inferno. ‘I wonder how that started.’

  Francesca casts me a cautionary glance and, when the others are not looking, raises a finger to her lips. She evidently does not want me to be blamed for starting the fire, even if it was an accident.

  ‘I was hoping you might be able to tell us,’ she says, looking at Armand and Prayer in turn.

  Armand makes a baffled gesture. ‘Not long after I escaped from Whitcliff, I ran into Prayer. She had joined up with Bishop Henchman and his guards, who had come out of Saint Paul’s Cathedral to help us draw the Sons of Cain away from you and the codex. Prayer then joined me, and we were heading down the eastern bank of the Thames, past the Tower of London, when a massive explosion sounded from somewhere over to the west.’

  Prayer rubs her eyes wearily. ‘We made our way straight there. By the time we arrived, an entire laneway was up in flames. We also spotted Whitcliff heading south towards London Bridge. We thought it would be wise to follow him to see what he was up to.’

  ‘I’m sure he was being drawn by the codex,’ I say. ‘It’s been impossible for us to escape the Sons of Cain. Everywhere we run, they find us. And if McClodden is still alive, it won’t be long before he comes after us.’

  Prayer looks warily at the codex. ‘Then we should move.’

  Armand gives a concerned glance at Francesca and Prayer. ‘Not before you have a brief rest. I also want to have a better look at your wound, Francesca.’

  As Armand kneels beside the Italian and inspects her thigh, and Prayer lies down and closes her eyes, I rise to my feet and look towards the southern end of London Bridge.

  Armand notices me chewing my bottom lip in thought. ‘What’s on your mind?’

  ‘When we rode out to the cemetery, I’m sure I saw a stable just after we crossed the bridge,’ I say. ‘If we could get some horses, we’d be able to ride out of here in no time at all.’

  Armand reaches into a pocket and hands me a small leather pouch full of coins. ‘Then, what are you waiting for? There are more than enough coins in there to buy two mounts. And don’t worry about waking up the owner to discuss prices, as we don’t have time. Just take what you need and leave the pouch for the owner.’

  ‘That’s very honourable of you,’ Francesca says. ‘I’m sure, at this time of the night, Jakob could easily steal the horses.’

  ‘I know I have my faults, but I’m no thief.’ Armand looks at me. ‘Now go.’

  ‘I’ll be as fast as I can,’ I say, heading off across the bridge.

  I eventually reach the far end and continue down the adjoining main street until finding, much to my relief, that there is indeed a stable. It’s not as large as my uncle’s business in Dresden, but set back from the main building are half a dozen stalls. My eyes acclimated to the dark, I move stealthily through the stable-yard and inspect the first of the stalls. Finding two horses within, I slowly open the gate and slip inside.

  Having whispered soothingly in the horses’ ears and gently rubbed their necks to earn their trust, I search along the walls until, as I had suspected, I find harnesses and bridles. Readying the horses in the darkness is not the easiest of tasks, and it is some time before I leave Armand’s pouch hanging from a rafter and lead the mounts out across the cobbled stable-yard. The sound of their passage is muffled by the cloth bags, which I found on a shelf at the rear of the stall, that I wrapped around their hooves. Reaching the main road, I mount one of the horses and, holding the second by the reins, ride back to join my companions.

  ‘This should make things easier.’ I pull up before my friends and assist Prayer to climb up behind me.

  Armand helps Francesca, her thigh wrapped in a fresh bandage, mount the second horse. He secures the Devil’s Bible through the harness straps and swings up behind the Italian. ‘It’s time we get out of here.’

  ‘Should we destroy the remnants of the drawbridge?’ Prayer looks back at the handrail. ‘That would prevent McClodden from coming after us.’

  Armand shakes his head. ‘Even if he is drawn after the codex, he’ll never be able to catch us now. And it wouldn’t surprise me if that fire consumes the entire city. The bridge may be the only way for thousands of people to escape from the flames. We’re not going to leave them stranded on the other side.’

  He kicks his mount into a canter and, with Prayer and me following close behind, we cross London Bridge, make our way through the southern suburbs and head out of the city.

  We ride at a steady pace along a country road, eager to get as far away from London as possible, but wary of pushing our horses too hard and causing them to stumble in the darkness. Having covered several leagues, Armand directs us up a narrow trail that branches off the central road. We pass over a bridge that crosses a small stream. The Frenchman then pulls off to the side of the trail, guides us across a stretch of open field and leads us to a clearing in a thick copse of trees.

  We dismount and tether the horses to nearby branches. Armand quickly starts a fire, and it isn’t long before we are warming our hands before the crackling flames.

  ‘I know this is going to sound like a stupid question, but I suppose nobody has any food on them?’ Prayer asks, huddled in her cloak, her face drained of colour.

  ‘Sorry, but I left the picnic basket back in London,’ Armand jokes, and prods the fire with a stick. He stares into the flames and clicks his tongue in thought, as if there is something troubling him.

  ‘What is it?’ I ask.

  Armand waves his hand dismissively. ‘I’m sure I’m worrying unnecessarily, but I cannot stop thinking about von Frankenthal and Valentine. Perhaps I should have remained in London to look for them.’

  ‘Valentine is almost your equal with a blade, and von Frankenthal is big and ugly enough to look after himself. I’m sure they are all right,’ I say, not wanting Armand to feel guilty for leaving our companions behind. Having witnessed Valentine’s swordsmanship, and seen how von Frankenthal fought the witches back in Schloss Kriegsberg during my first mission with the Hexenjäger, I have little doubt that they are safe. I suspect Armand is just being over-protective again, feeling burdened by his position as leader of our group. ‘I’m sure they’ve met up and are still going after McClodden. Perhaps that’s why the Demon of Moray Firth hasn’t come after us.’

  Armand gives a faint smile. ‘You’re probably right.’ He turns to Francesca. ‘How’s that bandage looking?’

  Francesca has her wounded leg stretched and elevated before the fire. ‘You did a good job,’ she says, inspecting her thigh. ‘It’s stopped bleeding.’ />
  ‘We’ll get it checked properly when we return to Prince Rupert’s lodgings in the morning,’ Armand says. ‘In the meantime, I suggest you get some rest. And that goes for all of you. I’m certain we’re safe here, but I’ll keep watch nonetheless.’ To emphasise his point, he draws his mortuary blade and rests it across his thighs.

  As Prayer and Francesca smile appreciatively and lie down by the fire, I start to reload my pistols.

  Armand jerks his chin at my firearms. ‘I don’t think you’ll need those again tonight.’

  ‘It doesn’t hurt to be cautious.’ I ram a piece of wadding down the barrel of one of my pistols to keep the ball in place. ‘I’ll feel a lot more comfortable when I have these loaded.’

  ‘Sound advice,’ a voice says in German, but with a strong French accent.

  What?

  Armand and I spin around to see a masked man emerge from the darkness, the flames of the fire glistening on the barrels of his raised pistols.

  ‘Now, isn’t this cozy?’ the stranger says, locking his pistols on Armand and me as we spring to our feet. He gestures at the weapons in our hands and makes a clicking noise with his tongue. ‘Let’s not do anything foolish. I think it would be best if you dropped those.’

  The man has the aplomb of a gentleman, with his refined speech and having spared no expense on his wardrobe. He is clad in a scarlet shirt with embroidered silk sleeves. A velvet cape is slung over his left shoulder, and the lower half of his face is concealed behind a black silken handkerchief. Silver spurs are attached to the rear of his polished knee-length riding boots, and his wide-brimmed hat is adorned with a crimson plume.

  As Francesca and Prayer rise warily to their feet, Armand signals for me to ignore the stranger’s command. ‘You seem to be at a disadvantage,’ he says to the masked gunman. ‘There are four of us, and only one of you.’

  ‘You don’t think I’d be so foolish as to approach you single-handedly, do you?’ the stranger says.

  We turn around as four other masked men emerge from behind trees that encircle the perimeter of our fire-light. They brandish their pistols at us, and the outline of a smile forms beneath the gunman’s mask. ‘The Gentleman Highwayman never works alone.’

  Francesca snorts contemptuously and looks at Armand. ‘You finally get to meet Claude Duval. I hope you’re impressed.’

  As Armand makes a sour face, Claude laughs. ‘Now, your weapons; drop them.’

  There is a tense moment as Armand holds the highwayman’s stare, his fingers twitching on the hilt of his mortuary blade. Licking his lips, Armand turns to look at us, his eyes lingering on Francesca’s bandaged thigh and the unprimed pistols held in my hands. Having evidently decided that we are in no position to take on Claude Duval’s band of highwaymen, he sighs resignedly and nods, signalling for us to do as instructed.

  As we drop our weapons, Claude crosses over to Armand and uses the barrel of one of his pistols to draw aside the duellist’s cloak. He raises his eyebrows in curiosity when he sees Armand’s crimson Hexenjäger tabard. He then looks across at me, noting that I am similarly dressed.

  ‘Isn’t this interesting,’ he remarks, stepping back. ‘I happen to stumble across two Hexenjäger, a member of the Angeli Mortis, and their wounded friend. And if I’m not mistaken –’ he nods to the north, where the night sky has turned red with the glow of the distant fire in London ‘– I’d say that London is ablaze.’ He turns towards Armand. ‘You’re a long way from home, my friend. Would you care to tell me what this is all about?’

  ‘Just take our money and go,’ Armand says dourly.

  ‘That’s exactly what I plan on doing.’ Claude flicks one of his pistols, directing one of his men to search our pockets. A second highwayman goes to inspect our horses and returns shortly with the Devil’s Bible.

  Claude notices my eyes flash with alarm and Francesca and Prayer glancing warily at one another. He motions for his accomplice to bring the codex over to him. Claude examines it, then looks back at us, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. ‘Having observed how you reacted when we discovered this, I’d say there’s a good chance that it lies at the heart of tonight’s mysterious events. Am I right?’ When we do not respond to his question, he chuckles softly to himself. ‘I didn’t think you would provide me with an answer, but the worried look on your faces betrays this book’s importance.’ He turns to the highwayman holding the Devil’s Bible. ‘Strap it to my horse.’

  ‘But you can’t take it!’ I exclaim, furious that after all we have been through we are finally going to lose the codex.

  ‘I can, and I will,’ Claude says. ‘You see, I’m not only an opportunist, but I’m also a very curious man. When you rode past our hideout several hundred yards back, it was my inner opportunist that compelled me to add your money pouches to my coffer. But now you have piqued my curiosity. Not only are three of your company witch hunters – which in itself I find fascinating – but London is on fire, and you have a strange codex in your possession. Noting your reaction, I’d say it is an object of considerable importance. The opportunist in me also tells me that objects of considerable importance are often worth a considerable amount of gold.’

  ‘You have an amazing intellect,’ Francesca says wryly.

  Claude dubs his hat in mock appreciation. ‘Thank you. I’m afraid I have dallied here long enough. It’s been a pleasure meeting you, but it’s time for me and my men to go.’

  ‘You won’t be going anywhere!’ a familiar voice snarls.

  Startled, we all turn around to see a cloaked man armed with a rifle emerge from behind a tree trunk several yards over to the right.

  I breathe a sigh of relief.

  Dorian has come to our rescue.

  Dorian steps boldly into the clearing and aims his rifle at Claude. ‘Order your men to drop the codex, or I’ll drop you!’

  ‘And what makes you think I’ll do that?’ the Gentleman Highwayman says calmly, not even bothering to look at Dorian. He points one of his pistols at me and shakes his head in warning when I attempt to reach down to collect my firearms. ‘Don’t move, boy. It would be a shame for this night to end in bloodshed.’

  ‘That’s exactly how this is going to end!’ Dorian threatens, ignoring the two highwaymen who now have their pistols aimed at him. ‘There’s a large bounty out on your head, Duval. And I intend to collect it.’

  Prayer takes a sharp breath when one of the highwaymen squints down the barrel of his pistol, perfecting his aim at her brother. ‘Dorian, lower your rifle!’ she pleads. ‘There’s just too many – you’ll never be able to beat them.’

  Dorian snickers recklessly. ‘There are only five of them. I can’t believe you let these men get the drop on you. I was coming up the road from the south, returning from the Hanging Tree, when I saw you turn off and head across that bridge back yonder. I was about to call out, but then I saw these highwaymen follow after you. I thought you might need my help.’

  To my great surprise, Dorian curses under his breath and drops his rifle. He raises his hands above his head and steps towards the fire, pushed forward by the sixth masked highwayman who has snuck up behind him and placed a pistol against his back.

  Claude crosses over to Dorian, takes his pistols and sword, and tosses them into the darkness. ‘The first rule of the Highwaymen’s Code: always have an accomplice waiting in reserve, watching your back.’ He kicks our weapons away from us, then signals to his men that it is time to leave.

  ‘Just promise me one thing,’ Armand says, making Claude pause at the edge of the clearing. ‘You won’t take the codex anywhere near London tonight.’

  ‘I haven’t gone anywhere near London for the past two years, dear chap,’ Claude says. ‘I’d be recognised the instant I step into the city, and I’m rather fond of having my head attached to my neck. Rest assured, your codex will be safe with me.
Once I’ve determined its value in gold, I’ll be in touch. Until then, consider me as its caretaker.’

  As much as I hate seeing the codex stolen from us, I begrudgingly acknowledge that it is most probably safest now with Claude and his band of thieves. It is only several hours until dawn. Once the sun rises, McClodden would have missed his opportunity to summon the Antichrist from the Devil’s Bible. The most famous highwayman in England, Claude has not been caught in the past two years. He probably has dozens of hideouts all over the country. Who better than him to become the codex’s next guardian?

  Claude bows low and sweeps his hat before him. ‘Adieu, dear witch hunters.’

  The Gentleman Highwayman and his henchmen then disappear into the night.

  ‘What are we going to do now?’ I stare into the darkness where I had last seen the highwaymen.

  ‘We’re going to collect our weapons,’ Armand says, already moving off to retrieve his mortuary sword.

  ‘And then we’re going after Duval!’ Dorian says determinedly.

  Armand shakes his head. ‘If you want to ride after Claude, go ahead. I won’t stop you. But you will be riding off by yourself.’ He sheathes his sword and hands Dorian his rifle. ‘I’m sure Claude and his men have returned to the main road. As he’s not keen to head towards London, he’ll follow the road south. And we’ll be keeping vigil by the road, making sure that McClodden doesn’t come after him.’ He pauses and looks at each of us in turn. ‘Fate has decided that the codex be passed on to new minders. All we can do is ensure that, for the next few hours, the remaining Son of Cain doesn’t go after Claude.’

  When Dorian doesn’t object, we retrieve our weapons and mount our horses. We ride back to the main road, where we hide behind a thicket. As Francesca and Prayer lie down to rest, Armand, Dorian and I maintain a silent vigil for the remainder of the night.

  I spend most of the time marvelling at how sidetracked we have become from searching for my father. Surprisingly, it was only a few days ago that Armand, Francesca, von Frankenthal and I rode into Rotterdam. So much has occurred since we first met Prince Rupert and his English soldiers as we all prepared to enter the Devil’s Bowels. We’ve chased spies through the streets of London, battled Hell Hounds, found a secret, subterranean temple, fought the Sons of Cain and been held up by highwaymen. Perhaps, when all of this is over, I may be able to resume the search for my father. As determined as I am to solve the mystery of his identity, I don’t think I’ll begin my quest until after I have returned to Burg Grimmheim. I desperately need some time to rest and think through all that I have learned. I also want to spend some time with Sabina.