Chapter Thirteen:
Blood Transfusion
Shadowbrook:
Harlow Morgan was not a happy man. In fact he was quite frustrated.
Ever since the first attack on the town by more of the winged creatures, such as the one that Lady Hanbrook had termed 'Grotesque', his available time had been taken up by the demands of Lord Hanbrook and the militia. They had come to him, to check out the effectiveness of his adjusted net gun. Satisfied with his demonstration, his lordship and Captain Townsend had then asked him to make more – and also to provide anything else that could help in the defense of the town for the next assault to come.
So he had spent several hours in his warehouse workplace during the night, making final tinkering changes to his formula for making smoke bombs of his own design. And, to prevent anyone (or anything) from harming his work, the Captain had put a militia guard at the door of his workplace.
Harlow had left after midnight, only to walk the short distance in the pouring rain to his rented house close by, to eat a late supper and sleep.
He had wanted to slip away, in order to see to other business – business that had become more pressing with the development of events that the Captain had related to him. But he was too important to the authorities now…
And now, resuming work on another batch of smoke grenades, as he worked at his lab area, wearing protective gloves and goggles, he wished he had an assistant to take over his work, whilst he tried to do something about the mess he had made of things…
He dropped his tools and pressed his gloved hands against his flushed face for a moment, as he wailed. As he fell silent again he glanced at his notebook for the weather conditions for the night to come, where he had left the page open. His measurements, in the small yard outside, had led him to believe that Sunday night would be overcast, but fine. There would be no repeat of the thick clouds and heavy rain of the previous night…
God forgive me! What am I going to do…?
He was jerked out of his morbid thoughts by the heavy knocking on the door to the warehouse.
Answering it, he was startled to be confronted by three people. The two worried-looking men before him were Lord Hanbrook and a man dressed as a dragoon soldier – with the latter looking tired and haggard. His green uniform was stained with sweat, dirt, bloodmarks – and baring several gashes.
In the arms of this second man was a barely-conscious Lucy Hanbrook.
"What in god's na-?"
"Help my daughter, man!" Lord Hanbrook snapped. "Mr Harrison found me on his way to the Doctor's office – but Dr Cochrane and Sophie are worn out from treating the injured from last night…"
"Can you, as a man of science, save her? Please, Mr Morgan!" Karl begged of the smaller man before him. They had never met before – and even now, despite his fear for Lucy's well-being, he was weighing up the Welsh-accented, bespectacled inventor.
"Oh! Um… Well, you had better bring her in, I suppose…"
Following Harlow into his workshop, Karl was directed towards a workbench – which Lord Hanbrook hurriedly helped Harlow to clear of the beakers and Bunsen burner. With Lucy now laid across the cleared space, Harlow fetched a cushion from a chair for her head.
His unexpected patient moaned, and tried to sit up. "Dry… I'm thirsty…," she croaked.
Harlow soon returned to her with a cup of water. He helped her to sip it down. Having finished, Lucy's head slumped back upon the cushion.
"Wh-what has happened?" Harlow's questioning eyes moved over to the grim-faced Lord Hanbrook and Karl.
Karl quickly filled him in about their clashes with the Gargoyle and what it had referred to as its 'stone touch'. As he finished his account with the fate of Thomas Harrow – the fascinated inventor watched as Lord Hanbrook pulled back the lower half of Lucy's dress, plus her underskirt.
"My word! This is inappr-," Harlow protested, blushing.
"This is no time to be squeamish about examining a lady, Mr Morgan! Mr Harrison here has shown me the results of this 'stone touch' – and now I will show you the problem. My daughter is dying! Cochrane has looked briefly at her – but he is out of his depth with this, whilst Manning is out of action. If Manning already has a cure for this, no one else knows of it…"
"Doctor Manning? Why…? What has become of him?"
Lord Hanbrook promptly proceeded to tell the little man of the werewolf scratch and bite Manning had been given. And how Inspector Cooke and the thief Katarina Clark were hopefully now recruiting the healer amongst the outlaws, at their hideout.
Harlow's face turned white. Reacting instinctively, Karl grabbed him before he could faint.
"Pull yourself together, Mr Morgan! You are our last hope!"
"My apologies… I did not realize just how bad things had become…," Harlow rasped. He took a series of deep breaths to steady himself. Gulping, he eased Karl's hands off his green jacket – and then gathered his tools to examine Lucy's stone-skinned leg and chest. He took blood samples from those areas, and then next rubbed off some skin at the edges of the inflicted areas and placed them under his microscope, to compare.
"Even now, the human body cells are being transformed into this rock-like substance. It matches that from the statue of Samuel Shaw, which…um…"
"…came alive right here, in your workshop - or so Inspector Cooke and those ladies with him, told me," Lord Hanbrook finished for him. "Can you do anything for poor Lucy, Mr Morgan?"
The little man moved away from his microscope and pressed his shaking hands against the sides of his pale egg-shaped face, as he leaned on his workbench and glanced at the wheezing Lucy. He looked, Karl thought, to be deeply conflicted over something that was not obvious…
"She is such a lovely girl… She is too young to die…" Harlow's voice was broken, desolate, Karl considered.
The ex-soldier's heart sank. His eyes moistened. "Yes, she is… And it's my fault she's ended up this way. I should have refused her request to come with me and Thomas," he muttered.
"Not your fault!" Lord Hanbrook snapped at him. "I know how spirited Lucy can be. How determined she is to help others… And, if she hadn't been so youthful and energetic – she might not have lasted as long as she has, thus far…"
"There is one thing I can do…" Harlow straightened up, and examined his sample slide of Lucy's mutating blood. "I just hope that my blood is compatible… Now, help me please, gentlemen! Grab hold of Lucy. We're going over to the doctor's office – right now!"
"A…blood transfusion, using the equipment there?" Karl asked him, as he rose to his feet.
"But…your blood? I mean…" Lord Hanbrook paused. "I…am her father."
Unnoticed by his lordship, Karl gave him a thoughtful look.
"It needs to be my blood. Trust me, sir." Harlow's voice held a note of determination.
Lord Hanbrook studied the inventor's grim expression – and then nodded. "Very well! I will help you to carry my daughter again, Mr Harrison…"
*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*
The Abandoned Keep:
He and Katarina Clark had managed to carry the wolfsbane and belladonna back to the coach on the road – but Inspector Cooke fumed as he saw the next set of problems unfold.
The first was the unnerving sight of several trees dragging themselves by the roots from the woods to the east until they had blocked the road leading back towards Shadowbrook.
"Dear lord…," the Inspector muttered, wondering what other horrors his mind was going to be forced to accept before the day was through. He and Katarina had just caught up with the coachman and the remaining militia guard – when the coachman had spat out a loud curse, as he sighted the moving trees. Then as they rooted themselves again, eyes – yes, yellow glowing eyes had opened on the side of the trunks facing him.
"The Shadow Witch… She knows we're here." Katarina spat. "She's controlling them…"
"If so, what does she hope to achieve by cutting us off from the town…?" Cooke snapped his fingers. "Danforth told us that she wanted to get at the town elders! How is Doctor Manning?" He directed his last question at the stout guard.
"He's turned feverish since you and the prisoner here went off, sir. I've tried to cool him down using my water bottle." The guard paused, and then spoke again. "Begging your pardon, sir – but where's Abbots and…?"
"I'm afraid everyone else is dead, Costello," Cooke murmured darkly. He looked across to the coachman. "There's nothing else for it. The road is out. We'll have to find another way back to town! What are our options, Conrad?"
"Hmmpf! I ain't riding east into the olde woods, if that's where those wolf-creatures you've talked about are! And the wheels would get stuck goin' into the marsh, anyhow." The coachman huffed, and took off his tricorn hat in order to scratch at the balding spot set into his white hair. "I might be able to drive, slowly mind, along the west side of the nearest field and get onto the road between Hanbrook Manor an' town…"
A wild cry from inside the coach interrupted him. Costello turned and opened the carriage door – only to be bowled over by Doctor Manning.
Cooke, Katarina, and the coachman were all taken aback. Bereft of his spectacles, Manning shot his face up from the sprawled Costello and glared at them with eyes that were turning yellow. The clean-shaven doctor had sprouted a coating of hair along his jaws and over his cheeks, and his dark hair had become thicker. Cooke shuddered as he realized that the elder's ears were pointed - and that his canine teeth were longer, now resembling half-grown wolf fangs. The hands, emerging from ripped shirt sleeves, were also furred – with the nails having become longer, and sharper…
"He's turning! Keep back – but don't let him escape either!" Cooke yelled to the others. He kept his eyes on the lycanthropic doctor who was rising from the moaning guard he had ambushed, then…
"Get down!" the coachman hollered, before he ran and flung himself into some nearby bushes.
A flap of bat-like wings and the glimpse of something monstrous were the only other warnings Cooke got, thanks to his focusing on the transforming Doctor Manning. Then there was a blur of motion, and Katarina was knocked aside onto the road.
Cooke allowed his head to stop spinning as he propped himself upright against the tree he had collided with in his dive to escape injury. Then, running over to Costello's dropped musket he crouched on one knee and took steady aim at the blue-white winged horror that had just snatched up the howling Doctor Manning…
The Gargoyle screamed as the shot struck its wing. Tilting as it veered off course, the monster was watched by the breathless humans below as it lost height and drifted in a wide arc, and ended up being lost to sight in the woods to the west of the road. There was a resounding, crashing noise – followed by the howl-like cry of Doctor Manning.
Cooke forced himself up. "Quickly!" he snapped, as he dashed over to free the coachman from the bushes. "We need to get the doctor back – before that fiend kills him…!" He trailed off, and swept his eyes around the rest of his party. "Costello? Miss Clark?"
The coachman had hurried as fast as he could to assist the groaning guard.
"He hit his head on the road – but he'll be right, soon 'nough!" the coachman remarked, as he helped Costello to rest against the wheel of the coach. "I'll see to 'im."
Cooke nodded and helped the still-muddy, and now-dusty Katarina up from the road. She winced at a cut beneath her ribs.
"Miss Clark…?"
"Only a scratch…," she muttered.
"From that devil's claws?" Cooke raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah. Think so." Katarina took a deep breath, and then steeled herself to go on. Her expression was pained, but determined. "Right! Let's find and save the doctor, then. The attack from Bruckner and his pack could come at any hour – and we need Manning cured and to be safe. The Shadow Witch… The visions that I saw. She wants all of the elders dead - or under her control, as werewolves or Feral Kin. With each victory…, she will become stronger."
Cooke nodded. "Let me quickly fetch some equipment from the coach, firstly. Then we can go…"
*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*
Some minutes later, having followed the trail of trees with broken branches, Inspector Cooke and Katarina emerged into the clearing where the Gargoyle was pinning down the snarling Doctor Manning.
The Gargoyle hissed, one taloned hand glowing with an unnatural blue light – as it squeezed the elder around the throat. Then Katarina took aim and opened fire with the musket Cooke had passed onto her. Screeching, the Gargoyle twisted round upon the impact. It was just swift enough to avoid the net from the net-gun that Cooke had fired at it. With the Gargoyle leaping up with a bound from its powerful legs, the inspector and his outlaw companion managed to duck down in time to avoid the slash of the creature's talons. Then it was up and away, heading over the treetops – one wing already healing from Cooke's earlier shot, as it turned and avoided Katarina's next shot…
As the ghastly screech disappeared, the pair picked themselves up and faced Manning, whose upper body had been ensnared by the weighted net. His clothes had ripped further, and his elongated face was half-lupine now. By thrashing against the nearest tree, he had managed to wiggle himself upright.
Cooke reached out his arm to make Katarina stop in her tracks. "Look!" he exclaimed. "His neck!"
Katarina's eyes widened. Underneath the net, the skin of the doctor's neck had been turned to stone – but already the grayness was fading. Within seconds, it had turned back to pink – only to then become coated with the spread of Manning's emergent dark fur. Meanwhile, the rest of the elder's body changed as his bones crunched, twisted, and stretched in places whilst shortening in others. A fur-covered tail could be seen growing from the remains of his pants.
Manning snarled, exposing his fully-grown lupine fangs. With his claws he tried to rip apart the net that was preventing him from leaping upon the two humans that were starting to smell like food…
"The stone touch of the Gargoyle… It's failed to affect him!" Katarina breathed.
"The curse of the werewolf has won over the Gargoyle's curse of stone," concluded Cooke. He nodded at the outlaw. "Just shoot him in the lower leg."
"Ur-huh…" Katarina took aim at the elder as he managed to tear the net apart and charged at them.
The silver shot embedding into his shin caused him to collapse, howling in pain as he did so. But he snarled and spat in defiance, his phlegm hitting Katarina's ripped shirt – before she whacked him into sleepy land with the butt of the musket.
*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*
The Doctor's Office:
Karl Harrison snorted as he jerked awake. His confusion passing, he cursed himself for falling asleep on the floor of Doctor Manning's bedroom.
Pulling himself up, he sighed with relief – seeing Lucy sleeping in Manning's bed. Harlow Morgan was just disconnecting the tubes and equipment that had allowed him to transfer his blood into her veins.
"Uhh…" Karl looked around, but saw no sign of Lord Hanbrook. "Where's…?"
"…his lordship? He's been called away by Captain Townsend. The wolf creatures have been sighted by the militia at the covered bridge," Harlow explained. He sighed. "The flow of refugees from Brooksvane has now stopped. They reported attacks by the…Feral Kin…at the village. Several of the villagers there were slaughtered. A few others are missing. And… And I've heard at least one survivor downstairs speak of the werewolf that is our friend Major Bruckner. He's been busy and he's been brutal. What I want to know is how many men and women has he killed…? And how many has he, and this Shadow Witch sister of his, converted into his pack of minions?"
"You know about the Shadow Witch?" Karl asked him.
"Only from what Lord Hanbrook, Captain Townsend, and Inspector Cooke have told me." Harlow sat down in the chair next to the bed as he regarded Lucy, who seemed to be now squirming in her slumber. After a few, tense moments, she became quieter. Karl stood up and approached her with apprehension.
"For his lordship to leave her…," he reasoned.
"Lucy is recovering, Mr Harrison." Harlow gave a weak smile. "I have examined her – just minutes ago. Lord Hanbrook saw for himself."
Feeling self-conscious about seeing Lucy this way in the circumstances, Karl quickly pulled back the blanket. Thankfully, she still had her undergarments on – and a quick glance at her leg revealed that the gray skin had turned a healthy-looking pink again. There was no indication in Lucy's breathing that the curse was still affecting her chest, either.
Karl covered her up with the blanket again and felt her forehead.
"She feels very warm… Is she feverish?"
"The curse from that…gargoyle…is dying away in her, Mr Harrison…"
"Call me Karl."
"Very well, Karl… Lucy's temperature will break. Do not worry. And do not worry about the fact that you fell asleep, either. You did look exhausted." Harlow smiled again, this time with more vigor. "Perhaps if you go downstairs and ask either Doctor Cochrane or Miss O'Hare to fix us some food…?"
"We seem to be taking over Doctor Manning's house in his absence…," Karl observed.
"Well. We had to use this room – as the injured from the surviving refugees have replaced the folk injured by the Grotesques in Shadowbrook, in the surgery downstairs. There's no room there for Miss Lucy…"
"People injured by the werewolf!?" Karl bristled. "If they are infected also…"
Harlow shook his head and put up a hand to calm Karl down. "Doctor Cochrane has answered my questions about this. The so-called Feral Kin – those lesser werewolves… They do not seem to be able to transfer the contagion. The injured have been scratched in their flight from Brooksvane – but show no signs of turning themselves."
"That's good to know…," Karl responded as he stroked his chin. "I'll fetch us something to eat. Be back in a few minutes."
He checked the clock in the crowded surgery, and saw that it was mid-afternoon. Thankfully, Sophie O'Hare was able to spare him a few moments to ask about Lucy. Hearing the good news, she smiled and instructed Karl to take some bread, cured meat, biscuits, and water back upstairs on a tray – which he did, whilst Sophie got back to helping Doctor Cochrane treat the wounded.
Back on the upstairs landing, Karl paused as he set the tray down on the carpet before turning the door knob. Opening the door slightly – and silently – he caught Harlow stroking Lucy's titian-colored hair and the freckles on her cheek. He was murmuring "I'm…sorry." Then he sniffed and shot his face up to face the door.
Karl entered, and noticed that Harlow's round face was pale.
"Ah… Lunchtime?" the inventor tried to smile as he nervously rubbed his hands. "We've both seemed to be running late, and my stomach's been rumbling…"
Karl nodded and returned with the tray. They sat opposite next to each other with the tray placed on the windowsill, and ate in silence. Through the closed window, Karl could still hear the commotion of the militia – who, along with Sergeant Allardyce – were setting up a barrier at the southern edge of the town. Karl understood that other barriers were being set up – not just on the roads, but as much as possible, on any point of entry that Bruckner and his feral pack could get into Shadowbrook.
Apart from the shouting and activity of the guards and the hurrying of passersby, Karl paid attention to the muted afternoon sunlight as it shown on the profile of Harlow Morgan. Karl turned in his seat to observe the light bathing Lucy's peaceful-looking face.
As the two men finished eating and drinking, Karl made his calculated gamble.
"Are you Lucy's real father?" he asked the inventor.
Harlow's eyes widened in shock. But his expression was not of a man being found out, Karl considered. It was one of…bewilderment.
"M-m-me? No! Of course not! Y-you mean his lordship is…"
"Let's just say I have come across some information that raises a mystery, Mr Morgan," Karl carefully responded. "So…, why did you just apologize to Lucy before I came into the bedroom?"
The plump inventor glanced down at the carpeted floor, before raising his eyes to peer at Karl over his spectacles. He shot a glance towards their patient.
"Lucy…reminds me of my daughter, Karl. She was of a similar age and looks when I last saw her…"
" 'Was'. Is she…?" Karl ventured.
"…dead? I'm afraid so. And so is my beloved wife. I lost them both in the last few years. Please do not ask me for particulars, sir. The memories are still too painful," said Harlow, his eyes now filled with turmoil. "But what makes you think that Miss Hanbrook is not Lord George Hanbrook's daughter? And what of Lady Josette…?"
"For the last year, I have been hunting down monsters – since being discharged from the army," Karl started to explain. "In order to gain some honest money along the way I sketch the profiles of people who are willing to sit for me. I seemed to have developed a good eye for spotting the signs of family resemblance. And whilst Lord Hanbrook was in here earlier – before I fell asleep – I suddenly realized that his lordship does not share any facial similarities with Lucy. Now, your beard makes judging your face trickier – but again, there's not much overlap between Lucy's face and yours…" Karl sighed and tapped his fingers on the food tray. "Some instinct tells me that this is important. Despite the fact that this town is about to come under siege."
"I was not at the meeting between the town elders and the people who have, like you, encountered the dangers in this township. But I overheard Inspector Cooke telling his Sergeant something earlier that might be of bearing. The Scarlet Shadow declared at the meeting that all of the town elders are hiding secrets," Harlow mused. "It seems to be a reason why the Shadow Witch is persecuting them. They are hypocrites, in her view – it seems."
Karl mulled that over, and nodded. "Who amongst them can we trust?"
"From what I learned, from…ah…eavesdropping…, the Inspector considers from his sources that all of the remaining town elders are fearful of the Shadow Witch. Only Bruckner was on her side, being her brother."
"And what of this Gargoyle?" Karl pondered. "It said to me that it was created in the catacombs…and that the quarrel with the Shadow Witch was not its own, but someone else's…"
"A quarrel?" Harlow frowned. "I know nothing of any catacombs around here, not having lived here that long. But…what if it was acting in association with someone who was desperately afraid…"
"…of the Shadow Witch…?" Karl smiled. He reached out and patted the scientist's shoulder. "I think somebody amongst the town elders is in serious need of giving us all some explanations! Thank you, Mr Morgan!"
The older man looked touched. "Please… Call me Harlow."
"Harlow, it is…," Karl fell silent as Lucy cried out. Rushing to his friend as she started to toss violently from side to side, he felt her flushed skin.
"Her temperature's rising, Harlow!" Karl frowned, thinking. He kept his eyes on Lucy. "By the way… How did your blood cure the stone touch that Lucy was inflicted with? And…why did you eat almost all of the cured meat before I could touch it?"
"Ah… Sorry about that, Karl," Harlow's voice came from behind the soldier. There was the sound of a jar being opened. Then the next thing that Karl knew, the inventor was pressing a medical pad against his nose and mouth – a pad soaked with chloroform…
Karl struggled, but Harlow held onto him with surprising strength. Tired from his earlier exertions, Karl eventually passed out…
Harlow sighed and carefully laid the younger man down on the floor. Then he pulled out a syringe that was already filled with liquid, and proceeded to inject Lucy…
Time was running out, he reflected gloomily. He had made a right old mess of things – and now he desperately had to change the situation around.
Somehow…
*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*
The Manor:
The current situation, Isabella von Took thought ruefully to herself, was surely the most disturbing yet in her unexpected experiences since first arriving at Shadowbrook.
She had teamed up again with Anne Marie after finding her crying near to the church. The school teacher had tearfully told her of her run-in with the book-burning mob led by that lunatic of a reverend. Then, taking pity on Anne Marie, Isabella urged her to return with her to Hanbrook Manor.
That was another unexpected experience, Isabella reflected at the time. She did not often take pity on anyone.
"The men of the town are preparing for a siege – and we ladies would just be deemed to be in the way, I suppose," the noblewoman had declared, her nostrils flaring with disdain. "Come! Let us ensure that Lady Hanbrook can give you a room for another night, at least. And maybe, whilst we help guard over my old friend, perhaps we can find out something relevant to our problems in the manor's library?"
Anne Marie visibly perked up at the suggestion. And so, along with Heidi and a certain hunting rifle, the women made their way north west to what they hoped would be safer territory – away from the olde woods, where Victor Danforth and the outlaws had encountered the werewolf Major and his magically-enhanced pack of wolf people.
Only, as they approached their destination, in a hired trap, the ladies discovered the latest horror to strike the township.
A trail of rats were emerging onto the road from the driveway to Hanbrook Manor.
They were milling about a little as they sniffed the air, but kept to the manmade pathways. And they were starting to form a line as the ones in front began running towards Shadowbrook.
The driver stopped and swore. He crossed himself as he commentated that he had never seen so many rats together in his five decades of life. " 'Tis the Shadow Witch's work! Even from beyond the grave, she wreaks her havoc. This township is cursed…," he ranted.
Isabella gave Heidi and Anne Marie a stern look. "More work to do, I see… Care to join me in the clean up process?" she asked them, maintaining her calm demeanor.
Heidi looked nervous, but gave a sharp nod. "I have no veapons on me, Mistress Isabella. But I vill gather some stones by the roadside."
Anne Marie gulped. "Tres bien… I will do ze same," she declared. "Where are they coming from?"
Isabella left the hunting rifle in the trap as she got out, and produced a knife from her traveling cloak. "I suspect that they are coming out of the manor itself. We'll save the rifle and its bullets for a little later, I think. As for now…" She turned to face the oncoming, squealing, withering trail of vermin, her face clenched with disgust. "…no rat is going to scare off Isabella von Took! Let's get to business…"
And with that, the three women advanced from the trap, stabbing, stoning, and stamping as they fought back their fear of the crawling rodents.
*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*
The Covered Bridge:
The light was dimming as Jonathan Cooke was helped down from his horse by one of the militia. His horse was seen to, whilst the inspector advanced into the gloom underneath the vaulted roof of the wooden bridge, joining Lord Hanbrook with the armed guards at the barricade set up at the far end. The planks groaned a little as Cooke walked forward to the barrier set up at the end, pausing a bit as he heard the roar of the river Shadow – unseen, but only three-four meters beneath him. He considered how sturdy the floor would prove to be if…
"Do not worry, Inspector," Lord Hanbrook suddenly spoke, seeing his unease. "This is the main approach to Shadowbrook, after all. The timbers are quite sound."
"I was actually considering what would happen if the 'Feral Kin', as Victor called them, were to storm across this bridge," Cooke replied. "Or even if they tried to swim across the river…"
"After the rain of last night, the river Shadow is running fast – as you can hear, Inspector. And it is too deep for good swimming. I do not think that these animal-like creatures will dare to cross here." A smirk appeared on the lordship's round face – and then his expression turned somber once more. "I came out here when I heard from Captain Townsend that Bruckner's…pack had been glimpsed from this structure. That was less than an hour ago."
"And the Captain…?" Cooke prompted him.
"…is still in town, Inspector. I ordered him to supervise the setting up of the defenses around the whole perimeter of Shadowbrook. That Danforth fellow said he was considering some ideas to defend the town. Anyway… How did it go with the outlaws, regarding curing Doctor Manning's werewolf scratch?"
Cooke quickly gave a brief account of his close brush with death at the Abandoned Fortress – and the surprise encounter with the Gargoyle.
Lord Hanbrook's face turned pale. He staggered slightly, and had to sit on one of the barrels that had been placed as part of the barricade. "Dear god! So we are under attack by two different forces… And it tried to snatch Theodore? I mean Doctor Manning… What is his condition now?"
"Well, fortunately the coachman was soon able to find a route back to Shadowbrook. Costello, Miss Clark and I took the Doctor to his surgery – where we left Doctor Cochrane and Miss O'Hare to do their work with the herbs and potions we gathered. They were already overworked from having to see to the injured townsfolk…"
"Yes, indeed. My daughter… Lucy... is there too. She seemed to be recovering by the time I was called away." Upon seeing Cooke's raised eyebrow, Lord Hanbrook told him what he had learned from Karl Harrison.
"My word…," the Inspector muttered, reeling from it all. So Harrow had been turned into another of those blasted statues…
"And Miss Clark? Where is she now?" the older man pressed Cooke.
"I took her back to the gaol, your lordship. Where the Scarlet Shadow is still locked away." Cooke had hesitated before replying. What he didn't want to say was that Katarina Clark had begged him to place her in the same cell as her fellow outlaw. "I'm scared that this will be the last opportunity that Darcius and I can comfort each other, Inspector," she told him, with a genuine look of horror in her eyes.
And so, despite his own misgivings and the protests of the jailor, Jonathan Cooke had allowed Katarina to be locked up with the surprised, but pleased, Darcius Redfern. He saw the two of them passionately kissing behind the bars of their shared cell, and collapsing onto the meager bed – before he had turned away, leaving them to their business.
He didn't need to be a detective to know what the pair of them were planning to do underneath the blankets. Katarina had a good point – any of them could die in the oncoming conflict. Maybe even all of them.
"Good work, Inspector." Lord Hanbrook huffed with pleasure. "Hopefully, before long, Doctor Manning will be cured and able to offer his services again to us in our time of greatest need! A pity that the other outlaws were killed before the law could catch up with them – but at least some of the people who have been…converted…into monsters will not harm anyone else, now that they have been wiped out. God willing, there will not be many more creatures in Major Bruckner's pac-"
A loud yell from one of the privates cut his lordship off. He and Cooke spun round. The soldier had dropped the flask of tea that he had been drinking – and now his eyes were directed to the winding road leading south east towards the crossroads and the nearby hamlet of Brooksvane. His arm slowly rose up. One extended, shaking, finger pointed to the trees on one side of the road.
"What is it, man!?" Hanbrook barked.
Then he saw what the private had already spied. So too did Inspector Cooke, and the rest of the company as they gathered over to the barricade.
One by one, dark shapes were emerging from behind the trees. They were dressed in ripped clothes – and some shrugged off the last of their garments as they stepped onto the road. Pants, dresses, the uniform of a soldier. All of them were each wearing something else, though. A pelt of fur. Most were the size of men or women – two were the size of children. Cooke wondered if one of them was the servant boy that Victor Danforth had spoken off – who had been changed into a monster before the playwright's eyes.
With pointed ears twitching, dark leathery noses sniffing the air, and short tails whipping behind them, a series of howls rang out until the whole pack of the Feral Kin were united in song.
"Dear god... If there is even a god. No, no, NO…!" Cooke gasped, realizing. "They must be the last remaining residents of Brooksvane… Converted by Bruckner and his sister..."
His Lordship crossed himself – sweat beginning to show on his face as his calm demeanor began to slip.
"To arms!" he cried.
The first shots rang out as the wave of Feral Kin snarled and bounded towards the covered bridge in their eagerness – an eagerness to satisfy their drooling, bestial hunger for the frightened prey that they had scented…