XXX - After the Carnage

  Sir Godwin had been deceived. He had led his men through the swamp all night long, trudging through the muck and the overgrowth and the frigid, icy sludge until the coming of dawn, and in the end, they had nothing to show for it. He was tired, he smelled horrible, he felt like a simpleton for having been tricked so easily, and he was almost the angriest he had ever been in his life, second only to the last time that Vlad Albescu had shown his face in Fenwick. As he trudged back toward the village on that early morning, the sun still barely a suggestion in the distance as it climbed its way into the young sky, he truly believed that the current state of affairs were far and away the worst that they had ever been in his entire tenure as Captain of the Guard.

  What he did not know at the time was that things were only about to get so very much worse.

  ___

  He now was, without a doubt, the angriest he had ever been in his entire life.

  Coming back to the village, Sir Godwin was surprised to find the front gate completely unmanned. The implications of finding the gate in such a state created a dense ball in his stomach that would not dissipate until he learned the reason for the checkpoint’s abandonment. He had made his way to the square, and upon arriving at the scene of carnage had come across Lucia and the paltry handful of men under her command interviewing witnesses of the previous night’s slaughter. Two of those being questioned were Vlad Albescu and his apprentice, both looking to be in noticeably worse condition than they had been when he had last seen them. Together the two of them recounted their version of the night’s events. Learning of Gaston Dupont’s involvement in the ordeal made his rage boil over. When he discovered that Dupont was bedridden in his room at The Dusty Pumpkin, Godwin had made his way to the tavern at once, despite Lucia’s suggestion that he try to calm himself before he did so. Evidently he had made his approach known, because as he arrived, followed by Lucia, the Plague doctor, and the Plague doctor’s apprentice, Amabel stepped out of the tavern, blocking the entrance.

  “Step aside!” Godwin demanded. “I shall have that wretched man slapped in irons and made to answer for his crimes at once!”

  Amabel crossed her arms in front of her chest. She was not intimidated by his angry blustering. “You will do no such thing until the man has recovered enough to be moved. And even then, I ask that you show him mercy. He lost damn near everything last night—and beyond that, he is shackled with the heavy guilt of the suffering that he has caused. I would say that he has already suffered more anguish than one should in an entire lifetime.”

  “And yet he still has so much more suffering left to do.”

  “I was under the impression that you had authorized Mr. Dupont’s foolish escapade, Sir Godwin,” Vlad said.

  Godwin shook his head. “I did no such thing. If I ever entertained the thought for even a moment, I can assure you that I came immediately back to my senses. I admit that I was beginning to grow desperate following Sir Randolph’s death, but I would never have been so foolish as to put the safety of our village into the hands of that conman—nor of any conman, for that matter.”

  Vlad looked askance at Amabel. “You made it seem as though Sir Godwin was supportive of Mr. Dupont’s plan, Miss Cook.”

  “It’s Ama—” she started, then paused. “Mr. Dupont made it seem as though Sir Godwin was supportive of it. Obviously that was just a deception on his part.”

  “That aside,” the Plague doctor said, “I believe we have more woes than we originally thought concerning this werewolf of ours.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Godwin asked.

  Vlad looked at his apprentice. “Please explain to the captain what you saw, Night Owl.”

  The fact that anything had been omitted from their recollection of events was news to Godwin. He listened carefully as the girl spoke. “Mr. Piers was perched atop the church overlooking the square during the attack,” she explained. “He was prepared to ambush the werewolf from above, but he suddenly fell from the rooftop, which is when the beast attacked him.”

  “And,” Vlad added, “we do not believe that the archer’s fall was merely the result of a clumsy misstep on his part.”

  “You believe he was pushed?” Godwin said.

  “Worse than that,” Lucia explained, “his wounds suggest that he was stabbed in the back multiple times before he fell.”

  Godwin glowered at his subordinate. “And when were you planning on telling me about this?”

  Lucia did not change her tone. She looked him in the eye as she spoke. “You stormed off to arrest Mr. Dupont before I was able to, Sir.” Godwin, embarrassed, muttered a half-hearted apology, and she went on. “Whoever attacked the archer was clearly doing so in order to defend the werewolf, which means that somebody must be helping it. The beast is not acting alone.”

  “Now hold on for just a moment,” Godwin said sharply. “I greatly dislike your sudden and flippant use of the term ‘werewolf’. The Plague doctor and that fool Dupont can throw the word around to their hearts’ content, but I will not have somebody in your position perpetuating this preposterous belief of a fairy tale come to life. The fact of the matter, Lucia, is that neither you nor I were present for this attack last night. We do not know what sort of beast is responsible for these deaths, and we will not assume it to be a fantastical being based merely on the word of multiple charlatans. Am I understood?”

  Lucia looked ready to protest. Instead, she nodded once. “Understood, Captain.”

  “Now I believe that you are the one who needs to hold on for a moment, Sir Godwin,” Vlad said. “If you distrust my word, and even the word of my apprentice, then I can hardly begrudge you that. I was not present for the attack either, after all. But you’ve multiple witnesses who have described the beast encountered last night as being a werewolf. Does not their combined word satisfy you?”

  Godwin shook his head. “It does not. As far as I am concerned, our witnesses’ recollections of last night have been corrupted by the song and dance that Dupont and his departed gang performed for them. They wished to see a werewolf, and so that is precisely what they did. Until I have seen this supposed beast with my own eyes, I refuse to acknowledge it as a creature of fantasy come to life.”

  “Which brings me to a question that has been burning in my own mind,” Vlad said. “Where exactly were the two of you last night? In fact, where were any of the village guards? I find it rather unfortunate that none of you were present for that terrible slaughter.”

  Godwin narrowed his eyes at the Plague doctor. “What are you insinuating, Vlad Albescu?”

  “Nothing at all, Captain,” Vlad said, “and I apologize if you misunderstood me to have any ulterior meaning to my words.”

  “Good,” Godwin said, “because you understand that I could have you locked away for the rest of your miserable life for tossing about baseless accusations, do you not?”

  This time it was the Plague doctor who nodded. “That I do, Sir Godwin. But to do so would certainly not inspire confidence in your defense against any accusations you seem to believe are being tossed your way, now would it?”

  Godwin glared at him, but remained silent for several seconds. “Fine. If it will temporarily sate that damnable curiosity of yours, then I suppose it cannot hurt to answer your question. I was outside of Fenwick last night. Accompanying me was a majority of the village guard. Lucia, feeling ill, stayed in the village and retired to bed early, but she remained available to a small contingent of men left behind to guard the front gate, should an emergency have arisen. Evidently, neither Lucia nor the men at the gate were alerted to the greatest emergency that our village has ever known until after the danger had already passed.”

  “The werewolf made quite the commotion,” Vlad’s apprentice said. “I’m surprised your men did not hear its rampage.”

  “Howling winter winds can do wonders to obscure sounds, girl,” Godwin said. He was not entirely fond of her tone, and he feared that her mentor’s brazen posturing had rubbed off on her.

  “I’ll give you that,” Amabel said. “I didn’t hear anything either, nor was I aware of what happened until Mr. Dupont was brought half-dead to the Pumpkin.”

  “Taking a step back,” Vlad said, “I would like to inquire as to why you and your men left the village last night.”

  “We received an anonymous letter yesterday stating that our killer could be found in the wetlands behind the village after dark,” Godwin explained. “We spent the night scouring the entire swamp, but we came up with nothing. Evidently, the contents of the letter were a lie, created to mislead us and obfuscate justice.”

  Amabel raised an eyebrow at this. “You left the village almost entirely undefended in order to pursue a lead given to you by a single anonymous letter?”

  Godwin nodded. The action felt heavy, lethargic, shameful. “We did. I did. I take full responsibility for allowing myself to be fooled by such a fabrication.” He sighed. A layer of his internal wall suddenly crumbled away, and he found himself speaking before he could even realize what he was saying. “You must understand that we are growing very desperate to see this spree come to an end. The entire village is growing desperate. They can only endure so many more nights of cowering in abject fear, everybody wondering if it is finally going to be their night to have their blood and entrails smeared across the snow. So when we—when I—saw an opportunity to put an end to this slaughter, I took it. Well, because of my decision, my men and I were out in that damnable swamp chasing ghosts while people we are sworn to protect were slaughtered. It is frankly almost more shame than I can bear, and I would fall upon my sword this very day were there not still work to be done.”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Vlad frowned. He allowed a few moments to pass before speaking again. “Try not to let it burden you too greatly, Captain. You cannot blame yourself. You did what you thought was best in a wretched situation. I cannot say that I would have done any differently.”

  Godwin suddenly felt that earlier crumbled layer reconstructing itself at the man’s words. “And I cannot say that I require pity or comfort from a rogue of your ilk, Plague doctor.”

  “Certainly not,” Vlad said. If Godwin’s biting words affected him, he did not show it. “If it is not too much to ask, could you please allow me to peruse this letter that you speak of?”

  “It is, Godwin said, “and I will not. Do not forget that I have already forbidden you from inserting yourself into this investigation any further than you already have. Your involvement last night very well may have prevented further tragedy, and for that reason I will not lock you in chains for your transgressions, but do not interfere again if you value your freedom.” He turned and began to walk away. “Come, Lucia. We have very much to do.”

  She nodded. “Yes, Captain.”

  Godwin stormed off without waiting to ensure that his subordinate was keeping up with him. The anger he felt rising in his chest and which rattled through his bones and escaped through every orifice of his body did not afford him the luxury of a slow, brisk walk.

  It also did not afford him the luxury of acknowledging for whom the anger truly burned.

  ___

  Godwin and Lucia were gone for close to a minute before Amabel spoke. “I must say that I trust that man less and less with each passing day. He and that woman Lucia are both very suspicious, if you want my opinion.”

  “I would like to think that Sir Godwin does not have anything to hide,” Vlad said. “If he was truly where he says he was last night, then he will have ample witnesses to attest to that.”

  “And what of that Lucia?” Amabel said. “Her falling ill last night is rather convenient, is it not?”

  “She is a different matter,” Vlad admitted, “but one that I cannot comfortably speak on yet.” He paused. “In any event, Night Owl and I had better be on our way before we begin conjuring any dangerous theories of little merit.”

  “You could stay here tonight if you’d like,” Amabel said. “The.. dispatchment of Mr. Dupont’s companions has left us with some open rooms, and the Mother knows I could use the business.” It was her turn to pause. “As well as some familiar faces who know their way around a weapon.”

  Vlad smiled, shaking his head. “That is a much appreciated offer, but an unnecessary one. Avice has been amply hospitable to us, and we have already grown quite fond of our accommodations. As for your safety, I would think you would be just fine as long as you stay indoors. The beast does not seem interested in entering any residences when it hunts. And if worse comes to worst, you always have that new stiletto of yours to defend yourself with.” Vlad looked at Amabel’s hip and saw the empty sheath that rested there. He frowned. “Although the dagger appears to be absent presently.”

  Amabel looked at her own hip, surprised. “I must have left it inside. I’ve been taking it out of its sheath and holding onto it more often than leaving it at my side, and so I tend to misplace it now and again. Not a safe practice, I know, for all the good it will do me if I leave it somewhere when I actually need it.”

  “Well, here is hoping that it never comes to that.” Vlad looked at Sybil. “Come, Night Owl. Let us be off. Avice is going to want to hear of our misadventures from such a long and arduous night.”

  “I suppose I shall go inside and tend to Mr. Dupont,” Amabel said. “You two had best stay safe. I’d hate to find out that the wretched thing took one of you next.”

  “Indeed we will, Miss Cook.” Vlad ignored the mild annoyance that twitched across her face. “You do the same.”

  They watched as Amabel went back inside of her tavern, then the two of them began their walk through the early morning streets. Newborn daylight trickled onto the snow-covered cobblestone that lay before them; normally the village would have been alive with activity even at such a fresh hour, but recent events had clearly continued to encourage its citizens to remain indoors until the sun was fully awake and present in the sky. The mere suggestion of nighttime was enough to terrify them all into hiding, even if the moon—and with it, the Lycanthrope—had already vanished from the awakening world.

  Vlad was suddenly overtaken by a brief, powerful shiver that he could not control. Sybil looked at him and frowned. “Are you alright, Mr. Albescu?”

  The Plague doctor smiled and nodded. “Indeed I am, Night Owl. You need not worry for my sake. I have simply not been able to fully shake this chill since falling into the river last night, is all.” Following the attack, Vlad had spent a few hours in front of a brazier in the shop of a kind elderly gentleman who had offered him use of the space so that he could recover from his fall in the river. He had only stepped back outside shortly before Sir Godwin had arrived in the square, and by then his clothes had become mostly dry—but not quite entirely free of the moisture that had set him to shivering.

  “I am certain that I will be back to my normal self just as soon as I've had a bit of time in front of Avice’s forge,” he said.

  She frowned. “I dislike you being out in the cold after what you’ve endured. Perhaps we should have stayed at the tavern so that we could have gotten you back in front of a fire more quickly.”

  “I do not think it would be very wise for us to stay at the tavern, Night Owl,” Vlad said. “At least, not if we value our lives.”

  Sybil looked confused. “What do you mean? Why would we be in any danger? You said yourself that the lycanthrope has shown no interest in entering buildings.”

  “This is true,” Vlad said, “but it is not the lycanthrope that worries me.” He reached behind his back and pulled a dagger from his belt, which he presented to his apprentice as they walked. Its long, slender blade was caked in dried blood. “I found this stiletto stuck in the archer Piers’ back shortly after he perished. I believe we can assume that this is the same weapon used to ambush him last night.”

  She took the dagger by its hilt and examined it. “It looks familiar.”

  “Indeed it does.” Sybil handed the weapon back to her mentor as he spoke. “That is because it is almost certainly a dagger crafted by Avice herself.”

  Realization flooded Sybil’s countenance. “And you believe it to be the one that Madam Avice sold to Amabel.”

  Vlad nodded. “I believe this to certainly be a possibility, yes.”

  “Well, I suppose it could be,” she said, “but then, how many daggers of this kind has Madam Avice sold in this village over the years?”

  “A valid question,” Vlad said, “and the answer is almost certainly ‘too many to count’. But what I find worth noting is that we saw Amabel leave Avice’s forge with her new dagger yesterday, and then this morning it was suddenly absent—while the dagger in our possession is currently missing its owner.”

  “She said she likely just placed it down somewhere. Her not having it when we saw her does not mean that the one you hold in your hand is the same blade that she purchased from Madam Avice.”

  “You are correct,” he admitted. “We certainly do not want to hasten ourselves to any conclusions. That said, this is something that is worth further scrutiny. And while I doubt that Miss Cook, if she is involved with the lycanthrope, would cast suspicion upon herself by murdering us under her own roof, it is still in our best interest to show an abundance of caution. As such, we’d better avoid placing ourselves at her mercy while we continue our investigation into this matter.”

  Vlad studied the blood-encrusted blade for several moments, turning it over in his hand, before he spoke again. “After all, the two of us are now very much involved in this lycanthrope affair, despite what Sir Godwin may have to say about that. And that means we are going to have to be exceptionally cautious going forward. There is no telling when you or I may find ourselves on the receiving end of a similar knife in the back.”

  ___

  Avice looked over the blade briefly before making her determination. She nodded curtly. “It is most definitely one of mine. I would recognize my own craftsmanship anywhere.”

  Vlad and Sybil stood in the forge with Avice and Finnian. The blacksmith and her apprentice both glistened with the heat of the morning’s work. She needed Finnian’s help in order to efficiently craft the items that Vlad and Sybil had requested; Vlad felt a bit guilty for running them both so ragged, but he knew it was good experience for the young man, and the Plague doctor was prepared to pay Avice handsomely for her efforts, if she was willing to accept payment at all. She had done so in the past, but not on every occasion, and always after arduous efforts of persuasion.

  “As I thought,” the Plague doctor said. “Are you possibly able to identify the purchaser of this particular weapon?”

  This time Avice shook her head. “I am afraid not, Ibis. I cannot tell you how many daggers I have crafted and sold in my time. Most of this village has purchased a weapon or two from me on some occasion or another, and at least half of all of those are daggers of various builds.”

  Vlad crossed his arms. “Then we are at a standstill.”

  “Perhaps when it comes to discovering the owner of this dagger,” the blacksmith said, “but we at least have discovered that the werewolf does not act alone. The knowledge of its accomplice, however limited that knowledge may be, is a rather large boon to us.”

  Vlad could not help but notice her choice of words. “You speak as if you involve yourself in this investigation.”

  “I involve myself as much as I am able to,” she said. “I shall not battle the lycanthrope, but I will provide what assistance I can in this matter, even if that assistance is merely counsel.”

  “Any assistance at all is greatly appreciated, my friend,” he said. “Now, it is very likely that the individual who defended the lycanthrope is the same individual who penned the letter that sent Sir Godwin and his men on their wild goose chase. This person knew that Mr. Dupont was planning to battle the lycanthrope last night, and so wanted the village guard distracted when the fateful encounter finally arrived.” He paused. “If I could only obtain that letter, I could cross reference its handwriting against, say, Miss Cook’s ledger at The Dusty Pumpkin.”

  Avice carefully placed the bloody stiletto on a stone shelf near the furnace, which burned crimson with its morning efforts. “I think you waste your suspicions on that young woman, Ibis. I have known Amabel Cook quite intimately since she was a child—in fact, I even helped tutor her for a spell when she had machinations about going to university—and I highly doubt that she would ever involve herself with a lycanthrope for any reason.”

  “People can change, Avice,” Vlad said. “Children grow up—some of them into creatures that would have justified an early grave, had the Mother been so generous. I am not saying that Miss Cook is one of these children—for it is possible that if she does aid the lycanthrope, it could very well be for less-than-malicious reasons—but if there is anything that I have learned in all of my years as a Plague doctor, it is that we cannot trust outward appearances. The most wicked of monsters tend to disguise themselves with masks of mortal flesh.” He shook his head. “In any event, I cannot yet confirm or deny Miss Cook’s guilt in this affair without access to both that letter and a sample of her handwriting, so for now the point appears to be moot.”

  “What will you do, then?”

  “For now, we shall wait,” he said. “We shall consider all paths open to us. And most importantly, we shall rest.” He glanced at Sybil, who looked nearly as ragged as she had appeared the previous night. He felt almost as ghastly as he had then as well, despite the warmth of the forge largely ridding him of his persistent chill. “Night Owl and I both endured hardships last night that have certainly left us worse for wear. It will do us no good to run our bodies into the ground; we will need to be at our best should we have to come face-to-face with the lycanthrope in its beast form again. The Celestial Curtain has yet to reach its zenith; next time we face the wolf, assuming that we do at all, it will be even stronger than it was last night.”

  “So you will not pursue the beast today?” Avice said. “What if it strikes again tonight?”

  “The werewolf’s actions shall dictate our own,” Vlad said. “To act with too much haste can only harm us, in more ways than one. We must also keep in mind that Sir Godwin is running thin on patience with us. We certainly cannot hope to stop the beast while trapped on the unfortunate side of one of the captain’s cells.” He smiled. “With any luck, we may not hear anything of the werewolf for a number of days. The creature may not have been slain last night, but it certainly took damage that it had not anticipated, including a few blows from weapons made of silver. Goddess willing, the werewolf may need some time of its own to recover—and during that time, the people of Fenwick might just remember what it means to not live their lives in fear of the thing that escapes from their nightmares with the rising of each new moon.”