Salem's Witches (Neitherlands Book 1), page 24
“I heard you have two friends who have infiltrated the Church of Quackology,” said Morrìgan.
Laura stared at her, not sure whether to be impressed or scared that she knew this.
She also thought the place had been redecorated a little too soon, and the new decoration was far too ominous. She had only entered that warehouse once before, when Annabella led the rebellion. Back then its walls had been mostly barren, except for the odd painting Annabella’s followers had brought over to brighten up the place.
Now just about everywhere was decorated, starting with the impossibly big fur rug she was nonetheless sure was real fur. Of a gigantic animal, apparently, since it covered the whole floor of the warehouse. Rudimentary war weapons hung from the walls and paintings depicting scenes from who knows how many wars accompanied them. Two huge pikes with what looked like war commendations from long-lost tribes stood by the sides of Morrìgan’s chair and, now that we’re onto the chair, it looked like it had been carved in bone if one assumed those spikes could be ribs. And then there was that huge painting of a black bird hanging above the chair…
It wasn’t just the ominousness that concerned Laura. She couldn’t help but wonder just where the woman had been keeping all of that stuff, how she had obtained, and just why the heck anyone would have such things just hanging around, as if waiting for the right moment to decorate a warehouse as a war room. The woman was even illuminating the room with braziers. Braziers.
Laura felt as if she was playing a character in a play. “I… I do have two friends who fit that description,” she eventually said. “Although I wonder how you learned of this.”
Morrìgan grinned. No smile would ever look natural on that woman, at least not considering the colorful locale. “A little bird told me,” she said. “Now, I’m going to need you to bring them over. You see, we’ll need all the help we can get from the inside. I must commend you for having infiltrated the church, and I believe now it’s time for that hard work to pay—”
A yell interrupted Morrìgan. Laura turned see a blue-haired man running toward them yelling something about important news as best he could, which here means his speech was almost unintelligible among all the panting. Clearly the man wasn’t used to physically demanding tasks, like running a few meters.
“I’m sorry— I— Interrupted, your Leadership,” said the man. “I ran into—” The man panted. “Important—” He panted again. “Information—” He panted once more. “You…” He kept at it. “Will want…” You can bet he didn’t stop. “To have—”
Morrìgan nodded, then looked at Laura. “I guess we’re done here, Laura. Please find your way outside. I’ll call you if I need you again. And do ask your friends to report to me.” Then she turned to the man. “Now Betelgeuse, what did you find?”
Laura started on her way back but made no attempt to ignore the conversation. Important information for the resistance was, after all, important information to her.
“I overheard a conversation,” said Betelgeuse. “This was between Antoine LeFlay and another man, one of their overseers.”
Laura stopped in her tracks. Knowing Morrìgan would have her kicked out, or perhaps hanged, if she stood there listening to them, she hid behind a column near the door.
“And what did they say?” said Morrìgan. “Please relay this information quickly, or else—”
“You remember the youth initiative they’ve been attracting people with?” said Betelgeuse. “Turns out they’re just building an army of children. To fight for them.” The man sounded so proud of himself, one could hear the smile in his voice.
Morrìgan stayed silent for a moment. “An army of…that’s interesting,” she said.
Laura found it many things, interesting being the least of them. Horrifying was more suitable a word.
“And they plan on using them against us, should we attack?”
“I believe that’s the plan, yes…”
Morrìgan hummed. “Laura, I think it’s time for you to leave.”
Laura didn’t move. There was no way the woman could have seen her behind the column, yet…she could feel her stare upon her neck, couldn’t she? As if she could somehow see through objects…
“I know you’re there. You’ve overheard enough of our conversation. Please leave. And don’t forget to tell your friends.”
Laura exited the warehouse slowly, just to see if they dared continue their conversation while she was within earshot. They didn’t. To make matters worse, Morrìgan’s guards closed the door just as she left, denying her knowledge of whatever was going on between her and that blue-haired guy.
Not that Laura had time to waste. She had to talk to her friends as soon as possible.
And now that she considered it, she was going to need additional help to prevent a catastrophe. The nun would probably be open to help once she heard of this. After all, wasn’t she supposed to always help the poor and destitute? She had to fetch her immediately. Everything else could wait.
14
Being held captive had never been fun. Annabella would know, for she had been held captive before, in the same dungeon, by the same man. Only that one previous time she had been saved by the bell, and this time she doubted it would be so.
After all, Antoine had exposed at length how he had taken all necessary steps to prevent unwanted meddling from idiot judges[38] or Peter Howard. The way he said it, it seemed to be a foolproof plan, although she had her doubts whether he’d told her about it because of its brilliance or because, as far as she was concerned, it was impossible for evil people to not spill their plans when they thought they were winning.
She hoped it was the latter, because evil people who spilled their plans always ended up losing, or at least so the popular belief went.
The door to the dungeon opened to once more allow in the horrid stench of Antoine LeFlay, followed by his twice-as-horrible visage. It would be easy to believe the comment about LeFlay’s smell to be a jab at him, but the usual smell of drying blood and rotten meat coming from Antoine’s torture instruments did change somewhat when the man was present. This was clearly a man who wasn’t accustomed to taking baths, or if he did it was better not to know what he bathed in.
“The jury is waiting, my princess,” Antoine LeFlay said in his five-times-as-horrible voice. “The other trials have finished, and I must let you know you’ll have two thieves joining you on the stake. Now it’s your turn to go for sentencing… I mean, for a fair trial.” LeFlay’s absurd mixture of gloating and anticipation got her every time, making her feel like rearranging his facial features.
Whatever rearrangement she produced would be an improvement, she was sure.
She moved her head and tried to speak, but no sound came out: she’d been gagged most of her time here. She tried to get the gag off, only to be reminded that she was once again tied to a table and unable to move.
“I’m sorry. I forgot you had your speaking privileges removed after that…nasty tirade when you arrived. Don’t you worry, my dear, you’ll have them reinstated when the moment comes for you to defend yourself.”
More muffled sounds came from Annabella’s mouth. She tried to make it very clear that she was insulting him, and his expression told her she was somehow succeeding.
His expression also told her she probably wouldn’t have survived her own tirade weren’t she scheduled for trial in just a few minutes.
“You can really try my patience, Annabella,” said Antoine. “It’s so easy for you to make enemies, even when I tried to be your friend. I did offer to help you, didn’t I? We could have ruled all of this together.”
Annabella’s muffled response was the kind that can’t be printed, repeated, or even thought of without risking losing all of your friends and family.
Antoine caressed Annabella’s face. She tried to pull away, but as it turns out there’s not much space to do so when you’re tied spread-eagled to a torture table. “But don’t worry, this will all be over soon. And once the trial is done, we’ll have fun. A lot of fun.” Antoine grinned. There was something about evil people and grinning, they just loved it. “After all, there’s no way I’m letting you spend your last days before your execution on the stake alone and bored in a cell, no, no, no. So take note of this: Once the trial is over, we play.
Betelgeuse grabbed the forty-second parchment from the third aisle of section B of the Quackology library, conveniently located under the main building. The amount of paper the church had amassed in such a short time was impressive, and Betelgeuse wondered if perhaps they had that much info because they’d been secretly keeping tabs on every citizen, both members and not.
It was also possible that said mountains of documents were all Peter Howard’s crazy ramblings, but he thought it less likely. One would have to truly commit to writing drivel for life to fill up a tenth of those archives. The entirety of it was unthinkable.
Having grabbed what he’d been sent to retrieve, he thought of perhaps snooping around. If he was right and the church had been keeping tabs on everyone then a glance at the other documents would likely give his career as a private eye a boost. If he managed to run into the right files, he would even be able to quit his day job and spend the rest of his life as a professional blackmailer.[39]
He imagined the situation, all the pomp and luxuries afforded to a guy who knew secrets nobody wanted him to tell. He’d be rich, he’d be famous, he’d be untouchable…all the things women felt attracted to.
And if they didn’t, maybe he could casually run into their files and make them change their minds. After all, there were risks involved with rejecting the advances of such a powerful master of secrets.
A sudden noise from the other end of the section ended Betelgeuse’s daydreaming, sending him back into his reality where he was stealing documents from a church while everyone else was playing eyewitness to the least-fair trial in the history of the city.[40]
Or, judging by the noise, almost everyone.
Betelgeuse hid behind one of the shelves, trying to ascertain where the intruder was coming from so he could come up with a quick escape plan. With some luck, he’d be able to find an alternative route to leave, allowing him to escape without being found. With very little luck he’d run into the intruder and charm them into letting him go with his incredible charisma. With no luck at all he’d run into Antoine LeFlay and would be judged on that same day. But that last possibility he’d rather not consider.
Steps came from his right. Following his instinct, he went to the left aisle and, instead of walking through it, climbed on top of the shelf to better avoid running into anyone—after all, the archives were dark and dusty and visibility was vastly reduced.
He crawled along the top, trying his best to be silent and keep anything from falling while hoping the dust of cloud he was whipping up wouldn’t be noticed. He traversed most of the section without making noise and, once he felt safe, got off the shelf and prepared to make a run for it.
Then he encountered a woman with silver hair and screamed at the surprise.
The woman, better known as Veronika, screamed back.
“Who are you!” she said, keeping him at arm’s length and looking way more dangerous than any woman had any right to be.
“I could ask the same of you! You don’t look like you have any right to be here!”
Veronika took a step back. “Well, I look like more of a Quackologist than you. What is it with that hair and—”
“Are you trying to tell your own superiors how they should dress to fight Xianuu?” Betelgeuse tried to puff up his chest to look more menacing. He failed miserably. “Because there’s a trial going on up there, and I will not hesitate to send any poor, rebellious quackologists up there to—”
“What is going on?” said a third voice from behind the silver-haired woman. “Betelgeuse…is that you?” Sarah appeared behind Veronika, throwing Betelgeuse’s almost-victory to the ground. “What are you doing here?”
Now it was Veronika’s turn to become nasty. “Well, well, well, I guess our ridiculous-haired quackology officer isn’t much of an officer, or is he?”
“He said he was a wizard a while ago,” said Sarah. “Not that I believed him much but…this is quite a coincidence. What’s going on here?”
“Whatever he is, I wonder what LeFlay will say if he learns of this…”
His cover blown, Betelgeuse allowed his terror to show. Not that he had any say in matters, all things considered. Terror is known for settling wherever it pleases. “No, wait! I can explain!”
Sarah stared at him, seemingly puzzled. “I don’t get it why would you be here? And…” She looked at the documents he was holding. “Are those the building plans?”
Veronika took the plans from Betelgeuse. He didn’t even have time to react. “What were you doing with these, sir? I’m sure you weren’t asked to retrieve them, so…”
“I actually was asked to retrieve them. Just not by quackology officers.”
A moment of silence ensued.
“If you’re not working for the quackologists…” said Sarah, “Who are you working for? I’m not going to believe it’s for the college either.”
Betelgeuse didn’t answer instantly. “I… There are several people, and then there are people above those people. I just know I was asked to retrieve this.”
“And we came to retrieve this too,” said Veronika. “So you’re out of luck, and you’ll have to tell your employer—”
“Employers. More than one person has their eyes on those plans.”
“Employers, then—” Veronika paused. “Wait, not only you’re working for many people, but performing the same task for all of them? What is this?”
“It’s what you get when you try to maximize your income as a private eye, all the while trying to make things happen as you want to. It’s quite dangerous, too.”
Perhaps for the first time in his life he wasn’t overstating the amount of danger he was in. While he generally limited himself to do as the client asked, when it came to the Church of Quackology he had tried to play the game in so many ways and for so many teams he no longer knew who was who and often worried he’d be found out and killed.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Veronika, gripping the plans. “We need these, and we’ll be taking them. They’re important for—”
“What do you need with them?” said Sarah.
Veronika looked at her as if she knew what she was thinking and there was no way she’d agree with it. She also held the plans more tightly.
“The rebellion needs them. They want to plan the attack against the church and… Aren’t you two in the rebellion? Why are you after the plans?”
Sarah and Veronika exchanged glances. “We might need the rebellion not to get those plans,” said Sarah. “We need them more.”
“You need them for?” Betelgeuse didn’t understand what was going on, but he had an inkling that he wasn’t the only one in the room playing for more than one team.
“There’s a secret entrance to this base,” said Veronika. “And don’t tell me there isn’t. Every building in the city has one. Assassins’ Guild regulations. We need to know where it is.”
“I’m being paid to make sure nobody finds out where it is.”
“What, Morrìgan asked you to do that?” said Sarah.
“No, it wasn’t her,” said Betelgeuse. “It was my other employer. Morrìgan wants me to give her the plans, probably so she can find out where the secret entrance is. Someone else wants me to steal them just so nobody finds out about the secret entrance, so—”
“How are you going to keep both people happy?” said Sarah. “I can’t see—”
“I just steal them, erase the secret entrance, then give them to Morrìgan. Done. Morrìgan has her plans, and my other employer has his secret safe. Everyone’s happy.” Betelgeuse stopped for a moment. “Well, Morrìgan probably won’t be, but it’s not like she’ll know I messed with the plans. Maybe. Although I might have to change my approach now that you have taken them.”
Veronika and Sarah traded glances again, then walked away from Betelgeuse. He tried to yell at them to come back, but Sarah raised a hand in a clear signal to keep him quiet. They spoke to each other in whispers, probably talking about how handsome that blue-haired man was and how giving him the plans was the right thing to do. Then they returned.
“I think we can fix this,” said Sarah. “Although I’m not sure we should help you, but we certainly don’t want Morrìgan to not get her plans.”
“And now that we’ve discussed it, it might also be better if she doesn’t learn of the secret tunnel,” added Veronika.
“So we’re going take a peek at the plans, find where in the building said tunnel is—”
“And then we give them to you, and you can do with them as you please. Is that good for you?”
The way the women stared at him told him he didn’t really have a choice. They had the plans, there were two of them, and they looked like they’d be great in a fight—particularly the tall one with the silver hair.
“I agree,” said Betelgeuse. He felt coerced but hoped that perhaps one of those two ladies would find his lack of resistance attractive. After all, people were into all sorts of things, and you never knew when you might get lucky. He stepped back, giving the witches space to take a look at the plans.
The witches did so while whispering to each other while they pointed at points of interest. Then folded up the plans and gave them back to him.
An awkward moment of silence ensued.
“Sarah,” he said, thinking perhaps he should explain himself.
“Don’t even try it,” she said. Veronika smiled as she heard that. “We’re leaving now. Have a nice…whatever it is you’re doing. I honestly don’t understand this.”
The witches turned around and left, leaving Betelgeuse alone with the plans and his thoughts. Only his thoughts this time around were mostly confused ones.
Having to sit through Quackology trials had never been Annabella’s idea of fun. They were always boring, long-winded affairs where fixed outcomes were the rule rather than the exception. They also often included long, boring, usually irrelevant speeches from a prosecutor who very much loved the sound of his own voice.
