Chapter Fourteen: Old Scotland Yard
There are a great many bad ways to wake up.
In a pool of sharks, for example. At the top of Mount Everest. In a cave with a bear. The list goes on and on.
So, one would not think that waking tied to a chair in the basement of Old Scotland Yard would make that list.
Wesley would make the argument that it should.
For one, he was stark naked. And it was cold. Almost freezing by his estimation. His hands were not tied, not his legs, at least not by anything visible. Still, he couldn't move. It was like a heavy, invisible blanket was pressed to every part of his body. He had to fight to breathe.
Second, the silver table to his right had a number of torture-esque looking tools on it. Sharp knives, long rods, hooks, and saws.
Now, why would a bunch of wizards need such things?
When it came to torture, any pain spells or magical torture techniques could only take you so far. They worked on the mind as much as they did on the body but left no physical markings. So, magicians would often resort to more…crude ways of making their subjects talk. The threat of losing a finger or an ear, getting an eyes scooped out, had a different kind of terror.
Wesley let out a breath, looking around. The room was stark, empty save for him and the table.
And…the few droplets of blood on the floor. There could’ve been more but he couldn’t move his head any farther.
He couldn’t feel any pain, but it was damn near freezing. What had they done to him?
There came a small, almost imperceptible breath of wind from behind him. Wesley, against his better instincts, went still. Rigid as stone.
“Hello, Wesley,” came a woman’s voice from behind him.
It was vaguely familiar but he couldn’t place it.
“It's a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” he said.
“Not at all, for a turncoat like yourself,” she said. “Working for the man who calls himself the Nocturne. It's perfectly practical that I would not put myself within your sight where he might gleam some intelligence.”
Wesley bit his lip. This woman knew of his connection to the Nocturne. Which of course was why he was currently naked. “It’s rude to hide while you can see everything about me.”
That drew a small, pitiful chuckle.
“How is it you know so much about me?” he asked.
“I’m a truthseeker, Wesley,” she said matter of factly. “I know just about everything about you.”
It was his turn to chuckle, though a chill went through him too. “I doubt that.”
That brought a stiff silence, though it was mostly bravado. Truthseekers were a kind of…different breed of magician. A wizard born with imbued power. Oftentimes they had some magical creature in their family tree. Something to put magic in their blood. To give credence to their gift.
“I know that you have been working for the Nocturne. Though I needn’t be a truthseeker to find that out. I could have just asked your friends. And the score of others who have seen you pursuing his endeavors.”
Wesley let out a little breath when she said that. He had been worried what had been made of them. He knew they were capable, but so many things could go wrong when battle is on.
He just hoped now that Oliver could talk his way out of it. And that Maronie wouldn’t get in too much trouble. She could easily just lie. But if this truthseeker had seen his memories…
“Oh, yes, Wesley, we got them too. They are…alive. Some pain in the detective, Maronie. Haven’t spoken to her yet, she is unconscious. Your friend, however, isn’t. But he is…” she seemed to search for the right word. “Clever.”
Wesley blinked, frowning.
“His memories are elusive.” There was frustration in her voice. “But he will break, eventually. You, on the other hand, have less time. The captains want your head. So do most of the detectives. However, you have garnered a certain amount of protection from the Minister. He seems to think that you saved his life.” Her voice was suddenly much closer. As if she was standing mere millimeters from his ear. “That you should be given…an opportunity to explain yourself.”
“A stay of execution?” he asked.
“Something of the sort.”
“Could I negotiate for nicer digs? It's a tad cold in here.”
Cold fingers dug suddenly into his neck. “This is no joke, Mr. Barstow. You are in trouble. The world is in chaos. Hundreds dead. Not to mention your friend killed five detectives in that tower.”
Wesley sucked in a breath, wincing from the sharpness of her nails.
Five dead? Wesley thought. A compunction of guilt hit him like a physical blow and he hung his head for a second.
“Ah, good to know you have a heart beating in there after all,” the truthseeker said.
That sent a bolt of rage through him. “This is a salt, silver, and iron lined room. You don’t need to hide yourself from me. The Nocturne can’t see you. Show yourself.”
Silence reigned for several moments, filling the hollow room like a cloud. “What do you think your father would think of you sullying the family name?”
A flash of hot anger bubbled in his but he quickly culled it. Not quickly enough, he knew she would know immediately that she’d struck a nerve. “Why don’t you ask him?” he asked calmly.
He could all but hear the smile on her lips when she said, “I think I can guess how he’d respond. His only son turned traitor.”
This was a playful little tone to her voice that grated against his better nature. “Yes, well, he had his chance.”
Wesley chose not to expound on that.
“Are you going to show yourself or continue this childish game of hide and seek?” he asked.
He heard a short, terse expelling of breath which might have been a laugh.
Then there were several seconds where nothing happened. No sound, no movement before steady footsteps and a woman, tall and slender came into view. She had short, dark hair. A little silver streak ran down behind her ear. Her eyes were bright, almost as silver as the streak. But they were penetrating too, and he felt them like a physical touch.
She wore a dark suit, fitted to perfection, showing the thin curves of her body. A thin silver watch was on her left wrist, a gold chain around her neck, and small, copper looking earrings. Wesley could all but feel the latent magical energy pulsing off her.
The jewelry most likely helped suppress her abilities. Some truthseekers were so powerful their own magick could overwhelm them.
“Well said,” the woman said.
Wesley nodded. “Is Maronie getting seen to by the healers?”
“She is.”
He nodded, bowing his head. “Then tell me what you want.”
“The same thing you want,” she said. “The Nocturne.”
There was something in her voice. An edge that seemed out of place. “If you think I had a way of getting to him, don’t you think I would have tried? He’s too powerful.”
She smirked. “Yes, Wesley. It may take more than you. This revenge of yours might require more than just you.”
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Mora.”
“Ah,” Wesley said. “I’ve heard of you. I thought you retired.”
She gave him a small smile.
“I had.”
This woman had been one of the youngest, most decorated truthseekers on the force. Caught most of the dark wizards of the last secret war. She was in her teens then. Now she looked about mid thirties.
“Back for what? Glory?” He narrowed his eyes. “Or revenge?”
She pursed her lips. “One of the detectives he killed was my nephew.”
That made Wesley wince. Made him think too, how lucky he was to not have been tortured. Yet.
“You want him. I want him. Let's work together,” he offered.
She looked like she wanted to laugh. “I know you too, Wesley. Not just your file. I remember when your mother was killed. I remember when you made detective. You’re good. But you’re compromised.”
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Wesley nodded slowly, thinking. Then he looked up at her, meeting those silvery eyes. “Trust me when I tell you there is no one who wants this bastard more than I do.”
He felt the grips of her power fumbling through his mind, tasting his emotions and flicking through memories. He poured all the truth he could muster into the feelings and pictures. She frowned a moment before withdrawing.
“This doesn’t change the fact that you are tainted. That branded rib of yours. The…” she scrunched her nose, “...basilisk.”
“Then take the rib,” he said. “Break the binding.”
She shrugged, considering it. “And he doesn’t have any other binding magic on you?”
Wesley paused, knowing she would know if he lied. “There is something he’s mentioned. But I don’t know what it is.”
Mora drew out her wand and conjured a wooden chair with a lazy flourish. She sat, crossed her legs, and placed her wand on her lap. “Tell me everything.”
Wesley’s brow furrowed. “Haven’t you seen it?”
“You have a number of mixed, magical qualities that make your mind messy. I don’t trust messy,” she told him. “Talk.”
Wesley sighed and began to speak, blinking away his rising anxiety, the cold that was compressing his naked body, and the fear that this was all for naught.
Mora didn’t speak and her expression never changed. She took in the story like a seasoned interrogator. Surprised by nothing. Even her blinking was like a metronome. The odd thing was that he felt no intrusion on his mind.
Only the silent contemplation of her eyes.
When he finished, she didn’t speak for about ten minutes.
He waited, patient and impatient.
Finally, she drew a pen from her pocket and leaned across to put it in one of his slightly shaking hands.
“You say you have this ability. Prove it.”
He blinked. “Why?”
“Because I need to know. This might be the key to why the Nocturne is using you. Somehow he knew about the latent ability. Nothing in your ancestry suggests magick in the blood. So, how does he know? Why did he choose your mother? How long has he been planning this?” She seemed to be lost in these questions. “So, you want to work with me. Prove your worth. Put magic into that pen.”
Wesley’s mouth fell open. “What?”
“Put magic in that pen. Give it an ability.”
“I told you I don’t know how to do that. I don’t control it.”
“But you did once,” she countered.
“On accident.”
Mora sighed, as if frustrated. “You lied to me, Wesley.”
“I did no–”
She flicked her wand and a knife appeared in the air between them. It was Jack the Ripper’s curved little wicked blade. Immediately he felt the unseen pull and his hands twitched in their magical bindings.
“Nothing you told me explained this knife. It has been trying to reach you ever since you arrived here.”
He was at a loss for words. Wesley had meant to tell her. He really had. But the knife…
Even as it floated there, it pressed against the magical encasing, pushing toward him.
She flicked her wand again and it disappeared. The strings were gone and he relaxed.
Mora leaned forward. “You are such a mess, Wesley. A liability. I’d have to be a fool to work with you.” She leaned back, splaying her hands out. “Unless you are too useful to me.” She nodded to the pen. “Prove it to me.”
Wesley’s mouth worked uselessly.
Then she was pointing her wand at him. A small little blue light moved slowly toward him.
“When that reaches you, it’ll begin to freeze your body. It will be slow, but you’ll die.”
Wesley’s heart pounded furiously. He could already feel the chill of the sphere and her cool, nonchalant expression told him she would let this thing take him.
“You can’t kill me,” he said, his voice getting shaky.
They both knew she damn well could. The repercussions would be minimal after what he did.
“You can save yourself,” she told him, leaning back.
His own fear almost froze him. Not the fear of death itself. Only the fear of leaving this task unfinished. The Nocturne was still alive. That would gnaw at him even after he was dead.
Those were the kind of things that made people into ghosts.
Wesley gripped the pen tight and with all the willpower his cold, aching body could muster.
Nothing happened.
It felt like one of those fruitless endeavors. Wishing on a star or throwing salt over your shoulder.
“Come on,” he said, gritting his teeth. “Come on.”
The cold floating orb was millimeters from him.
He was grunting with invisible effort.
The pen felt like it was about to snap.
“Come on!”
The orb suddenly exploded like a snowball and he was spitting it out, blinking through it. Then he cried out as a sudden pain blossomed from his hand.
He dropped the pen.
“Ouch,” he said, shaking his hand.
There came a sizzle from the floor and again he watched something he’d somehow imbued burn through the ground. This time it was solid stone.
The skin on his hand was red and bulbous.
“Simply fascinating,” came a new, male voice from right behind him.
An ancient looking man came into sight, hands clasped in front of him, long, deep purple robes dragging along the floor. His hair was long and gray, spilling out from under the tall pointy at he wore. His spectacles were old fashioned and his nose crooked.
Wesley sighed, knowing exactly who this bumbling old fool was.
Humphrey Bogart, Chief Wizard of the Magical Gamut.
“Is there anyone else hiding in here?” he asked.
But he was being ignored.
Mora had risen and was staring at the old man, waiting.
Meanwhile the white haired old frog was studying Wesley like he was some kind of science experiment.
“I’ve heard of things like this before,” he continued. “But I’ve never seen it myself.”
Mora did not look happy. Her arms became crossed and a frown had found her face. “So you have no insight?”
Bogart looked offended. “My dear, I am one of the foremost experts in this field. Well, after this, I’ll be top.”
Wesley rolled his eyes. The world was burning down and this was all this goof could think about. He knew what was coming next.
“Do you mind if I take him?” he asked, his bright blue eyes wide with practiced naivete.
Mora rolled her eyes. “Absolutely not.”
Wesley was surprised by her staunch response. “Back to your hole, old man.”
The ancient wizard blinked, turning slowly to look at him. Wesley swore he could hear the man’s bones creak.
“Did you even notice it was me?” he asked. “Or were you too busy with the ‘progress of at all costs’ logic?”
Mora turned to look down at him and he felt suddenly bashful with his nakedness. Her look wasn’t angry anymore. More annoyed. He felt the presence in his mind.
“You know him,” she said a second later.
“Is it that obvious?” Wesley asked.
Bogart clapped his hands. “And you haven’t progressed in your abilities. I’m astounded, my boy. Simply in awe.”
Wesley sneered. “Eat a bag of di–”
“I don’t think I need your help anymore,” Mora told the Chief Wizard. “I will take him from here.”
Bogart shrugged. “You know where to find me.”
“Thank you, Maestro.”
He left through the heavy metal door. When the echo had finally died, Mora sat back down in her chair, crossed her legs, and studied him.
“Is there anyone else back there I should be worried about?” he asked.
She said nothing.
“Speaking of that,” he continued. “Any chance I could get some clothes?”
A whirl of her wand lay a robe on him from the nothingness beyond.
“Much better,” he said. “Thank you.”
“What happened between you and the maestro?” she asked.
He blew out a breath. “Well, that is a long story.”
“We’ve got time.”
She was acting patient but he knew there wasn’t time. Not with what they were dealing with.
“In a nutshell, he was my teacher at the academy. We disagreed and he failed me. Almost ended in a duel.”
Her eyes were curious, telling him to continue.
“He’s a scientist by heart. But his methods are…” Wesley tilted his head back and forth. “Barbaric. He is of the mind to think the ends justify the means.” He shrugged. “I’m not.”
“A philosophical debate?” she said skeptically. “That's what this is?”
Wesley sighed, nodding. “Yes, well, he’s an academic. And I’m stubborn.”
Minutes passed and Wesely could tell she was thinking.
“You want the Nocturne?” she asked.
He nodded.
Her wand hand flicked and the invisible restraints were gone. Wesley stretched his body, pulling the robe more comfortably around him.
“This means…” he started.
“You are coming with me,” she told him, rising. “If you’d like.”
“What’s the plan?”
“We’re going after the Nocturne,” she said simply. “Obviously.”
Wesley nodded, smiling. “Finally.”
Then she moved her wand again and a pair of heavy, dark shackles appeared wrapped around his wrists. He could feel the steady, debilitating flow of his magic going into him.
“Not fair.”
“I still can’t trust you,” Mora said.
Wesley pursed his lips. “Can I at least get some better clothes?”
She looked over her shoulder, headed for the door. Her eyes flicked up and down him. “I’ll consider it.” Her eyes glanced down at his chest. “Now, what to do about that rib?”
He knew what was coming. It had been a certainty since she’d brought it up. Well, unless she’d chosen to execute him. “Take it,” he told her.
Mora shrugged, swished her wand, summoning a glass of some dark liquid from nowhere. “Whiskey,” she told him and pushed it to his lips. “For the pain.”
He choked it down. “Ah, the cheap stuff.”
“Best I could do. Most of us lock our best stuff in warded cabinets.”
She’d barely taken the glass from his lips when her cold fingers pressed into his chest. They burned for a moment and he didn’t want to look down. But his morbid curiosity forced him to. He almost gagged seeing her fingers inside his chest. They fumbled about his ribcage before closing.
The pain was so distant and cold and stinging…
Wesley really, really didn’t want to howl like a girl but when her fingers ripped it out, but he couldn’t help it. The sound echoed horribly in the big room and he was glad they were alone. He couldn’t have taken it if Bogart had heard it.
He didn’t know when he’d closed his eyes but when he opened them, she was holding the little sliver of white bone. It looked slick and small in her long fingers. On the side of it were a number of dark writings.
Mora peered at them. “Some kind of old language. I don’t recognize it.” Suddenly the rib sizzled and she dropped it.
His rib clattered on the stone.
“Come on,” he said. “Be careful with that thing.”
She frowned at him. “It burned me.” Using her wand, she levitated it between them. “I can feel the magic pulsing in this thing.” She tilted her head. “It's not…malicious. Rather…it's searching. For you, I believe.”
“It is my rib,” he offered. “Maybe it missed me.”
Mora muttered something and his rib disappeared with a slight pop. “The lab will handle that.”
That almost guaranteed he’d never see the thing again. He’d have to get used to the feeling of having a gap in his ribcage.
“How about those clothes?”
She rolled her eyes.
Wesley let out a breath, muttering something about a power trip. But still, he smiled wolfishly.
The day hadn’t gone all to hell.
Mora stopped at the door, eyebrows raised, looking at him. “Come on, there’s something I need to show you. I think you’re going to like this.”
She didn’t sound happy about it, which only made Wesley more excited.