The start of our journey through the abandoned factory was less than pleasant and far from reassuring. No lanterns had been left running in the structure, and shadows masked the upper levels. They stretched across the floors and hallways toward us as storm clouds drove the sunlight from the windows. Dust rose at each step, puffing up as we moved deeper into the building, showing that no one had passed there for several months at least.
At first we were only confronted by the empty anteroom. It, too, had been styled in a fashion far more befitting a theater hall than a simple doll factory. A stairway swept up either side of the front hall, leading to an upper balcony that left the floor below enshrouded in darkness. A grand skylight showed the now-stormy sky, though the panes of glass were stained and obscured by wear. Various doorways branched off from the hall, leading further into the building. All of them were closed, as if the final occupants of the structure had decided to shut away the evidence of their financial failure behind as many doors as possible.
The previous owners had obviously thought themselves a cultured group in the beginning, and there had been an effort at some point to turn the front hall into something of a display room. Several life-size marionettes had been arranged in various poses. They lined the stairs on either side and lurked within the shadows of the balconies, and the attire and fine craftsmanship demonstrated very well the high opinion the owners had of their own work. Yet even in those motionless shapes, the eventual ruin of their hopes was apparent. Many of those figures were layered in dust, and others were shrouded in spider’s silk as much as man-made cloth. Their empty wooden eyes and faded smiles of paint spoke more of folly than of art now, and I shivered. I tried to assure myself that it was merely the cool breeze from the still-open doors behind us, but I failed to convince myself of the fact.
Patricia and I stalked forward, quiet now amidst the dust and cobwebs of the shop. Even our harsh breathing seemed too loud in the abandoned hall, and my imagination conjured a thousand hidden murderers waiting for us within. Thus it was with no small sense of alarm when I noted that Patricia had come to a halt. She whispered in the still air, her words no longer so brashly confident as they once were. “Hector, which way should we try first?”
I spared the time for a glare in her direction. “Are you certain this plan is such a good idea, Ms. Anderson?”
She scowled back at me. “If you have any better ones, tell me. Otherwise, which way should we go?”
Her tone promised only future arguments if I pursued the reasonable proposition that we abandon our venture. Already in the midst of the problem and not wishing to prolong our stay through conflict, I reluctantly bent my mind to the task. “The upper floors would likely have been reserved for offices belonging to the managers and clerks. Directly ahead will most likely be another display room; the doors are too elaborate for anything simpler. The actual workrooms will be accessed through the doors on the sides where the workers would least intrude on the rest of the building.” I paused. “If the Dollmaker were to hide a corpse, he would not want to hide them in a simple clerk’s office or a desk. He seems rather more…involved with the process.”
Patricia nodded, her face serious. “So it’s either the display room or the workshops. Right?” I nodded in reply, and she shifted her aim to the doors straight ahead of our path. “Then let’s clear the closest one first. Seems like he’s kind of a showy one, wouldn’t you say?”
I grunted in agreement, and Patricia started forward. No sound came from the rest of the building as we approached the door, and our footsteps seemed loud enough to wake the dead for all our attempted stealth. We drew near the door, weapons ready, and I watched as Patricia gathered herself for the attack. Rearing up, she lashed out with one booted foot and brought her carbine level with the shadowy figures beyond.
Fortunately, they were nothing more than another set of marionettes. They hung in their assorted poses with no apparent care for the webs about their limbs or the slow erosion of time on their features. Patricia examined each of them over the sights of her carbine anyway, as if she expected one of them to rise up and attack her with their wooden fists, but her challenge remained unmet. I myself was more interested in the gloomy recesses of the room, but there I found little more than dust.
After a long, tense moment, Patricia let her breath out with a sigh. “Let’s check the workshop. He could still have stashed them there, right?”
“That certainly might be a possibility. Though when he finds that we have been here, we may scare him off before the constables can set a trap.”
She snorted. “As if I would trust that bunch to do anything for me. No, once we find where he’s stashing them, we’re going to sit and wait for him to show up. Then we take him down ourselves.”
I pictured the two of us lying in wait among a pile of corpses. The possibilities did not intrigue me. “That would be rather dangerous, Ms. Anderson. I’m not sure that would be the best approach.”
“Well, it’s the approach we’re using, so you might as well get used to it. Come on.” Patricia started toward the nearest of the two doors. I had little choice but to follow; after all, I could not in good conscience leave her to face whatever dangers remained in this forgotten place alone. Thunder began to roll outside, obscuring for a few moments our dust-chased footsteps, and as the door to the workshops creaked open, the first raindrops began to spatter down upon the skylight above the forgotten hall.
At the doorway to the workshops, the pretense of high society fell away almost instantly. Stone columns, fine balconies, and furnished floors did not adorn the narrow passage that led back to the place where the workmen would once have labored. Instead, the dust lay thick on bare wooden beams and rough walls. It could have been the inside of an ancient basement or attic which had been perpetually neglected. The only light filtered through small, high windows with bars placed over them, and it did little to illuminate the way ahead.
None of that stopped Patricia in the slightest. She simply donned her hunter’s goggles and continued forward, the device allowing her view to be unobstructed by the darkness ahead. I, on the other hand, was forced to make do with my own unmodified eyesight, complimented only by Patricia’s careful example as we moved forward.
The passage led us along the length of the second display room. A little beyond that point, the passage opened into the main workroom. I had thought that the extra space would provide some measure of relief from the unrelenting gloom, but in this hope I was horribly disappointed. Though more light now made patterns across the workshop, it filtered through the racks of mannequins that hung, still smiling woodenly in their abandonment.
Those dead eyes followed us as we made our quiet way across the floor. Our steps were still hidden by the roll of thunder outside, but there was no sound aside from the storm. All was quiet and still, which somehow made the room more eerie, as if we were strolling through some otherworldly graveyard. The pattering of rain continued to filter down to us, at times punctuated by the creak of one of the abandoned dolls as it swung on its strings.
As we approached the middle of the workshop, I saw the tables where the laborers had once toiled. Tools meant for gouging the wood and shaping the forms of the mannequins around us lay forgotten on the benches. Shavings and half-finished heads, limbs, and torsos lay scattered across the dusty table tops, resembling a macabre dissection table.
Patricia came to halt amidst the tables, her eyes obscured by her goggles. She turned her head one direction and then another, studying the next section of racks beyond those workstations. I waited for her to continue forward, but she slowly shook her head and sighed. “I’m sorry, Hector. I guess that this was just a waste of—”
Her words cut off as a flash of lightning sent sharp shadows across the room of dolls, outlining each hanging figure in brilliant relief. In the wake of the lightning, the lull before the thunder, I blinked the purple after image away from my bedazzled eyes. When the obscuring hues had barely started to fade, I heard a rattle above me and looked up.
A clattering figure descended on us, dark and terrible. Its limbs swept around my head and neck, wrapping my face in a sudden, smothering embrace. I struck in panic, delivering a blow across its torso, and I heard Patricia’s carbine fire amidst the roar of thunder. The attacker was suddenly gone, knocked free of me by the impact of Patricia’s shot, and it splayed lifelessly against the table nearby.
Our valiant acts of self-defense would have been much more impressive had our foe been alive to begin with. My heart beating fast, I found that it was merely another mannequin, its empty eyes almost accusing as it sprawled across the table. A smoking hole marked its torso where Patricia’s shot had drilled through the wood. I glanced back to find Patricia, her carbine aimed squarely at the wooden doll. Her eyes were still hidden behind her goggles, but her breathing seemed to be just as rapid as my own. With an awkward cough, I sought to draw her attention back to me. “Ms. Anderson, it was a very fine shot, but may I ask you to wait until I am a little further from your target next time?”
She looked up, and her carbine abruptly swung back onto her shoulder. A sheepish grin grew across her face, and her cheeks flared red. “Well, maybe if you hadn’t been flailing at the thing…” Her voice faded abruptly, and she looked back at the racks of dolls which we had not yet entered. “Someone’s coming. Quick, get behind something!”
Her whisper spurred me to a surprising level of speed. We both retreated along our previous course, taking shelter together behind a rack of toppled dolls that would hopefully obscure any sight of us. I heard nothing at first, but my trust in Patricia’s hunting senses was rarely disappointed. My faith in her abilities was reaffirmed mere moments later as I caught sight of a figure moving in the dark further into the warehouse.
I motioned to Patricia, and she nodded. Silently, she beckoned for me to come closer. Her whisper seemed harsh and loud, but I knew that it was only the situation. “We’ll need to split up. Come at him from the side while I get to a place where I can put him in my sights.”
The idea of dividing our forces in the face of our enemy brought far too much discomfort to my mind. It was not simply the idea of Patricia somehow coming to grips with the Dollmaker on her own—I would not have enjoyed such a solitary confrontation with the killer either. Yet a sudden idea occurred to me and I reached out for her quickly, catching her by the arm. “Ms. Anderson, wait a moment.” She looked at me in obvious surprise, and I rapidly withdrew my hand to fish for something in my pocket. “Here, I have something that may help.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Patricia merely arched an eyebrow at me before I brought out one of the Oracle stones. Amusement and annoyance colored her whisper. “Hardly the time for gifts, Hector.” She did not refuse it, however, and unless I was mistaken, a slight blush stained her cheeks.
I glanced in the direction of our quarry. “It’s part of a device Daniel made. I should be able to find you if something goes wrong.”
She nodded and then looked up, her expression shadowed. “Would I be able to find you with it, then?”
With a smile I hoped was reassuring, I shrugged. “I don’t believe someone of your ability would need such tricks to locate me, Ms. Anderson.” Her blush deepened slightly, and she gave me a shove meant to encourage me. I nodded to indicate my understanding and crept away from our hiding spot, careful to stay silent.
Our prey gave no indication that he had noticed our movements. As I closed in on him from the side, I could see him watching the spot where the mannequin had fallen. He seemed very intent on the doll, and as a flash of lightning illuminated the room for a moment, I saw a reflection from a blade in his hand. My grip on my pistol tightened, and I glanced at the Delphic. The needle pointing to Patricia’s stone had stopped moving, and I looked in that direction. She was climbing a rack of mannequins, likely to reach a spot where her carbine could track the murderer if he made any attempt to escape. I waited for a heartbeat, then two, hardly daring to breathe. As she finally reached her perch, I stepped out from behind a rack of dolls and trained my pistol on the intruder. I called out to him, though I had no doubt that Patricia would have been satisfied with a simple gunshot. “Put your weapons up. We’ve got you.”
Mr. Eaton stared back at me, surprise obvious on his face for one entirely satisfying moment. Then his expression fell into a lethal, blank rage. His free hand dropped to his pistol, and he brought the knife in his hand around to lie back along his forearm. I noted the heavy knife’s unusual manufacture; the top third of the blade had been back-channeled to aid in its gruesome work. I had no doubt that it could dispatch anyone at close range. I twitched the muzzle of my pistol in warning, and he smiled with little humor. “I only see one of you, Kingsley. Think you can pull the trigger before I reach you?”
I gave him an equally mirthless grin. “I suppose there will only be one way to find out, good sir.” The tension thickened in the air, and I could sense him getting ready to make his move. Whether it would be a lunge with the knife or an attempt to draw his gun and fire, I had no worry that I wouldn’t be able to fire my pistol first. I centered my aim on his chest, wanting to make that first shot count.
Then Patricia’s voice rang out over the falling rain. “Stop!” I froze, as did Mr. Eaton, and I resisted the urge to turn and look in her direction. No matter what she had to say, I knew that turning my back on the American hunter would be a fatal error. I held my fire as she continued. “Hector, don’t shoot. He’s the one who told me about this place.”
Unwilling to take my eyes off my target, I watched the expression on Eaton’s face. If there was any hint of lethal intent remaining, it had been buried behind his neutral features. In a more business-like tone, he called back to Patricia without changing his stance or the direction of his gaze. “Patricia? Is that you? This is not what I had in mind when I told you we should come here.”
I was unable to keep a growl from my voice. “And might I ask what you did have in mind, Mr. Eaton?”
Patricia answered before he could, which, by the smug expression that crossed his face, was fortunate. “Gun and knife down, gentlemen, or I start warning shots. And you both know I don’t do many of those.”
We held each other’s mutual glare a moment longer. Then Eaton straightened up from his crouch, sheathing his knife with a deliberate, almost careless movement. He kept his hand on his revolver, however, and despite his faked nonchalance, he was clearly keeping an eye on me. Still, I could hardly continue to threaten a man Patricia had declared was no danger. I lowered my pistol despite my reluctance, but I did not look away from him before Patricia arrived.
Patricia was breathing hard, as if she’d had to run to reach us before we killed one another, and her carbine swung loosely from her back. She scowled at me, with a gesture at my still-drawn pistol to clarify the source of her displeasure, and then turned to Mr. Eaton. Her expression became far less fierce. “Sorry, Billie. I didn’t expect to find you here. At least, not before tomorrow.”
He looked her up and down, a blunt appraisal that set my teeth on edge, and smiled. “Well now, I’m sure I could think of some way to make it up to me.” Eaton glanced at me. “Coming ahead of time to scout the place, maybe get the drop on the bounty, that I understand. Why bother to bring the dandy?”
To hear myself so labeled nearly convinced me to bring my pistol up again. One glance at Patricia told me that such an action would be unwise. “You would do well to remember who got the drop on you, Mr. Eaton. What can happen once can happen again.”
Eaton raised an eyebrow. “Was that before or after the mannequin scared you to death?”
Patricia broke in before I could respond. “Look, both of you can cork it. We have work to do if we want to get paid for this job, and every second we spend fighting means someone else is getting closer to the quarry.” She looked back and forth, measuring our agreement. Then she sighed. “Hector, Billie, do you hear me?”
Eaton nodded. “Yeah, I hear you.”
I nodded silently. My attention remained on Eaton for a moment longer, and then I turned to Patricia with great reluctance. “Shall we continue our search, Ms. Anderson? Or do you have other—less-populous—hunting grounds in mind?”
Mr. Eaton supplied his opinion of those two options with a grunt, but Patricia smiled. “Well, since we’re all here, we might as well search this place completely. There’s no telling what we might find in here that could lead us to the Dollmaker.”
“Probably not going to happen, Trish.” Eaton shook his head. “I’ve already been looking in the back here. That’s how I got in, actually—there was a door I managed to force open. I didn’t find a thing that would help. It really doesn’t seem like anyone’s been here for ages.”
The news took some of the heart out of Patricia, and despite my own relief that we had not somehow stumbled onto a graveyard amidst the mannequins, I decided to try to encourage her. “Perhaps there will be another building, Ms. Anderson, or a different site where we might set our trap.”
As Patricia began to seem reassured, Eaton broke in with his own brand of bolstering words. “You know, we could go to that one coaching house. The one in the newspaper.”
A speculative look came into Patricia’s eyes, and she cocked her head. “You don’t think it would be too crowded? Every hunter in the borough has to be headed in that direction. The Dollmaker would be crazy to set his foot there.”
Eaton shrugged. “He’s shown himself to be crazy enough already, wouldn’t you say? Besides, he has to turn up there eventually. There’s no other option, and we can’t ask for a better shot.”
I cleared my throat. “Your pardon, Mr. Eaton, but would someone please inform me as to what you are discussing?”
My question seemed to surprise her, but Patricia recovered easily. She scowled at me. “Honestly, Hector, you haven’t been keeping up with this hunt at all, have you?” She hesitated. “There have been some editorials in the local papers. The author’s been calling the Dollmaker a coward and a fool. Worse, he’s claiming that he could personally best the killer, if given the chance. Yesterday, the author let slip an address where he was staying.”
Astounded, I shook my head. “Who would have been foolish enough to write such a thing and then mention their home address? It would make them a sure target for the killer. He’d almost feel compelled to…” I paused. “Bait. It has to be bait for a trap.”
Eaton smiled in his slow, lethal way. “That’s right. I didn’t come up with the idea myself now, but whoever did come up with it is a genius. It’s bound to draw the Dollmaker’s attention.”
“But not necessarily his presence.” I looked from Eaton to Patricia and then back again. “You cannot seriously believe that the Dollmaker would simply walk into a trap such as this one. As crude and violent as he might be, this man has obviously some manner of cunning in his nature. A trap so obvious would be easy for him to avoid.”
Patricia nodded slowly, but Eaton snorted in disdain. “Then at the least, we take a quiet walk by the place. All we can lose is our time. What are you so afraid of, anyway?”
I turned on him with a cold look. “It is not cowardice to take seriously a murderer who has the entire borough trembling in fear, especially when such a clumsy ruse has been set for him. Do neither of you see the possibility for disaster here?” Both bounty hunters looked at me with blank expressions. It took considerable effort not to sigh. “There are worse things the Dollmaker can do if he knows someone is at that location waiting for him. He could instigate a riot among the competing hunters, or strike elsewhere while our attention is diverted. Worse, if he comes to the place anticipating your plans, it might well be us who lay dead at the end of the day!”
Eaton grunted. “A real hunter never gets taken by surprise. I figured even a man like you should’ve known that.” He spat on the floor—though not at my feet. Perhaps my ready pistol made him too wary for such an overt act. “Then again, if you’re so willing to bow out, maybe it’s best if you find somewhere else to be.”
Patricia glanced at him, a smile twitching her lips. “Why say that, Billie? Are you worried he’ll help me find the prey faster than you will?”
He spun on her with a growl. “He’s not coming with us, Trish. This is our deal; he was never a part of it.”
Patricia set one hand on her hip. The other she tapped lightly against the trigger guard of her carbine. “I didn’t think you’d be that upset about a little help, Billie. We could probably use another gun if the Dollmaker shows, anyway.”
Mr. Eaton glared at me for a moment before he turned back to Patricia. “I don’t need any help, and I certainly don’t need it from him. I was figuring to cut you in on this deal as a favor, not because I was asking for a handout. He needs to go.”
Patricia raised one eyebrow. “So I need favors now, do I, Billie?” The other American went still, and they stared at one another for a long moment. Then she gave him a slow, wicked smile. “Maybe you could do another one for me, then.”
Mr. Eaton’s face remained adamant. “You would owe me, Patricia. You’d owe me big.”
I cleared my voice to get their attention. The last thing I wished was for Patricia to indebt herself to this man. “Ms. Anderson, if my presence would be an inconvenience to you, I would gladly—”
“You’re not an inconvenience, Hector.” Her voice remained quite calm, something rare for her nature. She did not take her green eyes from Mr. Eaton’s face, however. “Hector stays, and I owe you one. Sounds fine to me.”
The hesitation was plain in Eaton’s expression. Divided between his obvious dislike of me and his similarly clear desire to have Patricia under an obligation, he rocked back and forth on his heels. Then he glared at me, the bitterness obvious in his eyes. “Fine. You owe me. And he doesn’t get a share.” Before I could respond, he turned back to her, eyes burning. “I need to grab a couple of things, and then we’ll go.”
Again I opened my mouth to excuse myself from the venture, but Patricia forestalled me with a glance. She relaxed slightly. “We’ll see about that. He’ll earn his keep.” Eaton stomped away, and I spoke quietly to Patricia.
“You’re assuming I mean to help either of you with this insane plan, Ms. Anderson.” I shook my head. “I still don’t see how you are planning to catch the Dollmaker if he appears, much less how you are planning on staying alive if he springs a trap on you.” With a sharp motion, I indicated the other American, who was rummaging around in the racks. “And I do not believe for one moment that you can trust that man. He will turn on you or leave you behind if he can.”
Patricia narrowed her eyes as she looked at Eaton. “A good hunter brings a friend to watch out for that sort of thing. Which is why you’re staying with us, Hector.” She turned to me and smiled. “There’s no one I would rather have watching my back than you.”
Her words brought an uncharacteristic heat to my face. It was rather quickly dampened by Eaton’s glare as he returned, but I bowed to hide it nonetheless. “Then it will be my honor to do so, Ms. Anderson.”