Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles (25 page)

Fernando raised a questioning brow and flipped the card over. “Corbie Vale?”

He hitched a shoulder and took back the card. “Whoever Corbie Vale is we can count on him to be part of all this.”

“True if indeed they are the culprits.”

“I imagine we shall soon find out.” He walked towards the two men standing guard once all the riff-raff had left.

“What do you think you’re doing?” hissed the Noble.

“I am going to find out if Jeanie is in there and hopefully end this nightmare.” He turned to face the shorter man. “Do you have a problem with this?”

“Of course not! The idea is sound but the method …there is no method!”

“Then what do you propose?” Fernando was correct. They need some type of plan. Barging in probably would not be a good idea, but the idea of finding Jeanie alive was clouding his judgement and that was dangerous.

“Bluff it,” stated Fernando, holding out his hand, palm up. A half smile pulled at his lips.

Reluctantly handing over the business card, he was unsure of the Noble’s intent. With a nod of appreciation, Fernando turned and approached one of the men standing guard, a friendly smile on his face.

He was stopped from going up the stairs by a large outstretched arm, the baton now in a meaty grasp. The brute wore no expression and did not seem at all affected by Fernando’s charming smile. The other guard turned. “I’m sorry, sir, but the establishment is closed for the evening. If you wish, you may come back tomorrow. The
London Free Kitchen
opens at half past four.”

“You misinterpret my intentions, my good sir.” Fernando inclined his head and held out the card. “As you can see, my friend over there and I have an appointment with Corbie Vale.”

The man took the card and in the dull light emanating from the kitchen, read the card, mouthing the words. “This is one of our cards,” he finally said, looking up. He did not hand it back, but slipped it into his pants pocket. “Unfortunately Mr. Vale isn’t here. He doesn’t usually work at this kitchen.”

“That is quite unfortunate,” frowned Fernando. “He definitely told us to meet him here. Maybe we are just a little early. We can wait for him inside.” He made a move to ascend the stairs and found a hand on his chest preventing any forward movement.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t allow that.” He kept his hand on the Noble. “I strongly suggest that you come back tomorrow or go to the other kitchen.”

Fernando stared at the hand on his chest and slowly raised his eyes, his smile replaced with the onset of rage. “And I strongly suggest, sir, that you remove your meat hook from my person,
now.
”

The man’s eyes widened in shock and dismay at the uncharacteristic response before his jaw tightened and his dark eyes narrowed menacingly.

“Gladly,” he replied, and to drive his point home he gave the Noble a shove.

Stumbling backwards, Fernando had expected something like this and once he regained his footing he let Yin and Yang fly. Yang found his home in the throat of the brute that had begun his advance on the Noble. The large, silent man fell to his knees, blood streaming out of the fatal wound, and then collapsed onto the pavement, all the while trying to clutch at the dagger until he lay still. Yin found her home through the eyeball of the rude man, embedding deep into the brain. The man had no time to react to the intruding weapon before he too fell limply to the ground.

Admiring his handiwork, Fernando wiped his hands clean against each other and went to lean over the brute. An easy tug freed the bloody blade and he wiped it clean on the brown coat. He was not about to take any chance with the blood. Standing, he walked the two steps to the insolent man and realized he was doing all the dirty work.

“Am I going to get some help here?” asked Fernando, and bent, dislodging Yin from the socket of the dead man.

The Angel had watched the whole scene with a dour expression that grew at the violent deaths of the two men who had done nothing to warrant such an attack. Killing out in the open was dangerous and these two stacked the numbers to eight bodies in less than an hour. They were lucky that no one had witnessed any of the murders and he shuddered at the thought.

The homeless man had been killed by Rupert, taking the young Chosen with him, and the four on the Bridge were brigands deserving of no less, but these two on the stairs, they had done nothing except irritate Fernando by denying him entrance. The thought that Fernando could relish in cold-blooded murder appalled him.

Coming up behind the Noble, he asked, “What do you want to do with them? I do not think the police would like finding six bodies in the Thames.”

Fernando pursed his lips in thought and then glanced up at his partner, a mischievous glint lighting his eyes. “Since this is a soup kitchen, there probably is a garbage bin in the back. We can dump them there.” He reached down, grabbed the man’s cold, limp hand, and hoisted him over his shoulder. “Don’t you just love the irony of it?” he chuckled, disappearing around the back of the building.

A sigh of resignation at the bad joke escaped his pale lips and he hoisted the brute and followed.

A dark lane followed the length of the back of the building, black in the absence of any gaslight or internal illumination. A few people huddled in their sleep for warmth under ratty blankets and refuse and he found Fernando dumping the body in a pile of garbage against the wall. Despite the bloodied face, the body appeared quite normal amongst the living ones. He bent and dropped his burden beside the other corpse in a way that made them appear to be passed out drunks.

He did not straighten right away. A dull light emanating from a window near to the base of the building caught his attention. Moving closer for a better look through the filthy glass and iron bars he saw, sitting on straw, Jeanie hunched over, shoulders shaking. He did not realize he had said her name until the Noble crouched beside him.

“Well I’ll be damned,” muttered Fernando. “That pretty little nothing was right. She is alive.” He stood and slapped the Angel on the back. “Come on, you’ve got a fair maid to rescue.”

Giving the Noble a sidelong glance, he stood but not without one last look at Jeanie.

I’ll get you out,
he promised and turned to Fernando. He was surprised at the slap on his back. It seemed almost friendly.

Rounding the corner of the Kitchen, they were going for the simplest way in, a frontal assault.

Taking the stairs two at a time they arrived before the open doors. Inside the brightly lit room could be seen rows of wooden trestle tables and old worn benches. Upon stepping in, it was evident the place was empty of patrons and staff. Along the west wall was the serving counter closed down for the night and at the north end of the dining room, on a raised dais was a speaker’s pedestal. It looked what it appeared to be - a soup kitchen, but why would a soup kitchen have a gaol? And why was it imprisoning Jeanie? Nowhere could they find the entrance to the basement.

The answer arrived through the swinging door to the kitchen. The short skinny man wore a soiled wet apron and carried a tray of washed wooden plates. He dropped the pile with a crash at the sight of the Noble and the Angel staring at him.

“You, you’re not supposed to be here,” stated the man, ignoring the wooden heap that he would have to rewash. “We closed an hour ago.”

“We’re not here for a meal.” Fernando took a step towards the little man. “We’re looking for a friend. You may have seen her. A young, pretty woman, thin yet not skinny, about so high with green eyes and fiery long hair that falls in curls.”

“Nope, haven’t seen her.” He bent to pick up the plates. “I’d remember her if I had.”

“She speaks with a Scots accent,” added the Angel, staying where he was, watching the man from the depths of his hood.

The man shook his head and stood, plates in hand. “Told you, I’d remember a girl like that.” He piled the plates at the end of the serving counter and turned to go back into the kitchen.

“Then can you explain why she is locked in your cellar?” he took a step forward. He knew he was being lied to and it angered him. Why would they want to keep Jeanie?

The man halted, hand on the swinging door and did not turn around.

“Oh, nicely done,” laughed Fernando, appreciating the subtle attack with the truth. He turned to face the kitchen help. “Well?”

The man got as far as pushing the door half open before both Chosen surrounded him. Fernando snatched the man’s hand from the door the same instance the Angel wrapped his long white fingers around the man’s sweaty neck.

He gave a slight squeeze, causing his prisoners eyes to bulge with the lack of oxygen. Relaxing his hand somewhat to allow the man to take a deep gasping breath, water wrinkled fingers clutched at his white hand in the futile attempt to escape.

“Where is the entrance to the cellar,” he demanded. He ignored the Noble’s vicious smile and bore his crimson gaze into the kitchen help’s eyes. Chosen sensitive ears picked up every sound of the man’s being as he quietly spoke into the man’s soul. “How do I find Jeanie Stuart?”

His attempts to break free from the iron grasp vanished as a cloud descended. “Down the stairs from the kitchen,” answered the little man, mechanically.

Satisfied with the answer, he let go of the throat and touched the man’s forehead saying, “Sleep.” Eyes rolled back and as if on cue the man slumped into his arms and he gently laid the man underneath the serving counter.

“Nice touch,” remarked the Noble as the Angel stood. “I still don’t understand why you didn’t kill the insect.”

“There has been too much killing,” he replied, cautiously pushing the swinging door open.

“No such thing.”

They stood on the threshold of a large kitchen stocked with skillets and huge pots that were arranged in an orderly manner along the counter. Above, on shelves lining the walls, a veritable storehouse of herbs and spices sat in containers of all shapes and sizes. In the centre of the counter a large sink filled with steamy soapy water and piles of food encrusted wooden trenchers sat waiting to be washed. It was highly doubtful that the job would get done this night. Along the far wall a large wood burning stove and ovens sparkled in the light, obviously cleaned earlier. There was no sign of the stairwell.

Opening the door farther was met by a solid thud. Fernando smiled up at his partner and they stepped into the kitchen, allowing the door to swing close behind them. Right beside the entrance stood a thick unadorned wooden door to the cellar. It opened without a sound. Cautiously, they stepped down the rickety stairs. Fernando’s hands flexed and extended nervously, wishing Yin and Yang were in them. This was much too easy.

The cellar opened to a spacious room littered with scattered casks and barrels on the floor, and Jeanie huddled behind the barricade of iron bars.

At the sound of footpads descending, she looked up, her face drawn and her eyes red from crying. She could not believe who she saw, having resigned herself to the fact that the Angel would not care to find her. She sat there, in the straw, numb at the fantasy become reality.

His being leapt at the sight of the girl and only paused long enough for the Noble to pass the set of keys hanging on a hook at the bottom of the stairs. “Go rescue her and let’s get the hell out of this place.”

The keys felt cold against his hand but he paid it no mind. He covered the distance to the padlock on the bars far quicker than he should and he found that his hands shook as he tried the keys. It was the fourth one that turned the tumbler and snapped the lock open. Discarding the ring of keys and the padlock onto the floor, he pulled the iron barred door open and stepped inside, pushing back his hood.

Jeanie still remained on the floor, face full of shock. He was really here. Green eyes filled with tears and she threw herself on him, her arms wrapping around his slender waist as she buried her face in his chest weeping.

Unbalanced by her assault, he recovered himself long enough not to pull himself from her embrace. Reluctantly his arms closed around her shuddering form and held her fast.