Stalemate: Clockwerk Thriller Book One by Thomas Webb

Author:Thomas Webb [Webb, Thomas]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cobble Publishing LLC
Published: 2018-05-07T18:30:00+00:00

Scarlet stood outside the old wooden door, muscles tensed like a lioness stalking her prey. Even in the shadows of the alcove, she felt exposed. If anyone saw her there, she’d have to think fast.

On the clock’s tenth ring, she removed her shoes and lashed them to her wrist. She tried the door handle. It was unlocked.

Excellent. Saves me the fifteen seconds it would have taken to pick it.

Scarlet took a deep breath, opened the door, and slipped inside. She eased it shut behind her, careful not to make any noise. Afterward, she froze in place, her back pressed flat against the door, the rough wood biting into her bare shoulders. She breathed in deep and exhaled, willing her heartbeat to slow. She heard Horton and Smythe’s murmured voices from the passageway below. The light from their torch flickered and faded as the two men rounded a corner several hundred feet away.

Scarlet stood in the pitch black, letting her eyes adjust. She felt the clammy floor of the landing, slick with condensation, soak through the sheer blue silk of her stockinged feet. A quick check under several layers of satin evening gown assured her the derringer was still strapped to her thigh. Satisfied, she crept down the worn stone stairs, following the sound of Smythe’s voice and the stomp of Horton’s heavy riding boots.

Scarlet kept her arms in close to her body as she moved. Soon enough, conscious thought ceased, and training took over. She walked heel to toe, her body crouched. Her weight was distributed evenly, her every muscle was engaged. She chose her following distance carefully, not close enough for them to detect her behind them but not so far away she couldn’t hear their every word. She clung to the shadows just as she’d been taught, her footsteps soft as a housecat’s.

The tunnel construction became older the farther they went. The rough-cut granite floor gave way to stone worn smooth from countless years of footsteps. The wooden support beams, still green near the tunnel’s entrance, began to show signs of rot. The musty smell of decay became more pronounced. Scarlet followed behind them like a ghost, the scent of damp earth and mold strong in her nostrils.

Suddenly, they stopped, catching her off guard. She wedged into a corner and froze, not daring to move a muscle. The midnight blue satin of her dress blended perfectly into the darkness. She hadn’t chosen this gown just because it brought out the sapphire in her eyes.

Risking a glance from her hiding place, Scarlet spotted Horton and Smythe farther down the passage. The flickering torchlight revealed them standing next to a recessed door of black oak. Underneath the door’s handle was a pewter lock engraved with filigree. Smythe pulled a long black key from his pocket and inserted it into the lock. There was an audible click of the tumblers, and the door swung open.

As the two men walked in and closed the door behind them, Scarlet crept closer. She raised her skirts to better position herself in the space in front of the entrance.

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