Draakenwood (Whyborne & Griffin Book 9) by Jordan L. Hawk

Author:Jordan L. Hawk [Hawk, Jordan L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-06-01T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 21

Griffin

A freezing fog enveloped the town as we drove a rented cart to the cemetery that night. It coated everything in a thin shell of ice, dampened our clothes, and chilled any inch of exposed skin. The world was reduced to the circle of our lantern light; objects appeared suddenly from the mist, and vanished just as quickly behind.

“Of all the mad things we’ve done, stealing corpses has to be a new low,” Christine opined. She sat beside me on the driver’s seat, her rifle beside her. She’d wrapped it in oilskin to protect it from the damp.

“Really?” Hattie asked, from where she sat in the back of the cart with Whyborne and Iskander. “I would’ve thought you lot would be old hands at this. Or do you usually just buy corpses off resurrection men?”

“I’m not a necromancer,” Whyborne snapped. The expedition had put him in a foul mood already, and Hattie’s endless jabs were wearying, to say the least.

“It’s quite true,” Iskander hastened to reassure Hattie. “Whyborne would never do such a thing.”

Christine’s mouth thinned to a tight line. Iskander seemed to be under the impression he could bring Hattie around, if only he could show her that Whyborne wasn’t the monster she believed.

He was wrong, but I doubted I could convince him of it. Perhaps Christine would have more luck.

The cemetery gates loomed out of the fog. The sheen of ice clung to the weathered black iron, reflecting the light of our lanterns back at us. I urged the unhappy mules down the road running alongside the low stone wall. Even with the fog, entering through the gates seemed to court too much risk of discovery. The last thing Whyborne needed was for the police to catch him robbing the grave of a man he’d been accused of murdering. Not even the cleverest lawyer could keep him out of jail then.

When we reached a place near the river, where some of the stones had tumbled free of the wall, I drew the wagon to a halt. “This seems as good a spot as any,” I said. “Is everyone ready?”

Christine swung down from the seat and tied the mules to the branches of a yew tree, which overhung the cemetery wall. When she was done, I handed the rifle to her, then collected my carpetbag and police lantern. Whyborne took the lantern hanging from the wagon. Iskander and Hattie removed the plank we’d brought to help carry Waite’s body back out of the cemetery.

I held up my police lantern. “Whyborne? Would you be so kind?”

He lit it with a word. Hattie didn’t so much as flinch; no doubt the Endicotts used sorcery on an everyday basis when at home.

We clambered over the low wall. Whyborne managed to snag his trousers on a patch of rough mortar, and muttered imprecations under his breath as we climbed the hill. Headstones appeared through the swirling mist like ghosts, and I had to stop twice to make certain we were still going in the right direction.

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