Wolves of the Northern Rift (A Magic & Machinery Novel Book 1) Read Free Page A

seemingly an eternity, the moving wall in front of them gave way and exposed the worked stone of the underground passageway. The elevator came to rest on the hard ground with a jarring stop and the guard unlatched the metal door, sliding it aside. Simon nodded to the man before stepping out of the car.
    The reception beyond the door was more than Simon would have preferred. A precession of gubernatorial guards stood at attention on either side of the tunnel, their livery emblazoned with the governor’s crest. A bespectacled man stood in the middle of the passageway, calmly adjusting the cufflinks that protruded from the ends of his charcoal-colored suit. He wore a bowler cap, tilted low in the front so that the brim nearly touched the frame of his glasses. Seeing Simon and Luthor, the man approached and extended his hand.
    As Simon shook the man’s hand, the governor’s liaison introduced himself. “It’s an honor to have you visiting our humble town, gentlemen. My name is Patrick Mulvane, advisor to the governor. He apologizes for not being able to meet you in person but his responsibilities often keep him indisposed.”
    “Inquisitor Whitlock,” Simon said, making introductions. “This is my assistant, Luthor Strong.”
    Patrick arched his eyebrows in surprise. “Just the two of you, then? I was told a team of Royal Inquisitors would be responding to our request.”
    Simon placed his hands on his hips, feeling slighted at the insinuation that he and Luthor alone would be inadequate. “Mr. Strong and I are a team. The Inquisitors, too, are often so busy as to be indisposed when help is requested. Be glad that you received a response at all.”
    Patrick noticed the acidic tone and realized he had overstepped his bounds. “My apologies, sir. Perhaps it would be best if I led you to the estate.”
    “Perhaps that would be for the best.”
    Patrick led the way. As Simon and Luthor fell into step behind the man, the guards turned and followed, flanking the small group. Simon glanced at the heavily dressed guards with passing interest. The men kept their gazed locked straight before them, not bothering with a glance toward the two visiting dignitaries. Sabers bounced against their hips as they walked. Each of the guards held a flintlock rifle, the barrels of which rested against the men’s shoulders, allowing for a regular arm swing while they walked.
    Despite the swaying weapons, Simon nodded approvingly as he read the thin, metal plates affixed to the barrels of the rifles.
    “What do you see?” Luthor asked, knowing the Inquisitors propensity for noticing minute details.
    “They’re carrying Renault flintlock rifles,” Simon replied. “They’re an exquisite brand. The boring in the barrel is practically unmatched for ball-firing rifles.”
    “Correct me if I’m wrong, sir,” Luthor remarked, “but they have a price that matches their craftsmanship. Unless I’m mistaken, of course.”
    Simon shook his head. “You’re not mistaken. Clearly, the governor spares no expense when it comes to his employees. It already tells me much about the man we are to meet.”
    The tunnel from the elevator merged into a wider passage. Like the one they had just left, the tunnel was smooth, polished stone, with lacquered wood support struts set intermittently throughout the corridor. Naked bulbs dangled from wires overhead and exposed copper cables ran across the ceiling, providing power to the long string of lights. Between the bulbs were oil-burning fires that provided pools of warmth to the cold, stone passageway. Simon alternated shivering from the chill and feeling bothered by the intense heat as they passed underneath the heat lamps.
    Unlike the street above, the tunnels were alive with people and foot traffic. Wagons bounced merrily along the cobbled corridor floor and more people flooded from merging side passages.
    “These tunnels are remarkable,” Luthor said as he examined the craftsmanship of the smooth,