Page 88 of The Last Necromancer
By the time I returned to the scullery, I felt content with what I'd achieved. Perhaps I could do a maid's work. It wasn't as awful as I'd expected, and although I would have to work with other maids, the company of women was something I needed to get used to. Perhaps I would ask Lady Harcourt for a reference. She might feel that the ministry owed me enough to lie for me. I couldn't work for her, however, no matter how often she asked. I would be forever expecting to see him there, and disappointed when I didn't, or when he ignored me, as a gentleman should ignore a maid. Besides, seeing Lady Harcourt every day would be a constant reminder of their relationship and how he found her tempting and not me.
It was a thought I entertained as I picked up the empty pail and headed outside, to the water pump in the courtyard.
I saw the flash of movement out of the corner of my eye too late. I was knocked to the ground, landing heavily on my knees and one hand. The other still held the pail. I whipped around and smashed the pail into my assailant, hitting him in the legs. His knees buckled and he fell on top of me, pinning me. I tried to push him off, but he was too heavy. He grabbed one of my wrists and squeezed so hard my hand went numb.
With his other hand, he held a knife to my throat. "Be still so I can remove the devil from you."
"Father! Please," I sobbed, "let me go."
"I told you." Holloway bared his teeth, and I noticed for the first time how long they were, how like a rabid dog he looked with madness brightening his eyes and saliva dripping from his lower lip. "I'm not your father. You're the devil's daughter."
Yes, I almost told him. I am.
"I'm going to save you, child. I'm going to release the devil from your body and bring you back to God's light."
"How?" It sounded strangled. The knife at my throat dug into my skin. I felt a warm trickle of blood slide past my ear and into my hair. I dared not swallow, lest that make his blade dig in further.
"The devil is well entrenched in you." His voice wasn't normal. It was raspy, harsh, and pitched low. It was the voice of a madman. "It must be gouged out."
The knife pressed into my throat. I struggled again, pushing and kicking out, but nothing dislodged him, not even clawing at his cheek. Flesh scraped off in my fingernails, and blood poured down his face, but he didn't seem to notice. He was too intent on removing the devil from me. Too intent on killing me.
And I was too weak to stop him.
CHAPTER 14
"Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name." Holloway's body shook. His lips curled back from his teeth. If there was a devil inside anyone, it was inside him.
I pushed and struggled, but it did no use. He didn't budge. I tried to scream, but either fear or the blade at my throat made it come out weak, strangled. I was pathetic, and soon I would be dead.
"Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on—" His eyes suddenly widened, the pupils mere pinpricks in the sea of white. His face twisted as he arched backward, his mouth open in a silent scream.
He sat back, alleviating the pressure of his weight on me. The blade was gone too, I realized. I pushed him off and he stumbled aside. He clutched his shoulder where a meat cleaver was lodged.
The moonlike head of Cook appeared above me. He held his hand out and I took it. He inspected my throat. "It ain't too deep."
Perhaps not, but it stung.
He reached down and, as calmly as he'd helped me to stand, he pulled the cleaver out of Holloway's shoulder. The man screamed and clutched at the wound, but it didn't staunch the gush of blood.
Cook sighed at his cleaver. "Have to throw this out now. Shame. Good knife, that."
I touched the cut at my throat and my hand came away bloody, but it was nothing compared to the blood covering Holloway's shoulder. "He needs a doctor," I said.
"He be needing a miracle when Fitzroy learns what he done."
Holloway curled into himself and sobbed into the dirt. He was pathetic; a small man with a closed mind. I couldn't believe I'd looked up to him, yearned for his love and respect. For the first time since discovering I was adopted, I was glad he wasn't my father.
"We'll put him in the cellar." Cook hauled Holloway up by his good arm. Holloway wailed in protest but didn't fight. He couldn't win anyway, not against a big man holding a meat cleaver. "Fitzroy can decide what to do with him when he gets back."
"We can't let him bleed to death."
"I'll patch him up best I can. I ain't calling the doctor until Fitzroy says to."
"Will he be mad if you let him go?"
"Furious. I'd rather have this cur's death on my conscience than be dismissed from Lichfield. Or worse."
He half-dragged half-carried Holloway to the house. I picked up his forgotten knife and followed. Cook unhooked a large key from inside the kitchen door then descended a set of stairs nearby. He unlocked a heavy oak door and marched his prisoner into the cool, musty room beyond.
