Page 51 of The Magpie Lord
Stephen and Crane sprinted through the stable yard together and skidded simultaneously to a horrified halt.
Merrick was gripping the groom’s arms. It was the coachman who had taken them from the station, but his usually surly face was distorted by grief and agony, and tears were running down his cheeks. Merrick was shouting at him but the words were inaudible above the noise of the horses.
One lay dead in the yard, foam and blood still spilling from its open mouth, eyes and tongue bulging black out of its head. The others were all still alive, unfortunately. Eyes full of blood and fear rolled, swollen tongues protruded with dark sores that split open and spilled out a foul yellow pus, copious slime poured from distended nostrils. The horses thrashed and jerked in agony, voiding their bowels in terror, and the screaming went on and on.
Crane grabbed Stephen’s shoulder and yelled over the hellish din, “What—the—devil?”
Stephen tried to reply, had to pull the taller man down to shout in his ear. “Get—rid—of—the—people.”
Most of the staff were standing at the stable gate, frozen in horror. Crane went over. Stephen set his teeth and hurried over to the stableman, readying the plausible lie.
“Equine plague,” he was repeating as Crane and Merrick returned to his side. “Got to be put down. I’m sorry.”
The stableman didn’t argue, but turned his pain-filled eyes on Crane, pleading. “They’re in agony, my lord.”
Merrick slipped silently away, as Crane put a hand on the stableman’s shoulder. “Will you let me do it? Or let me help?”
The stableman’s face twisted, but he looked at the five live horses and gave a brief nod. By the time he had produced his rifle, Merrick was back from the house with two pistols.
They shot all five horses between them, Merrick, Crane and the stableman, and stood in the suddenly silent yard with the smell of cordite and gun cotton overlaying the stench of manure and blood, and the sound of gunshots and screaming still ringing in their ears.
“Go home, Varry,” said Crane finally. “I’d drink myself unconscious if I were you, but do as you see fit. Take a couple of days. We’ll find out more about this. Iwillfind out, you have my word.”
“Don’t go near other horses for the moment,” Stephen added. “There’s a small chance of contagion.”
Varry looked round at him in horror. “You thinkIgave this to them?”
“No, no, not at all. I meant it might have got on your clothesfromthem,” Stephen said hastily. “It’s just a precaution. But in fact, I think all the staff should go home, right now. They should stay away from horses and stay away from Piper for, oh, two days at least, starting as soon as possible. Mr. Merrick, can you get the house cleared in the next ten minutes, do you think?”
Merrick glanced at Crane, said, “Sir,” and disappeared, pulling the devastated stableman with him.
“Why?” asked Crane.
Stephen turned on his heel and walked away from the stink of fear and death without speaking. Crane followed him, stride for stride, as Stephen marched out, over a stretch of unkempt lawn, ignoring the damp grass that quickly soaked his trouser legs, and up towards the lake.
“Why the horses?” said Stephen at last. “To stop us leaving. It’s, what, twelve miles to the railway station? Three hours’ walk. Plenty of time to catch us. Why make them suffer like that? To make us afraid. Why clear the house? Because they’re killers and they’re probably coming here, and I don’t want your servants in the way.”
Crane was nodding impatiently, having evidently worked most of this out for himself. “And who, exactly, arethey?”
The sky was blue above, promising another hot day. The light was the clear gold that came just after dawn. The long grass was sparkling with dew, the tall trees surrounding the house looked fresh rather than heavy, the lake glittered blue and silver in the morning sun, its rippling surface brushed by whispering willows, and Stephen would have given everything he owned to be back in the darkest slums of London.
There was a sudden flurry as a flock of magpies erupted out of the trees on their left. Crane jumped, and cursed.
Stephen took a deep breath. “I don’t know who they are.”
“Does this feel like Miss Bell?”
“Not at all. This was pure warlockry. Cruelty for its own sake, and to animals, and she’s a hedge witch—a country practitioner. If she was behind that, I’ll resign my commission right now.”
“This is fucking ridiculous,” Crane said. “I have literally no idea who is trying to kill me.”
“I’m not sure anyone is.”
“They were last night!”
“Yes, but theydidn’t,” Stephen said. “There was no third attack. But they were able to strike this morning, and they struck at the horses, not you. Let me think.” He pushed his hands through his hair, staring at the glittering lake, trying to persuade himself he couldn’t smell gunsmoke and blood as they paced on.
Beside him, Crane stopped dead.
