Read Online Newbury & Hobbes 04 - The Executioner's Heart by George Mann - Free Book Online

almost silently, his voice just a low, monotonous murmur. Beads of sweat had formed on his brow despite the chill, and he looked pale, even in the warm yellow glow of the candlelight.
    The only other sound in the room was the steady ticking of a carriage clock. It seemed to Amelia that time was passing differently in that room, with its fog of incense and ancient pagan rites. There was a sense of peacefulness, of stillness, a disconnection from the real world.
    Suddenly, the murmuring stopped. Newbury looked up. “It’s time,” he said quietly, sliding the little wooden bowl across the floor towards her.
    Amelia gave the briefest of nods. This was the moment she dreaded, each and every time: the consummation of the ritual, the acceptance of Newbury’s gift to her. This was the culmination of everything he had done in the past hour. She had to drink the foul-smelling contents of the bowl. The ritual would be wasted if she did not.
    She stared at the strange concoction for a few moments, bracing herself for what was coming. The first time they had performed the ritual, Amelia had actually vomited the stuff back up, but she’d since learned how to gulp it down swiftly, to fight off the brief wave of nausea that ensued. She was egged on, of course, by the effect she knew it would have on her condition. It was the only thing that had worked since Dr. Fabian had experimented upon her at the Grayling Institute the prior year, and she had no desire to put herself through that sort of business again.
    “Go on,” said Newbury softly, urging her on.
    Amelia nodded and reached for the bowl, cupping both of her palms around it. It was warm to the touch. She lifted it hesitantly to her lips, fighting the urge to reel back as she drew in its scent. It was indescribable and exotic. She had no notion of the actual ingredients, save for a splash of Newbury’s own blood, evidenced by the thin gash he’d opened up in his left palm as he’d prepared the mixture.
    Closing her eyes and holding her breath, Amelia parted her lips and took a long, gulping draught from the bowl. She swallowed urgently, forcing the coarse, viscous fluid down her gullet. She felt its warmth spreading through her chest like alcohol, and she tipped the bowl further, emptying it completely. With a shudder as its taste hit her palate, she replaced the bowl on the floorboards before her and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She raised her eyes to look at Newbury, whose own face was still shrouded in shadow.
    “Good,” he said, swaying slightly. “Good.” He rocked forward as if he might topple over and Amelia leant in to catch him, supporting his weight in her arms for a few seconds while he regained his senses. He righted himself a moment or two later, mumbling an embarrassed “Thank you.”
    Amelia nodded. “It’s the least…” She trailed off as she realised in horror that—in the sudden grab for him—she had accidentally smeared the outline of the chalk pentagram on the floor. “Sir Maurice, the chalk,” she gasped as she indicated the floorboards beneath her knees.
    Newbury put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “It’s alright, Amelia. It’s over for today. We’ll draw a new one next time.”
    “But…?”
    Newbury shook his head. “It won’t change anything. The ritual was complete. We were lucky. I’ll know not to push myself so far in future.”
    Amelia frowned. Already she could feel the warmth from the strange elixir spreading throughout her frail body, filling her with a remarkable sense of well-being. Newbury, however, was more weakened than ever by the gruelling process. “Once again, Sir Maurice,” she said, her voice quavering slightly, “I must insist that if this ritual in which we are partaking is in some way compromising your own health, you must put an end to it immediately.”
    Newbury climbed unsteadily to his feet. He reached out a hand for her and she took it, pulling herself up beside him. “Come on,” he