The sun was beginning to set as Simon strode alone through the streets of Haversham. He shoved his hands further into his pockets as he lowered his head against the cool breeze pouring through the streets. Gone was his telltale top hat, and his dark hair waved gently in the breeze.
Unlike the night before, the streets seemed fuller and busier than they had been in days, though the nervousness in the air was palpable. Citizens hustled from their work as businesses closed for the night, rushing home only to lock their doors and shutter their windows once inside. The people of Haversham knew something ill was brewing. Even Simon could taste it the air and hear its whispers on the wind.
He turned away from the market square and walked toward the city gates, keeping his head low even as he searched the nearby streets and storefronts for movement. In stark contrast to the square or even the streets down which he had already passed, the road that ran the circumference of the city wall was abandoned. Shuttered windows and a forgotten newspaper blowing down the street gave it the impression of a lost ghost town rather than the lively city carved into the tundra.
Pushing his hand deeper into his pocket, he felt the reassuring coldness of the silver revolver. Though it had already proven only partially effective against the werewolves, it added a level of comfort he wouldn’t have had walking through the city unarmed.
The first howl split the night, and Simon tensed. The sound echoed off the wall to his left, concealing the true direction of the call. It mattered little, as moments later the howl was picked up by others. Soon the entirety of the night air was filled with the barking and braying of wolves, stalking through the street.
Simon increased his pace, stopping just short of running. The howling grew closer as the pack hunted; they moved in an attempt to trap the Inquisitor.
From the corner of his eye, he saw the first sight of white fur. The werewolf stopped at the entrance to an alleyway, crouched on all fours and growling at Simon as he hurried past. Once beyond the alleyway, the werewolf tilted back its head and howled loudly into the night sky. Its call was quickly answered as more werewolves approached.
Simon knew that the wolves he was now seeing with some regularity weren’t there to capture him, but rather to prevent any chance of escape. They blocked alleyways that led away from the perimeter road, knowing that his left side was already obstructed by the impassable wall.
As more of the werewolves appeared, blocking escape routes, Simon picked up a light jog. His fingers closed over the handle to his revolver, though he was loathed to draw the weapon unless absolutely necessary.
The massive, metal doors of the gate rose before him, dwarfing even his tall stature as he hurried along the edge of the wall. He could hear padded footsteps behind him, keeping pace. Their speed increased or decreased in response to his actions, telling him that they weren’t yet ready to attack.
The gate, however, offered him a chance at escaping their tightening net, so it was no surprise at all when a large werewolf emerged before him, standing impassively in front of the gateway. The guards Simon had seen earlier that day were not so curiously absent, leaving him with little recourse but to face his pursuers.
With the werewolf before him, Simon slowed his pace to a walk. The padded footsteps behind him were joined by low growls of anticipation.
Simon came to a stop and turned toward the stalking pack. His frown deepened for a brief moment at the sight before him. A muscular werewolf stood on its hind legs before him, though most of the fur on one side of its body had been stripped away, replaced by a series of rapidly healing burns. Though the sight of a normal werewolf was horrible, the sight of a partially hairless monster was practically terrifying. It helped none at all that Simon knew this particular werewolf, and the indelible hatred it had for him.
“I guess talking about this is out of the question?” he asked.
The burned werewolf growled threateningly before dropping to all fours. Its nose twitched, as it smelled the air, taking in Simon’s scent.
“Before you attack, and it seems so invariably likely that you shall, do keep in mind that…”
Simon stopped speaking in mid-sentence as he noticed the werewolf listening intently. Before it could react, Simon spun on his heel and raced toward the city gate. The burned werewolf howled in frustration before charging after the fleeing Inquisitor.
The street behind Simon quickly filled with pursuing werewolves. The one guarding the street before him crouched, preparing to pounce on the seemingly unarmed human racing toward it. In a fluid movement, Simon drew the revolver from his pocket and fired a single shot. The bullet slammed into the werewolf’s rear thigh. The limb buckled immediately, even as the creature howled in pain. The werewolf collapsed to the street, clutching its injured leg.
Simon bound over the fallen wolf, yelling a halfhearted apology as he did so. As he landed on the far side, he could already see in his periphery that the creature was getting back to its feet, despite the wound to its leg.
On all fours, the werewolves were significantly faster than Simon was. The element of surprise bought him mere seconds of a lead, most of which vanished once the wolves began their pursuit.
The barn was ahead with doors already opened. Simon rushed inside with a pack of werewolves in close pursuit. The burned one led the pack, its powerful jaws snapping practically at Simon’s heels as he ran.
The Inquisitor rushed to the back of the barn just as the werewolf reached for him with long, sharp claws. Simon leapt, landing nimbly on the divider just as claws closed on the air where he had been a moment before. Unable to stop its momentum, the burned werewolf slammed into one of the sled dog pens and the sound of angry barking filled the enclosed structure.
Simon wobbled unsteadily as the divider shook from the impact. He dropped into a crouch, using his hands for support to steady himself. Behind him, the werewolf righted itself and began climbing the divider after him.
Feeling properly motivated, Simon climbed back to his feet and rushed toward the narrow window. Despite its elevation, he jumped easily to its height, turning sideways as he slid through its small gap. His stomach and back scraped along the windowsill and he tumbled out the other side, falling the ten feet to the hard ground below. He landed roughly, knocking the wind from his lungs. Staring upward, he saw the fur-covered arm and claw of the werewolf reaching futility out the window as the creature tried to squeeze through the narrow gap.
The pack followed the burned werewolf into the barn before they realized that the Inquisitor had escaped through the window. As the rearmost wolves turned to leave, Mattie and Orrick slammed the barn doors closed, sliding a heavy, metal rod across their length. The wolves slammed against the closed barn doors. The metal rattled, but held.
Their howling and barking was quickly interrupted by the sound of scraping metal as the skylight was pulled aside. Snow fell through the exposed hole, filtering down over the werewolves as they stared upward with a mixture of frustration and curiosity.
Luthor appeared at the hole, looking down on the trapped monsters. Their inquisitive braying quickly turned to anger at the sight of the apothecary. He looked for a moment longer before lifting the flamethrower, which was now thoroughly wrapped in blankets. Twisting all the valves, he hefted the contraption through the skylight even as the first elements of yellow gas poured from the smoke stack.
The flamethrower landed heavily in the midst of the werewolves, gushing a noxious cloud of gas. The pack parted quickly, forming a vacant hole around the odd machine. As the cloud quickly spread, they rushed toward the walls, clawing ineffectually at the metal barn in an attempt to escape. Mattie and Orrick stepped backward as the thrashing against the barn doors reached a frightening crescendo, though the heavy, metal bar held against their assault. Simon limped over to the pair, listening happily to their furious howling.
Luthor watched as the creatures ran in fear until the cloud consumed them. Their howls and barks turned to coughs of confusion. They tried to
cover their long snouts with their arms, but the gas seeped past their meager defenses.
Slowly, the pack succumbed to the aerosolized potion. They dropped to their knees, some vomiting onto the hay-lined barn floor while others convulsed. The floor of the barn grew slick as the transformations began and fur sloughed from the werewolves as they returned to their human forms.
The howls and coughs became moans and retching. As the thick yellow smoke began to clear, Luthor looked down on a large collection of naked and confused indigenous people.
The apothecary stood and walked gingerly to the back of the barn, where a ladder had been propped against the building. He climbed down carefully before walking around and rejoining the other conspirators.
“It’s done,” he said. “They’ve all transformed.”
Simon and Orrick removed the locking bar from the door, dropping the metal rod unceremoniously to the ground with a clatter. They grasped the handles, pulling the barn doors open.
A cloud of lingering yellow smoke escaped the open doors, filling the air above it as though the building had caught fire. The cool wind rolled through the barn and the naked tribesmen within shivered from the cold.
Simon stepped inside and walked toward the building’s center, scanning the faces as he walked. Near the back, he stopped and extended his hand. Chieftain Kidnip reached up gingerly and took it, using his leverage to pull herself to her feet.
“Welcome back to the land of the living, Chieftain,” Simon remarked as the woman pulled herself to her full height. “We have a lot of work ahead of us.”