* * *
A spurt of fear pulsed through Charlotte’s veins as the peal of the chapel’s bells—sounding loud enough to wake the dead—suddenly shattered the quiet of the night. Heart hammering against her ribs, she broke into a run.
Eton’s outer walls were just ahead, looming up from the ghostly mist floating in from the nearby river. She raced along Slough Road and turned into Weston’s Yard. The side gate was locked, but the stone coping surrounding the wrought iron allowed just enough of a handhold for her to climb up and over the entrance wall.
Giving silent thanks for the physical training sessions with her fencing master, Charlotte dropped down and made her way through a narrow walkway to the Schoolyard. A gaggle of the King’s Scholars had come down from their school lodgings in the ancient college and were milling in confusion by the chapel, staring up at the bell tower.
Recalling the map of the college grounds, she took a moment to orient herself and then slipped into the shadows of the dark brick building and angled her steps for the entryway set in the corner of the yard where the Upper School met the Ante-Chapel. That, she knew, was where Peregrine and Raven were headed.
Dear God, let them be unhurt.Charlotte clenched a fist as she hurried for the stone stairs. No matter that she was unarmed—woe to any villain who tried to harm them.
* * *
Wheeler slid a step back from Valencourt’s body, the look of shock on his face growing more pronounced as the walls began to shudder with a thunderous clanging coming from the belltower.
“Another murder victim?” said the earl, after a glance at the patch of fast-darkening scarlet pooled on the stones.
“And soon there will be another!” Wheeler raised one of his two pistols—
“It’s not loaded, Wrex!” cried Raven from the depth of the alcove. “He fired both of his weapons—we saw two muzzle flashes!”
Wrexford kept his eyes on Wheeler, not allowing his relief at knowing the boys were safe to distract him from dealing with his dangerous adversary. “It’s over, Wheeler. The townspeople will be here shortly, and you will have to answer for your crimes.”
The engineer hesitated, then flung both his weapons at the earl’s head and darted for a door set in the center of the far wall.
Wrexford ducked the missiles and was after him in a flash. But the few seconds of delay gave his quarry just enough time to slip through the portal and slam it shut.
“Damnation,” he exclaimed after slamming his shoulder against the portal and realizing the bolt was engaged.
He turned back to the room and saw that Peregrine had untangled himself from the academic robes and was kneeling beside the drawing master’s prostrate body.
“Mr. Valencourt, Mr. Valencourt.” The boy gently shook the man’s shoulder. “I—I think he’s d-dead,” he stammered on getting no response.
Raven crouched down next to him for a closer look. “Naw, it looks like the bullet merely creased his temple, so I think he’s just stunned. Head wounds tend to bleed like the devil.” His gaze shifted to the bushy moustache—which had come half unglued from the drawing master’s upper lip.
“And by the by . . .” Raven shook the man’s shoulder a little harder. “His name isn’t Valencourt—it’s von Münch.”
“Bloody hell,” muttered Wrexford as he hurried over to join the boys. “You’re right.”
A wince spasmed over von Münch’s face and he managed to pry open one eye. “Before you ring a peal over my head, milord, be advised that I can explain.”
“I’m sure you can, but not now,” snapped the earl. “Hand over Milton’s papers. I don’t trust you with them.”
“I don’t have them—I swear it!”
“That’s because we do,” said Raven with a grin as he patted his pocket.
“Well done, lads! But now we need—”
“Wrex!” Charlotte flew into the room and let out a gasp of joy at seeing the boys. “But where is Hawk?”
“In the belltower!” answered Peregrine. “He must have heard the pistol shots and was clever enough to sound the alarm.”
“Speaking of which, the townspeople are beginning to arrive to see what is causing the commotion,” said Charlotte. “In the confusion and crisscrossing lantern light, I just spotted Wheeler fleeing this building. I have reason to believe that he is the killer—”
“He is,” interjected Wrexford. “But how did you come to that conclusion?”
“I should have seen it sooner!” she answered. “As I was sketching, I suddenly saw that the marks that Wayland drew on the floor with his own blood could have a whole new meaning. The horizontal line was an axle, and the marks beneath it weren’t anOand a C but were meant to bewheels. Axe-Axle-Wheels! So I came to warn you!”
