"You just had to bring him?" St. Georgie snarled in distaste.
Nicu tossed a cracker to Kappi not bothering to argue with St. George about his choice of companions for this venture. The man glared at the fuzzy coon in disdain but said nothing further.
The black—lacquered carriage gleamed in the sunlight and the ebony horses whipped their tails, coming to a halt. Nicu stepped out of the carriage and stroked his horse's hinds and nodded at his coachman.
St. George followed and as soon as his eyes took sight of what was before him, he choked back a sudden burst of outrage. "By God!"
The school was in ruins, collapsed with few things left standing. The smell of soot and smoke lingered. Expertly, Nicu moved like a panther, smooth and steady in the long grass until he reached the rubble. Intrigued, Nicu found the debris to still be breathing the fire's heat as if it had taken a while to conquer the building.
No one could have survived such rage.
Disbelieving, St. George came up to Nicu, who began to share his speculations. "There are no rooms, no buildings to determine the area of origin."
Nicu's hand slid on some remaining decayed walls and his black worn shoes began to get covered by the ashes under his feet. St. George was close behind him and Nicu could sense the usually calm man's distress.
"How?" St. George breathed out as he covered his mouth with his arm.
"That's what I'm trying to figure out. Now hush and step back a little to let me observe and think. Your horror is suffocating." Nicu continued to stalk around then paused and looked back at his friend. "And only speak when spoken to."
The more Nicu examined, the more enthralled he became. Was it an accident? If not, who would burn down a finishing school? Nicu contemplated. His mind swirled with endless possibilities, but he needed to subtract and consolidate the conjectures.
"First step... find the place where it originated," Nicu mumbled.
He went into the depths of the school where the decay was mostly soot. After almost an hour of tracking in ash and rubble, Nicu knew he had finally found where the heart of the fire had been, which most likely meant it was where it had started. A lone fireplace barely stood and Nicu glided over, and his foot sank into something moist.
Immediately, he knelt down and peered into the mouth that was cracked and ready to collapse. Shinning liquid gleamed from the sun's rays and Nicu swiped his fingers along the surface, grit mingling with smoothness as he did so, and it was like sand intermingling with oil.
He lifted his index and middle finger to his nose and got a distinctive pungent oil smell. He rubbed his thumb over the liquid on his fingers that was thick yet not as thick as other oils. Puzzled, Nicu stood, and St. George came next to him.
"What did you find?"
Nicu continued to rub the disturbing substance. "Oil of some sorts with an odd smell."
"Whale oil has a horrid fishy odor," St. George stated.
Nicu shook his head. "That's just it."
He lifted his fingers up to St. George's nostrils, making the gentleman jerk back. "What is that?! It's smells of strong chemical."
Nicu dropped his hand and saw how the bottom of the hearth was caked in it. "Whale oil, like you said, has a fishy smell and is thick like olive oil. Whatever this is, it started the fire and quickly, which makes me conclude that this was no accident, it was planned." He turned and saw bindings of books among the ash. "We must be in the library or a study of some sort."
St. George shook his head in dismay. "Why would you say it was planned and not an accident?"
Nicu's attention went to the ground where the grass was indented. He strode towards it, answering St. George's question. "This oil is new and must be hard to find. I would know since I've experimented with pretty much every oil you can find. Whoever used it must have gone to great lengths to obtain it. I'm not a hundred percent, but my guess is that this school used whale oil like everyone else."
"Why not use whale oil then?"
Nicu stopped right at the indents, which were made by large heavy wheels, likely a caravan. Before he further investigated, he took a sample of the oil wrapping it up in his handkerchief. Then he took out a lighter and his thumb snapped a flame to life. He tossed it where the small amount of oil laid, and a fire roared in an instant. It was bright, vicious, nothing like the fire whale oil produced.
"By God." St. George bellowed. "I've never seen a fire like that before. It hurts your eyes like staring too long at the sun."
"This oil is stronger, faster for a fire. Hence, the possibility it was planned. But this..." Nicu dropped his coat on the fire and snuffed it out then pointed at the indent from earlier, raising a brow at St. George. "Shows us it was planned."
"Why's that?"
"Because the girls were taken." Nicu strolled over to St. George grabbed him by the collar and then pointed once again at the indents leading into the leafless forest. "A caravan was here and left that way into the vesh."
"Why?" St. George breathed out, as he pushed Nicu's hand off his collar. "What vile, evil person would kidnap young women?"
Nicu couldn't answer, but he knew it was a group of people, most likely hired highwaymen. He looked to the ground and saw something brown and rusty caked onto some of the blades of grass. Bending down, Nicu surveyed the blades and closed his eyes when he realized what it was.
"Rat," Nicu mumbled to himself, then turned to where St. George had been standing, knowing he didn't always understand the Romani language. "Blood."
St. George didn't hear and was too busy rushing towards the mouth of the forest. Nicu muttered, the right corner of his mouth turning up. "Impatient, veshengo."
Nicu caught up with him easily and just in time to hear St. George empty himself of his brunch. A new handkerchief was pulled out of Nicu's pocket, and he tapped St. George's shoulders, who took it hastily. The smell of decaying flesh filled the air, putrefying it. Nicu had to admit it was one of the foulest smells he had ever come across.
Older women, possibly spinsters, lay eerily motionless. Their rotting limbs tangled together as if they were thrown one on top of the other. Chemises were caked in filth and their bodies were lifeless, crawling with insects, holding no color except that of death. Some were half-eaten, possibly by some kind of animal.
It was a disturbing sight, one that would haunt both these men.
Auburn, blonde, black, and brunette. Nicu noted every detail he could. Massive tangles of hair were scattered in multiple places around their unrecognizable faces and encrusted in dried blood.
"The teachers," Nicu said breathlessly, "they were shot in the head at close range."
St. George was huffing next to Nicu. "Why would they kill them and not take them?"
Nicu kneeled, staring into a face that was half blown but with one glazed blue eye opened. "My speculation is that they took these young girls to sell off and spinsters are unwanted and wouldn't make a profit. Plain women with nothing to offer."
St. George was breathing heavily in his handkerchief, filled with rage as his face heated with its roar. "Figure this out Nicu and bring whoever did this to the gallows."
A thick breeze drafted around the men and Nicu felt a stirring in his bones. He stood and turned, looking past the school and long stretch of grass to the other edge of the forest. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, his senses kicked in and he bolted for the spot.
St. George cursed but was quick to follow. The stretch was long, and it took them ten minutes to reach the outer edge. Out of breath, St. George fell to the grass, while Nicu slowly stepped into the forest line with sticks and dried up leaves crunching under his feet.
There he saw footprints, small and different sizes. He calculated that there were about seven young women who had managed to escape.
"Where did you go, lovelies?"
St. George brushed his hand over his weary beaten face. "What did you find?"
Nicu spread his hand over a certain set of footprints, pushing the forest debris aside. They were deeper and still held a strong impression, even though weeks had passed.
"Order the coachman to go to Scotland Yard at once and inform them of everything and to go after the vurdon."
"The what?"
"Wagon, the caravans."
St. George, still sitting looked at his friend in outrage. "We aren't going after them?"
"No," Nicu said indignantly. "We're going after the ones we can catch up to."
At that, St. George sprung up. "Some made it out without getting caught?"
"Yes." Nicu patted the footprints in thanks for the miracle of them remaining after the past two weeks. "And we have to hurry—"
"How are we going to find them? It's been weeks, they're probably long gone."
Nicu turned sharply to his friend. "And the caravans aren't? We ride and if these girls are smart, which they had to be in order to escape such an ordeal, I gather they hid—"
St. George was bewildered and quick to interrupt. "There is no way young girls could survive out in the forest for two weeks without food or water. The ones in the caravans at least have a... a chance."
"That doesn't mean we don't try!" Nicu shouted, his loud thundering voice booming in the forest.
Nicu and St. George stared each other down and Nicu watched as the man folded. "Fine, what then?"
"There was a farm not too far from here. We'll see if the girls went there and if not, we will persuade the farmer to give us two horses. We must act with haste," Nicu said as he walked toward the coachman.
"Why?" St. George couldn't help but ask the obvious, but he had an inkling there was something else Nicu had seen.
Nicu continued on his warpath not missing a beat. "Because they're being followed."
Oh, no! If anyone is interested in what's going on with Harriet and the group comment with a heart emoji ❤️
Vesh: forest
Rat: blood
Vurdon: wagon
Vesheno: man of the forest