Page 21 of Unbroken
Sebastian opened the door to the archives and immediately understood why the young man had wished him luck. The state of the place was appalling; decades of newspapers were folded—folded!—in order to fit into cubby holes, or piled haphazardly on shelves.
His eye twitched, and it was all he could do not to march back upstairs and demand to see whoever was responsible for the mess. Folding paper, instead of laying it flat! Leaving it all to be exposed to dust and silverfish, with no eye toward preservation! The place was probably filled with generations of mice who had constructed their nests from irreplaceable articles. And that wasn’t even touching on the effects of humidity…
But no—he wasn’t here to start a fight over the state of the archive, which would likely lead to him getting thrown out of the building. Once he was back in Widdershins, he’d send a stern letter to the publisher. For now, he needed to find out what he could from the year Gregorio died.
The material closest to the entrance seemed to be the newest, so he worked his way back, checking dates from each shelf until he found himself in a corner tucked behind one of the brick pillars supporting the building above. The Monitor had begun publication in the 1820s, and the issues from that decade and the next were stuffed into cubbyholes roughly by month.
He started with January of 1830, carefully unfolding the pages while silently cursing the creases and decay that had set in over the last eighty years. Fortunately newspapers had been shorter in length back then; unfortunately, they were solid walls of text rather than the picture- and advertisement-heavy pages of the modern day.
Some issues were missing altogether, and if Gregorio’s death had been mentioned immediately after his demise, it must have been in one of those. The first mention Sebastian found of him came in the form of an article titled TRIAL FOR MURDER OF GREGORIO HOLLOWELL.
Murder. Not consumption, then, as would have been expected for someone later accused of being a vampire, at least in New England. Sebastian turned his attention to the article itself.
TUESDAY MORNING - The prisoners, Mr. John Knapp, Mr. Steven Black, and Mr. Joshua Walters, were placed at the bar. After the indictment was read, all three pleaded “Not Guilty.” A jury was then impaneled, and in the afternoon…
The article ran on for most of a densely packed page, which would take considerable time to read and digest. Sebastian hesitated—then glanced guiltily around, confirming he was alone.
Of course he was—no one cared about the archive. If he…liberated…an issue or two, he could see they were properly preserved, not left to rot in a basement.
Mr. Tubbs would lose his mind if he knew Sebastian was stealing archival material. Cheered by the thought, he stuffed the issue, along with the next four, into the bottom of his bag. He placed his clothing and shaving kit on top in case the secretary wanted to make sure he wasn’t making off with anything.
He needn’t have bothered. When he returned to the upper floor, the young man gave him a cheery smile and a wave. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
“I did; thank you,” Sebastian said. A woman came in through the front door and caught the secretary’s attention, so he slipped out behind her and back into the sunshine.
So Gregorio had been murdered. That, at least, the papers would print. Digging him up later seemed less like the sort of thing anyone would want publicized. For information on that, he would have to try the historical society.
CHAPTER 11
The man in the window—Rulkowski—managed to make a gurgling sound as he clung to the sill, preparing to dive out. Ves didn’t waste any time, shoving aside the desk with an inhumanly strong push. A manuscript on it went flying in a shower of paper. His arms latched around the man’s waist, and he yanked him back in, eliciting a cry of pain from Rulkowski.
For a moment, Rulkowski’s legs windmilled, trying to find traction to race back to the window. Ves held him in a grip firm enough to restrain, but hopefully not tight enough to bruise. Berry ran past and slammed the window shut, before turning to his employer, expression wild with fear. “Danny! What were you doing?”
Rulkowski abruptly went limp. Then he began to scream: short, harsh bursts of terror, his eyes so wide the whites showed all around.
“Mr. Rulkowski!” Mortimer exclaimed. “Stop this noise at once.”
Shocked, Rulkowski did as he was ordered. Ves carefully lowered him to the floor and let go of him. He was a bit younger than Siewert had been, though still approaching middle age. His blond hair was styled fashionably, his linen suit creased from his attempt to hurl himself out the window. A small plaster clung to one side of his neck.
“Thank you.” Mortimer folded his hands in front of himself. “Are you all right?”
Rulkowski gulped in air as if he’d been drowning. “I-I couldn’t?—”
“You couldn’t stop yourself,” Ves finished for him.
Rulkowski took a staggering step, then crumpled into Berry’s arms. Berry held him tightly, stroking his hair and making soothing sounds.
“Good heavens!” Tubbs exclaimed from the doorway. “Is…is that what happened to poor Penny?”
“Yes,” Mortimer said, not trying to soften the blow. “I’ll get him a glass of water. Mr. Tubbs, fetch a chair for Mr. Rulkowski?”
Tubbs quickly righted the desk chair, which had been sent flying when Ves heaved the desk out of the way. Mortimer slipped back through the door, and Ves positioned himself between Rulkowski and the windows, just in case.
Rulkowski slumped in the chair, his hands shaking badly. “Thank God you arrived when you did,” Berry said. “I would have been downstairs when…” He blinked rapidly. “Why? Why would you do such a thing, Danny?”
“It wasn’t his choice,” Ves said. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Rulkowski?”
“Yes. I couldn’t…my body was moving without my will. I couldn’t stop it, couldn’t do anything…” He frowned. “Who…who are you? How did you know?”
