Part XIV: Execution

Dusk settled on the moors snow packed, bringing with it a low-hanging thick fog and an icy chill.  Isolde paced at the edge of the forest, rubbing her fingers up and down the barrel of the shotgun she held.  She and Mr. Haddock had agreed to meet there as the sun sank in the West to go over some last-minute instructions and to bait the trap for Sir Drexel.  She was eager to put a silver bullet into Sir Drexel’s skull after their previous encounter, so much so, so that she had been shaking with adrenaline while journeying to the meeting place.  She was still struggling to control the twitching in her fingers.  She let out a breath of anxious air that puffed into a miniature cloud.  Turning on her heel in the snow, she almost walked into Mr. Haddock.  He looked at her, then the shotgun she had instinctively pointed at his heart.  He smiled.

              “At least that part was drilled into you.”

Isolde lowered the gun and poked him in the chest with a frozen finger.

“I could have shot you!”

“I was just checking to see if you were on your toes.  It seems as if I needn’t have worried about that,” Mr. Haddock explained, still wryly smiling at her.  Isolde couldn’t believe him.  He was acting like they were going for a pheasant hunt, not getting ready to kill a murderer.

              “How can you be so blasé about this?  I’ve been pins and needles all day, and now I can’t stop my hands from shaking—”

              “Would you like me to call Evans over to take your—?”

“NO.  I can do this.”

I want to do this.  She shifted her feet in the snow, the wetness already beginning to creep through the leather as she ducked her head.  Mr. Haddock had been looking at her with a curious expression on his face.  The sky was taking on a hazy purple and orange hue as the sun slowly retreated behind the treetops.  Haddock was taking note of this keenly.  He started to shrug out of his heavy jacket, causing Isolde to raise her eyebrows.

“Mr. Haddock, it’s freezing out!  What are you—?”

“I’ll be changing soon, so I won’t be needing this,” he said as he folded the long coat over his arm.  He held it out to her. “I figured you could put it to better use.”

              “O-oh.  Thank you,” Isolde said, taking the coat proffered to her.  Mr. Haddock helped her to slip it on.  She could have put the coat on just fine on her own, Mr. Haddock knew that too, but she kept her mouth shut, silently reveling in the chivalrous act.  The coat was a few sizes too big, making her feel like she was a young girl again running around the house in her father’s long coat.

              “It’s a little big,” she remarked.

“But it’s warm?”

              “Ehm, yes.”

“Good.  Now, make sure to stay downwind so Drexel can’t smell you, and stay in the shadows.  I’ll try to lure him out into the open so you can get a clear shot.”  Lowering his voice, Mr. Haddock placed a hand on the shotgun. “I loaded this with five silver bullets so you’ll have five attempts…not that you’ll necessarily get past one since after you fire the gun once, Drexel will know what’s happening and make off.  Take your time when lining up your sights, and please, please don’t miss and shoot me.”

              “I would never—!”

Mr. Haddock was smiling teasingly again.

              “You’re insufferable, Mr. Haddock.”

He cocked his head.

              “So you’ve told me on numerous occasions”—he shivered—“I best be off.  Good luck, Miss Marlowe.”

              Mr. Haddock disappeared into the darkening woods, the crunching of his boots on the snow echoing and then blending in with the wind and rattling branches.  Isolde took a deep breath and thrust the shotgun under her arm to wipe her sweaty hands.  She said a quick, silent prayer and positioned herself to wait for Mr. Haddock to drive Drexel out onto the barren moors.

                                                                                      *

Haddock travelled a distance into the woods then stopped to wait for the full moon to work her magic.  He shivered.  A shirt, vest, and pants were no match for the icy temperatures of a late autumn evening.  The sun quickly fell behind the horizon, pulling her soft fingertips of warmth with her as a wind from the moors blew through the forest, rattling branches and tossing pine cones to the ground.  Haddock didn’t have to look up to see the round, yellow orb of the moon rising.  He felt it touch his skin, peeling away human flesh like burning paper until he was on all fours, covered in brown silky fur.  His clothes lay about the area.  He made a mental note to have Miss Marlowe or Evans gather them up.  If he made it through the night.  Now you stop that.  He shook his shaggy coat and sniffed the biting air.  No sign of Sir Drexel yet.  He loped through the woods, keeping an alert eye out for any sign of another wolf, ears twitching at the slightest sound that wasn’t made by the wind.  Haddock slowed down as he came up to the spot where Miss Marlowe was.

              He alerted her to his presence with a few soft whines.  She turned around to see him trotting up to her side, hands tightly gripping the shotgun.  Good girl.  Miss Marlowe smiled upon recognizing him and held out a hand as he brought his head up to her cold fingers.

              “That was fast,” she said as she scratched behind his ears.  Haddock nudged her hand with his nose in reply.  He could smell the anxiety radiating off of her.  Stay calm.  Stay alert.  You’ll do fine.  He wagged his tail at Miss Marlowe before bounding off onto the moors.

                                                                                      *

Two extremely long hours passed, and still there was no sign of Sir Drexel’s sandy pelt.  Haddock had pranced out under the moonlight on the sparkling snowy plains, practically inviting Sir Drexel to fight him.  However, it seemed as if Sir Drexel had made other plans for the night.  With a twinge of guilt, Haddock realized that Miss Marlowe must be freezing right about now.  He decided that they might as well give up the hunt for the night and return to the warm confines of the lodge where they could thaw out and think up another plan.  He’d apologize for keeping her out so late once he had the power of speech back.  He began to head in Miss Marlowe’s direction.  A snarl caused him to freeze, his hackles automatically raising as the blood began to pump faster.  He stiffly made an about-face and saw…nothing.  Haddock growled softly in irritation.  He could have sworn—

              A heavy force plowed into him from behind, heavy jaws latching around his neck as he was wrenched to the ground in an explosion of snow.  He should have known that Sir Drexel would set up an ambush of his own.  The sandy-coated wolf bit down harder into Haddock’s neck, snarling as he endeavored to rip his wind pipe open.  Haddock smashed his head against Drexel’s.  The other yelped and released his grip enough for Haddock to twist out from his precarious position.  Haddock skittered a good distance away from Drexel and pulled back his lips to bare his fangs at him, a low rumble coming from his throat.  Drexel shot a long pink tongue out of his mouth, licking his bloody jaws with a mocking look in his eyes.  The horsewhip scar was a dark mark against his light coat, scabbing right across the bridge of his nose.  He was massive in size when compared to Haddock.  This wasn’t going to be an easy fight.  And he still had to draw Drexel back towards the woods where Miss Marlowe was waiting... 

Drexel leapt at him with his jaws flung wide open.  They clashed in a tangle of deadly opposing forces.  Haddock ripped a good-sized chunk of fur from the other’s tawny coat as Drexel raked Haddock’s sides with his claws, both too absorbed in maiming the other to care about reacting to the pain.  A leg jutted out in front of Haddock and he grabbed it with his teeth, hurling Drexel onto his side.  The stunned, bigger wolf emitted a surprised yelp.  Haddock bit down on the other’s neck, but his jaws were too small to fit.  Drexel rolled, smashing his full weight into Haddock whose head was caught between the snow and the burly werewolf’s body.  He kicked and scratched as Drexel pressed harder to keep his head pinned.  He laid a blow to Drexel’s head with a hind leg and wriggled out of the werewolf’s control. 

Bright red, fresh blood speckled the tousled surface of the snow as the two werewolves eyed each other from a distance, panting out quick, foggy breaths of air.  Haddock’s injury from the duel was beginning to ache, but he couldn’t afford to dwell on that now.  His neck throbbed with new wounds as something wet and warm oozed down his shoulder.  Drexel didn’t even look like he was at all fazed by his injuries; in fact, he looked like he was enjoying himself immensely.  The bigger werewolf took a step.  Haddock bolted away in the direction of the woods.  If he could just get close enough, Miss Marlowe would get a nice clear shot at the beast and they could be finished with this whole fight.

Drexel’s pounding galloping sounded close on his heels, accompanied by a whirring growl.  Haddock crested a white hill and saw the tops of the trees in the distance, obscured by a fogbank that was slowly rolling over and pouring into the moors.  Just a little closer…  He still couldn’t see or smell Miss Marlowe, and he was silently glad for that.  She had listened to him and hidden herself so that Drexel was unaware of her presence and role in the grand scheme of things.  Haddock suddenly realized that Drexel’s panting was louder.  He looked to the side and saw the other keeping pace with, and beginning to outrun him.  Apparently the tawny werewolf was not only bigger, but faster.  Haddock was still trying to work out the logic in that when Drexel veered towards him headfirst, butting him in the side.  He yelped and felt a fuzziness shoot through his limbs.  The duel injury.  Pretending that his enemy had hurt him more than a mere jolt of pain, Haddock crumpled to the ground, watching the tawny werewolf move in to attack, confidence exuding from his every gesture.  Haddock jumped up and sank his fangs into the other’s neck when Drexel came at him mid-spring.  The full weight of the momentum brought them both to the ground in a shower of snow powder, but Haddock still maintained his grip.  He squeezed his jaws closer, trying to break the skin and get to the muscle where he could do some real damage.  Drexel’s squirming wasn’t helping.  Drexel tried rolling again, but instead sent the two of them tumbling down an icy hillside.  They fell apart at the base of the hill, scrambling to their feet.  Blood streaked the hillside and dappled the ground around them.  There was a slight rasp in Haddock’s breathing.  His limbs shook from the adrenaline and exertion.  He was pleased to see that Drexel was looking equally spent.  Through the mist, he could see the brute’s sides heaving, and he had a good amount of claw marks and gashes on his hide to show that Haddock had been able to get some decent blows in there.

Drexel’s golden eyes were glowing with ire.  He was no longer playing.  He began to circle Haddock stiffly, hackles raised and ears pressed flat against his large skull.  Haddock did likewise, looking for any weak spot that the other might have, or a way to draw him closer to Miss Marlowe’s hiding place.  They leapt at each other at the same time, brown fur slamming tawny as they continued their fight.  This time, Drexel didn’t hold anything back.  He was more calculating and less haphazard with his slashes and bites, continually coming back to Haddock’s dueling wound and throat.

During their last clash, Drexel had been overconfident and sloppy, mainly due to the fact that he had been inebriated prior to transforming and attempted to go on another moonlit rampage.  Haddock had easily bested him.  He had been hoping that Drexel, knowing that his enemy was incapacitated and unable to interfere with his killings, would to the same thing again.  The tawny wolf’s analytical use of his strength and size had proven to Haddock right away that he would have to be just as cunning and quick this time around.

A heavy paw swatted Haddock in the head, sending him stumbling sideways.  His vision blurred from the blow and the additional blood loss; the ground beneath them was sparkling with more red than white.  Drexel was circling again, closing in.  Haddock lurched drunkenly towards the visible treetops amidst the fog at a gallop.  He wouldn’t be able to hold out fighting Drexel for much longer.  Please, please be ready, Isolde.

                                                                                      *

Isolde sat shivering in a snowbank in the middle of the night wondering what on earth had induced her to agree to Mr. Haddock’s idiotic plan in the first place.  Oh.  Right.  I volunteered.  Her shoes were wet and soggy and the thick coat that Mr. Haddock had given her worked at keeping the cold at bay for the first half hour, but she was beginning to think that it hadn’t been intended for keeping one warm at freezing temperatures for long periods of time.  Nevertheless, she waited patiently for her friend to return and let her know that it was time for them to give up and return to the nice, warm manor.  She had been fantasizing about sinking into a piping hot bath and sipping some ginger tea afterwards when a series of angry snarls burst into her thoughts.  The hair on her already gooseflesh arms bristled even further.  Her waiting was about to pay off.

              Quietly and smoothly, Isolde edged out of the woods at a crouch, taking care to keep the shotgun held above the wet snow and holding a handful of the longcoat so that she wouldn’t trip and ruin everything by falling out into the open.  She kept to the backs of tall snowbanks, downwind as Mr. Haddock had instructed, popping her head up for a few seconds at a time to make sure she was headed in the right direction.  She probably didn’t have to make such frequent visual confirmations; the increasingly louder growls and snarls told her she was getting closer.  She felt like the heartbeat pounding in her ears was making enough noise to set Sir Drexel off to her position.  She sat on her haunches behind a small hillock, clenching and unclenching her hands to get the feeling back into her fingers while the shotgun rested on her lap.  She would only have one shot.  She grabbed the gun and poked her head out again.  Drexel-Wolf had Haddock-Wolf pinned on his back, his massive jaws clamped around Haddock-Wolf’s throat as the latter struggled to push his attacker away.  An alarming amount of blood caked the lighter wolf’s muzzle and the darker wolf’s neck, pooling onto the snow.  Isolde’s fear for Mr. Haddock’s life caused her hands to shake and a sudden flush of warmth to suffuse her chest.  The fear she had been harboring towards Sir Drexel began to transmute, twisting into a red-hot anger that made her feel more alert and sure of herself.

              She burst out from her hiding place and leveled the shotgun with both hands at Drexel-Wolf’s head.  His ears flicked forward as he heard her movements and his head popped up.  Isolde wanted him to see his killer.  She pulled the trigger.

              A crimson flower exploded right in the middle of Drexel-Wolf’s head, the realization of his fate frozen in his golden eyes.  The werewolf’s body dropped to the ground as blood poured out of its blown-out skull.  Isolde released the breath she had been holding and ran to where Haddock-Wolf lay.  She crouched next to him as the werewolf whined and looked up at her.  Her hand trembled as she stroked his head.  There was so much blood.  Isolde wheeled around, shotgun aimed when she heard crunching behind her, half expecting a flunky of Sir Drexel to be running up with a weapon at the ready to avenge his fallen leader.  She instead saw the faithful Evans, his mouth drawn into a thin line and face blanched despite the cold.  Mr. Hogan the Driver was close on his heels, carrying an armful of what looked to be blankets.

              “What are you doing here?” Isolde heard herself say as Evans sank down beside her to assess his master’s wounds.  His fingers danced over the werewolf’s brown hide.

“Master Haddock expected he would need immediate medical attention if he survived the fight.  There’s a carriage in the woods.  You can wait there while we—”

              “No.”

“If you insist,” Evans replied, not caring about the interruption.

Mr. Hogan spread the large blanket on the ground next to Haddock-Wolf and he and Evans carefully moved the werewolf onto it.  They puffed and grunted as they carried the werewolf into the woods, Isolde walking by Mr. Hogan’s side where Haddock-Wolf could still see her.  She felt like she was in a daze.  She jumped when she saw a rider in the woods trotting in the other direction.

              “Mr. Evans—!”

“He’s with us, Miss Marlowe,” Evans quickly said.  “He’ll be taking care of Sir Drexel’s remains.”

Isolde saw the rider stop by a dark mound on the snowy misty moors, dismount, and retrieve a shovel from the side of his saddle.  The blade of the man’s shovel flashed in the moonlight as he chipped away at the icy ground, excavating a deep grave for the body of Drexel-Wolf.