The Gadget: The Rondon Chronicles Book One

by V. J. Timlin

  “Are you alright?” Nat looked at her, his brows furrowed with concern.

  Anouk nodded, wiping sweat from her forehead. “Yeah.”

  She took a handkerchief from her pocket and cleaned the blood off her sword. The simple task gave her time to gather herself. She shuddered. Apparently amputating hands holding guns was her speciality now. The one-eyed man would probably live if someone got him to a surgeon. Nevertheless, his missing hand would serve as a warning to Madam Valeria to leave Anouk alone. The thought gave her limited satisfaction.

  Anouk sheathed her katana. “Is Madam Valeria always this persistent?”

  Nat was purveying the scene, and his gaze stopped and focused on something. Anouk’s heart jumped. Had the madam sent more men after her? He waved at something, and Anouk turned to see what—a steam carriage headed their way. Anouk sighed in relief. He had signalled for a taxi.

  “She’s persistent, alright,” Nat said.

  “Well, let’s hope seeing her errand boy missing a hand will discourage her from further attempts.”

  The taxi stopped next to them, and Nat opened its cabin door. He looked at Anouk and shook his head, his features dark. “Nope. She can buy thugs like those bastards for an hour with one of her girls.”

  Anouk gaped at him, horrified. “You’re joking.”

  “I’m afraid not. Now, climb in.”

  She staggered up the step, almost hitting her head on the doorframe.

  “The Royal Restroom,” Nat requested before boarding the vehicle after her.

  She hugged herself tight, trying to stop her body from shaking. Her thoughts turned back to London and her former life. How carefree and safe it had been despite her mother’s death and the split with Owen at the worst possible moment. Overwhelming powerlessness hit her like a rugby player, knocking out her breath and tightening her throat.

  “I miss home,” Anouk whispered. She leaned her head against the carriage’s wall and looked out of the window. Why had she confessed that? A warm hand touched hers, opening the floodgates.

  “Hold me,” she said, sobbing. Nat moved to her and pulled her into his arms. Anouk pressed her face on his shoulder and cried for the second time in five days. He cradled her, offering his presence, support and companionship in silence.

  Anouk pulled back after the tears had run out. “I’m sorry.” A dark, wet blotch on Nat’s shoulder made her wince. “And I ruined your coat.”

  Nat shrugged, a soft smile on his face. “That’s fine.”

  “You must be thinking I’m a massive wimp, which I probably am. It’s just that my life has been so sheltered and secure, and now suddenly…” She trembled. “Everyone wants me either dead or working as a prostitute.”

  Nat took Anouk by her shoulders, levelling his eyes on hers. “You’re not a wimp, Anouk. It’s alright to be scared. And to be honest, you’ve managed remarkably well, considering the circumstances and your background. I’m proud of you.”

  “Thanks.” She hesitated for a moment. “Are you ever afraid? Do you ever question yourself, that you can pull this off?”

  Nat let go of Anouk’s shoulders and moved back to his side of the coach. “Sure, I get scared sometimes.”

  Anouk’s eyebrows shot up. “You do?”

  “Aye.” Nat smiled.

  A smile briefly appeared on Anouk’s lips. It was good to hear Nat confessing he was afraid too. If not all the time, at least sometimes. Most of all, he hadn’t belittled her feelings.

  “I doubt Stalo has such ignoble emotions as fear and self-doubt.”

  Nat snorted. “Well, he’s special.”

  “He was a brutal warlord?”

  “Very.” Nat’s expression darkened.

  “Tell me what happened… to your family.”

  Nat turned to look out of the window. Anouk bit her lip. He didn’t want to talk about his family earlier when she had asked. It was clear he wouldn’t want to open up about it now either. She was about to apologise, but Nat shrugged and met her eyes.

  He started with a low voice. “I was around thirteen years old. My father worked in a crystal mine close to our village; most of the village men did. It was a profitable mine. Stalo’s father, the warlord at that time, owned it like he owned most of our lands. He took a big portion of the profit, but let us keep enough to lead a decent life. He was hard, but just. Then the old lord died and Stalo inherited his title, lands, and fortune. Rumour had it that Stalo murdered his father, but there was no proof. He decided to keep all the profits the mine produced, leaving us nothing. The miners first sent a delegation to address the concerns.” Nat paused. Pain and vulnerability entered his dark eyes.

  The cacophony of the traffic drifted inside loud and clear. The carriage stopped and Nat glanced out. With a sigh, he continued, “He whipped and hanged them as an example. That caused protests and strikes. Then one night Stalo attacked our village and burned it down, killing everyone, including my family. I happened to be in the backyard toilet, and I hid in the waste pit.” Nat looked down to his hands. Next time he spoke, his voice was a mere whisper. “I was the only one who survived.”

  The carriage jumped into motion after standing in a traffic jam for a few minutes. The soft chuff chuff quickened as it accelerated.

  Horror and pity twisted in Anouk’s heart like a rough-edged shard. She held back her tears. “I… I…” she stammered and reached to touch Nat’s hand.

  The shard smashed through her heart, and she wanted to do something to take his pain away. Before Anouk realised what she was doing, she leaned in to kiss him. His lips were soft and warm. For a short moment he was caught off guard, but then he responded, parting his lips and pulling Anouk tight against him—his kiss was hot and passionate. A burning sensation spread into her entire body, threatening to engulf her.

  “No.” Anouk pulled away from Nat, breathless and backing all the way to the other end of their seat. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me. Nat, please, believe me, I’m so, so very sorry.”

  “No, it was my fault. I should have remembered my manners.” Nat’s voice was hoarse. “Please, forgive me. It won’t happen again.”

  Anouk’s jaw dropped. His face was red, and he did his best to avoid looking at her. Never before had she been in a situation where a man took full responsibility. She had been the initiator, not he.

  “Nat, there is no need for you to apologise. I was the one who forgot my manners, and I’m sincerely sorry. It was a genuine mistake. I assure you, it definitely won’t happen again.”

  Nat gave her a wary look. “We are partners. I shouldn’t…”

  Anouk lifted her hand to stop him. “Alright, we both made a mistake. We speak of it no more.”

  Nat nodded, looking somewhat relieved and reiterated her sentiment. “We shall speak of it no more.”

  Anouk turned to look out the window. Her gaze rested on the traffic flowing by, but she didn’t see it. She wanted to bang her head against the wall until she got some sense in there. Why did she deliberately go and complicate things that were already complicated in a life-threatening way?

  She was going back to London if she survived this gig. She couldn’t deny she was attracted to him, but there was no future for them. Besides, she didn’t even know whether he had any feelings towards her other than protectiveness and loyalty. He had said he never mixed business with pleasure. She groaned inwardly. Why had she kissed him? Why did it have to feel so damn good?

  The taxi stopped. After paying the driver, Anouk and Nat walked towards the woods in silence, giving each other more space than before. Anouk stole glances at Nat, but he kept his face forward, an unreadable mask on it. Brilliant, Anouk, just bloody brilliant.

  Subdued, Anouk turned her attention to her surroundings. Royal Restroom wasn’t much different from Outer Rim Park; maybe a tad more wild.

  A faint scent of smoke drifted to her nose. Vari and Fitzwil…

  Anouk cleared her throat. “I noticed you were careful not to mention Vari and Fit
zwil’s involvement to Rose, Chief Constable Loka and Madam Valeria.”

  “They are retired, no need to drag them in the middle of this. They like to help, but they also deserve to be left in peace.”

  “Quite.”

  They came to the edge of a small clearing. The familiar red-green wagon was parked in the middle of it, and Vari, sitting in front of it, was stirring a pot that hung over the fire. The sight made Anouk’s stomach rumble; they hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

  “Hi.” Vari waved. “Your timing is perfect. The stew is just about ready, so sit down and have a bite.”

  “Thanks.” Nat accepted the plate Vari was offering.

  Anouk found a seat next to Vari and filled her plate with the steaming meat stew. She took a bite—a strong gamy flavour mixed with herbs filled her mouth, raising goose bumps all over her body. “Mm, this is good.”

  Vari smiled. “Glad you like it. It’s hare.”

  “Hello there, you two,” Fitzwil called, walking toward them. “Vari, love, the horse is groomed and fed.”

  “Good. Sit down and eat.” Vari extended a plate to him.

  “Cheers, love.” Fitzwil took it and started to spoon stew onto it. “So, did your enquiries produce any results?”

  “Some.” Nat paused and sighed. “The chief constable told us Rekka’s body was found yesterday in The Pits.”

  Vari and Fitzwil both grimaced.

  “That is unfortunate,” Fitzwil said.

  “Aye.” Nat took a spoonful of stew and blew on it. “Then Madam Valeria called off our cooperation.”

  Vari frowned. “Why? What happened?”

  Nat’s mouth was full, so Anouk decided to answer the question. After all, it was because of her. “She made me the offer again, I declined. She didn’t believe me, and Nat stepped in.”

  Nat swallowed the food and added, “She sent three of her goons after us.” He relayed the whole chain of events, from the start of the meeting.

  Vari whistled. “She really wants you, Anouk, doesn’t she? But it can’t be just because of your eyes. Has she learned you’re not from here?”

  “I don’t know.” She glanced at Nat. He had already answered her once, but she wanted to check if he still held the same opinion. “Has she?”

  “Only we, Amanda and Stalo know your origin. Amanda doesn’t have dealings with Madam Valeria. If it were Stalo, I wouldn’t have walked out of the brothel alive, and you’d have been forced to stay. But as I told you earlier, Madam Valeria is always on the lookout for new girls. She knows you’re different, and she’s determined to find out why.”

  Anouk shuddered. “Every girl wants to feel special, they say, but this is a bit too much.”

  Nat gave her a crooked smile. “Well, you sent her a clear message by cutting off that man’s hand. Knowing her, though, it won’t lead to the desired outcome.”

  “I suppose it won’t.” She sighed. “Next time it has to be hers then. Maybe that will help her to change her mind about me.”

  “Maybe.” Nat spooned stew into his mouth.

  “Thanks for coming to my rescue, Nat. I know it wasn’t easy since the madam was your long-time friend and an important contact.”

  “No need to thank me. That’s what partners do. By the way, you handled One-Eye well.”

  “No need to thank me.”

  Nat lifted his gaze from his plate and arched his eyebrows. Anouk returned his flat look with a grin.

  Vari chuckled. “I’m glad to see your partnership is thriving.”

  Anouk blushed. If Vari only knew what happened in that carriage… not that she came across as a matchmaker, but she might think Anouk was unprofessional. Which she certainly had been.

  Dating co-workers had always been something she avoided like the plague. It made things complicated, especially in the case of breakups. She had witnessed it many times. The latest was when Alison broke up with her boyfriend who worked in the same department. The memory still made her squirm—the aftermath had been ugly.

  She glanced at Vari and Fitzwil who were eating and chatting with Nat.

  “Yes, there is a message on the Communicator. It peeped some time ago,” Fitzwil replied between bites to something Nat had just said.

  Nat looked at Anouk, surprise in his eyes. “Oh? Rose has new information already?”

  After the meal, Nat and Anouk climbed in the caravan. Nat took a brass box from a cabinet and laid it on the table. The apparatus was about nine inches long, six inches wide and four inches thick. A keyboard, rotators and two switches with symbols covered the instrument. On the upper part, a narrow rectangular screen reached the width of the box.

  Anouk whistled. “So that’s the Communicator? It looks a bit like an Enigma machine, but smaller.”

  “Really? Is that what you call your Communicators?” Nat asked and turned one of two switches. The screen on the top lit up.

  “Well, not exactly. Enigma was a version, half a century ago.” Anouk saved herself from explaining things that were beyond her technical knowledge. Besides, Nat looked more keen on seeing what the message was, not getting a history lesson. Judging by the concentrated frown on his face when he handled the Communicator, Anouk was sure he hadn’t even heard her reply.

  He flicked another switch. “Now we have to be careful to catch the whole message because it will be gone after we have read it.”

  Anouk leaned closer and craned her neck. Pulsing letters and words started to run from right to left. The jumping motion of the words forced Anouk to strain her eyes.

  A message from Rose Tarandus to Nat Walla [stop] I know where he is [stop] come as soon as possible [stop]

  Anouk’s breath caught and she looked up at Nat. He met her eyes, a wolfish grin on his face. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 16

  A horse-drawn taxi dropped Anouk and Nat at the edge of The Pits. The late afternoon sun shone through the haze of smoke. The smog was thinner than the day before when Anouk and Nat had visited Rose. Either the wind was cleaning the air, or people were using less coal on this warm day.

  The traffic and the noise were the same though. People, carriages, wagons, and even a large pig squeezed into the narrow streets. Honks, clip-clops, hisses and chuffs, obscenities, greetings and gossip echoed around Anouk forming a chaotic soundscape. It wasn’t unpleasant. On the contrary, Anouk revelled in it as much as she had the chaos of Mumbai. Only the streets of The Pits weren’t as colourful.

  One thing she couldn’t bring herself to savour though was the acrid odour of urine and rot the warm spring day had accentuated. Anouk wrinkled her nose. The stink on a hot summer’s day would be even worse. In the Middle Ages, they had warned about toxic fumes; the smell was just a by-product of the decomposition process, and things much more sinister skulked among the waste and rodents. She wasn’t going to ask Nat if his government kept records about cholera outbreaks or other deaths and diseases caused by poor sanitation. He already found her fascination with statistics—as he put it—odd; she preferred to call it healthy curiosity. After all, she was a numbers person.

  They turned the corner and Rose’s house came into view. Nat stopped dead, and his body tensed. Anouk’s heart missed a beat. She darted looks around. People went by, minding their own business. Nothing seemed amiss.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Captain Biddulph,” Nat growled and slipped his revolver from his waist.

  “Who? Where?”

  Instead of replying, Nat broke into a run.

  “Nat, wait,” Anouk called, but his pace visibly quickened. “Bloody hell,” she muttered and sprang after him before he disappeared out of her sight.

  Curses and screams followed when Nat pushed forward, pursuing the fleeing man. Anouk did her best to keep up with him, blurting hasty apologies when Nat or she knocked someone over. A fist flew towards her and she ducked under, escaping before another one would find her.

  The captain raced through the streets, tearing through the chaos without regard for
the bodies he pushed through or the curses left in his wake. The disarray around Anouk made it impossible to have a better look at the man without stumbling or losing Nat. Who was this Captain Biddulph? Anouk got the gist he wasn’t Nat’s bosom friend, but the naked rage on Nat’s face and this blind, reckless chase got her worried. That was an understatement. She was scared. Nat wasn’t behaving like his usual self.

  Nat turned the corner, away from her field of vision. When she reached the same junction, Nat was nowhere to be seen. Her stomach clenched. She shot glances around, seeking any signs of him. All she saw were people coming and going, looking unconcerned. A panic seeped through her whole body. Where the hell was he? Had she taken a wrong turn? But that couldn’t be possible.

  Gunfire echoed in front of her.

  “No!”

  The street emptied as people scurried to safety. A short distance away, Anouk saw three men circling Nat, pointing guns at his face. Anouk ducked behind a wash tub and chair that were abandoned against a wall when a woman had dropped her laundry and escaped inside.

  Anouk peeked from her hiding place. Nat was standing sideways to her. A man, a couple of inches taller, stood in front of him, a wide smirk on his face. Nat’s jaw was clenched as he met the man’s eyes. He had to be Captain Biddulph.

  “Glad you still remember me, Nat Walla,” the captain said. The street was now empty of other people and Anouk had no trouble hearing the cheerful tone of his voice.

  The captain turned his head towards his man standing with his back to Anouk and winked. Captain Biddulph’s big round blue eyes were images of innocence, a permanent question in them. Two white scars on his tanned skin dampened the impression as did a small tattoo behind his ear that came into view when he turned his head back to Nat. Was this the man Rose had seen asking after Arnar? His dark greying hair peeked out from under a dark cap, and he looked about the same age as his boss. Yes, he must be.

  He wore what Anouk recognised as working-class attire—light-blue shirt, brown waistcoat and dark trousers. The two men with him wore the same combination including similar dark caps on their heads. They looked local.