The jungle was far from quiet, as Boots knew it wouldn’t be, having spent several months in it while looking for the missing David Livingston, but he had developed an understanding of the noises, the natural ones, and the ones that indicated a Bantu warrior was stalking them. In a second, it all flooded back to him, the sounds of the nocturnal animals and insects, he stumbled and Burke grabbed his arm to steady him, then made a chirp that brought the men to a halt. “We’ll take a little break here,” he whispered.
“Thank you,” Boots said, quietly. “It all came back to me, from Stanley’s mission.”
“And you are okay?” Burke asked.
“Fine, but, something ...” Boots said, pushing his fingers through his hair.
“Something is not right,” Burke said as a statement rather than a question. “Yes, I feel it too. More than one thing though.”
“Agreed,” Boots said, “That’s it, it’s not one thing. This is too easy, at least based on my experience. We are quiet, but the local people are quieter and know the sounds of their night. But there is something else, a feeling of being watched or ...”
“Stalked?” Burke offered.
“Exactly,” he said, then turned to Jane. “Jane, can you reach one of the others and send them, quietly to circle around to our flank and see if we are being followed?”
Jane nodded and walked several steps into the jungle. When she returned, she nodded.
“Thank you,” Boots said, then sat on a rock outcropping to rest.
A few minutes later, as they were preparing to leave, John come from the south carrying a man over his shoulder. He set him down in at the feet of Burke and Boots, then looked at Boots, pointed back behind him and held up ten fingers.
“There are ten more behind us?” Burke guessed.
John nodded, then moved through the team and into the jungle ahead to continue scouting.
The man moved and moaned, touched his head, then as if he remembered he was jumped by a Nightwalker, pulled his legs in and covered his head. He mumbled something over and over until Boots interrupted, speaking with him a halted version of the same language. This relaxed the man and he straightened out then stood.
Boots looked at Burke. “He speaks Kindu, of which I know a little.” Turning back to the man, he spoke again and listened to the man’s reply. When the man finished, Boots motioned for him to sit, and offered him a small bottle of water he pulled from one of his many pockets.
“He is from a local tribe. It seems Narcissa has been at work here, abducting people. He and several of his men have been watching the compound ahead in hopes they will catch the enemy, or find their people.”
Burke looked thoughtfully, then said, “Tell him to get his warriors together and make their way to the Duke’s compound. When they hear the fighting begin, they can assist us in rescuing their people. But tell them not to attack the pale people with the black ribbons.”
Boots did just that but when he got to the part describing the vampires, the man shrank back and began speaking fast.
“It seems they are not keen on working with our Nightwalker friends.”
“You are correct. They have no indigenous vampires here currently, only legends of the Sasabonsam and other vampire-like demons. He believes our friends are them, and therefore, we cannot be trusted.”
“Tell him to judge us by our actions, that we release him, but that if he wants to see his people again, he will help us defeat this Lightning Lord.”
Boots raised his hands and spoke. The man seemed to calm then slid past Boots and Burke and merge back into the jungle.
“Well, that was fruitless,” Burke said, slinging his rifle back across his shoulder.
“Maybe,” Boots said, “but perhaps not, now we know who is watching us.”
Burke shrugged, “There is that. Alright men, lets head out.”
****
He watched the men leave the spot where they had rested. He stood as a slice of shadow in a jungle of shadows. He thought to take the man they released but he wasn’t particularly hungry, and there was the possibility there would be a scream or some other noise that would betray him so he let the man go back to his people.
He remembered seeing the smaller man, who spoke to the aboriginal, in the Duke’s mountain fortress, he now knew was a place called Colorado where they rescued the scientist, Tesla. He held no grudge, this man, called Boots, rescued his people and if it all worked as he hoped, these armed men would release his kind and bring their mutual enemy out. Where if they didn’t end Narcissa, he certainly would.
Interlude Six – An Electric Meeting
Maggie gazed at herself in the full length mirror. She needed to be critical since it was her first social function after her two long years of mourning had ended, and she wanted to look her best. In truth, at twenty-five years of age, her marriage to a man in his fortieth year, had been a sham, a marriage of convenience, and to fund her more eccentric activities.
Her gown was a deep red and daringly low cut. The exposed black corset further highlighted the red in the dress and she knew she would make the impression she wanted. Elizabeth, her maid, brought her favorite strand of blood red rubies and lay them around her neck. They were shaped into a graceful “V” shape that reminded her of dripping blood, that it also directed men’s eyes to her modest décolletage, made her smile. It was about manipulation and control. It was perfect.
“Elizabeth, I think it’s time for me to greet my guests,” she said, performing a final check and repositioning several of her long black curls before exiting her dressing room. The halls of her mansion home were long and cold and vaguely reminiscent of the smaller, American estate Henry had almost given her, but this one was far grander. Her husband, Lord Robert Edward Westbury, had been a man of incredible wealth, with holdings in the Indies and Patagonia, and with no heirs to be found, the court granted her special dispensation to inherit after his untimely and unfortunate death.
She reached the top of the grand staircase and prepared to make her grand entrance. Her butler, Samson, cleared his voice and announced her arrival. Gliding down the staircase she was gratified to see that all turned to watch her entrance. She looked to each guest and read their eyes. The men, the men were easy, sexual desire, all fantasizing about a quick romp with her. The women, most of them were easy too, either shock she had chosen to store her black wardrobe and move on, or jealousy they were not her. Her attention was drawn to a small group of women who, she noticed with some annoyance, payed her no attention at all. They appeared to be gathering around well-dressed black haired man. He wasn’t a young man since she noticed a touch of gray at each temple, but stood tall and the position of his body said nobility.
“My lady, may I say how stunning and bold you look this evening,” said Lady Therese Penton. “We were so thrilled to receive your invitation. Of course, without dwelling on the past and Lord Westbury’s unfortunate death, we did want to give you our deepest sympathies.
She continued to prattle while Maggie scanned those close to her. She was surrounded by her gang of rich wives whose various dukes, barons, and lords were otherwise occupied discussing politics or the state of the colonies. God, how I hate them.
She knew what they thought of her, and of the death of Robert. She smiled knowing she had intended to kill him, and make it seem like an accident. Or, perhaps she would ride him so hard one night he would have a heart attack. In the end she had no need, the man went riding one afternoon and the sun set before he returned. In the dim light of the sunset, he rode into a limb, fell off his horse and broke his neck. Her smile broadened at the thought of that particular serendipity. Lady Therese was smiling also and seem to be gaining energy. Apparently this brainless twit has decided that I am enjoying her incessant droning.
She came back to the moment and addressed her guest. “Thank you, Lady Therese, Robert will be sorely missed by many including me. And of my dress, I wasn’t even sure if it was still in style.” At least not before last wee
k when I returned with it from London. “Of course I do not possess your gift of aged grace and elegance that lessens the need for extravagant clothing and expensive baubles,” she said.
Therese’s smiled tightened, as the smiles of the other’s broadened and they quickly hid them with their fans. Maggie smiled sardonically at how easily these rich women would turn on a friend for something as small as a little quip. Maggie excused herself to tend to her other guests, promising to meet with her later, perhaps at the punch bowl. She considered poisoning it briefly. Maggie hoped the event would end before then.
For the next hour Maggie mingled with her guests. She spoke with them about the state of the British economy, what was happening in Africa, as well as more mundane things like the new fashions coming out of Paris. Really, she reflected, dealing with the very rich was not much different than working the room at The Pearl.
Occasionally, her eye caught on the distinguished gentlemen, who was still the center of the group, though now the group consisted of men. Now her annoyance was replaced with curiosity and she thought to introduce herself but each time she began to wind her way to his location she was intercepted by some Lord, Duke or Earl wanting the next dance.
Many hinted that their marriages were wanting and soon they would be free men, while others barely made eye contact clearly having heard the rumors of this, “black widow.” She had just finished a reel with a duke from lower something or other, and sent him to fetch her a cup of punch when she finally stole away to the garden for a moment of peace.
Always on her guard she chose a bench against the outer wall where she could see both the house and the front gate. She wondered if James had known that this is the life she would fall into that night after she killed Henry Brewster. He had shaken her hand, paid her the tidy sum of two-thousand dollars, and told her to find a new life – make one if she must.
She took his words to heart. Even as he and Rasha began cleaning the scene of Brewster’s murder, she began formulating a plan. She booked passage to London as Miss Margret Thompson, and began convincing London society she was one of the nouveau riche from America. At first it was the wealthy merchants whose gatherings she graced. More than one sea Captain, or solicitor had attempted to woo her, but soon she began to receive invitations to the galas and routs of the nobles.
Maggie, worked these new contacts until she was firmly ensconced in London’s elite. Always the life of the party, every Lord’s lady knew her event would be incomplete without the presence of Miss Thompson. It had taken her slightly over a year to convince an old, titled man to marry her, securing herself a proper title. If her father had been unlucky in his early days, she was his complete opposite.
Crunching gravel underfoot snapped Maggie from her memories and she rose from the bench, adorning her face with a welcoming smile. Her smile broadened as she recognized her visitor as the handsome man she had been wanting to meet all night. His walk was not the meander, of one escaping the crowd, but purposefully as one wanting an audience. Part of her felt pleased she had captured his attention, but her training caused her to follow a certain seam of her dress and touch the blade cleverly stitched into the lining.
“My Lady, I’ve found you.” He removed his hat. “I wanted to thank you for allowing me into your home.”
His accent is American, probably New England … Massachusetts area, she thought.
A card appeared in his hand and she took it. The card read, “Duke Leopold Narcissa.”
“My Lord Duke, it was no trouble.” She extended her hand, and he took it and kissed it lightly. At his touch, her hand tingled and she pulled back, surprised.
He smiled slyly. “Your friends, Baron Black and Lady Therese Black invited me.” He stepped uncomfortably close to her. “However, if I may be so bold, my lady, I had already planned to visit.”
Maggie lifted a brow, but when he offered no further explanation she rolled her eyes. “Then, pray tell, Duke, what is your interest in me? A love affair perhaps … passionate love and then quick return to your wife in the morning?”
He smirked. “I want to hire you to kill someone for me.”
Her eyes widened in surprise, not because of the act of murder, but that he had supposed she was capable of it. Something about the way he spoke made her breath catch. Though they were straightforward and carried a quality of honesty, Maggie felt he was hiding something, or perhaps a great deal. He was a great deal more interesting than any of these boring lords and ladies of court.
“I have no idea what you are talking about, My Lord Duke, perhaps you’ve had a little too much to drink this evening. I believe the port is very fine.” How has he discovered the truth of my night-time activities? There were rumors of course, and she had often suspected the intrigue was one of the reasons she was invited to parties, or perhaps it was fear.
“Please, you have nothing to fear from me. I’d like to work together. I am in need of a protector of sorts and I could use someone of your skill,” he said calmly.
Should I trust him? she wondered, then smiled, Of course I shouldn’t. Hadn’t that been one of the first lessons she had been taught?
She sat down on the bench. “I’m still not sure what my lord thinks I can do for him.”
“Let us stop this pretense, my lady. You are an assassin and if my research is accurate your skills are rather singular. I have more to offer you than the paltry sums these court dandies have offered, though I will admit the money is much better than you were offered at The Pearl.
Ahh, perhaps I have a blackmailer on my hand, she thought. Mentally she felt for the dagger at her belt, but then remembered she had guests and decided to seek him out and eliminate him later.
Duke Narcissa leaned in to whisper. “I can offer you true purpose and power, true power.” He touched her bare arm and again she felt a tingle. It was like touching the Leyden Jar Dr. Prescott had brought to the Duchesses’ gala three months ago.
She was intrigued but needed time to gather further information on dear Duke Narcissa. “Perhaps we do have something to offer each other, my Duke, but let us speak of this another time perhaps at a different venue?
He gave a curt bow. “My Lady Westbury, I can only hope our relationship will continue to grow.” He turned to leave the turned back quickly. “By the way your current name, Regina is it not?”
Maggie nodded.
“You do know it means queen in Latin?” he asked with a smirk.
She nodded again. “Indeed.”
Chapter 58 – Beacon and Burke Breech
Boots, Burke and his men made quick work of the distance and soon came to a clearing, a plateau at the base of a mountain peak. A well-established road ran across the clearing from the village of Kifuka below upward, curving back and forth until half way to the peak where it stopped at massive stone walls. In the moonlight, they could see the tops of buildings, and the peaks of several towers all made from similar stone as the wall, spiked above up above it. There was a message here and if Boots read it correctly it said, ‘Stay the Hell Away!’
A sharp ‘tick, tick’ sounded from their left, a signal from one of Burke’s men. Boots and Burke moved quietly toward the sound and soon stood with a small stout man who lifted a lantern and whose gaze they followed to a huge white mound. The jungle was climbing the mound and would soon, within a couple of months, totally reclaim and obscure the hundreds of bones and skulls.
Further examination of the area turned up broken tools, dishware, and other detritus of any, of every civilization. “I believe this is a dump,” Boots said flatly.
“And a cemetery,” Burke added.
“No,” Boots replied, a spike in his voice. “If you think of it as graveyard you miss the point, his point.” Boots nodded up the mountain.
“That these people were as disposable as a broken gravy bowl,” Burke said.
“Exactly,” replied Boots. “These are the workers I imagine, the people who built the fortress above, disposed of because they were sick, or
dead, or for which he had no further use.” He turned over a metal box with the toe of his boot. A wire sticking from it caught on the ground then sprung up reminding him of a scorpion tail striking. “Or to keep secrets, as was done with the Egyptian kings.”
Burke exhaled loudly. “I would say this is another nail in Narcissa’s coffin and makes it easier to see him dead, but I had already made that decision.” He looked at the sky, now lighter than it was an hour ago, “Time to go. Let’s find the one you call, Jane, and implement our second phase.”
Boots nodded and they found their way back to the group. Boots observed that each man was still in his place and they formed a perimeter. The men were awake and seemed ready to fight at any minute. “Mr. Burke, I am in awe of your men. Each is a fine representation of a fighting man, who also values the strength of the team. How?”
Burke’s smiled. It was barely visible in the dim glow of a lantern. “I have used my years of training and experience, of course.”
It was Boots turn to smile, hearing more in the statement than was said. “Yes, of course, but what I see are the actions of experienced men.”
“Well,” Burke said, “we may, from time to time, take on an odd mission or two. As you see, it keeps the men in good order.”
“Mission, you mean you are mercenaries,” Boots said casually, since he had already guessed such.
Burke shrugged, “Well, yes, though as I have said, I do it to keep the men ready.”
“And the money, surely there is some?” Boots said.
“Oh, yes, boat loads for the right job. So I give the men a bonus, above their normal pay, and the rest goes to purchasing the best weapons and equipment for them.”
“Above their normal pay?” Boots asked.
“Mister Boots,” Burke chuckled, “we are not an army, we are airmen who take on multiple responsibilities when needed.” He looked around and pointed to certain men. “Jones is our Chief Boilerman. Sanchez, a boatswain and signalman. Isadoro is top-notch baker, and one of our better emergency riggers.”
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