Scoundrel

by Zoë Archer

  “The ancients already took care of that.” He bent to examine one of the bronze handles at the perimeter of the pool. “These are water gates. Each handle is attached to a metal plate sunk into the ground.” He pointed to the pool, where, London now saw, round holes were set into its walls. “Drains. Each gate is connected to a pipe, so that, when pulled up, the pool will drain. Clever buggers.”

  It stood to reason that the drained water would have to come out somewhere. She glanced around the cavern, searching for an outlet. Best to be well out of the way, or else have super-heated water come pouring out on an unsuspecting victim. After searching the ground, she chanced to look up, and tugged on Bennett’s sleeve.

  At her wordless demand, he followed her gaze, and swore softly. “Clever and cruel.”

  Eight openings were cut high up the cavern walls, one above each water gate. Whomever opened a gate would receive a scalding shower for their troubles—if each opening correlated to each gate. There was always the possibility, a very likely possibility, that there was no correlation, so that one gambled with one’s life to drain the pool.

  “How do we know which gate is the right one?” she asked.

  He frowned in concentration, assessing the situation. “That’s assuming there’s only one gate. The Colossus said that both of us need to be in the Black Temple. Which means that it’s a two-man operation.”

  “One of us is a woman,” London noted dryly.

  His grin was sudden and warming. “Believe me, love, I know.”

  She tried to push aside the fluttering low in her belly. It amazed her that even in this strange place, contemplating the prospect of being boiled alive, he could call forth her desire with hardly any effort. She was now so far changed from the woman she had been weeks earlier, London barely recognized herself, but the metamorphosis delighted her, as much as the man standing close by.

  “The trick is figuring out which two gates to open,” she said, attempting to focus.

  “Our friend Colossus was clear that the Solver of Secrets—me—and the Oracle’s Daughter—you—had to be in the Temple. So there should be something for you to translate.” He walked with deliberate strides around the cavern, studying closely all the surfaces. London followed his example, trying to find even a fragment of written words that would give her some indication as to which two water gates were the right ones to open.

  “Nothing,” she said with a frustrated sigh some time later. “Not even a letter or pictogram. I don’t know what the Colossus wants from me, from us.”

  Bennett dragged a hand through his damp hair as he thought. “It said that the future of the earth is in our hands. The answer’s in that, somehow.”

  She scoured her memory. “It also said that we must navigate the Temple together.”

  Bennett’s sudden laugh startled her. “Of course.” He rummaged through his pack and produced the Compass. Flipping the lid open, he held the Compass up. After adjusting his position, he nodded. “True north is that way,” he said, pointing to one side. “Each of the water gates corresponds to a direction on a compass. So, that is the northern gate, that is south,” he pointed to the gate directly opposite, “and the others follow suit.” He laughed again, caught up in the excitement of discovery. She saw the joy in him that came from untangling a puzzle and felt it in herself, too.

  “The direction of the future is west,” London said. “The sun rises in the east, but sets in the west.”

  He strode over to the gate that corresponded to the west, then swore darkly, glancing down at his feet.

  “What is it?” London quickly went to stand beside him, yelping in horror when she saw what so discomforted him.

  Bones. Human bones. Bleached—by scalding hot water, and arranged in a posture of agony next to the western gate, precisely as if the unlucky victim had selected the wrong gate to open. Which would be Bennett, if he followed the Colossus’s instructions.

  London swallowed hard, but grisly images still flooded her brain.

  “But this poor sod was alone,” Bennett said, grim. “The answer’s got to be that two gates must be opened simultaneously. The fly in the custard is figuring out which is the second gate.”

  A small seed of an idea planted itself in her mind and suddenly flowered. She looked up at Bennett, her heart pounding. “In the Samalian-Thracian dialect, the words for ‘earth’ and ‘south’ are the same.”

  “And the Colossus said that the future of the earth was in our hands.”

  “Which means that I must open the southern gate,” London deduced.

  He kissed her, brief and fierce. “I never want to be apart from you,” he growled.

  Her pulse sped, but she said with an attempt at lightness, “Because I saved your bottom from a scalding?”

  “Because you’re you.” His words were low and vehement. “We can talk about bottoms later,” he added with a quick grin and a possessive caress of her own posterior. “For now, let’s get ourselves a Source.”

  She kissed him, then moved into position at the southern water gate. Fear, excitement, and anticipation swirled as she bent down to grasp the bronze handle with suddenly damp hands. Would she and Bennett wind up like the cavern’s other unfortunate occupant, nothing but brittle bones, a warning to all future trespassers? Would she have to watch in horror as scalding-hot water poured down on him, or would he have to hear her tortured screams?

  “On my count,” he said, his own voice steady and betraying none of her anxiety. “Three…” They both gripped the bronze handles. “Two…” They breathed deeply, adjusting their holds. “One. Now.”

  Setting her heels into the ground, London pulled. The gate’s heaviness surprised her, but she tugged hard, groaning with effort. The metal groaned, as well, as it slid up from slots carved into the cavern’s rock floor. No one had been foolish enough to attempt to drain the pool in a long, long while.

  The gates locked into their raised position. Water quickly drained from the pool. At once, the sounds of gurgling, seething water rushed overhead, carried by unseen pipes throughout the cavern. London considered moving from her position, but nowhere guaranteed safety. Bennett held his hand up, a silent signal for patience, as they both stared up at the spouts above their heads. Nerves stretched taut. Was she calmly waiting for a terrible death?

  With a whoosh, blistering water poured out of a spout. London jumped at the noise. Then her shoulders slumped with relief. The water gushed directly into the small bay from which they had emerged into the cave earlier.

  She let out a shaky breath, exchanging exultant smiles with Bennett. Safe. They were safe. For now.

  The pool now emptied, Bennett stepped into it and crossed the expanse to the Eye. For a moment, he simply looked at the Source, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his face alight with anticipation. Light from the illuminating devices bounced off the Eye’s surface, bathing Bennett with a bright, phantasmal glow. His hands hovered over the Eye, then slowly, slowly reached forward.

  “Could be another booby trap,” he said over his shoulder. “Happens a lot in this situation.”

  London watched, clutching at the straps of her pack so that her knuckles whitened and fingers ached.

  With excruciating slowness, Bennett gripped the Eye and carefully lifted it from its supporting small column of rock. He waited several moments, casting quick glances around for sign of another trap springing to life, head tilted to gather any suspicious sounds. But the cavern was entirely silent.

  London did not loosen her death’s hold on her pack, not even when Bennett slid the straps of the Eye onto his arm and gripped the handle. He hefted it like a shield, the Eye glaring out at the cavern from where Bennett stood at the middle of the empty pool.

  The earth jolted as a tremor shook the cave. Small rocks tumbled down the walls. Bennett braced himself on wide-planted legs, and London did the same. A spike of fear. From the roof of the cave, a pebble clattered to the ground. Then the shaking stopped.

  A beam of
daylight from above pierced the cavern, liberated by the fallen pebble. It hit directly in the center of the Eye. Bennett struggled to keep his footing as the light ricocheted off the Eye, tracing a hard beam along the wall of the cave. Arms up, London shielded herself from the hot intensity of the light that gleamed like a sword.

  “Stop!” London cried. “I thought Blades couldn’t use magic that wasn’t theirs.”

  “I’m not doing anything,” Bennett answered through gritted teeth. “It’s the Source. Acting on its own. The power’s tremendous.”

  The light sliced into the cavern wall. Like a blast of pure energy, it slammed into the stone. The wall crumbled beneath the light, rocks tumbling down. Then, in a chain reaction, more of the wall collapsed in a heap of rubble. Immediately, she felt Bennett surrounding her with his arms, shielding her with his body. London covered her mouth, ducking her head into his chest, but found herself choking on dust. As he held her, she felt it, too, the power emanating from the Source, engulfing them with vivid currents of elemental magic.

  When the rockslide stopped, she cautiously peered out from the shelter of his body. She started. What had appeared to be a cavern wall of solid rock had been hiding a secret. A staircase of the same black stone, leading upward. Daylight poured into the cave through the stairwell. The outside beckoned at the top of the stairs. She could just make out a scrap of blue sky.

  “This is a first,” Bennett murmured. “Ancients usually aren’t so accommodating.” He kept the Eye on one arm, and with his other hand, he led London forward, sporting his devil’s smile. “Let’s join the others.”

  “Do you ever have ordinary days?” she asked as they ascended the stairs.

  “Why would I want them?”

  A good point. No day with Bennett was ever dull, which suited her very well indeed.

  The stairs were quite steep, so they both carefully ascended, until they heard the distinctive boom of cannon fire. Without speaking, they sprinted up the rest of the stairs. They breached the stone to find themselves on a rocky hill.

  The caique was to their left, at the entrance to the sea cave. Just below where Bennett and London stood was the Heirs’ ship, cannons turned toward the caique. The sailboat had no chance against the steamship’s firepower. What the cannons didn’t accomplish, the rakshasa demon, loosed from the steamer and wheeling through the sky, would gladly finish. Men massed on the steamship’s deck, rifles blasting.

  There was no retreat. No escape. The time of reckoning was now.

  Chapter 19

  The Eye Unleashed

  No one on the steamship had spotted Bennett and London, only fifty yards above. The Heirs’ eyes, and cannon, were turned to the caique. The only firepower on the caique consisted of Kallas and Athena, armed with rifles. Unless Athena suddenly called forth some potent magic, she and Kallas would be shot to pieces along with the boat.

  Bennett strained to see the activity on the caique’s deck. What he saw was grim. Athena was too busy sniping and ducking for cover to summon magic. A distraction was needed. All Bennett had was his revolver. And the Eye of the Colossus, which he couldn’t use.

  “We have to help them,” London said urgently.

  “Got an idea.”

  It would give away their position, but then Athena could provide a counterattack. He’d have to take the chance the witch knew what to do.

  He pulled his revolver, and steadied himself, taking aim. It would be a hell of a shot, if he made it. He had to make it.

  Bennett sighted the aft cannon. Three men gathered around the heavy gun. One of the men had a shell in his arms, ready to load. Bennett only had a second, less than a second.

  He drew in a breath, released it part way, held it again. Squeezed the revolver’s trigger. The bullet whined, streaking through the air. Then it slammed into the cannon’s shell.

  With a roar, the shell exploded. The three men flew back from the force of the blast, their bodies already still by the time they fell onto the deck. The cannon became a heap of twisted metal, useless. Men on the steamship deck ran about in confusion as they shouted to each other.

  “Incredible,” London said, eyes wide.

  “Come on.” Bennett didn’t wait for someone on the ship to figure out where the shot had come from. He waved London ahead of him, then followed as they started down the hill at a brisk jog.

  Both he and London stopped their descent when a tremendous blast of wind pushed them back. A sudden storm? No, the sky was clear, a pitiless blue.

  “Oh, my God,” London gasped. “Athena…”

  The witch rose above the caique, carried aloft by invisible currents of energy. Literally, she flew, hovering over the caique, her hair a wild tangle, her eyes ablaze with power and her face a hard mask of fury. Kallas stared up at her in reverential awe.

  “She’s like a goddess,” London whispered.

  “She’s been pushed far enough,” Bennett said. “She’s not afraid of being overwhelmed by magic anymore.”

  “To protect Kallas.”

  One of Athena’s hands stretched out to the caique. The boat rocketed backward, shoved away by the strength of the witch’s power. The caique disappeared around the island’s easternmost tip, safe from the cannons on the Heirs’ ship. Truly, the goddess in her had emerged.

  But Athena’s triumph did not last long. The rakshasa demon hurtled toward her, all six sets of claws brandished and hungry for blood. Bennett aimed and fired. The beast screamed when the shot tore the membrane of a wing. It dipped in its flight, giving Athena enough time to call forth another blast of energy, tossing the demon backward like a spinning leaf.

  Once it regained its balance, the demon wheeled and hurtled straight for Bennett and London. Hell.

  “Take cover!” he shouted at her. “There.” He waved toward an outcropping of rocks several yards away. London hurried off, then stopped.

  “Bennett…”

  He looked over and swore. Five of the Heirs’ hired men charged up the hill, directly toward them, with rifles, Fraser at the tail of their line, also armed.

  The Eye, strapped to Bennett’s arm, vibrated with life. It wanted to be unleashed. He couldn’t allow that. The code of the Blades was strict, even in such cases.

  Bennett fired. The first man went down. His companions slowed to shoot at Bennett. He flattened himself to the ground, traded gunfire, and quickly reloaded. Hopefully, London had managed to get herself to cover. He glanced in her direction and swore again.

  She had leapt forward to grab the fallen mercenary’s rifle. Now she swung it at the other advancing men, coshing them on the sides of their heads or walloping their shoulders and knees. Damn, he admired the hell out of her. But she couldn’t hold off the mercenaries by just swinging the rifle like a cricket bat. Fraser wouldn’t be deterred.

  A huge shadow fell over him. He rolled aside as the demon tried to tear him with its talons. Hot pain lanced across his chest as the beast’s claws tore through his waistcoat, shirt, and flesh. He used the Eye as a shield, forcing the demon back, but it wheeled and dove at him, jaws snapping, trying to get around the Eye. How many bullets did he have left in the revolver’s chamber? Not enough to finish this creature.

  He shot at it anyway, trying to do as much damage as he could. A bullet shredded one of its wrists, another hit the demon’s shoulder, but it wasn’t close enough to an artery—assuming demons had arteries.

  He didn’t have time for this. London was facing off against four mercenaries and Fraser, alone.

  The demon lunged at him again, then shrieked when Athena, eyes aglow, swooped close and pummeled it with another blast of power. She used electric clouds of energy to surround the rakshasa, then hurtle it into the rocky hillside, again and again, like a rotten plum being pulped. Bennett could hardly believe that sober, restrained Athena was capable of such wrath. The demon foundered, then collapsed—dead or unconscious, Bennett couldn’t tell.

  He used the reprieve to get to his feet and reload his revolver.
He picked off a man trying to grab the butt of London’s rifle. The others were still coming, though.

  “Shoot the damn thing!” he bellowed at her.

  “How?” She fumbled with the rifle.

  “Pull the bolt counterclockwise, yes, now pull it back. Eject the shell. Good. Damn!” He dove aside as a mercenary’s bullet nearly nicked his thigh, then returned fire. He gave London cover, shooting to keep the men back. “Grab some cartridges from the body. Just do it!” he yelled when she briefly hesitated to touch the dead man. Fortunately, her squeamishness lasted less than a second, because she raided the body’s cartridge belt and came up with handfuls of bullets.

  “Load it,” Bennett shouted. She did. “Now push the bolt forward. Rotate the handle back down. Got it?”

  “Yes!”

  “Fire! And,” he added, half a moment later when she stumbled back, “watch the recoil.”

  She’d almost tumbled over backwards as she fired, and her shot had gone wide. But it was enough of a deterrent so that the advancing mercenaries fell back.

  When London loaded the rifle a second time, the process went much faster. She braced herself on the rocky hillside and fired again. A mercenary fell to the ground, clutching his wounded shoulder. That left two men, and Fraser, on the attack.

  A hot wave of energy surged overhead. He glanced up to see Chernock, the tails of his black coat flapping like crows’ wings, swoop down on to Athena. With an awful, fiendish grin, the sorcerer conjured a buzzing black cloud, dark as a swarm of locusts, which engulfed Athena. She tried to fight off the cloud, but it gripped her and sent her plummeting to the orchestra of the amphitheater. Chernock raced after her.

  Bennett could do nothing for Athena as the witch picked herself up and squared off against Chernock. They faced each other across the expanse of the orchestra, a performance of epic proportions. Each summoned swirling eddies of magic—Athena’s a kaleidoscope of gold and crimson light, Chernock’s darker than black, an absence of color and life—and battered the other, until they were both panting and frenzied.