by Zoë Archer
There would be no hiding their approach. As the camels struggled up the slope, getting closer to the front gate, Gabriel saw several shaved heads peering at them quizzically over the top of the wall. Judging by the number of guns his party carried, they couldn’t be mistaken for pilgrims, unless pilgrims judged devotion by number of bullets.
Once they were a few dozen yards away, Gabriel dismounted. “I need you and your men to stay back,” he said to Altan.
Grumbling, the bandit chief and his men obeyed.
Thalia and the tribesmen stayed close and dismounted. Gabriel tucked the wrapped kettle under his arm, put the ruby in his pocket, and kept one hand resting on the butt of his revolver. It might not be the most friendly stance, but he was willing to make a bad impression to save lives.
Thalia walked beside him as they neared the massive gate. He resisted the urge to take her hand, since he needed to keep himself ready for any possibility, but he wanted her close.
“It’s very quiet,” she murmured. Their boots on the gravel crunched loudly. “Should we be concerned?”
“Always.”
“Not particularly reassuring.”
“Realistic.”
Nearing the thick wooden gate, he saw there was a small door set into the surface. No doubt to make entering and exiting easier. He didn’t like simply approaching head on, it was too vulnerable a position, but there was no other choice. Just as he wondered whether he was supposed to knock, the small door opened. But instead of a monk waiting for them, they were met by a white man. In English clothing.
Gabriel immediately pulled his revolver. Too bloody late. Somehow the Heirs had gotten to the temple ahead of them.
Then Thalia yelled, bolted from his side and ran toward the man. Jesus, did she think to tackle the bloke herself? “Wait, damn it!” Gabriel shouted, but she flung herself at the Englishman, throwing her arms around him. “Get out of the way!”
Thalia glanced over her shoulder at Gabriel, the smile on her face freezing. “Put the gun away, Gabriel,” she said with enforced calm. She let her arms fall from the Englishman’s shoulders. Gabriel was aware of other people coming through the temple door, but he remained focused on the Englishman, who was smiling with remarkable good humor, considering he had a revolver pointed at his handsome face.
“A new friend, Thalia?” the unknown man asked with a quirked brow.
“Who the hell are you?” Gabriel demanded.
Thalia took the stranger’s hand and drew him forward, reaching toward Gabriel with the other. As politely as if they were in a drawing room, she said, “Bennett, may I introduce Captain Gabriel Huntley, late of Her Majesty’s Thirty-third of Foot. Gabriel, this is Bennett Day. Of the Blades of the Rose.”
“A pleasure, I’m sure,” murmured Day as he held out his free hand, though he didn’t release Thalia.
“The libertine?” Gabriel asked, turning to Thalia. She reddened, but Day laughed.
“Is that what they call me? What a charming name. Most people just call me bastard.”
Gabriel grudgingly gave Day his hand to shake, eyeing the man without attempting to hide his mistrust. He didn’t quite have Gabriel’s height, but he was a pretty collection of bones, dark haired, light eyes, and built like a boxer. Day might smile and twinkle like a beau, but Gabriel didn’t doubt he could lay out a decent right hook. His grip was strong enough.
Day turned to Thalia with an easy smile that probably charmed scores of women. “Desert living must agree with you, Thalia. You look positively radiant.”
She made a face while Gabriel considered how far down the man’s throat his foot might go. “You mean, I look sunburned and haggard,” she corrected.
“A bit more golden, perhaps—” Day conceded, “but lovely, just the same. Or perhaps”—he turned a considering eye to Gabriel—“it isn’t the desert, so much as the company.”
Thalia must have sensed how close Gabriel was to pummeling Day, because she quickly changed the subject. “What are you doing here?” Even though it was a perfectly ordinary question, it rankled a bit to see how much pleasure Day’s presence gave her. This was the man she had admitted to fancying once. The man who bedded women as often as most men put on their boots. Who still held her hand.
“Your father sent us,” Day answered.
“Us?” Gabriel repeated.
“Yes, us,” said a deep voice behind them.
Everyone turned, and Thalia let out another girlish yell to see the newcomer, breaking free from Day. “Catullus!”
One of the most elegant men Gabriel had ever seen smiled down at her as he embraced her. He looked as though he’d just stepped off the pages of a fashion journal, complete with dark green embroidered waistcoat, perfectly fitted gray coat and trousers, and sparkling boots. He wore neat, wire-trimmed spectacles that barely hid the powerful intelligence in his dark eyes.
“Gabriel, this is Catullus Graves,” Thalia said, stepping back. “The Blades’ scientific wizard.”
Gabriel couldn’t stop himself from blurting, “But, you’re Negro.”
“I know,” Graves answered, his gaze hooded.
“Sorry,” Gabriel said, shaking his head, “just a little thrown.” He stuck out his hand. “Damned glad to meet you, Mr. Graves. That viewing eagle you created is brilliant. Really saved our arses. You’ll have to tell me how you came up with the idea.”
Relaxing, Graves shook Gabriel’s hand. “Glad it came in handy, Captain. It’s a design I’ve been refining for the past few years.”
“Hsiung Ming,” Thalia said brightly as she turned to a lean Chinese man who had come forward, “you here, as well? This is quite a reunion.”
“Graves and Day collected me in Peking,” he answered with a smile. His English was perfect, better than Gabriel’s; it spoke of private tutors and exceptional intellect. “Graves, brilliant as he is, has no ear for the Chinese language, so I have accompanied them from there.”
Thalia introduced Gabriel to this man, adding that he represented the Blades in Northeastern China. It was certainly one of the most strange experiences of Gabriel’s life, standing outside the walls of a Buddhist temple in the Gobi Desert, cordially shaking hands with men who were all part of a secret society with as much pleasantry as if they were meeting by a punch bowl.
Before any of them spoke any further, Thalia, Graves, Day, and Hsiung Ming gathered in a circle, with Gabriel looking on curiously. The four linked hands.
“North is eternal,” Thalia said.
“South is forever,” said Graves.
“West is endless,” said Day.
“East is infinite.” Hsiung Ming was the last to complete the watchwords. At their conclusion, everyone seemed to breathe just a bit easier. Then Day turned a shrewd gaze toward Gabriel.
“Can he be trusted?” he asked Thalia as he kept his eyes fixed on Gabriel.
A reasonable question, given the circumstances, but Gabriel still wanted to plow his fist into Day’s well-formed face, perhaps see how well he’d fare with a broken nose. Although, a small bump already marred the bridge of Day’s nose, so maybe someone, a jealous husband, had already enjoyed the privilege.
“I trust him completely,” Thalia said with absolute sincerity. She laced her fingers with Gabriel’s, and he felt at once the effect of her touch and words, like warm satin sliding over his skin.
An older man in monk’s yellow robes approached and spoke with Hsiung Ming, who quickly translated. “Have you the Source?” he asked Gabriel.
Unwrapping the fabric that swaddled the kettle, Gabriel revealed it to the monk, whose eyes widened. “Please, inside, everyone,” said the monk. “And quickly.”
“But who are these men?” Day asked, looking at the tribesmen.
“Friends,” Thalia answered.
“Pretty rough bunch,” Day murmured, looking at Altan and his men further away.
“The Heirs have over a hundred men,” Gabriel said. He drew Thalia close, until her hip touched his. It wasn’t the most subtle signal,
but Gabriel didn’t give a damn. “Being snobbish isn’t an option.”
The head monk began to look frantic, waving his arms. With a groan, the giant gate was opened so everyone in the party, including their camels, was able to enter the monastery. Monks of every age watched the strange parade of brigands, steppe tribesmen, Englishmen, including one of black skin, a Chinese man, and a white woman in Mongol clothing filing into the large outer courtyard of the temple. Once everyone was inside, the door was shut as quickly as possible, which wasn’t very fast at all, and bolted.
“Impressive defenses for a place of worship,” Gabriel remarked. He noticed that the stone pagoda he had seen earlier was seven stories high. It stood just inside the walls, close to the gate, and would make for an effective lookout station.
“It is not uncommon for the monastery to be attacked by bandits,” the head monk said, casting a wary eye at the brigands. The men in question looked around at the gilded pillars that supported the interior buildings, as if trying to figure out how to pry the gold from the columns. Gabriel wondered if the bandits would simply cut the pillars down and strap them onto their camels’ backs.
“Then you’re prepared for a siege.”
The monk shook his head. “We are not equipped for warfare, only for protecting ourselves.”
Gabriel cursed as he surveyed the monastery, trying to determine the best ways to fend off an attack. Their numbers had increased slightly, but that only barely increased the probability they could not only keep the Heirs back, but defeat them as well. As he scanned the courtyard, Thalia spoke with the Blades.
“Tell me how you got here,” she insisted.
“Found out about poor Tony the morning after he was murdered,” Graves explained, somber. “We knew he was heading to Mongolia, so Day and I took the first ship we could, but it was weeks later. Like Hsiung Ming said, we met up with him in Peking and went to your father in Urga. He told us that you and Captain Huntley were already on the trail.”
“While we were there,” Day continued, “Franklin’s servant Batu showed up and told us all what had happened, and that you and the captain were trying to get the Source to a place of safekeeping. Quite a tale. You’ve done an incredible job, Thalia. You and Captain Huntley both have, and neither of you are even Blades.”
Thalia didn’t seem to focus on his praise, though Gabriel knew it meant quite a bit to her. “How on earth did you get here so quickly?” she asked. “We nearly killed ourselves covering the same amount of distance.”
“Graves,” Hsiung Ming said, admiration plain in his voice. “He built…I suppose you might call it a ship that sails upon the land. It took us here much faster than any horse or wagon, and never tired.”
Gabriel turned and couldn’t help gaping at the inventor. “That is something I need to see.”
“Perhaps later,” Graves said with a smile. “First, you and your party need to get something to eat, and then we can discuss strategies. I believe Lan Shun, the head monk, wants to be involved. This is his monastery, after all, and he knows more about the Source than any of us.”
“The Heirs aren’t more than a day behind us,” Gabriel said, grim. “And I don’t know if this place is going to have what we need to defeat them.”
“Captain, there is something you should know.” Graves took off his spectacles and carefully cleaned them with a fine lawn handkerchief, embroidered on the corner with CAG. “If there’s one word to describe me, it’s resourceful.”
Thalia hadn’t any actual experience with war councils, but she found it difficult to believe that a finer collection of minds had ever been assembled, though the location was a bit unusual. Buddhist monasteries were places of peaceful contemplation and prayer, yet there was nothing peaceful or contemplative about the discussion going on at that moment inside Sha Chuan Si’s temple.
Statues and images of the Buddha and his disciples stared out from altars, unruffled and unconcerned with earthly matters, as the council sat on the floor to debate their strategy. Hsiung Ming provided an ongoing translation for Lan Shun, the head monk. Since Gabriel was deeply mired in the conversation, Thalia translated the English for Altan. Catullus sketched out a plan of the monastery’s layout, which consisted of the temple, several halls, courtyards, and smaller living quarters and spaces for meditation. The tall, round pagoda soared seven stories high close to the front wall. Even though it was plain that Gabriel didn’t much care for Bennett, he’d set aside his ill feelings so they might confer on the placement of what Gabriel kept referring to as “troops,” although Altan took umbrage at the idea that his men were so weak-minded they needed to be in the army.
A mechanically minded intellect, a seasoned soldier, a code breaker and expert strategist, a Chinese scholar, a Buddhist monk, a bandit chief, and an Englishwoman more at home on horseback than in a salon. All talking battle strategy. It sounded like the beginning to a bizarre joke. Yet there wasn’t much amusing about the situation they faced. The Heirs would most likely be at the monastery by the following morning, just over twelve hours hence.
Thalia kept glancing at Gabriel as he was deep in discussion with Altan and Bennett, translating back and forth from Mongol to English and back again. Focused, intense, Gabriel reviewed options and proposed ideas, sharply alert so that his eyes glittered like golden coins. She watched the play of muscle in his arm as he pointed out an area on the monastery map that would need particular attention, and wondered at the strange design of the world, to give her the man she needed but at a moment when everything was uncertain. Such a short amount of time they had left together. She knew they needed to plan for the battle that lay ahead, but she wished desperately that the hours they had remaining could be spent more privately.
Every now and then, Gabriel would look over at her, and their gazes would lock and hold. The paired intoxicants of desire and tenderness overwhelmed her each time. It amazed Thalia that he could be at all jealous of Bennett, when everything she felt for Gabriel was plainly written in her face, her eyes. The polished charm of Bennett Day meant nothing to her compared to the real emotion one gruff soldier had shown her.
The Blades were her brothers, but Gabriel was her heart.
“They’ll try to breach the outer wall,” Gabriel said, interrupting her thoughts, “through the door, but we should also consider their coming over the walls themselves.”
“Grappling hooks?” Bennett asked.
“Most likely, since they won’t have time or resources to build siege towers or ladders.”
“Perhaps we could cut the lines attached to the grappling hooks,” Thalia suggested. “Though I don’t know with what.”
“I believe I have an answer to that, though it doesn’t involve cutting the ropes, exactly,” Catullus said. On another piece of paper, he drew up a diagram and quickly explained how the idea he had in mind worked. Everyone agreed that this invention would make itself very useful, so a few monks were given direction by Hsiung Ming on how to assemble the devices.
“My men can take up sniper positions on the outer wall,” Altan offered.
“That will be helpful,” Gabriel said. “But we need to consider what will happen if the Heirs get inside the monastery. How are they with hand-to-hand combat?”
The bandit chief grinned. “It is one of their favorites.”
“And Blades receive training in close combat,” Bennett added. “Although Thalia—”
“Will be fine,” she said firmly. The idea that she might, and probably would, kill someone soon set her stomach to flipping over and over, but if it was a choice between the life of an Heir or their mercenaries versus someone she cared about or an ally, she knew she could make the right decision.
“You should have seen her at the nadaam festival,” Gabriel said, pride warming his voice. “She could out-shoot Genghis Khan.”
They shared an intimate smile. Only Gabriel could make a compliment on her archery sound like the wickedest kind of flirtation. She felt herself already growing damp.
Catullus cleared his throat, reclaiming their attention. “I will construct some incendiary devices for outside the monastery walls. I’ve also been working on a weapon that I think will be effective for closer combat, should the walls be breached.” He showed them another drawing that made Thalia gape like a baby at the circus. “The construction of it will be somewhat involved,” Catullus continued, “so I believe I will have to take care of it myself as soon as we have finished here. Operating the weapon is a two-man job so Hsiung Ming and I will commandeer it during the battle.”
“Holy hell,” Gabriel said with a shake of his head. “You must be running a fever, to keep the machinery in your brain going so fast.”
The smile Catullus gave Gabriel was rueful. “A family blessing and curse. I never get a full night’s sleep, since I’m always jumping out of bed to write something down.”
“Perhaps you need a better reason to stay in bed,” Bennett suggested.
Catullus rolled his eyes. “I’m surprised you get anything done, since you’re always in the prone position.”
“Not just prone, but standing, and sitting, and—”
“Gentlemen,” Thalia said, interrupting. “We’re discussing warfare, not Bennett’s acrobatics.”
“We’ll need to find someplace safe for the monks,” Gabriel said. “One of these dormitories could work.”
“Excuse me,” Lan Shun interjected through Hsiung Ming. “The kettle is ours to protect. We will not meekly hide while you risk your lives to defend us and the kettle.” The object in question was cradled in his arms.
“You said that you weren’t equipped for warfare,” Gabriel said. “Only for protecting yourselves.”
The head monk nodded. “That is true. But we have a special way of protecting ourselves that, I think, will be more than useful.” He rose and bade everyone follow him into the courtyard outside the temple. When they had assembled, Lan Shun called two monks, who gathered in their bright robes and bowed, first to Thalia and her party, and then to each other. Only Hsiung Ming seemed to understand what was about to happen, but he kept silent.