by A. W. Exley
Nate’s version of assisting would be his sense of justice in action. Dalkeith threatened their family and Nate would make sure he paid. Cara watched her husband, one of his hands braced on the roof of the dirigible. The other clenched and relaxed into a fist by his side, the only outward sign he prepared himself for the fight ahead.
“Tell me something,” she said, waiting until he faced before continuing. “If your family had maintained their wealth, would you still have gone off pirating and causing trouble?”
A mere second passed as her words registered and then the smile spread over his face and revealed even white teeth. Always the predator.
“Yes, you would have,” she murmured. “Put us both out of our misery and take Victoria’s offer.”
“What do you mean?” He leaned against the side, she held his full attention.
She laughed. “You’re more grumpy than usual because, for whatever reason, you haven’t made a final decision. Become her spy master, it’s the only obvious path.”
“Do you know what you are asking?” His fist opened and clenched again. “I have played the spy game for some years, but only as a free agent. It is not a normal life, I will tear you from the normality of London and throw you into the path of danger. There will be travel, intrigue, and people trying to kill us.”
She smiled. Men thought they were so intelligent and yet they could be so dense. “Given the life I have led, it all sounds perfectly normal to me.” She glanced out the window and saw the Enforcers’ carriage puffing along the road below, the plume of smoke bright against the night-time sky.
The driver manoeuvred the baby airship to keep pace above but out of the drift of the noxious smoke. The flap in the roof opened and Connor’s head appeared, peering upward.
“You might think you are protecting me, but do you think I would ever be happy hosting boring dinner parties for fatuous politicians and their dour wives?” She rose as he prepared to leave the moving vessel. “How long do you think I would last before I shot someone over the jellied eels?”
He looked out the window and judged their height above the carriage before pulling back. His piercing gaze locked on her. “I couldn’t make that choice for you. I need you to be safe.”
She snorted. “If you lock me away to keep me safe, I will never be happy. I need to be free and protected. Take the job or I will start shooting politicians in the foot.”
Relief crossed behind his eyes. “I needed to hear it from your lips.” Nate slid the door open and the wind rushed in to the small space. He placed a large hand on either side of her face. “God, how I love you.” He claimed her lips in a brief fierce kiss and then leapt from the airship onto the roof of the conveyance below.
Nate dropped to his knees, one hand held the roof tie for balance. The dirigible pulled ahead. He glanced through the small flap into the carriage to find Inspector Fraser and Sergeant Connor staring back. Mask in place, Nate slid into their territory and pulled the flap shut behind him.
Inside was cramped, smelly, and damp. Small porthole windows on either side were the only connection with the outside world and the main source of illumination, assuming the sun were up in the sky. Connor held a small glow lamp that cast a faint green glow around the interior. It reminded Nate of close quarters on the first pirate airship he crewed. At least this didn’t smell of feet.
“Nice of you to drop in,” Fraser said, his tone colder than the ice clinging to the metal of the window frame. “My instincts were correct about Dalkeith, he is indeed the son of the duchess’ companion who died last year. Quite the fervent royalist according to his few friends.”
He shifted trying to find a comfortable spot on the hard wooden seat. “Let’s cut the civilities. Do you have any reinforcements meeting you in Leicester?”
“No. There is only one local constable and I did not see the point in troubling him for one rogue valet clutching a musical instrument.” Amazing how his façade changed when no women were present. This Inspector Fraser was harder and sharper. He gave a piercing stare from narrowed eyes as he assessed the unwanted intruder.
Nate nodded. Dalkeith hardly represented a threat to safety unless he was carrying a Gatling gun. “He will be caught tonight, the only question is will he still be breathing.”
Fraser spread his hands. “Naturally, I would prefer he lives to stand trial for his crimes.”
“Victoria will have us cover up the use of the artifact,” said Nate, curling his lip. “There is enough hysteria in London already and the people can never know of its existence. What exactly will you charge him with?”
“Murder by means of an unknown incendiary device,” the inspector said.
This time he couldn’t hold in the snort of air. “The whole of London believes the deaths to be the result of divine fire. With no evidence to the contrary, he’ll walk.”
Fraser’s smile dropped and his mask slipped. “That’s not my decision.”
Tension grew between the two men. Connor’s head swung left and right, following the conversation.
Nate stared at his blunt fingernails, considering his next words, the real reason for his drop into this hideous conveyance. Cara was wrong, this cheap vehicle was far more of a death trap than the miniature airship. “You build your career on pursing the wrong cases.”
A cold laugh vied for space in the small compartment. “I have no interest in a career, only in justice. Wrong-doing must be brought to light, no matter who committed it, or how highly placed.”
“You waste your time.” A prod, testing if he would reveal the existence of any real evidence.
Fraser inclined a fraction, enough to bump up against Nate’s personal space. “All it takes is one single person to talk. I’m sure Dalkeith is well aware of that principle.”
They understood each other, tested one another and the storm brewed. Soon it would not be contained. “Twice now, you have tried to sway Cara’s opinion of me. There won’t be a third opportunity.”
Connor leaned forward on his bench seat but Fraser put his hand on the sergeant’s arm, stopping his motion. “Are you threatening me?”
Nate leaned back and smiled. No matter how smart Fraser thought he was, he would not win. “I’m sure you have a file on me, Fraser; you should know I don’t threaten people. I make promises.”
The carriage came to a shuddering halt. Nate flung open the rear doors and jumped down into the brisk night.
Leicester, Wednesday 12th February, 1862
ara jumped from a foot in the air, hit the ground running, and kept going. She ran up the stairs and burst into the darkened house, stopping the maid in the hallway. “Where is Nan?”
“Library, ma’am,” the girl said, dropping a quick curtsey.
Cara headed farther into the house to the double-height library. She pushed open the door to her grandfather’s inner sanctum, now sheltering her grandmother and Nessy.
“He’s here, somewhere,” she said, her gaze checking he wasn’t hiding behind an ornamental palm.
The walls were lined with soaring bookcases. A brass catwalk ran around the room at the first floor height. A spiral staircase in one corner was the only access way up and down to the upper level of books. An enormous desk sat before the only window, its legs carved with griffons that stood guard in each corner and held aloft the top with its green leather inlay.
Nan and Nessy sat before the fire, the shutters pulled over the tall window, the mythical creature desk guarding their backs. A stack of woollen blankets and buckets full of water and sand were arranged around the sofa.
“Oh good, you’re back.” Nan removed the glasses perched on the end of her nose. “There’s something I have to tell you, dear.”
“It will have to wait, Nan, where is Brick?” Cara itched to move, to do something to protect her family. Shooting was too good for Dalkeith, he needed a slow end. Maybe they could stake him out over fast-growing bamboo in the green house.
Nan waved a hand in the direction of the window. �
��Stalking around the house. Now it really is important. I remembered something about when this horrid man pulled my hair in the market.”
She sighed and willed her feet to stay put for a few moments longer before she ran in search of Brick and nodded for her grandmother to speak.
Five minutes later, she headed out through the kitchens. “Seen anyone we don’t know around, Duffie? “she asked on her way past.
“No,” the cook replied, stacking the dishes away under the shelf. “Only that gent who fell off his horse.”
Cara halted, her feet nearly to the door. “What?” Her comment was a throw away, she never expected a positive response.
“There was a gentleman out for a ride. He fell off, hurt his leg. The lads put him and the horse in the stable to rest. I took him out some supper.” Duffie folded the tea towel into a neat small square.
The warning itch crawled up Cara’s spine and pounded on her brain. “When, Duffie?”
She looked up at the enormous kitchen clock, used to track every meal and snack prepared under its watchful face. “About an hour ago? He felt much better and said he would be gone by dark.”
Cara jogged outside and found Brick crossing the lawn. “Nate is not far behind with Fraser. What happened to the man in the stable?”
“Just been there. Gone. Up and scarpered.” The line of Brick’s suit was completely ruined with strange bulges and lumps.
Cara wondered just how many different weapons he had strapped around his body. “Damn.”
“We’ll find him, you said he has to be close to the house.” He fell into step next to her.
“Thirty yards, fifty max,” she said, peering into the dark. She hoped her affinity to artifacts worked and alerted her to the presence of Nero’s Fiddle.
“Let’s keep circling,” Brick said; his breath frosted on the air and curled up to the sky. “Most of the house is clear lawn in that distance. He’ll turn up, he has to expose his position to get close enough to his quarry.”
They moved around the side of the mansion, ears and eyes straining to notice something amongst the moving shadows of the trees and shrubs. The pulse through her body stuttered and then synchronised as a familiar shadow cloaked in darkness strode toward her.
“Where’s Fraser?” she asked. This monster in the dark would never harm her.
“Going around the other side with his sergeant,” Nate replied.
As they rounded the old wing of the house, the shiver skated over her skin despite the thick coat. A plaintive musical note carried across the crisp air. “There.” She ran in the direction of the music.
He stood on the back lawn. A single shaft of moonlight struck him from above, a celestial spotlight for the man about to call forth God’s fire. He held the small lyre in his hands. Two sinuous curves made of ebony and walnut that danced and swayed to the music as though made of serpents, not wood. A beautiful and deadly item. It only had six strings and one glowed compared to the others. The single strand held the note like a tuning fork. The hair shimmered as it vibrated.
“No!” Cara cried as she hurtled toward him.
His head shot up. The corner of his lip tilted in a sneer and then his other hand came up holding a pistol. She slid to a stop, Nate grabbed her from behind and rolled her to one side as a shot fired across the lawn.
A cloud drifted over the moon and darkness dropped over them. Under the enveloping blanket, their target vanished.
“I thought we had this conversation about you throwing yourself in front of bullets?” Nate breathed against her ear.
“Sometimes my brain forgets to tell my hand to draw.” She swung her head around and her hand remembered the pistol at her hip. She tried to figure out where Dalkeith might have run under the covering darkness. The estate lacked London’s street lights, something to remedy in the future.
“Well at least he has fired at us. Now I can kill him without Fraser tut-tutting at me.” Nate’s hand moved down her arm and he clasped her fingers. “Where did he go, Cara? Close your eyes and reach out to the lyre, you are more in tune with the artifacts than I.”
She took a deep breath, shut her eyes and surrendered to the black abyss waiting for her. The pulse of their joined hearts was the music of her body. Like an ocean kissing the shore, it washed through her. She lowered the volume and listened for a clue. A faint ping shot down her spine and she faced the direction of the noise.
“The tree,” Nate whispered, his senses following the lead. “He’s up the old copper beech.”
A frown crossed her face. “Oh no, I love that tree,” she muttered as they crept past the clipped box hedging to the ancient guardian of the back lawn.
Fraser and Connor approached from the other side. Nate held a finger to his lips and pointed up at the spreading canopy. The Enforcers nodded their understanding.
Winter stripped the tree of all greenery but its twisted outstretched limbs could still easily hide a man. Or a man and a woman, as it proved one summer’s day. With a trunk as wide as a carriage, the bracts created platforms and hidey holes where the young Cara hid, played and read. Now, it concealed a man with vengeance on his mind.
Another tinkle of notes drifted down, followed by a high-pitched scream from the house.
Cara froze. “Nan,” she cried.
“Come down Dalkeith,” Fraser yelled to their treed prey. “You have nowhere to go.”
“Not until this is over,” a voice answered.
“It is over. There are more tongues than you can silence and you are stuck up a tree,” Fraser said.
The scream tailed off and was replaced by pale yellow that bounced out to the lawn as people moved through the mansion. Electric lights turned on as staff rushed toward the source of the ungodly wailing.
Cara’s attention split between the man in the tree and events unfolding in the house. She held her breath, waiting for the call to return to her grandmother’s side.
Fraser paced around the trunk, his service pistol drawn as he tried to find a target amongst the branches. “You don’t have to do this, Thomas. Those people didn’t have to die.”
They spread out; each of them two yards apart as the circled the beech.
Laughter filtered from above. “Old tongues can wag, they all need to be silenced before Parliament can ask its questions.”
“You cannot hide the truth by killing innocent people. It will be brought into the light. Too many of us know now.” Fraser holstered his weapon and looked for handholds.
Nate touched Cara’s shoulder. “I’ll go up and end this, unless you want at him?”
She shook her head. “There’s no maniac in an exo-skeleton and no military airship. It’s just a valet with a musical instrument, he’s all yours.”
He caressed the side of her face. “You should go, be with your Nan, see what you can do.”
Cara stood her ground. “I know what I’m doing, I’m not hiding inside.”
Another strum, a clear note hanging on the air and screaming rolled from the house.
“End this,” she whispered. “Now the lyre has hold of him, he cannot stop.”
Nate knew this tree, having climbed amongst its canopy before in pursuit of a far more pleasurable target. He could visualise in his mind where Dalketih would stand. There was one spot where the ancient trunk formed a hand and provided a level palm to cup a person, or two if they were very close. The person hidden by the tree had a clear view of the house, but no one below could see you.
He grabbed a gnarled piece of trunk and hauled himself up the side of the tree. Fraser did the same from the other side. Years of experience in climbing the netting on an airship bladder made scaling a tree an easy task. He reached the desired spot ahead of Fraser, who huffed, scratched and scrapped as his boots slipped.
He leaned against the trunk in the shadows and watched his prey, waiting for his attention to be fixed on the inspector. Perhaps they would tussle and both fall from the tree solving two problems in one hit.
Clouds dr
ifted past and a shaft of moonlight revealed Fraser’s bowler hat as a knot on a branch. “You cannot escape, Dalkeith. We have the tree surrounded.”
“I will end the slander and keep Edward secure as the heir. He will reward me.” The valet kept talking as he played Nero’s Fiddle. “Victoria is our queen. If Parliament forces her to step down, it will throw England into chaos. I am preventing civil war.” His laughter tinged with madness as the artifact wrapped its tendrils tighter around his brain.
Nate’s fingers caressed the hilt of his dagger as he waited for his moment.
“No it won’t. We’re British.” Fraser hauled himself up and balanced on an outstretched limb, three feet from their target. “We’d have the succession sorted by tea time.”
“I will not lose my position.” The notes stopped as he slammed his hand against the strings. “I am a king’s man, not the valet for a poor nobody!”
“Ah, so you seek to line your own pockets, not just to protect the royal family.” Holding on to an overhanging limb with one hand, Fraser fumbled at his waist for his revolver.
“Edward will rule and reward me for my loyalty. I will have whatever I want.” Dalkeith plucked another note. The hair strung in the lyre burned bright, soon it would catch fire and crumble away to dust. Cries and shrieks came from the house. “You cannot stop me,” Dalkeith yelled as he took a step backward on the branch.
Fraser edged along his branch, one hand grasped his revolver and pointed it at Dalkeith.
Nate coughed into his hand, alerting the valet to his presence behind him.
The man whirled and snatched at the pistol tucked into his waistband while trying to maintain his balance on the limb and his hold on the artifact.
As Dalkeith moved, Fraser fired and the shot echoed through the night.
Nate jumped for the branch above his head and swung his feet, connecting both boots with the man’s chest.
Dalkeith yelled as his body was propelled one way by a bullet and another by the force of Nate’s kick. His arms flailed for something to grasp, and in doing so, he dropped the instrument of his revenge. He grabbed a limb, but unable to support the sudden weight of the man, the wood splintered with a crack.