Dead Dukes Tell No Tales

by Catherine Stein

  Cliff caught her eye and gave her a quick smirk, as if to say, See? Some women do like me.

  She pinched her lips together so she wouldn’t scowl and tried to listen to one of her royal rescuees going on at length about her gown.

  “It must be a House of Worth design, yes?”

  “No,” Sabine replied. “It’s a Werrington.”

  The woman frowned. “Pardon?”

  “Werrington Designs, by Mrs. Euphemia Werrington Wilson. Look her up. She’s brilliant.”

  “Thank you. I will do that. You are sharing a box with the new Duke of Hartleigh tonight, I hear? You two seem to know one another well.”

  Apparently this was the polite British way of saying, “So, you must be the duke’s mistress.”

  “Yes. We are neighbors.” And everyone knows we’re currently living in the same house and I’ve been all over town with his daughter. “We also share a common interest in antiquities.”

  A bell rang to indicate the performance was imminent, saving Sabine from suffering through any more unpleasant conversation. She made a hasty goodbye and dashed off to her box to take her seat.

  Cliff joined her a minute later, sliding his chair so close that his leg brushed her skirt. “You abandoned me. You didn’t think I was intending to give in to that woman’s flirtations, did you?”

  She glanced down at the stage, counting the fluffy white clouds on the painted backdrop to distract her from all the eyes that were staring at them. “It doesn’t matter to me what you intend.”

  “Yes it does.”

  A heavy silence fell between them, until she looked up at last and sighed. “Fine. She made me jealous. Is that what you want to hear?”

  “No, actually. I don’t want you to be jealous. I want you to be confident that I prefer you.”

  “I’m not your One True Love, Hartleigh. You can’t win me with a magic kiss.”

  Although right now she would have given just about anything to have him sweep her into his arms and kiss her senseless. It had been so long since she’d felt his lips on hers and she wanted a taste of him so badly she was starting to question her sanity.

  “Watch the operetta,” she ordered. “It’s brand new and is supposed to be about pirates.”

  The orchestra took up their instruments, and Sabine gave herself over to the music, her body relaxing somewhat. The stage became the deck of an airship, where the actors sang and danced in celebration of a made-up prince’s birthday celebration. The party dragged on. The prince flirted with every woman and bemoaned the fact that now he was of age he would have to marry one of them. Sabine sighed in relief when the pirates attacked at last.

  “This isn’t very good, is it?” Cliff whispered.

  It got worse. The prow of another airship dropped down from above. Standing on it was a woman in pantaloons with a mass of blond curls piled on her head. She waved a sword like it was a magic wand and began to warble.

  “It is I-I-I-I, the pirate queen!” she sang. “I come to your aid! I come to save you-u-u-u-u!”

  “Gott im Himmel,” Sabine moaned. No wonder she’d been invited. This play was some farcical rendition of her own story.

  “That’s not supposed to be you, is it?” Cliff asked. The horror in his voice matched her own.

  “She’s blond! And a soprano!”

  The ridiculous, trilling excuse for a pirate danced around the stage, slaying enemies with her incompetence, apparently. She nearly swooned when she saw the prince and instead of saving the remaining passengers and fleeing to safety, they sang a ten-minute love duet while supposedly deadly pirates waltzed around them. When the number concluded, the audience burst into enthusiastic applause.

  Sabine put her head in her hands. “I have never been more embarrassed in my life.”

  Hartleigh was using the last traces of his cough to cover near-hysterical laughter. Tears of mirth shimmered behind his glasses.

  “Where’s your prince, now, Sabine?” he asked, dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief. “He was so madly in love with you.”

  “He doesn’t exist! This is not at all how it happened, and that woman is the worst excuse for a pirate I’ve ever seen!”

  The first act concluded with another battle scene, where the pirate queen sacrificed herself to allow the prince and his court to escape. The audience roared their approval as the evil pirate captain dragged her away, bound and gagged.

  “I am not leaving this box during intermission,” Sabine snarled, her arms crossed over her chest. “I might murder someone if I do.”

  “I can see why the people of England love you,” Hartleigh said, his laughter finally under control. “They are eating this up.”

  “It’s ridiculous. There were no pirates. It was a storm. I spied a floundering airship and flew to her aid. I did not swing down on a rope shrieking about how I was there to save everyone. I did a careful survey of the ship and her passengers to ensure that it wasn’t a trap. Then Nicole maneuvered Die Fledermaus close enough that we could set up a ramp and I could escort everyone off the dying ship before she crashed. I had no idea that among the passengers were two of the king’s daughters and half-a-dozen other members of the royal family. I was too busy making arrangements for carrying thirty extra people on a ship meant for no more than ten. We landed as soon as possible and off-loaded everyone. It was only when I saw the papers the next day that I learned I had become some sort of British heroine. Eventually they dragged me before the king to accept a medal.”

  “A better story. Less melodramatic, though, and there’s no prince.”

  “Thank God.”

  Cliff leaned toward her, his thigh pressing into hers. He reached to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. “I can offer you a clumsy duke in his place.”

  Heat flashed across Sabine’s skin. She scanned the theater. Most of the boxes had emptied for intermission. No one was obviously looking at her. Could she kiss him without anyone noticing? Did she even care who saw them?

  The door behind her opened before she could make a decision. She whirled around in time to see Lord Barton stride into her private box. The woman on his arm was drenched in jewels and was as astonishingly beautiful as anyone Sabine had ever seen. Her sleek, dark curls and perfect olive complexion made even Miss Willingham appear ordinary.

  “Hartleigh!” Barton exclaimed. “I thought I spied two empty seats in your box. What luck, eh, old chap?”

  Cliff rose from his seat, glowering down at the shorter man. “That’s ‘Your Grace,’ to you.”

  Barton rocked backward. “Excuse me?”

  “I may be a clueless American, but even I know a duke outranks a marquess, and since we are hardly intimate friends, I’d thank you not to refer to me in any sort of familiar manner.”

  Barton’s eyes narrowed. “Why the sudden ill-humor, Your Grace? Dukedom going to your head?”

  “You barge into my box uninvited and then are surprised when I’m annoyed?”

  Barton shrugged. “It isn’t as if you could be having a brush with your pirate mistress out here in the open.” He paused, lips pursing in thought. “Or would you? Daring, that.”

  “Get out. You’re a pest and I trust you about as far as I can piss. The last time I saw you I ended up kidnapped.”

  “Ah, yes. Damned shame, that. They should have taken me. I’m one of the wealthiest men in the country, you know, and, well…” He grinned at his mistress. “Lovely Adriana is wearing more than your entire dukedom is worth, from what I understand. It’s no wonder they let you go so easily.”

  Sabine glanced over the rail at the seats below. “Shall I push him over the edge, Hartleigh? He’s always drunk, so it’ll probably look like an accident.”

  Adriana let out an offended cry. “Really! Of all the vulgar jests. You may dress like a lady, but you are nothing of the sort.”

  Sabine almost retorted that it wasn’t a jest, but since she wasn’t one hundred percent certain Barton was an enemy, she had no intention of actually killing or mai
ming him.

  “Go back to your real seats, Barton,” Cliff ordered, waving at the door. “Leave us alone.”

  Barton only laughed. “Oh, we don’t have real seats. We weren’t invited. Events are more fun when you pop in unannounced. Have a nice night with your bloodthirsty wench.” He took Adriana by the arm and strode out as boldly as he’d entered.

  “Asshole,” Cliff muttered.

  “Spy,” Sabine guessed.

  “Yes. He conveniently turns up at every event we attend. Do you think he’s reporting to Redbeard?”

  “Possible. But why? As he said, he’s rich. What would he get out of the bargain?”

  “No idea. But we’ll have to keep an eye on him. And be careful going home tonight.”

  “I have a guard waiting to follow us home and two watching the house. I’ll give them specific instructions to look for Barton tomorrow during our library visit.”

  “Good.”

  The people in the next box over returned, ending their chance for further speculation. Sabine watched the stage and fidgeted. Her body hummed with restless energy. Barton’s interruption had dampened her lust, though. She could no longer think about kissing Cliff without worrying that an enemy might happen along while she was distracted.

  The second act of the operetta was as awful as the first. The enemy pirate sang his own love song, while the warbling pirate queen rejected him with ear-splitting high notes. The prince, meanwhile, gathered an army of redcoats who stomped about to a vaguely patriotic melody. Half the soldiers then vanished so they could reappear as pirates for yet another long battle scene.

  Beside her, Cliff had grown tense. She glanced at him. His fingers were clenched, his jaw hard.

  “This is insulting,” he spat.

  “To me? Or in general?” To be honest, Sabine was no longer paying a great deal of attention. She was too busy eyeing the crowd for signs that Barton or anyone else was watching her with particular interest and listening for the creak of the door behind her. She’d even discreetly slipped her knife from beneath her dress for easier access.

  “To you. That supposed pirate woman is a travesty. She’s done nothing this entire act but wail and moan for her prince to rescue her. She hasn’t even tried to escape on her own. She’s turned into a helpless ninny. You would have been out of there in a heartbeat.”

  “I wouldn’t have been there in the first place, because I wouldn’t have wasted so much time romancing a prince that the enemy had a chance to capture me.”

  “Very true. And… Oh, for God’s sake, now they’re kissing instead of fighting.”

  “Says the man who kissed me while being kidnapped and then again in a secret dungeon entrance.”

  “Neither of those times involved enemies with swords—” The rest of his words were lost beneath the collective gasp as the entire theater went dark.

  33

  Sabine’s fingers clamped down on Cliff’s arm, tugging him up and out of his seat. “Stay close,” she whispered.

  Cliff smacked into one of the empty chairs behind him. Around the theater, points of light began to appear as people struck matches.

  “Ow.”

  Sabine shushed him. The door hinges squeaked and he banged against the doorframe as they stumbled out of the box into the blackness of the corridor. He swallowed another gasp of pain.

  “One,” he heard Sabine whisper.

  “What?” He moved along with her, his feet propelling him forward even as his mind shouted to stop. He braced himself for the inevitable crash into a wall. Or the jab of an enemy knife between the ribs. He shuddered.

  “Two.”

  “Where are we going?” She seemed to have some destination in mind, and he wasn’t sure it was “out.”

  “The safest place in the theater. Three.”

  “Three what? Can you see anything? I—” He stumbled.

  Sabine paused to let him catch his balance. “Almost there. Be quiet.”

  They walked on for what seemed an extraordinarily long time for “almost there.” At last, Sabine stopped and a door creaked.

  “Here.”

  Sabine dragged him through the narrow entranceway of another box, toward a group of people half-lit by flickering flames. In the dim light, Cliff missed the step up and toppled forward, sprawling onto the floor between a pair of startled women.

  He winced. “Sorry.”

  “Your Majesty,” Sabine exclaimed. “Are you well? Can I be of any assistance?”

  Christ Almighty. Cliff struggled to his feet as quickly and calmly as possible. He’d just fallen on his face in the private box of the King of England. That was probably the sort of social faux-pas that got you permanently banned from the country.

  Which could be a good thing. Maybe he was such an embarrassment they’d strip him of his title and send him back to Chicago.

  Banishment now, though, would take him away from Sabine and away from the remaining clues to the Heart of Ra. Definitely not so good. He’d have to do his best to apologize.

  “Miss Diebin. How good of you to come.”

  The man who had spoken neither looked nor sounded like the wastrel gossip had claimed him to be. Nor did he seem the angry sort of monarch who would punish a man for clumsiness. Gray-bearded and bald, King Edward had a friendly smile and an avuncular manner. He held a lit cigarette that did nothing to illuminate the box. A man standing beside the king held an oil lamp, and another in the corner of the box shone a flashlight directly into Cliff’s chest.

  “We are all well here,” the king continued. “Nothing but a power outage, it seems. Unreliable things, these electric lights.” His gaze turned to Cliff.

  “Hi,” Cliff blurted. “Sorry to intrude. I’m…”

  “I know who you are, Hartleigh. One can hardly pick up a paper these days without seeing some mention of your name. I would like to talk with you before long. Perhaps after a proper introduction.”

  “Uh, right.” Dear God, he was the most awkward, bumbling man in existence. He hadn’t expected to feel so stunned to meet royalty. Then again, he hadn’t expected it to happen in such an unusual way, either. He was probably supposed to have arranged to be presented to the king long ago, instead of flying all over hunting treasure. “Sorry for being a lousy duke.”

  King Edward chortled. “Oh, others have been worse, believe you me.”

  A shadow appeared in the doorway, and both Sabine and Flashlight Man spun toward it, bodies tensed, knives in hand.

  “Theater Director Collins with a report for His Majesty,” the shadow spoke.

  The knives vanished, but Flashlight Man’s intense stare didn’t waver as the theater director entered. Cliff had a sudden curiosity about how much of his ungraceful fall had been the step and how much may have been someone helping him along.

  “Our sincerest apologies for the interruption to the performance,” Collins gushed. “There appears to be a problem with the electrical lines coming into the building. Repairs are underway and we hope to resume the operetta shortly. Our staff is lighting lanterns throughout the theater in the meantime. If there is anything we can do to be of service, please let me know.”

  Cliff spent the next quarter-hour standing stiffly in the corner of the box, behind unknown members of the royal family, or the king’s friends, or whoever they were. Sabine stood beside him, in full pirate mode, her body ready for action, her eyes ever searching. Compared to her, he felt like the helpless ninny pirate woman from the play.

  The moment the lights were restored, Sabine led him into the hall, but she turned toward the exit rather than their box.

  “Move quickly and watch for anything suspicious.”

  He nodded and followed. They made their way down the stairs and out the theater doors without incident, but were hardly ten yards down the block when a hulking man materialized out of nowhere. Cliff let out a yelp and leapt in front of Sabine, adopting some approximation of a fighting stance.

  Sabine laughed. “Nice to see you care, Duke, but
he’s with us.”

  “Need a cab, Captain?” the man asked.

  A short time later, Cliff and Sabine ascended the front steps of their rented townhouse, while behind them her guards conferred about plans for watching the entrances, windows, and rooftop throughout the night. Every muscle in Cliff’s body was clenched. He’d spent the last hour or more waiting for some new catastrophe, certain that enemies lurked around every corner. Even here at home he couldn’t relax. What if it had all been a distraction? What if while they were out someone had come looking for the device? Looking for hostages? Looking for Lola? He couldn’t relax until he had seen her, here with him and unharmed.

  He took the stairs two at a time, a bad idea for someone recently recovered from illness, but he didn’t care. Sabine matched his pace, probably expecting him to do something foolish or to faint again. He could explain later.

  Two flights up, down the hall, through the door he ran, until he finally staggered to a gasping halt, his eyes adjusting slowly to his dark surroundings. The room was undisturbed since he’d last seen it. Lucas the Spider sat motionless in his cage, guarding the cryptographic wheel that Cliff had once again hidden beneath the dirt. Lola’s toys and books sat in messy piles on a small bookshelf. She’d put them away herself, and that was good enough for him.

  He walked to the foot of the bed, his anxiety slowly easing. Lola lay peacefully sleeping, the pirate doll tucked beneath one arm. She gave a little sigh and snuggled deeper into her pillow.

  Sabine brushed by him, and he jumped. He hadn’t expected her to be there, assuming she’d head off to her own room once she saw where he was going. She walked along the side of the bed, then bent and pressed a soft kiss to Lola’s brow.

  “Sleep well, my little pirate,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion.

  Cliff’s heart spasmed. Tears stung his eyes. He was destroyed. Utterly, hopelessly laid waste. He gave Lola a kiss of his own, not daring to speak. When he straightened up, Sabine was still there, inches away, watching him. Was it a trick of the faint light, or were her eyes moist as well?