by A. W. Exley
She tried to talk Amy into donning pants, but the mere idea horrified her friend. Instead, she styled herself as a medieval princess in pale lilac with an ornate silver-worked caul holding back her dark locks. Jackson dressed as a falconer, complete with a mechanical bird on his shoulder. The dark grey of his leather uniform was a perfect foil to Amy’s lavender tones. The brunette glowed with contentment that almost made Cara go easy on Jackson. Almost. She couldn’t let an opportunity pass to needle her former shadow.
“Trouble with your corset, Amy? You two took an awful long time to change.”
A blush crept up from under Amy’s collar. Cara smirked. Experience taught her to start dressing an hour early to take into account Nate undressing her half way through the process.
Any further dig was cut short, and Cara nearly let out a whoop of excitement as Nate descended the main stairs. His black knee-high boots coupled with tight leather trousers made her go weak at the ankles. A waist-length cropped jacket with silken frogging and even the open shirt underneath were black. A cream silk scarf wrapped around his middle was the only break in the darkness. Over the top, he draped his body in weapons. A sword at one side, a pistol at the other, and a blade in a horizontal sheath at the back of his belt.
A shiver ran down Cara’s spine, and she sighed. Ahead lay an enchanted evening with a deadly pirate. Potential scenarios flashed through her mind, and she looked down and frowned. Pants. And outside was freezing cold. Damn it. If the opportunity arose, they would have to be creative.
Nate gave her a predatory smile as he approached. “You know the fact you have such an obvious weakness for pirates only gives Loki hope.”
She leaned up for a kiss. “My pirate fixation is very specific. I’d be happy to explain it to you in great detail in private.” She brushed his lips taking just a hint of a kiss but even that brief a contact flooded her body with heat. How would she survive an entire evening at his side without combusting? She would probably melt the ice under her feet and drop through. Well, at least a frigid bath would cool her blood.
“Prepared?” he asked Jackson, one arm looped around Cara’s waist.
Not ready, but prepared. They didn’t lead the quiet lives of their Mayfair neighbours. Nate made himself a target by virtue of his activities and the scope of the empire he controlled, and they could never drop their guard. Others watched for any opportunity, like hyenas waiting for the lion to falter and then they would lunge.
The ex-pugilist nodded sharply, and they headed outside and into the waiting carriage, which pulled them to the festivities. Before they exited at the riverside, they donned metal overshoes with studs to enable them to walk on the ice without falling over.
As the sun began its descent, they browsed the multitude of shops covering the ice. The stalls all hung with brightly coloured banners and ribbons that caught the faint breeze. Vendors sold clothing, toys, and trinkets interspersed with shops selling hot drinks and others wafted enticing aromas. Nate and Jackson followed as Cara and Amy wandered from shop to shop and stared at the variety of costumes swirling around them. Kings and queens rubbed shoulders with witches, knights, and walking beasts. Cara giggled and elbowed Amy as Henry VIII in a massive padded doublet ambled past followed by six wives. Two of the six had bloody necks and clutched their heads in the crooks of their arms.
The friends held hot chocolates in their gloved hands and let the good mood of the crowd warm them as much as the drink. Nate’s men were given the day off, but Cara spotted a few, dressed as pirates and highwaymen. A fellow waved Nate down, and soon a murmured conversation took place. Cara finished her drink, and handed the empty cup to a circulating automaton waiter. Fitted with blades on his feet, he skated along and collected refuse in a bin attached to his back.
She rocked on her feet, knowing they were expected to wait for their escorts before continuing. Inactivity chaffed. She stared at the pile of snow by a shop, and an idea sparked. She scooped up a handful and pressed it into a hard ball. The men presented their backs as they talked. Nate relied on their bond to know if she wandered away or was up to mischief. She calmed her inner child, least she give the game away by giggling.
Cara extended her palm to Amy. “Go on, take the snowball.”
Amy shook her head. “That’s childish. I will not throw a snowball at Jack.”
She waved it back and forth. “It’s fun being just a little bit naughty. I thought you were enjoying your dalliance with the dark side.”
Amy chewed her lip for a moment, then grabbed the compacted snow and let rip. The ball splattered against the back of Jackson’s head.
“Oh, good shot,” Cara murmured.
The henchman turned around and fixed her with his hard stare, and the mechanical bird on his shoulder rotated its head in her direction.
Amy smacked her in the arm. “Cara.” She rolled her eyes.
“Hey, wait a minute.” It sunk in she had just been set up by her best friend. “It was her.” She pointed at Amy.
Amy arched an eyebrow and shook her head. Jackson fashioned a formidable projectile that was more cannonball and took aim. Cara tried to run but the ice underfoot and metal studs slowed her down. The missile hit her square in the middle of her back.
“Ah.” She stumbled forward with the force of the impact.
Amy burst out laughing. “You are right, Cara. It is so much more fun on the dark side.”
“We’ve all been a terrible influence on you.” She wiped the snow from her pants and jacket. “I liked you better when you were covering up for me.”
Impromptu business meeting over, the group moved farther down the row of shops when Cara spotted a shape that caused her to pause. The Curator drifted by them, a thick robe of grey around his shoulders covered in arcane ruins picked out in silver thread. The cowl hood was pulled over his head, but Cara didn’t need to see his face to know it was him. The damp awareness of his presence washed over her body and raised goose bumps under her insulating clothes. He slowed and nodded in her direction, an acknowledgment of her presence without ever revealing his face. He leaned on an ancient-looking walking stick of gnarled wood. A sinuous creature wrapped around the length and its head turned into the handle. Behind him followed a bevy of his grey men.
“A wielder of dark magic,” Nate said from beside her.
“I bet it’s not even a costume,” Cara replied. “He probably pulled it straight out of his hall closet.”
Even with the special studded overshoes, she still placed each foot with care lest she slip. As she stared intently where to put her next step, a ripple caught her attention. Beneath the ice, a dark shadow approached and circled her feet. She held her breath and watched the shape. Long and sinuous, it surrounded her and spiralled inward on itself.
“Are there fish under here? Really, really large ones?” she asked as she tried to make out details through the thick ice.
Jackson shook his head, and took Amy’s gloved hand. “Too cold for most of ‘em. They would have headed downstream to where the river’s not frozen.”
She raised her gaze to Nate and dropped her voice. “I think something is under me.”
He glanced down to where she pointed, but whatever it was had already unwound itself from her spot and drifted away. “It’s probably just the current pulling a piece of wood.”
They kept moving and Nate’s attention turned to a conversation with Jackson about plans to expand to a second hangar on the Thames and a port at Lowestoft.
She took another step and the returned shadow caught her eye. For a moment she believed it saw her and paused, peering at her through over a foot of frozen water. Was it trying to figure out if it could reach her through the ice? Then it shot away. Following the direction of the movement, she looked up to see the Curator watching her from the distance. She held her tongue, not wanting to lose the excitement of the day to thinking of demons lurking in the deep, waiting to pull her under at the behest of the ancient noble.
The afternoon drew
to a close as the sun sank lower behind the horizon and the last few rays illuminated the snow dusted ice. The procession would start at dusk. Builders had erected temporary seating on both sides of the river, each row higher than the one in front to accommodate the thousands who came for the celebration. Thousands more pushed for a spot, sitting on the ice as far as the eye could see. People grabbed blankets and sacks to insulate their bodies from the freezing damp leeching upward, and the Thames turned into a sea of living flesh.
Cara and the others found their seats on a padded bench right near the front. Cara breathed a sigh of relief that they didn’t have to climb the rickety scaffolding to sit several feet in the air on a hard wooden plank. The men in charge of seating provided wool and fur-lined blankets to keep them warm. The women settled the rugs over their knees and as the sun disappeared from sight, the temperature plunged. Nate disappeared for several long minutes and then reappeared with large mugs of mulled wine, each with a cinnamon stick and a slice of orange.
Embedded at regular intervals, lanterns stretched along the river, some at ground level and others soaring up to twenty feet in the air on thin iron poles. Fairy lights in a myriad of colours were draped from post to post to fill in the gaps and they all lit up as night fell and vibrant sprites kaleidoscoped around the ice. The crowd sighed and gasped as the dark came alive with magic. A group of musicians took up their instruments and launched into a haunting tune. Excited chatter fell to a hush as swinging lights appeared in the distance. Back and forth they moved as they drew closer. An overloud tick from the clockwork beasts became a metronome for the assembled orchestra. A soft hiss filled the air in counterpoint to the music, and steam rose from turbine-driven flanks.
Shapes clamoured out of the workshops lining the Thames and solidified into creatures, slow and ponderous. Some singularly and others in pairs, they marched along the frozen causeway. The magical caravan wound its way down the river to the delight of the crowd. First came four giant clockwork polar bears pulling a sleigh driven by a winter queen. Her skin kissed by frost and glittering in the pale light, she waved to the assembled crowd while her handmaidens threw hard candy to the excited children running alongside.
Next came prancing silver mechanical unicorns ridden by ladies in pure white. They were pursued by black-clad knights mounted on steam-powered griffins. Gasps and cheers erupted as the dark knights with leers on their faces pursued the virginal women. The maidens cried in feigned horror while their despoilers closed in. One was snatched from her unicorn, and the crowd cheered as the knight stole a kiss under the cover of his billowing cape.
Fantastical elephants made of overlapping bronze had trunks that smoked as the engines within vented their steam out the front. Exotic, bare-chested handlers with turbans on their heads rode the beasts and directed their course.
Each creature seemed more elaborate and amazing than the one before. They held the mob in awe at the incredible skill of the workmen who laboured so hard to construct the menagerie fit for a fantastical ark. Finally, in the distance, rose a shape that made Cara’s heart leap into her throat. A roar cut across the Thames and silenced the crowd. Its neck stretched up, and the animal shot flames thirty feet in the air as it rolled over the ice on wheels hidden behind each limb. The final masterpiece was an enormous dragon. Metallic scales caught and refracted the light from all around. The crowd went wild, the cheering and clapping drowned out the music of the hardworking orchestra.
Her heart sunk. “Oh, it’s not quite right,” she whispered. The shape was off, and the proportions wrong, and it wasn’t her little male dancing with the colours of fire.
Nate squeezed her hand. “Not everyone has something to compare it to.”
Amy squealed with delight and Cara had to admit it did enthral the crowd as it glided by. It lifted its head and shot flames up into the night to thunderous applause. But it still wasn’t her dragon.
“Apparently, there are ten men inside working the beast and feeding its engine,” Nate said.
“What will happen to all these creations after tonight?” she asked.
Nate leaned his head closer. “Tourist attraction at the Tower. The dragon has been gifted to Victoria and she will have her tame dragon after all.”
Cara laughed. “No doubt every noble will want one too.”
He flashed a large smile. “There is a small mechanical version available for sale at an outrageous price. I have already been approached and asked if I wish to procure one. They are quite highly sought after and the manufacturer has a wait list of buyers.”
“I don’t want a toy.” Sadness settled in her heart, she really did miss the little critter even if she spent so few hours with him.
Nate kissed her neck. “Soon, Cara, we will visit soon.”
The mechanical dragon headed downriver to where the beasts all assembled, and as they gave a final roar, the night concluded. The grandstand rattled, shook, and leaned to one side as thousands of people stood at once and tried to head down the narrow stairs.
Cara jumped to her feet and they moved out onto the ice, to avoid the avalanche of humanity gathering momentum behind. They headed back to the riverbank and their waiting carriage as the multitudes pressed and flowed around them. Jackson tucked Amy to his side. This was the moment she dreaded. Panic rose in her throat as she was jostled, and men surged against them, hemming her in.
Nate held her close. “I have you,” he murmured so only she would hear.
The crowd thinned as they neared the embankment and people scrambled up and dispersed along the road. Cara breathed a sigh of relief as four knights Templar blocked their way, white tabards with red crosses over their armour and swords hung at their sides.
Nate stilled, and Cara glanced from knights to pirate and back again.
“Trent,” the lead Templar said, his fingers hooked into his belt and one caressed the hilt of his sword.
“Brandt.” Nate’s hand slid from around Cara’s waist to rest on the blade at his back.
Jackson nudged her and folded Amy’s hand into hers. “Take my princess back to the carriage.”
Cara huffed. Like hell they would leave her out of this. The confrontation looked like it was heading somewhere interesting. She brushed her jacket away from the pistol on her hip. She could hold her own with any man in a fight.
Jackson gave her a pointed look. “Amy,” he repeated. “Carriage.”
Cara narrowed her eyes and considered mutiny. Since when did Jackson issue her orders?
Amy tugged on her arm. “Come on, I need to get warm, there’s freezing air wafting up my skirts, and I don’t want bits falling off I may need later.”
She stared at Amy; Jackson really was corrupting her straight-laced friend.
Nate sent a faint caress along their bond. “This won’t take long,” he said without taking his eyes off his prey.
“All right, but only for the sake of Amy’s girlie bits.” She let Amy lead her toward the road and where their carriage sat, the mechanical horses still as statues.
“You should ask Nate for unicorns to pull the carriage, they were quite beautiful,” Amy said as the driver handed them up.
She made a noise in her throat and kept her gaze locked on the loose group. The night shrouded them in shadows and she had to rely on the randomly placed lamps to illuminate events. She had no hope of hearing the exchange. Brandt stood with his arms crossed; Nate kept one hand at his back. People swirled around them like water that encounters a stone; the crowd parted to either side and re-joined, to continue as one. All save a large group of revellers that met the obstruction and ploughed into it. Someone jostled Jackson who then bumped into Nate in a human-sized game of dominoes.
Heart in her throat, Cara watched as Nate crashed into the Templar who then staggered back. Nate righted himself, patted the man on the shoulder as though to say no harm done, and then he and Jackson moved away. Except the man stayed doubled over, his companions huddled around him. One slung an arm over his shoulder,
another Templar supported his other side, and they moved away, carrying their leader between them. The scarlet cross on his tabard now sported an extra slash of red.
“Oh, Nate,” she whispered. “What have you done?”
Long moments later, the two men climbed into the carriage, and the gentle sway came as the horses set off and they headed home. Cara arched an eyebrow and waited for an explanation. The man’s name was achingly familiar, and she finally remembered why.
“Son of Saul Brandt?” she asked when Nate remained silent.
“Nephew.”
“Trouble in the Rookery?” Cold slid down her spine. In only a few short months, she came to think of its children as hers and would defend them like a mother tiger if need be. One in particular had secured a place in her heart, and hopefully, a spot in their home would follow. Her gaze flicked from Nate to Jackson, but both were clammed shut. Not that Nate was normally verbose anyway.
At last came a slow shake of his head. “I think he got the message that causing trouble would be a very bad idea.”
weat dried on Cara’s limbs as she stretched over a naked Nate and declared pirate day a huge success. “Was there a woman in the skies safe from you and Loki?” She wondered if it was too late to have McToon draft a clause in their marriage contract for mandatory thigh-high boots and leather pants?
“Not many.” A laugh rumbled through his chest. “A few men were fair game too.”
She looked up and met his heavy-lidded gaze. “Really?”
His hand stroked one of the silvery lines running down her back. He celebrated her scars as outward signs of her inner strength. “Loki is a creature of pleasure, he doesn’t discriminate over what form it takes.”
“What about you?” The lassitude flowing through her limbs loosened her thoughts.
“With a man?” His hand made lazy circles over her spine and then stopped. “Once.”
Her curiosity sparked and tried to rouse her lazy brain. She bit her lip trying to imagine such an encounter. “Who?”