by A. W. Exley
“And the fact he doesn’t bleed. Water ran from the wound when I stabbed him.” Nate brought back to mind the night they visited the Curator for information about Nero’s Fiddle.
“Water runs through his veins.” She blew out a breath. “That narrows my search down, it will be something surrounded by, or that influences, water.” He was using an artifact far greater than any trinket. Something old and incredibly powerful would be needed to affect such a change over the city and keep him from dying with the passage of decades.
“Tell Nikolai they are first on our visiting schedule. I need to see Malachi now I have an idea of what to look for.” She stood on her toes for a heated kiss. Nate’s hand tangled in her short hair as he held her close. He stroked inside her mouth until she moaned softly.
He pulled back and rested his forehead on hers. “You still need to try and elicit my secret code from me.”
Heat raced through her body and pooled low in her stomach. “I’ll bring home the handcuffs and torture it from you.”
He gave a low chuckle as she slipped out of his arms and headed for the door. Time to visit her favourite old flirt and see if he had uncovered anything in his labyrinthine mind.
In the entranceway, Brick chatted with Nate’s minder. She snapped her fingers in his direction. “Come along, Patrick. Walkies.”
He scowled. “Only Clarence and my mother call me that. And I’m starting to see why you put Jackson in such a grump all the time.” He grabbed his overcoat and followed her out the door.
“Oh, he likes it. I keep him honest; otherwise Amy gazing at him all gooey-eyed would go to his head.” She slipped on her ermine trimmed coat and pulled up the collar so the fur protected her neck.
Brick laughed. “She does adore him. Just goes to show there’s somebody out there for everybody.”
“Exactly.” She took his offered arm as they headed down the steps. Her shadow wore a striking pin on the lapel of his coat, a bridge in ornate filigree work with obsidian pillars. She stroked a delicate supporting strut. “This is beautiful. From Clarence, I assume?”
The wide smile plastered itself to Brick’s face. “Yes, it’s a reminder.”
“Of?” It gladdened her heart to see their relationship progressing. The couple balanced each other. She would say he bloomed, but he was far too big for that analogy. Unless he was a soaring palm that sprouted fairy lights.
The smile turned into a secret smirk. “If anyone has a problem with our relationship it’s a reminder to tell them to build a bridge and get over it.”
She laughed as they walked. That was Clarence’s wit at play. He thrust her bodyguard into the limelight but didn’t doubt he had Brick’s back. Society tittered about the peer and the pugilist, but the unconventional couple had powerful friends and she vowed to ensure they stayed surrounded by those who supported them.
Brick walked her to the door of the ancient bookstore in Goslett Lane. She paused with her hand on the brass doorknob. The cold from the frozen metal seeped through her glove. “I’ll be here all morning. Why don’t you come back and collect me at lunch time?”
He nodded and she pushed the door open on her oasis. The calm from a million pages of print washed over her. She inhaled the unique scent of paper, lavender, and beeswax that permeated the little shop. By some means, the room maintained a pleasant temperature even as it snowed outside. The little coal fire spat out its warmth to the entire room, despite the soaring ceiling that should have sucked up the hot air.
“Good morning,” she called to Malachi as she walked the central aisle.
“You look rested. Sleeping better?” The old flirt winked and patted the stool next to him.
“For the moment.” She didn’t think she had the stamina for Nate’s sleep cure on a regular basis. Fighting and sex was a heady, but exhausting mix. For the last few nights, they both slept fitfully and the nightmare couldn’t reach her in the protection of his arms.
She rounded the high counter and stopped. Her stool had a new pink embroidered cushion. “You’re trying to soften me up, aren’t you?” She slid the strap of her satchel over her head and dropped the bag by the side of the stool.
The imp grinned. “Oh yes, it’s only a matter of time before you succumb to my charms and leave that whippersnapper you insist on going home to.”
She hopped up onto her seat and smiled at her tutor. “You must have been quite the rogue in your youth.”
He pulled over a silver writing set for her. “None could resist me. Or should I say nun.” He winked again and Cara burst out laughing.
“Despoiler of nuns? You’re right, I don’t think I’m safe with you.” She promised herself that once they defeated the Curator, she would ply Malachi with liquor and hear his life story. It sounded far better than any novel.
“You most certainly aren’t, my dear. I keep telling you that.” He looked baffled at her continued resistance to his charm.
“As soon as I tire of Nate, you’re next in line.” She patted his hand.
“Well, he can have you for a little longer, I am going away.”
“Not permanently, I hope?” She worried about him, so frail looking and she hated to think of him struggling through the snow outside.
“Oh no, I shall return to keep my place in the line for your affections.” He beamed at her. “I have a granddaughter up north who is collecting me in a few days. I am retiring from the city to warm these bones.”
A combination of relief and frustration flowed through her body. While glad he would have someone to fuss over him in the sun, she worried what she would do without his gentle guidance. “Then let us try and make some progress before you depart. I need to pick your brain about artifacts from or influencing water.”
“Water?” He rubbed a blue veined hand over his chin.
“I think it’s something ancient and powerful,” she blurted the words out, not quite sure where they came from but sometimes she had to listen to the pull of the enhanced instinct from Nefertiti’s Heart.
“Hmm,” he murmured and the film over his eyes seemed milkier.
Cara became accustomed to this strange state. His body sat immobile as the miniature version of himself ran around in his brain opening and slamming drawers, searching for the correct information. The clock on the wall behind gave a comforting tick to fill the silence. He spoiled her, the cushion on her stool and the expensive silver writing set. She took up the engraved pen and dipped the nib into the ink. She occupied herself doodling hearts and swords on the clean sheet of paper to pass the time.
“Hebrew.”
The pen in Cara’s hand scratched over the paper at the sudden intrusion to the silence and she severed the heart she was embellishing.
“Hebrew,” he repeated as he came awake and leapt to action, as much as an octogenarian could leap to action. “I have to find something.”
Cara helped him down from his stool and he shuffled to a row of books and disappeared. A squeak came as he dragged the ladder on its rollers to a particular spot. A thump and a scrap were followed by silence. Five minutes later, Malachi reappeared with a box tucked under his arm.
“We are turning back time millennia, but I think you are right about seeking something ancient and powerful. I remembered a fascinating text I had tucked away for such a rainy day.” He placed the box on the desk and rubbed his hands together. His opaque eyes reflected the light and shone with excitement.
She groaned. “I don’t know any Hebrew. What makes you so sure this book will help?”
He smiled and climbed back on his stool. “Not a book; they are a later invention. This is a scroll.”
He opened the long, narrow box. Cara leaned over and exotic sandalwood filled the air as he withdrew a roll of papyrus tied with a green ribbon.
“The original scroll dates back to about twelve hundred BC and owes its existence to a little known Israelite slave who happened to know how to read and write. He was among those who escaped Pharaoh with Moses, and afterwards h
e wrote his account of the crossing of the Red Sea.” With the ribbon slipped off one end, he revealed the text, unrolling it to keep pace with his narration. On the last word, the entire story lay exposed to their view and covered the entire length of the desk.
She leaned in closer, and their shoulders brushed as she stared at the tightly written lines and miniature drawings. “Surely this isn’t three thousand years old?”
He moved a glass paperweight of swirling colours to hold one end and stuck an ink well on the other. “Oh no, a Jewish scholar copied the original text in the middle ages. So this is a spry thousand years old.”
The benefit of an eidetic memory, everything he ever saw, heard, or read all stored away. The information simply had to be accessed, the only problem that the process slowed commensurate with age.
The wicked gleam came back to his eyes. “If you want to translate these yourself, you’ll need to learn the Hebrew alphabet first.”
She bit back the groan. More homework. As much as she loved delving into the tomes, she hated the pure slog of having to master another tongue. She needed Miguel who had a natural flare with languages or perhaps wee Rachel could be schooled up to be her translator?
“I believe this may be of interest to you.” He ran a finger from right to left, reacquainting his brain with the words laid out by the slave three thousand years ago.
Cara tried to follow the story, she knew to start on the right and work left. The illustrator captured the fleeing slaves and the Egyptian soldiers and their chariots chasing them. The monstrous waves rose up about to smash the tiny people below.
“What made you think of this?” She found one slave had fallen and another helped her to her feet before pharaoh’s army caught them up. The incredible detail captured by the narrator held her spellbound, each face different from the one next to it. Mothers carried children, men helped the elderly, and Moses led his people to safety.
“You asked about something very old, powerful and, I believe wet.” He chuckled. “It took me a while of rattling around up here.” He tapped the side of his head. “But this Biblical tale reminded me of the rahab.”
The shiver shot down her spine. Her affinity for the unnatural whispered, yes. “What’s a rahab?”
He pointed to a picture in the corner where a green and blue beast emerged from the sea. With jaws bared showing long teeth and claws ready to rack any prey it encountered. “The Egyptians thought it was a water dragon.”
Her head shot up at mention of those mythical beasts and reminded her of the fire dragon she left in Siberia. He had two little females with him. Water and fire, Sergei told her, the balance of life. One needed the other.
“Dragons?” She nudged him. “Surely you don’t believe in fairy tales?”
He chuckled. “The rahab is something more powerful than the beasts hidden in Russia and China. Those are natural animals whereas this is something quite unnatural.”
Her protective urge reared its head and she narrowed her gaze at him. What exactly did he know about the dragons?
He patted her hand. “Don’t fret mother hen about your chicks. I’m old and have travelled the world. I know all sorts of things.” He moved to tap the side of his nose.
Her need to protect the dragons settled back down, but one day, she would love to crack his head open and see what information he hid away in there. He was her talking encyclopaedia, she just needed a reliable index card.
“Will you translate the story for me?” And how close would it take her to an answer? The beast rising from the water caught her imagination with the ruff standing up around its head and the empty dead look in its eyes. A majestic figure stood in front of the ocean, arms raised; Moses parting the Red Sea. Or is the rahab pushing back the water? The more she examined the drawing, the more it looked as though Moses ordered the rahab to draw back the water. Her brain itched to know the full story. So close.
“We can make a start today, the rest we shall do by correspondence.” They sat for three hours. Malachi made slow work of finding the right phrasing in English for each sentence. At times, he needed to use the magnifying glass to make out the tiny script.
Cara worked with the pen, transcribing his words, until her fingers were stained with ink. Every now and then, he would tell her to leave a gap, much to her frustration. “Why can’t you tell me the whole story?”
“I am leaving keywords for you to translate.”
“But I need this information now.” She stuck out her lower lip. “How is withholding important bits going to help my search?”
He chuckled again. “This is an excellent learning opportunity; you will be more motivated to translate the missing sections correctly. Perhaps I will make you write me in Latin for the answers.”
“That’s really evil you know.” He truly was the best tutor she ever had, not that she would tell the old flirt. That would be like telling Loki he was looking particularly handsome.
On her copy, Malachi made dashes in pencil to indicate how many words she was missing and on a clean sheet, wrote out the relevant parts in faultless Hebrew. He then found her a basic dictionary and tied all her homework up with a green piece of string.
She stared at the pile like a sullen child who found only a lump of coal in the Christmas stocking. “At least tell me what’s a rahab, if not a natural dragon. Give me something to light my academic fire.”
He gave a benevolent smile. “Very well. In Jewish folklore, the rahab is a water demon from the primordial abyss. It is associated with darkness, chaos, and the frozen depths of hell.”
Cara sucked in a breath. “That sounds like what it’s doing to London, sucking the life and hope from people.” She scooped up the papers and deposited them in her battered satchel. The only question was how did it extend the Curator’s life? And what on earth controlled it?
Her tutor smiled as she prepared to leave. “Give me two days, and I will have the entire story for you.”
She kissed his cheek. “It’s a date.”
He touched his thin skin. “Are you sure you won’t run away with me to sunnier climes?” He winked.
“I need to release London from its snow globe first. Then I’ll consider it.”
ara stared into her hollowed out boiled egg as she chewed the last of a toast soldier. She dug a void with a silver spoon by feeding her appetite. Her emotions came in waves lately and sometimes threatened to pull her under.
“Trip to Siberia for your thoughts?” Nate said from beside her.
She rallied a smile. Queen Victoria had given her permission for them to leave on an extended trip just as soon as they freed London from the never-ending winter. She gestured to the egg in the silver cup. “There’s something sad about an empty shell. A life consumed by my hunger.”
“That’s a bit philosophical for breakfast.” He reached out and squeezed her hand. “Plus the rooster is shut out from the hens and that is egg unfertilised. It’s not so much a life as the potential for one.”
Did it matter that no seed of life lay within her egg? She did feel better knowing she hadn’t deprived the world of a fluffy chick. “My conscience can live with that and I hate finding embryonic chicken on the end of my toast.”
“How goes it with Malachi? Has he asked you to run away with him yet?” He raised an eyebrow and did his best angry pirate face.
This time she laughed. “Yes. He is going on holiday for a while and I told him I had to find whatever artifact is freezing London. Only when the job is done can I consider his offer.”
He growled. “That man might be close to a hundred but he’s still a rogue.”
“I think we should introduce him to Nessy, but I don’t want to be responsible for either of them having a heart attack from over exertion.” She imagined in his youth, he would have been similar to Loki with an enormous appetite for women. “He’s an excellent teacher. We’re on the trail of something old, going back to Moses and stories from the bible.”
His brow shot up again. “Yo
u think you have found the artifact?”
She chewed her bottom lip. “Not an artifact but a creature. A terrible water demon called a rahab. Malachi is translating some ancient scrolls for me.” She rubbed a hand over her arm as the familiar chill washed through her body.
“You’re close?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “When we’re on the right course, it’s as though I stand on a darkened beach while waves crash and send cool mist over my skin.”
Nate folded his napkin and placed it next to his plate. “I expect to hear from Liam today. We have almost concluded business with Rachel’s father. He wants a stipend to make up for losing her as a regular source of income.”
Cara narrowed her eyes and her hand closed around her spoon. Horrid man, what she wouldn’t give for time alone with him and a utensil. Better Rachel was away from there, how much longer did she have before her father turned to pimping her out for extra coin?
Nate loosened her grip and laid the spoon on the table. “We will have a permanent houseguest by the end of the week.”
Hope leapt in her heart, tinged with excitement and a small amount of apprehension. “Not a houseguest, a child and probably not the way you intended. Do you mind terribly?” In her rush to save Rachel, she never thought of the long-term implications as Nate worked to free the girl from her grasping parents. They had no problem in selling their child, they simply haggled for a better price.
He stroked her hand. “She is a child of your heart, how could I refuse you? She will breathe more life into this house than you can manage on your own. Although I suspect a few of the men might resign their posts if the two of you put your heads together to create mischief.”
“I will sort out a room but want her to be involved in making it her place.” Rachel was a seedling, one she wanted to water, tend and watch her flourish and bloom.
He rose and kissed her cheek. “I’m at the hangar today. Come and visit if you learn more about the artifact.”