by A. W. Exley
Malachi tapped the three large stones on his side of the scroll. “Or more correctly, only the first few stones are magical.”
Joy deflated like a popped balloon and plummeted through her. Her attention focused on the beginning point of the drawing. “Let me guess, just three are powerful?”
“Yes. All of which were removed from the wall many centuries ago. Two have vanished from history and have never been mentioned since. Or not that I can find.” Next, Malachi picked up a pile of journals with worn leather covers and opened the top one.
Finding artifacts was a difficult task; they blended in with so many ordinary objects. Only when their power was released did they give away their location. There were a few treasure seekers in the world, like herself and the now deceased Curator, who sought them out for their power. Malachi and Helene were two others who knew of such items and tracked their journeys through time.
“And the third stone?” she asked.
He flicked through the journal until he found a particular entry. “Ah. That one has a rather colourful life and has passed from hand to hand over the centuries. We are rather fortunate in that the stone’s size has left more of an impression on those who have touched it. I found an explorer’s journals tracing its travels from China to Europe. He managed to acquire the stone when its owner died and his children didn’t want it. Apparently it didn’t go with the new garden they planned. Our intrepid explorer goes on to detail how he rather foolishly lost it in a game of cards in Spain, some twenty years ago.”
Cara kissed Malachi’s cheek. “You are incredible, and you have taken my vague idea and discovered something marvellous. How exactly does the stone work?”
“From what I have uncovered in the explorer’s observations, the foundation stone creates a barrier around the possessor’s property. People can pass back and forth, but anyone with dishonest intent towards the owner, their family, or their property will be unable to pass through. They will be held back like they have encountered a pane of glass.”
Relief poured into Cara. She was so close to the perfect solution. “Is there a limit on its range? Will it protect a room, a house, or an entire estate?”
Malachi pushed his glasses up his nose and thumbed through a worn journal. He muttered to himself in Latin (or was it Greek?) as he read entries. “You won’t know for sure until you have the thing and can test it. But the explorer had it on his estate of a hundred acres, and it seemed to generate a barrier around the perimeter.”
Nate’s Lowestoft estate was far bigger than a hundred acres, but even that amount of land would be ample for dragons to roam. “The dragons would be free to move around the estate without fear of bounty hunters stepping foot on our land. Will it work from above too?”
Malachi patted her hand. “You do test me so. You know, I have muscles other than my intellect you are welcome to try.”
“Have I introduced you to my aunt, Vanessa? She’s not really my aunt, but a lifelong friend of my grandmother. Nessy would certainly put you through a few tests.” The forthcoming wedding would be the perfect opportunity to throw Malachi and Nessy together and watch the sparks fly.
Cara selected a journal and opened it to old pages that looked like they were stained with tea or coffee. The splotches had been turned into small doodles where the author had drawn arms, legs, and eyes on the spilled liquid.
“If she is one tenth as lovely as you, I would be flattered to make her acquaintance. But returning to our task at hand, I cannot find confirmation that the barrier works from above. It appears the mage did consider the possibility of an air attack from marauding dragon riders, and the text says the stones create something like an invisible dome.”
But again, it was something they would have to test before they could be certain. Cara wouldn’t rest easy until she saw the bounty hunters hammering on invisible glass, forever held back from reaching her dragons and family. “Well, I will worry about that once we have the thing in place.”
The old scholar flicked back through the journal he held. “There is one little quirk with this particular artifact.”
When did one not come with a quirk or a lethal side effect? “They all seem to come with some sort of problem. What does this one do?” It would be just her luck that she would have to sit on it like a mother hen to make it work. Or perhaps tie a string around the perimeter of the estate, so the stone knew the area to protect.
Having refreshed his memory, the scholar continued the lesson. “The problem resides in how it works and the intent of those who try to cross its defensive barrier.”
If the stone could ascertain someone’s intent, it would be perfect to keep her extended family safe. “You’re going to need to be a little more specific.”
He tilted his head and his glasses slid down his nose to enable him to regard her over the top. “The stone cannot be stolen or purchased. It can only be given.”
Cara blew out a sigh. That was going to be a problem; they usually stole what artifacts they encountered. “I’m going to have to convince whoever holds it to just hand it over to me?”
He grinned. His student had arrived at the correct answer. “Yes.”
Assuming she could discover who currently held the stone in Spain, there would be no point in sending either Nate or Jackson. Both men relied more on intimidation than persuasion.
“I’ll think of something,” she muttered.
“Freeze.” Nate whispered the word to his second and held up his hands.
The click had been faint, barely imperceptible, but his survival instinct latched on to the noise.
Jackson halted mid-step and looked down to where Nate pointed. The tile under his boot had depressed a fraction of an inch from those around it. He had stepped on a trigger plate.
Jackson swore quietly under his breath.
“Quite. This place is littered with more traps for a man than the last debutante ball of the season.” Nate glanced around the walls, trying to find where the latest unpleasant surprise hid. For weeks they had laboured to uncover the secrets and artifacts the Curator hid in his compound. They learned of his fondness for booby-traps the first day when one of the men was shot with a cross bolt hidden within a statue.
Seconds ticked by in absolute silence as he sought to discover what the trap had triggered. Then he spied the tiny opening just above the dado rail. This one was small and looked like a wormhole.
With no other available options, he drew his knife from his boot and used the blade to prise off a piece of railing. Trim in hand, he slid the knife back down the side of his boot, and then he pressed the wood over the hole. Preparations made, he nodded to Jackson.
The henchman stepped back and the tile snapped back into place. A thud sounded, and the piece of wood shivered against Nate’s hand. When he peeled it away from the hole, a small dart was embedded in the front.
“This place gives me the creeps,” Jackson muttered.
Nate tossed the shot slip of wood to the ground and grunted. It wasn’t the hidden weapons that bothered Nate, it was the locked rooms housing the old man’s prized possessions. In windowless rooms, they’d find an array of things on the walls or in glass-fronted cabinets, from delicate silk tapestries to rare pieces of porcelain. Each room had a chair in the centre for the Curator to sit and admire his possessions.
One room had an unusual horse head mounted over a fireplace. A hard, ivory-coloured horn extended in a spiral from its forehead. It wasn’t going to improve Cara’s opinion of the Curator when she discovered a unicorn’s head in one of the crates awaiting her inspection in the warehouse.
One such viewing room was supposed to house Cara. The circular room was divided in two with a thick glass wall separating the two halves. One half lay in darkness and had the now familiar chair facing the glass. The other side was brightly lit and furnished in a scaled-down version of a woman’s boudoir in tones of russet and brown. On the bed rested a pristine and untouched teddy bear.
The stuffed toy was wha
t made Nate’s blood run cold. The room was meant to house a young Cara, but her father had sold her to another man instead. Years later, the Curator captured Cara to be the star exhibit in his private show, but she had slipped through his hands and escaped. Nate had meted out a fiery and painful end to the man responsible for taking her from him. Now he worked to uncover the reason why.
What had the unnaturally long-lived man intended to do with Cara, and was it linked to the obsidian box? It gnawed at Nate, the need to know the bigger picture. He tore the man’s house apart in the hope of finding clues.
Day by day, his men had worked through every room and advanced deeper into the compound. Every item was packed into crates and taken to his warehouse. Nothing was left behind, no matter how small or insignificant it seemed. Only Cara had the ability to detect a powerful artifact among the mundane.
The compound had rooms and corridors built in a spiral that led ever inwards. Today they would find out what lay at the very centre. Some of his men placed bets that inside they would discover desiccated corpses laid out in coffins, waiting to be resurrected.
They trod the last stretch of curved hallway, and a single door appeared within sight. Nate kept a tight rein on his emotions as they advanced. Giving in to a moment of triumph at reaching the inner sanctum would be short lived if he failed to spot a trap. Like the one that nearly shot Jackson.
Step by step, the two men inched their way down the corridor. Senses were heightened and alert to danger. With no windows to open, the air grew stale, and they coughed whenever dusty puffs came through the small air vents set high in the walls. After what seemed like hours, they reached the door made of dark, polished walnut. The brass door handle was shaped like a bird, its head and neck arched downward, and it gleamed like dull gold in the soft light thrown from the overhead fixtures.
“Do we have to say a magic word or just open it?” Jackson asked.
“We’re not dealing with Aladdin’s cave, and I’m not going to stand here all day while you stare at it.” Nate reached out and pushed the bird’s head down. The click as the latch pulled back was overloud, then the door swung soundlessly inwards on well-oiled hinges.
The two men waited in the corridor, expecting something to jump out or blow up. When several silent seconds passed, Nate stepped to the threshold and peered inside. The light closest to the door burst into life. Nate passed his hand through the blue-white flame, and a chill ran over his skin. No natural flame or gaslight, but something powered by yet another artifact or touched by magic.
The whole house seemed to drip with arcane power. If he didn’t think it had the potential to kill him, he’d be tempted to move his business into the premises. The numerous traps would make short work of enemies who tried to break in.
The last room was small and circular with a soaring, arched roof. As Nate stepped inside the nucleus of the entire building, lanterns around the room flared into being, each with the same cold blue flame. A large desk dominated the space, the top littered with papers and books. A sole armchair sat before an empty fire grate. The leather on the rolled arms was worn where hands had rested for decades.
A bookcase had been built into the curve of the wall opposite the desk. The shelves were packed tight with books in a variety of shapes, sizes, and thicknesses. Another part of the curved stone was hung with an enormous tapestry in muted colours. It depicted a scene of peasants, clutching pitchforks and storming a castle. A man stood at the parapets hurling down lightning bolts.
Jackson snorted. “Do you think he commissioned that himself?”
Nate glanced at the tapestry as he pulled out the chair and sat at the desk. Given what they knew of the Curator’s history, it was likely a scene from his life in Hungary. “He probably used the blood of the peasants who attacked him to dye some of the wool and then hung it there as a memento.”
Jackson shuddered and moved to examine some of the titles on the bookshelf. “You sure it’s safe to be in here?”
“No. But I’m playing the odds. Given the number of traps set to take out the unwary, I suspect he thought this room was safe from ever being breached.” He picked up papers and scanned the contents, hoping to find some reference to the odd box that made Cara recoil.
He also had a very personal agenda. He had lost Cara once and had no intention of ever losing her again. If God or Mother Nature thought to wrest her from him, they didn’t know who they faced. While he believed the bond forged by Nefertiti’s Heart would allow Cara to draw on his strength to survive childbirth, he wanted to stack the deck in their favour.
There had to be some artifact that would ensure she survived. Failing that, he could ask Victoria. The queen had birthed nine children and not suffered any ill effects. Perhaps she had some token she clutched when her time came that saw her through.
Nate scanned and discarded papers. They appeared to be correspondence with agents around the world as the Curator negotiated the purchase of artifacts that caught his interest. Where that didn’t work, he simply ordered the piece stolen.
The top letter was from a Count Alfonso Mancilla telling the Curator in no uncertain terms that a particular item was not for sale. The count further insisted that the Curator’s pathetic attempts to steal the item were futile. He tucked that one into the box going straight to Cara. His curiosity was aroused at the thought of something that couldn’t be stolen.
Like Cara.
After an hour of rifling the Curator’s innermost sanctum, Nate sent Jackson to bring the men and their crates. The last room would be packaged up and dispatched. Then he planned to set enough explosives around the compound to ensure all that remained of the Curator’s presence in London was a pile of rubble.
7
The summons to Buckingham Palace came just as Cara put her feet up on the sofa with a book and a cup of hot chocolate. She stared at the rich brew and calculated if she had time to savour her drink and still make herself presentable for court.
Probably not.
She moved slower these days as the growing child sapped her energy. Not to mention the outward expansion wrought havoc on her tailored wardrobe. Her waistline had disappeared and her breasts grew fuller. She gave up trying to make anything fit and asked her modiste to construct new dresses with empire lines and flowing skirts.
She sighed as she set down the cup. “Do you ever feel we are puppets and the queen is pulling our strings for her own amusement?”
Nate’s face remained passive. “No. Because she doesn’t realise the strings were never tied on. For now, I mime answering her tug, but one day I shall simply walk away.”
Cara stared at her husband and wondered if she knew him at all. “How exactly did you start working for Victoria?”
That elicited a breath-stealing smile. “That’s a story for another day. Let’s just say the queen has a fondness for roguish pirates.”
A horrible thought crashed through Cara’s brain. “Please don’t tell me the queen succumbed to Loki’s charms?”
Nate laughed and offered a hand to help her to her feet. “I’m not giving away the best parts of the story. But I will say that the queen and I collided over mutual interests. A business arrangement grew from there.”
Cara grumbled as she changed her outfit into a subdued one more appropriate for court. As the pregnancy advanced, each day held new challenges. Currently it seemed her moods were tethered to a balloon and she changed directions with the smallest puff of wind. Her nights were restless and she awoke as tired as when she laid her head on the pillow. Exhaustion then fuelled her short temper.
She stared at her growing stomach. “No offence, child, but I can’t wait until you are out and I can reclaim my body.”
The mechanical carriage took them to Buckingham Palace, and Cara glanced at the surrounding buildings.
“Still no snipers on the roof,” she whispered as they walked up the stairs.
Nate squeezed her hand. “Perhaps the queen hasn’t relayed the order to shoot yet.”
Today they were escorted to the queen’s private office and left in the care of her secretary. The man looked at them and sighed as though he expected trouble. Cara didn’t have a chance to get twitchy as he announced them immediately and ushered them into the monarch’s presence.
The queen sat behind her enormous desk. The red velvet box with parliamentary dispatches sat open before her. She held a large sheet of paper in one hand, and her mouth moved slightly as she read tight lines of script.
This was the part Cara disliked most. They had to stand like naughty school children and wait to have their presence acknowledged. Given the queen summoned them, you would think she’d at least look up from some boring piece of legislation.
At length, she finished reading the paper and signed her name at the bottom. The queen picked up a silver shaker and dusted the ink before the sheet went on a small pile on the right-hand side of her desk. With deliberate slowness, she set the pen back in a silver tray and folded her hands on the desk. “Lord and Lady Lyons, we have received numerous requests from our Royal Zoological Society to be allowed to make a comprehensive study of our dragons. We have much to learn, since China and Russia have monopolised both these creatures and all knowledge of them for many centuries.”
Cara groaned inwardly. The last thing she wanted was a bunch of scientists annoying her dragons. Or worse, expecting to cut them up to learn how they worked on the inside. While she was considering how to politely say no, Nate replied.
“While we appreciate the need to gather scientific information about the dragons, Your Majesty, we do not wish to frighten the beasts away. If Kirill feels his females are unsafe, there is a risk that he may relocate them all,” Nate said.