Nessy's Locket

by A. W. Exley

  “Determining if you can fly.” Having said that, Nate tossed the man overboard.

  The man screamed as he was flung off the airship and his body plummeted towards the ground. His accomplice looked terrified as the rope played out and then snapped taut. He was dragged across the deck and slammed into the side as his comrade fell. He scrambled to hold his place on the airship by bracing his feet against the corner of the low wall to anchor himself. Then he grabbed hold of the rope, wound a length around his forearm, and leaned back with all his weight to stay anchored on the airship.

  “This is where things get interesting. You now have a choice to make,” Nate said to the bounty hunter left on deck. He pulled a knife from his pocket and flicked open the blade. Light glinted along the edge. “Are you two in this together until the end, or do you let him go?”

  The man’s eyes widened until they seemed all white, and his nostrils flared as he gulped short breaths. He dared a glance over the side at his mate dangling below, the two men joined by the rope umbilical cord. The man spun like a circus performer except his act unfolded below the audience instead of above. He tried to grasp the rope in his hands, but couldn’t haul himself up with a broken arm.

  “Pull me up!” he screamed at his friend.

  The shorter man tried to haul up his friend, but he was a dead weight swinging back and forth. The forward momentum of the airship and the pressure of air against his body made the man even heavier. The man on deck managed to heave a fraction of rope back over the side, only to have it tear through his hands when he relaxed his grip. The exertion made fresh blood seep through the bullet wound in his arm.

  Nate held out the knife. “Your choice. Let him go, or if you can’t pull him back up, you will exhaust yourself and tumble over to join him.”

  Tears streaked down his face and revealed a narrow patch of clean skin. “You’re going to kill me anyway.”

  Nate allowed the smallest of smiles to touch his lips. “You don’t know that. Haven’t you heard? I’ve gone soft.”

  The man wiped his face against a filthy sleeve and kept trying to wind in rope.

  “He won’t last fifteen minutes,” Jackson said.

  “Let’s find out.” Nate ordered a coffee and took a seat to watch.

  While he sipped a hot brew, the other man alternated between trying to rest and snatching a few more inches of rope. As the minutes ticked by, he spent more time resting than he did trying to save his friend.

  “Twenty minutes. Didn’t think he’d keep trying this long.” Jackson snapped his watch shut and returned it to his pocket.

  “I didn’t think he looked the type to make snap decisions. I’m sure he’s carefully considering all his options.” Nate finished his coffee and walked to the man’s side.

  The screaming had stopped from below, and the man hung limp at the end of the rope. The wind carried him backwards like a baited hook played at the end of a line.

  Nate held out the knife one last time.

  “He’s my friend,” the man rasped from a dry throat.

  “And now you need to decide how good a friend. Will you stick with him until the very end?” It was quite fascinating to see how men behaved under pressure.

  With one arm wound around the railing to hold his place, the bounty hunter reached out with trembling fingers and took the knife. He hacked at the rope as tears rolled down his face and he muttered I’m sorry over and over.

  When the last few fibres snapped and the rope snaked over the railing, he slumped to the deck. Free.

  The man dropped his head between his knees and wrapped his arms around his legs as sobs racked his body.

  Jackson slid the knife from limp fingers and closed the blade before handing it over. “What do you want done with him?”

  Nate rolled the knife between his fingers. “No one is to touch him. He’s going to be my messenger boy.”

  12

  As evening fell, Cara returned to Lowestoft to find Kirill and Calypso stationed either side of the barn door like enormous guard dogs. Pavlin was asleep within, but Rachel had managed to coax the dragon into eating a small amount of minced meat. Amy hovered over her unusual patient. She declared herself satisfied with the stitching to repair the wing membrane, but only time would tell how, or if, the broken bone would heal.

  Rachel could not be budged from the barn, and the professor had taken the opportunity to give an aeronautical lesson in the afternoon. The two of them had discussed how birds flew, the design of wings, and then moved into art by drawing potential devices to act as a prosthetic wing.

  Cara was exhausted and grimy from a night sleeping on hay, and then all day handling the Curator’s belongings. When Nate returned with the Hellcat, he insisted on a most thorough washing in the bath and an inspection of her changing form. Cara’s stomach was rounded and Nate pressed his hands to her skin, willing the child to move against his palms.

  “Stubborn thing. I only just started to notice it last week. I thought it was hiccups at first, then realised I can feel him or her. Do you want a son or a daughter?” she asked.

  He kissed her curved belly. “I don’t care, so long as you are both healthy.”

  He carried her to their bedroom to continue his inspection. Some time later, as they lay in the large bed staring out the open window at the rising moon, Cara was exhausted for an entirely different reason.

  “What happened to the bounty hunters?” Cara didn’t really care what happened to them, just so long as they never came back to hunt her dragons. Although there would be others.

  “I let them go.” He pulled her closer.

  “Both of them?” Perhaps the notorious villainous viscount was going soft. Those who wronged him didn’t normally walk away.

  “Technically I only let one go. The other was cut free by his comrade. Apparently they weren’t as good friends as they made out.” Nate drew slow circles on her naked shoulder.

  Mischievous humour flared along their bond. She had no doubt he had meted out some form of punishment, but she was too tired to enquire as to the specifics.

  She rested her cheek on his chest and whispered against his skin. “We catch two, and four more will spring up tomorrow.”

  He stilled the movement of his hand and laid it flat on her arm. “I’ve increased the number of men patrolling the grounds. That will hold them at bay. McToon is drafting legislation, but that is a glacially slow process. We will stop them.”

  “We didn’t stop those two before they damaged Pavlin’s wing. What will we do if she doesn’t regain the ability to fly? Rachel will be devastated.” The child saw echoes of her own fate in that of the dragon’s, and Cara desperately needed to show her daughter that an injury didn’t mean the end of a useful life.

  “The engineer is confident they can make her a prosthetic joint if needed. It is no different to what they have done with mechanical beasts. She will just have to learn how to adapt to the change.”

  Pavlin wasn’t the only one who had to adapt to change. Cara’s joints ached as they adjusted to the changes and the different weight of her growing bump. Unconsciously she rubbed her tummy, and Nate laid his hand over hers.

  “Tell me what to do to make this family safe,” Nate whispered against her hair.

  She had forgotten to broach that particular subject with Nate. The bounty hunters had interrupted her plans. “I need you to fight the Duke of Clarence.”

  “Clarence? The man who is besotted with Brick? What has he done to offend this family?” A light kiss fluttered against her neck.

  “Nothing. But I want to hold a charity event and have decided on a boxing match between the two of you.” The plan was coming together in her mind, with only a few things left to smooth out, like asking Nate and Clarence to be the stars of the evening.

  He made a harrumph noise in the back of his throat that wasn’t exactly agreement. “Perhaps it would be better to pick an event other than boxing. How about cards?”

  Cara snorted. “Watching
you play cards won’t draw a crowd. The prospect of half-naked and sweaty brutality will.”

  “Cards won’t hurt you or the baby.” Nate spoke to the ceiling, not turning to look at her.

  Nefertiti’s Heart bound them together, each aware of the other’s feelings and pulse. The mystical bond also conveyed what happened to one, to the other. Cara had used that bond to save Nate when their enemy tried to drown him. She breathed for him and expelled the water from his lungs. Their connection also meant she felt every punch and knife thrust that landed on Nate’s body.

  “I can handle a boxing match. It’s not the first time you’ve got in a fight, and you’re still sparring with your men.” She had proven time and again that she was just as strong and resilient as him.

  Her husband fell silent and stretched a hand up over his head.

  “You are still sparring, aren’t you?” She rolled to her side as she racked her memory for the last time she had been aware of him fighting.

  His silence spoke volumes. That and he had the look of a naughty schoolboy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

  “Oh, Nate. You need to stop protecting me.” She straddled him so he couldn’t avoid looking at her. The extra bulk came in handy now for pinning him down.

  He dropped his hand to rest it on the small of her back. “We don’t know how it might affect the baby. What if a blow had some impact?”

  She let out a sigh. While she shared his concern, she didn’t want to be suffocated under protective layers. “We don’t know, but we cannot live our lives in fear of what might happen, or it will paralyse us. I’m sure women have got up to all sorts of things while pregnant for thousands of years without any ill effects to their children.”

  The serious light in his eyes seemed to imply he didn’t believe her. “My life was easier when I was the only one getting hit or stabbed. I don’t like knowing it flows to you.”

  “You’re only looking at one side of that coin. The bond also makes us stronger as we face everything together. Do you really think I could cope with pregnancy if I had to bear this alone?” She poked him in the chest when he remained silent. “If you don’t go back to sparring with your men, I will instead.”

  That made him grind his jaw. “If any of them dare raise their fists to you, they will answer to me.”

  She stuck out her tongue and rolled her eyes. Did he really think she had curtailed her activities just because he had? “I have no intention of sitting around on my backside and being wrapped in cottonwool for months, so you better get used to it, dear husband.”

  He let out a groan. “Please tell me you are not sparring.”

  “I’m not sparring. Brick and Jackson both refused, and it was pointless to ask any of the other men once those two said no. We did reach a compromise, though, and I am still training.” The men were insufferable and thought she might shatter like crystal dropped onto stone. She had to threaten them in the end, saying she would go looking for fights at the docks and taverns if they didn’t continue her training. That made them both blanch and agree to a scaled-down routine.

  “At least you haven’t entirely turned my men and they remain loyal to me.” A sly grin spread over his face. “Very well, assuming this boxing match goes ahead, how will it protect this family?”

  Cara dragged her nails lightly down Nate’s chest. It wasn’t fair that she lost her form to the baby. How would he react if their bond inflated his stomach and gave him breasts that ached? “If it works, we will lure out into the open Count Mancilla, who currently possesses one of the three ensorcelled foundation stones from the Great Wall of China.”

  He laid a hand over hers to still her fingers. “An artifact that can only be given, not purchased or stolen.”

  “I need to set up a situation where the count can’t help but place a bet, with him wagering the stone.” Nate might quiet her hands, but that meant he couldn’t hold on to the rest of her. Cara started a slow wriggling motion that made Nate draw a sudden inward breath.

  His gaze darkened and he let go of her hands to grab hold of her hips. “Why the duke? Can’t I fight someone else?”

  Cara leaned forward and let his hands set the pace of her movement as heat built within her. “Scared you’ll lose? Brick tells me that Clarence is quite a skilled boxer. In fact, it was his boasting about how people were unaware how skilled Clarence is that gave me the idea. But I could ask Jackson to do it instead of you? I understand the damage it would do to the reputation of the great Viscount Lyons if he went down to a dandy.”

  Nate laughed. “Me? Lose? The thought never entered my mind. I was more concerned that I might break the duke’s nose and Brick would sulk that I had ruined his man’s good looks.”

  “The ton adore Clarence. He has wealth, a title, and the divine looks of an angel. Women will stampede for a chance to see the duke with his shirt off and covered in sweat.” Although now she was astride her husband, all she could think about was him covered in sweat.

  Nate narrowed his eyes. “So I’m just second billing in this act?”

  Cara schooled her face into a serious expression, something she learned by watching her husband. “Very much so. Clarence must fight someone, and who better for the angel to box than the man all of society whispers must be part devil? It will be the classic battle of good versus evil.”

  Nate pulled her closer to nuzzle her neck. “And what will all of society do when evil triumphs over good?”

  “We don’t know that will be the outcome. Brick has assured me that he intends for Clarence to win.”

  Nate rolled her to the mattress and pressed her hands to the pillow. “Don’t tell me even my lovely wife will bet against me?”

  She lowered her lashes to peek at him from behind half-lidded eyes. “Evil does usually come last.”

  “Only for you,” he whispered as he claimed her mouth in a searing kiss.

  The next day, Cara called on the Duke of Clarence. Nate had agreed to his part in the match, so she had next to persuade the well-dressed peer. Brick looked relaxed as they waited in a parlour that bucked all the current trends in Victorian decorating. The room was cool tones of white and grey. Fabrics in different patterns on both sofas and curtains broke up the monotony. Alabaster figurines of naked Greek warriors stood in niches sunk into the walls.

  The only splash of colour in the room came from an enormous scene hanging on one wall. At least eight feet wide and five feet tall, it depicted a scene from the opulent Ottoman Empire. A golden throne room decorated in fiery oranges and reds was filled with courtiers in a rainbow of colours, all come to present sparkling gifts to their ruler.

  “I should have brought an offering to present to the king,” Cara said as she studied the painting.

  “He is the king of society.” Brick leaned on the wall by the window and watched the gardeners mowing the lawn in the middle of the circular driveway.

  At length, the door opened and a footman clad in deep blue and grey entered. He coughed into his hand and, once he had their attention, announced, “His grace, the Duke of Clarence.”

  Clarence glided in, and Cara evaluated him with a new eye. He had a feline grace about his tall and lithe form. He might dress the dandy, but she suspected he had the body of a fighter under the silk and lace.

  He took Cara’s hand and kissed it. “Lady Lyons, what a delight. Do take a seat, we can’t have our expectant mother standing on ceremony.”

  “Your grace, thank you for seeing me so early in the day.” Cara suspected they had roused him from bed, even though it was nearly noon. She chose a velvet sofa covered in grey and silver roses and settled amongst the array of soft pillows.

  Brick pushed off the wall and crossed the room in three easy strides.

  “Patrick,” Clarence murmured and tilted his face upward.

  Brick leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on the duke’s offered lips. “Sleep well?” he asked.

  “I had a most satisfying night. Would you see what happened to my coffee? You
know I cannot hold an intelligent conversation without one, and I would hate for Lady Lyons to think me a half-wit.” He draped himself over the sofa opposite Cara and fixed her with a knowing stare. “I understand you have a proposition for me?”

  As she studied the noble, she realised he would make a remarkable spy. The majority of people would never look past the dandified and soft exterior to see the warrior that lurked within. “Yes. One I hope you will find intriguing. I want to host a charity boxing match to raise funds for a school and teachers for the Rookery children.”

  “A most noble cause. And what will be the highlight of such an event?” He winked and a grin spread over his face. He already knew but was playing along.

  “The angelic Duke of Clarence attempting to vanquish the villainous Viscount Lyons. A classic battle of light and dark, good versus evil. Gideon against Lucifer.” Cara waved her hands in the air as though she drew his name on an enormous banner.

  Clarence tipped back his head and roared in throaty laughter. “When Patrick told me, I was sure he jested. Why on earth would I agree to such a match?”

  Cara shrugged. “I’ve asked myself that question, and I cannot supply an answer. I only offer you the opportunity to do something out of the ordinary. To shock, to titillate, and perhaps to make society fall a little more in love with you.”

  He tapped long fingers on his thigh. “Do you honestly think I care about their opinion of me?”

  Brick returned, followed by a footman carrying a large silver tray. He set it down on the table and then backed out on silent feet. Brick sat next to Clarence and draped an arm along the back of the sofa behind him.

  Clarence sat up and poured black coffee from a silver pot into a tiny silver cup. He picked it up and inhaled the fragrant steam before sipping. A sigh ran through his body as he made himself comfortable again. He leaned back against the large henchman and dropped his free hand to Brick’s tree trunk thigh.

  Cara’s nose twitched at the rich coffee aroma swirling around the room. She loved coffee and had never started a day without it since she was twelve years old. Until recently, when her stomach baulked at the smell and a sip sent her running for an open window. Apparently the babe didn’t like coffee, and she would have to endure without it for a few more months yet.