Fang shot her eyes up. Are you serious?
Coyle sat and stared at the chess pieces, sitting opposite the most dangerous woman in the world. Yet... yet deep inside, she knew Fang wasn’t a threat to her. She exhaled, and a strange, warm sensation washed over her. Her shoulders drooped, and she leaned back.
It felt as if she were meeting an old friend.
An automaton waiter approached.
“Whisky straight, Glenlivet,” Fang said.
“Lime. Scotch. And water—soda,” Coyle said.
The automaton contemplated for a moment before leaving.
“That’s quite the drink,” Fang said.
“I’m sorry,” Coyle said. “My mind has been a bit harried lately.”
They sat in silence, listening to the rhythmic tapping of the tracks and the light chatter around them. Coyle swallowed, still unsure of everything.
“Maybe if you moved a piece,” Fang said.
“I haven’t played in some time. And I think there are more serious things to talk about.”
“Move something, or those men in the corner will think you’re just staring at me.”
Coyle sighed, picked up the white knight and took Fang’s pawn.
“I don’t feel like I belong,” Coyle said. “I’m in constant fear of being accused of things I didn’t do or say. I’m doing my job exactly as they asked of me. Yet...” She shook her fists.
“Yet?”
“Yet it’s like I’m being punished for doing it so well.”
“Sounds familiar. They ask you to do a job, then they become frightened at just how well you do it.”
Coyle brushed a knuckle against her lips, studying Fang as a person, a woman. A peer, not a vampire.
“Yes,” Coyle said. “Frightened is the best word to describe their reactions.”
“Ignorance is what I would call it.”
“I read pages from a journal about you.”
“Do tell.”
“They locked you up in an iron box of some sort with a date to exterminate you.”
“Hmm. Looks like I missed another appointment.”
“Doesn’t that frighten you? Because it terrifies me to the point of paralysis, and my life isn’t even threatened. Treece’s team doubts my abilities and who I am as a person. They believe my moral compass is flawed. But you? These men are ready to kill you on sight without hesitation.”
Fang tilted her head, a subtle smile playing on her lips. She removed a pawn with a bishop. She stared at the board and spoke.
“Years ago, I was on assignment in Bangladesh—during the summer, I might add. Miserable wet heat, and I was constantly sopping wet. I’m glad it was only once. Anyway, our... objective wasn’t due to arrive for fourteen hours, so I had to find entertainment. I found a carnival taking place in a large village, and I watched from a rooftop. This man brought out a cage with a tiger inside, and he was warning the crowd to stay back. There’s danger inside, but he’s tamed it, he assured them. And he’s going to show them tricks he taught this tiger.”
The automaton arrived, served the drinks and left. Coyle took a small sip, the liquor calming her nerves. Fang continued.
“He opened the cage door, and the tiger limped out, nice and easy. The animal looked anything but dangerous. It hunched, cowered, loped in a small circle, staring at the dirt. The man was getting ready to show them the first trick when the leash snapped apart. The noise attracted the attention of the tiger, who looked at the baffled handler. And then the tiger became a tiger, slashed the man’s throat, chased the villagers and ran into the forest.”
Fang leaned in and squinted at Coyle. “I’ve seen your work. The way you study objects, people, their words. Some may call it peculiar, but you are so much more than just an adjective. You are a ravenous tiger. When they let you out of the cage, you want evidence, justice, blood. And everyone you come across is terrified of what you can do, of who you are. Because, Coyle, you’re not one of them.”
Coyle stared out the window, her mind gathering the wool set before her.
“My perception needs to change,” Coyle added.
“In more ways than one. When a tiger wanders down the street, no one needs to warn you, tell you all about its abilities and how dangerous it is. It just is, and it does what it was made to do.”
Coyle tilted her head and frowned. “A tiger never needs defending, does it?”
She swallowed the rest of her drink, prompting the mechanical waiter to offer another one. She nodded at it.
“You’re not afraid of these men, because of who and what you are?” Coyle asked.
“I respect fear—it keeps me alive—but I’m not governed by it. Are they?” Fang shrugged. “They’re not my concern right now. My concern is to find and stop Moreci. And it should be yours.”
Coyle was reminded of her decision to quit Treece’s team. Of her trivial excuses for not continuing.
“I guess I’ve been too caught up with what the others think of me, on constant alert for rejections and accusations,” Coyle said. “It’s exhausting.”
“Maybe they’re not the team for you.”
“And you—we—are?”
“Are you a tiger?” Fang smiled.
Coyle’s gaze stared past the window before shifting to the fresh drink, the unfinished chess game and the glimmer of Fang’s eyes. She chewed the inside of her cheek.
“Am I?”
“Whose blood do you want? You didn’t try to become a detective because it was a Tuesday morning with nothing better planned. You applied for that position without caring what others thought or said. And when you were denied, you made a fist and slammed it into the man who held the prize from you. Sounds like a predator to me. So whose blood do you want?”
Coyle slowly nodded. Yes. She was.
A tiger.
Chapter 15
A knock on the door disturbed her rest.
“Yes?” Coyle answered, opening her eyes in a tight squint. Soft gray light streamed through the curtains. The train whistle blew clear and shrill.
She kicked aside the pillows on the floor and slipped into a robe as the knocking grew more insistent. She grabbed the door handle and opened it, expecting Gibby.
“We’ve just had a communiqué,” Duone said with wide eyes. “Someone on the Dawn’s Edge sent an emergency transmission. All hell’s broken loose. We must leave immediately.”
Later, Coyle stood in one of the half-empty storage cars with the others, learning their new strategy. Each of them wore a special suit made by Treece’s team of engineers and tailors: navy-blue leathers with thick armor at the joints, metal knuckles, steel-toed boots, and a special helmet with built-in radio receivers—all with the Templar’s emblem.
So, then—its official is it? I’m a Templar.
She was given a bulky handgun, given basic instructions on its use. It was a special weapon, a Multi-Array Dispersal pistol or MAD for short. Three switches allowed for different ballistic options: bewilder, a non-lethal choice; sleep, for knocking out a target; and a simple skull for a fatal shot. Or something.
Coyle adjusted her multi-use goggles and caught a glimpse of molten anger in Bolt’s eyes. Although he smiled at her, his eyes confirmed her suspicions. There was no mistaking Bolt was a threat.
She looked away, trying to stay focused on the task at hand. They had done their best to convince him she meant no harm and would continue to be a great benefit to the team. But his eyes said otherwise. Fang’s assurance—that she would be close by once they got on the airship—gave Coyle a bit of something to look forward to.
“We carry the daunting task of investigating this great mystery and putting a stop to whoever, or whatever, stands in our way,” Vonteg said. “I am certain each of us knows the risks. We will arrive at our location, board the ship, and overcome any obstacle that befalls us. We have a team of experienced soldiers coming with us. We will also bring a chief crewman who knows the ship backward and forward. Together, as a team, we will
succeed. Treece took considerable care in choosing us. He is a brilliant strategist and creator. He will make sure we have breathable air to succeed in our mission.”
Coyle looked down at her gloved hands, flexing her fingers. Adrenaline raced through her blood. The swell of rising panic threatened to tilt her off-balance.
Her mind picked out only a few words of Vonteg’s speech: daunting, risks, befalls, breathable air.
She closed her eyes.
You are a tiger. Act like one.
She straightened her hunched shoulders, trying to hold on to the positives, the little things, to push away the darkness that crept along the edges of her mind. But with each passing second, her mind swirled deeper into the dark storm of helplessness.
She stepped away so they couldn’t hear her labored breaths. Her hands were clasped together so tight she worried her fingers might snap.
God, why? I’m being punished, aren’t I? Why do I have to fight against the urge to curl into a ball of fear? Why can’t I be the tiger I’m supposed to be?
With trembling fingers, she pressed against her trousers and squeezed her eyes. Her lips parted, and air rushed out again. Her ears picked out a new conversation.
“What? How can we be there sooner?” Poes asked.
“We’re less than an hour away from catching up to her. This train is equipped with supply pods. Steam-powered, radio-guided aero-rockets that will propel us to the airship,” Vonteg explained.
“Pods? Rockets? Have you gone mad?” Quolo asked with a raised voice.
Coyle’s fears became more palpable and less containable. She turned back to the rest of the group.
“The pods were built for supplying airships midflight along with emergency travel, and this certainly qualifies. They’re easy to manage, and each will have a pilot to carry us to the airship in perfect safety.”
“We sit on top of them and just hold on for dear life?” Poes asked.
“Of course not,” Vonteg said. “We lay inside. Like a coffin.”
Coyle glanced to the heavens.
Chapter 16
O Lord of Grace, the world is before me this day, and I am weak and fearful, but I look to thee for strength.
Amen.
The gnome engineer led the group through the cars to the cargo carriers. He was considerably shorter than all of them, and his hair resembled a thick, blue cloud the same color as his eyes. The lines around his bright blue eyes were deeply ingrained into his tanned face. But his short legs carried him faster than everyone else, and he was full of energy. A line of thick, white cigar smoke trailed behind him as he spoke.
“My team is working on the boosters,” he said. “The modifications won’t take too long.”
Coyle’s fingertips caressed the polished wooden cabin doors and beautifully crafted brass door handles as they walked along the plush, carpeted walkway. She looked out the windows over the dry valley of northern Utah rushing by. Snow-capped mountains stood majestically at the edges.
They passed a beautiful, evocative oil painting: John Millais’s Ophelia. The artist depicted the grieving young woman from Shakespeare’s Hamlet. She lay face-up, floating along the river, singing songs to herself before finally descending into the depths.
Coyle looked away and inhaled. The scents of women’s perfume, baked bread, and fresh flowers hovered in the air as she breathed in and out as carefully as she could.
Chief Sykes unlocked a door, and a flood of noisy, cold air chewed through Coyle’s leathers. They passed over a thin gangway with a small brass chain for a handrail. The speed of the train sucked the air out of her lungs. She gripped the brass chain that separated her from the blur of rushing ground. She breathed in traces of wildflower and oak, but mostly grease, burning coal and the pungent sweat from the men.
They passed into the cargo holds, and the temperature inside was no different. Coyle looked up as they walked through. Long slats of wooden screens let air and light into the hold. Wooden crates and boxes of all shapes were stacked in tight formations. The floor was bare wood bound with strips of iron.
Coyle glanced behind and knew the grand comfort of Dawn Industries would be gone for some time to come. She had to wonder what else she was leaving behind.
She wanted to be a detective. She’d failed the exam, and her future was in the gutter. And yet, here she was, helping one of the richest men in the world stop a city from being destroyed. If she was successful, Treece would be grateful—a grateful man with resources and knowledge of people in the right places. She could get a detective position out of this if she played her cards right. But Fang had also told her they would work together. Two of them against whatever was to come.
Two tigers against the world.
They arrived at the booster-pod cargo hold. Gnomes were busy as ants, crawling over large, polished metal pods lined in rows. Their small hands were deft and precise. Hammers, wrenches, and torches filled the air with noise. Coyle wrinkled her nose against the sharp odor of burning metal. Steam and smoke snaked through the hold and disappeared through the open slats above. She noticed others, fully armed and wearing uniforms similar to her group; Templar soldiers. Some pointed at blueprints, others checked weapons and some kept an eye on her.
Vonteg motioned for them to affix their helmets, face covers, and goggles. Coyle unclasped the buckle on her utility belt and slid the helmet on. Her trembling fingers made it difficult, but she finally clasped the face cover together and pulled the goggles over her eyes. Her finger found the small tab along her jawline, and the soft hiss of the communications channel filled her right ear. The noises and smell faded away to almost nothing.
“Can everyone hear me? Yes? Give me a thumbs-up if you’re receiving my transmission,” Vonteg asked. “Excellent.” He looked at Coyle and gave her a nod. She nodded back and gave him a thumbs-up.
She tried to ignore the adrenaline shooting through her body. The narrow opening of the tube held her gaze for too long. There was space enough for a few of them to fit into, shoulder to shoulder. Cramped.
Like a coffin.
“Coyle!”
She turned. Vonteg was nodding at her. “Coyle, can you hear me? Yes? Pay attention, please. With the amount of personnel we have, each of the tubes will fit three of us. There will be one investigative team member with two soldiers, understood?”
She nodded and kept her eyes away from the pods.
Coffins.
“Now look here.” Vonteg motioned to the hastily created craft. “These are usually used for in-flight supplies and support. They are sturdy, dependable and most definitely the only option we have right now. Once inside, you will each have one of these bags.” He pointed to a small pile of canvas bags on the floor, and she picked one up.
“In the bag, you will find extra boxes of ammunition, medical supplies, survival gear, emergency rations and signaling devices,” he said. “The tube will shoot you into the higher altitudes where breathing is difficult. When we enter the tubes, make sure you push the switch here on your helmet to activate the breathing device on your suits.
“Once in the air, the tubes will be guided to the Dawn’s Edge through a series of gnomish
array-wave signals. Then, the airship will automatically launch a series of magnetic coils to catch and pull the tube into the cargo bay. Once we are inside the bay, we will begin our search for the emergency activation beacon. Duone and I will stick with Coyle, seeing as how we’re the three investigators. Poes, Bolt and Quolo will stick together as the other portion of our team. The rest of the armed men are with us to provide lethal options, if needed.” He paused for a short time and looked around the room. “Each of you has an important part to play in this mission. Stay safe, and God be with us.”
Coyle flinched as the ceiling pulled away with a screech of metal. The wide expanse of the blue sky was above them, and she squinted through the bright sunlight pouring in. Vonteg pointed, and their eyes followed his direction. A long, dark oval floated in the distance. Thin
clouds and a hazy atmosphere made the airship look like a ghost ship sailing along a forgotten course.
The Dawn’s Edge.
“There she is,” he said. “It’s large enough to hold four hundred twenty-five passengers and seventy-five crew with multiple decks, wide halls, and grand ballrooms. This won’t be easy, but we’re going to work together, and we know there is strength in unity. Remember our creed: strength through adversity.” He looked each of them in the eye, and each gave a nod in response.
One by one, the gnomes finished their work and set equipment to the side. Coyle stepped aside and glanced around the room as the armed men hurried around them. A pair of hands tugged at her, and she turned. Poes looked into her eyes and nodded. She nodded in turn before being led to one of the tubes. She swallowed and looked back at Poes.
He glanced back, locking eyes with her. With that one, knowing glance, Coyle remembered their secret. Everything made sense now. But now, yes now was too late wasn’t it? No one would understand, of course. She would have to wait until this played out to see what would happen. Poes finally turned away and crawled into the pod in front of him.
As her eyes refocused, she had the odd sensation of being stared at. Against her better judgment, she glanced to the other side and saw Bolt, his dark eyes piercing hers. He stared for a heartbeat before pushing himself into the opening. She turned her attention to her own tube.
The space inside looked smaller. Darker.
Like a coffin.
The edge of the opening blurred out of focus. With labored breathing, she pressed the switch on her chest plate. There was a tap and a click and then clean, cold oxygen flowed into her mouth and nose. She bit her lip. Her anxiety forbade her to cross the threshold.
“Everything all right, miss?” Chief Sykes looked up and asked. “Need help with anything?”
“Are you sure these are safe, sir?” she asked.
“We use these almost daily for mail and package delivery to our transport ships,” he said, holding his cigar. “Please be assured, these are perfectly safe, miss.”
Coyle and Fang: Curse of Shadows (Coyle and Fang Adventure Series Book 1) Page 16
