The God's Eye (Lancaster's Luck Book 3)

by Anna Butler

  We settled down to sleep as soon as we had the saloon to ourselves.

  The Britannia was bigger than the Brunel Sky King owned by House Gallowglass, with a dedicated crew of pilots and stewards. The steward in charge of the lounge pulled the single sofa out into a roomy bed, which I claimed on the grounds of age and seniority. Being a First Heir had few advantages that I could see, but I had no shame at grasping at the crumbs offered me. Theo complained he couldn’t fold his tall frame into one of the armchairs for the night, no matter how much I pointed to their comfortable, velvety plumpness. But the steward, grinning, pulled on the chairs’ arms and bases and converted them into beds. He produced blankets and pillows from the low cabinets lining one wall, and drew closed the thick curtains over the windows with a flourish. The curtains were as unnecessary as the flourish, given the lighting in the lounge remained on low power all night. The steward persisted in hovering over our preparations for sleep until I handed him a half-crown and invited him to sling his hook. That worked.

  We shared our accommodations with Theo’s personal guard, Isaac Whelan. He was inoffensive and self-effacing—the epitome of a good House guard.

  And, of course, we shared with Tatlock. Theo taking the armchair to the left of my sofa, Tatlock insisted the one on the right was his. He took an inordinate amount of time to settle—his pistols seemed to be in the way, but he clung to them as did an addict to his opium pipe—and he heaved and turned, rustling blankets and plumping up his pillows until I was ready to shy one of mine at him. He reminded me of nothing more than an old house dog turning and turning on its bedding each night clockwise, then turning and turning anticlockwise, grunting and passing wind and scrabbling at the blankets lining its basket. I was at least grateful he didn’t mark his territory in the usual canine fashion. I considered replicating the steward’s cheerful departure by offering Tatlock a half crown. Damn it, I’d make it a whole five shillings.

  I quelled the faint sympathy arising from my finding it hard to settle myself. Not even Herodotus could soothe me, and I soon snapped shut the leather covers and pushed the book back into my carpetbag, giving myself up to restlessness.

  I have never done well with the pilot cabin door closed in my face and another aeronaut at the controls. It’s different if you have no idea of the science of flight and how slender is the margin keeping your aeroship aloft on its fragile wings. In such blissful ignorance, your feelings of well-being and general bonhomie are unhampered, and you can sit back and enjoy the wonders of travel in the modern age, marvelling at the speed and comfort of your journey compared to our grandfather’s day when the trip to Cairo took two weeks, two ships, and several trains and carriages.

  It does not make for an easy journey if you too are a pilot, depending on the skills and experience of others, and those others unknown to you and you can’t assess their capability for yourself. You can look at those unaware passengers and envy their casual confidence because in your own case, uneasy rests the head on its pillow. Though I thought I did a sterling job of hiding it.

  Until Theo Winter heaved a melodramatic sigh. “Do you think you could refrain from taking sharp intakes of breath and constantly cocking your head to one side as if you’re listening for engine failure?”

  “I don’t do well outside the pilot’s cabin.”

  He grunted and turned over. After a long moment, he said, his tone soft, “I’m worried about him, too.”

  I rolled onto my back and stared up at the curved metal ceiling. Wonderful. Just what I needed in life. Someone so bloody prissy and prosaic he wouldn’t allow me my illusions and distractions, even the harmless ones of pretending my nerves came from hands other my own on the aerocraft’s controls.

  Wonderful.

  We landed in Cairo at four on Christmas Day, with the sun already westering.

  The Gallowglass had spoken to my old friend, El Khawaga Pasha, the Khedive’s right-hand policeman. The Pasha had a car waiting for us. The driver salaamed with great grace and handed me a note beginning with My dear Lancaster and ending Cordially yours, which was encouraging. The Pasha was the sort of man I would prefer to be cordial. He offered his sympathy and support, and suggested we go to Shepheard’s where he’d taken the liberty of reserving us some rooms.

  “He says he may be able to join us for a chinwag if his commitments with the Khedive allow, but assumes we’ll be leaving early tomorrow so wishes us every success if he doesn’t manage it.” I tossed his note to Theo.

  Theo read the note and refolded it. “I suppose we must wait until tomorrow to leave?”

  I glanced at the sky. The sun was dipping towards the horizon, the dusk-purple shadows lengthening. It would set within the hour. “It’s too late to start off now. The prevailing northwesterlies give us a little bit of a tailwind, but they’ll be pushing us out over the western desert, and I’d be fighting them to stay on course. It would be a two-hour flight, at best. We wouldn’t arrive until well after dark, and I don’t know the terrain at Hermopolis well enough to be happy attempting a night landing. It won’t help Ned if I smash up the Brunel.”

  “No. I quite see that.” Theo returned the note. “What now?”

  “Now we go to the hangar and make sure the Brunel’s flight-ready. Then to the hotel. We’ll get an early start tomorrow.”

  We gathered up our escorts and baggage, and drove to the hangar in which the Brunel Sky King lived under the charge of my old friend Banger Bill, one of House Gallowglass’s senior guards. Banger Bill greeted us with a philosophical “Mr Edward can’t seem to keep out of trouble these days,” and promised to be ready at dawn along with the five guards at his disposal. He made no complaint about spending his Christmas readying for whatever brouhaha awaited us. A stoic lot, House guards.

  I took a look over the Brunel. I’d do a preflight check before takeoff, of course, but I could cut the time needed the next day by doing some of the basics before going to our hotel. She was in fine fettle. The small two-seater was tied down in its compartment in the stern—something of a surprise, until I recollected Hugh would have flown it here to collect the six-seater Bazelgette Ned had hired. I was glad to see it. The two-seater might be useful later.

  The augmentation device loaned us by the Huissher worked a treat. It slid into the slot for the earspeakers, which themselves plugged into the device, and within minutes, we were speaking to the Gallowglass with no intermediate ears listening in. We reported our arrival and our plans for the morrow, the communication line clear and sharp.

  We took our leave of Banger and decamped to Shepheard’s Hotel in the centre of Cairo. Normally I enjoy the journey in from the aerodrome, relishing the sights, sounds, and smells of the ancient city, but that day I just wanted it to be over so we could crack on with finding Ned. I was in a gloomy mood when tramping into the hotel’s Pharaonic lobby on Theo’s heels, only to stop in midstride on being greeted by a feminine gasp and a very familiar voice.

  “Good Lord, Rafe! Whatever are you doing here?”

  Nell.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Nell. The Nell who was supposed to be in Paris, but instead was sitting at a table beside one of the columns, a delicate porcelain teacup in one hand and a dainty little cake in the other.

  For a moment, I stared and gibbered. “What am I doing here? Why you are here is more to the point! Did our pilot mistake his way and this is really the Champs-Élysées or the Place Vendôme?”

  “Don’t be silly.” But Nell’s riposte lacked bite. She and Theo Winter had spotted each other. “Oh, Mr Winter. How nice to see you.”

  Theo’s mouth dropped open in the most unflattering way. He caught my eye—I made my expression as satirical as possible—coughed, and returned her greeting with equal civility. She replaced the cup in its saucer and disposed of the cake in a single bite as she jumped to her feet and came to join us.

  I poked the besotted mooncalf in the ribs. “Perhaps you could pull yourself together enough, Theo, to talk to the desk clerk a
bout our rooms?”

  He glared and reddened. “Of course. Excuse me, Miss Lancaster.”

  She smiled at him as he shambled off, but the glance she turned to me was reproachful. “That was quite rude.”

  “I don’t deal well with surprises.” I took her arm and escorted her to one of the uncomfortable small sofas set under the massive brass lamp swinging from the roof. Within the shelter afforded by the immense lotus-topped columns behind the sofa, I could interrogate her in relative privacy.

  She cast a glance at the table. “My tea…”

  “I need something a lot stronger than tea. Why are you here, Nell?”

  “Oh, it was Maman. She decided Paris was too loathsome and the place to spend Christmas was in Aegypt with Cousin Raoul.” Nell rolled her eyes. “I am being very French in my attitudes and pretending, of course, I don’t see the impropriety of their dalliance. I pretend not to see it at all, in fact. Much better for everyone’s peace of mind.” She frowned. “They are both far too old for this sort of intrigue. It’s quite shocking.”

  “I fully intend to carry on intriguing until I’m a hundred, I warn you. Is Archambault here?”

  “Ah, no. You can tell Maman married into the family and doesn’t share Lancaster blood, because that’s where her scheming wasn’t quite up to par. We arrived four days ago, hoping to meet him here, but he didn’t have any transport—”

  No, indeed, since Hugh had flown Ned to wherever it was in their hired aeroship and stranded the rest of the expedition at Hermopolis.

  “—so Maman is trying to arrange to join him in Hermopolis for a few weeks. To be honest, I can’t wait to see a real archaeological dig, and Papa can’t do anything to stop me. I am quite happy to relinquish Paris with such a treat in store. It’s so exciting! I’ve had a lovely few days looking at everything close to Cairo.” Nell’s tone and face were so bright, they put the aether lighting to shame.

  “I can imagine. Of course, if I were a responsible sort of First Heir acting in loco parentis, as it were, I’d see it as a duty to take our father’s views as law and forbid you to set foot on the dig. But I’m not responsible and I detest being dutiful.”

  Nell beamed. “Oh, I do like your being First Heir!”

  “I wish I could share the sentiment. So, while you play at lady archaeologist, what will your mother do?”

  “Oh, she’s anticipating walking with Cousin Raoul in the desert in the moonlight. Probably,” added the little cynic sitting beside me, “holding hands and bill-y-cooing in quite the patented romantic fashion.”

  “The desert by moonlight is romantic in the extreme.” As I knew first-hand.

  She made a little moue of distaste. “If you say so. It depends upon whomever you’re cooing with, I expect.”

  “It does. And how are you to get home in two or three weeks?”

  “I did remind her about that. But she was quite determined. I couldn’t stay alone in Paris, I didn’t want to miss Aegypt, and I didn’t—”

  She broke off. But I understood. She didn’t want to go home, not just yet. So I nodded and pressed her hand.

  She mouthed, “I’m sorry,” and after a moment, said, with a fair approximation of her usual bright manner, “Anyhow, that’s why I’m here. Why are you gracing Aegypt with your presence? Have you left poor Papa all alone? What—”

  “Excuse me a moment, Miss Eleanor.” Tatlock loomed up behind Nell, a middle-aged Nemesis with all the sweet temper of Genghis Khan after someone trod on his bunions. He pointed to the next column, where one of the House guards who’d gone with Nell to Paris was failing to make himself inconspicuous. “Potts is about to explain to me, sir, why we hadn’t heard about Miss Eleanor’s trip. I assume Glover is with Madame Stravaigor, Miss?”

  Nell nodded. She looked as though she were trying hard not to laugh, and I mentally blessed Tatlock for diverting her from the distress of a moment or two ago. That was a sufficiently startling reaction to him to keep me silent, while Nell explained her mother was shopping in the Khan el-Khalili. “After some rug she saw this morning, but hesitated about. I preferred staying in to take tea.” She gave me a saucy glance. “They do such nice cakes.”

  “I’ll talk to him later.” Tatlock touched his forehead with a forefinger in an approximation of a salute. “If you’ll excuse me, sir.”

  I waved him off to his entertainment. “Don’t hurt Potts too badly.”

  I reached for my cigarillos while we watched Tatlock’s discussion with Potts. His idea of discipline involved inflicting a healthy dose of terror.

  “Poor Potts.” But Nell’s tone was devoid of remorse. Ruthless creatures, women. She shook her head at the offer of a cigarillo. “I’d better not, in public. At least, not in a Mohammedan country.” She gave me a wide smile. “Although it seems I might escape reproof at home. Did you know Papa sent me some?”

  “I included them in your baggage at his insistence.”

  Her smile wavered. “He surprised me. Sometimes, he can be such a dear.”

  Which is not how I would describe our father. Not at all.

  “How is he, Rafe? Really?”

  Theo came back, trailed by Whelan. “They’re running around sorting out rooms for us. They’re panicking. They say they only now saw the message from El Khawaga Pasha.”

  “I’d panic, too. The Pasha won’t like inefficiency.” And to Nell: “Papa is no worse. No better, either, mind you. Emily is with him.”

  “She’ll be delighted about that, I’m sure,” was Nell’s comment. She knew her sister well.

  “Theo and I are here because—” I broke off to gather myself up and rushed my fences. “Ned Winter is missing, Nell. We’ve come to find him.”

  “Oh, dear.” Nell looked from me to Theo and back again. “Where was he last?”

  I came a cropper at the first fence, because all I could do was shake my head. Beside me, Theo grunted and shook his.

  “That’s going to be a little difficult, isn’t it? If you don’t know where to start?”

  “You’ve nutshelled the challenge we’re facing,” I conceded.

  An elegant woman strolled into the lobby shadowed by a Stravaigor guard, raising her hand to catch Nell’s attention. When Madame Stravaigor saw me with her daughter, the smile slipped away into a wild-eyed glare of the sort Medusa would envy.

  Ah. I still wasn’t her favourite illegitimate usurper, then.

  We dined with Nell and her mother, the House guards sharing the next table. Watching them trying to juggle their cutlery with one hand and their weaponry with the other was amusing, though not funny enough to take my mind from my troubles. I picked at my own dinner. The evening wasn’t exactly festive.

  Our eating together was at Nell’s instigation. She might turn a blind eye to the impropriety of her mother’s dalliance with Archambault, but she wasn’t prepared to allow Madame Stravaigor to compound the offence by ignoring the House’s First Heir. Nell and Theo, once the latter had remembered how to stop blushing and start talking, carried the burden of social interaction. Madame Stravaigor and I didn’t advance beyond “Passez-moi le poivre, s'il vous plaît,” but we were excruciatingly polite while we conveyed condiments to each other.

  Madame was more expansive when it came to talking to Theo. “You perceive us most discommoded, M. Winter. We are stranded here in Cairo, Eleanor et moi, without the means to travel. And at this most blessed season, when every heart yearns to be with those it loves and is bereft by their absence.”

  Nell rolled her eyes at me, but played dutiful daughter and followed her mother’s lead. “What Maman means, but hesitates to ask, Mr Winter, is if you and Rafe might see your way to take us with you tomorrow morning to Hermopolis? We are in the country to visit Maman’s dear cousin Raoul, who is, of course, a member of your brother’s excavation team. We would be so grateful.” She took a sip of her wine and did this odd twinkling thing with eyes and eyebrows over the rim of her glass.

  Madame looked shocked, presumably at Nell’s
directness, but Theo appeared to lose the power of speech for a moment.

  I exchanged glances with my ruthless little sister. I was immune to women twinkling at me, as you might expect, so I could regard her and her mother with rationality and logic. Nell widened her eyes at me. That was no sparkle. It was closer to a challenge. So while Theo said something gallant to the effect that he would be delighted to be of service to Miss Lancaster, I raised one hand in the gesture of the fencer conceding defeat. The Brunel was more than large enough to carry them. It cost me nothing to be gracious about it, and might even moderate some of Madame Stravaigor’s more acidic glares.

  “Oh, thank you! Thank you!” Nell gave me a swift smile, but glittered with such vivacity at Theo, I considered him a lost cause. I had a fair measure of charm myself, but Nell outdid me without any effort at all. It would take a stronger man than Theo Winter to withstand that onslaught.

  “Your kindness will be rewarded in heaven, monsieur.” Madame favoured Theo with a smile. She brought out a lace-edged handkerchief and touched it to her eyes. “Is Hermopolis far from Abydos, are you aware? I desire to visit there the tomb of my son.” A sharp intake of breath and another furious dab at the eyes. “It is of a great grief to me, you comprehend? A thing of suffering… une situation de grande souffrance that cannot be assuaged. Ah, you cannot know the weight of a mother’s heart in such matters!”

  So much for her being softened by my ready compliance. Poor Theo wore the expression of a man who’d inadvertently grabbed a hot emissarium pipe and was regretting the steam burns. He knew John Lancaster had died at Tatlock’s hands in Abydos two years earlier when John tried to kill me, after endangering Ned’s life and kidnapping Ned’s son Harry. Was the woman so unaware of the circumstances of her son’s death?