Summer of the Moon Flower (The de Vargas Family)
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Summer of the Moon Flower
By Annie Seaton
Summer of the Moon Flower
Copyright © December, 2012 Annie Seaton
Edited by Amanda Clymo
Cover Art by Annie Seaton
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © December, 2012 Annie Seaton
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the author.
Dedication
As always…to Ian for his support and encouragement of my need to write.
Acknowledgments
To my two writing colleagues who have become dear friends as well.
Amanda…for your fine editing and wicked sense of humour.
Marie… for your encouragement and fabulous ideas
And not forgetting Gavin…a great barista and a fabulous line editor
Table of Contents
Cover Copy
Summer of the Moon Flower
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
The de Vargas Family series
Other books by Annie Seaton
About the author
Chapter 1
Sofia de Vargas shivered and the hairs on her neck stood on end. The chill wind blew in from the Austrian Alps and the departure lounge of Wien Westbahnhof was icy in the pre-dawn darkness. She pushed her hands deep into the pockets of her dark cloak, gloved fingers curling round the cold steel of the small weapon and her gaze flicked around the deserted space. Quiet footsteps to her left confirmed her suspicion— she was not alone. She stood completely still, ignoring the pounding of her heart as she listened in the silence surrounding her.
No sound.
Nothing.
She knew she was unrecognizable; a close-fitting, dark helmet with a small brass mouthpiece attached, hid her silver blonde hair from any curious onlooker. She stood to the left of the portal, hidden by one of the statue crowned columns in the elevated departure lounge and waited for the arrival of the dawn train from Paris. A sudden movement to her right caught her attention and she turned quickly scanning the deserted lounge.
No one.
Nothing.
Now only the scratching of mice and the rustling of leaves blowing in the cold wind filled the cavernous space. Stepping back into the shadow of the ornamental column, Sofia spoke softly into the mouthpiece of her helmet.
“There is somebody else in here.”
Silence.
No response. The range of the transmitter was blocked by the solid brick walls surrounding her and didn’t extend out to her carriage. She swore under her breath in a most unladylike fashion.
The hissing of steam broke the silence as the train appeared around the bend at the edge of the station, making it impossible for her to hear anything else. Craning forward from the protection of the column as far as she could without stepping into the light, Sofia looked down onto the arrivals platform. The steam fog from the engine trailed ghostly fingers of mist into the dark corners but there was no one waiting in the shadows. The end of the platform remained blocked from her vision.
Her carefully selected vantage point at the edge of this level would have ensured she was able to see anyone else awaiting the train’s arrival. Not being able to step out to the edge of the balcony impeded her view and afforded her no end of frustration.
More worrying were the sinister noises around her and the certainty she was not alone. Sofia had not expected anyone else to be up here and her hand shook as she removed the tiny ray gun from her pocket. The muted voices of passengers alighting from the train below drifted up and she cursed again, fighting the urge to step out from the safety of the column to see if her mysterious passenger had alighted.
No. It was more important she not be seen. She twirled, the dark cloak billowing around her when footsteps sounded quietly behind her
She placed her hand on the cold marble of the circular post, before creeping silently around to the other side to face the entry to the large hall, straining her covered ears for any sound. Reaching up, she flicked the helmet from one side and cursed as a tendril of silver hair fell from the braid looping around her forehead. A rhythmic clicking came from the shadows on her left.
“Who is there?” she called, deepening her voice. It was unfortunate her hair had revealed her sex and she cursed again, pushing the curl back under her helmet.
A rhythmic clicking now came from her right and as she glanced around a movement above caught her eye. Looking up, Sofia gasped as the ornate roof of the porte-cochere slid open and the bright lights of a small airship shone down, illuminating the floor around her. A rope ladder coiled down from the dark recess of the polygonal roof flanking the entrance and hit the ground beside her.
Sofia stepped back quickly as a figure clothed entirely in black, slid down toward her. Before she could run, the acrid smell of machine oil assailed her nostrils and a sudden pressure descended onto her left shoulder. Metallic talons pinched the top of her arm and as she attempted to pull away, her woolen cloak ripped exposing her bare white flesh.
“Merde,” she cursed looking up into the dead eyes of a machine man, twice her height. A human face on a metallic body. Another one approached from her right, the monotonous clicking of the brass joints getting louder as it came closer, metallic claws outstretched to grab her other shoulder.
Before she could pull back, a loud clang echoed as the magnetized talons touched her gun and she dropped it, knowing she was not strong enough to break the connection.
“Vielen Dank, Mademoiselle.” A flat monotone from the automaton.
Deep breaths. Don’t panic. Think your way out of this.
Sofia twisted to escape the claws of the brass machine, and the lifeless faces of the two automatons glowed eerily in the dark above her. The black cloaked figure on the rope ladder was almost to the ground. She had mere seconds to escape, she knew now she was their quarry.
Frantically scrabbling in her pocket, she pulled a small knife from the depths and pushed the magnetic handle onto the centre of the chest plate of the automaton holding her shoulder in its sharp, cold grip. At the same time she twisted to the right with a strength far beyond anything the automaton would have allowed for her slight frame. She broke free of the metallic clasp at the same moment the automaton on the right stretched its shiny claws out to grab her other arm. As the first machine man whirred to a standstill, rendered inactive by the magnetism of the small knife on its chest plate, Sofia ducked under the snapping talons of the second as its talons clicked in vain bare inches above her exposed shoulder.
Sofia ran for her life. Her cloak swirled around her legs, impeding her flight. Lifting her skirt, she ran for the shadows; her soft boots made no sound on the ornate terracotta floor. Realizing the floor would also mask the sound of anyone pursuing her, unless they were metallic, she kept to the shadows along the side
of the station. Grateful she lived in a progressive city, she silently thanked the architects for the design of the building. One of the most modern in Europe, the departure lounge of West Wien Bahnhof ran the entire length of the eight hundred feet of the station. Numerous doors led down to the arrivals level, where a multitude of carriages and omnibuses could load passengers at the same time. She knew one of the exits along the departure level opened to a corridor leading to an enclosed garden and small restaurant overlooking the street below.
Heart pounding, Sofia glanced at each door trying to remember which one she had entered when the designer from Paris had met her, prior to his departure on the afternoon train just last week.
“Merde,” she muttered under her breath again, they all looked the same.
Think.
She recalled they had come up the stairs and taken the first exit after they had turned into the departure lounge. Sofia slowed when a sharp stitch pulled in her side. Stepping behind the penultimate ornate pillar before the end of the building, she leaned back against the cold marble and caught her breath, sure any pursuer would hear her ragged breathing
Total silence surrounded her. The train and the few arrivals had left the station and all was quiet. She craned her head forward and peered around the column. The mysterious black clad figure, face obscured by a helmet similar to the one she was wearing, was backlit by the light streaming from the dirigible. He was six columns behind her, trying each of the doors along the side as he searched for her exit point. As she watched, he paused and attempted to open the next one. The rattling of the brass knob as he pulled at it before he made his way along to the next door drifted down to where she was hiding. She stood, transfixed, as he tried three more, moving closer to her hiding place with each step. Standing absolutely still behind the column, with her breath held, Sofia was close enough to hear the grunt of satisfaction as the third door opened and the figure disappeared into a dark passageway.
Before he could reappear, Sofia hitched her skirt and ran for the last exit. The door loomed in front of her in the semi-darkness and she prayed silently that it was unlocked as she reached for the handle.
Her gloved hand slipped on the brass knob and she impatiently removed her glove and pushed it into the deep pocket of her cloak. Fingers shaking, she tried again, turning the large circular brass handle as firmly as she could, and sighed with relief as the cogs inside the lock clicked loudly and the door creaked open. Entering the narrow dark corridor, she turned and gently closed it, leaning against the solid timber as her eyes became accustomed to the dim light shining through the high windows of the restaurant at the far end. Stretching on her toes, she reached above the brass lock with trembling fingers and slowly slid the large bolt into place. Sliding down onto the cold floor, she exhaled with relief, and reached into her pocket for her glove.
Gottverdammt.
The pocket was empty; her glove must have fallen as she opened the door. Pushing to her feet, Sofia turned around, torn between hiding here safely locked in, or opening the door and retrieving her black glove as she cursed herself for the vain SdV monogrammed on the inner flap of the leather. Foolish vanity could lead to her identification and if it were discovered that she, Sofia de Vargas was waiting in the station in the wee small hours, observing the delivery of her critical cargo, there would be many questions asked.
Merde, merde, merde. They were so close to an outcome.
Sofia clenched her bare fingers in the cold as her mind worked furiously. If she were caught by the mysterious man and his automaton henchmen, it would all be over anyway, so she was better to take the risk and claim she had dropped the glove on another occasion, if indeed it were even discovered. Deciding to settle in and wait them out, she pulled the folds of her thick woolen coat around her and leaned against the door once more. The cold air was creeping through the tear on the shoulder of her coat and she folded the material over for warmth. The restaurant was open to the elements on the northern wall and the cold wind whistled down the corridor. Her head and neck were warm, protected by the tight fitting helmet, although her eyes were stinging as the cold settled around her. Her goggles were in the carriage with Henri, her manservant
Placing her bare hand over her face, she cursed the events of the night. Not only had she almost been caught, she had not achieved the goal for her foray out in the cold pre-dawn.
Henri would be concerned when she did not return to the carriage as expected after the train’s arrival. She had not been able to raise him through the mouthpiece on her helmet, and was loath to try again, while ever the dark stranger was on the other side of the wall. It had been imperative that she know who was travelling on the train this morning with the latest delivery.
Her brother-in-law, Captain Zane Thoreau, Sheriff of Cornwall and official keeper of the Queen’s peace, had sent word her operation was under surveillance and had possibly been infiltrated but it was not known who was interested in their activities. Zane had sent her word a person well known to her—someone she would apparently least suspect, would accompany the latest cargo on the Paris train. A person who would be most interested to follow the cargo to its destination. No further clue to their identity was given and that was why she had come here tonight, and not sent one of her trusted servants. It had been emphasized the suspect would be clearly recognizable to her.
She had used the Paris train to move their products for over two years. Hidden amongst the fabrics and fashionable accoutrements for the salon of the highly respected Sofia de Vargas, it had been the perfect hiding place for the products destined for the laboratory in the lower level of Vienna University.
Society matrons and their daughters came from afar to visit her salon, to be dressed in the latest fashion as decreed by one of the most highly respected couturiers outside Paris. She even provided a dirigible service for the ladies of the colonies to visit Vienna and be outfitted in the latest European fashion. This had proven extremely valuable for importation over the preceding years.
Now thanks to the unexpected appearance of the stranger from the dirigible and his clockwork men this morning, she had achieved nothing and seen no one.
Were the two incidents related? Had it all been an elaborate trap? Had their indeed been anyone on the train? What was the stranger in the dirigible seeking? If—
Her reverie broke when the door pushed slowly against her back. The cogs of the knob rattled and clicked as someone attempted to push the door open behind her. Sofia held her breath, praying the bolt would hold as the door strained forward. The pressure on the door stopped and she let her breath out as the sound of footsteps faded.
* * * *
Some hours later, Sofia pulled her cloak up around her neck and dropped her chin into the folds of the soft vicuña wool as she stepped from the side entry of Westbahnof onto the footpath of Neubauguertel. The high glass windows of the apartment buildings reflected the mid-morning sunlight and she quickly rounded the corner into Mariahilfer Strasse. She had stayed locked in the station corridor until the morning light had pierced the darkness and waited another hour before carefully unbolting the door leading back to the departure lounge. It had been timely. She had passed a man laden with trays of food, obviously heading for the restaurant when she had descended the stairs to the street level. He had looked at her curiously and not greeted her as she still wore her helmet and Sofia had put her head down and scurried past him.
Stepping into Mariahilfer Strasse, she paused in the shadow of a doorway and quickly scanned the street around her. All appeared normal, the steam tram was making its way along the street past the small businesses and delivering fresh produce from the outlying farms, and the shopkeepers were putting their wares on tables in front of their shops in the warm spring sunshine. There was no sign of automatons nor black garbed figures, nor were there any small dirigibles flying low over the street. Sofia removed her cloak and helmet, twisting her hair into a loose knot as she stepped out into the bright morning sunshine.
&n
bsp; “Guten Morgen, fräulein.”
“Good morning, Hans.” She returned the greeting of the baker as he opened the doors of his establishment and the smell of fresh baked pastries wafted out.
“You are early this morning, Sofia. I didn’t realize you were about as I saw Henri with your carriage only a short while ago.”
“Just out for a stroll in the lovely sunshine,” Sofia replied, pleased to hear Henri was still out in the carriage and obviously looking for her. As they chatted, the baker’s wife came bustling through the doorway and passed her a steaming mélange.
“Danke.” Sofia gratefully sipped the steaming concoction of frothed milk and coffee and smiled as Hans pushed a small croissant, still warm from the oven, into her ungloved hand.
“Are you setting new fashion, Madame Couturier? You are only wearing one glove?” He smiled at her.
Sofia laughed. “I dropped one as I was walking and I could not find it. Luckily it is monogrammed and hopefully will be returned to me if it is found.”
Finishing her coffee, she bid them farewell and strolled along the street as though she had not a care in the world and was a highly respected couturier out taking a stroll before her morning appointments. Hooves rang out on the metallic tram track in the middle of the road only a few hundred yards from the turn to Lindengasse where her apartment was located. Placing her hand over her chest to still the pounding of her heart, she paused and turned slowly. For a brief moment, it had sounded like the clicking of the automaton’s talons and she sighed with relief as Henri brought the horse and barutsche to a stop beside her. He climbed down and held her gloved hand assisting her into the open carriage, whispering close to her ear.
“Madame, I have been so worried. I have been searching for you since first light.” Her trusted manservant glanced at her as he flicked the reins and the horse broke into a light trot.