Dashwood laughed. “And this coming from the woman who fought off an Aeternae warrior with her bare hands. You know those guys are supposed to be invincible?”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures, Captain.”
He was silent for a while. “Why did you save me, Mrs. Marsh? I mean, you could have left me for dead and gone with Mr. Heller.”
“I couldn’t,” Elle said. “Besides, I owed you one for Socotra.”
“But if you had, you would most likely be enjoying a cocktail in one of the bars in Bangkok right now.”
“And instead, I am sharing a rather precarious perch inside a basket in the middle of the jungle with who knows how many creepy crawlies. Present company included.”
“Exactly my point,” he said. “Even if you are some strange voodoo witch that can cross into different worlds and shoot sparks from her fingers.”
Elle looked away, suddenly self conscious. “You were right about me,” she said.
“And how is that?” He was watching her closely, she could tell.
“I am trouble. Every person who comes into contact with me ends up either hurt or dead. Or they end up suffering some terrible disaster. It’s like I’m cursed.”
“I’m not going to argue with you about that,” Dashwood said. “That’s three ships you’ve cost me now, is it?”
Elle didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she fed a few more bamboo slivers into the fire. “When I saw you on the floor, covered in blood, I just couldn’t let yet another person get hurt. I had to do something. So here we are.”
“I see,” Dashwood said. “Well, I am grateful. I know I should be noble about going down with my ship, but I am quite glad I didn’t die today.”
“Well then, you are very welcome, Captain.”
“And just so you know, I am going to reserve being angry with you for not telling me about the bounty for later. There will be much yelling at you when we get out of here.”
“I look forward to it,” Elle said drily.
They were both silent for a long time as they listened to the rain drip-dripping onto their canvas.
“So what now?” he said.
“I think I want to carry on searching,” Elle said. “Walk till I find help and then see if I can continue my search for the city.”
“You have got to be joking,” Dashwood said.
Elle shook her head. “No, I am completely serious. I have to find Angkor Wat. There is nothing else for it.”
Dashwood thought about this for a few moments. “I think you are completely off your rocker, Mrs. Marsh.”
“That may be the case, Captain. But a vow is a vow and continue on this path I must.”
“I can’t guarantee that I’ll go with you. I, for one, am all for cutting my losses and going home.”
“Well, then I suggest we review this alliance when the time comes. Agreed?”
She felt Dashwood laughing at her in the dark. “One day at a time, Mrs. Marsh,” he said. “One day at a time.”
Somewhere deep in the jungle, a shadow stirred.
The great two-headed hound shook the rain out of his shaggy coat and sniffed the air. There she was. Freesias and engine oil.
He too had felt the shift in the barrier earlier. First there was nothing; he had watched the smaller Shadow creatures skitter across the void in abandon. Then the space had filled with a strange, dark energy which he found familiar. Whatever had caused the barrier to be temporarily down had been restored and that was all he needed to know.
The hound did not spend much time contemplating the how or the why of it, for these matters were beyond the limits of his understanding. He did, however, recognize that a certain darkness was now infused in the barrier. It was the same darkness that flowed through him.
All he knew was that this was a good thing; where his trail had been muffled and confused before, the scent now carried to him across the aether, clear and bright as a ringing bell. He could almost taste it on his tongues.
She was not far. He could smell the green of the bruised jungle that surrounded her.
The hound opened both his massive jaws and panted with anticipation. His red tongues lolled out from between scimitar-sharp teeth in a grimace that was the closest thing to a smile his kind could muster.
Yes, she was close.
Here in this place, the hunt would be the best yet.
CHAPTER 21
Elle sat hunched under their makeshift tarpaulin cut from the canvas of the balloon.
It had been raining for a whole day and night without any sign of respite. In the end, they had decided to start walking and had trekked through thick jungle until they both felt that they could walk no more. Every bone in Elle’s body ached and she was so numb from the cold that she did not even feel the ruts of the bamboo frame underneath her.
Below them in the crook of the tree a pathetic little fire smoldered. The damp smoke made her head ache and her eyes water, but at least it kept away the relentless barrage of mosquitoes and other biting insects that feasted on them at every possible opportunity.
Dashwood sat next to her, his legs drawn up before him. He was studying the edge of the blade in the dwindling light.
“Strange how such a simple instrument turned out to be the one thing that is keeping us alive,” he said.
Elle was too miserable to answer. She stared at her forearm. On her skin, just over the place where the scars crisscrossed, was something black and squidgy. She nudged it with her finger, but it remained resolutely stuck to her skin.
“Leeches,” Dashwood said.
Elle shuddered, but she was almost too tired to care. “If you have one on your arm, then you’re guaranteed to have them in other places too,” he said. “Better check. Would you like me to help?”
She grunted at his joke, which was almost funny in this context. “Now that’s a comforting thought,” she said. “Tell me, Captain,” she said, changing the subject, “how do you know all this stuff? You seem to be an unending source of knowledge of these kinds of things.”
Dashwood did not answer. Instead, he reached down and stuck a bamboo sliver into the fire. He waited for it to catch and then lifted the glowing tip up and leaned over to her. “Hold still,” he said, as he stuck the bamboo into the leech. The creature squirmed as it sizzled, leaving a bubble of bloody spittle that Dashwood lifted off her arm. With an expert flick of the wrist, he cast it onto the ground below them.
“That is so disgusting,” Elle said.
“You’re welcome,” Dashwood replied. “And I know this stuff because I used to be in the military. I really am a captain, you know.”
He was quiet for a few moments.
“My family made their money on the gold fields in California. I was born in San Francisco and I joined the army as soon as I was old enough.” His face grew grim. “I saw too much at too young an age, but the army was my life. I was drafted into a unit of Rangers that the government used for special missions. They sent us to Cuba. No one knew we were there. The Cubans were fighting the Spanish for independence. Investments were at stake. Tobacco, rubber, sugar.” He stared off into the distance, remembering. “And so we were sent there by the government in Washington to see if we could sway the conflict. The war of ninety-eight only lasted a couple of months, but we were there long before war was formally declared. I spent months crawling though the mud and jungle. I saw what the Cuban rebels and the Spanish did to one another there while the world looked the other way, so I deserted.”
He flicked a damp leaf off his arm.
“I ran away in the night. Stowed away on a merchant ship. Talked my way into joining her crew. And that was how I became the freebooter you see before you today.”
Elle stared at him.
He looked away. “Not much of a story, but now you know. I can’t even go home to see my mother, because if I do, I will be caught and placed before the firing squad for being a coward and a traitor.”
“You may be many things, Captain,
but you are no coward,” Elle said.
He did not answer, and they both stared into the dark in silence for a while.
“What about you?” he said.
“Not much to tell,” Elle said. “My father is a scientist. Specializes in spark thaumaturgy. He is the younger brother, so we never had any money because my uncle Geoffrey inherited it all along with the title and the peerage. My mother died when I was young, so I don’t remember her. I grew up, failed spectacularly at being a debutante and snaring a husband, so I decided that the only sensible thing to do was to become a pilot, so I did and here I am, as you see me today.”
“I’d say you did all right in the husband department. You must be a fairly comfortably off widow, yes?”
“I am not a widow,” Elle said. “My husband is still very much alive.”
“And you’re sure about that?” Dashwood said.
“You were there.” Elle said. “That night strange things happened.”
“Indeed they did. Hence my question.”
“I believe so. I honestly do,” she said.
Dashwood sighed. “Look, this might not be my place to say, but speaking as a man, I don’t think I would leave you if I were in that situation. I would find a way to stay.”
Elle gazed into the flames for a long while. Could Marsh have stayed with her if he had really wanted? Perhaps she really was a widow, after all. Everyone in the world seemed to think that. Everyone except her. Perhaps it was time to face the fact that she might not find Angkor Wat—or Marsh, for that matter. In fact, she would be lucky if she survived this whole ordeal at all.
Oh voices of the Oracle. Do you know how much I need your counsel? What should I do?
As usual there was no answer from them. Elle hugged her knees a little tighter.
Dashwood gave a little laugh, breaking the silence. “Do you know it took me weeks to get away from the Misses Pankhursts? They took me home, trussed me up before the fire, fed me more tea and suffrage literature than any man could possibly absorb. And then they would not let me leave!”
“Really?” Elle said. “They seemed like such capable women. What on earth would have made them want to hang on to you like that?”
Dashwood was silent.
Elle gave him a sharp look, and then her eyes grew large with the realization. “You didn’t!” she said.
“Miss Pankhurst is a fine woman with a modern outlook on life. She had no objections at the time.” Dashwood shrugged. “The objections came when it became apparent that no marriage proposal would be forthcoming.”
“Captain, you are incorrigible,” Elle said. “If I had a parasol, I would be clipping you about the head and face with it right now.”
Dashwood laughed. “In the end I had to escape through a window when they were all asleep.”
“Poor Christabel. I really hope her heart did not break too much because of you,” Elle said.
“I hope so too,” Dashwood said, surprising her.
“Say, I thought the jungle was supposed to be this hot, steamy place,” Elle said, changing the subject. Discussions about the captain’s liaisons were making her uncomfortable. She nudged the edge of the tarp with the thin bamboo cane she was using to poke the fire. “I’m British and I am certainly up for a bit of rain, but this is worse than Wales.”
“It’s called the rainforest for a reason, you know,” he said.
“I suppose,” she said. “But no one said it could be so cold at times.”
“We should keep moving,” he said. “Find something to eat.”
Elle groaned at the thought of food. “Oh what I would give for a lovely plate of roast chicken right now.” She closed her eyes as her mouth filled with saliva. “Followed by strawberry tarts. My stepmother makes the best roast dinners ever.”
Dashwood groaned next to her. It was a sensual sound that emanated from somewhere deep within him. “Steak and eggs. And chocolate fudge cake,” he said.
“Hmm, that would do too,” Elle said, lost in dreams of food.
“I had hoped that perhaps some of the crew would find us. Or that we would stumble on the Inanna. It’s strange that there is no sign of any wreckage anywhere. We must have drifted further than I thought …” His voice trailed off.
“I know,” Elle said.
“There’s something very wrong about all this.” Dashwood looked at her. “Why on earth would all those ships go after us? And the storm riders on top of it all. I mean, those guys tend to be so careful about selecting their prey that one hardly ever sees them.” He shook his head. “What on earth could have made them venture out this far?”
Elle held her breath. She did not want to discuss this with Dashwood because it meant revealing things she did not want to tell.
“Surely the rumored treasure of Angkor Wat can’t be all that. I had never even heard of the place before you told me. And pirates are looking for gold all the time, so it’s not like our little expedition was that out of the ordinary. Why did they all go to the trouble to follow us from Socotra? Surely not out of vengeance for the death of one man.”
Elle closed her eyes. “I don’t know either,” she lied.
“Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that you are the widow of an extremely wealthy and powerful nobleman with connections to the Shadow world,” he said. “Maybe your family has offered a reward for your safe return. Although I’m sure I would have heard about it if that were the case.”
She looked at him sharply.
“I read.” He shrugged.
“You may be right,” Elle said. “There are some people out there who would pay a lot of money to get their hands on me.” It was as much as she dared to say.
Dashwood thought about this for a little while. “There is more to this. I can feel it in my bones.”
Above them, thunder rumbled. “We need to find people. We need to find food and shelter,” Elle said. “Who knows how long we’ll last out here—”
Dashwood put up his hand to signal for her to keep quiet. On the tree trunk next to him, a giant black spider had appeared. It was hairy and bigger than the size of a hand. The creature sat perfectly still, its thick, articulated legs poised gracefully, mesmerized by the fire they had made.
Ever so slowly, Dashwood lifted the blade he was holding and skewered the creature against the tree. The spider carried on wiggling even though it was clearly dead.
“Arghh! That is the biggest spider I have ever seen!” Elle felt shuddered.
“It’s also the tastiest spider you will ever eat,” he said.
She shook her head. “No. I’m sorry. But no.”
Dashwood shrugged. “I have seen these in the markets in Siam. The local people fry this type of tarantula and eat them as a delicacy. Apparently they are quite delicious.” He picked up a thin piece of bamboo from their stash and carefully set about affixing the spider to the stick.
Elle stared at him in horror.
“What?”
“You’re telling me you’re going to eat that spider?” she said.
Dashwood shrugged. “Of course I am. It’s food and I am very hungry. And if you’re very nice to me, I might even share it with you.” He lifted the stick in order to examine his dinner, which had now mercifully stopped wiggling. “Don’t tell me you are going to turn all girly and squeamish on me, Mrs. Marsh. I knew it was only a matter of time before your highfalutin sensibilities took over.”
“I am not highfalutin,” she said.
“Oh yes you are. And the sad bit is that you don’t even know it half the time.”
Elle bit her lip. She was not about to be upstaged by this man. Not here. She stared at the spider with a mixture of revulsion and fascination. For some unbelievably strange reason her treacherous stomach rumbled in response. The thought made her entire body break out in goose bumps, but somehow the notion of eating a spider didn’t seem all that ludicrous. Perhaps if it was cooked properly …
Elle shook her head. It had been two days since they’d e
aten a real meal, and if she wanted to live to see the city of Angkor, she had to do whatever was necessary to survive this.
She had to.
The matter decided, Elle hopped off their platform and wiped her hands on her trousers. “Well then, Captain, I will see if I can find us a bit more of that dry wood. You should look around to see if there are more spiders about. Perhaps that one has a friend.”
Dashwood started laughing. “Brave words, but will you put your money where your mouth is when it comes to the crunch?” He waved the spider at her.
Elle crossed her arms and lifted her chin defiantly. “If spiders were good enough for Miss Muffet, then they are good enough for me,” she said, taking the blade from him. “Fire her up, Captain, I’ll see what I can do about finding more wood.”
It had stopped raining. Elle was chopping down whatever she could find that was dry enough to burn in the underbrush. They were going to need a big fire, she decided. Fortunately, the jungle was quite dense where they were and there were quite a few patches of dry bamboo, so it was easy work. When she returned a few minutes later, Dashwood had indeed found another spider and he was slowly turning their dinner on a little spit he had set up over the flames.
“I caught you a tarantula all of your very own,” Dashwood said.
“Oh, how wonderful,” Elle said with growing trepidation as she sat down next to him.
“You know what, Mrs. Marsh?”
“What?” She stared in fascination as the little hairs on the legs and bodies of the spiders caught alight and glowed red for a few seconds before turning to ash.
“When I first met you in Amsterdam, I thought you were a stuck-up wife of a rich man, playing at flying airships because you were bored and had more money then brains. But actually, you’re all right.” He handed her the tarantula.
“Thank you, I think.” Elle took the stick gingerly and stared at the charred spider on the end of it. She turned it this way and that, somewhat unsure of where to start.
Dashwood watched her with a growing expression of amusement on his face.
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