Moseh's Staff

by A. W. Exley

  “Phoenix and dragon,” she murmured. Her head cocked to one side in a birdlike gesture. “Ying and yang, just like you and Cara.”

  “What do you mean?” The words came out sharp, but in the woman’s mad rambling there lurked something that shot through his chest and exploded. The phoenix and the dragon, how did the mythical beasts relate to him and Cara? He strode toward her without realising he had left his spot. He caught himself before he shook her, wanting to free the answers trapped in her mind.

  “You need each other, light and dark, neither can exist without the other.” She patted his arm.

  Nate first saw Cara up a tree, the day she hit an Enforcer square between the eyes with an acorn. Although she was little more than a child at the time, he admired her spirit and determination in the face of the odds stacked against her. He vowed to marry such a woman, a hellcat. Perhaps fate decreed then that their lives intertwine. So close. Understanding danced at the edge of his vision. Everything was connected, he only needed to see the strands tying them together.

  “The feather, Helene. Where is it?”

  She shook her head. “It was never hidden within her, she would know, feathers tickle.”

  He frowned, not following her reference. “Who, Helene? Is there someone here?”

  She laughed, a beautiful sound of light and warm summer days. “The house, silly. They argued, you know, while the foundations were being dug. He struck her with the shovel and pushed her into the ground. The timbers became her bones, the bricks her skin and the residents within her life’s blood. But they all ignored her. Imagine, people running around inside you, but not one stops to appreciate you or say hello.”

  He glanced to Brick but the bodyguard held up his hands in a I’m not touching this gesture.

  “The house is a woman?” Nate asked.

  A ghost of a smile stayed on the countess’ pale lips. “Once, long ago. She is so lonely. She thought Cara would be the one. The child so different to the others, she could sense the house. She tried to play, but Cara didn’t understand. They could have consoled each other, but never found a common language.”

  “The house was playing?” At least, he had news for Cara, just not the sort that will earn her freedom.

  She ran a hand along the doorjamb. “Why else would she tickle Cara when she turned on the light switch? And she defended Cara. If anyone hurt her, the house took blood in revenge.”

  Nate had no response. Obviously the house didn’t recognise the fine line between tickle and electrocute.

  “I will stay here, she needs me.” She patted the doorframe. “Bring my things and Minnow’s bed.” She waved an arm and floated back up the stairs.

  ate’s men saw the cracks in his surface before he managed to plaster over them. He abandoned the business to Jackson’s capable hands. His energy was devoted to one purpose— finding Cara. If in the process he lifted the arctic hand chocking London, then so be it. But he didn’t care if the city ended up buried under a glacier, that was not his concern.

  He drew on long years of hiding his emotions and shoved everything back down, but the beast would not be restrained. Its cage shattered into a million tiny shards that pierced his body. Exhaustion drained him. He was a drowning man clinging to a rock. He merely waited for the next wave to crash over, loosen cramped fingers, and send him beneath the surface where he would sink into the abyss.

  He fought himself and won for a few more hours even as he stood stock still in the secretary’s office waiting to be announced. Not a ripple touched his surface.

  “The Queen will see you now,” the secretary said as he pushed the doors wide.

  Nate nodded and walked into his monarch’s office. He barely bent at the waist before his eye caught the queen waving him up.

  “Our condolences, Viscount Lyons, on the loss of your wife. We understand the deep pain of losing a spouse.” Victoria placed her quill in the centre of her blotter and fixed him with her hawkish gaze.

  “Cara is not dead, Your Majesty.” The beast threw itself against his gut every time someone made the assumption.

  A tiny frown drew her brows together. “We heard the coroner issued her death certificate.”

  “The man is incompetent and would not listen. Cara has been taken by a man called the Curator. I believe he used a creature called a rahab to do his dirty work.” He placed his hands behind his back, where he could fist them without the queen observing his weakness.

  “Rahab?” She tapped a short, stubby finger to her chin. “We have heard of such a thing. Jewish folklore we believe?”

  “Yes, ma’am. A demon from the primordial abyss. Cara thought it linked to whatever artifact extends and deepens winter over London. She was investigating the possibilities when she was taken from me.” He dug his nails into his palms to retain control. The weak blip of pain sent the beast back to its corner.

  “You have proof?” She pushed back from her chair and flowed to the window.

  “The fiend admits he holds her and sent me a letter penned in her hand.” He still had it tucked away next to what was left of his heart.

  Outside her window lay a blanket of white punctuated by dots of black—a shantytown erupted across the road to service the protestors demanding action. She turned her gaze inward, her back to the scene of misery.

  “Then we shall have the Enforcers arrest him.” She knitted her fingers together. Never once did she scoff at his assertions, having seen first-hand what misery artifacts could wreak.

  A bark of laughter erupted from his chest. “Which will serve no purpose. There are some games best played in the dark, not before the magistrate. Arresting him would achieve nothing, in fact it could further endanger Cara.”

  “What does this man want?”

  How much to tell the queen? If she knew resurrection was possible, would she demand it be used on her beloved Albert? And could he blame her? He would be as obsessed as Cara’s father if he thought it were the path to recover his dead lover. No, he would keep this secret from the queen, just in case the unthinkable happened. “He will exchange Cara for a particular artifact he seeks.” Even that wasn’t true, he said he would free Cara, not return her. The cold dread stirred at the underlying difference reflected in his choice of word. The Curator held Cara and had no intention of letting her go.

  Her frown deepened. “We do not want these accursed things loose to be used on our citizens. Do not neglect your duty to lift this curse from London. Our people freeze, commerce is stalled, Europe sees a weakness and we will have the tide turned before it swamps us all.”

  He knew that feeling. Appearances were everything in the great game of politics. The unnatural winter highlighted the suffering of her people. “Our interests align, ma’am. In stopping the Curator I will neutralise whatever holds London in its unnatural grip.” I assume killing the bastard will crack it.

  “See that you do, Lord Lyons, our time runs short.” She waved her hand.

  “As does Cara’s, ma’am.” Another bow and he left the royal presence.

  Now that the Curator confirmed he held Cara, everyone breathed a sigh of relief and the search changed focus to try and determine where he hid her. The expensive silk covering Nate’s office wall was irreparably damaged by the number of pins shoved into it to hold up more maps. Nan came up with the idea of tracking the snowfall and ice thickness in the hope of uncovering a pattern, and the old map that showed where they dug holes was replaced by a new colour code. The thickest snow was shaded the darkest, then spread out and lightened until it touched the vibrant greens and yellows of riotous spring in the countryside.

  He stared at the formation of their unnatural winter. The layers of ice formed concentric circles radiating from the city. His finger traced the flow of the Thames; by Gravesend, the river resumed its normal flow with only a frosty outer rim. Closer to London, the density grew to two feet before waning as they traced the source further west.

  He tapped a spot. Southwark. The epicentre of something
, and he’d lay money on it being the lair of the rahab. While the owner was absent, he and his men conducted a thorough search of the property but found no sign of Cara. They even tore the sarking from the walls looking for hidden cavities or doors, but found nothing.

  In the neighbouring study, Amy worked to decipher Cara’s notes. Although fluent in several languages, she didn’t possess her friend’s sixth sense that illuminated a path of inquiry and sent shivers over her skin when she took the correct fork. As a result, Amy had to translate everything, which slowed down their pursuit of the correct legend.

  Rachel sat at Brick’s feet, occupied with paper and crayons drawing pictures of how she imagined their lives to be once Cara returned, and they acquired a dog. Or several, judging by her pictures overflowing with bouncing canines.

  Something nagged about the pattern of the ice and snow. More than the point of origin and that it weakened away from the Curator’s main house. There was a deeper reason he was missing. Nate ran his hands through his hair. Frustration pulsed through his body. The need to find his sun consumed him. He ignored the growing pile of secret missives from Victoria.

  He took two steps back, trying to see the bigger picture.

  Where are you, cara mia? Where has he hidden you?

  “Damn underground railway,” Brick muttered from a corner. “The thing soaks up more and more of Clarence’s time. At least now there is a slight reprieve, they have halted construction due to ice filling the tunnels. It’s become too dangerous for the workers.”

  A dismissive comment flowed to Nate’s tongue. How could he contemplate the pulls on his partner’s time when Cara was gone from their lives? Who cared about the blasted underground? The instant his brain formed the word, spots of the map leapt and glowed. The access points dotted around the city and connected by the invisible tunnels, deep underground, that linked the five pivotal new stations. They formed a primary circle around London.

  He raced to the desk and scrabbled for a pen. Papers and an ornamental weight crashed to the ground.

  “What is it?” Jackson asked, standing in the doorway. Amy behind him clutched sheaves of Cara’s notes. Rachel looked up from her drawing.

  Nate scattered documents everywhere before his fingers closed on his target. “The underground. He’s using the tunnels.” Pen in hand, he drew thick circles around the construction sites.

  Rachel approached and placed a red crayon in his hand. He joined up the stations as he highlighted the path of the new railway, then stood back. The map took on a new dimension. The ice was thickest within the circle, the line holding it like a barrier. Beyond the rail tunnels, the winter quickly vanished and the frozen water with it. London was under siege, encircled from below and no one above any the wiser.

  Nate smacked his forehead with his palm. Pieces fell into place. “The night of the museum exhibit, I talked to Clarence about the project. While he is the major investor, he said there was another noble who wished to keep his involvement secret. I bet that silent benefactor goes by the name Csenger Csezneky.” He let out a long breath. “Look at it, he’s using the tunnels. Trap Cara deep enough in the earth under frozen water, and it might mute our bond.”

  His body burned, he now had a direction, a path to follow. He would find her. He pointed to Brick with the crayon. “I know none of the stations are finished yet, but how complete is the construction?”

  Brick folded the paper and laid it down. “The main tunnel is dug, the one that rings London from underneath, and the skeleton of the reinforcement work is finished. The brickwork has only started and they haven’t a hope of laying the rails. There’s about a foot of water flooding the tunnel that dripped in from the unsealed walls. With this blasted cold, its frozen solid. It’s like hell down there.”

  Nate rubbed a hand over the back of his neck where the hairs stood up and prickled. He was so close. “We just need to follow the tunnel. She’s down there, somewhere, in the Curator’s bolt hole. Once Nikolai delivers our bloodhound, he will scent her out.”

  “Cara has a dog?” Rachel asked. “Why isn’t it here?”

  Nate stroked her hair. “Cara has a very special dog, but he is far away and it’s taking time for him to get here. We will find her, we have all the pieces now.” Only one tiny obstacle stood in his way. “I need to see Clarence, I want full access to the tunnel.”

  Brick grinned. “Well, that bit is easy. Clarence likes the idea of tunnelling under the ton. With all work shut down until the ground thaws, I’m certain he will give us the full run of the frozen wasteland.”

  ara lay on the bed and bounced the bright red ball at the ceiling. Amy was right, being kidnapped was incredibly boring. The daylight hours were intolerable. Assuming the Curator turned on the lights when it was day outside, she had no way of knowing, no reference point and time blurred. She didn’t know if days or weeks had passed since he took her. She paced back and forth either bouncing the ball or reading. Energy fizzed under her skin, and each day the cell shrank.

  Lights out plummeted her straight into a waking nightmare. She slept little as the demons cavorted in her cold cell. Her voice turned into a rasp, her throat hoarse from the long hours she screamed as the monster tried to pull her from the bed. She would clutch her knees and bite back her sobs until the creatures skittered back to a dark corner. They never left anymore, but waited for the warning flicker, then crept back out to grasp at her body and tear her mind apart.

  Under the harsh glow of the electric bulb, she knew the tears of Mary Tudor fractured her defences, but each night it became harder and harder to hold herself together. With each artificial dawn, it took her longer to stitch her fragments back together. The lines of ancient texts she studied gave her mind a focus and a chance to repair the damage before another attack came.

  If I don’t get out soon, my mind will splinter and I’ll never reassemble the pieces.

  Perhaps she was already insane. The Curator erased the line between reality and nightmare. Were the demons real, brought to this dimension by some artifact or simply a figment of her terrified mind? The skeletal fingers around her ankle tugged with a tangible force, but where did they come from and where did they go when the light returned? Was so she far down the rabbit hole of her past that she conjured them and brought them to life?

  She picked through the pile of books, craving a distraction. One was a Chinese text from the Ming dynasty. It contained beautifully simple calligraphy and ornate illustrations, but she had no way of reading the script. Why does everybody expect me to learn languages? She pushed the book to one side and it dangled off the table. She grabbed it before it fell, and a soft thud drew her attention as a hidden slim volume tumbled free and hit the floor.

  She picked up the pamphlet and flicked open the first page and squinted at the tiny text. The spider crawl seemed to tell a story from Asia.

  “Wait—” She grabbed the Chinese book and laid the hidden text next to it. “It’s an English translation.” She sent up a silent thank you to whoever had the ancient book translated and inserted the new version under the coverslip. She knew exactly where she would start. Day after day, one picture drew her attention. The phoenix. He commanded a magnificent double spread all to himself. Fire danced over his form from the gilt paint used to highlight each individual feather. Molten reds, bright oranges, and shimmering yellows brought him to life. His beak gaped open as though he called out to his mate roosting on the adjacent bough.

  Cara spent hours staring at him on his roost in the cherry tree, awash with a profusion of pink blossoms. One mythical bird was the cause of so much pain and grief. Chasing his tail feathers led her father into his mad descent. And now, she was trapped in rock, separated from Nate, and her mind struggled to hold on to lucidity. Every cycle of light and dark drove her closer to the same state as Helene—bat shit crazy.

  She flipped pages in the accompanying edition and skimmed lines until her brain zoomed in on the keyword. “The phoenix, known in China as the fenghuang, th
e king of birds.”

  She snapped her fingers. “Garcon, more coffee.” None appeared. “The service in this hotel leaves a lot to be desired.”

  Coffee wasn’t the smartest idea when she was trapped in a twelve by twelve foot cell with only a bucket for sanitation, but she needed the extra mental stimulation. Some days it seemed as though she were still under the Thames, encased in water as her eyes struggled to focus as everything swam before her. She wouldn’t be surprised to see fish dart around her head.

  She took the metal lid off the bucket and banged it on the door. The clang echoed around the room and hurt her ears, but she didn’t stop until the chain on the other side rattled through its lock, and the door swung back on its hinges.

  “Yes?” a grey man asked, his face a perfect mask, marred only by a slight eye twitch.

  Cara held up the coffee pot. “I need a refill. And a new bucket lid.” She waved the dented lid.

  He took both items, his eye did another rapid twitch and then he slammed the door shut.

  “Next time one is close enough, I’m jabbing him with my fork.” The men never changed expression or intonation. Whatever flowed through their veins and kept them alive seemed to suck all the personality from them, leaving barren husks.

  Except with a growing eye twitch.

  She laughed hysterically about that one. If they were intent on driving her mad, she would take as many of them with her as possible. Once she stopped laughing, she hauled her mind back on track.

  Is there a limit to the power of the rahab, and how is it controlled? Surely, you don’t just strike up a conversation with a water demon?

  With her feet up on the table and her back to the wall, Cara delved into the exotic world of Ming Dynasty China and the thirteenth emperor—Wanli. The book was unclear on the origins of the phoenix or how exactly the Emperor came to possess one in the first place. The text did relate various legends that told how even a single small feather from the king of birds contained the most powerful healing magic and could cure any illness.