Rings of Anubis: A Folley & Mallory Adventure

by E. Catherine Tobler

  Eleanor folded her hands in her lap and looked to the altar. Her eyes strayed to a nearby chapel, one devoted to St. Michael. Remembering Mallory’s prayers to the saint, she abandoned the pew to enter the small chapel and light a candle. She placed a coin on the square of lace spread below a soot-darkened image of the saint.

  Michael, I need your strength.

  She touched her fingers to the image and closed her eyes, praying that Mallory, Auberon, and Gin were safe. That Mallory’s family was now out of harm’s way. That Margarite would sleep without an assailant terrorizing her dreams.

  “Little girl.”

  The two words were like a spike in Eleanor’s side. She peered to her right to find Christian kneeling beside her. He lit a candle, too, and added a coin. Eleanor knew he should not be here yet. Gin could not have possibly had the time to deliver his message. Was she so predictable that Christian had known to seek her here? Had he followed their departure from the vineyard?

  “I always hated you calling me that, from the first day,” Eleanor said. She kept her voice low, so as not to rouse the attention of anyone in the nave.

  “I think about that day more than I should,” Christian said. Eleanor wondered if it was a slip or deliberate. Admitting a weakness? That was unlike Christian. “You always could surprise me,” he continued. “I never imagined us here, little girl, but then that was part of the fun, wasn’t it?”

  Never knowing where they would go, where they would see the sun rise or set. That had been part of the fun, part of the appeal. She had joked to Mallory about her reckless youth, but so much of her time with Christian had been unthinking; they had simply gone where they wanted to.

  “Christian, about yesterday . . . ” She turned from the candles, but he didn’t move, the shrine’s candles illuminating the space between them. He crouched, immovable, and when his eyes met hers, Eleanor felt not the absence of the understanding that used to exist between them, but something else. Impatience? Frustration? Something in the set of Christian’s features silently demanded she reason it out. He was giving her the time he’d never given her in their travels—allowing her to discover the puzzle’s solution in her own time. This was strangely new.

  “Yesterday,” he prompted when she didn’t continue.

  Eleanor pressed her teeth together before she lost her own patience and screamed at him in the church quiet. Margarite’s own screams were still too fresh in her mind, and the notion that Christian would place a child in peril— “It wasn’t like you.”

  “Maybe you don’t know me anymore,” he said and now did shift his stance. He rose from the shrine and turned away from it and Eleanor both.

  “I know you,” she said.

  Some part of her refused to believe Christian had changed so vastly in such a short span of time. Something hovered under the surface of both him and his recent actions; even if Eleanor couldn’t name it, she felt it there. Silently insistent.

  “The Christian I saw at Deir el-Bahri is the genuine one, the Christian who plays fair because it’s more interesting that way. Charging into that little girl’s bedroom wasn’t fair play. Neither was the attack on my father.”

  Would he rise to the bait? There was a visible tightening of Christian’s jaw to prove that the attack had also bothered him, which confirmed to her it hadn’t been by his hand. He kept his silence.

  “I want to make a deal for the carnelian,” she said when he appeared unlikely to talk. “You know I have the other three.”

  “That isn’t how this game works, and you know it. You have to claim it on your own, you and me—one on one. No Mistral. Remember how good that used to be?”

  Christian moved quickly, catching her by the arm. His other hand slid over her cheek, to grip her by her neck and hold her. Eleanor tried to wrench away, but he held firm. She only kept calm because she no longer carried the rings; if he meant to search her for them, he would be sorely disappointed.

  Despite the years that separated this touch from their last, Eleanor remembered the very things she didn’t want to. How kind Christian could be, how gentle. Had Virgil’s theory been right all along, that Christian had been motivated by his love for her? That aspect remained absurd.

  “You and me, little girl. With these rings, we could go anywhere. Do anything. This is what you always wanted; to open the Glass and see your mother. I can make that happen.”

  It was everything she had always wanted. Traversing the world to put this grand puzzle together, confronting the thing that had taken her mother. But she didn’t need a joker like Christian for that; she only needed the carnelian ring. Was it in his pocket even now? Their proximity made her calculate the odds that he hadn’t been as wise as she when it came to keeping the rings at a safe distance.

  “I can make that happen, Eleanor,” he repeated.

  Eleanor purposefully shifted the subject, back toward that which made him uncomfortable. “What happened to you, Christian? You would never endanger a child, yet yesterday you nearly killed one.”

  Christian released Eleanor as if she was on fire and he was in danger of being consumed. He pushed her backward, and she fought to keep her balance with the sudden shift.

  “You know I always loved the exhilaration . . . the unknown of the adventure,” he said as he took two steps back from her. “It takes a little more for me to experience that these days.”

  “There’s something else here,” she said and watched as another step backward placed him within the fall of light from one of the chapel’s clerestory windows. The light sparked off a chain around his neck. Had he actually brought the carnelian with him?

  “It would be easier if we were on the same side,” Eleanor said, wondering if there were a way she could get the ring from Christian without holding him at gunpoint in a church. “But I bring more to the partnership this time, don’t I? Last time, you were the one in control.” And how he loved his control.

  The light shifted over him as Christian took a step to his left, closer to the doorway dividing the shrine from the main cathedral. “What are you saying, Eleanor?”

  That he called her by her name and not an endearment told her she was hitting near the mark, though she didn’t yet know how close. She might scale the walls he had built around himself only to find herself toppling into an abyss on the other side.

  “I have three rings,” she said, intentionally provoking him to see where it took them. “You have only the one. I leave and you have nothing—can’t open the Glass.” Of course, the same could be said if he left, but she silenced that part of her mind. “I’m part Egyptian, you’re not.”

  Christian flinched. He took a clear step backward, eyes narrowed. “What does that have— No, that can’t be.”

  “Can’t be what?” Eleanor asked.

  “Little girl . . . ”

  She watched the curious play of emotions cross his face, having no good idea where this conversation had taken them yet. He seemed to be struggling to understand something himself, and Eleanor wanted to help him. It was then she realized how much she had missed him, not as lover but as friend and mentor. She could not count the times she longed to share a discovery with him or ask him about an ancient text.

  “I’ve missed you,” Eleanor said, surprising herself. Even Christian showed his surprise with a short bark of laughter. “Christian, thank you. You taught me so much. You’re why I’ve come this far.”

  Christian closed the distance between them, long legs crossing the space in an instant. He reached for her again, but not so quickly as before. His fingers only whispered against her cheek. “You’ve made me proud, Eleanor, but you are why you’ve come this far.”

  In the hush of the chapel, it was more honest than anything she had heard from Christian yet, the admission from her teacher that she was more than equal to the task. She wanted to tell him all she had learned, that a remarkable thing had happened to her at the vineyard, but she stifled the words. How did a person tell someone that? Darling, I’m a jac
kal didn’t just flow from one’s mouth. She understood Mallory’s own hesitation all too well now.

  “That,” Christian said, “is why it has to be one on one. I want you to take this ring from me, Eleanor, as much as I want to claim the three from you.” His eyes flicked to her neck, and he chuckled. “But you seem to have left them behind. This is the challenge. You besting me. It always has been.” Christian tipped Eleanor’s chin up and swiftly kissed her lips, his own cool and dry.

  “Christian—”

  “Just a thank you, little girl,” he said as he looked down at her. “Nothing more.”

  But there was more. Without warning, Christian’s arms closed hard around Eleanor and his head snapped to the side. She stumbled under his sudden weight. What was he playing at now? But when she felt the splatter of blood against her cheek, she knew it was no game. Screams erupted from the church proper at the sound of more revolver fire.

  “Christian.”

  Eleanor lowered him to the floor before he took the both of them over, and drew her revolver as Howard Irving stepped into the chapel. He was a different man from the one Eleanor had met in the halls of Sirocco’s headquarters, less refined and more on the brink of madness. Whereas Christian was all high walls, Irving was all edges bounded by endless black. She didn’t know the map of him well enough to know how far he would take a thing. Why did he want the rings? Was it only the power they promised?

  “How tender you two were,” Irving said. His revolver never budged from its aim on Eleanor.

  Eleanor holstered her revolver with a barely contained growl and dropped her attention to Christian. She had faith that Irving wouldn’t shoot her here. He needed her, didn’t he? And Christian—

  “Ah, God.”

  Irving’s bullet had caught Christian in the shoulder, and hot blood flowed from him in a crimson fury. Though she pressed her hands against the tide of blood, there was no stemming it.

  “You’re going to be fine,” Eleanor whispered to him. “Just fine.” She watched Christian’s lip curl in a half smile.

  “You’re a beautiful liar,” he said. The words only made the blood rush more quickly through her fingers. His eyes rolled back, but did not close.

  “I do hope the two of you said all that ever needed saying,” Irving said. He took another step into the chapel and crouched some distance from them, watching, waiting. “Time to sort the wheat from the chaff.”

  Eleanor hadn’t liked him when she saw him confronting Mallory outside Cleo’s offices. He felt like oil to her, slick and on top of everything, and here, beyond the stench of Christian’s spilled blood, Irving smelled like death. He smelled as though he had carried it in his hands for long distances and didn’t entirely mind the task.

  “Take the carnelian, Miss Folley,” Irving said.

  Eleanor only stared at him, her mind racing with a dozen scenarios as to how she might get out of this alive. All of them involved going through Irving and his revolver. She prayed, as clearly as she could while Christian’s life fled him, that Mallory, Auberon, and Gin had by some miracle realized Irving was close. That they had realized Christian wouldn’t dally, but would seek her out. And Christian . . . working with Irving?

  “Caroline wasn’t supposed to put the pieces together,” Irving said, his hands beginning to shake. “But I don’t care if you do. Now that you have all the rings, it doesn’t matter.”

  Eleanor relaxed somewhat, feeling safe in the knowledge they had but one ring here and now. She silently thanked Christian for teaching her to be wary, for teaching her that sometimes puzzles needed to come together slowly. There was too much to thank him for; too much here at the end.

  “What did Caroline do?” Eleanor whispered. She eased her hold on Christian long enough to pull her coat off, to press its ebon wool against Christian’s neck. He groaned under the fresh pressure, but she took a strange comfort in the sound. Pain meant he wasn’t gone. Not yet.

  “My girl was too curious for her own good,” Irving said. His cool blue eyes went distant, as if an old memory held him firmly in hand. “It got her killed.” Slowly, his attention returned to Eleanor. “Take the ring, Miss Folley. I won’t tell you again.”

  Reasoning that she would have to take it sooner or later, Eleanor pulled on the chain around Christian’s neck. It broke free, and she drew it into her hand. The blood-wet ring glistened in her palm, and thunder roared in her ears.

  Bring them, Anubis commanded her.

  “S-shoot him.”

  They were the last words Eleanor would hear Christian speak. Beyond the bloody ring, she sensed Irving moving. Shoot him now, Eleanor, now.

  She released Christian and pulled her revolver, but her fingers were slick with blood and Irving was on her before she could fire. He toppled her onto the floor and though she held fiercely to the ring, it wasn’t what Irving sought to claim. The butt of his own revolver slammed into her temple. Eleanor saw Christian’s eyes close a moment before everything went black.

  Somewhere between the Loire Valley and Egypt ~ October 1889

  Shrieking horses moved in the swirling dust, more shadow than living creatures. They were slow to emerge from the clouds of dust, sand grating inside mechanical gears as they stormed toward the open grave. Eleanor lunged for the Lady, but the horses and their men were already there. The men pulled her into the loose sand, the horses careless of where they trod, be it on the Lady’s fragile body or Eleanor herself. One ragged mouth closed hard around her hand, blood and slobber running into the mangled sleeve of her blouse. And everywhere, the light.

  Eleanor woke, shivering. For a moment she was uncertain where she was. She forced her eyes open, and at first what she saw made no sense. The light was coming through the window at an odd angle. She tried to turn, thinking it only the continuation of a dream. She wanted to burrow deeper into the blankets, but there were no blankets, only ropes binding her to a chair. She was likewise gagged with a bundle of fabric that tasted like sour weeds. In her lap rested a cloth that oozed a bitter stench, a scent that lingered in her nose.

  “I wondered when you would come around.”

  Irving stood a few paces distant in a hatchway—the first clue Eleanor had as to their surroundings. The cold air was the second. She looked around slowly, mindful of the way her head still pounded from the revolver strike, and saw they were on board an airship.

  Panic quickly gave way to fury. She struggled against her bindings, but they were secure. She could feel the jackal close to the surface, nearly wriggling under her taut skin every time she failed to loosen the ropes. The rope burned into her skin, and she hissed at both the pain and confinement.

  Breathe, daughter. She thought she heard Anubis whisper, and she forced herself to draw in the requested breath. She knew unleashing the jackal on board an unknown airship was unwise.

  How long? Where were they headed? Questions calmed the beast, because they provided a focus for her attention. She decided the last question wasn’t so difficult to answer when she considered recent events. Irving would surely take her back to Egypt.

  “I apologize for creating a mess in that beautiful church,” Irving said. He sat in the chairs that occupied the other side of the aisle, and as he did, Eleanor was startled to see Christian’s body slumped against the wall. Blood soaked his shirt and jacket. She strained at the ropes again, wanting out so that she might drag Irving to the floor.

  “Christian was clearly poised to become a liability,” Irving continued. “We shall bury him at sea, yes?” There was no smile, only an even expression that told Eleanor nothing.

  Irving shifted in the chair, unhooking the silver flask worn at his belt. He took a long, slow drink that Eleanor tried not to envy. Instead, Eleanor looked at the knife he wore at his belt and the carnelian ring around his middle finger.

  “Perhaps Christian was a liability all along; I cannot say.”

  Irving’s eyes returned to Eleanor, and a chill scampered down her spine. His face was sharp and reminded
her of those men in the desert that long-ago day. He was not like them, she could not smell an animal within him, but had the look of them even so.

  Eleanor looked out the arching window, where she could see only clouds below them. This view was little better, as it caused nausea to roll in a slow wave through her, but she still picked out the shape of another airship against the bright clouds. Irving’s accomplices? She looked back at him, telling the jackal inside her to calm.

  “We shall travel as quickly as we can, Miss Folley.” Irving recapped his flask and shifted it restlessly from hand to hand. “I trust Anubis will be patient with us. After all this time he has waited, what is a few hours more?”

  A few hours. Eleanor’s mind raced. How long had they been airborne? How close behind were Mallory and the others? It didn’t occur to her that they wouldn’t follow, or wouldn’t be able to follow; she simply felt they would be out there, somewhere. Behind, but still coming.

  “Did you see the beautiful Anubis mural when you were there? Christian said it was astonishing, and I have no cause to doubt him.”

  Irving paused as if allowing for a response. Eleanor stared at him, her mouth still bound by fabric and rope. She squirmed in her seat, but whoever had tied her had done a thorough job.

  “It’s almost over now, Miss Folley. Almost over.”

  Eleanor turned her attention to the window once more, trying to determine Irving’s game. Of what use were the rings or the Glass to him? Unless he shared Gin’s outlook and simply wanted to see what would happen. But no, what had Irving said? Caroline was too curious for her own good.

  Eleanor allowed herself to see what was truly before her. The man sitting across the aisle wasn’t so much sitting as he was slumped, his shoulders rounded beneath a wrinkled shirt. His eyes appeared heavy, tired, with deep lines tracing outward. His bottom lip had been chewed until it was raw. His hands showed wear, too. His fingers whispered around the flask over and over, nails broken or gnawed, skin scratched and pink in places. No longer the hands of a gentleman, even if he did sport a very fine ring.