He fiddled the knob on the side of his spectrometer goggles until the lenses tinted enough to quell the sun’s glare. Better. He loosened his shoulders and crouched. The flier had climbed sharply. Four hundred feet now, at least.
“Winner’s grace…pips the ace.” His father’s shooting mantra.
The deep inhale and cool, prolonged exhale. The smooth adjustments. Not just knowing but feeling the right moment to squeeze the trigger, the way a snake senses its time to strike…
Crack!
He sucked in a hopeful gasp and held it. A few seconds later, the pterosaur jerked, fell limp from the sky and plummeted.
Kibo gave a cheer. “Omafele atatu, omafele anee. And in strong omhepo… strong wind. That was the best shot I ever saw.”
But Embrey’s own celebration fell bitterly with the pterosaur. He watched in horror as Reardon’s cylinder plopped into the lake, over three hundred feet offshore. The monstrous dinosaur splashed on top of it, and both quickly sank from sight.
Chapter 12
Snakes and Ladders
Verity would never have left the camp so soon after such a devastating attack had there been any other choice. A further seven men had died, a half dozen more were injured, and with the smell of blood in the air London would surely attract other dinosaurs on the hunt. Three separate species had now attacked, all of them deadly in their own ways. The latest was arguably the most dangerous of all—its silent approach and small, agile shape gave it an immediate advantage over anyone trying to survive among the Westminster ruins.
“Them were dromaeosaurus—pack hunters from t’ late Cretaceous Period.” Billy scanned the page in his book. “We should correct that last part, shouldn’t we? The name means ‘running lizard’. First ’un were discovered in 1864 durin’ a Leviacrum-sponsored expedition to Canada. Dromaeosaurs were mainly scavengers but sometimes brought down much bigger prey.”
“As we saw.” Embrey, wearing only long-johns and a vest, stepped into the canvas diving suit, his chiselled, sensational upper body on display for Verity and the rest of the crew. She evaded his glance. “What are those fliers called again, Billy?” he asked. “Hat shops? Jodhpur tricks?”
The boy laughed. “Hatzegopteryx.”
“That’s the one. And its fossils were found in Romania?”
“Yeah. 1902.”
“A mite far from their nest, wouldn’t you say, Professor?”
Reardon looked up from his notebook. “Not necessarily. Migratory birds often cross oceans and continents, and we don’t know where the Hatzegopteryx goes to nest. Just because a pterosaur fossil was found in one place doesn’t mean the species is endemic to that region. For all we know, they’re Londoners like us.”
She frowned. Londoners. But for how long? This handful of crumbling buildings would not protect Polperro’s posse indefinitely. So why on earth were they being so stubborn? Verity had invited them to reside on the Empress indefinitely, under armed protection. But the insufferable schoolmarm and her lickspittle cronies had opted to stay behind during this crucial flight. It made no sense, and yet—
“Miss Polperro, what do you plan to do in the event of another attack?” Verity asked.
The de facto lady Prime Minister stood at the ladder next to Kincaid, the elderly statesman who appeared to be advising her. “We were just discussing that, Lieutenant. If you would be so good as to lend us five or six of your men, we could—”
“Regretfully, no. I’m sorry, but we will require every spare hand to man the capstans and the winch. The diving bell is a tremendous weight, and we are already under-manned.”
Miss Polperro closed her parasol and, nose upturned, looked askance at Verity. “As many rifles as you can spare, then? Woe is us indeed if we can’t defend London at all in your absence. I understand you have a sizeable arsenal on board?”
“Sufficient, nothing more.”
She’s plotting something. First she refuses the safety of the ship, now she wants our weapons? How daft does she think I am?
“You can have two rifles,” Verity offered reluctantly, “but I strongly urge you to reconsider moving into the fo’c’sle. It might be cramped down there, but at least you will have a crew of armed aeronauts watching over you. We can always make other arrangements upon our return. What do you say, ma’am?”
“We will take the rifles, thank you.” Miss Polperro’s instant smile was too polite, too pleasant for the occasion. The woman had just made a life-or-death decision and had erred on the side of risk. What did she and her cronies have up their sleeves? Did it have anything to do with the pious whisperings Mr. Briory had reported?
“Very well. But before we leave, might I enquire as to your position on the spider web phenomenon? Rumour has it some of your people are opposed to any further time travel attempts, that they would even try to prevent Professor Reardon from restoring his machine. Is this true?”
Kincaid stepped forward, chest-first. “We believe Reardon is meddling with primal forces beyond his ken.” His voice shook with old age, and Verity felt a little sorry for him. “The spider’s web is a message from the Almighty, of that there can be no doubt. But the purpose of that message is ambiguous, and therefore we must not be dogmatic. As for undoing Reardon’s folly, I uphold your right to at least try. But that is my opinion, Miss Champlain, and I am neither scientist nor priest.”
Verity nodded appreciatively. “And you, Miss Polperro? Where do you stand?”
“Where the wind changes, as always.” She turned sharply, handed Kincaid her parasol, and climbed down the ladder without another word.
Icy bitch.
Kincaid bowed to Verity. “Good day, miss, and good luck to you.”
“Thank you, sir. I wish our situation were more amenable. Would you like assistance climbing the ladder?” She called Tangeni over but winced when the Namibian hobbled on his sprained ankle.
“Thank you kindly, no,” Kincaid replied. “I’ve scaled plenty of rigging in my days. Eighty-one and still going strong—”
She didn’t catch his last remark and instead whispered to Tangeni, “Sod them if they think I’m giving them weapons. And we’ll send four men to guard the factory, not two.”
“And leave ourselves shorthanded?”
“We’ll manage. I just don’t trust that Whitehall rabble, not after the lynching party. Send four.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Watching Billy, Reardon and Briory potter around the diving equipment laid out for Embrey’s instruction on the quarterdeck, hearing them joke and laugh at the marquess’s ungainly appearance, was a little disconcerting. Little did they know how dangerous deep sea diving was without the prehistoric factor. The only other qualified diver in her crew, Tangeni would have been her only choice as diving partner had he not been injured—a sprained ankle was one of the worst possible handicaps under all that weight—but Embrey was a fine athlete and an excellent swimmer, or so he claimed. How would he fare in her domain, where charm meant nothing and life or death could be decided by a single twitch upon the thread?
Tangeni and Djimon would prepare him well, at least. And he had given them this chance with arguably the most crucial shot in the history of gunfire.
She shrugged and then ordered the pilot, “Northeast heading. Kibo saw where the bird fell. He will relieve you presently.”
“Yes, Eembu… Captain.”
“Embrey,” she shouted. “After you, sir. It’s time we took a dip.”
“What the deuce…? Upon my word, this thing would sink Poseidon to the depths.” He had never worn anything so ridiculously heavy in his life. The combined weight of his diving suit, boots, ballast weights and helmet was the equivalent of wearing another man on his back—an especially fat and bone-idle one at that.
In her unflattering, custom-sized waterproof suit and her smaller boots, Verity appeared calm and professional. Too much of both. Embrey’s nerves were already frayed, his knees aquiver whenever the bell groaned under the rising pressure. How deep were they now?
Two hundred feet. Maybe more. No longer a light sapphire, the water in the moon pool and through the porthole windows was grim, blue-green and littered with plankton.
“You ready, Lord Embrey?” Djimon madly wound the dynamo until the hull lights blazed on. “Remember, keep your helmet upright at all times. Think of it as an empty cup filled with air, held upside down in the water. Tip it too far to the side and—”
“I get the general idea, old boy. How do we return to the bell afterward?”
“Tug your tether line.” Verity demonstrated with her own. “And whatever happens—whatever happens—for God’s sake, follow my lead.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her grave head shake killed his nervous humour. He peered into the moon pool and glimpsed a four-foot-long fish dart undercover behind a forest of lithe, giant fronds. The lake bottom, neither sandy nor silty as he’d hoped, instead rose and fell craggily, a kind of volcanic rock sharp enough to cut him to ribbons should he slip. Muted colours dotted the shelves and crannies, while a school of spotted eels, each over a fathom’s length, slithered up from a crevice and shot away from the bell’s descent.
The scale of this prehistoric underwater world dawned on him in blunt jabs to his sense of the absurd. He recalled the startling creatures young Billy had described from his book—leviathans with names he couldn’t remember, didn’t want to remember. Their measurements were enough.
Verity sat on the moon pool’s brass rim and tapped his shoulder. “Embrey, before we go…” her unblinking gaze appeared softer somehow, more exposed, “…I’d like to thank you for volunteering. Very brave.”
Well, well.
“Be careful down there. I…we’d all be glad if you made it back in one piece,” she added hurriedly.
“So would I.” He rested his shivering hand on hers. So cold. So soft. So…unexpected. A thrilling wave curled through him. He felt he could shrug his gear off with a single breath if he should see her in peril, as though it were no more than a rain cloak. He’d never thought of her as vulnerable before. On the contrary, she was the flintiest woman he’d ever met. Where had this sudden urge to throw himself in harm’s way for her come from?
“Enda nawa, Djimon,” she said.
The cool African handed her a helmet. “Hurry back, Eembu.”
“Drinks are on me later,” Embrey said feebly.
Djimon clanked Embrey’s helmet into place and knocked on the dome to signify it was ready. The sudden isolation slivered, as though his brain were physically imbibing a new experience. He’d skin dived in the Mediterranean before, even sat in a prototype moon rocket in its hangar as a youngster, but he’d never felt quite so…encapsulated. As Djimon helped him slide into the moon pool, the quickening whuh, whuh of his breaths seemed as alien to him as the seascape below.
The cold hit. He clenched from head to toe, but the fear of where he was going to land held his eyes wide open. He watched the sharp terrain as he sank. A few feet that way, no that way… Being lowered like a worm on a hook wasn’t quite how he’d imagined it beforehand.
His boots settled on a solid ledge. He stumbled forward but remembered to hold his head upright. Verity landed several yards to his left and immediately pointed him toward an hourglass-shaped crevasse ahead. The Empress’s spotters had glimpsed something resembling a wingtip on the other side of that gap. It might be a long shot—the lake bed was murky at best, tough to discern when viewed from the surface—but he was certain the Hatzegopteryx had sunk in this vicinity.
He overstepped his first stride and ended up hopping sideways to keep balance. Verity wagged her finger at him, then demonstrated the correct walking posture—to lean forward, head ever-so-slightly bowed, and take unambitious, almost shuffling steps. He copied and gained proficiency in no time.
They leapt across the neck of the hourglass and, barely lit by the bell’s lights, pressed on across a flat ledge. Towering stalks appeared on the edges of darkness, their bulbous fronds wavering as though to some ancient aquatic rhythm. Embrey’s pulse hammered when he realized his own shadow was blackening his path. He tapped Verity on the shoulder, then pointed to the pack of flares in her belt. She lit one and tossed it at the forest.
A colossal form blazed into view among the shoots less than thirty feet ahead. Embrey saw its sharp teeth first—big and curved as Persian daggers. Endless rows of them. He recoiled too quickly and head butted the back of his helmet. Shock, not pain pulsed wetly through his skull. The creature didn’t move from its place of ambush and neither he nor Verity shifted a step to encourage it. Christ, it’s crocodilian jaws alone, partially agape and waiting, had to be well over ten feet long. Resembling a shorter-and-thicker-necked plesiosaur, it had four large paddle-like limbs and a short tail. But that mouth—unhinged—appeared ready to swallow the flare’s light entirely.
Who moves first? Who dares?
Billy would have a name for this leviathan. Billy had the dinosaur bible. Well, Embrey had a name for it too. Several unrepeatable names hurtling around with hot gasps inside his helmet.
The cold seeped into him anew while they stood. A school of small fish flittered close, swirling twice around the flare before they seemed to sense danger and dashed for the cover of darkness. Still the dinosaur waited, its tail wafting gently. Several tiny fish picked at its giant teeth and gums—the brashest scavengers Embrey had ever witnessed. But the predator didn’t seem to mind…rather, it appeared to enjoy the attention, its paddles twitching as though it were ticklish.
Its tail swatted to one side and he flinched, fearing the giant was about to rouse. He spied a metallic glint on the rock behind it instead.
Reardon’s clock!
He nudged Verity and she acknowledged the discovery with a scowl and a nod.
Your move, Captain.
The flare faded and died before Embrey had a chance to swallow. A net of nightmares descended upon the lake bed. He tried to make out the monster’s shape but couldn’t. Through the blackness, dread in the deep grew both infinite and intimately close.
Verity?
Suddenly, their dilemma intensified tenfold. If they retreated now, the waiting giant might change its mind and kill them. If they stayed put, hoping it would leave, they may not see it come or go, and the wait might be indefinite. Would that he could hear Verity’s thoughts right now. This was her domain after all.
She lit a second flare and tossed it away to their right. Heart in mouth, he watched her creep in the opposite direction, over twenty feet to one of the massive stalks. Thereon she flanked the leviathan under cover, inching toward the mechanism from shoot to shoot. But her oxygen hose pulled tight against the stalks. It scraped away a lather of green mulch, and he feared either the monster would react or the action might saw through the delicate plants, toppling them onto the beast.
Still the predator didn’t move. Embrey ducked under Verity’s hose as it pulled tight across him. She was at the end of its tether. Had she reached the clock mechanism in time? Indeed, could she even see it?
Another flare blazed inside the forest, near the dinosaur’s hind paddle. Please know what you’re doing, Verity. She tossed it away from the monster.
Before it landed, the lake burst to life. Dozens of large coin-shaped fish, each almost ten feet long, wrenched the stalks apart, barely avoiding Verity’s taut hose. Embrey kept low but found himself wheeling backward in the wake of a stupendous current.
The leviathan shot out after the coin fish and vanished.
He pressed his hand to the iron weight over his heart. “Verity, where are you? What have you done?” A part of him knew it hadn’t been an accident—she had to have tossed the flare deliberately at the fish, to incite this chase—but it was no less reckless, and he would give her a piece of his mind when they returned to the bell. “Whatever happens, follow my lead”, she’d told him. Bloody stupid.
He took her advice and guided himself using her line. She almost bumped into him carrying Reardon’s kaleidoscope, her blasé wink re
minding him that while he was out of his depth, Verity Champlain most assuredly wasn’t.
Thank you, God, on all counts.
To his surprise, she tugged him back into the forest and bade him follow her to a small glade where the latest flare had landed. She lit another.
As it fell, a flat rectangular shape glimmered on the jagged rock. Overgrown and a little discoloured, it appeared to be made of…but no, that was impossible.
He looked at Verity. She gazed back with no answer. But there had to be an answer.
Where the deuce had a metal panel that big come from?
“Another six! Luck smiles on me today.” Reardon moved his counter up the Snakes and Ladders board, barely missing the head of a big serpent that would have taken him back to square one.
“Bloody rigged, I reckon,” groaned Billy—the poor lad hadn’t reached past the second row. He rolled a two, which got him nowhere. “So how’s about your machine, Cecil?”
“What’s that? You want to know how my machine’s doing?” Cecil had grown extremely fond of the boy, but sometimes his regional brogue was hard to decipher, especially for a man who’d never even visited northern England.
“Yeah. I mean apart from t’ missin’ piece, have you figured it out yet? Why it brung us so far from ’ome. ’Ave you fixed it?”
“Bugg…darn it.” Cecil’s three landed him on the next snake head and sent him four rows down to Billy’s level. “Oh, not yet. There’s still something I can’t quite get my head around.”
“’Ave you told it to Garrett? ’E’s a right good ’un wi’ knowin’ what to do in a tricky spot. I reckon there’s no one like ’im.” The lad’s eyes glazed and he looked down, trying to blink the dampness away. Cecil’s urge to take Billy in his arms and reassure him that he had nothing to worry about triggered a sore memory. His own son’s tendency to cry when he’d been very young had led to the lad being picked on at school, and Cecil had raised hell with the headmaster when nothing had been done about the bullying. A sharp echo of that livid quarrel made him wince. Billy needed a father figure, someone to look up to. And he had chosen an excellent role model.
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