“You never put forth such an effort for me,” Christine said.
“Not true,” I objected, although of course it was. Christine rolled her eyes.
“We should lay our plans for tonight,” Griffin said. “Whyborne, I would like for you to circulate as you see fit. Keep an eye on anyone who seems odd or suspicious. Christine, as the excavator of Nephren-ka, you are most in the spotlight. It would make sense for you and I to remain close to the mummy at all times, before and after its unveiling. I understand refreshments and dancing will precede the reveal. Will it seem suspicious to do no more than a single turn around the dance floor?”
“Call it a refreshing chance to have even a single turn,” she said. “It’s impossible to drag Whyborne out of whatever spot he finds to hide in.”
“You could always find someone else to escort you,” I replied stiffly.
“Bah, the rest of them are useless. At least with you I’m assured of intelligent conversation.”
“I’m flattered,” I said in a tone meant to indicate the opposite.
Griffin held up a white-gloved hand in front of his mouth. I suspected he was trying very hard not to laugh.
The Ladysmith was brightly lit for the occasion; I hated to imagine the gas bill once the night was over. A line of carriages, hired and otherwise, waited in front of the museum. Uniformed attendants greeted each carriage as it pulled up to the curb. When it came our turn, Griffin climbed out, then offered his hand to Christine and helped her down. Although he said he’d been raised a farmer, he’d learned fine manners well, every gesture impeccable as she took his arm.
There was no reason to feel any jealousy whatsoever. But our first night together, Griffin had asked me if I’d ever been with a man, as if allowing the possibility I might have been with a woman. And I’d heard some of those who visited the bathhouses went home to a wife and children.
I hadn’t the courage to ask him if he’d ever made love to a woman, just as I hadn’t the courage to ask him about any of the men he’d obviously been with. Acid crept along my veins as I pictured those other men, those potential women. No doubt they were all handsomer, smarter, and more desirable than me. How long would it take Griffin to remember he could do better?
I trailed after Griffin and Christine as we went up the stairs to the entrance, where there was a small scrum, as all the new arrivals vied to check hats and coats. In the confusion, Griffin slipped to my side and leaned in to whisper in my ear.
“You look very handsome, my dear. A good thing Christine was with us, or I would have had a difficult time restraining myself, and you would have arrived in a far more disheveled state.”
The tips of my ears went hot, even as other parts roused. “Not here,” I whispered back.
The look he gave me smoldered. “If we didn’t have a job to do tonight, I’d have you in the storeroom right now.”
I didn’t dare move, for fear of showing the rigid outline of my erection through my trousers. It would be utterly mortifying to be noticed in such a state…and yet his boldness only fed my arousal. I didn’t say anything, but my expression must have given me away; he gave me a sly, promising smile before turning to the coat check.
Damn him. Did he have to flirt, knowing we could not act on it in even the smallest way? And now I was distracted, thinking about what I wanted to do to him after the gala, instead of worrying about the Brotherhood.
Apparently, my priorities weren’t quite as noble as I’d hoped.
“Come along, Whyborne,” Christine said impatiently.
The path to the coat check was clear. I hurriedly handed over my hat and coat. No one seemed to find anything out of the ordinary, except for Griffin, who insisted on smirking at me.
As soon as we passed into the grand foyer, however, he became all business. A buffet lay beneath the looming hadrosaur, while waiters in immaculate uniforms circulated with trays of champagne balanced on their fingertips. A number of chairs and tables encircled the outer reaches of the room, while in the center a string quartet played a waltz. To the left, the drapery across the exhibit hall entrance had been removed, although the mummy itself was still under guard and hidden from view. The idea, as I understood it, was to allow the guests to see the other artifacts, while prolonging the mystery of beholding Nephren-ka himself for a while longer.
“Dr. Putnam!” Dr. Hart exclaimed, swooping in from one side. She and Griffin stopped; I slipped around them and did my best to blend into the crowd.
And it was quite the crowd; everyone who was anyone had been invited. Uncle Addison conversed with Mr. Rice, Griffin’s employer. The owner of the canning factory danced with his wife; rumor had it they were in fact first cousins, and their identical, oddly-bulging eyes seemed to confirm it. The publishers of all the local newspapers were there, alongside various other captains of industry. My family was among the few not represented.
I wandered over to the buffet. Bradley stood there, heaping his plate full, which greatly diminished my appetite.
“Ah, there you are, Percy,” he said heartily. “Here alone, are you?” He glanced across the room, and a decided smirk formed on his mouth. “I see Christine has thrown you over for that detective fellow. It must rankle, eh?”
“No,” I said flatly. Not in the way he imagined, anyway.
Fortunately, Mr. Farr wandered up. “I say, Bradley, what about the portrait of…”
With Bradley distracted, I fled. A quick glance around showed nothing out of the ordinary, with the exception of Christine and Griffin waltzing elegantly across the dance floor. I snatched a flute of champagne off the tray carried by a passing waiter and downed half the contents in a single gulp.
Eager to get away from the dance floor, I scurried into the exhibit hall, clutching the remnants of my champagne. A few others circulated here already, looking at the lesser exhibits, but it was clear the bulk of the crowd had come to see the mummy. Uncertain what to do, I followed my natural inclinations and went to the darkest, most secluded corner. Perhaps I could keep an eye out from here.
An unrolled scroll lay beneath the glass case I ended up standing beside. I’d not had the time to translate it, thanks to the demands of Griffin’s case, but as I looked at it, my mind automatically picked out certain hieroglyphs.
Immortality. Opening the way. Those from Outside.
Nyarlathotep.
“Fascinating, is it not?”
I jumped, my champagne glass falling from my hand. Long, white fingers caught it before it hit the ground. How could anyone move so fast? I started to thank the man, or apologize, but my voice died in my throat.
He rose from a crouch, standing uncomfortably close to me. A smile played around full, sensual lips as he lifted the flute to them and took a sip. His golden hair curled in ringlets about his face. His perfect cheekbones, high forehead, and straight nose made him seem almost impossibly handsome.
Those eyes. There was no rational way to know, yet I felt certain they were the same which had stared at me from beneath a hood in the Draakenwood. Their gaze trapped me like a pin through a butterfly: burning and intense, as if he knew the whole of every secret desire.
I needed to run, to tell Griffin, to raise some alarm. But I found myself unable to move.
Then he looked away from me, directing his gaze to the scroll instead. He lifted my champagne glass again, his nails long and filed into points. “Most of those present are dazzled by the mummy,” he said. His accent was strange; I could not place it. “And yet I can’t help but feel it is here, in these words, where true knowledge lies. Would you agree?”
Did he know I recognized him? Did he care?
Afraid he would turn his gaze on me again, I hastily put my back to him and focused on the scroll. It was a mistake; he took the opportunity to move closer to me, until I fancied the heat of his body reached even through the air between us. It reminded me uncomfortably of Griffin’s seduction in front of the fireplace.
“It’s all important,” I said. At le
ast my voice didn’t tremble too badly. “But, yes, in many ways I agree.”
“I thought as much.” His breath stirred the hairs on the back of my neck. The odor of rot and mold wafted over me—from him? Or from some other source? “You are a man of learning, as am I. The gold, the jewels—all meaningless baubles, distracting lesser minds from the only source of real power: knowledge.”
A shiver ran over my skin, and I had to lock my knees to keep from bolting. “Who are you?”
But I already knew the answer, didn’t I?
“A man who shares your interests,” he said. His low voice was like a soporific smoke, making my thoughts heavy and slow. The ends of his fingernails traced the length of my spine, from shoulders to seat, and a wave of unwilling pleasure sent blood rushing to my groin. “Several of your interests, I suspect.”
My resolve broke. “Excuse me,” I said breathlessly, and walked away on trembling legs, half-afraid he would give pursuit.
He didn’t. And when I risked a glance back over my shoulder, he was gone.
I hurried out of the exhibit hall, into the swirl of mingling guests. Some of the trustees nodded to me in vague recognition. Uncle Addison called my name, but I pretended not to hear, ducking on the other side of a flock of ladies in colorful dresses.
Griffin and Christine loitered near the hadrosaur, heads together in conversation; anyone else might have thought they were courting. But it would be hypocritical to be jealous, when I was the only one who’d been targeted for seduction tonight.
Something in my expression must have betrayed me, because they both straightened as I approached, and Griffin looked alarmed. “Whyborne? Is everything all right?”
“No,” I said. “It’s not. Theron Blackbyrne is here.”
Chapter 19
Christine’s face paled, but she asked, “Are you certain? The man’s been dead for centuries, after all.”
“I’m sure. I’ve walked past his portrait in the art gallery a thousand times.” True, the painting didn’t come close to doing him justice; mere paint on canvas couldn’t convey the strange magnetism he exuded. “And even if I hadn’t, the man I spoke to was the same I encountered in the Draakenwood. I’m absolutely certain of it.”
Griffin didn’t question me, for which I was grateful. “They must be ready to make their move. Where is he now?”
“I don’t know.” I looked away, unable to meet his eye. “He slipped away.”
“Let us know if you spot him again.”
Christine muttered a curse in Arabic. “We have to stay close to the mummy.”
“Agreed,” Griffin said, and started in that direction, Christine at his side.
Something Blackbyrne had said nagged at my mind. Actually, everything he’d said nagged at me, like little worms wriggling in my brain. I’d spoken to a man who had died, who had been dead for almost two centuries, whose body had rotted to dust, and yet was now walking and talking as if he’d merely lain down for a nap.
I hadn’t really understood the power contained in the Arcanorum until now. If such a thing could be achieved…what were the limits? Did any limits exist?
A bell rang, its high, silvery peal cutting through the rumble of talk. Mr. Mathison had taken his place in front of the black drapes still concealing Nephren-ka’s sarcophagus. He beamed at the crowd, as if he’d personally arranged every detail, from the excavation to the layout of the exhibit.
“And now, the moment you’ve been waiting for,” he said. Mathison wasn’t known for his originality. “If you’ll all come close, we shall unveil the mummy! For the first time in four-thousand years, human eyes will once more look upon Pharaoh Nephren-ka’s face!”
Which wasn’t at all true, of course. Christine’s team had opened the sarcophagus in situ and shipped it over in multiple crates, to be lovingly reassembled for the exhibit. But a smattering of applause broke out in response, along with a surge of excited voices as the crowd moved into place.
What was it Blackbyrne had said? Something about the mummy.
“Most of those present are dazzled by the mummy…it is here, in these words, where true knowledge lies.”
Blast.
I caught sight of Griffin and Christine; they’d almost made it to the mummy. The guards had drawn back, but all their attention was on the crowd. I didn’t see anyone moving in the rear of the exhibit hall, and it seemed impossible a thief would try anything while such a gathering stood only feet away, but I knew I was right.
Even if I had called out to Griffin, he would never have heard me over the noise, which swelled louder as Mathison reached to grasp the cord to release the drapes. I had to act quickly.
I shoved my way to the edge of the crowd, receiving several angry looks and at least one muttered oath. One of the guards noticed and moved to intercept me, as I made my way along the wall. If I could convince him to help instead of hinder, perhaps we could get to the back of the exhibit before it was too late.
“I give you: Nephren-ka!” Mr. Mathison declared loudly, and pulled the cord.
Every light went out at once.
~ * ~
The hall erupted into screams.
A few voices shouted for calm, but they were lost in the general uproar. Bodies bumped into me, and I struggled to keep my footing. Devil take it, where was Griffin in all this?
Light gleamed near the back of the exhibit hall: the directed beams of police lanterns, much like Griffin used, reflecting from glass-fronted cases.
The Brotherhood.
I shoved recklessly through the crowd, not caring who I trod on or pushed aside in the process. “The back of the hall! Thieves!” I shouted at the top of my lungs, hoping to direct the attention of the guards, but the general din swallowed up my voice.
I broke free from the press, tripped over some irregularity in the floor, and barely kept my feet. Ahead of me, a shadowy group lit only by their shielded lanterns headed for the staff entrance.
I collided with a guard, who was striving to light a lantern of his own. Snatching the lantern from his startled hand, I lit the wick with a word and ran for the closing door.
“Whyborne!” Griffin shouted, but the door shut behind me, cutting him off.
The hallway was narrow, and the light from my lantern threw great, moving shadows on the bare plaster walls. A steep, narrow flight of stairs dove down, letting out onto a hall near the library.
The library.
The stacks were silent and deserted, but the odd acoustics amplified the hoarse breaths and muttered words of my quarry. I ran after the thieves, my heart pounding and a stitch forming in my side. What would I do when I caught up with them? I had to get the scroll back, but how?
And why the library? Why trap themselves in a dead-ended catacomb beneath the museum, where they would surely be cornered?
The answer awaited me when I reached the farthest room of the labyrinth. Part of one wall stood open—a secret door. Had the mad architect put it there?
I slowed in front of the passage and held up my lantern cautiously. A dank set of steps dove into the earth. I saw the walls here were rough brick, and the breeze blowing up from the depths reeked of rot and slime. Hopefully the thieves would wrap the scroll to avoid exposing it to such conditions. Then again, perhaps it would be better if the papyrus disintegrated at this very moment.
I hesitated, but really, there was nothing for it. Taking a deep breath, I headed down the stairs.
The arched ceilings of the vaults below reminded me of some ancient wine cellar or catacomb, far older than the museum above. After a few such vaults, the decaying brick came to an end, giving way to rough-hewn stone. The voices of the thieves echoed back from just a short distance in front of me.
I passed through an entrance barely wide enough for my shoulders—then froze. Theron Blackbyrne looked back at me from the adjoining vault, his wickedly smiling face illuminated by a lantern.
God, he was beautiful. His dark eyes pulled at me, an almost hypnotic suggestion pre
ssing against my mind.
“No,” I whispered aloud.
His smile grew wider, and he gave me a little nod, as if from one professional to another. Then he turned away, and a thuggish man armed with a gun took his place.
I barely had time to register the weapon pointed at me, before the roar of the revolver echoed through the catacomb.
~ * ~
My lantern hit the ground and went out. I flattened myself instinctively against the wall, still alive. The thug had missed.
Why was there something warm and wet trickling down my arm?
I looked down to see a ragged hole in the left shoulder of my coat. The pain hit an instant later: a hot, angry burn across my upper arm, near the shoulder. I clapped my other hand over the wound instinctively, even as I pressed my back tighter against the rough, stone wall.
No more shots followed, and the footsteps receded into the distance, taking the light of their lanterns with them. I considered chasing after them again, but doubted I’d fair nearly as well against the next bullet. Instead, I relit my lantern and groped my way unsteadily back to the stair. A wave of faintness came over me, and I sagged against the wall, then slid to the floor.
“Whyborne?” Christine’s voice echoed from above.
“I’m here,” I called. My arm throbbed in time to my heartbeat.
The rustle of skirts and vitriol of curses preceded her. At the sight of me, however, her face went pale as chalk. Gathering up her skirts, she rushed to my side. “Move your hand, Whyborne,” she instructed, even as she hoisted up her dress to reveal her underskirt.
I looked away quickly. “Your dress—”
“Devil take the damned dress.” There came the sound of ripping cloth, and a moment later, she pressed part of the underskirt against my wound.
I winced at the pressure but didn’t object. “It was a scroll. They were after a scroll. I didn’t realize soon enough—”
“Whyborne? Whyborne?!” Griffin’s voice echoed down the stair from above. A moment later, he appeared, his face white and his sword cane held out in front of him, trembling visibly. He was terrified of underground tunnels, and yet he’d come down here into the dank earth after me.
Whyborne and Griffin, Books 1-3 Page 17
