Hatshepsut's Collar (The Artifact Hunters #2)

by A. W. Exley

  Miguel led the way through the small building, down to the kitchen and the secret tunnel to the Lyons airship hangar.

  Cara paused before following the bobbing lantern into the dark passage and mentally reassured herself there were no rats and the roof would not cave in on her. The walk seemed quicker this time, or it might have been the surge of adrenaline spiking through her body, preparing her for the rest of the evening. They emerged on the stairwell to the Pit. Cara closed the door behind her and they went upward, and stepped out into the Aladdin’s Cave. The overhead lights cast a faint yellow light, enhancing the effect of being in a treasure cove. As they moved on silent feet, Cara trailed a hand over the crates and boxes they passed, trying to discern the history and contents of each piece through the brief touch.

  Miguel headed for the far side and disappeared behind a towering row of crates stacked several high with the aid of the monstrous exoskeletons now slumbering against the wall, leaning on one another. He stopped midway down the aisle and pointed to a large brass ring in the hangar floor.

  “We’re going that way.” He grasped the dull metal with both hands, turned, and then pulled. A square surrounding the ring broke free of the floor and lifted, to reveal a ladder dangling above the dark and murky Thames.

  Cara drew her brows together and glared at Miguel. “Have I mentioned how much I hate water rats?”

  He waved his hand in a dismissive manner. “There won’t be any water rats.”

  Keeping hold of her frown, she sat on the edge of the opening, and swung her feet over the void. Her boot found a rung and she turned to begin the descent.

  “Not many anyway,” Miguel added with an impish grin.

  “If we survive this, I’m definitely pulling rank on you,” she grumbled as she climbed down the rope ladder. A mere six feet below the floor of the hangar, she jumped off the last rung onto a narrow platform about two feet wide and eight long. From each end of the platform rose a squat mooring bollard. Tied to each bollard and floating on the current stretched a metal contraption.

  “What is it?” she asked Miguel once he stood beside her. Her first glimpse made her think it looked like an enormous squashed metal cigar. Or a metal coffin.

  On closer inspection, it was far more than a bland shape. The middle rose up in a stout funnel with some sort of hatch in the top. What appeared to be flippers or wings were outlined at the sides, but they were currently folded back over its body. Cara tried to peer beneath the water to see what else hid below, but couldn’t penetrate the darkness.

  “It’s called a submersible aquatic carriage.” Miguel fussed over the object like a mother hen. He stroked the sides, and spoke in a low tone as he inspected bits that looked like they would move.

  “Where on earth did Nate find it? I’ve never seen such a thing.”

  “Lyons acquired the plans in Italy. He got his hands on drawings by da Vinci and then had it improved upon and built.” Miguel finished his scrutiny of the weird vehicle.

  “And yet this isn’t what Victoria wants.” Cara mused over what Nate was doing in Italy and what else he concealed. She wondered what Victoria would do with a vehicle that could transport her soldiers underneath the water, undetected by any airships, or waterborne battleships.

  Miguel unscrewed the top of the funnel. “In you hop, there’s a seat at the back for you.”

  Cara flicked her gaze to the young man. Events conspired against her and messed with her claustrophobia, given the number of small, dark, and cramped spaces she had to occupy recently.

  “Is it safe?” She hedged for time as her fear of being trapped took one look at the vehicle and balked at the idea of climbing inside its bowels.

  “Yes, I take her out quite a bit. I seem to be the only one who can handle her quirks.” He caressed the side of the hideous metal coffin. “And she is our best bet for rescuing Lord Lyons unnoticed.”

  With one deep breath and then another―just in case there was no oxygen inside―Cara clamoured over the top and then slid down into the device. Two narrow strips down each side emitted a faint green luminescent glow, and lit the interior. There was no room to stand; movement achieved on hands and knees. A low seat with a back was bolted to the floor up front and appeared to be for the driver. Two levers were either side of the squab while gauges, knobs, and dials surrounded the front half of the vehicle, all within reach of the person operating the device.

  Cara crawled to a padded section in the back for the second person. The little vessel was designed for two men, but surveying their scant room, she realised it would be a tight squeeze to include Nate. It’s going to get very cozy on the way back. Assuming we can get him out.

  Miguel’s feet appeared through the funnel followed by the rest of his lean body as he dropped to his knees. He pulled the lid shut behind him with a clang and spun the wheel to seal them inside. He flashed Cara a smile. “All settled?”

  “Let’s get going; we don’t want Loki to start without us.” Plus the sooner they got moving, the sooner she could climb back out of this death trap and breathe again.

  He took the seat up front and started flicking switches. A rumble vibrated through the little vessel, followed by a grating banshee screech. Cara suspected Victoria’s forces wouldn’t have to see them, they would hear them screaming up the Thames.

  “That’s just her flippers extending,” Miguel shouted over his shoulder and over the growing din. “She’s takes a bit to warm up and quiet down.”

  Sure enough, a few moments later the noise settled to a loud purr. Miguel grasped the two levers on either side of his seat and Cara’s stomach lurched to one side as the metal vehicle turned and dove to head out into the open river.

  Looking around her, she realised they had no windows and no way of knowing what lay around them. “How do you know where we are going?”

  “Da Vinci also invented a way to use sound to navigate underwater. She emits a noise out her nose and it bounces back to me.” He tapped a large dial, not alike a clock, but with a hand that moved rapidly around the face. “This tells me where objects are, and I’ve learned by the noise to judge distance and size.”

  “Is there nothing Mr. da Vinci couldn’t do?” Cara’s fingers curled around the edge of her seat.

  “I hear he dabbled some paint around too.”

  Conversation halted as Miguel concentrated on piloting the submersible and listening to the ping on the sonar. A map lay next to him. He took readings from the dials and with a pencil, noted their speed and distance travelled to track their location in the waters of the Thames. Cara’s brain suffered from inactivity with nothing to do except stare at the back of his head, and wonder at the purpose of the multiple instruments surrounding them.

  The air grew warm and stuffy, and with the gentle vibration and soft hum, Cara found her eyelids growing heavy. A bump resonated through the little vehicle, accompanied by a clang as they hit something much larger than themselves. Her eyes flew open, a cold grip in her stomach, thinking they had ploughed into a larger vessel.

  “Traitors Gate,” Miguel said. “I’ll have a look before we surface in case anyone is around, but no one pays much attention to this entrance anymore.” He pulled down a short metal tube with a glass eye piece and stared intently for several long moments. He snapped the periscope back into place above his head.

  “All clear.” He raised the left lever and fiddled with some of the switches in front of him.

  “Well, it’s not like they’ll be expecting an underwater rescue.” Cara pulled her pocket watch free and flicked the lid open. “Ten minutes, let’s get in place.”

  Miguel left his seat and manoeuvred himself under the stout funnel and unscrewed the lid. His head and torso disappeared and then his feet. Cara crawled into place and unfolded her body. Miguel stood on the bottom step and helped her emerge from the metal cocoon.

  “What stops it drifting away on the current?” Cara asked, watching the metal ship bob up and down with the flow of the river.
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br />   “I’ve shot a line around one of the posts underwater. She’s tethered, and she wouldn’t go far anyway.” He patted the dull flank before heading up the stairs.

  Cara cast an amused glance at the conveyance; Miguel showed all the affection a rider would give a favourite mount. She watched her feet on the stairs, the wood wet and slippery. They plastered themselves to the cold stone wall, only the frosting of their breath, giving away their presence in the dark. The water of the Thames licked at their boots. They didn’t dare venture any further, the next flight of stairs exposed and open to any guards above.

  Faint strains of music carried across the thick night air and grew louder as the object approached. A roar and a blast tore through the night. A split second later, the ground under their feet shook as something slammed into the Tower grounds. A klaxon sounded the alarm and arms of lights stroked the sky, searching for the attacker. Smoke filled the air as harmless bombs rained down from above and released an obscuring cloud. Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries blared from overhead as men yelled and the sounds of boots running on the cobbles drifted down to Cara and Miguel.

  She gave a chuckle; Loki has a certain sense of style, even when flying a suicide mission.

  “Let’s go.” She nudged Miguel and they raced up the remaining stairs to dive into a nook in the opposite wall. A quick look revealed the garrison running to the opposite end of the expansive grounds. Through the haze enveloping the Tower, Cara saw two small airships bearing down on the ancient fort at right angles to each other. Their underbellies were lit by the search beacons as men raised rifles, prepared for the expected onslaught. Dull booms sounded as soldiers sought to line up their cannon fire.

  “Some of the men are going to crash the main wall on foot, give them an added distraction,” Miguel whispered as they waited for an opportunity to dash down the alley.

  Cara flicked a concerned look at him. “They could get killed.” To reinforce her statement, the soldiers in the guard towers started firing at the hovering airships.

  “They wanted to help.” He shot his head around the corner once more and glanced back to give Cara an all clear signal before his body slipped out of their hiding place.

  She wondered at the loyalty Nate inspired that his men would risk death to free him, another aspect of his character to puzzle over, when she had the time. They ran, hugging the walls, staying in the shadows. They moved in the eye of the storm while chaos erupted around them. Flashes of light from weapons streaked overhead. The smoke bombs filled the air, the smell burning into her lungs, but giving them welcome cover.

  She grabbed Miguel’s sleeve, pulling him in the right direction. She froze when they reached the stairway to the Cradle Tower housing Nate. Voices argued from up the stairs, filtering down to them. They exchanged looks and Cara drew her pistols. Miguel shook his head no, and drew two knives from under his jacket. Cara sucked on her bottom lip. She preferred not to have to get close enough to use a blade, but could see they didn’t need the added problem of killing the queen’s favourite soldiers. She holstered the two Smith & Wessons and pulled her dagger from the sheath up her arm. The cold weight sent a shiver down her spine.

  She tugged on Miguel’s sleeve. “Do try not to kill them. We are all supposed to be on the same side, and we don’t need to add murder charges to our list of problems.”

  Miguel took the lead and crept up the stairs on the balls of his feet. Two guards kept watch in the little room and they argued over who got to look out the little arrow slit window to watch the airship attack playing out over their barracks. One gave the other a hard shoved and pushed him out into the middle of the cramped space. He spun, movement at the stairs catching his eye.

  “Oi,” he yelled on seeing Miguel, his rifle levelled at the youth’s head.

  You will think the military would know not to use a rifle in a small, stone lined room. Cara never saw Miguel’s hand move, but the next moment he held only one knife and the soldier slumped to his knees, the blade jutting from his chest. Surprise registered on his face before he toppled forward on to the floor.

  The other soldier turned and kicked his friend. “Stop acting daft. You’re missing the action.”

  By the time he looked up, it was too late. Miguel dispatched him will minimal effort. He dodged under the larger man’s swinging rifle and head butted him. A sickening crunch filled the small room as forehead impacted the bridge of his nose. He cried out and Miguel brought his fists down on the back of the man’s neck, leaving him in an unconscious pile next to his injured comrade.

  Cara placed two fingers on the neck of the daggered soldier. Relief filled her on finding the faint pulse. Further to the left and the blade would have pierced the man’s heart.

  “Too close,” she muttered, praying he would be discovered before he succumbed to the wound.

  Miguel removed his blade. “I deliberately missed his heart.”

  Cara balled up a torn strip of shirt, and stuffed the fabric under his uniform next to the slice and hoped it would suffice. Then she rifled under his jacket, and unhooked the chain of keys from his belt. She tossed it to Miguel. Hazel eyes so similar to hers glinted in the dark as he regarded the shapes and sizes, and considered the lock to open. He selected one and inserted it. Cara said a silent prayer, hoping the key would turn, otherwise they had numerous options to work through.

  Click. The door swung open. Nate lounged against the wall, staring out the window, watching the evening’s entertainment.

  “You’ve put on quite a show.” He turned his pale blue gaze to his rescuers.

  “If you want to stay and watch, then so be it, but we have limited time to get the hell out of here before someone remembers it might be a good idea to check on their sole prisoner.” Cara summed up the situation.

  “Well, since you’re so concerned about my wellbeing.” He pushed off from the wall and exited his frigid prison cell.

  In silence, they ran down the stairs and Miguel cast a wary eye around the alley. The soldiers were occupied either trying to hit the dancing airships through the moving smoke clouds, or repelling the ambitious lads with a ladder against the front wall.

  They hugged the damp stone along the walkway to Traitors Gate. Nate paused and looked up at the little wooden sign visible with the light bouncing off the low hanging cloud.

  “Really? Couldn’t you have gone down to the Tower wharf?” he muttered.

  Cara gave a snort. “I thought it was fitting. And it’s a quieter entrance, not much used under Victoria.”

  At the little wooden jetty, Miguel lifted the lid of the vehicle, and addressed Nate. “You’ll have to go first and squeeze back as far as you can.”

  Nate nodded and dropped his body through the narrow funnel. Cara climbed in next, closely followed by Miguel.

  Nate spread his legs and gave Cara a grin as she turned and settled in against him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her closer to his chest. He nuzzled her neck. “Bunch up wife; it’s going to be a tight fit with someone of my size in here.”

  The clang sealed them in the metal coffin and Miguel took up his seat. The screeching rumble diminished to a purr, and the lurch in Cara’s stomach told them they had dived into the water and peeled off to one side.

  Darkness enveloped them except for the glowing green stripes. The metal closed in on Cara’s face. The small amount of air became hot with their heavy breathing from the excitement of the rescue, and their bodies drew heavily on the available oxygen. Panic tried to claw up her gullet, her breathing becoming short and shallow as her brain screamed there wouldn’t be enough air for all three of them. Protective arms tightened around her; lips grazed her neck and soft words of comfort washed over her.

  “Relax, Miguel will take us to safety, and there is more than sufficient air until then.”

  She closed her eyes to concentrate on the voice and the single heart beat pulsing through two bodies.

  metallic scrape brought Cara out of her doze. Nate’s arms sti
ll wrapped around her waist and her head lolled on his chest. From under half-opened lids, she watched as Miguel flipped switches and pulled leavers.

  Turning, Miguel grinned over his shoulder at her. “All safe and sound, we’re under the Gravesend Pier.”

  She stayed in her cocoon of safety within Nate’s embrace as the young man crawled to the funnel and then reached up to unscrew the hatch. His torso rose and disappeared, his feet vanishing last. Fresh night air rushed down the open shaft into the narrow vessel. She took a grateful breath before sliding from her warm position and moving for the exit. Miguel had aligned the submersible with the steel ladder affixed to the side of the pier. Climbing from the underwater vehicle, she grasped a rung as she hauled herself out and continued up the side of the structure. Nate paused to close the hatch. The clink of his boot heels on the metal rungs followed close behind her.

  Once up top, Cara stood on the rickety old pier and drew deep breaths of crisp night air. We did it. That pirate’s hare-brained scheme actually worked.

  Moonlight reflected off the calm river and turned the surface to a mirror. They stood on a pier suspended in space. Stars spun around and under the wharf as well as spiralling above. The horizon invisible, land and sky merged into one continuous, twinkling velvet blanket.

  Nate slapped Miguel on the back. “Well done, lad.”

  The lad in question blushed, but Cara saw him bask in the compliment.

  Nate reached out a hand and cupped the back of her head. “Thank you,” he murmured, his thumb stroking the silken flesh of her neck as they waited for Loki.

  She wanted to brush his hand aside, to give him a tart retort, but the depth behind those two simple words left her speechless.

  They didn’t have long to wait before the sleek airship appeared on the horizon. She cut across the pastoral landscape to angle toward the river. The figurehead of a beautiful woman, arms outstretched behind her, clung to the prow of the airship. Her long, black hair flared around her face. She had elongated, golden feline eyes. Her lips curled back in a smile to reveal sharp canines. The carving was the wooden, and womanly, embodiment of Loki’s Hellcat.