Hatshepsut's Collar (The Artifact Hunters #2)

by A. W. Exley

  “How long shall we give him, sir?” one of the men further down the railing asked. “No one survives more than fifteen minutes of long-lining. Not at this speed.”

  “He’s been under for thirty minutes, but we’ll give him longer. I don’t just want him dead, I want him stone cold with chunks ripped out by sharks. Someone bring me a cup of tea while we wait.”

  Time edged along. An airman laid out a stripped deckchair and a small table with a pot of tea. Ignoring the frigid temperature, the wind threatening to whisk away the table, and the impending storm, Nolton sat and sipped Earl Grey. Fishing is boring; lord knows what appeal commoners see in the mundane activity. There was nothing to see except the chain dangling over the side of the airship and sinking into the water. A crewman monitored the tension and kept watch, least their bait escape the line.

  Never once did Lyon’s head show above the waves. Occasionally, a strong man could climb back up the chain, but Nolton had covered that contingency. Lyons hands were chained behind his back. He would have preferred to see his enemy thrash and make feeble and futile attempts to escape the sea’s embrace. Revenge was much more satisfying when you could watch the life drain from the panicked eyes of your foe, but Lyons was unpredictable. He wasn’t going to risk his own neck by getting too close. He watched a seagull keep pace with the airship before peeling off, its wings folding back as it plunged to the ocean after sprats.

  A cloud parted and a brief spike of sunlight shot along the chain before sinking into the depths. A white trail cut a path on the surface, but nothing could be seen of the object suspended in the watery depths. He glanced at his watch again. A smile crossed his face; no one could survive this long under the water, not without gills. Lyons would have died nearly an hour ago. He wanted to kick the corpse and watch it disappear over the edge of the observation deck to feed the sharks below. Perhaps he would sever one of the hands as a gift for the new widow. It would be a touching gesture on his part to return something of her husband if the fish hadn’t already chewed off all his limbs.

  “Haul up the body.” He jerked his thumb in an upward manner at one of the crewmen and rose from his seat. He snapped his watch shut and returned it to his jacket pocket.

  “Haul it up,” echoed down the deck. The winch was flung into reverse. A groan sounded from the mechanism as the chain wound skyward and wrapped itself around the barrel. Feet appeared first from the water followed by long legs and a torso. Hands were bound to feet by the chain. His head hung limply. His entire body swayed to the gentle movement of the cable.

  Nolton laughed as the body was pulled closer to the airship. Hands reached out to grab the dead man as he neared, and the corpse was dropped on to the deck like a landed fish. The chain was unlooped from around his feet and pulled free of his hands. Nolton placed the toe of his boot under Lyons’ chest and rolled him onto his back. He surveyed the sodden corpse, black hair plastering to his face. The thorn in his side removed once and for all.

  Only Lyons’ chit of a wife knew of his agreement with China, and no one would take the word of a trollop over that of a duke. No one would believe her, not without proof. All he had to do now was seed the evidence of Victoria’s illegitimacy and wait for the outbreak of war. Soon the people would carry him to the throne. Once he was king, no one would care how he came to his position, people would be relived to no longer have a mad bastard queen slaughtering their children.

  A sneer pulled at his lips. Lyons thought himself unstoppable, how wrong he proved to be. “He who laughs last―”

  “Laughs loudest.” Nate finished, his eyes snapping open, a wolfish grin on his face.

  The crewmen looked on in horror. Several crossed themselves, sure they witnessed the undead rising.

  “Why isn’t he d―” Nolton’s words turned into a high pitched scream.

  A breeze whistled over Nate’s head. A harpoon, shot from the pod dangling on a chain below the clouds, passed millimetres from his scalp and the foot long barb buried itself in Nolton’s calf. The head came out the other side; blood flowed from both the entrance and exit wounds. A whoosh drowned out the screaming as liquid fire rained on to the Aurora from above.

  The flotation bladders were encased in a fine metal mesh, designed to protect from attack. The greater the missile, the more easily it was repelled. A canon ball would bounce off, but if you were close enough, a single pin prick would pierce the reinforcing. Flammable oil was a million pin pricks, reaching through the mesh and stabbing at the bladder.

  Above them, obscured by cloud, the sleek pirate ship spat her wrath and spewed burning oil that coated the flotation bladder and licked its way through the protective armour. The airmen looked to one another in astonishment and ran. Fire was a far greater threat to their safety than a talking corpse and they had practiced fire drills.

  “One other thing, Nolton, no one touches my wife.” Nate wrapped the line attached to the harpoon around his forearm, jumped the railing, and dived over the side of the burning airship. The plunge of his weight snapped the rope downward and Nolton, attached to the other side, was yanked off balance and over the side with Nate. Both bodies hit the ocean below; Nate sliced in cleanly while Nolton landed feet first and pulled sideways by the harpoon in his leg.

  The rope started to move skyward, winched upward to the Hellcat, pulling the barb and Nolton’s leg with it. He pulled a blade from his boot and began hacking at the rope, threads parting under his desperate attack until he broke free and dropped back, head first, into the water. Nate gave him a wave as he continued to rise.

  The HMRAS airship sank toward the ocean, the fire eating holes in her bladder and she leaked valuable gas and altitude. Men readied the lifeboats in case the fire jumped to the ship below. Although she could survive as a water-bound boat, their journey would be much slower.

  “Fuck!” Nolton screamed at the receding Hellcat as he struck out for his downed airship.

  The men winched a sodden and exhausted Nate into the cargo hold of the Hellcat. He placed thankful feet on her wooden deck. In the time honoured fashion of grateful men, he gave and received slaps on the back as the door was swung shut and bolted.

  “Who shot the harpoon?” Nate demanded as the excited chatter dropped away.

  “Miguel, sir,” one of the crewmen answered him. The dangling pod still being winched back into its position and locked against the side of the airship.

  Nate rubbed a hand through his dripping hair. “Damn, he’s a good shot. I felt it part my hair.”

  Loki clattered down the spiral staircase, pointing his finger at Nate’s chest. “You know, I have waited for my invite to join you and that delicious hellion in bed. And I am a man of varied tastes. I like a spicy and exotic diet, but this freaky shit going on between the two of you? That crosses a line.” He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “She’s all yours. I don’t want things from your body coming back out my nose like I’ve just seen.”

  “Finished?” Nate asked. “Where’s Cara?” Only a faint echo trickled through his body.

  “Upstairs, she’s still on the bridge.” Loki cast his gaze up and down the supposed corpse. “Given you’ve been dead for an hour, she looks worse than you do.”

  A frown pulled at him. “Her arm?”

  “Simple flesh wound. She’ll be fine. Then the whole you being drowned thing took all her energy.”

  Nate’s lip curled in a smile as he headed for top deck. Rumours of his death and revival would reverberate around London, and enhance his reputation. “How far are we from England?”

  “Eight hours.”

  “Take us to Leicester, Cara’s family estate. And contact Jackson, tell him to meet us there. We need to figure out our next move before we charge into London.”

  He slid open the doors to the bridge. The woman who fought death for him leaned on the window ledge, the blanket still wrapped around her body. A blue tinge encircled her mouth and dark smudges under her eyes marred her pale skin. His name whispered from he
r lips.

  Nate crossed the distance between them, placed one arm under her knees, and swung her into his embrace just as she collapsed from exhaustion.

  woodpecker with a death wish woke Cara from a deep slumber with its tap tap tapping outside the window. Cracking one eye open, she saw the slivers of pale orange streaking over the sky outside the narrow window. She realised the woodpecker was a knock on the cabin door when murmured voices washed over her. The side of the bed dipped and a hand brushed loose strands of hair into place and off her face. Turning, she nestled her cheek into Nate’s palm, reassured by the warmth of his touch. Not cold, clammy, or dead.

  “Good afternoon.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “We’ve landed.”

  Her brain processed his words in a partial fog. Exhaustion from the battle with death for possession of Nate still clung to her. “Landed? Where?”

  “Leicester. I thought you would like to see your Nan, and it’s a good place to meet Jackson and plan our next step. He’s been keeping an eye on things.”

  Questions crowded into her brain and a frown pulled at her forehead. “What time is it?”

  “Late afternoon. We’ll stay tonight in Leicester and head for London first thing in the morning.”

  Nate had yet to say a word about what happened, although to be fair, she had a vague memory of passing out as soon as she saw him. She raised her eyes to him, wondering where to start and if she had the energy to beat some sense into him.

  He placed a finger on her lips. “We’ll talk later. Not now.” His words held a raw edge, and he clenched his jaw. He followed his finger with his lips, brushing a kiss over her mouth before turning and stalking away.

  The Hellcat settled on the back lawn amongst the herbaceous borders. The crew made her secure for the night, lashing her to the large trees ringing the garden. Nan and her companion, Nessy, waited on the wide veranda while curious staff peered around the doorway and from out the windows. On spotting her granddaughter, Nan wiped her hands on a tea towel draped over her shoulder and then held her arms wide.

  Cara raced up the stairs to the older woman’s embrace.

  “It seems the old copper beech was just the start of your adventures.”

  Cara managed to fend off a blush, holding the colour down by sheer willpower, although she refused to turn and look at the ancient tree. “Honestly, how did grandfather ever survive so long with you?”

  Nan beamed. “He was a very satisfied man, who died with his boots on.”

  Nessy surveyed the men climbing the stairs: Nate, Loki, Miguel, and Jackson. “Well, look what the scamp has dragged home with her. Pirates, henchmen, and naughty, naughty men―” A soft whack was followed by a startled squawk as the tea towel hit Nessy in the face. She pulled the cloth down, shooting daggers at her lifetime friend. “What was that for?”

  Nan tapped her chin. “You’re drooling, dear, might want to mop up a bit.”

  With an arm around Cara’s shoulders, the formidable woman led the way through the house, hollering for food and wine on the way. They clattered down the hallway to the large parlour with its overstuffed chaises and wingback chairs. A roaring fire danced and crackled in the enormous fireplace. Cara dropped onto the chaise, her body exhausted despite the deep dreamless sleep that claimed her for the entire journey.

  Nate prowled like a lion surveying the land before settling. He leaned by the window, his gaze flicking to the door. “What’s it like in London?” he asked Jackson, standing at his side.

  “Like we are a country at war with the entire world. Troops are everywhere. The navy has started transporting as many souls as possible, crammed below decks like cattle. Women stand in the streets crying; sure they’ll never see their men again. It’s bad. The mood in London swings against Victoria and rumours are its worse in the country.”

  “And business?”

  Jackson ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Damn soldiers have nearly shut us down, crawling over everything. I had to redirect the incoming ships up to our dock in Lowestoft.”

  Nate nodded. “Good. Any word of Nolton?”

  “He sent out a distress call. The HMRAS Elizabeth went out to collect him. He’s due late tonight. The Aurora’s bladder is damaged; they cut it loose and have to steam home.”

  Two maids brought platters of finger food, their eyes wide and round as they set the trays down on the long sideboard. They dropped curtseys to the assembled people. One raised her eyes to Loki, who gave her a wicked wink. She met his stare boldly.

  “I know what I’m having for dessert,” he murmured, watching the sway of hips as she left the room. Jackson poured wine from the carafe and handed around the substantial crystal glasses.

  “Me too,” Nessy said, her hungry gaze devouring Loki’s form.

  The pirate turned with a start as the older woman edged closer and closer with open intent in her eyes.

  Cara stifled a laugh, wondering who would win that match.

  “They tried to take a hundred young men from the estate and village,” Nan said, piling a plate high with slices of beef, pickles, and warm bread. She whipped out one hand and caught Nessy, redirecting her appetite to the food table. “I wasn’t having any of that. We made sure they couldn’t be found when the military rode through.”

  Cara pressed a hand to her temples, a pounding headache starting to drill its way through her brain. Too many problems fought for dominance in her skull. “We need to stop Victoria before she declares war. Prince Albert is waiting to meet with us.”

  “She’ll want her men mobilised and in position first. Then declare and strike fast,” Nate said.

  Nan bore a steady gaze through Nate and for once in his life, he looked uncomfortable. “Have I done something in particular?” he finally enquired.

  “Yes. You bartered with the devil and bought my granddaughter.”

  Chatter around the room died, eyes swung to the oncoming confrontation.

  Nate took a drink from his wine and replaced the glass on the end-table with controlled precision. He raised his eyebrows to Cara’s grandmother. “Lord Devon would have sold her to anyone with the ready cash. I kept Cara safe and out of hands far worse than mine.”

  Nan opened her mouth to continue her attack, when Cara dove in. “We have more important things to discuss, Nan.” She sat up, needing to divert the brewing battle. She wrested her brain away from the lure of sleep.

  “Perhaps you could explain why this estate isn’t subject to primogeniture since you still hold the reins and no distant male relative has taken over? Lord Devon dangled this earldom like bait when he offered Cara for sale.” Nate spotted a weakness in the older woman’s defences.

  Nessy drew in a sharp breath and Nan laid a hand on her friend’s arm before narrowing her gaze at Nate. “That is between King William and me, but this estate remains intact for Cara. No husband will ever lay his hands on it.” She pointed a finger at Miguel and hurled her next volley. “How about explaining him? He happens to look an awful lot like my granddaughter and her reprobate father.”

  Miguel swallowed his mouthful of food and looked around for an exit, his gaze lighted on the large window. Jackson shot him a grin and placed himself in the way.

  Nate arched an eyebrow. “Pure coincidence, I assure you, now let’s circle back to your relationship with King William.”

  “Enough!” Cara pressed the heels of her hands to her forehead. Nate and Nan locking horns could go on well into the early hours of the morning, eating into precious time they didn’t have to waste. “Don’t make me shoot one of you to settle this. Nan, Nate is just as overly protective and mule-stubborn as you are.”

  Nan gave a murderous stare and pretended interest in her goblet of wine.

  Nate’s steel gaze flicked over Cara and he gave a nod before turning to Jackson. “We need to meet Sir John and give him our evidence against Nolton. Did you contact him?”

  “He’ll listen. We just need to tell him where and when.”

  “Good.
We need somewhere away from any connection to us.” He ran a hand over the light stubble darkening his chin.

  “Helene’s house in Belgravia.” Cara spoke up.

  A flash of sliver in his eyes and amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I’m not her favourite person.”

  “She also likes to know the latest gossip and this will save a certain birdie having to relay what we are up to. Plus it’s a good location to meet without attracting attention to the places Nolton will think to look for you.”

  He agreed with her logic and nodded at Jackson. “Send a message through, we meet tomorrow morning. Then we need to tackle Victoria. What news?”

  “She’s camped out in the Tower in command of her army and struttin’ around like a demented tea pot. People aren’t happy and it’s going to get ugly.”

  “It’s what Nolton planned all along, swinging the people against her. Once we remove Hatshepsut’s Collar, she should regain her senses.” He cast a questioning look at Cara.

  She gave a shrug. The books gave no detail about what happened after someone removed the Collar, megalomania seemed to be a fatal disease. “I hope so, but it’s pure conjecture.”

  He turned back to his bodyguard. “Cara will stay here while the rest of us will travel on to London.”

  Cara glared at Nate, a slow burn starting in her gut. “Like hell I’ll stay here. I go where you go.”

  “I need to get close to Victoria to remove the necklace. You know our best chance of survival is if you stay here, safe and looked after.” He kept his tone low and controlled, a sure sign he expected his command to be followed. Cara knew his plan. He intended to tear the artifact from around the queen’s neck and gamble on their connection to keep him―and her―alive.

  She tugged a lock of her hair and dropped a curtsey. “Perhaps you could leave some socks for me to darn while you’re away?”