Hatshepsut's Collar (The Artifact Hunters #2)

by A. W. Exley

  Bushy eyebrows rose. Cara held her breath. How much do they know? Who would Victoria have told?

  “I believe Nolton wants the gem to adorn his coronation crown when he becomes king,” he added.

  Sir John let out a snort and appeared satisfied.

  Prince Albert met her gaze; his brown eyes filled with curiosity and a slight tremor jingled one corner of his moustache. Oh bugger. He knows.

  “Now, how do we save her?” Albert’s question wasn’t the one Cara expected. He remained silent on the dragon egg topic, instead seeking the answer to return his wife to the loving and firm monarch England knew.

  “We need to remove the necklace. The scarabs are flooding her system with a poison that feeds on power and bloodlust.”

  Albert shook his head. “I have tried. The scarabs, they are… alive. They rose up on their legs, their wings outstretched and something… like lightning dances between their wings.”

  “There is that slight problem.” Nate moved to stand closer to Cara. “Throughout history, the person who dares remove the collar has made the ultimate sacrifice. They do not survive.”

  Albert paled, comprehension dawning at the terrible choice they all faced. “Then how?”

  Cara flicked her gaze to Nate, unwilling to reveal their connection. “We believe Nate may be able to survive grabbing the collar.”

  “May be able to survive?” Albert repeated, concern heavy in his words. “You don’t know.”

  Sir John leaned forward in his chair. “I assume you think he can achieve this because he survived an hour of being long-lined?”

  Cara’s lips quirked. “Yes, that has something to do with it.” It was a bluff. They didn’t know. They were grasping in the dark and gambling with both their lives on being right.

  “That story circulating already?” Nate asked with his usual poker face.

  “Half the crew on the Aurora are convinced you are the devil when they saw you rise from the dead.”

  Nate’s face remained calm, but Cara felt his laughter rumble through their bond. “Well, some people have long thought that of me anyway.”

  “Will you tell me how you managed to breathe under water?” The constable pried for the secret, sure it would reveal some device like the phonograph.

  “Simple really, Cara was rather insistent I wasn’t allowed to die on her and far be it for me to act contrary to my wife’s desires.” He gave Sir John the answer, he just didn’t have the capacity to understand it.

  “If you must keep that secret, I will insist on knowing the escape route you took from the Tower.” Shrewd intellect shined in the constable eyes.

  “One day.” Nate’s lips twitched; he had no intention of sharing his secrets. “What of Nolton?”

  Albert rose from his seat. “He knows you are near, he hopes to act first. He is chasing the queen, trying to pour his vitriol into her ears. Her mind teeters close to the edge; I fear she will soon slip beyond my reach.”

  “We need to get close to the queen, close enough to reach the necklace.” Cara slipped her hand into Nate’s, needing the physical contact.

  “The queen has moved to the Tower. She wishes to address her troops from the battlements today before they depart. She imagines herself Boudicca, the warrior queen.” Albert’s moustache turned up into a smile at the thought of his petite wife as the avenging warrior.

  Nate gave her fingers a light squeeze. “Can you gain us access, Sir John?”

  He nodded. “I’ll have soldiers escort you to the Tower. Anyone watching will think you have been captured, but I will have them lead you straight to her.”

  “Can we not sneak in on our own?” Cara wondered aloud. Again, she thought.

  “No.” He shook his head, sadness filling his eyes. “Once you are close to the Tower, you will understand.”

  ir John and Prince Albert slipped away through the quiet streets. Cara and Nate gave Sir John a head start to arrange their escort before making their own way toward the Thames.

  They stopped by London Bridge to await the armed band of soldiers sent to accompany them. Soon, bright scarlet encircled them in the gloom and then carried them along the road. Walking up Lower Thames Street, Cara understood why the streets of London appeared deserted. Unwashed and noble bodies alike lined the roads, peered from windows, and stood on masonry. A somber mood infected the entire city from the churning storm clouds above to the near silence on the street. Feet stomped, women sobbed, and children cried, but no conversation rose.

  Cara was thankful she chose pants and boots. Being hampered by long skirts in this crowd was potentially fatal if she was pulled under, even Nate and the soldiers combined wouldn’t be powerful enough to pull her back out. The closer they moved to the epicentre, the more bodies crushed from every direction. She was grateful to take shelter in Nate’s arms, tucked by his side as they surged forward. Step by step, they drew closer to where Victoria summoned the ancient power of the collar to feed her lust for power, land, and dominion over the people.

  Cara scanned the crowd. The grief of the women was palpable and the old men wore scowls. Something niggled at her brain. “Why have they turned against Victoria so quickly? It’s not the first time Britain has gone to war.”

  Nate pulled her closer, and spoke against her ear. “But never on this scale, every man aged between eighteen and forty has been called forth. Plus rumours have gone out that the men will never return, that Victoria intends to keep them marching endlessly over the globe.”

  Women would lose their lovers and sons for years, or forever, never to see their faces again. Cara glanced to Nate, skimming over his strong profile.

  How would I feel if Victoria called him away, and said I would never get him back?

  Damn angry.

  Looking again at the crowd, Cara saw the connection fuelling the undercurrent. “She’s underestimated her own sex. You don’t piss off this many women all at once.”

  Grief combined with anger had hardened into resolve. Victoria thought the women would meet her challenge and take over farms and factories. Instead, they would be the ones to pull on her skirts and drag her from the throne.

  Closer to the Tower, masses of young bodies swirled around the ancient edifice, awaiting deployment. Thousands of young men conscripted, dressed in black wool uniforms, handed a rifle, and destined to die in the name of the British Empire.

  HMRAS airships were tethered in rows like balloons bobbing on the changing currents of descending winter at odds with the unnaturally still atmosphere at pedestrian level. The airships would carry the Empire’s elite troops and their officers in relative comfort, compared to the treatment awaiting the foot soldiers, who would be packed like oxen into the water-bound transports.

  Four gargantuan navy troop ships dominated the Thames from London Bridge to Tower Bridge. Stacked nose to tail and two abreast, they formed a metal island between the outstretched arms of the dual bridges. Funnels emitted black smoke, further darkening the sky as boiler men stoked the engines in preparation for the long journey ahead. Smaller barges kept them in position and would be used to drag them out to deeper water. An endless line of soldiers walked up the gangplank to be swallowed by the black interior. Like ants, they emerged on deck, crossed the swaying bridge to the next ship, and trailed down below again. Their bodies packed into every available space, filling the outer ship first before overflowing to those closest to the bank.

  Dark clouds buffeted for space in the sky, pushing against one another until they formed a dense, black carpet above the Tower. A stab of lightning jumped from one formation to another. The oncoming storm drew closer, but held back as though waiting for some unknown cue.

  Anger and despair rolled from the ancient building in waves, washing over the people. Every now and then, the crowds surged against the soldiers as though testing the resistance before they were pushed back by drawn electric pikes and rifles. A powder keg of angry people lined the streets and stared at the troop ships, sucking up their husbands,
brothers, and sons. Nolton’s plan unfolded around them. The tension in the citizens leached into the air, merely awaiting the single spark to plunge England into an unstoppable riot.

  Cold foreboding crept down Cara’s spine and she tightened her grip on Nate’s larger hand. Their bond kept him alive while Nolton tried to drown him, but could it survive this?

  The captive ravens had multiplied, and numerous black bodies lined the battlements. Wings outstretched, they called and cawed at the humans below. Superstition said if the ravens left the Tower, the crown and England would fall. Will Victoria’s madness drive the ravens to flight?

  The small group passed under the raised portcullis and walked the worn cobbles deeper into the enclosure. Soldiers passed in both directions, scurrying to carry out unseen instructions.

  A familiar shape moved ahead of them, surrounded by his own cluster of red dressed soldiers. He moved slowly, one hand clutching the top of an ornate ebony walking stick. A thick bandage bulged under one pant leg, evidence of the hole left by the harpoon. He turned on hearing the feet behind him, a sneer pulling at his face.

  Nate tucked Cara against him, keeping her close, but shielding her with his torso at the same time.

  The two groups of soldiers met and merged, parting around their nucleus.

  Nolton’s hand disappeared under his jacket and then with arm outstretched, he aimed a pistol at Nate’s head. “I don’t know how you survived long-lining, but let’s see how you do with a bullet through your forehead. Think of it as a blow hole.”

  Cara sucked in a breath, waiting, hoping, Nate would act and not try to protect her.

  His gaze slid to her, a quick wink and he spun. Kicking out, he struck Nolton’s hand with his booted foot. The pistol flew in the air. Before his adversary could react, he lunged and slammed his fist into the duke’s jaw.

  Surprise registered before his eyes rolled up into the back of his head. He keeled over backward, unconscious, and landed on the cobbles. Soldiers surrounded the prone body, looking from the fallen duke to the attacking viscount.

  “Secure him,” Nate ordered. “Sir John wants a word with him about charges of treason. He has betrayed England and Victoria.”

  Worried glances flicked amongst them in a moment of indecision before they obeyed. Hands reached down to haul Nolton to his unresponsive feet.

  Nate shook his hand and stretched out his knuckles. “You’re right, that was much more satisfying. I feel like my old self again. Not even half what he deserves though, but we do have a more pressing engagement.”

  He took Cara’s hand as they continued further into the Tower to find Victoria on the green in front of the White Tower, her back to the Waterloo barracks. Her generals loosely gathered around her, ready to hear their final orders before executing her plan. She had donned a feathered helm and armoured breastplate featuring curling Chinese dragons intertwined in gold relief against the steel background. Their claws clutched the banners of their foe, the bodies of the fallen trampled under their feet. Cara fought hysterical laughter. With the queen’s short rotund stature, she resembled an ornate coalscuttle clutching a feather duster. A farcical sight under any other circumstances. Now, it only seemed to emphasise how far she had descended into insanity.

  The queen raised her arms to the sky as though calling on the elemental power of the thunder and lightning, threatening to overflow above their heads. Hearing the stomp of booted feet approach, she turned wild unblinking eyes to Nate and Cara. Her blue irises retreated; overtaken by the black pupil, the white of her eyes stained red with bloodlust.

  Prince Albert stood at her side, resplendent in dress uniform with a sabre on his belt. His brown eyes haunted by his inability to stop his wife.

  Victoria raised an arm at Nate. “You! They have brought the traitor before us! We shall spill your blood first as an offering to ensure the success of our troops.”

  “I’d rather not,” Nate replied, his words lost to Victoria by the whirls and eddies of the wind spiralling down into the green.

  “He is innocent.” Prince Albert stepped forward between Nate and the queen. “Duke Nolton has played you false, Victoria. He is the one leading you down this path.”

  “No! Nolton is loyal to us.” She faced her consort.

  Albert shook his head. “He covets your throne and spreads lies about you. He intends to snatch England from behind your back while you are looking to China.”

  “You lie!” she screamed at her husband. “You wish our power for yourself, but you shall not take it. Duke Nolton warned us to trust no one.”

  Sir John stepped forward from the line of generals. “The prince speaks the truth, ma’am. From Duke Nolton’s own lips, we have heard his plan to capture you and take the throne for himself. He is in collusion with China and plans to imprison you there.”

  She shook her head. No spilled from her lips in a constant litany of denial. Wild eyes scanned the assembled nobles and soldiers. The scarabs attached to the collar rose on their silver toes and fanned their wings. A metallic buzz filled the air as they spoke to the queen in their own tongue.

  “It does not matter. Our plan is clear. China will bow to our dominion. Then Russia after her, then the Americas will return to us.” She hugged her body, embracing the world to her armoured bosom. The wind responded, whipping around her and plastering her skirts to her legs.

  “Enough!” Albert shouted, spinning to confront his wife. “You will not send our people to their deaths to satisfy your greed. This is not you, Victoria, come back to me.” His arms reached for his wife.

  Nate edged forward, ready to lunge when Victoria’s attention became focused on her husband. His hand trailed down Cara’s arm until only their fingertips touched. Another step, and he moved beyond her reach. Albert’s gaze flicked to the lovers and the uncertainly written over Cara’s face before he returned to face his mad wife.

  Cara’s breath came in short bursts. She wanted to screw up her eyes, but couldn’t look away in case she never saw Nate again in this life. Oh god, this is going to hurt.

  Around Victoria’s neck, the scarabs reared up on their hind legs, wings outstretched, electricity humming and jumping between the tips. Lightning flashed overhead, coming perilously close to striking the White Tower. Over the rage of the building storm came a reptilian hiss from the mechanical creatures trapped by the collar and echoed by the queen.

  Nate lunged at the same instance as Albert.

  The prince shouldered Nate, and reached out one hand.

  Thunder boomed and rattled the ancient buildings as lightning broke across the sky.

  “No,” Nate shouted, Albert’s momentum sufficient to nudge him off course.

  Both men reached out a hand, but Nate’s closed around air as Albert clutched Hatshepsut’s Collar. Grasping the necklace, the prince wrapped his fingers around the thick gold links. With a violent jerk, he ripped it from around the queen’s neck.

  She staggered under the force of his action and screamed. The small mechanised scarabs also vented their rage.

  Albert’s hand closed around the central gem, the eye of Horus. Energy sizzled and cracked, trying to find a way to escape his clutch, blue flashes zapping from between his fingers. A clap of thunder rent the air, deafening everyone, and the light burned their eyes. A bolt of lightning tore through the sky, the storm above no longer held at bay. The flash above sought its partner below. The two forces met in the eye of Horus, held by the prince and the red gem flared to life.

  Albert cried out as blue flame escaped his hand, licked up his arm, and then encircled his torso like a python constricting its prey before rearing back its phantom head and plunging through his heart. Wide, startled eyes turned to the queen as he dropped to his knees before her.

  She called his name, dazed as though waking from a long slumber. The lightning shot upward to the sky, draining the essence from Albert’s body as it bled amongst the black clouds.

  Victoria’s cry became a scream.

 
Nate lunged forward, intent on rushing to the prince’s aid. Cara grabbed his arm tighter.

  “We can’t touch him with the power running through his body, it will take us all,” she yelled over the commotion.

  He nodded and held her tight by his side as the strange lightning lit up the green.

  Seconds crawled past. Nobody moved. The bolt leapt upward, leaving Albert’s body and the scarabs fell silent in his limp fingers. The prince sunk to the grass, a moan escaping his lips.

  Victoria shook her head as thunder rattled the foundations of the White Tower and the storm unleashed itself. Clouds gave way under the weight of their load and torrential rain fell straight to the earth. Large, ponderous drops saturated the ground within moments.

  Cara wound her arms around Nate’s torso, watching the tragedy unfold before them. He folded her close, his lips grazing her ear. “Now the light has released him, can we help him?”

  She shook her head. “No. He is in God’s hands now.”

  “Albert!” The primal scream echoed around the Tower, bouncing from the ancient stone walls. Victoria fell to her knees. Grasping Albert’s shoulders, she shook his body, screaming his name over and over. The ravens cried with the bereft queen; they took flight, yet remained within their invisible boundary, tethered by her pain. Circling around their heads, they screeched in empathy, sending a shudder throughout the assembled population.

  The cry of her consort’s name turned to an incoherent, high-pitched keening. She wrapped her arms around her beloved’s body, clutching his lifeless form to her breast. No one moved to intervene. No one dared pull him from her as the rain continued to fall, drenching everyone.

  onfusion reigned in the hours following the death of Albert. Nate scooped up Hatshepsut’s Collar in a cloth, ensuring his skin never touched the cold metal. Generals looked for their orders, but the queen sat insensible in her grief. Someone fetched an umbrella to keep the worst of the rain from soaking her shaking form. Eventually someone fetched her ladies, who pried her hands from Albert’s cold body. Men wrapped the prince in a blanket and carried him inside the chapel as the rain continued to pound the city.