Money. That was why Dr. Moore had brought her in, of course. I stared at my companions. Mrs. DuChamps, despite her condescending attitude, was dressed in luxury, her earrings pure gold, her fingers flashing diamonds and rubies. She was the money goose for this campaign. Dr. Evans was the one with the knowledge, the retired professor who taught about ancient Egypt and knew all about this myth. That left Locke and I: the tomb raiders.
“It’s not a hoax,” Dr. Moore said. “These scrolls were uncovered just days ago in the hidden tomb of the pharaoh Amenhotep III.” He strode toward his desk and dug up a newspaper dated six days ago. “Here.” He pointed at an article with the title: “Archeologists uncover hidden tomb of pharaoh Amenhotep III.”
“Amenhotep III was the ninth pharaoh of the Eighteenth Dynasty,” Dr. Evans said, his enthusiasm growing like a balloon being filled by helium.
“Why did your source only buy one of three scrolls?” Mrs. DuChamps said, fanning herself and giving me a pointed look, as if I should step back while she was the one who had pressed herself against me in order to get a better look at the scroll. “If we’ll need all three to find this hidden pyramid, then it seems a bit silly he only bought one.”
“One of the scrolls was purchased by the British Museum before my contact could get access to it,” Dr. Moore explained, sighing. “The other had already been sold by the Egyptian merchant prior to that, to a good friend of his whom he knew was interested in that sort of thing, but who could only afford the price for one scroll. Let’s say our Egyptian friend was well aware of the value of his find.”
Maximillian. The Egyptian merchant had sold the first scroll to Maximillian.
My lips became dry, and cold hands clenched around my heart. I needed to get that scroll from Maximillian’s, no matter what the price tag was.
“So, if I understand correctly, you want us to go looking for this upside-down pyramid.” Locke pointed at the black pyramid crudely drawn on the papyrus. “Uncover the treasure and bring it back to you.”
“In a nutshell, yes.” Dr. Moore smiled. “Dr. Evans has extensive knowledge of ancient Egypt, so he will be a real asset. Mrs. DuChamps, if you would be willing to help fund this expedition, then I can guarantee twenty percent of its proceeds will go to you.”
Mrs. DuChamps still didn’t seem impressed, but her beady eyes were darting left to right, and she was no doubt solving mathematical puzzles in her mind. The cost for a zeppelin to Egypt, gear, hotels, food, versus the potential treasures hidden in the heart of a pyramid.
“What is her purpose, though?” Locke spilled the venomous words, pointing his thumb at me. “I have vast experience exploring tombs all over the world, but with all due respect…”
The way he looked at me made me sick to the stomach. As if I was nothing, an ant about to be crushed under his boot. Somehow, coming from him, it felt a thousand times worse than when Mrs. DuChamps treated me like this. “I doubt she has any experience grave-robbing anywhere outside the English countryside.”
I didn’t, but this prick didn’t need to point it out. My mouth opened to form a reply, but Locke held up his hand. “I mean no disrespect, Miss Blake, but treading through the jungles of the Amazon forest or escaping from deathly traps in a pyramid is far different than digging up secret tombs in England.”
“Besides,” Mrs. DuChamps said, “it’s no proper place for a lady.”
Mac dug his nails into the skin of my shoulder, and before I could speak, he launched into an outburst the way only Mac could do.
“Now, listen up, you blabbering buffoon and you half-witted pansy,” he said, although I wasn’t sure which of his insults was directed at Locke and which one at Mrs. DuChamps, “anything you can do, Arabella can do better, twice over.”
Mrs. DuChamps stepped back, leaving my entire right side drenched in sweat from how she had been pressing against me. She fanned herself some more, waving her hand about uselessly. “A talking cat… Cats don’t talk.”
“Example numero uno,” Mac continued mercilessly. “Cats can’t talk, but I can, courtesy of Arabella’s skills, something you can only ever dream of. You can have all the money in the world, but you don’t have half the brain my Arabella has.”
Mrs. DuChamps’ eyeballs colored white as her eyes rolled to the back of her head. She slumped down on the couch like a ragdoll, on the verge of fainting.
“And as to you.” Mac now turned to Locke. “You think because you’ve been dillydallying in the jungle of nobody-cares-where, you have more talent or skills than this girl? How many lackeys did you bring along the last time you went galivanting around your Egyptian temples? There’s nothing to tomb raiding when you’ve got an army of servants at your back. But we? We’re always on our own. We solve the riddles, we crack the puzzles, and we fight to get out of there alive if needed. Not with the aid of a dozen muscles for hire, but with the aid of this.” He held his paw up to his head. “Our brains.”
Locke looked as pale as a ghost. I wasn’t sure if this was due to him meeting a talking cat, or due to the cat ramming him into the ground.
Dr. Evans chuckled. “Well said, young friend.” He clapped his hands. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”
My cheeks were as hot as coals while I said. “Everyone, meet Mac, my talking cat.”
Miss Rivers seemed the most composed, besides Dr. Evans, while she took Mac’s paw and said, “Enchanté.”
Mrs. DuChamps was still out cold on the couch, and Locke looked ready to drink my blood.
“Come on, Dr. Evans, we must wake Mrs. DuChamps up,” Dr. Moore said. “Although I must admit it was quite pleasant to witness that.”
The two men took turns squeezing Mrs. DuChamps’ hands, trying to get her to wake up. When she awoke, she seemed as groggy as a drunkard after a night out on the street, and both Dr. Moore and Dr. Evans filled her in on what had just transpired.
Meanwhile, I glanced at Locke. He stood rigid, not having moved a muscle since Mac’s outburst, but I had the feeling this was more because someone had talked back to him, than because he was surprised by a talking cat. Despite his better-than-thou attitude, I had the feeling Locke did have a lot of experience. Which made me wonder why Dr. Moore even bothered to bring me along. Why need two tomb raiders, if you already had an excellent one at your beck and call?
While Dr. Moore was busy attending to Mrs. DuChamps, the door burst open again. The same butler as before stood in the doorway, his expression flustered. He hurried toward Dr. Moore and whispered in his ear.
“That simply can’t be!” Dr. Moore shouted after a few seconds. “Security could not stop it? Tell all the guards to get to the house!”
“What’s going on?” Locke lifted the side of his jacket, and I saw a glimpse of a pistol. “Trouble?”
“No.” Dr. Moore rushed to the window and pulled the curtain aside. “My security team will handle it. We must finish what we started. We’re all here for a purpose.”
“Is someone trying to get in here to steal the scroll?” Miss Rivers asked. She looked beautiful, the pale light of the moon slipping through the window and illuminating her flawless skin. I could see why Locke had fallen for her; they made a handsome couple. “Do we need to hide?”
“No, no,” Dr. Moore said while he dropped the curtain back in place. “Unless… Well, I don’t think so. No one knows I have the scroll, and it would surprise me if the British Museum tried to burglarize my house just to get to it.” He let out a nervous laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “According to what my security team said, there’s some sort of… automaton… on its way to us.”
Some sort of automaton.
The floor disappeared under my feet. Mac and I exchanged a worried glance. But that simply wasn’t possible, was it? What would an automaton from an underground crypt in the middle of town be doing here on the outskirts? How would it even know where I was, or where the miters were, except…
I broke away from the others and went to the window, pulling the curt
ains aside.
“Miss Blake, I assure you—” Dr. Moore started, but he stopped when I held up my hand.
An automaton was rolling toward the mansion of Dr. Moore, keeping a straight line. Several security officers were surrounding the machine, but it made no sign of stopping. I remembered how the bullet I had fired at it within the vault hadn’t deterred the automaton either.
“It’s the Archbishop,” Mac said.
“The what now?” Locke took out his pistol and moved toward the window as well. He stood right next to me, his musky scent infiltrating my personal space. Despite him being a stuck-up snob earlier, I had to admit he did smell nice.
Before I could go into la-la-la land where I dreamt about musky, manly smells, Mac jumped from my shoulder and onto the floor and hurried away.
“It’s the automaton I encountered in the crypt of the archbishops,” I whispered, not intending for anyone else to hear this. “I locked him back up, because these—” I pointed at his pistol, “do zero to slow him down, and we nicknamed him the Archbishop because he’s wearing a miter.”
Locke looked from me to the monstrosity outside.
Despite the guards’ attempts, the automaton was making its way to the main house, relentless in its efforts.
“You brought this thing here?” Locke arched an eyebrow, which only made him look more attractive.
“Not on purpose.”
Guards started shouting outside. “It’s coming in!” the butler yelled from down the hallway. “Dr. Moore, you and your guests must hide!”
“He’s not wrong.” Locke glanced over his shoulder at Dr. Moore and the others. “Is there somewhere you can hide, in case that thing gets in here?” He shouted.
“It’s down the hallway!” The butler yelled, followed by the sound of a pistol being fired.
“Don’t shoot it!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “Doesn’t help!”
“Go down there!” Locke gestured at the second door, leading to the dining room and the rooms beyond. “Just get out of here.” He urged Mrs. DuChamps, Dr. Evans and Dr. Moore out of the room.
“I can’t leave you here,” Miss Rivers said, but already I could hear how insincere her words were. She was terrified, and she rather be anywhere but here when that automaton came.
“Yes, you can.” Locke shoved her out of the doors and closed them, effectively locking us in this room.
We were about to get locked up with an automaton.
“Come over here, Arabella,” Mac said, a hint of nervousness creeping in his tone while he ran towards my backpack. “I don’t want to be dessert for an evil Archbishop from hell.”
As the others escaped to the rooms beyond this one, I followed Mac. “Something in here must’ve lured the automaton to this place.”
Mac jumped on the chess table while I held up the miters, necklaces, rings one by one, until I found the one item that was different.
“This miter is rigged,” I said.
Locke moved next to doors leading to the hallway, holding his pistol ready in case something came through. “What do you mean ‘rigged’?”
“There’s a device in it.” I turned the miter upside down. “I thought it was just meant to start up the automaton, so that when anyone entered the crypt and moved this miter, the automaton jumped to action, but it must be more than that.”
My eyes darted left and right, trying to figure out the mess of wires on the inside of the device. The miter was obviously rigged with a tracker, but how could I turn it off? My mind connected the wires together, figuring out how the device worked. I had a knack for looking at mechanisms and figuring out what did what in a short amount of time, but this was cutting it really short.
I wanted to smash myself over my head why I hadn’t investigated this more last night, but I had been dead tired and then I forgot about it.
Realization came crashing down upon me. The strange noises at night, the tire marks this afternoon. All that time, the automaton had been trying to get to me—or more precisely, to this miter.
I had seen some traps, but this one had to be the best one ever. To think that two hundred years ago, someone invented the technology to—
“Less dreaming, more working,” Mac said while he tapped me on the head. “Stop that automaton!”
I nodded at him, focusing back on the miter. If something in the miter trigged the automaton to come to life after being dormant for two centuries, then this was also the key to turning the automaton into sleeping beauty again. I just had to figure out how…
The butler shrieked outside, and two seconds later, the doors burst open with as much noise as if someone had dropped a bomb in front of them.
The Archbishop had arrived.
Chapter 7
The automaton wasted no time rushing straight at me. Locke fired at it, the sound echoing through the room and bouncing off the walls.
The Archbishop didn’t even slow down.
“I told you, shooting it doesn’t work!” I threw my hands down in exasperation. Whoever had built this thing, knew their craft well enough to baffle me. I had no idea which wire to pull to make the automaton slow down, and if I picked the wrong wire, then…
Well, what then, exactly?
As I tried to think of possible scenarios where picking the wrong wire brought us in a more disastrous situation than the current one, Locke smashed a chair against the Archbishop’s side. The wood split in half, and the only effect was that the automaton turned toward Locke and slapped him away like a fly.
The Archbishop had its eyes on one thing and one thing only.
That miter in my hands.
I put my hand inside the miter and ripped at the wires with all my strength, not caring in the least if I pulled all of them out or just the magic one.
The automaton stopped for a second, but then its wheels and cogs screeched to life once again. It held out its arms toward me, and I remembered how those claws had grasped around my ankle, that flaming pain…
I stared at the inside of the miter. All the wires were loose, as far as I could see.
Locke jumped on the automaton from behind, trying to pull him backward. For a second, the automaton startled, and that was enough time.
With all my strength, I pulled the miter back, and then slammed it into the wall, again and again.
An agonizingly long beep arose from the automaton, followed by silence. The Archbishop no longer moved while I smashed the miter to pulp.
Sweat drenched my clothes and after a few seconds, Locke put a hand on my shoulder, gesturing for me to stop. “It’s dead, Blake. No need to destroy Moore’s walls in the process.”
Panting, I threw the miter on the floor and kicked against it. “Have you… have you ever had anything like this happen?”
Locke hesitated for a second and then shook his head. “Nothing has ever followed me home, no.”
“So, you still think you’re the more experienced one because you’ve braved the temples of the Incas, and I’m simply incompetent because I stuck closer to home?” I took a deep breath, realizing I had to calm down.
The re-appearance of the automaton had rattled me, and I was taking it out on Locke, while he did step up to help me when push came to shove.
“At least when you’re out in the jungles, you don’t run into automatons that follow you home.”
Locke paused before answering. “You would be surprised what’s out there. Sometimes it’s worse than an automaton. And you bringing it home… Well, you kind of did that to yourself, didn’t you?” He pointed at the miter. “You knew something was off about it. Rather than be cautious and leave it in that church you found it, you dragged it along because you were greedy.”
“I wasn’t greedy.” The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them, but I realized he was right. Last night, when Mac and I had inspected our loot, I knew something was wrong with the miter, I knew it was rigged. “I… I just didn’t know what was up with it. I thought it was just a trigger mechanism.”
“It’s a good lesson to always err on the side of caution.”
Why did Locke always have to sound so condescending every single time he so much as opened his mouth? Why did he always feel the need to sound as if he knew everything a thousand times better than anyone else?
Resisting the urge to smack him in the head with the miter, I took a deep breath, trying to calm down. “We better tell the others it’s safe to come back.”
While Locke retrieved the others, I sat down at the chess table. My legs were like sludge, and my arms were hollow twigs. If I fell asleep now, I would sleep for a thousand years.
I had brought this thing here, and people had almost gotten hurt. Maybe someone from Dr. Moore’s security had actually gotten hurt, and it was all my fault.
“Are you all right, Miss Blake?” Dr. Moore’s eyes shone with concern as he walked back into the room.
“I’m fine. I…” I wanted to tell him it was my fault that devilish creature came after us in the first place, but I couldn’t find the words.
I desperately wanted to go on this expedition with Moore and the others. Not only for the potentially enormous paycheck I would get out of it, but also because this was who I was. A tomb raider. Locke’s comment from before had hurt me because it was true: I had never left England. My biggest experience raiding crypts was practically in my own backyard. The world had so much more to offer, and I had only seen a glimpse of it.
But if Moore knew what danger I had brought to his house… Unwillingly, of course, but I should’ve known sooner… Then he wouldn’t let me join. He would take Locke’s advice and not invite me along, and Mrs. DuChamps would smirk and say proper young ladies should stay home and find suitable husbands.
“What was that thing?” Miss Rivers asked, her voice on the verge of panic. “Is it… dead?”
“It stopped working. I doubt an automaton can ever truly be dead,” Locke said.
“And how did it get here?” Mrs. DuChamps poked the automaton and then quickly recoiled. “It’s made of metal.”
Of Steel and Steam: A Limited Edition Anthology Page 74
