Beneath a Waning Moon: A Duo of Gothic Romances (27 page)

Gideon shrugged.
 
“The usual, though doing so in the middle of the day is out of the ordinary.
 
I assumed Tepes has raised his bounty.
 
First thief with the prize takes the purse.”

“She caught them digging up a child’s grave.”

He’d told Lenore the elements didn’t bother him, though he felt their effect—the wetness of rain, the heat of the sun.
 
And right now, the cold buffeting his skin lowered from frigid English winter to frozen Arctic tundra.

Gideon’s features had thinned to a skull’s mask, and his eyes narrowed to abyssal slits.
 
“When I find the good doctor—and I will find him—I intend to allow him to fully embrace the history behind the name Tepes and nail his hat to his head,” he vowed in flinty tones.

There were no witnesses to the first Guardian’s execution of his creator, not even the other Guardians.
 
Nathaniel suspected that whether swift or slow, Dr. Harvel’s death had been brutal and Gideon without mercy.
 
He would show none to Tepes either.

The two men strode to the Lebanon Circle to stand beneath the ancient cypress tree.
 
Nathaniel scanned the acres of tombstones, searching for the tell-tale flicker of dim lamplight or the metallic clink of grave-digging tools.
 
Only the occasional wandering spirit roamed the cemetery.
 
“Why does Tepes want dead children?”

The thought made him ill.
 
Nathaniel held little affection for men of science.
 
Admiration, yes.
 
Guild mages and their ilk manipulated the world’s mysteries, scientists its wonders.
 
But the quest for knowledge sometimes bred madness, and the men who lost their humanity were more often those who chased wonder and embraced brutality.

Gideon clasped his hands behind his back and paced.
 
“Rumor has it he’s experimenting with an elixir, something that will turn those shambling dead he likes to puppeteer into something more than corpse automatons.”

A waning moon spilled feeble light onto the patch of dead grass under the Lebanon tree.
 
Nathaniel’s veins throbbed under his skin.
 
“
Gehenna
,” he said softly.
 
“He’s trying to remake
gehenna
.”

Gideon nodded.
 
“Whatever concoction he’s brewed right now is probably expensive and difficult to reproduce for experimentation.
 
A smaller body needs a smaller dosage.”

“My God.”

“It was just a matter of time.”
 
Gideon changed directions to wear a different path into the grass.
 
“I destroyed all of Harvel’s notes.
 
Everything down to the grocer’s bills he stashed in an herbal cabinet.
 
If Tepes is making liquid hell, he’s doing so on his own from the ground up.”

Nathaniel’s heart pumped his own
gehenna
blood through his body at an ever quickening pace.
 
“If he manages to make a Guardian of his own...”

Gideon’s hollow laughter lacked any mirth.
 
“He won’t.
 
Harvel’s mistake was in keeping our minds, and therefore our free will, intact.
 
He paid the price.
 
Tepes won’t take that risk.
 
Whatever he tries to animate will be nothing like us.”
 
Brittle grass crackled under his feet.
 
“As much as I dislike drawing the Mage Guild’s attention to us, we’ll need their help.
 
We’re seven Guardians with acres of graves to watch over at all times.
 
Tepes has significantly raised his bounty if resurrectionists are willing to exhume a body before the rest of London has sat down for dinner.
 
The cemeteries will swarm with the bastards.
 
A handful of second-tier mages working with each Guardian can provide enough oversight to prevent complete chaos.”

“I’ve already contacted the Mage Guild.
 
Five second-tiers arrive here at dawn next Tuesday.”
 
Nathaniel might have laughed at Gideon’s stunned look if things weren’t so grim.
 
“I didn’t know about the doctor’s latest machinations.
 
My request for help stems from a personal matter.
 
I leave for Gibraltar and will return in a fortnight.
 
I intended to include that news in my message to you.”

The Morrises had been an invaluable help to him the previous day, delivering Lenore safely to her home in Camberwell and a message from him to the Guild House in the City of London.

Gideon’s eyebrows rose.
 
“Taking a holiday?”

He wished such were the case.
 
In his previous life, he often dreamed of whisking Lenore off to places beyond gray London.
 
Her traveler’s soul would have gloried in such sights as the blue Mediterranean and sun-kissed Greek isles or the lavish gardens of the Alcazar de los Reyes in Cordoba.

“Nothing so delightful,” he replied.
 
“I will be on an airship once more.”

Gideon turned a gimlet stare on him.
 
“Not the
Pollux
?” He scowled.
 
“Why would you put yourself through such an ordeal?”

In the early days of Nathaniel’s rehabilitation, memories of his life—and his death—threatened to overwhelm his fragile sanity.
 
Spilling them out in long, rambling screeds to Gideon had kept him anchored, able to merge each one back into its place without shattering his mind.
 
The recollections of his last battle on the
Pollux
still sent tremors through him.

“Not the
Pollux
,” he said.
 
“A new ship.
 
The
Terebellum
.
 
A harmless training mission for her new crew.
 
I will be a...guest on board.”

Gideon patted his chest as if a pocket hid somewhere behind his armor.
 
“I need another cheroot.”
 
He gave up on the pocket and put Nathaniel back in his sights.
 
“You’ve answered my first question but not the second.
 
Why?”

“I should make a wish.
 
Two wishes.
 
That you come back to me so I can tell you...tell you yes instead of no.”

Those words had wrought more life inside him than all the voltage Harvel once slammed into the cold body that now housed Nathaniel’s soul and memories.
 
They revived a hope he thought long dead, offering a second chance—once improbable, then impossible, and now within reach—to reclaim Lenore as his.
 
He’d sail a skiff to Hell if necessary.

“To assure another’s safety,” he said.

Gideon’s stygian gaze intensified.
 
“The inventor’s daughter will be on that airship.”

Nathaniel nodded.
 
“She will.”

“Does she know yet who you are?”

“No.”

“It’s probably best she remain ignorant of your identity.”

Gideon gave him a puzzled look.
 
“I am curious as to how you managed to get yourself invited aboard an airship.
 
Guardians are usually only welcomed at burials, and only if they stay out of sight.”

Had it been any other captain besides Nettie, such a miracle would never have occurred.
 
Even now, there was a chance she’d change her mind.
 
Nathaniel had already figured out a way to stow aboard if necessary.
 
“I can be very charming when I put my mind to it.”

Gideon snorted.
 
“Obviously.”
 
He held out his hand to Nathaniel who shook it.
 
“When you return, contact me.
 
I will call a gathering of all Guardians.
 
We’ll meet with the Guild Counsel to discuss what’s to be done about the rats defiling the cemeteries.”

Nathaniel noticed Gideon made no mention of Tepes.
 
The good doctor’s fate was sealed regardless of whatever the Guild decided.
 
The only thing Gideon might still have yet to determine was which type of nail he’d choose—French horse or ox shoe.

He bowed once more, this time in farewell.
 
Gideon paused before descending the stairs to the circle vaults and catacombs.
 
Moonlight painted a silver nimbus on his hair.
 
“Nathaniel, Spain isn’t the Redan, but any flight is dangerous as you well know.”
 
His pupils were almost incandescent in the darkness.
 
“How often can you ride the pale horse and fall?
 
You may not rise again.”

Nathaniel had no answer for him.
 
“Farewell, friend.
 
Expect my message upon my return.”

The other nodded and was soon embraced by the shadows that always welcomed the Guardians.

Nathaniel returned to the tree and the dog whose eyes gleamed as brightly as Gideon’s had.
 
The pup’s tail thumped the ground.
 
She pressed against his hip when he sat at the tree’s base, her head between her paws.
 
She cast an odd shadow across the grass—that of a great hulking mass with a ridged back and muscular shoulders, a beast of Herculean proportions that protected the dead alongside her master.

A thought tickled Nathaniel’s fancy.
 
She still had no name.
 
He grinned and stroked two fingers down the dog’s head.
 
“Spot,” he said.
 
“I think I’ll call you Spot.”

CHAPTER NINE

LENORE DECIDED THAT DESPITE being a few thousand feet in the air, tasks for an airship cabin boy were very much like those of a housemaid on terra firma—except for the four hour watches of course.
 
Her lips twitched at the idea of Jane handing Mrs. Harp a set of field glasses with instructions to keep a lookout for apple thieves in the back garden at three in the morning.

She entered the
Terebellum’s
compact galley and spotted the cook in his usual place before the stove.
 
No scent of wood, coal or gas filled the air in this kitchen.
 
Airship stoves and ovens were fueled by
empyrean
, that almost mystical essence discovered by the British Mage Guild.
 
Empyrean
gave rise to the age of dirigibles and consolidated the Guild’s power and influence.

The galley was situated behind the control room and next to the telegraph room, with a breathtaking view of the eastern horizon from its starboard side windows.
 
The sun, a blaze of volcanic orange began its steady climb in a sky still dotted with fading stars.

“Good morning, Mr. Smith.”
 
She tucked herself into a corner to keep out of the way while the cook busied himself at the burners.

He nodded.
 
“Likewise, miss.
 
And how is the captain this morning?”
 
He poured a dark stream of liquid into a vacuum flask.
 
The smell of hot coffee filled the air.

Lenore inhaled an appreciative breath.
 
“Not exactly in the sunniest of dispositions.
 
I hope you brewed the coffee strong.”
 
Lenore had quickly learned why several of her new crewmates had given her pitying looks and good luck wishes once they found out one of her many tasks aboard the ship included bringing “Dragon” Widderschynnes her morning coffee.

Mr. Smith closed the flask and snapped a cup on top. “Strong is the only way to brew it, miss.
 
Otherwise, it’s not fit for drinking.”
 
He handed her the flask.
 
“Best step lively.
 
You’ve learned by now, the longer her Nibs has to wait, the more dangerous it gets.”

“Indeed it does, Mr. Smith.” Lenore backed out of the galley.
 
“I’ll return as soon as possible to help Clark serve breakfast.”

The
Terebellum’s
keel corridor bore a similar design to the
Pollux,
except bigger and more modern.
 
Nettie’s temporary quarters were only a short jaunt down the gang walk from the control and radio rooms.
 
Lenore exchanged morning greetings with crewmen changing watch or on their way to the crew mess for breakfast.

She knocked briefly on the captain’s door, easing it open at Nettie’s abrupt “Enter.”

“I have your coffee, Captain.
 
Mr. Smith promised...”
 
The rest of her sentence faded when she caught sight of Nettie’s visitor.
 
Black garb and white hair.
 
As with every other time she saw the Highgate Guardian on the
Terebellum
, her heartbeat doubled.
 
Thank God, she wore her corset looser than usual, or she’d probably faint from lack of breath.
 
“Forgive my interruption,” she said.
 
“Good morning, Mr. Whitley.”
 
Lenore hoped the wide smile curving her mouth didn’t look as foolish as it felt.