Hatshepsut's Collar (The Artifact Hunters #2) (15 page)

She narrowed her gaze at him. “What exactly is your history?”

He gave her a cheeky grin at odds with his somber attire. “I’m not saying a word; our agreed month isn’t up yet. You still have to wait a few days.”

“I could pull rank you know.” If she stuck around after this, the chain of command needed sorting out. A few chains in particular needed a good yank.

“You only need to know I can look after myself, and you, if it comes to it.”

Cara chewed her lip. She was not satisfied, but she would save her interrogation for another day when he could not squirm out of it, like when trapped on an airship heading to Russia.

Jackson dropped them as close to the hangar as he dared. They walked the road that ran parallel to the Thames, but behind the enormous airship warehouses. The patrols visibly increased; soldiers stopped everybody they encountered in the gloom, questioning their reason for being out after dark. The sparse street lights did little to illuminate who walked the cobbles. Cara breathed a sigh of relief when they slipped up the overgrown path to the end terrace house without attracting any attention.

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.

“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.