The Gilded Scarab (43 page)

His back curved over the lid, both arms stiffly up in the air. He hung there a moment, caught, his clothes smoldering. When he slid down, he smeared a trail of blood and smoke on the lid behind him.

Behind him, the mummy mask caught the light of the brimstone and gleamed.

Clean and pure and unsullied.

Chapter 28

B
Y
THE
time I’d disentangled myself from the wreckage of the table, the Gallowglass had Ned in a close embrace, with Sam Hawkins hovering like an anxious nanny. Sam stretched out a hand to touch Ned, took it away again, stretched it out again, as if he couldn’t quite believe he had Ned safe without some sort of tactile proof.

I knew how he felt. My arms rose up of their own accord, curving round with the memory of Ned cradled between them. Fell again. Rose and fell helplessly because I had to stay back. I had no right to go and hold him, the way his father and Sam Hawkins did.

The Gallowglass stepped back, ran his hands over Ned’s arms and chest, looking for injuries. Ned himself stared at Daniel, horror struck, barely seeming to notice his father was there.

Hugh charged over the room to me, Will with him. They hauled me to my feet. It was a good thing to do. It made me look at them, not Ned. It wasn’t safe to look at Ned with the Gallowglass there.

“All right?” Will demanded, dusting alabaster off me. “Are you all right?”

“I think so.” I coughed, swallowing too much millennia-old dust for comfort. “You two? Alan?”

“Fine.” Will’s mouth curved slightly while Hugh nodded. He patted my arm, holding on until I was steady on my feet.

All told, it couldn’t have been much more than a minute, two at most, since Sam had dropped through the hatch. The room was overrun with Gallowglass guards. Brennan snapped out orders that had his men running to and fro like industrious ants, searching the dead and dying for weapons, digging brimstones from their pockets and lighting up the room as best they could, carrying in an assortment of twitching thugs and, under Alan’s direction, laying them in a row against a wall with guards over them. Brennan was both smiling and grim.

The scene was one of devastation. Stone lay on his side, twisted, one arm thrown out. He was still alive. His shrieking had died into a soft mewling, and his breath bubbled thickly, like porridge in a pot. His henchman was dead where he’d dropped, eyes wide and glinting when the beam from a brimstone caught them, like sea-washed pebbles. I wasn’t sure what I felt about that. I wasn’t sure what I felt about being responsible for that.

And Daniel. Poor stupid, jealous Daniel.

I was responsible for that too.

Ned shook off his father’s hands. He wasn’t quite steady on his feet as he walked to kneel by Daniel’s body. He put his hand on the charred jacket covering Daniel’s chest, right over the heart.

“Oh, Daniel,” Ned said.

“I
T
WAS
a little anticlimactic, really,” Will said, quietly. “Brennan’s men are frighteningly efficient. We waved our guns around, stayed at the back where they put us, and allowed them all the danger and glory.” He patted my shoulder. “Excuse me a moment, Rafe. I must tell Annabelle it’s all over.” He spoke quietly into his Marconi transmitter.

Hugh had tutted over the state of my hands and torn strips off my shirt to bind them. The gash across my left palm was deep. He tied the makeshift bandage with a pair of rabbit’s ears, as if I were seven, not thirty. “That’ll need stitching. It’ll do for now.”

He patted the rabbit’s ears consolingly. Perhaps it would be all right, Hugh finding out about Daniel and me. It hadn’t made much difference so far.

Poor Daniel. My eyes stung. Poor, stupid Daniel.

I must have said it aloud. Hugh hesitated before leaning against my shoulder. Will didn’t hesitate. They bracketed me between them. Hugh handed me a folded handkerchief, and neither of them commented as I dabbed at my eyes and blew my nose. Suddenly I was so exhausted I could hardly see straight.

A man needs good friends, even when sometimes he doesn’t think he deserves them. The Lancaster luck held true that day.

The Gallowglass stood beside Ned, his hand on his son’s thick fair hair. Ned had shuffled around until he was sitting beside Daniel, his back against the mummy case. He had his head down, his face hidden. He kept his hand on Daniel’s chest.

The Gallowglass straightened up. “Joe, call Lady Gallowglass, assure her Ned’s unhurt, and ask her to go and collect our grandsons. I’ll have Ned home within the hour. Sooner. Then contact Matthews and tell him we’ve secured the museum and he’s to be ready to turn the lights back on, on my mark.” He rubbed his free hand over his eyes. He looked as tired as I felt. “What’s the tally?”

“Five hostiles taken down with neural disruptors on this level and on the stairs, and both drivers secured and under guard at the back door. The last of them, the one over on the Great Russell Street side gate, ran for it. We let him go. Thugs like him are hired two a penny and know nothing. Two of ours with minor injuries. Todd’s the worst. He took a knife to the side from one of the drivers, but he’s walking wounded. It’s not serious.” Brennan straightened up. “I need to send a man to check on Rosens and make sure the apothecary shop’s clear.”

Will was right. They were
frighteningly
efficient.

The Gallowglass looked around, nodding to one of the troopers who raised a hand to him, the other being around his middle holding a pad of something against the bottom of his ribs. Todd, presumably. “Of course. I need to sort this mess out before we can leave. But I want to get Mr. Edward home.”

He was torn, I suspected, between wanting Ned out of there and safe, and not wanting to let him out of his sight. I’d seen his face when he’d pulled back from the first anguished, thankful embrace with Ned. It would be interesting to know what circumstances would have put that expression on my father’s face. I couldn’t imagine them.

“What about Stone?” I asked.

The Gallowglass spun around to face me. “Who?”

I blinked at him and pointed. “Josiah Stone.”

“You know him?” Sam demanded, and the barriers came up again. Whatever camaraderie we’d found in the ventilation shafts evaporated.

“No, but I’ve met him. He tried to buy the coffeehouse. Months ago. Back in February, sometime. It was before Mr. Pearse left for Eastbourne, anyway.” I stared back at them, refusing to let those cold, assessing gazes intimidate me. “From what I remember of his business card, he’s a lawyer. Lincoln’s Inn.”

“He wanted to buy your coffeehouse?” repeated the Gallowglass incredulously.

“Yes. He wouldn’t say who he was acting for, but they were prepared to pay handsomely. Very handsomely. Far more than it was worth. They wanted to keep my name on the deed as owner, but they would put their people in and run the place. I said no. Obviously.”

“That’s all you know?”

“Well, I suspected, from something my coffee supplier said, that his principals might be Philtre Coffee.”

“Indeed?” the Gallowglass said. He glanced down at Ned’s bowed head. “Indeed. Well now. That sheds new light on the accident a couple of years ago, when Laetic…. Well. Yes. If that’s the case, then Philtre have already made one attempt on Ned’s life, and the company’s most likely a front for one of the Houses. That will bear some investigation.”

“You didn’t say anything!” Hawkins hissed at me.

“To whom?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Huffed out a breath.

“Precisely,” I said. “At the time I had no idea it involved Ned. How could I? I mentioned the name to Mr. Pearse, but he didn’t know him. I haven’t seen Stone for months.”

“It doesn’t matter right now,” the Gallowglass said. “We’ll get our intelligencers working on it.”

Brennan appeared beside the Gallowglass. “What about this man Stone? We can hand the thugs over to the police and get them charged with attempted robbery or something, but what about him? And Meredith?”

“Will he live?” The Gallowglass’s cold gaze fell on Stone. Two of the House guards were carrying out some rough first aid.

“He’ll lose the arm, but he’s not dying. Not yet.”

The Gallowglass looked down at Ned. “Not yet,” he repeated. “However, we have a story to concoct here. Sam, I want you to take Ned to Gallowglass House. Take Todd with you and get his side seen to. Use one of the cars upstairs. One of the men will drive.” He glanced at me. “Captain Lancaster, I am grateful for your assistance tonight, and that of your man, and I will make a better show of my gratitude when things are less harried. But your presence here will be difficult to explain when I call in the head of Scotland Yard—and Tane Stafford, too, I suspect. I suggest that you take the second car and go home. You too, Mr. Somers.” He managed a wry smile. “You need to get your lady wife down from the roof. Give her my compliments, and my heartfelt thanks. We will be in touch in a day or two.”

I didn’t argue. It looked as though we were getting into serious House machinations. I was better out of the way. “We’ll walk. We’ll cut through the museum and go out the Great Russell Street gate. It’ll be quicker.”

He nodded. “Very well. The likelihood is that the street and Abrams’s shop are clear, but be careful, please.” He turned and squatted down to get his face level with Ned’s. “Ned. Listen to me. I want you to go with Sam to the house. I’ll sort out everything here. There’s nothing more for you to worry about.”

Ned’s face was wet when he looked up. “What about Daniel?”

“There’s nothing we can do for him.”

“I won’t have him… don’t blame him. Find a way not to lay the blame on him.”

“He set you up for this, Ned. He worked with Stone—”

“Don’t blame him. He didn’t know, and I don’t think he really wanted to hurt me.” Ned allowed Sam to help him up. “Who shot him?”

I winced. Something inside of me cringed.

“He was caught in a crossfire, Ned,” Sam said, in the gentle tone one used with the shocked and bereaved.

Ned’s breath leaked out on a shaky sigh, and he allowed Sam to draw him away. He was still quite unsteady on his feet and, now that more brimstones lit the room, the dark bruising on his face was obvious. His left eye was half-shut and his cheek swollen. I wondered if it had been Stone who’d done that. Or Daniel.

He stopped beside me, put both hands on my shoulders, and pressed his uninjured cheek against mine. He was shaking. “I was so afraid he’d hurt you.”

“I’m fine.” I had to bring my arms up to go around him and hold him, to make sure. He was warm and alive, his breath hot on my neck. I held him far tighter than I should have. “Oh Ned. Ned. That was too close.”

He turned his head slightly. His lips touched my neck, rough and a little dry. “He would have hurt you. I couldn’t let him hurt you.” He pulled away, his eyes wet. “You came for me.”

“Yes.” Of course I did. He’d know that.

“Through the ceiling, with Sam.”

“Yes.”

“You? Did you—”

I nodded. No point in lying. “Yes.”

“Oh.”

“He took a shot at me. He missed. I didn’t.” I touched his bruised face gingerly. “He would have hurt you, Ned. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“Oh.” Ned swallowed visibly. He swayed on his feet. Nodded.

And then he turned away.

Nothing more said. Nothing more done.

I watched him leave with Sam, two of the House guards behind them. He didn’t look back.

N
OTHING
APPEARED
in the newspapers until the third day after Daniel died.

Hugh showed it to me at breakfast. He’d folded back
The Times
into a precise rectangle, smoothing it down. I don’t
think
he ironed it. I never caught him at it, anyway.

“Here, sir.” He glanced up as the street door banged downstairs. Rosens and Matthews were returning to routine. Like us, Rosens had been hit with a neural disruptor and left manacled and helpless, along with Abrams. They were lucky to be alive. Hugh placed
The
Times
in front of me, propped up against the coffeepot. “The toast won’t be a moment.”

The power blackout had made the headlines, of course, and the newspapers and journals had had two glorious days recounting breathless tales of the stiff upper lip we Londinium dwellers had shown in dealing with the horrors of a power outage, drawing from it the lesson that our indomitable spirit imbued us with the sense of empire and made us the great nation we were. It made me feel very patriotic.

Daring Robbery Attempt Foiled!!!

Three screamers on the headline. To mark its importance, perhaps. I read it to Hugh as we ate. It was a marvelous piece of journalism.

Thieves had caused the blackout to cover an audacious attempt to rob the storerooms of the Britannic Museum, specifically targeting a cache of recent discoveries made by the Gallowglass First Heir, Professor Edward Winter. The thieves, shameless in their greed and daring, had forced another noted Aegyptologist, Professor Daniel Meredith, to give them access to the museum and the relevant storeroom. Able by some means (conveniently unspecified) to alert the authorities, Professor Meredith had unfortunately paid with his life for his selfless attempt to thwart the malefactors. Some half-dozen minor members of the criminal gang had been apprehended by the police, but after a chase across the rooftops, their evil, amoral leader had fallen to his death into the Great Court at the center of the museum. A fitting end for such a reprehensible villain, who had been identified as a lawyer of Lincolns Inn, a man of equivocal reputation. A footnote told the readers that Professor Meredith would be buried at Highgate the following Friday. Friends and family only.