Skies of Steel: The Ether Chronicles (16 page)

They were like that for some time, his arms wrapped about her. Her breath puffed hotly against his neck. He pressed his mouth to the top of her head, feeling the silken threads of her hair against his lips, and against his chest her heart pounded.

An intimate embrace, the kind reserved for lovers. They appeared to become aware of that at the same time—she stiffened slightly in his embrace and dropped her legs from around his waist—yet neither seemed willing to let go. Not quite yet.

“Nicely done,
professorsha
,” he whispered. “More impressive than defending a dissertation.”

“You’ve never been before a dissertation committee.” She pulled back, just enough to hold his gaze. “I don’t think I would’ve trusted anyone else to catch me.”

Her words pierced him.
Trust.
Something that seemed to ebb and flow between them. Why should she trust him? She’d deceived him, and his motivations were far from charitable. It was there, though, that thing binding them together.

“You’re not a heavy burden,” he said.

Her lips curved into a smile. Need burned through him to feel that curve against his own lips. But he knew that once he kissed her, no matter where they happened to be, stopping would be impossible. Reluctantly, he loosened his arms around her. She, too, let go, but the slide of her hands down his body was exquisite torture.

Once they’d both gained their feet, they continued on down the stairs. The steps ended in yet another door.

“The astrolabe better be behind this,” he muttered, hand on the doorknob. “It’s been a damned long night. Only cure for it is several gallons of vodka.”

“Me, too.” She glanced at the door. “Sadly, the bacchanalia has to wait.”

He pushed the door open, and together they stepped inside a vast circular chamber lit by a ring of quartz lamps. The walls of the chamber were made of huge stone boulders. They must be far beneath the city.

“Look down,” she whispered.

The floor was elaborately carved, covered in symbols and curved lines in different configurations. It seemed to be in layers, too. A large circular plate was its base, and another plate chiseled into curves and arcs lay on top of that. A straight piece of stone crossed the whole floor, with a column in the middle. The entire design looked familiar. The large scale of it, though, made it a puzzle to place.

“My God,” she said, wonder in her voice. “It’s an astrolabe.”

Blyat
, he should have seen that sooner. All the parts of the device were there, carved into the floor. She walked over the mater and plate that made up the base of the astrolabe, with its straight and curved lines showing things such as horizon, tropics, direction, and latitude. It took her several strides to cross the rete atop the plate, with its star pointers and stereographic projection of the ecliptic. She studied the straight piece of stone that crossed these parts. It had to be the rule, which located positions on the plate or rete.

The astrolabe was beautiful … and massive.

There was no door on the opposite side of the room. This chamber was their final destination.

All the excitement and energy he’d gotten from swinging on the tapestries, the heat that had fired through him from holding Daphne Carlisle close—it all drained out of him. Ice flowed through his body. He was never cold. But now he fought the chill spreading through him as if he stood in his own tomb.

“That son of a bitch,” he cursed. “Al-Zaman sent us on a fool’s errand.” He pointed angrily to the floor. “
This
is the astrolabe he wants us to steal.”

T
ORN BETWEEN DESPAIR
and hysterical laughter, Daphne stared down at the floor. The astrolabe carving had to be at least thirty feet in diameter. No denying its beauty or the skill of the artisan who’d made it: in every aspect, it faithfully reproduced the complex device’s different components and markings, all in polished stone. But artistic merit didn’t help solve the problem of how, exactly, she was supposed to remove it from the vault, or transport it to al-Zaman.

“There has to be some way of getting it out of here,” she muttered.

For a moment, Denisov looked at her as if she were mad—which she supposed she was, to even consider hauling a massive stone astrolabe from this impenetrable place.

But then his gaze became thoughtful. “We’d have to dynamite it out of the floor. There’s TNT on board the
Bielyi Voron
, and no one knows how to set a charge better than Akua. Once it’s blasted out, the ship could haul it up.”

“That would necessitate us leaving the vault, getting to the ship, then returning here to set off what will likely be a massive explosion, and contending with the security systems and the guards.” She ticked the obstacles off on her fingers. “And since this chamber must be far below the surface, we’d need to find a way to transport the astrolabe up to your ship. It just cannot be done.”

“Man O’ Wars thrive on impossible situations.” His grin was audacious.

Her pulse leapt in response. “Much as I appreciate your resolve, Captain—”

“Mikhail,” he said. “When you were leaping into my arms a few minutes ago, were you thinking,
Captain
or
Mikhail
?”

“I was thinking,
Please, God, don’t let me fall
.”

“Don’t need to call me
God—
Mikhail will do. And I’ll call you Daphne.”

“Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray to Mikhail my soul to keep.” The feel of his name on her lips had a strange resonance, like an old enchantment buried in her memory. She felt a subtle shift between them, an easing of mistrust. The sharing of first names wasn’t something done lightly. And when he chuckled lowly at her words, she felt the knot of his suspicion loosen even further.

You need to tell him the truth
, her conscience demanded. All
of the truth.

If I tell him now, he’ll desert me, and I need him more than ever.

Yet it felt like a blade she scored down her own heart, knowing that she continued to deceive him. What choice did she have?

“Admirable as your determination is, I’m certain that this”—she gestured to the carved floor—“can’t be what we’re seeking.”

He frowned. “Don’t see heaps of astrolabes piled in the corners.”

She turned in a slow circle, studying the chamber. “Cleverness is valued in this culture as much as physical strength. Think of all the tales of quick-witted men and women who survive and triumph by outthinking a situation or adversary.”

“Ali Baba or Scheherazade.”

She nodded. “This has to be a puzzle or riddle. I’m certain of it. And listen.”

They both fell silent. A soft ticking sound resounded through the chamber, like a massive clockwork device. “There
is
a mechanical component here. Meaning there’s a riddle serving as a security system. The question is: what’s the puzzle, and how do we solve it?”

For the first time, she noticed seven white marble spheres the size of cannonballs around the perimeter of the chamber. Examining them closer, she discovered that some had crescents carved into them, and some bore other ovoid or nearly circular shapes. A kind of tinting had been applied to the surface of the spheres, making them appear partially white and partly dark. Only one was smooth, polished marble.

“The moon,” Mikhail said, coming up behind her. At her curious glance, he explained, “These pieces of marble look like the phases of the moon.” He pointed to them in turn. “Waxing crescent. First quarter. Waxing gibbous.”

The more she looked at the spheres, the more she realized he was right. The marble orbs were representations of the moon’s phases. Of course, a sailor and airship captain would know the night sky.

“What’s the current phase of the moon?” she asked.

“Waning crescent,” he answered without hesitation.

She turned back to the astrolabe hewn into the floor. Constellations dotted its surface. “And where is the moon right now?”

He closed his eyes, as if conjuring up the sky in his imagination. “In Virgo.” His eyes flew open, and she and Mikhail stared at each other. Could this be the solution they needed?

“That ticking sound must be some device that keeps track of the sky and the moon.” She couldn’t keep the excitement from her voice.

Before she finished speaking, he’d picked up the marble orb representing the waning crescent moon. He held it in one hand, though she was certain it would take all of her strength to get it a few inches off the floor. He strode quickly to where the constellation of Virgo was depicted on the floor, then closed his eyes again. Though she couldn’t read his thoughts, she knew he was recalling exactly where in the constellation the moon would be found at that moment.

This small action reminded her that he had a whole life, a history and knowledge, of which she had no real understanding. He’d been a sailor, an airship captain for the Russian Navy. There was so much to him she’d yet to know and explore.

He remained opaque, and she realized she wanted more. His thoughts, his feelings, the things he wished for in the depths of night.

False as you are, you’ve no right to want more from him.

But I do.

Opening his eyes again, he set the moon carving down in a specific part of Virgo.

For a moment, nothing happened. Disappointment hollowed her. She’d nearly convinced herself that they had solved the enigma, and were that much closer to freeing her parents.

Mikhail glanced toward her. She could have sworn that there was sympathy in his gaze. As though feeling her frustration and dismay. Of all the times to finally gain a measure of his compassion, she felt herself stretched too thin now, veering dangerously close to either sorrow or rage. His concern made her all the more vulnerable.

“Damn it,” she growled. Yet she wouldn’t let defeat claim her. “There has to be another way. Something we’re overlooking—”

The entire chamber shook. She braced her legs wide against the force of the vibrations, looking around wildly for their source. Mikhail already had his ether pistol in hand as he glanced about the stone room, his gaze sharp and ready for any threat.

There was a heavy grinding sound that shook the chamber even more. One of the large rocks that formed the wall slid to one side, then stopped moving. Revealing a dark space. Gas lamps flared to life inside, one by one, showing the space to be a small room.

Cautiously, she approached, Mikhail right beside her. They stepped across the threshold to investigate. The room was perfectly round, its domed ceiling covered with blue and gold tile work, representing the night sky. But what held her attention was the thing right in the center of the room.

A carved alabaster column stood waist-high. A richly embroidered cushion sat atop the column. And sitting on the cushion, gleaming brilliantly in the gas lamps’ glare, was the astrolabe.

S
LOWLY
, D
APHNE ADVANCED.
Part of her wanted to rush toward the astrolabe and snatch it up like a greedy child, this object that had taken every ounce of strength and mental agility to attain. Another part of her urged caution, and was, in fact, dubious that at last she and Mikhail had finally reached their objective.

The astrolabe itself was beautiful, an intricate device of highly decorated and shaped brass, and it shined beneath the lamplight like the eye of a god. It held a slight patina from age and use—it was as ancient as al-Zaman had said, several centuries old at the least. The Accademia had one in its collection, but she’d never seen it, never handled the device. Her hands hovered over the astrolabe, as though reluctant to touch it.

“Go on,” Mikhail urged. “It’s what we’re here for. No time for shyness.”

Her laugh was strained, and she rubbed her damp palms on her trousers. Then, warily, reached out and picked up the astrolabe. It was the size of a dinner plate, with a ring at the top, which she used to lift it up. Though it wasn’t heavy, it had a satisfying weight, as though dense with use and importance. She imagined the man who’d fashioned it hundreds of years earlier, employing all the subtle and advanced skill of his culture to create this gracefully complicated implement. Whole empires had been forged using a device such as this. Her mind fairly spun with all the implications.

“I have no idea how to use one of these,” she admitted.

“I’ll give you a lesson,” he answered. “Later. Now, we need to get the hell out of here.”

Very true. She gently tucked the astrolabe into her satchel, wishing she’d had the foresight to carry a scarf or something that might cushion it.

Once it had been safely stowed, they left the small room and quickly strode across the larger chamber, with its carved mechanical floor. Reaching the doorway at the other end, they were confronted once again by the flight of stairs and its yawning abyss.

“Oh, God,” she muttered. “We have to do this again.”

“But now we know how.” He grinned, and she returned the cheeky smile. His audacity was contagious.

Mikhail had to jump farther to reach the tapestries, yet he moved with speed and strength. He moved fluidly, powerfully, leaping onto the torn tapestry and impelling it closer to her. She took a running jump and grasped his outstretched hand. Amazing how, in such a short amount of time, she’d come to know the feel of his hand clasping hers, and the surge of confidence it gave her.

They’d found their rhythm. It seemed instinctual now, as if they’d always known how to work and move together. She remembered Giovanni, a fellow professor at the Accademia. For all their shared interests, their similar backgrounds, she and Giovanni could never quite find a connection, a natural flow. Not like this, with Mikhail. As though they were two pieces of a machine that worked in deft harmony.

Yet one part of the machine was untrustworthy. He thought he knew the depths of her treachery, but he had no idea. Not truly.

He swung to the next tapestry, and she soon followed. In a matter of moments, they stood upon the other side of the chasm.