Sky Pirates (4 page)

“I’d say that you won the battle to the death, and so you are within your rights to claim the title. I never cared for de Montague much, but I will reserve judgment on the rest, if you don’t mind. As they say, rather the devil you know than the one you don’t,” said Lewis.

“Fair enough.” Patrice inclined his head. It would take a little time for them to come around, but he did not mind. He could wait. It would not take long for them to support him, not when they understood what his plans for the Council were.

He turned to the parchment, which lay on the table before him. It was an agenda of points that de Montague had intended to discuss at the meeting.

“Gentlemen, shall we continue? Many of you have traveled far for this gathering and I am sure you are all eager to conclude the business.” He tore the agenda in half and threw it into the fireplace beside him. The pages burst into flame and reduced to charred black fragments in moments.

“First order of business: I would propose that we finally put an end to the perpetual problem of our current—and rather wayward—Oracle. Indulging her has wasted enough of our time, and I move that she should be brought to order without delay. The time to restore the power of the Council has come,” he said.

The other warlocks looked on with varying degrees of hesitation. What Patrice was proposing was both grim and distasteful.

“Motion seconded,” said Master Chen, rubbing his hands together.

“Now, allow me to fill you in on the plans I have.” Patrice sat forward as he started to outline his vision for the future.

As he spoke, the other warlocks nodded in agreement. A few of them even smiled and, for the first time since he entered the building, Patrice allowed himself to relax. Tonight he had won a crucial victory. If there was one thing that could always be relied upon, it was the greed of men. And right now their desire for power would be the means with which he would retain control.

KHARTOUM

Heat shimmered off the clay-brick houses and dusty streets of the ancient city of Khartoum. Even in late October, the sun was relentless. It turned everything below hot and dusty.

Here the River Nile split the city in two, before winding its way northward to Egypt and the Mediterranean Sea beyond. Elle and Dr. Bell strolled through the central marketplace, which lay just south of the river. They were waiting for the departure time of Elle’s ship, the
Water Lily
, to arrive.

Before them the market spread out in a grid of organized chaos. The alleyways and stalls were covered with vast swaths of matting made from woven grass. In fact, wooden planks, grass mats and canvas seemed to cover every possible space between the wooden shanty roofs, in an attempt to shield the place from the blistering sun.

Out of the sun, the air was surprisingly cool, and it was here, beneath the mottled shade, that the merchants of Khartoum sold their wares. Vegetables, spices and finely woven cotton, printed in bright colors, bloomed against the taupe of the clay-brick buildings.

Up ahead, a goatherd whistled fiercely and waved the stick that he used to herd his flock, eliciting sharp words from a nearby stallholder who was worried about the towering pyramid of tomatoes he had erected. Elle noticed
that the goatherd had little hooves instead of feet. A faun herding goats, she thought. How quaint.

Dr. Bell flinched at the goatherd’s whistle and the sudden movement of the goats around her. “Oh my! I do say that I am still rather jumpy after our narrow escape.” The older woman’s eyes grew misty. “I honestly don’t want to think about what would have happened if it wasn’t for your timely intervention, Lady Greychester.”

“Oh, please don’t say anything more. It was all in a day’s work,” Elle said with feigned bravado. She didn’t want to admit it, but the force of the sandstorm she had created had scared her. It had taken the better part of a day for the wind to die down and the dust to settle enough before they could leave the fort. When the troops finally managed to dig away the sand that blocked the heavy gates, the Bedouin guides had been sent out to search for survivors. They came back with word of thirteen bodies as well as their beasts. All had suffocated in the thick dust.

Elle shuddered at the thought of the carnage she had wrought. The bandits may have been bad people planning to kill Dr. Bell, but such destruction could hardly be justified.

“I must admit that I will be rather grateful to be safely back in the air again,” she said. “I do prefer my charters to be a little less confrontational than this one. No offense,” she added quickly.

The older woman smiled at Elle. “None taken, my dear. Fighting off robbers is something I’ve had to contend with as long as I can remember. The moment they see a woman, they immediately assume she’s an easy target. You just cannot trust anyone these days.” She sighed. “Things were easier when my husband was still alive.”

“You were married?” Elle said.

“Oh yes. My husband was also an archaeologist and
we spent many happy years exploring digs in far-flung places.” Dr. Bell’s kindly expression grew wistful. “My poor Alfred caught a fever in the Congo. We buried him in the jungle. My greatest regret is that I am unable to go there to visit his grave.”

“I am so sorry,” Elle said. She had to swallow down the awkward lump that had suddenly formed in her throat.

“Never mind. It was many years ago. Although I still miss him every day. He was the love of my life, that man.” Dr. Bell patted Elle’s arm. “I am happy to say that all the artifacts made it to the fort in one piece, notwithstanding our mad dash across the desert. Human greed is such a terrible thing.” She shrugged. “I wish they would understand that my work is not about seeking treasure and riches. It’s about studying and preserving history for generations to come.”

Elle felt a surge of compassion for Dr. Bell. She suddenly imagined her as a young woman, exploring the world with her husband at her side. The image these thoughts conjured up cut deep, for Dr. Bell’s story was not entirely different from her own.

With great effort, Elle disentangled herself from such maudlin reflection. She pointed east, toward the other side of the marketplace where the airfield lay. From where they were standing, Elle and Dr. Bell could see just the tops of the moored airships and dirigibles as they glinted in the hot sun.

“They should have finished loading the cargo by now, I would have thought. Lieutenant Crosby has assured me that the crates would be kept under the supervision of armed guards at all times. Since they were bound for the British Museum, this is a matter involving the Empire so we have their full support. That is lovely, isn’t it?” Dr. Bell said.

“Well, then I suggest that we go and make sure they don’t drop anything,” Elle said.

“Good call.” Dr. Bell leaned forward meaningfully. “I have some extraordinarily well-preserved pots which I really would like to see reach their destination in one piece.”

“I’ve never lost a shipment yet. Knock on wood,” Elle said. She tapped her knuckles against a wooden beam that held up an awning. This made the canvas shake, which in turn elicited an anxious look from the stallholder who was watching the dust sift down on the pairs of shoes laid out on the table before them.

Elle held up an apologetic hand.

“Splendid!” said Dr Bell, ignoring the stallholder. “Then I say lead the way, Lady Greychester.”

Khartoum had a large strategic military airfield that lay beside the barracks and rifle ranges to the east of the city. The British had built it about fifty years ago in order to accommodate supply ships during the wars that had ravaged this land for more than a few decades. But, with the Empire shrinking, orders had been given for the armed forces to withdraw from the region, so in recent years permission for the use of the airfield by passenger ships and cargo vessels had become more common. The presence of soldiers in uniform was still very much in evidence though. There was no forgetting that this was a place where people died easily, if they weren’t careful.

The smell of roasting meat, spices and wood smoke greeted them around the next corner. This part of the market was busier and people thronged around food stalls as they walked through the narrow alleys.

Elle checked her leather holdall, which she wore slung across her body. The leather was worn now and it molded itself around her in the way that leather did when in constant use. Marsh had bought the holdall for
her in Florence on their honeymoon—in a time that seemed like more than a lifetime ago now.

Marsh.

Elle stopped in the middle of the pathway and blinked.

She could have sworn she had just seen the shape of a tall man in a carriage cloak and top hat disappear round the corner of one of the stalls.

“What is it?” said Dr. Bell, suddenly concerned.

Elle shook her head. “Did you see him? The tall man in the top hat?”

Dr. Bell frowned and peered into the crowd. “I don’t think so,” she said. “You don’t see many top hats around these parts. Pith helmets, however, are a different matter.” She rapped on her own with her knuckles.

Elle scanned the crowds before them. Dr. Bell was right. For the most part, people were dressed in traditional cottons and linens. Here and there the ubiquitous khaki jacket of a soldier broke the pattern. For the most part, everyday life went on in this place as it had done for centuries.

Elle strode along and peered down the alley, but it was empty. “I thought I recognized someone in the crowd,” she said. “I’m sorry, it’s my mistake. The heat must be getting to me.”

“Never mind. I see people I think I recognize all the time. It comes from spending one’s life traveling the world.” Dr. Bell patted her arm reassuringly.

Elle pressed her lips together and nodded. “Probably just my imagination. Let’s get to the airfield, shall we?”

She never stopped looking for him. Not while she was awake, and not during the hours of slumber. But try as she might, and even with all her powers, he remained missing. As she walked, Elle silenced the tiny voice that kept nagging her; that he did not wish to be found; that her search was fruitless because he did not want to come back to her.

The
Water Lily
was waiting in her landing dock. Elle felt a great surge of affection as she caught sight of her ship. With all the tragedy and changes in recent times, it sometimes seemed as if the little freight dirigible was the only constant presence in her life. Seeing her ship was like coming home.

“Lady Greychester, she’s all loaded and ready to go,” said the docking agent who greeted them on the landing platform. He handed her the customary bundle of documents she would need to cross international airspace while carrying freight.

“Marvelous. We will be preparing for takeoff right away.” Elle smiled at the man. He was one of the many agents she now used. After everything she had been through with her erstwhile docking agent, Patrice Chevalier, it was certainly safer that way. In fact, it was better not to form close relationships with anyone, for that matter.

“Permission to come aboard?” Dr. Bell said smartly.

“Please, after you.” Elle gestured to the new hydraulic retractable staircase, which the
Water Lily
sported.

In recent months, Elle had thrown caution to the wind. She had started taking on all the charters no one else wanted. The more dangerous and difficult, the better. And she had done well, in the way that people who had nothing left to lose often did. As time passed, she had gained a reputation for specializing in the transport of rare and exotic freight. And because rare and exotic freight tended to be valuable, most of her charters involved flights where the owner wished to have the freight accompanied. This was a service she gladly provided, and as these small-freight charters were mostly the reserve of the extremely wealthy, Elle had invested in a few luxuries, such as retractable stairs for embarkation. She had even splashed out, in a manner of speaking. Her
brass and porcelain water closet, complete with automatic flushing system, had caused more than a few raised eyebrows—although she was sure that her clients were most grateful for this facility on longer flights.

“I have a berth to the port side if you’d care to rest along the way. Let me show you. It’s this way,” Elle said to Dr. Bell as she led her toward the cabin. “You are of course more than welcome to join me up in the cockpit.” She had found that most of her passengers were rather thrilled by the novelty of this. Elle did not mind the intrusion, for the company of the odd passenger or two sometimes made for a welcome diversion from the long lonely hours of flight.

“Wonderful,” said Dr. Bell. “Let me stow my things and I will join you for takeoff. If that’s in order, of course.” She gestured to the battered steamer trunk that had been left outside the little cabin.

“Absolutely.” Elle smiled at Dr. Bell. “I’ll be busy with the preflight checks. And if you need anything, I’ll be just on the other side of these.” Elle opened the new set of doors that separated the cockpit from the rest of the ship.

“Would you mind if I checked on the freight before we depart?” Dr. Bell asked.