The Earl of Brass (The Ingenious Mechanical Devices Book 1) (14 page)

“To plunder, to slaughter, to steal, these things they misname empire; and where they make a wilderness, they call it peace.”

-Tacitus

The Archaeologist and the Hunter

“I know you were upset with that woman at your mother’s party, but you must admit it
is
dreadfully hot here,” Hadley groaned as she wiped her forehead with her already salt-encrusted handkerchief. After only half an hour of riding through the desert on a mule, she had abandoned her jacket and vest for fear of passing out from heat exhaustion.

“You’re lucky we didn’t come a month or two earlier. Sir Joshua wrote that even the workers who are native to the region were fainting from the heat,” Eilian called from his steed as they followed their guide through the arid landscape.

Since their departure from the airship in Jerusalem, they had taken an incredibly long steamer ride down the bumpy dirt road to the up-and-coming town of Beersheba, which stood in the middle of the desert with only a few sturdy buildings and real roads. Within moments of arriving in town, Yousef, one of the laborers from Sir Joshua’s dig, approached the travel-worn Englishmen with mules to guide them through the craterous desert. She had been told by Eilian, who conversed with the man in Arabic for several minutes, that they would arrive at the camp within an hour. After travelling for over an hour, Hadley wondered if the powdery beige and blue lunar landscape would ever end. For miles all she could see was the crumbly desert sand peppered with scraggly, low bushes and the occasional thorny acacia tree or ibex. As they crested the hill, her eyes fell on a sea of tents fluttering in the sweltering breeze beside a large, square hole carved into the earth. With a sigh of relief, her body sagged, bumping all the way down the gorge.

When the mules reached the bottom of the hill, every turbaned worker snapped to attention and two Englishmen came forward, though the shorter one shouted to the men to keep working. As Hadley realized everyone else was dressed in khaki or white, she suddenly felt very conspicuous in her bold-printed green vest and dark jacket. She hopped off the animal, donning her vest and jacket to hide anything that may have shifted under her corset during the long and bumpy journey before the men reached them.

“Lord Sorrell!” the dark-haired man called as he approached them with open arms and a wide grin that showed off his bright, white teeth. As he grew closer, Hadley stopped working to free her luggage and realized he must have been Sir Joshua Peregrine. He had been the one to yell at the workers upon their arrival, but the archaeologist’s identity was confirmed by his silken, jet hair and sun-kissed skin, which had darkened to a rich brown after months in the desert sun, and strong English cheekbones. Despite being over forty, Sir Joshua appeared youthful in his white seersucker suit with only a few lines around his eyes and strands of grey in his thick hair to give away his true age. “Eilian, it’s delightful to see you again.”

Sir Joshua reached for Eilian’s hand to shake it, forgetting his injury, but with a quick motion, he switched hands and clasped his left instead. “How is the dig going, Joshua?”

“Good, good. Is this the artist friend you wrote about?” he asked as he glanced over Eilian’s shoulder only to find an overdressed gentleman with red cheeks and sweat-flattened hair struggling with a trunk on the back of the braying mule. The man was short but well-proportioned with delicate features that contrasted with the rugged nobleman.

“Oh, yes.” He motioned for him to come over. “This is Mr. Henry Fox.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sir Joshua,” Henry greeted with a smile as he shook Joshua’s hand firmly as he had practiced on the dirigible. “Eilian has told me only good things about you.”

The moment Henry returned to dislodging his trunk from the side of the mule, Sir Joshua, muttered under his breath, “Did you take out an ad for an artist? He doesn’t exactly seem like the outdoorsy type you are usually friends with.”

“Unhook the belt, Henry,” Eilian called to his companion before turning back to Joshua Peregrine. “Actually, I met him at the British Museum. He was sketching the building’s façade, and I was impressed. I asked him if he had a portfolio because I had a possible job for him. Henry has never been overseas, so he jumped at the chance to go with. Do not be too hard on him.”

“I will try not to, but
he
is a different story,” Sir Joshua replied as he nodded toward the massive black-bearded man who hung a few yards behind, picking through a box of relics with paw-like hands.

“Who is he?”

The baronet rolled his dark green eyes. “Edmund Barrister, a new major shareholder of our export business. He decided that he needed to come poking around to see how his money was being spent. Mr. Barrister is a dung-fly with a bull’s temperament if you ask me. Supposedly, he made a fortune exporting ivory along with precious stones and metal from Africa, and from what I have heard, he’s a big game hunter. He even personally killed some of the elephants for their tusks. Now, all he does is terrorize my workers, criticize my leadership, and ask me when
I
am going to find something of value. He acts as if this whole excavation is pointless unless we make a fortune off it. Here, let me introduce you two before he becomes cross again.”

Sir Joshua called for a few of the men to take the steamer trunks to Eilian and Henry’s tent, freeing the artist from his cumbersome task. Henry instinctively stood close to Lord Sorrell as the hulking man approached. His towering frame and ursine torso made even Eilian Sorrell appear petite. The manner in which the poacher arrogantly strutted across the site as if everyone and everything was beneath him put him on guard. His light eyes were emphasized by thick, overhanging brows and weather-beaten skin. When Mr. Barrister reached Sir Joshua’s side, Henry could feel the man’s amber gaze slicing through his form, sizing him up so wholly that he took a particularly deep breath to ensure his derringer was still safely perched between his bound breasts. If Eilian was as fearful as he was, he didn’t let on as he stood with his knees slightly bent and his hands tucked casually into his pockets.

“Mr. Barrister, this is Mr. Henry Fox, our new draftsman. Mr. Fox, this is Mr. Edmund Barrister, one of my investors.”

“It’s a pleasure to make your—” he stammered through clenched teeth as his hand was crushed in his enormous grip, “acquaintance.”

When Edmund finally released him, Henry glared at him, realizing by the subtle smirk and narrowing of his cat eyes that it had been done on purpose.

“And this is Lord Sorrell.”

“I hope you know,
Lord
Sorrell, your titles are useless out here, outside of the civilized world,” he remarked in a low, growling voice as he ran a paw over his dense but well manicured beard.

Without missing a beat, Eilian smiled and replied with his prosthetic hand proffered, “Lucky for me, I much prefer to be called Eilian.”

The hunter sneered at the metal hand in undisguised disgust. “Is this some sort of joke?”

“I wouldn’t refer to my prosthesis as a joke, but if you would prefer not to shake my hand, then I see no reason for you to do so, Mr. Barrister.” Eilian met Edmund’s eyes, holding his gaze until the massive man muttered something about going out to kill an ibex for dinner and lumbered back to the camp. “Have the workers found anything of interest, Joshua?”

As Sir Joshua opened his mouth, Barrister hollered over his shoulder, “Nothing of value, only a bunch of broken pots and rubbish.”

“What kind?” Eilian deliberately asked while facing the archaeologist and giving the other man his back.

“Amphorae and bowls for the most part.” He lowered his voice. “We also found some Roman coins, but they have apparently gone missing.”

“Who do you think did it?” Henry yawned, the day’s excitement washing over him as a wave of lassitude.

“I have my suspicions. My men may be poor, but they would not steal from me. Eilian, I was hoping you and Henry could inventory everything and make some quick sketches as proof in case anything else should
go missing
.”

He nodded. “Henry and I will get right on it. I just want to introduce him to the men first and get our trunks unpacked.”

“Don’t be silly. I wasn’t expecting you to start today,” Sir Joshua chuckled as he checked his pocket watch. “The men are due for a break anyway. Why not introduce Henry now, and then we can have a little tea before you turn in for a rest? I know you have had a very long day. Look at poor Henry. He cannot keep his eyes open.”

“Sorry, the heat makes me drowsy,” he replied, mopping his forehead again with his now crunchy silk handkerchief. “That and travel. Sadly, my constitution isn’t accustomed to either one.”

“Within a week, my boy, you will be as accustomed to it as one of the men, I assure you.”

Henry’s polished black boots dulled with each step as he kicked up chalky flakes of stone while following Eilian to the pit. As they drew closer, the occasional
keffiyeh
bobbed above the lip along with the gleaming edge of a pickax before it dipped back down with a thump. Eilian easily hopped down into the excavation and was greeted by the group of men. A small cheer erupted from the eight workers as they dropped their shovels and picks and called out his name, each embracing him in turn. Henry lowered his body into the pit. His thin legs flailed as he struggled to reach the bottom unassisted. He wiped his dusty hands on his smeared trousers and watched with a smile as Eilian and the men conversed in Arabic so rapidly that what little he had learned on the dirigible was absolutely useless. The cheers of glee soon dissolved into solemn sympathy as they gestured toward his metal hand. With a grin, the explorer rolled his sleeve up to the shoulder and explained to them his entire ordeal. Their soft, dark eyes lingered on the springs and metal of the prosthesis devoid of disgust or apprehension. Their faces lit up as Eilian demonstrated how the mechanism opened and closed without any levers or switches. After a few minutes of conversing about their families and wives, Eilian raised his eyes to see Henry standing near the wall, slightly sandy but smiling patiently with his head cocked to the side.

“This is my friend, Henry Fox,” he explained in Arabic as he motioned for him to come over. “He doesn’t know much Arabic, so please be patient with him and correct his pronunciation if necessary. He told me he won’t be offended.”

The group nodded, and once Mr. Fox was at his side, Eilian continued in English, “Henry, this is Fadil and his brother Jamil, you can tell because they have the same chin. The tall one is Nasir, the short man beside him is Said, and the young one is Ibraheem. The two men with the lovely beards are Daud and Yousef, who you met earlier, and finally, the man with the cleft lip is Mohammed.”

Hesitantly and with measured cadence, the artist greeted respectfully, “
Is salām ‘alaykum, fursa sa’ida
.”

“Not bad,” Nasir responded in English with a nod. “Pronunciation needs work.”

Henry laughed along with the men. “
Shukrān
, Nasir.”

Ibraheem spouted something in Arabic that he couldn’t understand, the boy’s juvenile voice cracking with a high note.

“What did he say?”

“He says he likes the color of your hair. Let’s go find Sir Joshua. We have kept the men from their break long enough.”

Using his good arm for leverage, Eilian effortlessly climbed out of the hole, but when he looked back, Henry was still trying to claw his way out until finally one of the men pushed him up by the boot. The unexpected aid made him to land face-first into the dust, but he scrambled to his feet and brushed himself off. From across the camp, Edmund Barrister watched as Eilian Sorrell attentively wiped Henry’s smudged face with the side of his sleeve before leading him to Sir Joshua’s tent with his mechanical arm draped around his shoulders. When they turned, he silently crept behind them, noting how the artist leaned into the viscount slightly with a smile as the taller man opened the flap of the tent for him. The hunter lingered outside the tent until he was certain they had settled in before throwing open the door with thick, knit brows and artificial outrage.

“The men are on break again! Do you pay them to drink tea?” he badgered as Joshua poured coffee from a French press into several porcelain cups.

“As I explained to you last week, keeping your workers happy and well-fed makes them not only more loyal but more productive. Treating them like prisoners doing hard labor doesn’t make them work any harder.” After pouring another cup for Mr. Barrister, Sir Joshua sat in his desk chair and allowed a playful grin to spread across his lips. “Eilian, a little birdie told me that you have a lady friend.”

“Who— who told you?” he stammered, feeling Henry stiffen with alarm beside him.

“I ran into Lord Newcastle when I was in Jerusalem last month, and he told me your mother sent him a letter saying how happy she was to hear that you have taken an interest in a woman living in London. Of course she was worried about scandal since she has no idea who the woman is or if she is properly supervised, but her desire for grandchildren seems to outweigh her apprehension.”

“If you happen to run into my uncle again, you can assure him that the woman is not only virtuous but brilliant and nothing improper is going on between us.” He shook his head. “I never expected my uncle to be such a gossip. How did my mother find out? I have not spoken to her in weeks.”