The Gilded Scarab (42 page)

I was on my way to get Ned.

Nothing else mattered.

T
HE
LAST
few yards were purgatory.

By the time I reached the ventilation shaft over the right storeroom, I had skinned knees and elbows to match my scraped hands. Not that it mattered. Like crossing the roofs, this was something that had to be done to get to Ned.

Ahead of me, a faint light shone up through the grille. They’d found lights from somewhere. Not strong—probably more brimstone flashlights. Perhaps brought by Daniel’s client, whoever he was, if he’d arrived. I had no idea how long I’d been inching along that damn shaft.

Every instinct shrieked at me to move, to make it as fast as I could, to hurry to get in that room and throttle the life out of Daniel Meredith. It was primeval, this need to find and protect the man I loved.

And every ounce of reason and intelligence had me slowing, cautiously reaching forward with my hands to pull myself another six inches, bending my lower legs until my feet were flat on the ceiling and straightening my legs again convulsively, pushing carefully to help slide me along. I kept it slow, as quiet as I could do it. Ned’s life depended on the surprise I’d give Daniel when I dropped in on them. Literally dropped in.

Brennan’s voice in my earpiece. “Two men went inside before we could get there. They came down the northwest stair. I’d guess from the cars Mrs. Somers saw…. Two down here near the door. Probably more at the top of the stairs. You in place, Sam?”

“Almost there.” Sam’s voice was little more than a faint breath.

He wasn’t the only one. I was right there.

I turned my head and put my ear against the grille. Voices. Distorted a little by the ventilation shaft, but unmistakably Ned and Daniel. Someone else there too. Impossible to get the tones of voice, the emotions with the distortion, but Ned was there. He was still there.

And now came the worst part. I had to move the grille out of the way, and not be heard, and I had to do it at arms’ length. I wouldn’t be able to maneuver the grille past my head and shoulders—I had to lift it straight up, hold it steady, and then inch forward to get it into the shaft ahead of me, out of the way. Get this wrong, and it would be disastrous. It could be fatal.

“Taking the two outside,” said Brennan. “One unit’s heading up the stairs to take them and secure the vehicles.”

I flexed my fingers and dug them into the spaces between the metal slats, holding it with a fingertip death grip. I lifted the grille. Slowly. Oh so slowly.

My grip tightened. My fingers cramped, and still I couldn’t let it go. I bent my legs as far as they’d go, pressing my feet against the shaft roof, and pushed again.

Slow.

Slow and soft. Take it slow. Slow…. Slow….

When my face was over the hole where the grille had been, I lowered my arms, still keeping my elbows locked, lowering from the shoulder. As soon as the grille was resting on the shaft on the other side of the vent, I could release it, biting my lip as the blood rushed back into my fingers. I shuffled back a foot, keeping as quiet as I could.

“Sam?” asked Brennan.

Another breath from Sam. “In place.”

And from me: “Here.”

Echoed by the Gallowglass.

Over to the right of me, Sam and the Gallowglass would have to carry out the same maneuver with the grille. I hoped to God neither of them botched it. Sam probably wouldn’t, but I didn’t have the same faith in aristocrats. And if it all went badly, I needed to have my pistol where I could use it.

There really wasn’t much room in that damned shaft. I had to flatten my belly down hard and rotate my right shoulder forward to twist my arm enough to get my hand behind my back and close it around the butt of my pistol. Another wriggle to slowly, slowly, bring the arm back into place. I rolled onto my left side, brought my arm forward, and rolled back on my belly.

Hell, I was never this supple when I was younger and slender as a reed. Desperation really did give the Lancaster luck an extra edge.

Finally, I dared to inch forward again and look down into the room.

I looked directly down at one of the long trestle tables, the top of it covered with shadowy objects. There was indeed a little more light in the room than when Sam had tried to see into it using the kinetoscope camera, but it was still a place of shadows. Someone held a brimstone flashlight or two, holding them steady, training them on a spot in the middle of the room.

You know how a tortoise inches its head out of the shell, drops it between its shoulders, and cranes its neck? I did that. Just a tiny amount to snatch a glimpse of the room, rolling down a minute trifle over the edge of the vent. Yes, it was a risk. But a calculated one.

Ned sat on a stool, Daniel behind him holding a pistol on him. Two men stood to one side, one holding a brimstone in each hand, the other stooping over a packing case, a shabti in his hand. He dropped it in and straightened. A third man stood in the shadows.

The air smelled of mummy dust and cigarillo smoke.

“That’s it,” the man in the shadows said. I’d heard his voice before somewhere. I wasn’t certain where. “Any more?”

“The mask, of course,” Daniel said.

Ned leapt off the stool. “Daniel, you can’t! If you open that sealed case, you’ll damage the mummy! You can’t do that.”

“Oh please.” The third man came forward out of the shadows. “The gold all melts, and I don’t give a damn about the mummy. Get the mask, Meredith.”

Josiah Stone.

Josiah bloody Stone. I’d almost forgotten about him, but here he was.

Stone.

“What?” Daniel froze where he stood. “What do you mean, it all melts?”

Stone lifted one shoulder in an inelegant shrug. “What I said.” His mouth twitched into the unconvincing smile I’d last seen months ago, in the chophouse on New Oxford Street. “Gold is gold.”

“But—”

“What does it matter?”

“It matters because these are historical artifacts! They’re important! You can’t destroy them!”

“Pfft,” Stone said, and the strained smile loosened up. It was the first genuine smile I’d seen on him. The bastard was enjoying this, lording it over Daniel. Arrogance. The man probably sweated arrogance.

Like pride, it came before a fall.

“But you’re a collector. You told me you’re a collector.” Daniel took a step back. His focus was on Stone now, and the gun he held on Ned wavered and dropped. “You don’t want this for your own collection?”

Stone huffed out a chuckle. It was an obscene sound. “What collection? Don’t worry, we always find a use for gold.”

Daniel sounded bewildered. “But… but you wanted it. All of this was set up so you could get at it….”

“The gold’s an extra, Meredith. The gilt on the gingerbread.” And Stone laughed aloud. “Literally.”

“I don’t understand,” said Daniel in a quiet voice.

“I’m sure of it.” Stone took another step forward and removed the pistol from Daniel’s unresisting hand. “Get me that mummy mask. Now. I don’t have all night.”

“Corridor secure,” Brennan said in my earpiece. “Two down.”

I hadn’t heard a thing.

“On my mark only,” Sam whispered.

The man with the brimstones shone one on the transparent aluminum case housing the mummy, keeping the other trained on Ned. Daniel moved slowly, looking a little uncoordinated. He stumbled over his own feet.

“How did you arrange the power cut?” asked Stone. “It’s very effective at shutting down this part of the metropolis. It will make this very much easier to carry out.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Daniel said dully. He turned his head. His eyes were wet, glinting in the light of the brimstone. He rubbed at them.

Stone stiffened visibly. “Did you or did you not arrange for the power to go off?”

Daniel stared. “How on earth could I do that? It’s just a power cut.”

“You thrice-damned idiot!” Stone’s composure cracked for a moment. “Forget the damn mask.” He jerked his head toward the two men. “Wilkes, get that stuff upstairs and into the autocar. Wait for me there, and be ready to go.”

“Sir.” The man at the crate pulled down the lid and padlocked it, then manhandled it onto the sort of trolley used by a railway porter. He hauled it over to the door.

“Stairs secure all the way to the back door,” said Brennan. “One down. The autocars are both here, parked outside. Jenkins will secure them.”

“One more on his way out.” It was the Gallowglass, his tone as soft as Sam’s had been. “Leaves three and Ned.”

“I don’t understand.” Daniel’s shoulders slumped. He wrapped his arms around his body.

“If you didn’t put out the lights, then who the hell did? Did you warn Gallowglass?”

“Of course not!”

“I don’t like it. I don’t like it. You’re a fool, Meredith!”

I eased myself over the vent hole, braced with my left hand against one edge. The edge was sharp against my palm. I brought down the right, and my pistol, to clear the ceiling. More of me now hung into the room than I was strictly comfortable with. If Stone happened to look up from gloating over Daniel and Ned, I was very visible.

“I should have known better than to hire a useless academic. Still, you gave me the Gallowglass heir. Well done for that. Very well done.”

Ned said nothing, but he straightened up on the stool.

Stone glanced at the pistol. “Yours, Meredith?”

“Rafe Lancaster’s,” Daniel said, tone stupefied.

“Ah yes. Our brave aeronaut. One of your lovers, I believe?”

Daniel sputtered, choked, tried to speak.

“Oh please. I’ve been watching you for months, Meredith. I am aware of your… propensities, shall we say? You hide it very well, and it took me some considerable time to confirm it, but I don’t think I’m wrong there. And I certainly view your friends with some degree of suspicion about their own proclivities. Don’t you agree that would be wise, First Heir?”

Ned turned his face away and said nothing.

Stone laughed softly. “Oh yes. Very wise. I do hope, Meredith, you did as instructed and left Lancaster incapacitated in his beloved coffeehouse? I’ll deal with him later. It amuses me to dispose of him to add color to the story we shall spin. One of inverted passion and jealousy leading to a terrible tragedy, I think. Lancaster will add a touch of… how does
The Mikado
have it? A touch of artistic verisimilitude. Yes. That will do nicely. Captain Lancaster and anyone else in the coffeehouse will be added to your murderous tally.”

“What?”

“He’s going to kill us, Daniel,” Ned said savagely. “And then he’s going back to the coffeehouse to kill Rafe and Sam. How stupid are you?”

Daniel looked at Ned for the first time since I’d peered over the edge of the vent. “Wha—No! No. He promised you wouldn’t be hurt. This is about getting the treasures.” He turned back to Stone, throwing out his hands in supplication, perhaps. Or bewilderment. He wasn’t good at thinking on his feet. “That’s what you wanted! The artifacts—”

“He’s a House assassin.” Ned’s voice shook slightly. “A House assassin, you bloody fool! Which one? Pannifex? Archiator?”

“Let us say, someone who’s very fond of coffee.” Stone’s mouth twitched again into that nasty little smile.

Daniel was still struggling to catch up. “Kill us? You can’t mean that. You can’t—”

“Of course I can. But let’s finish our little tale of passion and jealousy, shall we? Winter’s growing friendship with Lancaster has driven you mad. You have killed the good captain in a fit of blind, jealous rage and brought Winter here to gloat over it. Not to mention to steal the artifacts, because you’re known to be green with envy over Winter’s finds, and you’re dishonest enough to sell to private collectors who won’t ask troublesome questions. There’s a struggle. Winter dies. A terrible accident. You’re overcome with remorse and shoot yourself. It sounds all very plausible. And, as my principals will hint, so very romantic in a tragic Romeo and Juliet kind of way. Romeo and Romeo, perhaps I should say.” Stone’s tone, until then lightly amused, hardened. He raised the pistol and waved it negligently in Ned’s direction. “Well, I suppose we should get this over with.”

At that instant, Sam Hawkins exploded feet first out of his air vent, yelling over the Marconi to Brennan, “Go! Go!” And to Ned: “Drop, Ned!”

His shot caught Stone in the shoulder before he landed. Sam fetched up right beside Ned, and he thrust out his free hand hard to send Daniel flying. Stone shrieked, a high, terrible scream. It gurgled in his throat. He fell away to one side, his jacket sleeve on fire, the pistol dropping from his hand. Ned threw himself off the stool and under the long trestle table, rolling into deep shadow. Another shape dropped out of a ceiling vent at the far end of the room.

Daniel staggered a step from the force of Sam’s push. Two steps. He kicked Stone’s pistol, catching his balance. He stooped and picked it up, then turned toward where Ned was.

The thug with the brimstones yelled and reached for his pistol, but I got him. Clean shot to the head, single pulse. He went down without a sound. Poleaxed. The brimstones clattered on the floor as the door burst open. Joe Brennan was the first one through.

Get out of the vent. Get out of it! Move, Lancaster! Hell, move!
The edge of the vent sliced into my palm as I slid out. I landed on the table, smashing clay vases to dust. Daniel swung the pistol toward me. His mouth was open, a perfect round
O
. The pistol shook in his hand.

Get your gun around! Get it around—

The shot from Daniel’s pistol slapped into the table a yard from me, obliterating an alabaster box and showering me with potsherds. The table collapsed as I fired back. I rolled onto the floor in a cascade of antiquities.

I wasn’t the only one to hit him, though I was the first. He screamed and staggered back, the pistol in his hand jerking up and discharging against the ceiling. He didn’t get the chance to fire again, or drop his gun. Phased plasma pulses arced across from the doorway, catching him in a crossfire.

He must have died before he knew what hit him. His heart had to have stopped dead with the shock. He hurtled backward under the impact of the plasma bolts, body crackling with white lightning, slamming up against the transparent box holding the mummy. Someone caught up a brimstone and turned it on him.