Hatshepsut's Collar (The Artifact Hunters #2) (19 page)

It’s damn lonely on the moral high ground.

A caress of longing washed over her, followed by a shot of mirth at her growing frustration. She concentrated on shutting off the valve connecting them. She was learning she could control how much she allowed him to sense, but it took effort to close the door Nefertiti’s Heart created between them. When she was tired or distracted, it flung itself wide open once more. Infuriatingly, Nate exhibited far more control over the bond.

She dressed quickly and found her way to the small bridge, opposite the mess they had occupied the previous night. Sun streamed into the light and airy space. A crewman stood at the helm, piloting the airship through the endless blue of the sky. His hands rested on a brass wheel nearly two feet in diameter, the focal piece of the compact, but efficient bridge. Two other crewmen attended a bank of dials, gauges, and levers, occasionally calling out readings to one another as they ensured the smooth running of the Hellcat.

A wide window, angled toward the ground, took up the entire front of the room. A polished rail ran along the length of the glass, and a ledge stretched between it and the window, wide enough for charts, books, or other small objects.

Loki and Nate stood at the window; both dressed in pirate casual of dark breeches, knee high boots, and open-throated linen shirts. Loki had one hand on the rail, his other clutching a mug of steaming coffee. He was engaged in conversation with Nate, who held down a chart on the ledge.

As Cara approached, Loki stuck out his arm and offered the coffee to her. “Nate said you were awake and you’d be wanting one of these.”

She took the mug, flicked her gaze to her errant husband, and then inhaled deeply before taking a sip.
Maybe the pesky bond has some use after all.

“He also says you missed his early morning wake up call.” Loki added, causing Cara to splutter into her coffee. “One day you’ll have to tell me how he knew.” He cast a glance between the two of them, but could only guess at the depth of their connection.

“I thought you two were discussing flight plans, not what I am wanting, or missing.” She couldn’t be cross at Loki when he could rustle up coffee this good. She stared out the large window into infinite blue of varying shades. Fluffy white clouds patted the airship as she glided through their midst. Below, the deeper blue of the ocean swirled and tossed up foamy peaks where waves collided.

She tore her eyes from the view outside and moved closer to see the map they studied. Nate reached out a hand and stroked the nape of her neck. She pretended not to notice while she drank her coffee and her gaze roamed the vastness of Russia. Endless forests of green stretched across much of the country, up to the Arctic Circle, and over to the Pacific Ocean. She wondered where they were bound after St. Petersburg.

He rolled up the chart they had been studying. “We’ll be landing tomorrow. Did you pack anything from that modiste I’m paying through the nose for?”

Cara nodded over her coffee. “Yes, I sent Loki a trunk before we rescued you from the Tower. Why?” She glanced down at her corset, breeches, and boots; it was how she normally dressed by preference.

He walked to the centre square island and pulled open a long, narrow drawer. Numerous rolled maps rested tightly against one another. Nate tucked away the one in his hand and bumped the drawer closed. “I’m introducing my viscountess to the Imperial Russian court, and I need you to dress the part.”

“I’m sure I can rustle up something that won’t make me look like a serf. Anyway, what’s the plan? You do have a plan, don’t you?” She flicked her eyes from Loki to Nate, sure one of them plotted something.

Miguel chose that moment to bounce onto the bridge, looking as eager and awake as a Labrador puppy who heard the word
walkies
. Cara wished she were an eighteen year old on the biggest adventure of her lifetime. Instead, she was trying to save her husband’s arse and her neck.

Miguel brought with him a plate of buttered toast, which he offered on an outstretched palm to Cara. She chewed on her breakfast while waiting for Nate to spill his plans for countering Nolton’s accusation and what he intended to do with three dragon eggs.

Nate’s eyes were the clear blue of the sky today, concealing nothing for once. He leaned against the centre island, his hands lightly curling on the rolled edge. “I have a contact with the Russian court, Count Nikolai Dushov.”

“And why will he be able to help?” She finished the first piece of toast and swiped a second off the delicate plate.

“Because Nikolai is Tsar Alexander’s spy master, and my friend.”

She took another sip of coffee and regarded Nate from beneath her lashes. “He’ll be handy then.”

“I’m hoping Nikolai will be able to help me uncover who Nolton is dealing with and gather sufficient evidence to expose his accusation as a lie.” Nate crossed his arms over his chest, a smile lurking on one end of his lips. “I need you to whisper sweet nothings in the right ears as a distraction.”

Cara snorted. “Seduction’s not my forte.”

“Don’t undersell yourself,” Loki jumped in to the conversation. “You did a good distraction job last week. It’s all sleight of hand, remember?”

She ignored him, unwilling to remind Nate how she rode Loki’s lap. “What will happen to the dragon eggs?”

“I’m going to ensure no one will ever imprison them. The situation with Victoria can wait until the eggs are safe in their new home. I have another contact who lives deep in Siberia. Loki and Miguel are going to find Sergei, the dragon master. He goes to St. Petersburg for supplies at the start of autumn. We should be able to catch him.”

“Dragon master?” Cara stared at her coffee, wishing there was something stronger than caffeine lurking in the bottom of the mug. “As in, he masters the dragons?” She wanted to laugh, but knew he was serious, despite how farcical the title sounded, like something from a novel.

The twitch turned into a full blown smile. “I thought you wanted all the details?”

“I’m not so sure now. We keep detouring off into fantasy land. Now I understand how poor Helene went off the deep end after knowing your family for twenty years.” Helene, Countess de Sal, had parted company with sanity many years previously. Cara still couldn’t decide if the syphilis took the woman’s mind or the constant exposure to the Lyons family machinations. She drained her coffee cup and searched the deck for the rest of the pot. She needed more than one mug to kick start her brain.

Loki snapped his fingers at one of the crewmen. He left his spot at the monitoring systems and walked to wall where a steel plate had a handle in the middle. He pulled, and the plate turned into a square coffee pot, cunningly fitted into the surrounding machinery. A second, and much smaller, handle turned into a milk pot and sugar bowl. He walked to Cara and topped up her mug.

“It’s a coffee machine,” he explained, waving the pot to indicate the empty slot in the wall. With the pot removed, she could see a short, wide funnel pointing downward. “It has beans inside and a water supply, and makes the coffee itself. Keeps the men awake during the night shifts and saves going up and down the stairs with a fresh pot all the time.”

Cara watched, fascinated, as he returned the pot to its waiting docking bay. “Ingenious,” she murmured, adding milk and sugar to the mug from the small rectangular containers. Fully caffeinated once more, she returned her attention to Nate.

“Loki will find Miguel useful in their search of the taverns.”

Miguel beamed. “I speak a bit of Russian. It will be rusty, but I remember enough for us to ask around about Sergei.”

Cara turned wide, curious eyes on Miguel. “You speak Russian?”

He held up his finger and thumb a smidgen apart. “Only about this much.”

She swung her head back to Nate. “Now will you tell me where you found him?”

“On an airship, unconscious, bound, and stuffed in a crate on its way to a Turkish brothel.” He had a way of delivering the maximum information with the minimum number of words.

She let the pertinent facts settle before staring at Miguel. “How old were you?”

“Thirteen.” A shadow passed over his face and his smile faltered; the first time she had seen the lad less than cheerful and full of life.

She drew in a deep sigh; Nate seemed to make a habit of rescuing trapped creatures. She moved the conversation along before he dwelled on unpleasant memories and how he ended up in a crate. “And you can speak Russian, why?”

The smile came back. “My mother was an opera singer. Most years we spent a season in St. Petersburg. Until the winter she died.”

“Well, we both seem to have ended up as part of the Lyons family, and since you kind of look like me, I’m going to treat you like a younger brother.” With those words, she cuffed him on the head.

“Hey!” he protested. “What was that for?”

“I’m sure you’ve done something to deserve it.”

Loki interrupted. “Why don’t you go downstairs lad? The crewmen are doing manoeuvres with the weapons slings. You’ll enjoy it.”

The smile shot across Miguel’s face and he turned a questioning look to Nate.

“Off you go,” his master dismissed him.

With a wave to Cara, he bounded from the room to play with the numerous armaments the Hellcat carried below. With Miguel occupied, she turned her mind to other problems.

“I need to send an aethergram,” she announced.

Nate reached under the end of the island and pulled out a stool. It was attached on a steel slider and tucked into the side when not needed. Cara dropped herself onto the thick leather padded top. Standing behind her, Nate opened a smaller drawer on her left, revealing pens and paper.

“Who to?” he enquired.

“Fraser.”

Nate’s body stiffened behind her. Fraser was an inspector with Her Majesty’s Enforcers and barely concealed his loathing and distrust of Nate. They shared a deep history, and she had yet to burrow to the bottom of that story.

“I intend to set him to sniffing around Nolton,” she explained. “He owes me. I may as well use him and see what he can dig up.”

He moved his hands up her arms, resting on her shoulders. “He hates me, remember?” He breathed against her ear.

“Exactly, imagine his glee at investigating these charges. He would love to find something against you.” She teased him to ease the tension pulsing through him at the thought of her tangling with the charming inspector.

“Some wife you are, you seem determined to embrace widowhood.” He brushed a kiss against the base of her neck.

“It wouldn’t be for long.” She reminded him they were joined; he would only predecease her by seconds, hardly enough time to play the merry widow. She tapped her pencil against the paper, trying to compose a short message to encompass the task she wanted Fraser to undertake.

She wrote a sentence, scratched it out, and then started again. The message would be relayed through the main Enforcer’s communications centre, before reaching Fraser. She needed the phrasing to be subtle, but sufficient for him to understand his debt was called up.

Don’t leave me broken hearted. Is it true? Cara.

The aethergram ruled its own small corner of the bridge. The metal casing screwed to the bench, so the expensive machine didn’t go flying, literally, if the craft moved suddenly. A metal basket next to it collected the ticker tape it occasionally spat out. She set the frequency dial to the open channel for Enforcer’s Headquarters. Then she pulled out the skeletal keyboard and typed in her short message before hitting the transmit lever. The machine vibrated as it coded her words and sent them via the unseen medium surrounding them all, the aether.

he maid dropped the last few shards of porcelain into her bucket and wordlessly sank into a deep curtsey before edging backward from the room. Her ample, black wool clad buttocks pushed the door open, so she could squeeze through. Victoria never moved from her rigid pose in front of the window.