Horizons of Deceit, Book 1 Page 17

  “We should hole you up,” Folkard said to Enderby. “Somewhere quiet, out of the way. That way I can have a proper look around, assess the true capabilities of this vessel. I may even attempt to get some sort of coded message to the Admiralty…”

  4.

  THE PARTY SADDLED up, preparing to ride. Bedford felt weighted down with the sheer amount of weaponry strapped to his person—two pistols on his hips, a shotgun on his shoulder and two bandoleers of shells across his chest. Mister Boon, who had stayed up much of the previous night enthralling the younger members of the tribe around the campfire with tales of London’s mechanical marvels and his own adventures as a spy, was decked out much the same. Thanks to his eloquence (and a surprising knack for silly voices) he had acquired quite a following among the children, who were grouped around him as he strode towards his horse, tugging on his trouser-legs and begging for one last tale.

  “Later, little ones! Later! Old Bert needs to go and find more stories to tell; I’ve already told you all of mine!” The babes whined and pouted until a broad-busted and smiling squaw ushered them away from the war party.

  The air was filled with the click of rifles being loaded and the gentle whinny and stamp of impatient hooves. There was Bedford, Annabelle, Boon, Wapi and six other braves. Geronimo, against a unanimous volley of protest, had insisted on accompanying them. The sacred place, now so desecrated by those hungry for power and bloodshed, must be evaluated and cleansed—there was no other Apache with the wisdom or the spiritual strength to do so, and he would not brook any argument.

  Wapi remained bitterly aloof after his previous altercation with Annabelle. He did not even dare to look her in the eye, and Bedford could sense the tension between them. Annabelle had not told him what had occurred, but the way she had stamped around the tepee and awoke him, he knew for sure that something was up. It was something that niggled him, certainly, but now was not the time for such discussions. His beloved had endured such mental anguish since arriving at the camp; he knew his fussing would neither be welcome nor helpful. To everybody else she would seem the same old Annabelle: frank, spirited and strong. But he noticed in her both a deflation and a new fortitude, as if the revelations of the previous night had drained parts of her resolve, but drastically bolstered others. He put his worries aside, told himself once more that now was not the time, and concentrated instead on helping her up into her saddle.

  Ingenious as it was, the prosthetic leg Annabelle had acquired after being shot by the sadistic criminal mastermind La Boeuf was not designed with horses in mind. She cussed in a shockingly unladylike manner and Bedford was forced to grasp her leg under her skirts and shove, receiving a face-full of thigh in the process.

  “I’m not a sack of potatoes!” she squealed.

  “More’s the pity,” muttered Bedford.

  “George Bedford!”

  “Sorry, dear.”

  He grunted and gave her one last shove, and she managed to hook her other leg around and settle, after a momentary wobble, into the saddle. Bedford stepped over to his horse, the reins being held by a younger brave of the tribe, and hopped up onto the grand beast’s back. Wapi turned around to face the group.

  “If we ride fast we will arrive in good time. Do not spare the horses, they are strong and have been well fed. If there…”

  “Shiwoye!” yelled a voice. “Shiiiiwoye!”

  With the exception of Wapi, the whole group tugged on their reins to bring their horses to bear on the source of the cry. It was Kai, belting barefoot towards them, looking as mad as all hell.

  “Shiwoye!” she yelled to Geronimo. “I’m coming, Shiwoye, I’m coming with you and Wapi and Yohana!”

  Geronimo looked down stoically from on high, adjusting his reins as the horse trotted forward. “I have told you, Kai,” he said softly. “You cannot. It is too dangerous for one as young as you.”

  “But I’ve been before! With you, with the other braves, I’ve been out in the desert lots!”

  “And each and every time you have come, we were sure there was no danger. Yet this time there is much danger, and this time you will not come.”

  “But…but…” she stammered. She looked up to Annabelle. “Yohana,” she said, and faltered, before seeming to make a decision that clicked suddenly in her own mind. “Mama. You’re my mama. Shiwoye Geronimo told me all about you, your adventures… I want to hear them all, and you’re my mama, so you have to listen to me!”

  Annabelle was struck dumb. This girl…this beautiful, precocious, stubborn little girl did not feel like her daughter. To Annabelle, she was just another child of the tribe, with no more familial connection than she would have with any of the other wild, fierce little youngsters here. Yet she could see her features in Kai’s soft face; even the way the little girl stood with her chin jutting out was a pose Annabelle knew she adopted when she was cross. And it was these tiny reminders that drew out hitherto unknown instincts in her, that knew she wanted to know and love this girl like no-one else could, to protect her. But these were weak stirrings of emotion as yet, and Annabelle, despite all evidence to the contrary, had not become a mother overnight.

  “You must stay, Kai. Your shiwoye is right; it’s too dangerous for you. And if I am one day to be your mother, your shi ma, then danger is something we must both avoid. It will happen, Kai, someday. I promise.”

  Sensing the finality in her voice, Kai made one last plea. She turned to Wapi, but he merely stared down at her without even saying a word.

  “Go back, Kai,” said Geronimo gravely. “Go back and pray that the spirits be with us in battle, and that the wind of the wolves drive us back safely.”

  Kai scrunched up her face in anger, turned on her heels and belted back towards the comfort of the camp.

  “We’ve wasted too much time,” said Wapi. He yanked on his reins, startling the horse, and viciously spurred it into a ferocious gallop. The other riders, mimicking his speed but not his anger, followed suit.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Green Gods

  1.

  HE WAS ARNAUD Fontaine! He knew he was Arnaud Fontaine. And he was having such a great time… Mon Dieu! Brandy didn’t have anything on this. His head was light, full to bursting with euphoria. His arms drifted at his sides like tethered balloons and everything, just everything, was so funny…

  They let him wander about a bit, which was nice… But why would he want to go any further? He had everything he needed right here. Right within his grasp! Well there, there…there was Garrecreux! His old mate Garrecreux, bent over some fusty old science or something, crushing up the lovely sparkly bits and well…being a scientist, because that’s what he did, old Garrecreux. They let him help out and he liked it when he helped, because then he felt helpful, and that made him happy. But he was pretty happy anyway. Life was a dream!

  And Coyne! Coyne was here, too. Arnaud loved Coyne. If it wasn’t for Coyne, he’d never be here in the first place. Merci, Coyne! Merci! Coyne didn’t seem to care, but Arnaud didn’t really care about that. Arnaud knew Coyne would talk to him if only he could! But he can’t, not where he is, poor Coyne, but it didn’t really matter. Arnaud knew Coyne loved him, too.

  And love! Speaking of love, here was Madame Moonsinge again, coming in, seeing how everything was getting on. It was very important Arnaud helped to get everything done, he knew that, because if he did it right he’d get cuddles and kisses, which he liked. If he did it wrong Madame Moonsinge would get mad, and if she did Arnaud would get not love but horrid hurts, and Madame would take all the fun away until he got all shivery and sad and horrid… He had to make Madame Moonsinge happy, because Madame Moonsinge said they haven’t got long left, and everything that Madame Moonsinge said was fine and dandy by him. It was! Yay!

  Arnaud was happy. Arnaud was content. Arnaud had been allowed a little rest, and so Arnaud decided he would go and sit outside the lab, in the big cave that—Shh!—is a big old secret from the world. He leaned back against a rock that he
knew was a rock but was really very soft and fluffy, like a pillow at home. And look at the cave! It’s oh so nice. In the middle of the cave, so Madame Moonsinge told him, there used to be a big crystal tree. Arnaud giggled at the thought of that, and the sound of the giggle made him giggle again. Trees aren’t made of crystal! That’s silly! Madame Moonsinge is right, though, he told himself in a telling-off voice. Madame Moonsinge is always right.

  The tree isn’t there any more. There’s a bit of it, a whatchacallit—a stump! Arnaud giggled again. Stump was such a funny word. There were all these little children and old women and old men and they were ever so careful when they chipped bits of stump—stump! Teehee!—away. They carried it so carefully to bring it up to Arnaud from the big, wide, cave. When they brought it he and his Best Friend Garrecreux would mix it up together into magic potions, and with those they will make the world a much better place! Much better! That’s what they tell him.

  But ooh, there’s angry voices from behind him and he knows he’s been naughty, Arnaud knows he must get back to work. Can’t disappoint!

  There’s no disappointing Madame Moonsinge!

  Arnaud loves Madame Moonsinge.

  Madame Moonsinge gave him kisses and the lovely green stuff.

  2.

  THE RIDERS POUNDED on, sending a torrent of red dust in their wake. The horses were not spared, relentlessly spurred onwards to their destination. Even Geronimo kept his head down low over his steed, his skill at riding and strength of purpose belying his seventy years of age. The vast, burnt topography of the Arizona landscape surrounded them, unbroken and daunting, lethal to the unwary despite its beauty. Wapi pointed ahead, indicating a hilly area that was barely a low, shallow hump on the horizon. Compared to the vivid, rusty sienna around them, this formation seemed to be composed of an entirely different mineral—it was a pale, jaundiced yellow, as if the rich iron pigment of the soil had been leached away, the bones of the rock left to bleach in the sun.

  Wapi’s indication was enough. All the riders whipped their reins down on the horses’ necks and lowered their bodies against the wind. The day was already half-old; the sun had begun its descent down the other side of the sky with a lazy impatience that reflected its ambivalence towards the affairs of mortal men. It would fall and set without caring if these riders reached their destination, and if the stories were to be believed, then the riders would be wise to arrive while light still remained to illuminate this dark and accursed place.

  3.

  AND YET AN unwanted rider followed them. A sneak, a thief who had cajoled a boy she had beaten into helping her onto a horse too big for her, a boy she had threatened to beat again should he breathe a word of her transgression. She was a rider who learned quick, who kept her mouth shut and her eyes wide open, had absorbed the skills of tracking and hunting and skinning without ever being given a word of instruction.

  The girl whose father did not deserve life, the daughter of a woman whose spirit had spanned the stars. She had been adopted by Geronimo but knew she did not fit, and in the eyes of Annabelle Bedford she had found that life she had always dreamed of, and so she left her old one in order to pursue it.

  4.

  NATHANIEL PACED FOLKARD’S office while Tally, who had pointed out that it was the height of rudeness not to enjoy a fine smoke with fine drink, had sat back in a maroon Chesterfield with a thick cigar he had purloined from a humidor on Folkard’s desk. Nathaniel had no patience with all this waiting, and had badgered a steward that he be granted an immediate audience with Admiral Sir Richard Vesey Hamilton, the current First Sea Lord and professional head of the Navy. If he had known how, he would have also insisted that some message be directed to the offices of Secret Service Bureau with a demand that whosoever called the shots in that clandestine faction should also attend. The true extent of the dangers they faced—on a personal, political and global scale—was only slowly coming to light, each possible trail seeming to end, literally and figuratively, in a frustrating stump. It was time for a true course of action to be decided.

  The steward returned within minutes to inform Nathaniel and Tally that such a meeting had already been scheduled for later that afternoon but, with the current situation and Nathaniel’s insistence holding considerable sway in the right circles, schedules had been cleared and it was due to commence momentarily. The two were led quickly through the corridors of the Admiralty to the State Room that lay at its heart. Here was a room reserved for the highest level meetings, the whispers within which could alter the fate of the world.

  Admiral Hamilton’s secretary, a studiously decorous and professional-looking man in a morning suit, nodded as he opened the grand double doors to the State Room. Inside this opulent space was a vast oval oak table with only two of its many seats occupied. Maps affixed to portable boards surrounded the far end of the table and a magnificently bright crystal chandelier hung low in the centre of the room.

  Admiral Hamilton sat forward in his seat, poring over a document. He was wearing a double-breasted naval tunic adorned with braided epaulettes and bright brass buttons, and as the door clicked softly behind Tally and Nathaniel he beckoned them wordlessly to join him. The pomp and ceremony of the admiral’s uniform totally overshadowed the appearance of the man who sat to his right, a man Nathaniel had never seen before. He was dressed in the attire of a clerk or accountant. He wore a dark, nondescript suit with an ash-coloured scarf wrapped around his neck. Roughly fifty years of age, his dark hair was thin and cropped close to his skull. His grey eyes were shadowed under his brow, a fact that did not seem to diminish their intelligence and attentiveness. The other features on his face seemed oddly out of proportion—too large a nose, an oddly-rounded chin, but the overall effect was not one of ugliness, but of the mundane.

  Tally stepped forward to take a seat but Nathaniel caught his arm—it would not do for them to sit with a man of such rank unless invited, and so they remained standing.

  “Good afternoon, Professor Stone. And this, I take it, is Mister Cahalleret?”

  “Indeed it is, sir.” said Tally, somewhat bashfully. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  The admiral smiled briefly at Tally’s nervousness, but the look was soon lost as he turned to more serious matters. Nathaniel noted that the other man had neither been introduced nor introduced himself; his purpose here as yet a mystery and therefore prosaically obvious. Probably best not to make Tally aware of this just yet, lest the Irishman attempt to box his ears in retribution for broken promises.

  “Gentlemen, the fact of the matter is that we have very little idea of the current state of play. Everything seems to be in confusion, threads dangling and disappearing almost as soon as they appear. I fear we are being played, to put it in frank terms, and are in a position of being permanently on the back foot.”

  “Which is why it is imperative,” said Nathaniel, his tone remaining respectful but bordering on a command, “that Sovereign be commissioned forthwith to take us to Calcutta. It is there, I believe, that the villains who set the Horseguard’s bomb are headed.”

  “And why is that?” asked the unnamed man quickly, his voice warm, precise and questioning.

  “Because they told me,” said Nathaniel simply.

  “Tell me exactly what happened in Dublin,” the man continued. “You may spare me the explosion and its upshot. I read the papers.”

  Nathaniel gritted his teeth momentarily. “We discovered a cavern under Phoenix Park. It had been mined, if my guess is correct, by the Russians, and was the provenance of the mysterious green residue that imbued the Horseguard’s bomb with such deadly power. We discovered a sample there, far larger, and it was this that was used an accelerant to destroy all evidence of the operation. The bomb was set by as distasteful a pair of blackguards as I have ever had the misfortune to meet.”

  “And who are these… villains?” asked Hamilton.

  “An inhuman brute and a degenerate narcissist with a penchant for gloating. They call themselv
es Potsdam and Klopstock. Beyond that I have no idea.”

  “Ever heard of them?” the admiral asked the mysterious man. He shook his head blankly and looked back down at the paper before him.

  “Look,” started Nathaniel, leaning down to quietly address the gentleman with the scarf. “I know who you’re here representing. That much is obvious. You must have some knowledge on the progress of Arnaud or Captain Folkard. And while we’re on it, what was the nature of the captain’s mysterious mission? I don’t appreciate being kept in the dark, you know. Who exactly are you? A figurehead? A messenger? You haven’t even told us your name.”

  The man looked up at Nathaniel and blinked slowly.

  “You can call me Tooler,” he said. “For now. As for your other requests, they are not without merit. We have heard nothing from any of your companions and must therefore assume the worst. However, seeing as you have mentioned Sovereign, allow me to offer you some small relief. It is currently en route to London, after which it has been ordered to seek out and assist the Bedfords in their American investigation.”

  “Investigation?” sputtered Nathaniel. “So the honeymoon was all just a smokescreen for your insidious Bureau’s ends!” Tally’s ears pricked up, but he remained calm.

  “Regrettably, yes,” said Tooler smoothly. “But rest assured; we are doing the best we can, Professor Stone.”

  “And Jacob?”

  “Captain Folkard’s mission was of the highest priority, and he was chosen due to his unique relationship with Sovereign. I regret that it falls to me to tell you, but we discovered…”