Scoundrel:. Zoe Archer

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      “Is such a thing possible?” asked Fraser, aghast.

      “No man had attempted it before,” said Chernock, darkly, “and now we know why.”

      Edgeworth growled, “His burns finally healed, but the scarring is abominable. Damn it!” He turned away to rub his stinging eyes on the sleeve of his jacket, trembling with fury. He vowed to himself that the Blades of the Rose would pay for the damage done to his son. Jonas was to have succeeded him as a leader amongst the Heirs of Albion, but that dream died when his son came back from Mongolia a twisted, burnt husk, his mind more damaged than his body.

      Edgeworth refused to believe that Jonas’s retreat had been anything less than honorable, even though he had heard the whispers. Jonas had fled, it was true, and with terrible haste, but only because Lamb had failed, because the Blades persisted in their foolish, sentimental quest to keep the world’s magic from the hands of the Heirs.

      “He made a brave sacrifice for his country,” Fraser said, placating. “Jonas holds, as we all do, that Britain deserves to command the globe. Its nation, and its citizens, are superior to all others.”

      “The apotheosis of culture and statehood,” Chernock seconded.

      Fraser shot Chernock a quick, cutting look. Edgeworth was his to appease and flatter, and Fraser wouldn’t stand for some skeleton of a man to ride on his coattails. He continued, “The Heirs of Albion willingly give their lives for this belief. I know I would, given the chance.”

      “It’s those Blades that play the gadfly,” Chernock sneered. “With their absurd conviction that no nation should rule over another. A mawkish ethos.”

      When Edgeworth felt he could better suppress his feelings, he turned back to Chernock and Fraser. “We’ll have them beaten, soon,” he vowed. “Even now, in England, our finest minds are unlocking the secrets of the Primal Source. Between that and the Source here in Greece, we shall finally stamp out the Blades. That’s what Lamb was supposed to do.”

      “Lamb was vain and bloodthirsty,” Chernock sniffed. “We are better off without him. He was a liability to the Heirs. We need trustworthy men. Yet,” he added, looking pointedly at Edgeworth, “for the first time in our long history, it seems we have a woman in our ranks. I would never presume to question you, Edgeworth, but is this wise? Women are so fragile and emotional. She could be set astray by her feminine sensibilities.”

      “Don’t question her obedience to me. She’ll do exactly as she’s told. We’ve only to lead her like a child, keep her sheltered from unwanted influence.”

      “And if she succeeds in her objective,” Chernock persisted, “will the Heirs begin adding women to our confraternity?”

      “Of course not,” Edgeworth scoffed. “If she makes herself useful, and if this Source is recovered without too much interference from those damned Blades, then I will see her married as soon as we return to England. Yes, Fraser. If you impress me enough on this mission, I may reward you with her. You ought to control her better than Harcourt did.”

      Fraser’s meaty face broke into a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Edgeworth.”

      “Those are numerous ‘ifs,’” Chernock pointed out. Fraser glared at him.

      Edgeworth’s eyes were glacial. “But that’s why we have you, my dear sorcerer.”

      “If the Blades do show themselves,” Chernock said with a funereal smile, “then I very much look forward to practicing some of my newer spells on them. There is one, taken from a Hopi shaman I captured, that is most delightful. Giant spiders, you know, with poisoned webs. Exceedingly nasty. Shall I demonstrate?” He lifted his bony hands, the ebony ring glittering like a huge beetle, as Edgeworth and Fraser took a step back.

      “Later, perhaps,” Edgeworth said quickly. “You both must understand what this mission means to the Heirs, what is at stake, particularly now that we have the Primal Source. I wouldn’t have brought a woman, my own daughter, into it without good cause.” He turned to the captain, who was shouting orders to his men. “Captain, I want us to raise anchor within the hour. No excuses,” he snarled when the captain began to object. “I am not to be contradicted. We sail before five o’clock.” With that, Edgeworth stalked below deck, confident that he would be obeyed. No one ever said no to Joseph Edgeworth.

      The cities of the world held unending fascination for Bennett. He’d been to many, more than most men could ever claim. The capitals of Europe, and beyond. Moscow. Cairo. Bombay. Peking. Each was a continually unfolding banquet of experience—and women. Yet, for all their exotic and cosmopolitan joys, Bennett never felt as much unfettered joy as he did when presented with the open road. In this case, the open sea.

      Nikos Kallas proved himself a sure and able captain as he and his men sailed them away from Piraeus. They nimbly dodged other boats and ships, all coming in and out of the crowded harbor, and moved away from the coast that pushed eastward into Aegean. Cliffs and coastal towns shrank to dark, rocky forms as the impossible lapis blue of water grew and unfolded. Cape Sounion, and its hilltop temple dedicated to Poseidon, glided by as they moved out of the bay into the open sea. The waters were silken calm, and a soft breeze filled the sails, burnished gold by the rays of the sun setting to the west. Anywhere. The sea and the wind could take them anywhere. Limitless freedom. That’s why men went to sea again and again. But women, land-bound and earthly warm, brought them back.

      It was a woman he followed now. She was on the Heirs’ steamship, speeding east. Thank Poseidon that Kallas was a skilled captain. He had to get to London Harcourt before the Heirs reached Delos. Bennett’s plan would never work if the Heirs made land before he could reach her.

      He urged the caique on, willing it to cut through the waves like an arrow.

      Athena had been born and raised in the city that shared her name, and so it took her a small measure of time to gain her sea legs. Bennett watched her walk toward him on deck with the careful precision of a drunkard fighting for balance. Her dusky-fair skin had paled once the caique had reached open water. She came to stand next to him, swaying, as he stood near the bowsprit at the fore.

      “Gone a bit green,” he commented. “Like an unripe olive.”

      Athena gave a wan smile. “Always with such flattery. What woman would be foolish enough to let you leave her?”

      “You did,” Bennett pointed out amiably.

      “I am better than most women.”

      “True. Our captain might agree.”

      Athena made a noise of dismissal, though it proved to be a bit of a challenge in her compromised state. “Nikos Kallas has made no secret of his dislike of refined, educated women. Which does not surprise me, given his low origins.”

      Bennett raised his eyebrows, but decided to remain quiet on this point. Interesting, how this might develop, if they were all to share the same, not particularly large boat for the foreseeable future. Instead, he asked, “Feeling well enough for tonight’s adventure?”

      “Absolutely,” she said at once. “Though,” she added, “I have never attempted a spell of such size before.”

      “I’ve every confidence in you.”

      “Kidnapping is new territory for me.”

      “Don’t СКАЧАТЬ