Part 9 (2/2)
”Have you a lantern?” she asked.
”Better,” he said.
From inside his jacket, he produced a small bra.s.s cylinder. In the dimness, London saw two little gla.s.s compartments within the cylinder, and a tiny k.n.o.b between them. The gla.s.s compartments held some kind of liquid, and, when Day turned the k.n.o.b, a few drops from one compartment dripped into the other. He tightened the k.n.o.b, then shook the cylinder. The liquid within one gla.s.s compartment began to glow an eerie green.
London marveled. ”Magic?” she asked quietly.
”All science. I can't claim owners.h.i.+p of the idea. It's the work of Catullus Graves.”
”Another Blade?”
”Our genius in residence.”
In the cylinder's light, the pit gleamed acidic green, otherworldly, and the columns seemed luminescent. Spectral light turned the precise planes of Day's face into a warrior's mask. She felt herself in some faerie king's derelict palace, and Day the deposed ruler come to claim his birthright. She s.h.i.+vered, then reminded herself he was only a man.
He stepped toward the columns, holding the bra.s.s cylinder aloft. ”The writing's on every side.” His hands gently touched the marble, feeling the inscriptions.
”Yes, but no matter how I've arranged the sentences, they make no sense.”
Day stepped back, his eyebrows in thoughtful downward angles. Backing farther away, he slowly circled the columns, edging sideways in a clockwise direction. His movements held an animal fluidity that was impossible not to watch. She almost believed he had been created as a torment just for her.
”What are you doing?” she asked.
”Finding the viewing point.”
”The what?”
His words punctuated his movements. ”d.a.m.ned ancients.” He edged farther. ”Always putting in some little catch. Can't make it”-another s.h.i.+ft to the side-”easy on a fellow. They especially loved. Tricks of the eye. Wait. Yes. There!” He stopped, standing on the other side of the columns. ”Come and see.”
London hurried over to him. She stood beside him and stared at the columns. She expected revelation, but was disappointed. ”They look the same as before.”
He put his hands upon her shoulders and pulled her closer. She stiffened. ”Easy,” he murmured. ”I'm not going to ravish you.” Then he added in an undertone, ”Yet.” He positioned her so she stood in front of him, though he kept his hands upon her shoulders, and his body warmed hers through the layers of her cotton clothing. ”Now, look.”
She did. And could not stop her slight gasp.
The words had arranged themselves.
”I didn't think you could read this dialect,” she said.
”I can't. But I know a deciphered code when I see one. Tell me what it says.”
She read, ”Upon the island in the form of a dolphin, find there the stream that sings. Its voice will guide you farther to the terrible waterborne gift of the golden G.o.d.” ”Upon the island in the form of a dolphin, find there the stream that sings. Its voice will guide you farther to the terrible waterborne gift of the golden G.o.d.”
”'Terrible gift,'” he echoed, wry. ”Of course. They're never happy little trinkets.”
”It was there the whole time,” she said in wonderment. She turned slightly to consider him and knew she looked reluctantly impressed. ”You're much cleverer than you look.”
”I hear that often.” He chuckled, then grew more contemplative. ”But it was you who unlocked the words. A capital partners.h.i.+p, you and I.”
That was true. Even beyond him discovering the ruins' viewing point and her translation, they shared an even exchange of ideas, neither in command of more than the other. Unlike her father and Fraser, Day did not treat her like a breakable bauble, nor did he consider her gift with language to be an unearned aberration. But she did not feel he respected her. He h.o.a.rded knowledge. He'd known the truth about Lawrence's death and had said nothing to her. And, there was no way around it: he was a killer. A man who killed other men.
”Sometimes,” was all she allowed him.
Day suddenly frowned. He took a piece of heavy cloth from his pocket and wrapped it around the bra.s.s cylinder, cutting off its light. London's eyes could not adjust fast enough. Darkness swallowed them. She felt his hand on her wrist, pulling her somewhere, and she had no idea what was happening.
Then she heard it. A man's footsteps running in their direction. The glow of a torch dawned over the lip of the pit, and then there was Thomas Fraser, a burning torch in one hand, a revolver in the other.
”London! We've been looking everywhere for you!” Fraser glared at Bennett Day. ”So it's you, Day,” he sneered. ”Might've known if there was a woman involved you'd come sniffing around.” He aimed the gun at Day.
London tried to pull Day toward the nearest wall of the pit so he might climb to safety, but he abruptly released her wrist. She lunged for him and grabbed only air. He wove through the columns toward Fraser. Fraser fired at him, and chips of marble from the columns and granite from the pit flew into the air. She clapped her hands over her ears from the awful sound of the gunshots, so different from the m.u.f.fled pops of hunting rifles she'd heard before on her family's Somerset property. A whiz and pop next to her head had her crouching low, s.h.i.+elding herself. Gravel rained down on her.
”Watch the ricochet, idiot,” snarled Day. He drew his revolver and fired back, causing Fraser to duck and hold off his own gunfire. Day ran straight for the pit wall at Fraser's feet, and, in motion too quick for her to see, leapt up the wall and grabbed Fraser's ankles. Before Fraser could kick him away, Day pulled on his legs and the other man tumbled into the pit. His torch and gun followed.
Flickering torchlight revealed the forms of Day and Fraser locked in combat. They struggled for Day's revolver, and it went spinning away. Each man threw punches, drove elbows into stomachs, and struggled for dominance. London gaped. She'd never before seen two men fight, not like this. Once, she'd spied upon her brother training in pugilism, but that seemed genteel compared to what she saw now. This meant death. Vicious, deliberate death. And Fraser and Day knew what they were doing, both were skilled fighters. Clothing ripped. They swore. They drew blood.
Fraser was bigger than Day, but Day had speed and precision. They pummeled each other without mercy, scrabbling in the dirt, grunting in pain and anger. One of them would die if something wasn't done.
Locked together in combat, both men froze when they heard the sound of a revolver's hammer being c.o.c.ked. Looking up, they saw London with the gun in her hands, pointing it in their direction. She'd never held a firearm in her life, and hadn't counted on how heavy it was. She struggled to keep her hands steady. The heaviest thing she'd ever held was a huge seventeenth-century tome on Parthian.
”Stop,” she said.
Fraser smirked, while Day looked grim and taut, knowing it was very likely she might shoot him, her husband's killer.
”Very good, London,” Fraser said. ”Your father should be here in a moment. We'll hold this b.a.s.t.a.r.d until he gets here.”
Yet when Fraser pushed away from Day, London kept the revolver trained on Fraser.
A minute easing of Day's expression, but something black and horrible twisted Fraser's face as realization dawned.
”You little b.i.t.c.h,” he spat.
Day's fist into Fraser's face stopped the words and sent Fraser sprawling back into the dust. Fraser flopped back, motionless, while blood from his mouth spattered onto his grimy s.h.i.+rtfront.
London lowered the revolver, shaking. Day found his gun and holstered it. He kicked dirt onto the torch, extinguis.h.i.+ng it, then appeared at her side. It took him a moment to pry her fingers loose from the handle of the weapon. He tucked it into the other side of his belt. Before she could breathe, he pressed a hard, fast kiss to her mouth.
”Brave Amazon,” he murmured.
Sounds of more footsteps and voices shouting sliced the air. Men from the s.h.i.+p. Her father.
”Come on,” Day said. He sprang up the side of the pit and quickly pulled her up after him. As soon as her feet touched the ground, he took her hand, and they ran.
”London!” her father roared behind them.
She did not stop. That volume of her life was over, the covers closed and the book burnt. An unknown fate yawned before her in the darkness. With Bennett Day at her side, she kept running into the blank, unwritten future.
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