Chapter Ten

“The Slice of the Scalpel”

1.

THE DISTANT SOUND OF gunfire echoed down the tunnel. They had left the railroad sometime ago and were drawing close to the Heart chamber beneath Otterbein Base. Nathaniel had to stop, overwhelmed by waves of… Was there a word for it? It came from Kaskuu. It wasn’t pain exactly, but the word would have to do. Kaskuu was being damaged by the waves of violence around it.

“Damn them,” he hissed. “Why can’t they simply leave? Messing with things they cannot hope to understand.”

Tally looked at him. “Britishers live up to their reputation, Nate. Always do.”

How could he explain this to Tally? “It’s more than that,” Nathaniel tried. “The Heart can feel the anger, the territorial pride that drives the soldiers of the British Empire—it can feel everything.” He moved forward again. “We have to put a stop to this.”

Tally grabbed his arm and held him back. “How? We’ve both seen enough to know there’s little men like you and me can do. We do our best, but men with weapons who think they have a right to territory…” He shook his head. “Look at the Indians, at my own people… When the Britishers come calling and claim a land it doesn’t matter who was there first. Always been the same way. Why would the moon be any different?”

Nathaniel narrowed his eyes. “Then what can we do?”

“Nothing, man, only get out of here. These Drobates will hold their own, and from what ya say the marines cannot stop them.” Tally shrugged. “Let’s leave ‘em to it. Sure and it’s not our problem. We got ourselves bigger things to worry about.”

“You are not wrong, Tally.”

In silence the two of them continued up the tunnel, unfortunately drawing ever-closer to the sound of gunfire.

Abruptly the sound ceased.

Both men stopped, Tally looking around confused, while Nathaniel merely nodded his head.

“They’d not have given up so easily,” Tally said.

“No. Shall we see?”

Tally nodded and stepped forward, and suddenly reeled backwards, rubbing his bruised nose. “What the feckin’ hell was that?”

Still smiling, but careful to not let Tally see, Nathaniel stepped forward with a hand held out before him. He could feel it. Like pressing against a smooth wall, only there was nothing before them. An invisible wall?

“Kaskuu,” he said. “This is as far the British Empire goes—no further.”

Tally frowned, his shoulder moving uncomfortably. Nathaniel could feel it, too. A strange itch at the base of the neck. Drobates were approaching from behind. He couldn’t seem them but he knew they were there. The itch was a result of the Drobates communicating with those further down the tunnel—a vibration of the telepathic signal passing between them.

“Help is coming,” he said.

“What are yer talking about, man? I don’t see any…” Tally stopped when he spotted the four Drobates coming up behind them. “Some help,” he whispered.

2.

ANNABELLE HAD ONLY A sliver of a second to swing the butt of the Winchester round to deflect the blade that hurtled towards her face. She felt herself flinch as it ricocheted off the inlaid ornamentation on the stock with the scrape of metal on metal before flying across to skid to a stop on the other side of the room. She looked up.

The well-dressed man with the moustache looked almost embarrassed, and as he flicked his wrist to call the knife back to his hand Annabelle raised the rifle and fired. The shot was true but the old man was still quick. As the chain slithered back into his contraption with the sound of a whip cracking, he dived out of the way. Accompanied by twang and a small shower of sparks the bullet rebounded from the metal wall and took the top hat clean off the other stauncher gentleman. He scrabbled down to join his companion in the sanctuary of an abandoned booth.

“Baxter, you bastard!” yelled George. “Did you just try to kill my wife?”

“Sorry old chap,” came a disembodied voice. “I’m sure she’s a prize catch and all, but nothing personal, what?”

“I’ll kill you myself!” roared George. He fired twice, blindly and out of sheer anger, in their general direction.

“Bedford!” yelled Enderby, just as the metal-encased arm of the brute began to swing towards him. He dived nimbly out of the way and the arm slammed down into the dirt floor, sending up a cloud of greasy dust. This hideous, subhuman creature was still slow and confused, but its sheer power was undeniable. It roared in pain again and righted itself, and just as it staggered for a moment George saw his chance.

He faked going to the brute’s right but quickly dodged back to its left, passing perilously close to the grasping arm of the beast as he ducked underneath it. He dashed across the span of the wrecked doors, his pistol trailed for movement on either side of the corridor, and as he passed it he snatched up the carpet-bag that Baxter had previously gone and so carelessly dropped in the heat of battle, before racing up to join Enderby on the other side of the room.

Annabelle had shunted her leg back into a more favourable position and she quickly hopped up on it, the rifle going straight to her shoulder and trailing around the room for a target. The beast in the middle of the room roared again.

3.

BAXTER PLUCKED HIS TOBACCO pouch from some hidden nook in his waistcoat and was beginning to fill his pipe, sitting calmly with his back towards the carnage unfolding behind him in the foundry.

“Dashed woman almost gave me a bloody haircut,” grumbled Henry, tentatively touching the top of his scalp.

“Rest easy, Mister Henry,” said Baxter, lighting his pipe with a lucifer before shaking it out and tossing the burned end away. “At this rate we won’t even have her death on our conscience. We’ll just let that abominable terror do its work, and mop up afterwards.”

“What about that pup from the Bureau though? If word gets out, Baxter old chap, you and I might find ourselves on their naughty list, and that’s not a very perspicacious promontory.”

“All in due time, Mister Henry, all in due time.” He heard a crash from behind him and a gunshot, before smiling ruefully. “It may yet be a moot point. The brute has not yet finished its work. Now be a good chap and keep an eye out for it, would you kindly? If it looks like it’s coming this way, both barrels, eh? Or rather one barrel, several times.”

“Righty-ho,” nodded Henry, and Baxter returned to his pipe.

4.

TALLY WASN’T SURE HE liked this. The Drobates were guiding them—two in front, and two behind. It seemed to him that they were protecting Nathaniel, finding him a safe passage. They hadn’t been able to go forward, the invisible wall saw to that, but the Drobates showed them another passage, one that, Tally was sure, had not been there a few moments ago. He had questioned this, and Nathaniel explained that it had always been there; it was simply hidden by the mind of the Heart.

Tally had to admit, at least to himself, that he would be glad to be free of the moon. He may not be going mad like those people Nathaniel had told him about, but there was a certain kind of insanity to this place. Like the itch he still felt at the base of his neck. It was almost like he could hear voices. Whatever the Bureau had planned for him next, he hoped it didn’t involve any more aether travel. Earth was a big enough world on its own—had to be plenty of jobs to do there.

“What was that?”

This time it wasn’t the impression of voices, but rather sound of scuttling. Like many feet running through the tunnels. Nathaniel didn’t answer, but then he didn’t need to. The answer became very clear when they turned the next corner.

Selenites, those large ant things, were scurrying past, their heads bowed, barely looking where they were going. They moved with purpose though; as if they all knew where they had to be and didn’t need to see to get there.

“They’re leaving the human’s employ,” Nathaniel said, his voice sounding distant, a dull monotone bereft of feeling. “Humanity’s monopoly on Luna is coming to an end.”

Without another word, not that they had uttered any so far, the four Drobates walked away from them, joining the Selenites in their mass exodus. Nathaniel indicated the way the Selenites had come.

“This way to Otterbein Base. I suspect Professor George is in a bit of a flap.”

At this Tally smiled. “Aye, sure and he would be,” he said, looking forward to seeing the chaos at Otterbein Base. He took some amusement from that. The great British Empire being ousted by moon men and giant ants—how his ma would have laughed!

5.

BEDFORD AND ENDERBY DASHED past the lunging creature into the circle of tables and lighting that had served as Casey’s laboratory. The brute moaned again and lolled around helplessly, angry at itself for losing them in the dark. They found a small enclave and huddled up together in it.

“What’s in the bag,” hissed Enderby. “Laundry?”

Bedford ignored him and pulled the handles open. Enderby’s eyes widened. “Leftovers from Henry and Baxter’s polite little knock on the door,” said Bedford. “Where’s Annabelle?”

“I didn’t see. I think she went after Casey.”

“Some spy you are.”

“Well, she’s your wife.”

Bedford gave him an unpleasant stare.

“Anyway,” said Enderby. “There’s isn’t even enough here to blow a hole in the wall.”

“That’s why we need some of the mineral, to give it a bit of oomph. There must be some around here.”

“Look, Bedford, there isn’t. I looked. There’s got to be another way.”

“Well I’ve got more guns than the French army, if that counts for anything.”

“Either of us on our own wouldn’t stand a chance against Henry and Baxter combined. I say we take down the brute first, then deal with them together.”

“And Casey?”

“Will just have to carry on hoping we get to him before Annabelle does.”

Bedford reached under his poncho and pulled out the snub-nosed double-barrel shotgun from the holster just underneath his armpit. “Right. Seeing as you’re so full of answers, how do we take this thing down?”

“The basement boffins managed to get their lily-whites on Potsdam’s body. Looks like the heart is the weak spot. Problem is, with that much aleksandrite flooding its system you can put a bullet in it and it’ll still keep on coming. Won’t even feel it. It has to be the heart, Bedford. The heart!”

But Enderby has spoken too rashly—and far too loud. The brute twisted around, its ungainly movements cracking joints and sinews and the body twisted around in the cage. It started to lumber towards their hiding position. Bedford got his pistol ready.

“Wait!” he suddenly yelled. “Aleksandrite!”

“I already told you, man. I couldn’t find any.”

“Well maybe because it’s all in him.”

“Bedford, don’t be a fool.”

“All you need to do,” said Bedford, as he pulled out a chunk of the gelignite and riffled around the bag for a detonator, “is get his attention.” He nodded towards the wall flush to the corridor where Henry and Baxter were hiding. “That way,” he said. “It’s an outside wall. Get him to head that way, then I stick this stuff onto him, set the timer and give him a shove.”

“That’s insane, the thing would have to be standing right next to a weak spot to give us a chance!”

“But if the worst comes to the worst, at least we won’t have to worry about it trying to kill us any more.”

“Bit of a moot point if it kills us in the process,” grumbled the spy.

Bedford clapped him on the shoulder in a comradely fashion. “Think of the empire, old chap!”

“Nobody’s any good to the empire dead, Bedford. Not even you.”

6.

FURTHER BACK IN THE foundry’s dark recesses, where oily copper pipes hissed and leaked and the walls were hot to the touch, Annabelle stalked her prey. She was still fairly sure Casey was unarmed, but was nevertheless taking every precaution. Despite his preposterous bulk, the man could clearly move when he put his mind to it, and she wasn’t about to assume it was only excess that rounded his physique—that kind of presumption could be deadly, and in all honesty she didn’t fancy her chances if it came down to hand-to-hand combat. Her agility and guile would only get her so far when faced with a desperate bandit who was probably twice her weight.

She’d bolted after him as soon as she’d seen him run into the shadows beyond his laboratory space, to the furthest area of the foundry where a large furnace gave off a low hum, a spider’s web of pipework running off to feed into valves and large, sealed, cast-iron vats that rattled and creaked from their shoddy construction. He could be anywhere in this claustrophobic maze. She could barely hear herself think with the noise, and the dim light made it easier for him to hid. She took some solace in the fact she could use that to her own advantage too.

She kept one wall of the metal building to her left, cautiously scanning all the recesses and shadowy nooks with the Winchester held before her. Much as she despised the Soup Twins for the crimes they’d committed, she had to admit they had a certain amount of taste where gunsmithing was concerned. When she’d first seen the twins’ modified rifles she’d naturally assumed they were nothing more than showpieces, their obvious wealth and vanity stamped upon their weapons. Now she’d had the chance to use one and see it up close, she could see this wasn’t just some tacky adornment. The gold and ivory that had been worked into the stock and body of the rifle were exquisitely done, but despite that the gun was light and easy to handle. When she’d fired the shot at the assassin who’d killed Eustace, she’d noticed the kickback was far greater than she’d expected so there was certainly some modifications to give the thing an extra kick. Not only that, but the sights and additional scope were clearly the work of a master craftsman. The only person who could miss with such a weapon was the idiot with the money to buy it.

She saw a shadow flit out of the corner of her eye, a darting movement projected into the back wall by the dull flickering of the light that penetrated the gloom from the foundry’s main floor. She leaned back slightly into the darkness, assessing the situation, before crouching forward to stalk towards where she’d seen the movement. From Enderby’s search around the huge metal building, it seemed there was only one route Casey could use to escape, and as far as she knew that was still blocked by two men who were rather keen on ending his life. There was the big door to the balcony, but it looked like that could only be accessed from the mansion. He’d have to double back if he wanted to chance his arm on that route, and get through where the assassins were hunkered. But perhaps there was a secret exit of which only the Twins were aware? If there was, finding Casey before he flew the coop became even more imperative, but if she could discover another way out of this hellhole into the bargain then so much the better.

She knew that, with the wall on her left, somewhere up ahead Casey would run into the outermost corner of the foundry. If he kept on following the wall round he’d just end up back where he started and into the sights of George and Enderby or the two killers. She assumed that wouldn’t be an immediate priority for him, so there was no point rushing into a confrontation and perhaps losing the upper hand.

Weaving in and around hot pipes, and careful not to let her exposed arms touch the scorching metal, Annabelle rounded a corner to find Casey bent double, rooting around a small pile of discarded scrap metal, his ample posterior pointed straight towards her. With the barrel raised threateningly at the back of his neck, she half-cocked the rifle with an ominous click that seemed to raise itself over the persistent thrum and hiss of the boilers surrounding her. Casey started and twisted his bulk around awkwardly, thrusting out his arm to threaten Annabelle somewhat meekly with a dull shard of brass, sheared on one side to form a roughly sharpened edge.

Annabelle looked down at him, fury in her eyes. She took immense pleasure in how pathetic the bandit leader now looked; his immaculate white suit was soiled with smears of oil and patches of sandy dirt, he was sweating profusely and his eyes were filled with a savage, animal panic. He didn’t even seem to notice the trickle of blood running from his palm from where he was gripping his impromptu weapon too tightly. His breaths ran ragged as they were forced through his flared nostrils.

Annabelle fully cocked the rifle. Any trace of defiance bled from the fat man’s face. He blanched, whimpered, and dropped his makeshift knife before scooting back on his behind until his back was up against a large bank of grimy valves and levers used to regulate the immense pressure flowing through the foundry.

“I don’t know what I did to you,” he gasped. “But I’m sorry, Jesus above forgive me but I’m sorry! Whatever I did, I was just doing it to protect the people of my town, I was just doing what Eustace told me to. It was Eustace, all Eustace! All this was his idea! I told him we should stop but he just wouldn’t listen!”

“Save your excuses, Casey. You can work it out with Eustace when you see him in Hell.” She raised the rifle higher so the twin’s greasy forehead was set square in her sights.

“I’ll give you anything! Money! That green stuff, that chemical… Our boss, he…he said it’d be worth its weight in gold, that all the governments in the world would pay you anything for it!”

“The green stuff?” spat Annabelle. “That’s all it is to you? A resource to be traded? What if it was something more, Casey? What if it was holy? What if its value went far beyond the base uses you and your corrupt paymasters used it for? What if it was the secret heart of a community that has outlived your own debauched little cancer of a town by hundreds of years?”

“The Injuns?” babbled Casey. “They’d abandoned it, left the whole thing to rot. We were told it was ours for the taking!”

“Typical greed. Typical entitlement and presumption. Who told you to take it, Casey? Who told you?”

“He said his name was Willie. That’s all I know, I swear! Paid us an emperor’s ransom to mine it for him, but he wanted it all to himself! How could we let that kind of opportunity pass us by?”

“What did he look like, Casey? Tell me what he looked like!” She stepped forward to press the barrel of the rifle into the middle of his forehead, but her anger was to be her undoing.

The twin’s eyes suddenly squinted into spite, and as a malicious smirk unfolded at the corners of his mouth he quickly grasped beside him to scoop up a palmful of dirt which he flung up into Annabelle’s face. Choking and blinded, Annabelle reeled upwards and accidentally discharged the Winchester. The bullet ricocheted from the face of the bank of instruments and flew up into the densely-packed pipes, striking one square on its joint and releasing a huge hiss of steam.

Casey scrabbled upwards and pelted back towards the main area of the foundry as Annabelle dodged the scalding jet of steam, rubbing the dirt from her eyes.

Just as she was about to start her pursuit, she noticed the dials on the bank of valves began to twitch up towards the boldly-marked danger levels as the whine of the engines turned into a high-pitched scream.

7.

DEATH DIDN’T BOTHER HIM; he’d seen plenty of it before. But it was the lack of reason behind these deaths that disturbed him. As far as Tally could see, the Britishers had no right to be on Luna in the first place—they were messing with things best left alone. He probably would never understand most of what Nate had told him about the Thirteen Watchers, but he knew enough to know that the secrets of the universe were not meant for men.

Look at the death it caused.

Lying in the tunnel before them were many dead bodies—both human and Drobates. Although Tally could not help but notice that most of the bodies were dead marines and army. While the few Drobate corpses were riddled with bullet holes, with the occasional bayonet sticking out of them, the men were… Tally had to look away.

It wasn’t just the sight, but the smell. Burned flesh. He gagged.

Nathaniel stood a short distance before him, his eyes closed. Eventually he opened them and looked at Tally with the most serene expression Tally had even seen. “It is over,” he said. “Kaskuu is protected and humanity…” He waved around them. “It’s time they left this world.”

“Aye, they should never have come here, if yer ask me.”

Nathaniel placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Come on, we’re almost there.”

As they gingerly stepped over the corpses, Tally realised that more than anything he just wanted off Luna.

8.

“READY?” ASKED BEDFORD, LOOKING straight into Enderby’s eyes. The Bureau agent gave a shallow nod, readying himself to dart out.

Both whipped round when they heard the retort of the Winchester. Enderby seemed to pause, as if this were good enough reason to abandon their last, desperate ploy to escape—but Bedford simply smiled.

“I knew she’d have everything under control. This changes nothing, Enderby. Come on! This might be our last chance!”

“What if she’s killed him?”

“We’ll all be dead in a minute! For God’s sake man, move!”

Truculent to the last, Enderby glared at Bedford before bolting out of their hiding place into the large, bare area at the centre of the foundry. He was careful to keep away from the firing line of the double doors—out of everybody there, it was Enderby who truly knew how deadly the Scalpel and the Mouth could be. It didn’t take long for the lumbering brute to spot him, and he carefully backed his way towards the exterior wall, keeping an eye on the monster at all times as it made its inexorable, clanking way towards him.

Back in the recesses of safety, Bedford started to prepare the gelignite. He was reluctant to use both of the remaining bricks in case their plan didn’t work and they needed more, and resigned himself to hoping that one would be enough to cause a chain reaction in the mineral that pumped through the beast’s veins. He watched as Enderby backed up towards the wall, all the time muttering something hurried and unheard beneath his breath. Bedford breathed in deeply as the brute advanced—any second now it would pounce, and then it was up to Enderby’s reflexes to ensure he didn’t die by those cold metal hands.

The brute roared and sprang forward; Enderby darted out of the way and the beast crashed forward into the wall, carried by its own ungainly weight. This was Bedford’s chance. He didn’t want to risk setting the timer while he struggled to avoid those unfeeling metal arms, and so he twisted the dial on the front of the detonator a few notches to the right, hoping to Heaven above they marked out seconds. He pelted out as fast as his legs would carry him to where the brute was trying to right itself, wailing and roaring piteously like a wounded dog. Bedford almost felt sorry for the accursed thing as he ran up behind it and pressed the explosive on the skeletal cage that housed the poor, broken soul. Hoping each tick of the timer would not be the last, he wasted no time in sprinting away.

Enderby had just reached the other side of the room, ducking away from the door as a blast of Henry’s buckshot reverberated around the muggy metal space. Bedford’s flight from the explosion was stalled as, halfway to safety, he saw the bulk of the remaining Soup Twin pelt out of the darkened mesh of pipe-work on the other side of the foundry. Annabelle, looking furious as a hellcat and twice as dangerous, appeared from the gloom just a second behind him and raised the Winchester to fire.

“Annabelle, don’t!” roared Bedford.

Casey twisted his neck around to look at Bedford, but Annabelle was not so easily distracted. She brought down the lever underneath the rifle’s stock and the spent cartridge went tumbling away. It was only another fraction of a second before she’d brought the rifle up and taken aim, firing with deadly accuracy.

The Soup Twin tumbled to the ground. Bedford noticed a shrill whining beginning to permeate the air. Boiling steam was beginning to leak from the pipes above their heads; they were suddenly rattling with a worrying urgency. By some miracle, Casey bobbed his head up as if nothing had happened. Nonplussed, Bedford followed his gaze—standing in the doorway was Mister Henry, dazed as if drunk.

The blunderbuss fell from limp fingers as a fresh crimson flower bloomed on his immaculate shirtfront. “I say,” he murmured appreciatively. “Jolly good shot.” He fell to his knees and back into the dirt.

“Mister Henry!” yelled Baxter, scooting up to kneel beside his fallen companion. He readied his arm to fling his scalpel towards Annabelle but she let off another shot, forcing him to duck out of the way.

“This whole place is going to erupt!” yelled Annabelle. “We’ve got to get out of here!” Keeping her rifle trained on the doorway should the well-dressed assassin dare to poke his head out once more, she dashed towards where Bedford was standing.

“More than you know, darling!” yelled Bedford. “Get down!”

Trusting her husband completely, she did so. It was just as the brute had righted itself, dazed and angry, that the detonator clicked into the place and the spark ran into the body of the explosive. With a deafening blast that sent Bedford sprawling to the floor, the unfortunate brute was pulverised by a vast ball of flame tinged an unearthly green. Chunks of hot metal, with ribbons of ghost-white flesh still attached, were blown into the room, scattering and falling in gory lumps on the floor, staining the sand black. The whistles and roaring of the pressuring pipes began to intensify like some vast, maddened kettle. In the recesses of the foundry, the pings and bangs of nuts and bolts forced from their housings could be heard.

Bedford looked back. Where the brute had stood not a moment before a ragged hole had been cleaved into the metal wall. Just broad enough to squeeze through, the warm dusk light streaming in from outside was one of the most welcome and beautiful things he thought he had ever seen.

“Come on,” he yelled, gesturing to his wife and Enderby, “We’ve got to get out of here!”

“Wait!” called Enderby, as Annabelle dashed across and plucked the dazed Soup Twin up by the scruff of his neck. “I’m not finished here!”

The spy sprinted back into Casey’s morbid lab area, ducking great washes of steam from above as he did so. He ducked down beside the operating table for a moment before pulling out a pair of dangling hessian sacks and darting to where Bedford, Annabelle and the now-pliant Soup Twin were standing by the smoking gash in the wall.

“What the hell are you playing at, Enderby?” roared Bedford.

“No time to explain! Come on, come on! Let’s go!”

He ushered them into the fresh air of the outside, just ducking out himself as Baxter’s knife whipped through the air to embed itself in the metal of the wall where his skull had been but a moment before.

9.

“WHERE THE DEVIL HAVE you been, Stone?”

Nathaniel glanced at Tally—they had been so close to his quarters, too. As one they turned to face Professor George. “Doing what I was sent here to do. What has happened here—have I been gone so long?”

Professor George opened his mouth to complain more, but Tally cleared his throat and looked at him pointedly. Nathaniel suppressed a smirk. God bless the power of the Bureau. “Well it would appear that the Drobates have shut the city off to us, and we can’t get anywhere near the Heart chambers.”

“Ah, I see the problem. And what does Major Larkins say?”

“That fool, all he thinks of is brute force. I’ve been here for almost a year and a half, working alongside the Drobates. We all have. If they don’t wish to co-operate there really is nothing we can do.”

“Time to pack up your bags then, Director,” Tally said. “I’m sure yer’ll be recommended for the sterling work ya’ve done here.”

“You’d do that for me, Mister Cahalleret? A recommendation on my behalf?” He leaned in to whisper in a mock-conspiratorial tone. “I hear Bureau types have it pretty good.”

“Oh, we do. And sure I will. Be a pleasure.”

“Oh, thank you! Yes, right.” Professor George clapped his hands together. “I shall get a heliograph together, send my report, recommend we close down operations here. Without access to the Drobates there is nothing of interest on Luna.”

They watched him walk away. “Do not forget the recommendation, Tally,” Nathaniel said. The two of them laughed. Nathaniel was sure they were doing the right thing; they had inadvertently ended the British interest on Luna. Of course, he knew it would not be that simple. Too many had a vested interest in the operation here—they would not let go of their hold of Luna so easily. He turned away. It was no longer his problem. “He was wrong, of course, there is plenty of value on Luna, but thus far only four people here now of it. Well, three, now that Orlondo has left for Mars. Which reminds me, we must find Doctor Kaplan.”

And so they did. It wasn’t difficult. Kaplan was a smart man and he knew when the wind was changing. He was already in the process of making arrangements to leave. But Nathaniel had one last task for him.

“Would you fancy joining a final excavation?” he asked. “I want to take as much jothrick with me as I can. I feel I shall be having much use for it soon.”

Kaplan glanced over at Tally, who was helping himself to a glass of Kaplan’s brandy. “Will you be joining us, Tally?”

“Well, I… Sure and I’d love to. Never excavated anything in me life, but never too late to try.” He downed the brandy in one.

“That’s the spirit, man,” Kaplan said.

“Just one last request, Marcus,” Nathaniel said as they headed out of Kaplan’s cabin. “I cannot tell you why I was sent here, or indeed where I am heading. At least not yet. However, I think your expertise would be well suited to my mission ahead. Possibly the most important venture undertaken by man. Would you be interested?”

Kaplan looked at Nathaniel curiously, and Tally smiled. “Just say yes, feller. Ye’ll be glad you did.”

“Well, yes, then. Why not?”

“Why not indeed!” The three men set off to collect their belongings and commandeer a cutter.

10.

DRAGGING CASEY BEHIND THEM, the trio dashed out in the deserted wasteland of Souptown. A few ragged stragglers were visible just leaving the town on foot. On the horizon, darker specks of refugees, trailers and horses were blots on the landscape made indistinct by the failing light.

“At least they had the good sense to get clear,” remarked Bedford, before turning angrily to Enderby as they ducked into a nearby house. “What’s in the bags?” he spat accusingly.

“My first loyalty isn’t to you, Bedford. Or to your wife, or if I’m honest, the empire. I’m a Bureau man. I don’t expect a simple jack-tar like you to understand what that means.”

Bedford grabbed him roughly by the lapels of his tatty waistcoat, bring the spy close so they were nose-to-nose. “You won’t be a Bureau man much longer after this, you bastard. I’ll see to it you won’t get work as a bloody chimney sweep!” The spy didn’t even struggle in Bedford’s grip; he merely angled his head and gifted Bedford with another of his lop-sided, supercilious smiles.

“That’s an empty threat, Bedford. I’d be delighted to see you try, though. Let’s see who’s the real power here, eh?”

“What’s in the bags?” He shook Enderby again; the spy merely smiled.

“Aleksandrite,” said Annabelle. “It’s Aleksandrite. He wants to bring it back to curry favour with his overseers.”

“You had me risk my life, when all the time…”

“Calm down, Bedford. I’ve still got a report to make. Won’t look too good if I make a note that you can’t keep your temper in…”

Bedford’s fist slamming into the side of the spy’s temple put pay to him finishing his sentence. As he fell, the bags dropped and spilled the glittering green crystals out onto the floor, but there was something else… Something small black and metallic tumbled out of his pocket, its snub-nose and lack of a chamber quite unmistakable. The flare gun they were intending to use to call in the Indian band waiting outside town. Bedford felt revulsion. Had this measly excuse for an Englishman had it on his person all this time?

He pulled out one of his pistols and aimed it at Casey’s head. The broken Soup Twin whimpered. After surviving so much and for so long, he was terrified to find himself staring into a gun barrel for the umpteenth time that day.

“The steam,” said Bedford. “Is it enough to destroy all this? All your tin-pot dreams of despotism?”

“I don’t know,” wailed Casey. “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

“Good enough for me.” Bedford whipped his poncho to one side. The last charge of gelignite had been roughly smeared in the holster underneath his armpit. The detonator gleamed on one side. He yanked it out and stuffed the clay-like brick into one of the open bags of the volatile mineral. “We’ll need more than steam this time,” he said.

11.

BACK IN THE FOUNDRY, Baxter dragged the pale, unresisting body across to the operating table. A man of many skills, he removed his gloves and was busy working on cleaning up the wound in Henry’s abdomen.

“I think I’ve had it, old sport,” spluttered Henry. “Hell’s bells and buckets of blood. I always wanted to die in Antigua.”

Baxter, his eyes never wavering from his delicate surgeon’s work, allowed himself a wry smile. “Nonsense, Mister Henry. We’ll have you patched up and out of here before you can say Jack Robinson.”

“Sure about that? I don’t like the sound those pipes are making.”

“Oh, tish. Getting this lead out of your belly is by far more the pressing concern. We’ve a couple of minutes yet, I’m sure. Now do keep…”

Baxter trailed off as he watched the sack fly through the gap in the wall and land with a dull thump in the middle of the floor. It pitched forward, spilling its contents onto the floor. The powdered aleksandrite spilled into the ground, gritty shards stuck to the sticky edges of the gelignite.

The detonator ticked down, its clockwork timer nearly horizontal. Henry just about managed to raise himself up on his elbows to take it what had caught Baxter’s eye before falling heavily down onto his back with a sigh.

“Buggeration,” he observed.

Baxter stood up straight. “Well, it was a pleasure and a privilege working with you, Mister Henry.”

“You too, old bean. You too. See you on the other side, eh? They’d better have bloody good brandy.”

12.

WITH THE SIZE OF the explosion the flare gun hardly seemed necessary, but Bedford fired it into the sky anyway as a kind of absolution. It wasn’t long before Gopan and his small band of apaches found them on the edges of Souptown where they’d fled as soon as Bedford had tossed the bag into the foundry. At gunpoint, Annabelle had forced Casey to carry Enderby’s prostrate form to the very perimeter of the raggedy town, waiting and watching for the explosion to go off as Bedford belted towards them.

It had been one hell of a bang, taking out all of the squat, metal blister of the foundry and a large proportion of the mansion, the fireball arcing up some sixty feet into the sky. Chunks of rubble and flaming debris were raining down for minutes afterwards, and the force had even been enough to dislodge some of the cliff wall that loomed behind the Soup Twins’ stronghold. A vast rockfall crashed down to demolish what was left of the structure. Thieves, drunks and cut-throats they might have been, but Bedford thanked God the denizens had already fled this desert dictatorship. He just hoped their experiences here had taught them a lesson, and when they reached their next port of call they might adopt a way of life less damaging to themselves and the societies they inhabited. He doubted it, though.

When Enderby regained consciousness he had wasted no time spitting feathers and threats at Bedford for the assault on his person—there was talk of high-level recriminations, and the possibility that Bedford wouldn’t even be able to find work scrubbing pots in the mess. However, when Bedford had dangled the flare gun in front of Enderby’s eyes and archly pointed out that the wilful endangerment of the life of an officer in Her Majesty’s Navy wasn’t looked upon too keenly either, the spy retreated into a petulant silence and the matter was dropped.

Yet when the band made their weary way back to the apache settlement, a mournful pall and sad news awaited them.

Kai, as was her wont, came to greet them. Yet she did not pelt towards the band with a gleeful smile and arms outstretched for an embrace; this time she padded towards them slowly with her hands held together over her heart and her head facing down to the ground.

When she was close enough, Annabelle extricated herself from her saddle and jogged across to the girl, who stopped dead when she heard Annabelle’s approach. The girl had still not lifted her face up, and when Annabelle was close enough she could see that her cheeks was streaked with tears.

“Kai?” asked Annabelle. “Kai, what’s wrong?”

In his heart, Bedford knew. It only remained for the child to tell his wife, a weight Annabelle feared to place on her daughter. It was a time when the young girl would have to lead her mother into sadness, for Annabelle, though she loathed to make Kai face the grim reality of the loss, could not voice the question herself.

“Shiwoye,” mumbled the girl, barely audible. “Shiwoye is gone.”

Annabelle took a breath, choking back the tears. Bedford watched his wife; he knew her, knew that she had to be strong for her daughter. As she pulled Kai close to her so that the proud girl could finally weep with utter impunity, she turned her shoulders around to Bedford.

“Goyahkla,” she said softly, although the words were not necessary. Bedford had understood Kai, and he knew how his wife’s heart now broke. “Geronimo is dead.”