Nero's Fiddle (28 page)

The newspapers ran headlines about haemophilia and how Leopold’s illness was proof something was not right in the House of Hanover. Politicians met in secret and more dispatches appeared in the red box in Nate’s study.

The mechanical horses’ studded shoes rang out when they hit the cobbles through the dense covering sludge as they pulled the carriage over Blackfriar’s Bridge. Cara looked out the window over the Thames, now turned into another highway. The ice grew thicker each day and people could skate on the river. Some braved the cold to dance like winter sprites over the frozen tableau. Lights reflected from overhead airships, lit the scene and charged the air with magic. The other side of the bridge was marred by an open pit, another access site for the underground train line; men and machines laboured to dig under the Thames and connect the ring route.

They hit Southwark, trotted down Upper Ground Street and halted outside what appeared to be a two-storey industrial estate. Shunned by its closest neighbours, the building stood alone. A private jetty brought the Thames into the backyard, although now it gave the owner a private skating rink rather than boat access.

Cara stared up at the brooding visage. With no ground level windows, only the faintest light flickered in arrow slits high in the structure. “It looks like an abandoned factory. Did he employ the same architect your family hired?”

“Wench,” Nate breathed hotly in her ear. “You’ll understand the exterior when you see the interior.” Taking her hand, he tucked her fingers into the crook of his elbow and they walked up the path. Someone had swept the snow to the sides and their way lay clear to the imposing iron door.

A young butler opened the door as they approached. “The master is expecting you,” he said in a monotone. A grey flush to his skin combined with his tone gave him all the life and personality of a deactivated automaton.

Cara wondered if he were real or artificial. She veered toward him, thinking a quick poke would tell her man or metal but Nate kept tight hold of her arm and pulled her back on track.

She stepped into the entranceway; it was stark, beautiful, and cold like the grave. Tones of grey on grey, from the slate on the floor to the washed silk hung on the walls over exposed stone. A cathedral ceiling soared over their heads. Enormous arched timbers formed the doorways to other rooms off the main hall. She wanted to run back down the path, stare at the exterior and then come back inside again.

“It’s a castle,” she said.

“Yes.” Nate took her fur-trimmed cloak and handed it to the butler.

“Disguised as factory.” Her brain kicked into action. Why not just build a castle? Why disguise a castle as something mundane and pedestrian? Only one answer leapt at her, the owner wanted a castle but not any attention.

There was no modern electric lighting here. The chandelier above their heads held aloft at least a hundred candles. Even their tiny flames faded from soft yellow to a dull and dirty white as they were consumed by the monochromatic colour scheme. Goosebumps rose over her arms and she rubbed to dispel them.

“He could do with the heating ducts you and Jackson devised,” she said.

A hum buzzed over her skin and raised the hairs on her arms and neck. More than the cold, it was her body’s reaction to an artifact. A big one, something house-sized. She glanced at Nate.

He slipped his arm around her waist. “We’re not here to discuss plumbing, remember? Keep your wits about you.”

“This way.” The butler gestured for them to follow. He strode across the floor and pushed open a double set of high-gloss black doors and then indicated for them to enter. He remained bowed, as though his battery pack ran empty.

Cara desperately wanted to touch him as she passed but she missed her opportunity with Nate controlling her direction, and she didn’t want to make a scene by pulling loose to investigate the domestics.

Within the next room, expensive Persian rugs softened polished marble floors. The same tones of grey dominated, from the palest of white to near black. The interior reeked of simplicity and money and yet a chill took up residence in Cara’s bones and refused to budge. It reminded her of when Nate was long-lined off the Aurora. The Atlantic Ocean nearly claimed him and the same iciness nibbled at her limbs.

An enormous fireplace, the height of a man and at least six foot wide, contained a blaze that she swore flickered blue and threw no heat. The flames mesmerised her as they danced from pale yellow to white to sudden flares of blue and green. The spirals of cool colours brought to mind the little male dragon she left in Siberia.

The warmth and life sapped from her body with the onslaught from the pervading damp. She fought an urge to raise a hand to check if the red drained from her hair. She tightened her grip on Nate’s hand. Ever since her blood mingled with Nate’s in the centre of Nefertiti’s Heart, her survival instinct sprang a whole new facet. The entire house stank of a dark object sucking light, heat and
life
to itself.

A man rose from the high-backed chair by the fire. He wore a smoking jacket of pale grey velvet over black pants. “Ah, Nathaniel, it has been many years since we last met.” His voice carried a heavy, unfamiliar accent.

He needs Brick and Amy to inject some colour into this place.

Cara’s immediate impression was of vast age. Deep lines marred his face; his hair was aged pure white, and the paper-thin skin with pulsing blue veins lay close to the surface. He looked like he stood on the wrong side of one hundred.

As he neared, her vision danced and blurred. She shook her head. It was as though she saw two versions of the man inhabiting the same space. The other version younger, standing erect and strong with black hair and a firm jawline. He moved with an easy grace and his tone held strength. The young man flickered and dissolved into the features of the ancient resident.

“How old were you when I tried to hire your services?” He stopped a mere step in front of them.

Nate stiffened, his fingers hard at her waist. “I was twenty years old. I trust you found what you sought?”

“Yes, eventually.” He moved closer and extended his hand to Cara. The old version dominated and she glimpsed only the odd flash of the younger version underneath. “Lady Lyons.”

She gave a sigh of relief that for once she followed convention and wore gloves. The little voice in the back of her head told her not to let him touch her bare skin. Cream satin covered her from fingertip to elbow and as his cool fingers gripped hers, ice water washed over her body and tightened around her heart. The squeeze drifted away when he removed his hand and she breathed free.

“Come, have a seat, so we may talk. I so seldom receive visitors these days.” His lips pulled in a smile but it went no further on his face.

Cara perched on the edge of a sofa covered in grey brocade and bearing a pattern reminiscent of roses several months after a funeral. She took the spot closest to the phantom fire. Nate put himself between Cara and the Curator, his entire body tense and coiled.

The butler appeared with a silver tray holding drinks. He stooped close to his master first, before approaching Cara. She fought the urge to yell ‘boo’ and see if he reacted. Instead, she took the heavy glass of red wine, the swirl of fragrant liquid the only spot of colour in the room.

“I saw you in Goslett Yard, at the bookstore.” She remembered the cold presence that drifted over her that day and now she swam in it.

“Yes, I do on occasion venture out to see Malachi.” He held his glass but did not drink. “Such treasures to be found in his store.”

The Curator’s gaze fixed on Cara’s frame and she wasn’t sure if his comment referred to the books or something else.

“This is no social visit,” Nate said, his tone short.

A reptilian hiss came from the older man. “No one wants to converse any more. Very well, what do you want from me?”

Cara took a sip of wine. Rich cherries and smoky wood rushed over her taste buds. She savoured the burst of flavour in a place so devoid of any character. “I need to know who has Nero’s Fiddle.”

He gave a short laugh and leaned forward in his chair, the wine glass nursed between both hands. “I thought you came here to talk about Lucas. He was such a willing pupil of mine. Quite an extraordinary mind, until he went rogue and betrayed me.”

She drew in a sharp breath. She refused to follow the quarry down that particular rabbit hole no matter how high her curiosity jumped. “My father is dead. I have nothing to gain by discussing him.”

“Really?” He quirked a snowy eyebrow. “I thought you might share his curious and enquiring mind. Your life was shaped from the very beginning by his pursuit of certain artifacts. And now you walk such a similar path.” His voice washed over her like the tide. Seductive, enticing, and part of her wanted to surrender and learn what destroyed her father.

And then destroyed her.

She didn’t walk the same path. She would never abandon those she loved to chase an object. Doubts caressed her mind with a seductive pull; did she want to know the full truth? Did she want to understand his madness?

Could things have been different?

She took another sip of wine and pushed down the questions. “Nero’s Fiddle,” she repeated. “Who holds it?”

A faint smile touched his lips but a calculating light shone in his slate eyes. “I will trade you information for information.”

The pressure returned in her chest, what would he demand? She cast glance at Nate, ready and alert, as though he expected to fend off an attack at any moment. Surely there was no physical danger from a man so old? “What do you want to know?”

“The heart,” he said, one finger tapped the side of his glass, mimicking a beat. “How does it work?”

She licked her tongue over dry lips. The slow pulse through her body timed with notes beat on the crystal in his hand. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Come, no need to be coy with me. The two of you are bonded by Nefertiti’s Heart. A collector of such things knows when they are in the presence of an artifact, the very air has a resonance.”

Like a damp cold penetrating every stone, timber, and bone. Something powerful lies within these walls. Does the stone contain or protect?

Revealing their secret could put their lives at risk. If Nate’s enemies knew they could kill him by killing her, it would give them an opening to strike against him. The cold shudder sunk further into her body.

“We have all heard the tale of how Nathaniel here was dragged behind an airship for nearly two hours through the frigid Atlantic.” He sat back and placed his untouched wine on a side table and the last note subsided. Then he tented his long fingers. A black stare as vacant as a starless sky fixed on Cara. “The crew on the Aurora pulled up a corpse, who then dove back over the side to re-join his airship. It would seem to give credence to the rumours of immortality that surround Nefertiti’s Heart. The love of a queen sustaining her pharaoh for all of time.”

Nate’s fingers squeezed hers. “My lungs were full of water, Cara’s were not. The Heart allowed one to breathe for the other.” He surrendered a portion of information that the man opposite could discern for himself. The only question was would it be enough to satisfy him?

He hummed deep in his throat. “You’re not telling me much. Your lives are shaped by an artifact. I want to know how it works and every single subtle change and nuance it has wrought between you.”

Nate gave a short, sharp bark of laughter. “Do you expect me to hand any man knowledge he could use against me?”

The Curator gave a smile that touched his lips but laid ice in his stare. “Perhaps you would allow me to examine your lovely wife instead? A moment to caress the skin kissed by Nefertiti, the most beautiful of queens.”

The barest suggestion of a threat to Cara and the cold temperature in the room dropped to glacial. She expected to see an icicle hang from her nose. The beat between their hearts slowed and time suspended itself, waiting for the next move.

Is this what he really seeks? Not knowledge of the Heart but to lay his hands on me?
Helene’s warning shot through her brain. Careful he doesn’t add you to his collection.

“Come, Cara.” Nate took the wine from her hand and placed it on a table. He rose and tugged on her hand, pulling her to reluctant feet.

The undercurrents in the room mesmerized her. So much converged here; her past, Helene’s warnings, her father’s actions, and some ancient power. A storm brewed and she wanted to study the gathering clouds, to learn how they could defeat it before it overwhelmed them all.

Another tug from Nate and disappointment trickled through her limbs. If they left now where else could they find much needed information about the Fiddle?

The Curator rose from his chair to mirror their movement. “Some years ago, the item came up for auction. Only one other man recognised the old lyre for what it was—Nero’s Fiddle. I am somewhat embarrassed to say the other noble outbid me.” He spread his hands wide at his loss. “I do not usually lose what I have set my mind to obtain. It has only happened twice.”

“Noble?” Cara seized on the word and tried to crane around the bulk of Nate’s body. “Who?”

The corner of his lips curled in a smile more reminiscent of a grimace than anything filled with warmth or humour. “Albert.”

The curse flew from Cara’s lips before she could call the words back.

The Curator gave a harsh bark. “Quite extraordinary, isn’t she?” he said.

Nate gave a half bow. “Thank you.” He took Cara’s arm to lead her from the strangely disguised castle.

Except she couldn’t force her feet to move. The questions flooded into her mind and she wanted to bombard the elderly gentleman as though he were a tutor keen to quench her thirst for knowledge. A prickle over her skin told her so much rested on this interview, she just couldn’t comprehend what, exactly.

The Curator approached with one hand extended. The candles in the overhead chandelier threw a long shadow, his spectral fingers danced over her cheek long before his physical touch would reach her. His visage flickered and the young man appeared, hunger in his gaze as he sought to touch her.