The Brass Queen by Elizabeth Chatsworth

Author:Elizabeth Chatsworth [Chatsworth, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CamCat Books

20

Dead Egyptians

Trusdale sprinted along a narrow stone passageway after the maid. The light from the trapdoor soon dwindled, and darkness closed in. He slowed as the maid’s footsteps began echoing loudly, indicating she’d entered a larger chamber ahead. Then her footsteps stopped. Maybe she was waiting for him in the darkness, gun in hand.

No point in rushing up there to get his head blown off.

He walked slowly, tracing his right hand along the rough limestone wall. The passageway was scored with centuries-old chisel marks from workers long dead. Through the holes in his woolen socks, the rock floor was as cold as a tombstone. An odd smell permeated the air—embalming fluid? Rotting books? Something metallic, something—wrong. He shivered, pulling his frock coat tight.

An odd tingle of heat pulsed through his hatband. He took off his Stetson and slipped out the one-inch triangle of Maya’s artifact. The smooth, black metal warmed his palm. A tickle in his mind murmured to him. He peered at the triangle, lifting it close to his eyes as a blue light flickered from its core. That was a new trick.

Footsteps came up behind him. Trusdale turned, holding the metal triangle up as a light source in the dark. The dim blue glow showed Constance, in a dented top hat and carrying an orange, glaring at him.

She said, “Hearn and Cawley are on their way. The maid can’t get out of the treasure chamber, so we may as well wait for their assistance. May I ask, where did you get that?” She pointed at the glowing triangle.

Any sane person would have asked what it was, not where he got it.

That said, honesty was probably his best policy, for now at least. When you were chasing a homicidal servant down a dark, creepy passageway, even a snooty Englishwoman was better than no backup at all. “It belongs to the Steamwerks. Maya Chauhan passed it to me in the middle of the kidnapping.”

“But where did she get it from? My father traveled half the world to find the Enigma Keys, and he never managed to find a blue one. They’re beyond rare. He started to think they were a myth.”

Trusdale gaped at her. “You know what this is?”

“Of course. The keys are fragments of ancient technology that was once used to tear the veil between dimensions. They’re scattered throughout the deepest, darkest places of the Earth.”

His headache upped its game to a pounding migraine. “Ancient what now? And who exactly made these—keys?”

“Ah, well, that’s the mystery, isn’t it? Ghosts? Creatures that live far beyond the range of any telescope? Superintelligent aardvarks from the core of the earth with a taste for interdimensional travel? My father believes they were made by humans, perhaps even alternate versions of ourselves. There are entire worlds that live in the same space we inhabit, separated from us by the merest whisper of time and circumstance. Perhaps in one of those worlds, you’re asking a better question while wearing more suitable attire.”

“Such as?”

“Perhaps a nice tweed cloak and a deerstalker?”

“I mean, which question should I—”

“Oh, right.

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