Rahotep's Last Breath Read online

  image-CLA40W41.jpg Rahotep’s Last Breath

  The Artifact Hunters 6

  A.W. Exley

  image-QL87HHKY.jpg

  Copyright Rahotep’s Last Breath © 2020 by A.W. Exley All rights reserved.

  Published by Ribbonwood Press

  Version 12.08.20

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Be the first to hear about new releases , specials and giveaways.

  Sign up at: http://www.awexley.com/newsletter Contents

  Author's Note:

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Series by A.W. Exley

  About A. W. Exley

  Author's Note:

  The author uses British English with the occasional Kiwi idiom 1

  July 1871, Lowestoft

  Rachel clutched the newspaper in one hand with the front page turned to her shirt, the headline hidden against the shell buttons. Her fingers creased the cut edges as she drew a deep breath and made a decision. Raising her automaton arm, she knocked. Metal knuckles made an odd, hollow noise against the wood.

  “Enter,” a deep voice said from beyond the panelled door.

  Steeling her spine, Rachel pushed open the door to enter the country office of Nathaniel Trent, the Viscount Lyons. His study was decorated in navy blue accented with dark wood. The deep colour scheme was masculine, soothing, and hid blood stains. The faint odour of linseed oil used to polish the furniture wafted past, and she inhaled the comforting smell.

  Unlike many other men who would situate their desk before a window, Nate positioned the large piece of furniture so he sat with his back to a wall. The sprawling desk (large enough to hide three children underneath) sat opposite the fireplace and with the window to his right, the door to his left. This was a man who kept a wary eye in the direction an enemy might approach, despite the protective wards around the estate.

  Rachel dragged a ladder-backed chair away from the side of the desk and into the beam of sunlight drifting across the rug. Then she plonked herself down with the newspaper still pressed against her chest.

  Nate glanced at his daughter, arched one eyebrow, and then dropped his attention back to the dispatches on his desk. Pen in hand, he made notes in the margins as he sorted through the day’s correspondence.

  Rachel loved her adopted father because he didn’t bombard her with questions. He didn’t need to say a single word, as he possessed the capacity to read her like a familiar book. He would carry on with his work and leave her to speak whenever she was ready. Such had been their way since the day she entered his life. While others found his silence unnerving, Rachel gathered comfort from it. When Cara was taken from them, and everyone avoided Nate during his dark days filled with rage, Rachel had sat on the floor at his feet with her colouring pencils and paper.

  She sat in the sun and mused on the two halves of her life. Her early days were segregated in her mind as B.C.—Before Cara. Today was Rachel’s eighteenth birthday and it had been nearly ten years since Cara and Nate claimed her as their own. With one finger, she rubbed the dragon pendant that always hung around her neck, given to her the day Nate finally married Cara.

  Over time, Rachel’s previous life had faded into a dim nightmare.

  Born in a small, cramped house in the St Giles Rookery, once Rachel had played outside in the street with her gutter-rat friends and scavenged amid rubbish for something to fill the void in her belly. She couldn’t remember her biological mother, lost bearing a child in the squalid conditions only two years after Rachel was born.

  Then Nate had touched her life with his work to sweep the filth from the rookery, and made their lives better than that of many other working-class poor. While attending the school he founded, Rachel caught Cara’s attention and events were set into motion that brought her into the fold of a new family. Rachel left the closed world of the rookery behind. Along with a part of her.

  The metal hand clenched into a fist. Sunlight through the study window glinted along the steel. Nate had spared no expense and enlisted the best artisans and watchmakers to craft the arm for

  his daughter. The outer casing was etched with an intricate pattern of climbing roses with thorns and buds among the leaves.

  The arm concealed a range of devices from a compass hidden in a rose bud, to a blade that could be triggered by a hand signal.

  The arm itself was powered by a small artifact protected within the casing. She had only to think what she wanted the hand to do and it obeyed. Almost like real flesh and bone. Almost…

  Her adopted father ensured she barely noticed the missing limb.

  But the one thing he couldn’t do was stop the ache that tormented her some nights. White hot pain wove a gauntlet over her wrist and forearm. Her fingers would curl in a cramp without any relief. The agony used to wake her up in tears as sobs tumbled over her lips.

  Worse was the monster who heralded the pain. The hunched, shadowy figure who leapt upon her and dissolved her world into one unrelenting scream.

  “I hated him long before he knelt on me that day,” she whispered.

  Rachel had been seven years old when her father knocked her to the floor, knelt on her back so she couldn’t escape, and took an axe to her arm. All to make her a more pathetic beggar. Life on the streets was a brutal battlefield. Some parents did far worse to turn their children into pitiful wretches. Children had their heads bound between planks to deform their skulls. Or their eyes put out. Or limbs severed. All to pull the heart strings of the middle classes and make them dip deeper into their pockets as they hurried by.

  In her new life, Rachel’s adopted family gave her room to grow and unfurl her wings. Unlike most poor children, Rachel received the marvellous gift of the opportunity to become whoever she was meant to be.

  She also had a dragon.

  She studied the sharp lines and square jaw of the man she considered her true father. To the world he was known as the Villainous Viscount, a noble who rebuilt his family fortune by dark and illicit means. Whispers relayed how not a flicker of emotion would pass behind his eyes as he tortured someone to death.

  As part of his close-knit family, Rachel saw behind the mask.

  Nathaniel Trent wasn’t the sort to gush about his affection for his family, but he loved deep and with a fierce intensity.

  Instead of flowery words, he used actions to show his love. He smoothed their path in life, resolved problems, and destroyed monsters that haunted their nightmares.

  Rachel rose from the chair and dropped the newspaper to the desk.

  The headline article was about an unfortunate pulled from the Thames. Or rather the bits of him that were recovered: a head, a left forearm with a distinctive tattoo, and a toeless right foot.

  The pieces
had snagged in a net spread to catch fish. Sufficient lumps of flesh were hauled up, aided by the unusual tattoo, to identify the victim as the man who had contributed a few moments of exertion to create Rachel.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “Happy Birthday,” Nate said with his legendary mask in place.

  He pushed his chair out from the desk and held out a hand. Rachel placed hers in his and Nate pulled her into a hug. As she curled into his lap, his love flowed over her and the ache in her hand dissipated. Others feared him, but to Rachel he would always be the monster who cared for her and who protected her. He had permanently silenced one nightmare, but another remained.

  “Have you decided what you will do now that you are eighteen?” He shuffled papers, concealing the contents from her curious eyes.

  The papers might contain a secret diplomatic mission from the queen, or the latest bounty from a pirate airship raid.

  The working-class girls Rachel once played with had left school years ago to enter service, become shop girls, or take on the hard labour in factories. Noble girls would enter society and be paraded like broodmares, and were expected to marry and do their duty for their husband—an heir and a spare.

  Rachel had the luxury of picking her own path. A myriad of strands stretched out before her, each leading to a different future. All she had to do was pluck one to follow.

  Both Oxford and Cambridge universities were keen to have her as a student to further her education. They were even prepared to overlook her sex and admit a woman. She wondered if it was her intellect or Nate’s money that compelled them. Or perhaps neither dean wanted to be fish fodder if they refused her.

  “I’ve spent years studying. I think it’s time for an adventure.”

  She loved learning and that would never change. But she had spent years in a classroom under the tutelage of the best teachers in the world.

  Watching her parents reminded her that there was more to life than what could be learned in a book. It was time to exercise something other than her mind. Before she embarked on years of serious study to earn her doctorate, Rachel wanted a flirtation.

  In no small way encouraged by the biggest flirts ever—Nan and Nessy, who filled her head with scandalous stories of their antics at her age.

  “An adventure?” Nate arched one dark eyebrow. “Well, you are overdue one if you are anything like Cara.”

  Rachel had dreaded this moment, imagining that Nate’s protective bonds wouldn’t allow her to fly free. She hadn’t been prepared for acceptance of her plan. “You’re not going to refuse and lock me in my room?”

  He picked up the newspaper and tossed it in the rubbish bin beside his desk. “I have had a few years to consider this precise moment. I considered various scenarios from locking you in your room to securing you in the Pit until you turned thirty. But I believe you have Cara’s knack for escaping, and trying to lock you away would only result in smothering you.”

  “Instead you made sure I can protect myself,” Rachel said.

  Nate stroked her hair. “Yes. You and the boys will be equipped to deal with most things life will throw at you. I can’t protect you from everything; I can only hope I have done enough.”

  He had spent years teaching her to use a knife and a pistol. Like Cara, she sparred with his men and learned to throw a punch. As a young teen she discovered that a metal left hook could drop the largest man.

  There was something else Rachel had to protect her back. “I also have Pavlin.”

  Nate laughed. “Yes, an overly protective dragon hovering over you should keep you safe. It’s almost like I planned it that way. In turn, you must keep her safe from bounty hunters.”

  An ache took up residence inside Rachel. She loved her extended family, and the twins were only now getting to an interesting age and creating chaos. She would also miss the quiet moments, when they read together as a family curled up in the drawing room before the fire. But she was ready to explore the world on her own. “Cara was eighteen when she headed to America.”

  “I remember. That was the second time I encountered her. The first time she was up a tree, firing acorns at an Enforcer trying to dislodge her. The second time was on that airship to America and she was about to throw a passenger over the side for touching her.” His long fingers tapped on the leather desk blotter.

  Rachel smiled at the story, now part of the family history. Cara was somewhat impulsive whereas Rachel prided herself on being more level headed and objective. She hugged Nate. “Thank you for understanding.”

  He placed a kiss on her head and let her go. “As much as I want to keep you all safe, I know you have to live your own life.

  Cara, on the other hand, is going to take issue with letting you fly the nest.”

  “Can we fight that battle over dinner? Right now, I’m going to take Pavlin to check the perimeter,” she said.

  Nate nodded. “Cara is organising your birthday dinner, so I suggest not coming back until later this afternoon. Then we will both figure out how to stop your mother from ordering you locked in your room for the next ten years.”

  Rachel kissed his cheek and skipped from his study. She headed for the back of the house and the room they used for their outside clothing and dirty footwear. From two pegs, she grabbed her flying jacket and hat, both made of insulated leather to keep her warm. Then she headed out the rear door for the barn. Her heart’s companion sunned herself on the lawn, and Pavlin called out a greeting as Rachel emerged from the house.

  Rachel walked to the little dragon—although little was only apt when she stood next to Kirill and Calypso. Pavlin possessed a body the size of an elephant and wings that spanned over twenty feet. Her scales shimmered an iridescent brown with a green and blue swirl like the eye on a peacock’s feather. One wing hung at an awkward angle as a result of bounty hunters firing a harpoon through it. Rachel had nearly lost Pavlin that day, and shared suffering bound the two tight.

  There was no sign of Kirill and Calypso, the other two dragons that called the estate home. They might have been flying their own patrol or holed up in their caverns dug in the cliff facing the sea. More and more over the last year the other two dragons had kept to themselves and left Pavlin to seek Rachel’s company.

  “Let’s go for a ride, girl.” Rachel rested her cheek against the dragon’s face and scratched the top of Pavlin’s head with her hand. She inhaled the unique scent of the dragon that sent peace flowing through her veins. A combination of fresh pine needles, salt from the ocean, and a soft musk almost like cinnamon.

  The dragon ambled behind as Rachel found the riding harness in the barn and attached it around her friend. It secured behind the front legs, but in front of the wings. A small leather pad like a jockey’s light saddle gave the rider a place to sit. Rachel wore a belt with dangling straps that clipped to the harness. Pavlin bent a leg to allow Rachel to climb up, and once settled she secured herself to the harness.

  She exhaled and curled her hands into the leather, and Pavlin leapt into the sky. She let the dragon pick their route, and she veered off and headed for the far inland corner of the estate.

  Rachel leaned into the wind brushing over her face as they flew over the forest and shimmering lake that hid a unicorn. Or so

  Aunt Amy claimed, although the children had spent hours trying to find it. The forest gave way to rolling pasture dotted with fluffy and plump sheep. Pavlin flew slower over them and Rachel patted the dragon.

  “Afterwards. You know flying on a full belly makes you nauseous.”

  The wind snatched the words but Pavlin didn’t need to hear Rachel to understand her.

  There was another reason why Rachel wanted to leave the estate.

  After years of blessed silence, a voice had returned. For some months now, whispers had disturbed her sleep. The voice urged, cajoled, and pleaded for her attention. The voice promised to make her whole, if only she would do the same for what remained of him.

  As she lay awake in the da
rk hours, Rachel had pondered what to do and what had triggered the insistent voice. Nate had been moving the artifacts to a new home, and perhaps it was disturbed.

  She should have told Cara, but didn’t want to add to her mother’s worries. She could run and leave the voice far behind. Or, as the daughter of Nathaniel Trent, she could stand and fight. There would be a way to turn the tables and make the hunter the prey.

  The whisper curled around her ears as a husky male voice called her name. She pressed her left thigh against the dragon, and Pavlin circled left, spiralling over the house.

  “I’m coming for you Rahotep,” Rachel shouted on the wind. “And when I find you, I’m going to make you shut up for once and for all.”

  2

  That night, Cara leaned on the door frame to the dining room and closed her eyes. She let laughter and conversation flow over her.

  To think she had spent years running away and erecting barriers to stop anyone getting close to her. Now she couldn’t imagine anything better in the whole world than a room filled with her friends and family.

  Nan and Nessy, both into their seventies, had moved from the Leicester estate to live permanently with the family at Lowestoft. Age might have worn down their bodies, but nothing could suppress their fire. They had a favourite spot outside where they liked to watch the gardeners work, and they could often be found yelling how warm it was and that the lads were overdressed.

  The twins, now eight years old, sat on the rug in front of the fire playing with toy soldiers and a miniature of Kirill. It looked like the soldiers were losing and being fed into the dragon’s belly. Cara frowned and hoped the dragon wasn’t covertly

  snacking on the locals. Or perhaps Nate had a new method to dispose of inconvenient bodies.

  Rachel sat at the end of the table, opposite Nate. They ate a marvellous dinner to celebrate Rachel’s birthday. Nate had given her a blade, the handle ornately carved in the same climbing rose vine as the one winding its way around her mechanical arm. The slight, six-inch blade discreet enough to hide around her person, but lethal enough to add another layer of protection.

  Cara knew her daughter well enough to understand the young woman sought a gift far more valuable and dangerous than a knife—