Paniha's Taniwha: The Artifact Hunters 3.5 Read online

  PANIHA’S TANIWHA

  THE ARTIFACT HUNTERS 3.5

  A. W. EXLEY

  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

  Maori Dictionary

  Historical Note

  About the Author

  Paniha’s Taniwha copyright © 2016 by A. W. Exley

  All rights reserved.

  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.

  The Artifact Hunters:

  1 Nefertiti's Heart

  2 Hatshepsut's Collar

  2.5 The Unicorn's Tail

  3 Nero's Fiddle

  3.5 Paniha’s Taniwha

  4 Moseh's Staff

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  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  This book uses British English

  1

  Captain Lachlan Hawke—Loki to his friends—always admired an opportunistic character, particularly when he found one in the map storeroom. This example wanted her hills and valleys explored, though judging by the knowing look in her eye and the practiced flick of her tongue, this was no virgin territory. There were advantages to following the worn path of those who had gone before you: It meant you got to your destination faster.

  He groaned as the pleasure rolled through his body. Oh, she really was good with that tongue, and she seemed to have a particular fascination with his piercing. The way she sucked the metal into her mouth and pulled on the skin around the head nearly drove him to distraction. Then an annoying buzzing on his wrist broke the moment.

  Opening his eyes, he glanced at the gauntlet on his arm and saw the alarm had gone off. “Damn.” He hit the dial to silence the alarm. He was supposed to be somewhere else doing something far less enjoyable, if only he could recall what. His thought processes were a bit fuddled at the moment. “Duty calls, my sweet pea. We need to move things along.”

  He pulled the woman to her feet and turned her around in the dark and cramped space. Only a sliver of light crept under the door, just enough to make out their vague forms. Loki relied on his sense of touch to find the edges of fabric brushing against her ankles.

  The woman braced her hands against the sides of a wooden niche as Loki lifted her skirts. A gasp escaped her throat as his piercing slid over her slick flesh.

  “It won’t hurt, will it?” The breathy hitch belied her concern.

  “Quite the opposite.” Although he was pressed for time, Loki eased his shaft into the woman, giving her time to absorb the feeling of the metal in her body. On a rare occasion a woman found the piercing too much, but from the low guttural moans of this one, the experience was more than acceptable.

  Loki soon found his rhythm, thrusting into the eager woman as she pushed back against him. Her moans increased in pitch and he bent his knees to change his angle. She squealed as her body tightened and her release exploded through her just as he peaked with a hard thrust. He allowed himself a moment to collapse against her back, as his chest rose and fell in short breaths.

  Light flooded into the cupboard as the door opened, and the woman turned her face to the side.

  “Indian Ocean, if you don’t mind,” a voice came from the doorway.

  Loki grunted and withdrew from the woman. He tucked himself back into his trousers and did up the fall with one hand while he selected a rolled-up map with the other.

  The woman turned, a languid smile on her face. Her hair was tousled and her lips bruised. “Thank you so much, captain.”

  “My pleasure. I do like to see satisfied passengers.” He saluted the woman and then handed the map to the waiting crewman as he stepped out of the tiny storeroom.

  Though he was only a lad of nineteen, Miguel had a disapproving look on his face that Loki would have expected to see from an elderly matron. Nate, Loki’s business partner, wanted to train the young man up in the business and Loki admitted that with Miguel’s keen mind and gift for languages, he was an asset to the Lyons empire. But his other attributes were what inspired Loki to take him under his wing.

  The lad was tall, with auburn hair, hazel eyes, and strong lines to his face, and the physical labour of crew work was starting to add muscle to his physique. He had just the right mix of looks and innocent charm that pulled women to him as though he were magnetised. Shame the youngster didn’t know what to do with them once they were in his orbit. Loki was going to generously impart his accumulated knowledge of women, whether the young man wanted to learn or not.

  “Don’t give me that look. I was merely assisting a passenger who found the journey lonely and needed companionship,” Loki said as the two men crossed the hallway and entered the bridge of the enormous airship.

  Miguel rolled his eyes. “We’ve been aloft for less than an hour and we’re still over the Channel.”

  “Who am I to judge how quickly a woman becomes lonely? I couldn’t leave her in such a bereft state.” Loki grabbed the map Miguel had dropped to the central table and attached one end to the brass clips. He rolled out the sheet and then clipped the other end, holding the expanse of ocean taut for their examination.

  Miguel snorted. “I’m not sure we have enough women passengers for you to console over the entire two-week voyage.”

  Loki ran a finger along his lips and then smoothed the edge of his moustache. “I’m sure some of the men might also need companionship.”

  Miguel’s eyes widened slightly, then he shook his head and turned his attention to the map. Loki chuckled to himself. The lad was easy to provoke and he did enjoy getting a rise out of him. Other captains wouldn’t tolerate the sort of open banter Loki engaged in with his men. But then his crew’s origins were in piracy, not diplomacy, and pirates were always honest with one another.

  Loki took a moment to survey his domain. While the long-range airship was far larger than anything else currently aloft, the bridge was still small and efficient. The central map table was where they did all their calculations to ensure they stayed on course. One man stood at the helm, his hands resting lightly on the wheel. The dials and controls arrayed around him showed everything from airflow and wind direction to the status of the latrines.

  The back wall was covered in more equipment, monitoring the engines, flaps, cargo hold, and the precious air bladder. It also held the aethergraph for communicating with those on land and other ships. And the shiny chrome contraption with polished walnut gauges was the most vital piece of equipment on any bridge—the coffee machine. Which reminded him, he needed a cup.

  “Your current method of consoling passengers isn’t very efficient, time-wise.” Miguel’s voice cut through Loki’s thoughts and brought his attention back to the map. “Why don’t you host a party, get everyone naked, and deal with them all in one evening?”

  A deep laugh burst from Loki’s chest and he slapped Miguel on the shoulder. “Now you’re thinking, lad. Perhaps a very special invitation
to dine with the captain. Clothing optional.”

  That comment did make the younger man look up. His steady gaze met Loki’s. “Did you want input on our current course, or shall I continue to make all the adult decisions?”

  “Ouch, lad. At times your words can cut as deep as Cara’s. Are you sure you two aren’t related?” Nate had found the orphan bound and stuffed in a crate years earlier, and Loki wasn’t the first man to comment on the physical similarities between Miguel and his partner’s fiery wife.

  A faint blush edged up from under Miguel’s collar. “I would be honoured if such were the case, but we have discussed the possibility and what I know of my history does not dovetail with her father’s movements.”

  “You know I’m teasing you, lad.” Loki softened his words. Wouldn’t do to have the lad burst into tears; Nate might cut something vital off as punishment. Miguel was a firm part of their unusual family and the older members regarded him as a younger brother, whether by blood or circumstances.

  A black-clad crew member approached with a steaming cup and held it out to Loki. He took it with a nod of thanks. The advantage of working with the same men over many years: They knew how he liked to run his ship, and it always started with coffee in the morning and ended with something stronger as dusk fell.

  “Jenny Elle has reached cruising altitude and speed. Weather conditions look clear for the first leg of our voyage and the passengers are settling in. Most of them are still on the observation deck. Except for those who were in need of consoling.” Miguel pulled a compass and pencil from a small drawer in the island table, and drew out the first leg of their trip, skipping along the side of Europe and down the African coast.

  After much discussion, the new long-range airship had been christened the Jenny Elle, or Jenny L, in honour of the opera singer Jenny Lind. As Loki summed it up: She wasn’t much to look at and moved around slowly, but she had a great set of lungs and would turn in a better performance than anyone else.

  “This trip will be a slow one. Nate wants to show the buxom lass off on our way down to the bottom of the globe.” No one had built an airship this large before. It had the capacity to navigate the globe without needing to stop, and would slash weeks off the journey times between faraway countries. The Lyons empire would forge new trade routes and line all their pockets. It was unfortunate that their first cargo was passengers. They were noisy and didn’t stay put.

  The sheer size of the airship meant keeping a tight watch on her weight and paring everything down to a minimum. Passengers were housed in the hold, where lightweight Japanese paper screens gave the emigrants some privacy from one another. The screens and hammocks could then be stored away when they loaded the cargo for the return journey to England.

  The bridge was small, as were the captain’s cabin and private lounge. An observation deck let the passengers watch the world pass below, with a light mesh surrounding it to ensure no one tried to jump overboard. There was no use in throwing a life preserver after them when you were flying through the air. The middle section housed crew quarters, the scullery, and an open mess where everyone shared their meals.

  Loki walked to the window that dominated the entire front of the airship. He rested a hip on the wide sill and took a sip of his coffee. Just how he liked it, black and strong. This was his favourite place in the world to be, far above the earth. For as far as the eye could see, blue ocean stretched out below them and merged with the paler blue of the sky. He was a creature of the air and his namesake, a hawk, was tattooed over his back.

  “Now, if you don’t need me for anything, I have rounds to perform.” Miguel picked up a clipboard from a table and tucked it under one arm. “Someone on this ship should take their responsibilities seriously. It’s not a floating brothel.”

  Loki couldn’t resist a parting shot at his first mate. “While we’re in New Zealand we should see about getting that stick removed from your arse.”

  Miguel headed toward the sliding door, another black-clad crewman in tow. He paused for a moment to stare at his captain. “And perhaps we could find you a few morals—or a heart, even.”

  Loki liked the youngster. It was going to be fun opening his eyes to the ways of the world. Miguel had got drunk enough in St Petersburg for his first piercing; New Zealand might be perfect for a tattoo.

  AS DUSK FELL LATER that day, Loki returned from his rounds to his perch on the windowsill. They dimmed the lights in the bridge as the world surrendered to night around them. One beam of light came from below the airship, letting others know they were in the area. They would continue on their way through the night, never stopping on their seemingly endless journey south until they reached the newest colony—the one that had slipped through Victoria’s grasp and successfully fought for its independence.

  A brandy replaced Loki’s coffee and he sipped the potent liquor, watching mountainous shapes move in the dark as the airship slid along the edge of Spain and Portugal on its way to Africa. Loki enjoyed his work, but on very rare occasions, he wished there were someone to sit next to him. Not one of his loyal crew, but someone else. Someone who saw into his deepest corners. He did have depths, like the ocean far below, though there were those who assumed that because of his actions he was a shallow pool.

  Not that he ever lacked for companionship. He huffed a quiet laugh. He only had to open a cupboard door to find someone offering themselves. Men or women, he could pick and choose who he shared pleasure with. But was there more to life?

  A dull ache made him rub at his breastbone. It was just that sometimes, in the quietest moments of the night, he wondered if he had a piece missing. Nate had a rare and fiery love with Cara, and the two shared a bond through an ancient artifact that had allowed them to cheat death. Even Jackson, the ugly former pugilist, had declared his love for Cara’s friend Amy, although Loki couldn’t imagine what the delicate English rose saw in the gruff henchman. He assumed Jackson had struck the poor woman over the head and robbed her of her senses.

  Loki gazed out the window as the airship’s beam glanced over the crests of waves below, highlighting a small portion of the ocean at a time. His life was like that. A small part lived under a spotlight but the rest lay in darkness.

  2

  After two unrelenting weeks, Loki did something he had never done before. He hid in his cabin. His regular vessel was the Hellcat—a small, sleek airship that made lightning runs around Europe. The Hellcat took only her crew, no passengers, and the hold was for their many illicit cargos. They spent their days fighting, capturing other vessels, and celebrating in some wild port or other.

  Now he had to play nursemaid to a hundred passengers in the cramped quarters hanging under the enormous air bladder. He was a pirate, not a butler. Every day he was accosted by passengers wanting their clothes laundered, complaining about the state of the heads, or expecting him to provide entertainment to alleviate the long hours aloft. If he heard one more child ask are we there yet? he might start throwing people over the side. Nate was rich enough to pay hush money to the families. Or perhaps he could toss whole families overboard and save both his sanity and the money.

  The captain’s cabin became his refuge and the only place free of incessant demands. A crewman stood on watch outside to ensure no one disturbed him, and afforded Loki a few rare moments of privacy. Normally he liked demanding women and it was a new experience for him to discover there did actually come a point where he’d had enough of feminine voices calling his name.

  A particular gaggle of sisters had been diverting for the first few days, but their demented game of jack-in-the-box wore his last nerve down. There was no map cupboard, linen store, or broom closet where they hadn’t lain in wait for him. At first it was good sport, satisfying the three of them wherever they popped up. Then it all got rather inconvenient and, well, boring. He was still captain and, as such, had duties to perform, but Loki could no longer open a door for fear of what nuisance lay beyond. He now made a longsuffering crewman peer around do
ors first.

  The more harangued Loki felt, the more collected Miguel appeared. The youngster thrived on meeting people’s endless silly demands. Every single obtuse comment was met with a pleasant smile, and the young man did his best to appease the passengers. He never once rolled his eyes, raised his voice, or looked exasperated. The crew had all taken bets on when he would crack and punch someone but as the Jenny Elle sailed over the Pacific Ocean and the misty edges of New Zealand formed on the horizon, it looked like they would all lose their money.

  Loki tugged the front of his short jacket and ran a hand through his black hair. Satisfied with his appearance, he cracked his door open a fraction, checked that the coast was clear beyond his sentry, then strode the few feet to the bridge. The crewman moved from guarding his cabin to stopping any uninvited visitors from gaining access to the bridge.

  Inside the bridge hummed with activity. Miguel stood at the wide window, his gaze fixed on the landmass rising from the middle distance.

  “How long until landfall?” Loki asked the helmsman.

  The man glanced down at the dials showing airspeed, wind speed, and altitude. “An hour at most, captain.”

  “Good.” After two weeks on board, he longed to stretch his legs. The constant gentle hum from the enormous engines keeping them aloft had become a buzz up through his bones into his head. A quiet ale and a welcoming native would relieve his cabin fever.

  “We’re ready to plot the final approach.” Miguel moved from his place at the window and walked to the chart table. Spread out for their inspection was New Zealand—Aotearoa, to the Maori. A long thin country, it was broken into two islands.

  Loki tapped the middle of the South Island with a finger. “We’re heading here. Canterbury. Gold mining is booming on the West Coast and further south. Nate wants us to bring him home a cargo hold full of luscious nuggets.”

  Miguel leaned over the map, his finger tracing the mountain ranges that ran down the back of the island like a spine. “Are you sure? The west is a remote and inhospitable region. The main settlements are on the plains to the east. The British have a settlement at Christchurch, and they have just established a port with a deep harbour here, at Lyttelton.”