Iron Zulu Page 5

  “McCafferty was commissioned to repair it,” Scuttlebore said, still nervously twitching. “But he’d won the trophy when he attended Eton, and wanted it for his office. When I came to retrieve it, he refused. I decided not to tell anyone, to avoid embarrassing the man. I figured after it was repaired, I could sneak it back and no one would have to know.”

  Applause and cheers filled the library, which was when the two librarians cleared us from their building. The hero treatment for Owethu and I continued in the quad. I doubted it would last long, but for a moment we’d shown them all—the Zulu weren’t savages and even a commoner could best a noblemen.

  I wish Genevieve had been here to see this. I couldn’t wait to tell her.

  CHAPTER 8

  AN ASSASSIN AT ETON

  With the sun setting on my triumphant day, Owethu and I walked back to Father’s office. Our prize had once again been placed in its proper display. I’d bested my rival, but in the fading light, it felt like a hollow victory. Genevieve and Richard were still betrothed. And he’d found the culprit, too; so it was hardly a routing. But a victory, any victory, should be celebrated. I’d learned that flying with the Sky Raiders.

  “We should have ice cream tonight for dessert,” I said. “I think we’ve earned it.”

  “Why do I want frozen cream?” Owethu shook his head in distaste.

  “It’s cold and sweet, and dare I say, ice cream is one of the greatest foods ever created by human hands.”

  Still Owethu shook his head, so I searched for a way to describe the bliss, but all that rolled out was, “It’s almost frozen cream that’s sweet.”

  His brow gathered in another puzzled look.

  “Trust me, its good. The Greeks called it ambrosia—food for the gods. Food for kings. And sons of kings. And common people, too.”

  When we reached my father’s building, I grabbed the door handle and my stomach, like before, twisted into knots. I grimaced in pain and Owethu put his hand on my shoulder. Before he could say anything, though, I snapped up and threw open the door.

  Without waiting for him, I ran as fast as my feet would traverse the stairs. My heart pounded against my ribcage, so hard I feared it would burst. Panic whipped through my veins, pushing me down the hall. Again, something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. I didn’t know what, but it lay ahead of me. And I knew it came from my father’s office.

  “Faster,” I said between labored breaths.

  With each step, my mind flashed back to the horrors of a year ago. Would I find Hendrix and his thugs inside? Would they again kidnap my father? Even though Genevieve and I were successful, with the help of the Sky Raiders in rescuing him before, I couldn’t bear the thought of losing him again. And this time, I didn’t have a weapon. My Thumper. Father refused to allow me to carry it at Eton.

  Owethu hadn’t asked a single question, or even give me a look of confusion. He just ran at my side, and together we rounded the corner. My father’s office door sat at the end of a narrow hall. I stopped short, and held Owethu back.

  Father’s door stoodopen, but was blocked by a cloaked figure. One dressed in a tight black suit and adorned with native Zulu jewelry. With their back to me, all I saw was his hand, which held a brass, segmented pipe the size of a fountain pen with two thin, silver tubes running along one side.

  The assassin didn’t see us from behind. Over the shoulder of the cloaked figure, I saw my father buried in a book, oblivious to the threat behind him.

  As I rushed forward, with Owethu close behind, I cried out, “Dad!”

  He looked up, confused by the sound of my voice, and even more so when he saw the cloaked assassin. He jumped up, and raised the dusty leather-bound tome he’d been studying as the cloaked figure raised the silver and brass device. With a burst of air the dart shot at him,

  I screamed, “No!” But the dart sank into the cover.

  “Alexander, no!” my father screamed. “Run!”

  But I didn’t. I couldn’t. This time I was not going to let anyone take him from me. Owethu and I set shoulders and prepared to smash into the assassin like jousting knights, but mere steps away, the slender leg of a … a woman, emerged from the cloak. With the agility of a jousting knight, she pressed one foot against the doorframe, and sprang to the top of the thin door. Owethu and I stumbled into each other and tumbled to the floor. The lady assassin loomed above us, and locked eyes with me. The intensity of her dark eyes sent chills through me. The rest of her face was obscured by a brass gas mask.

  “Alexander! Owethu! Run!” my father screamed again.

  She raised the pneumatic dart gun, and we scrambled toward my father as another dart stuck into the floor where we’d laid.

  The assassin dropped silently to the floor. Never taking her eyes from us. My father dug through his desk drawer. For what I didn’t know. She raised the pneumatic blow-dart gun and aimed it right at my father.

  Time slowed as my heart pulsed faster, reverberating through me like an electrical impulse. I didn’t have a way to stop her.

  Then my father yelled, “Here it is!” He stood up with a revolver in hand. He spun around and pulled the trigger barely aiming at the lady assassin. He screamed, but it wasn’t from fright. More like a wild battle cry. Owethu and I covered our ears.

  She twisted as he fired again and again.

  The first bullet struck the wall and the second tore through her cloak. She reached into a leather pouch on her hip and pulled out a small glass vile, smashing it against the floor. She turned and charged down the hall. Yellowish vapor rose to form a noxious cloud around the three of us leaving us gasping for air. My father ran into the hall still firing his gun. Owethu and I followed, coughing and trying to force fresh air into our lungs.

  As she reached the window at the end of the hall, she pulled a small, pocket-watch-like disk from her pouch. She hurled it at the window. A high pitch, sonic pulse shattered the glass. Pulling her cloak around her, she crashed through the broken wooden frame and disappeared.

  Instinctively, I cried, “No!” We were on the second floor. Along with Father and Owethu, I ran to the ledge and peered down at the ground. The lady assassin popped up as if nothing happened, and ran to a waiting carriage. She leapt up onto the back wheel, threw her legs over the side, and landed in the open seat. A cloaked figure sat on the seat facing her, facing us. My father raised his revolver and pulled the trigger but it only clicked.

  Terror seized me. The passenger lifted his head and removed the hood of the cloak. A face half-covered in bronze plates stared back at me. His one eye sparking with electricity. Even from the second floor, I heard the inexplicable, intricate gears and sprockets spinning—the one’s that had haunted my dreams since returning home. Then the snick as they locked into place. I couldn’t move as I watched the man lift his Stetson. Colonel Hendrix.

  During my previous adventure, I hadn’t paid attention to the sound, but afterward, it haunted my nights. Colonel Hendrix tipped his Stetson with his mechanical hand and leered at us. I looked over at my father; his eyes were trained on the carriage, but his face held a haunted far away stare as if he weren’t there. He lowered the gun barrel slowly, until it rested on the window sill.

  The revolver was empty, and I recognized the look on my father’s face. It was the same as mine when I heard Hendrix’s gears.

  Hendrix threw back his head and laughed. Removing his hat, he stood and bowed as the carriage pulled away.

  Without a word, Owethu bolted for the stairs. I ran after him. I heard my father protest, but I didn’t listen. Once out the door, we rounded the building, but the carriage had sped away.

  We followed them onto Slough Road, but my legs burned and I had to stop. I doubled over, each breath searing my lungs. Owethu kept running and followed them to the bridge. He returned at a full jog. He didn’t even look winded.

  “Did you see which way they went?” I asked between gasps.

  With concern on his face Owethu asked, “Alexander, ar
e you wounded?” He put his hand on my shoulder and leaned closer. “Did one of those darts hit you?”

  “No … just out of breathe.”

  “Good. That is most important. No, I didn’t see where they went. I will never catch them. Nothing leaves tracks on this stone.”

  Finally able to stand straight, I said, “The man in the carriage, we know him. Colonel Hendrix. The Knights of the Golden Circle. They are the ones behind these murders.”

  “Who?”

  “They kidnapped my father a year ago. To help them decipher an ancient text that lead to the hearts of the four horsemen. Then they tried to destroy and enslave the world.”

  “Oh, I see. They are using my people, how do you say?”

  “As a scapegoat,” I said.

  “Ah, yes. To blame us for their savagery.”

  “They are bad news.” I ran my fingers through my hair. “But who was she?”

  “I do not know, but now I understand why the killer is dressed like my people.”

  “I was her next target,” my father said as he stepped up behind us.

  “What have you been working on?” I asked. “Were you working with Professor McCafferty?”

  He adjusted his glasses. “Nothing together, but maybe we were separately on the same case.”

  Owethu asked. “What do we do now?”

  “I’ve summoned the baron and Grand Master Sinclair. We’re handing this over to the Order.”

  I spun around. “But—”

  “No.” Father held up his hand. “I do not want you getting involved. If the Golden Circle has returned, then I want you as far away as possible.”

  “But….”

  “No, Alexander. I’m not budging on this. Last year was a one time event. And Alexander—” He made sure I was looking him in the eye. “I don’t want you running off. Understand?”

  Great, now he’s treating me like a baby, and in front of my new friend. I couldn’t look at Owethu.

  “I won’t,” I groaned. “Can’t anyway,” I mumbled under my breath. “You won’t let me build an airship,”

  “Thank you.” He gripped his shoulders as the wind rushed by. “Okay, boys, let’s get inside.”

  Soon everyone was buzzing around us. Scotland Yard asked me and Owethu questions. The baron and Sinclair, too. But I couldn’t say anything more than I had seen Colonel Hendrix, and the woman dressed like the Zulu.

  I couldn’t get Hendrix’s laugh out of my head. Even now his exhaled grunt was like a distant echo.

  CHAPTER 9

  THE SPARROWHAWK

  I traced the cool panels of hardened liquid glass on my father’s office window with my finger. Replaced the previous year after the baron had crashed through to save us from Col. Hendrix, and yet not a mark of that day remained. At least not on the window. A few Bobbies and Eton officials moved about outside, but I sat transfixed on the warped reflections of the members of the Templar Order and other people darting in and out of the office.

  Owethu sat in my father’s chair answering Scotland Yard’s questions over and over again. I wouldn’t want to be in his seat. However, none of the Templars asked me. They all talked to my father to see if I was unhurt. Again, it was as if I was invisible.

  Through the blur of fine suits and uniforms flashing across the glass, I saw Genevieve. She looked like a painting, in a deep-blue dress, her hands tucked inside her fur muff, framed by the doorway. Her small, bronze dragon sitting majestically on her shoulder, creating the kind of portrait that hung in every manor in England. I didn’t want to turn around. She looked beautiful, and I was still dressed as a schoolboy. Maybe she wouldn’t see me, and I could avoid the embarrassment, but all I wanted was to speak with her.

  Rodin soared across the room and landed on my shoulder. He’d grown very little in the last year, still the size of an eagle, or raven. He rubbed his horned nubs against my cheek as he tucked in his wings and wrapped his tail around my other shoulder.

  “Hi, Rodin.” I rubbed under his chin, and his eyes narrowed to slits as the softest coo rumbled within his belly.

  Genevieve crossed the room, and I turned as she approached me.

  “Are you unhurt?” she asked, as she reached up to push back my hair. “My father said you fought the assassin.”

  I managed to stutter a quick, “Fine,” out of my ever-tightening chest.

  She smiled, and I melted into a puddle of goo on the floor, blabbering like an idiot. I spun sideways, so that Rodin was between us. In front of me was one of the many shelves holding artifacts. What could be more boring than shards of ancient Greek pottery to distract me from my feelings? I sighed, and finally spoke like I made sense. “We didn’t really fight her. She was too good.”

  “She? It was a woman?”

  “Yeah, and she was European, not African. It’s not a Zulu.”

  “Thank goodness it can now be proven.”

  I paused, but had to tell her. “Hendrix is back. He waited for her in a carriage. They fled after trying to kill my father.”

  “Hendrix.” Her voice hardened. “The Golden Circle is causing all these deaths.”

  “It looks that way.” I turned back to the window. “And now they’re getting away.”

  “My father has people checking the docks,” Genevieve said.

  “We need to go. We have to find them.”

  She paused, smiled, and said, “Agreed.”

  Owethu slipped between two Bobbies, and stepped beside Genevieve. “But how?” he whispered.

  I tried to think of a way, but knew it would take a miracle. Outside, a white horse rode up to the building. I watched with increasing curiosity, as a messenger jumped off and rushed though the doors. We all turned as the man entered my father’s office and handed the baron a folded piece of paper. The baron thanked him and read the note. He nodded. “They’ve arrived at the air docks and await our arrival, professor.”

  “Who?” Father asked.

  “The Sparrowhawk.”

  I nearly jumped with joy.

  My father protested. “But my classes.”

  I burned at his passiveness. We’d been attacked, nearly killed, and he was worried about his classes? I never understood why my father insisted on burying himself behind a wall of books.

  “Don’t you want revenge for what they did to you?” I stared at my father, but before he could answer I pounded his desk with my fist. “We have to defeat the Knights of the Golden Circle once and for all.”

  “Alexander, there is no we. I’ve told you, you are not going anywhere! And neither am I.”

  The baron shook his head. “You’re son is right, Professor. You are perhaps the only one who has any clue what’s going on. You said it yourself: there might be a connection between the three of you. And until we figure that out, you aren’t leaving my side. Her Majesty’s orders.”

  My father stepped forward, his finger raised, “Don’t pull that ‘For queen and country stuff’ with me.”

  The baron gave my father a look, not of anger, but of understanding. Finally, my father nodded and the two men shook hands. Baron Kensington nodded, and held up the note. “Be ready in an hour. Our transport awaits.”

  “I will,” my father said, “but, what about Alexander?”

  “Mrs. Hinderman will look after him until we get back.”

  I shook my head. “Wait! That’s not fair. I …” I motioned to Genevieve and Owethu, “we want to go, too.”

  Both men turned, and in unison, said, “No!”

  My father wrung his hands together. “Alexander, we already discussed this.” Actually, you discussed it, I wanted to say, but didn’t.

  The baron pointed the paper at his daughter. “We will not repeat our earlier conversation.”

  She hardened, but said, “Yes, Father.”

  I spun around, grabbed Genevieve’s arm, and pulled her over to the corner. I motioned for Owethu to follow. Her puzzled expression turned to surprise as I leaned closer to her ear. When she turned her face
to me, my senses dulled at the scent of roses. She was intoxicating.

  “Captain Baldarich is taking them,” I whispered. “I just figured out how we’re going.”

  Her eyes lit up, but she said nothing.

  I leaned over to Owethu, “We’re going after the assassin. Want to come?”

  He grinned and nodded.

  “Grab whatever you think you’ll need and meet back here in twenty minutes.”

  Genevieve raised an eyebrow. “I thought we had an hour.”

  “We’re not going with my father. We have to get there first.”

  They nodded and we split off from each other.

  I waved goodbye, but my father was too busy to notice. I ran to my house which sat within a stones throw from Eton. I had to get there before he did.

  I dumped the books and papers from my bag onto my bed, and quickly rifled through my room, collecting clothes for the journey. Then I slid a drawer from beneath my bed. Under a sweater lay my Thumper, my knife, my father’s telescope, and the leather strap I’d bound myself with. I tucked them all into the bag, grabbed my tooth brush, and ran out the door. But I heard my father in his room just down the hall.

  I wanted to stop and tell him I was ready to go. That he might need me. But I knew there was no reasoning with him. He’d never agree. He didn’t like to talk about last year. Another in a long list of topics we didn’t discuss.

  I crept to the front door, but hesitated. He’d ground me for certain when I saw him again. I exhaled and silently opened the door. I slipped out of the house and across the empty quads at Eton. Some things were worth getting in trouble for.

  CHAPTER 10

  STOWAWAYS

  I sat outside my father’s office waiting for the others, wondering if any of them would even show. I knew they wanted to, but what if Owethu told his father? Or Genevieve couldn’t get away from Mrs. Hinderman? A few deep breaths and the panic growing within eased. Genevieve, I told myself, could easily escape her house. I was certain of that. While Owethu was too smart to blow the plan.