Robert Appleton - Prehistoric Clock

Not likely. The crescent line of chairs in the middle of the road, where Parliament Street intersected Bridge Street, was almost empty. Polperro’s posse was not enjoying the sunshine this afternoon. A group of six or seven men in shirtsleeves was busy extracting useable furniture and perishables from the northernmost damaged houses before the structures collapsed altogether. Miss Polperro had summoned her top minions-as Embrey called them-including Carswell, Delaney and four of her Leviacrum retinue for an animated powwow in the shade of the gentlemen’s club. The discussion could very well be harmless and confined to the day-to-day running of the camp, but Verity didn’t like the constant glances in her direction or the schoolmarm’s angry finger-wagging at her colleagues.

Thank God Djimon and the others are here.

Her aeronauts were playing cards on the sun-baked kerb. In the centre of them, Embrey appeared out of place in his white vest and expensive trousers. His blond hair seemed to bleach more with each afternoon. Soon he would look almost albino. A dashing, infuriating, prehistoric albino…who blew at gin rummy.

“Why don’t you take a walk with him? It would serve our cause immensely if you two could cease hostilities.” Reardon’s impertinence poured out so matter-of-factly, she almost called to Embrey there and then. “Come now,” he said, “you cannot play counterparts forever. Sooner or later, clockwork requires each piece to accept its nature or break. Hearts are no different.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Pass me that glass polisher?” The professor winked and then whistled a tune to himself.

The downright cheek. If only to escape his weirdness, Verity snatched her helmet from him and left. But rather than head back to the Empress, she veered toward the card game and, after fanning her hot flush, looked away and blurted out, “Care to take a walk, Embrey?”

She cringed and vowed to undo those words with all the other wrongs she’d get to right with the machine “Absolutely.” Ignoring boos and taunts from the mirthful aeronauts, Embrey leapt to his feet and offered her the way. “Ladies first.”

This is a mistake already. “We need to get a few things straight-” she waited until they were out of earshot of her men, “-and I’ve something crucial to ask you.”

“Likewise. It’s time we cleared the air, Miss Champlain.”

A cold, distant remark. “Yes it is…Lord Embrey.” Ugh. Despite what she wanted to ask him about his father, a sore part of her couldn’t swallow that barbed surname. Not now. Not ever.

They headed northwest, by the steam car wreckage and the crumbling terrace Miss Polperro’s men had just finished looting. Sections of the quagmire beyond, where the Thames water had drained into the soil, were now brick dry, a kind of murky green-grey colour. The top of the tree-line fidgeted, and she thought she heard crowing noises coming from the forest.

“So what would you like to ask?” Embrey’s well-defined upper body muscles were glazed with perspiration, while a tuft of blond chest hair teased her from beneath the low neck of his vest. A scar ran across his right pectoral muscle and down toward his ribs. Painful. And if she wasn’t mistaken, an animal’s claw had inflicted that injury. A number of her comrades had succumbed to wildlife attacks in Africa over the years.

“A polo souvenir?” She immediately regretted the jibe.

He eyed her quizzically, but seemed more amused than insulted. “Colca Canyon, Peru.”

“Peru? That’s the other side of the world. What on earth were you doing there?”

“Exploring with my uncle and a few of my old Oxford chums. We found an ancient trail to a derelict settlement-not one of our more prodigious finds, if I’m perfectly honest.” He snorted a laugh. “You look at me as though I’d be lost outside the drawing room without a compass.”

Verity smiled. “The thought had occurred to me. So how exactly were you wounded?”

“I had a slight culinary disagreement with a giant condor.”

“Disagreement?”

“Yes. He tried to steal my supper. His manners needed mending.”

“And what happened?”

“He mended mine instead.” Embrey ran his finger down his scar, all the way from collar to hip. “So you can see why I don’t much care for anything that flies. Present company accepted, of course.”

Interesting. He’s more adventurous than I thought.

“My sister visited South America once-Brazil, I think-with the bluecoats. The Amazon scared the life out of her. Insects as big as kites. Apparently some parts of the river are so wide it’s more like crossing a sea.”

“Very true. This place seems like Kew Gardens and its duck pond in comparison.” He paused, cleared his throat. “Miss Champlain, I’d just like to say, I’m very sorry for your loss. The Benguela attack was despicable, and I can assure you, despite what you might have heard, that neither my family nor myself had anything to do with it.”

“Oh.” So he wanted to exonerate himself once and for all while she was in a pliable mood, did he? Well, in that case he had some fancy talking to do. He’d answered her question, but it would take a lot more than that-the evidence against his father and uncle had been damning. “Tangeni said you’d try to convince me sooner or later.” Embrey’s brow stitched, as if her tone had been too harsh and she’d wounded him. “He also said I should listen,” she added.

“Aye, a rare fellow, that Tangeni.” But to her disappointment, he didn’t follow up. Instead, he narrowed his glazed eyes and then looked away to hide his grief. He seemed so lonely, so sad, she hadn’t the heart to press him further just yet. But that time would come.

“Hey, speaking of adventures, I met Quatermain once.” She tugged his vest.

“Really?” He blinked rapidly. “Pray tell.”

“Two summers ago he was leading an expedition into Kukuanaland. We flew over on our way to supply a team of mineral surveyors when he lit a distress lamp. One of his trail guides was crippled with fever, so we had to land and take him back to hospital.”

“Wasn’t contagious, I hope.”

“No. And the best part is…the guide had performed heroics along the way…saved a friend of Quatermain’s. And so Quatermain gave him a parting gift. In case the guide didn’t survive, we were to pass the gift on to his family. You’ll never guess what it was.”

“Not a diamond the size of a cricket ball, by chance?”

Verity halted him. “How in God’s name did you know that?”

“I’m good.” Rubbing his stubble, he teased her with a smug-but-really-rather-cute pout. “And it made all the papers in London.”

“No joking?”

“No.” Embrey thumbed his braces, seemed more boy than man. Verity’s heart warmed. “To English ears, any tale involving Quatermain or Horace Holly is like rumours of Heracles’s exploits to the ancient Greeks. Storytelling ambrosia. And when King Solomon’s diamonds are involved-”

“I know.” She tipped her helmet back and suddenly felt more exposed than she was comfortable with. To hell with comfort. This concerns Quatermain. “It was all we could talk about for weeks after. Tangeni even traded with him-gave Quatermain a spare canteen in exchange for one of his rifle bullets. I don’t know how the deuce he plucked the courage to do that.”

“Did you speak to him?”

Verity leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Don’t tell anyone, but I went as weak as a schoolgirl with a crush.” The heady excitement of being this close to him, close enough to taste his natural, intoxicating scent, dizzied her for a moment.

He whispered back, “What did you say?”

“That I…that I…”

“That you what?”