To one of my dearest readers,
Susan Gibson Snodgrass,
who has since gone on to hear,
“Well done, good and faithful servant.”
And as always,
to the One who I long to hear whisper
those very same words to me.
Oxford, England
July 1888
Cemeteries always smelled of earthworms and damp dog fur,
especially after a rain, and Brudge rather liked it that way. It
made death more tangible. Imminent. An irrefutable reminder
that life balanced on a knife’s edge. He patted the blade in his
coat pocket, the hard lump of it a reassurance that the Shadow
Broker wouldn’t get the best of him. Not this night. Brudge
would be the victor or die in the trying.
“Step smart, Scupper,” he called over his shoulder, annoyed
that the oaf he hired couldn’t keep up with him. To be expected,
though, if he really thought on it. A battleship aground wouldn’t
move with ease, and Scupper was a boatload of muscle and flesh.
Holding his lantern higher, Brudge studied the black shapes
in the freshly fallen darkness. Not a particularly brilliant time for
a rendezvous, what with the turn of wheels yet grinding along
the cobblestones outside the hallowed ground of St. Sepulchre’s.
Midnight would have been better. Perhaps this Shadow Broker
wasn’t all he was cracked up to be.
Or it could be a well- calculated appointment to put him at
ease before danger cuffed him in the head.
An involuntary shiver spidered down his spine as his gaze
shifted left and right. Nothing moved save for the slight tremble of leaves on the trees, dripping leftover raindrops like so many drops of blood. Tombstones the colour of bleached bones
popped up from the dirt, quiet sentries of the dead. Nothing
out of the ordinary for a graveyard, but he didn’t like it. Not
a bit. In his line of work, it was the mundane that dulled the
senses, and a trafficker of purloined goods ought never give
in to passivity. Unless, of course, he didn’t mind a gun to the
back.
Which he did.
After rounding a bend in the path, Brudge crouched at the
next gravestone on the left and squinted.
Beauty, wisdom, fame and wealth
All are stolen by ill- health
Bold or valiant, rugged or brave
None escape the silent grave
What a load of codswallop. Brudge turned aside and spit.
If the Shadow Broker thought a few words carved in granite
would put the fear of God into him, then the scoundrel clearly
didn’t know who he was dealing with.
He set the lantern on the ground as instructed in the note
he’d received earlier that day. Scupper pulled alongside him,
smelling of gardenias of all things. Either the man had a secret
penchant, or he still lived with his mother.
“Now what?” Scupper’s voice was a foghorn.
“Shsst!” Brudge kept his tone to just above a whisper as he
scanned to the far stretches of the light. “No sense letting the
whole world know we’ve arrived.”
Scupper had opened his mouth to reply when hardened words
hit them both in the back.
“I see you have brought company. That was not part of the
deal.”
Brudge wheeled about, brows shooting to the clouds as the
silhouette of a woman stepped from the shadows of a large tree
trunk. She clutched a satchel in each hand, obviously prepared
to do business. This slip of a woman was the Shadow Broker?
No, it had to be a setup, and a nasty one at that.
“One can never be too cautious,” he said, then murmured
low to Scupper, “Be on alert.” He eased his hand to his pocket,
speaking loudly to draw attention to his words instead of the
movement. “Had I known you were a skirt, I wouldn’t have
brought the extra muscle.”
“Don’t you know you ought not judge a book by its cover,
Mr. Brudge?”
He chuckled, ending with a whisper to Scupper, “Check our
flank, then circle round and get the goods.” Upping his volume,
he made a show of clouting the man on the back. “Off you go.”
Brudge smiled at the woman. “Is that better, miss?”
“There is no need to be condescending.” A winter wind
blew in her voice, stark against the July evening. “This is not
my first purchase.”
“So I hear tell.” And he had, though he’d give Dandrae the
sharp side of his tongue next time he saw him. The cully ought
to have warned him the Shadow Broker liked to pull stunts.
“How do you wish to play it, then?”
“I should like to inspect the artifact before I give you the
money. Set the item down, then back off twenty paces. After I
verify the authenticity, I shall put it in this empty satchel.” She
held up the bag in her left hand. “Then I will leave the money
in its place, which is in this one.” She lifted the other bag.
Brudge frowned. “Seems only fair I get to do some verifying
as well. How do I know you’ve brought the full amount or even
if there’s anything in there?”
“In your own words, you have ‘heard tell.’ So no doubt you
know I have never cheated anyone from the agreed-upon price.”
A snort ripped out of him. “There’s always a first in my line
of business.”
Though he couldn’t see her face, he had no doubt her lips
were pinched with irritation. Pulling out a stack of bills, she
waved the wad in the air. “Would you like me to count them
aloud?”
Sassy little sprite. A grin curved his mouth. “No need.”
Shoving his hand into his pocket, he pulled out a clothwrapped bundle the length of his palm, hardly two fingers wide,
then nestled it atop the gravel. He retreated no more than a
step before the woman shot up her palm.
“Take the lantern with you.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I thought you said you wanted to
inspect the trinket.”
Laughter bubbled out of her, more demeaning than humorous. He bristled. He’d never let a man insult him so, much less
a woman.
“Just do as you are told, Mr. Brudge.”
He snatched up the lantern, the flame casting a wild dance
of light as it swung in his grip, then counted off twenty paces.
How satisfying it would be when Scupper took this snippet
down to the ground.
She approached the tiny parcel, skirts billowing like dark
clouds. Setting aside the satchels, she retrieved the package and
unwrapped it. Hard to say what she saw in the small figurine.
He wouldn’t give two coppers for the ugly chunk of clay. Not
that it mattered, as long as she was willing to pay.
And since she was, that meant others would part with coins
for it too.
Apparently satisfied, she opened the clasp on one bag and
tipped it upside down. “As you see, Mr. Brudge, I shall be putting the item into the empty satchel and will leave behind the one with the payment.” Like a grand entertainer, she flourished
her hand in the air.
Brudge rolled his eyes. How this woman had earned such a
shrewd reputation was beyond him. Then again, this could all
simply be a charade while the real Shadow Broker hid behind
some tombstone. If that was the case, hopefully Scupper could
handle him. He’d certainly paid the brute enough.
“Let Mr. Dandrae know if you come across any other Egyp-
tian artifacts. I am always in the market for such.” She snapped
the bag closed. “Good night, Mr. Brudge. A pleasure doing
business with you.”
Her skirts swirled as she shot down the gravel path. Brudge
ate up the ground himself in a mad dash to grab the money. The
clasp broke as he forced the satchel open. Sure enough, a bundle
of banknotes sat inside. A slow smile eased across his lips, then
broke into a grin as Scupper stepped out of the shadows and
grabbed the woman. She’d have screamed were the man’s big
hand not over her mouth. He wrenched the satchel containing
the artifact from her grip just as she elbowed him in the gut,
followed by another sharp blow even lower. Scupper grunted.
Brudge winced. That had to hurt.
A curse bellowed out of the man, followed by a swipe of his
meat- hook hand. The strike launched the woman sideways. She
landed in a heap while Scupper lurched away, hunched over.
Brudge caught up to him and clapped the man on the back.
“Good work. Now let’s be off. Train leaves in twenty minutes
. . . just about the time that chit will wake up with a real skull
banger. Stupid woman. She has no business being in a man’s
world.” He chuckled as he clutched both satchels. He could
triple the money if he and Scupper pulled this little trick a few
more times.
“But keep your eyes keen, eh?” His gaze swept the graveyard
like the swing of a scythe. “For all we know, the Shadow Broker
might yet be waiting to spring.”
A twig in the mouth was as pleasant a sensation as gravel
mashed into one’s cheek— and a bruised one at that. Stifling a
groan, Ami Dalton spit out the small stick, then pushed up to
sit. Well. That hadn’t gone exactly as planned.
Fingering the soreness in her jaw, she rose on stiff legs. Oh,
but a hot soak in a rose- scented bath would be a welcome diversion this night. With quick sweeps of her hands, she dusted
herself off, then glowered at a large tear in her hem. Must bullies
always use force to get what they wanted? Then again, in order
to bring history to life for the masses, one must be willing to
face danger now and then— or so her father always said.
She huffed a disgusted puff of air as she picked her way
through the maze of tombstones. The rear gate, while out of
the way, was the safer route if Mr. Brudge and his hammer man
came back. A beauty of a headache pounded in her temple as
she upped her pace. Mr. Dandrae should have investigated this
pair more thoroughly before suggesting she work with them.
Such slipshod connections weren’t like him . . . unless he’d taken
a larger- than- usual cut of the profits. Possible. He was a consummate businessman even if his dealings were sometimes on
the wrong side of the law. Perhaps Mr. Brudge had paid him
too handsomely to refuse, or perhaps the man owned a little
dirt on Mr. Dandrae. Regardless, Mr. Dandrae would hear of
the heavy- handed horseplay that’d gone on tonight and make
sure it didn’t happen again, or she’d pull her business from him.
Hinges screeched like demons in the night as she opened the
cemetery gate. Ahead sat a black cab with an even blacker horse
hitched to it. The animal pawed the ground, a massive snort
misting from his nostrils in the glow of the coach’s lanterns.
“Ready to leave, miss?” the driver called from his seat.
“Yes, please.” She boarded, taking care to tuck in her gown
before shutting the door. No sense adding tear upon tear to
the already battered fabric.
Sinking against the seat, she nearly closed her eyes. Yet no.
This was a time not for rest but for celebration. With one quick
movement, she pulled out the small bundle she’d jammed up her
sleeve, then unwrapped the ancient shabti doll, the same shape
and size of the rock she’d left inside the satchel Mr. Brudge stole.
Mr. Clampstone would bounce on his toes when he got his
hands on this gem. Another prize for the Ashmolean Museum’s
Egyptian collection and another step forward in her career to
becoming a recognized Egyptologist. After six months of her
identifying and acquiring unique pieces, Mr. Clampstone ought
to be offering her that part- time Egyptologist position any day
now. Which would be a boon. And yet even with such a title,
she’d still be nowhere near gaining a smidgeon of the respect
her father enjoyed. She’d never become a team member on an
Egyptian dig without such respect. A sigh leaked out of her.
But even so, she smiled as she rewrapped the precious relic.
If nothing else, the Shadow Broker had maintained her reputation, and for now, that would have to be enough.
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