Ancient Appetites (27 page)

'Wait . . . wait,' Nate muttered.

Swinging back his foot, he gave the bailiff a sound kick to the head.

'You can thank me for that one later!' he called as they hurried away.

N
ate took another sip of the water and blinked his swollen red eyelids. He was sitting in a small room on the top floor of the tower that connected to his father's rooms through a number of hidden doors. This was the living quarters of the Maasai. The room could not have been more than twelve feet square, but their entire private lives were contained within it. Nate had seen Clancy's room a few times and was surprised that Edgar have given his servants less space than those of his children. The Maasai had made up for the lack of space by cluttering it with the focus of their passion. Africa.

The room had no windows and was lit by a small lamp. A speaking tube by the door allowed the Maasai's master to summon them any time of the day or night from anywhere in the house. Maps hung on the walls, along with an old sword, an assegai spear and a shield. Nate was sitting on the bottom bunk and could see a beaded necklace adorning the narrow headboard of the top bunk facing him. On a shelf was a modest collection of books on the Dark Continent, and various other tourist souvenirs lay scattered around. But these servants had never been back to their homeland since being taken from it as children. He was quite sure they had never been out of the house unless they were accompanying the Duke. Nate wondered how they had managed to collect all this junk.

'People have been kind to us, sir,' the man opposite him said, as if reading his mind. He spoke with the cultured tone of an Oxford graduate. 'It is our dream to visit our homeland again some day.'

Nate nodded, but he knew there would be no chance of that now.

'You saved my life,' he said. 'I'm in your debt. I'm sorry . . . but I don't . . . I don't know which of you is which.'

'When we do our jobs properly, sir, people should not notice us at all,' the man said, smiling. 'I am Abraham. The one with the wounded shoulder is Isaiah and the one with the bandage on his arm is Jacob. Our brother, Joshua, was shot dead in the dining room.'

'I'm sorry,' Nate said again. 'Servants are supposed to be protected by the Rules of Ascension.'

'It is the one rule the family does not follow to the letter,' Abraham told him. 'They will justify it to themselves later. Are you feeling better, sir? Isaiah has gone to fetch Mr Clancy; they will be here soon.'

'I'm fine, thank you,' Nate replied. 'I have to get out of here and find my brother and sisters. At least we bought them some time to escape.'

'I'm afraid not, sir,' Abraham said mournfully. 'They were caught moments after they rounded the corner by the Duke's brother and his sons. We chose to aid
you . . .
we had a greater chance of success and you were in the more imminent danger. I'm afraid Master Roberto and the ladies are in the hands of the enemy, sir.'

Nate cursed under his breath and put his head in his hands.

'They will not kill the ladies, nor your brother while you still live, sir,' Abraham told him. 'Jacob is following them by the secret ways to see where they are being held. We will free them, but the enemy will not rest until they have found you. You must flee the house – stay alive and find more allies.'

He leaned forward, his eyes lowered, careful not to meet Nathaniel's gaze out of respect for his position.

'We have no purpose but to serve the rightful Heir . . . and his brother, Master Nathaniel,' he said in a low voice. 'We failed our master, but we won't fail you. Let us be your vengeance.'

'This isn't your fight,' Nate said gently.

'The enemy took our master. The Duke was a hard man, but he was the sun around which our earth revolved. If you will forgive me for saying it, sir, he was like a father to us.'

'That's more than he was to me.' Nate snorted at the irony of the remark. 'You can have your own vengeance, Abraham; I need none of it. I want to get out of here and take my brother and sisters with me. And that's all I want.'

'So be it,' Abraham said, and his eyes hardened. 'When Mr Clancy arrives and Jacob returns, we will go and free the hostages.' He made it sound so simple. 'Then you must go your way, sir, and leave us to do our duty.'

Nate thought he detected a rebuke in the man's tone. Looking around the room, he realized that without their master, these men had no identity, no purpose. Not like Clancy; Clancy was his own man. They had been plucked from their home and, as black men, would never be fully accepted by the other servants here. They dreamed of going back to Africa, but after a life in an Irish manor house, they would never be accepted by their own people either. Abraham saw him staring at the books on the shelf.

'You have been to Kenya, sir?' he asked eagerly. 'Did you encounter the Maasai? Please tell me about them.'

'I didn't see much of them – I wasn't there for very long,' Nate replied, relieved to talk about something other than conspiracy. 'They are a proud people; tall, like you – even the women! I remember their loud laughs and booming voices. The tribes wander with their cattle . . . They treat their cattle with the utmost care. They mourn when one is slaughtered.' He racked his brain to remember more. It seemed to mean so much to the footman. 'The warrior class call themselves
moran
and they are known throughout Africa for their bravery and ferocity.'

They were also notorious among farmers for being cattle thieves, but Nate saw no need to mention that. Abraham continued to listen in fascination.

'They form bonds for life with the other men their age in the tribe – I think they even get circumcized together!' He paused, embarrassed, realizing that was hardly a suitable subject to discuss with servants. 'And of course, to prove his manhood, a Maasai warrior must kill a lion—'

Even as he said it, Nate knew he had made a mistake. Abraham's face fell. Nate tried to come up with some way to cover up his blunder, but he couldn't. Abraham and his brothers were in their forties and had never even seen a lion in the flesh. There was a long and awkward silence.

'I will go to Africa,' the servant said solemnly, 'and I will kill a lion.'

Nathaniel was saved from answering by the sound of someone in the passage outside. Abraham aimed his pistol at the door, but two sharp knocks followed by two more put him at ease. Isaiah walked in with Clancy behind him.

'I think it's time to get you out of here, sir,' Clancy declared.

'We need to free the others first,' Nate said.

'Hugo and Gideon will count on your doing that, Master Nathaniel,' Clancy replied. 'They will be waiting to trap you. You must leave and gather allies – perhaps in the south, or in England – and then come back in force. If you are taken, they will kill you and your brother both. But they won't dispatch him until they have you, sir – not while they can use him as leverage against you.'

Nate knew he was right, but he couldn't admit it out loud. He would have to leave his brother and sisters to their fate. His fists clenched so tight they turned pale and the muscles knotted around his jaw. The choice was almost more than he could bear. There had to be another way. There
had
to be.

'Goddamn it to hell!' he burst out, thumping the wall. 'I can't just leave them!'

'You must, sir,' Clancy said simply. 'And you must do it now.'

There was nothing for it but to go. Nate allowed himself to be led along the secret passageways back to his room. He needed some ready money and the weapons he kept there. Clancy assured him that the Duke's servants were the best men to have on their side in the house. They had been taught every hidden path and doorway and were extremely capable. Nate hardly listened – he should not have been relying on servants to save his kin. His face burned with shame.

The passageway did not go all the way to Nate's room, opening instead through an eight-foot-tall oil painting of the Duke at the end of the corridor. They closed the painting behind them and walked quietly up the hallway.

'I left the room protected, sir,' Clancy told him. 'They might expect you to come back here.'

Nate was deep in thought, wondering where he could go. They had cousins in Cork and Galway, and some in Belfast too. He knew there were a few he might count on. But Gideon would already be contacting them by the house's telegraph, warning them that Nathaniel was no longer to be trusted. Nate was engrossed in plans of escape and rescue when he reached his door, carelessly grasping the handle.

'Sir!' Clancy barked.

But it was too late. Nate flung open the door and walked through without pressing the safety catch in the handle. The next thing he knew, Clancy was slamming him against the door frame and he felt a sharp pain in his chest.

'Agh!'
he yelled. 'What the bloody hell's got into you?'

He pushed the footman away, clutching his chest. That was when he saw the metal point sticking out of the breast of Clancy's jacket. Clancy collapsed against the opposite door frame and slid down to the floor, groaning. The tail of the crossbow bolt sticking out of his back clacked against the floor. It had been shot from a crossbow mounted in the base of the sofa on the other side of the room; a booby trap meant to protect Nate . . . and he had walked right into it. It was the tip of the bolt he'd felt digging into his own chest, after it had embedded itself in his servant's body.

'Oh God,' he whimpered breathlessly. 'Oh God, no. Not you. Oh God, I'm sorry.'

He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and tried to stem the bleeding. Clancy struggled to sit up.

'Stay down, man!' Nate urged him, his voice cracking into a sob. 'I'll get help. I'm so sorry. Gerald . . . Gerald can help you—'

'I'm dying,' Clancy replied with wet noises in his throat. 'There's no one can help that.'

He sounded furious. Nate caught his breath and wiped tears from his eyes. He couldn't bear to have the man angry at him now, when they had so little time left.

'Hush,' he said. 'I'll get help.'

'Shut up and listen, boy,' Clancy growled, his Limerick accent suddenly stronger, all trace of civility gone from his voice. He seized the collar of Nate's jacket. 'Shut up! Listen to me. You can't let them take what's yours, y'hear me? Don't . . . don't let those bloody snakes take over. This is your family . . . you must claim it back!' He choked on something, coughing.

'Don't worry about me now,' Nate told him. 'We need to—'

'This isn't about
you,
you little whelp!' Clancy snarled again. 'There's more at stake here than your privileged little life . . .' He ran out of breath, growing steadily weaker. 'Your father didn't want you or Roberto taking charge, y'understand? You don't have his greed and he sees that as weakness. It takes an appetite for . . . for money . . . for power to run this family the way he wants and you don't have it, y'understand? The Duke's seed was gone, he could have no more children. And Gideon is a coward . . . and . . . and stupid to boot. The Duke needed a new Heir . . . That's . . .' He took a shaky breath. 'That's why he let Hugo and the others live. Because the Duke needed to seed a ruthless new generation.'

He went quiet for a moment, struggling to breathe. Blood pooled under him, despite Nate's attempts to cover the wounds.

'This wealth isn't theirs to take,' Clancy managed at last. 'Nor is it yours . . . for that matter. You never earned it – none of you did. But . . . but you can spend the rest of your life making good. Be a just master . . . You have a duty . . . Don't disappoint me . . . Nathaniel.'

He slumped down, barely conscious, letting out short, loud, wet panting groans. Nate pulled him up and heaved his servant onto his shoulder. Hurrying back to the painting at the end of the corridor, he entered, lit a candle, and slammed the Duke's portrait closed behind him.

*

'Where is he?' Gideon demanded. 'We'll find him anyway, you know'

'Then why bother asking?' Roberto said through broken teeth.

Gideon and his stocky brood of five sons with their thick black pelts and various facial hair arrangements wrestled their captives along the hallway towards the Duke's study. Daisy had tried to hold them up so that she could tend her husband's injuries, but they would have none of it. Berto had put up a fight and had paid the cost. The fingers of one hand were dislocated and Daisy was sure he had fractures in his ribs or arm from the way he walked. His face was badly bruised.

Holding Tatiana's hand, she walked as quickly as her dress would allow, shaking her arm free when one of the Gideonettes tried to drag her ever faster. They reached the door of the study and Gideon threw it open, two of his sons becoming jammed in the doorway behind him in their efforts to be next through. The rest of the party managed to enter with a little more dignity. Berto was thrown to the floor in front of the desk, with three men holding him, his face pressed into the carpet.

'The prodigal children return!' Hugo greeted them with a grim smile as he stood up from behind the desk. 'I trust you have recovered from your pampered tantrums and are ready to behave with a little more decorum?'

They stared for a moment, struck by the strange sight of a man wearing a dress suit, but with a vest of chain mail over his shirt. It must have come from one of the antique costumes the family kept. The steel links glittered in the light under his black suit jacket. A purple cravat covered a stout leather collar protecting his neck. He saw them looking.