Sieges and Silverware: Epiphany Club, #4

By Andrew Knighton

In the face of war and betrayal, adventurer Dirk Dynamo is hunting for clues to the lost Great Library of Alexandria. Arriving at an isolated German castle, he finds his life threatened by enemies prowling its corridors and an army laying siege outside the walls. Surrounded by traitors, monsters and falling artillery shells, can Dirk escape with his life and the artefacts he seeks?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andrew Knighton
• Release date: Feb 8, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386551843

Andrew Knighton

Andrew Knighton is a freelance writer and an author of science fiction, fantasy, and steampunk stories. He lives in Yorkshire with his cat, his computer, and a big pile of books.

Book preview

Chapter 1: The Red Castle

Night was falling as the hot air balloon reached the walls of the Red Castle.

You sure this is the place? Dirk Dynamo peered through the grey shroud of dusk toward their destination. It was quite unlike the fortifications he had seen in the Civil War. Those had been lines of trenches with wooden palisades and heaps of earth. This was a fortress out of the distant past, towers stretching up from the tree-lined German hillside, reaching like crimson fingers into a grey sky.

This is it. Sir Timothy Blaze-Simms stood beside him, a screwdriver in one hand and a clutch of gears in the other. Given the supplies Isabelle took on at that last town there were only two options, and recent weather means-

Yes was enough. Dirk drew his Gravemaker, the revolver’s heavy cylinder gleaming in the last light of day. Glancing at Blaze-Simms, he saw a hesitant look on the face of the English inventor. Don’t worry, I’m not going in all guns blazing. I just want to be ready.

With a sputtering sound, the motor Blaze-Simms had rigged on the back of the basket propelled them toward the castle. Dirk released some of the hot air, lowering them smoothly across the battlements.

An elderly servant in a tailcoat stood staring at them, hands clasped behind his back. At his nod, two teenagers in livery sprung forward and took the ropes Dirk had lowered, securing the balloon to the crenellations. Even before they had finished, Dirk leapt down onto the stonework and looked around in the light of burning torches. Behind him, Blaze-Simms scrambled from the basket, accompanied by the rattle of gears and gadgets in his pockets.

The elderly servant held out a gloved hand and said something in German.

You catch that? Dirk asked.

Sorry, what? Blaze-Simms looked up from a gargoyle cut from the same reddish stone as the walls around it.

Ah, you are British? The butler’s expression didn’t change as he shifted into English, but Dirk thought there was less of a formal edge to his voice.

He is. He pointed at Blaze-Simms. I’m American.

Oh. Was it possible for a man’s face to fall without moving a muscle? If it was, then the butler managed it. May I have your card please?

Do I look like I’m carryin’ a card? Dirk said, gesturing toward the battered balloon, his shirt and pants, and the bruises still fading from his face.

I’m afraid I don’t know what passes for normal in America. The butler managed to make the last word sound like a curse, and it made Dirk’s blood boil. With the least possible movement, the servant turned to face Blaze-Simms. Sir, do you-

There’s no need for that. Isabelle McNair stepped out of the shadows of the nearest tower. Cool and refined in a blue silk dress, she treated them to a welcoming smile. I know these gentlemen.

Dirk felt like someone had grabbed hold of his insides and twisted them until everything was knotted with tension. Rage and longing battled inside him at the sight of the woman he had thought he loved and who had betrayed him. He fought to take long, deep breaths, calming his hammering heart.

Mrs McNair. He couldn’t keep the edge from his voice. Everything about her reminded him of Paris, both the good and the bad. It was the bad that threatened to overwhelm him as he pressed his anger down. We’ve come a long way to talk with you.

And I look forward to that conversation, she said. Though I must confess, I barely know where to start.

Sorry would be nice. Blaze-Simms looked absurd in indignation, his scowl so serious atop his incorrectly buttoned tailcoat. At least he could put into words what Dirk couldn’t. I think it’s the least we deserve. We worked just as hard as you to find those stones, and you just snatched them away.

If I were sorry, I would not have done it. Isabelle took a step forward, her attention on Dirk. But I hope that, with time, you might forgive me.

That don’t seem likely, he said through gritted teeth.

Of course not. Isabelle smiled, though there was sadness in her eyes. The wind caught a lock of her black, curling hair as she offered him her arm. Shall we go inside?

Dirk thrust his hands into his pockets and nodded toward the stairs.

After you, he said.

You could at least be civil. Isabelle’s voice was cold and sharp as broken ice.

I’ll save that for those who deserve it. I ain’t a hypocrite like you.

Oh no, Dirk. She strode away through an elaborately carved doorway. You’re an entirely different sort of hypocrite.

Fists clenched, Dirk watched her disappear from view. It was all he could do not to run after her demanding an apology and answers.

My card. Blaze-Simms passed an oil-stained white rectangle to the servant. Perhaps you could take us to the gentleman of the house?

The servant narrowed his eyes, gaze shifting from Blaze-Simms to the curiously elaborate rifle he had taken out of the basket.

This way, he said at last.

There were no gas lamps in the corridors of the Red Castle or in the receiving room where the servant left them. Instead the place was lit by silver candelabras between the bookshelves and by the warm glow of an open fire.

How did you find me? Isabelle sat in a high-backed padded armchair. Across the fire from her, Blaze-Simms sat in an identical chair, thin legs sprawled in front of him, cup and saucer in hand. The place was too warm and stuffy for Dirk, who strode to the arched window and opened a shutter, letting in the late autumn night.

Weather patterns were the most important part. Blaze-Simms waved his cup, spilling tea down his front. I knew you had no propulsion, and so-

She doesn’t really care, Tim. Dirk clenched the windowsill. She’s just being polite.

Oh. Blaze-Simms went quiet, his enthusiasm dead. Of course.

Would you rather I were needlessly callous, Mr Dynamo? Isabelle took a sip of her own tea.

You’d know all about that. He turned to glare at her. You made me think-

Think? she snapped. If you even started to think you’d realise that-

Oh, so now I’m an idiot?

I’m sure you’ve been an idiot for a long time.

I don’t have to stand here and-

Enough. A shadow shifted in the corner of the room and Miura Noriko stepped into view. With silent footsteps, the ninja went to stand beside Isabelle, placing a hand on her shoulder. The other hand rested, calmly but deliberately, on the handle of the katana at her waist. Timothy, tell us what you want.

Blaze-Simms set aside his tea and stood, right hand outstretched.

I say, Noriko, he said. It’s splendid to see you.

With the slightest of smiles, Noriko shook his hand, bowing her head as she did so.

Damn it, Tim. Dirk almost exploded with fury. She betrayed us too!

Oh yes! Blaze-Simms stepped back and shook his fist at the two women. Ghastly behaviour. Scoundrels, the pair of you.

He turned an apologetic look toward Dirk.

I’m sorry, old chap, he said. I’m not terribly good at this sort of thing.

That’s probably for the best. Dirk leaned back against the wall. Noriko’s right, someone calmer than me should do the talking.

Why don’t I start? Isabelle’s calm demeanour only aggravated Dirk more. How could she just brush off the anger between them, acting as if he weren’t here? You’ve come to demand that we hand over the stones that will guide you to the lost Library of Alexandria. You feel outraged that we took them, and you feel entitled to them after our efforts together.

Well, yes, Blaze-Simms said. We went through a lot to get those tablets. What you did just wasn’t cricket.

Anything else? Isabelle raised an eyebrow. Conditions, time frames, insistence on compensation?

We should probably be quick about it. A thoughtful look crossed Blaze-Simms’s face. This German unification business is very new, and none of us know how people will react. I’d like to get somewhere more stable as soon as I can.

I really don’t think you need to worry about that. Isabelle’s smile stopped just short of condescending. We’re a long way from the heart of Bismarck’s new Empire. No-one is going to make a fuss about a tiny out of the way duchy.

Still... Blaze-Simms shrugged. About the stones...

I’m sorry to have wasted your time, but you can’t have them. Isabelle picked up a poker. I have travelled too far and worked too hard to give them up.

We did that work too!

Yes, but you receive the fruits of your labour all the time. Sparks flew as she prodded at the fire. Praise, wealth, credit for your finds.

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