Verity’s vision blurred. Her mouth went dry. Metal? Why did her saliva taste of…metal? A red fingertip after brushing her lips suggested she’d bit her tongue. Then why did-?

  She traced a line of blood up to her nose, then up her nose to her brow. Finally she located an aching gash, where the brim of her helmet should have been if she hadn’t tipped it back. The wound bled slowly but constantly. She didn’t have the strength or the wherewithal to cry for help. Only a memory of strolling about the quarterdeck seemed to keep her from falling.

  Suddenly her eyes filled with diamonds, and she lost consciousness.

  Too many surprises all at once caught up with Embrey as he sat on the kerb near Reardon’s clock parts and rubbed his tired eyes. Four aeronauts kept vigil around the professor, while one rushed to the Empress for bandages and antiseptic ointment. Djimon stayed with Verity in the shade outside the factory. Luckily, she’d come round almost right away after fainting, and Embrey had nursed her in his arms until her men had arrived. How intimate they’d become in so short a time. That talk of Quatermain had cut through their animosity nicely. But how? Why was she so well disposed to him all of a sudden? Because he’d saved her life and she his? Or perhaps Reardon and Tangeni had talked some sense into her after all, made her realise that the British legal system had more holes than a sinking sloop, that his family hadn’t had a hand in her sister’s death.

  Whatever the reason, he loved the change in her. Beneath the prickly Amazon warrior, Verity Champlain had a lasting crush on Quatermain, and the way she’d tugged at his vest, like a little girl wanting to spill a secret-she had a vibrant, playful side he’d like to see more of. When she recovered he would see about resuming their conversation. If she didn’t turn on him again, that was. But in any event, he would not allow a woman who enjoyed adventuring as much as he did to slip through his fingers. No, ma’am.

  “What’s this talk of a royal found in the rubble, old chap?” Reardon called over.

  Yawning, Embrey looked up into the professor’s intense gaze. “That’s correct. Carswell insists we’ve found the Duke of Kent. His face was smashed and he’s dressed casually, but Carswell recognized two of the other men from the duke’s royal entourage. They all died during the time jump. We haven’t found them until now because they’d been buried in a collapsed upper room. Died drinking port, apparently. Not the worst way to go.”

  Reardon blinked twice and then returned to his work.

  “How goes it, Professor?”

  “Like clockwork.”

  “Anything I can help you with?”

  “No.”

  “Anything I can get you? A beverage? A bite to eat?”

  “No.”

  “Want to be left alone, huh.”

  Reardon grunted.

  Cantankerous old bugger. Embrey put on the spectrometer goggles he’d borrowed from the workshop, and lay back on the concrete, feeling wonderfully superfluous. A flock of pterosaurs streaked in front of the sun, their silhouettes no bigger than dragonflies-far, far above-and they didn’t appear to be circling. Nothing to worry about. He folded his arms behind his head, closed his eyes and soaked up the sun’s warmth.

  An hour or so had passed, judging from the sun’s shifted position in the sky. Reardon was still hard at work under the parasol they’d erected, adjusting his mirrors and lenses, checking the angles of sunlight refracting through his various prisms. At least he’d cobbled the pieces together into a few substantial parts now-sizeable, complex mechanisms. One resembled a large Leonardo Da Vinci cryptex filled with several long shafts and rotating lenses. When the professor lifted it, its insides appeared to form a beautiful, multi-chambered kaleidoscope.

  Embrey sat up, yawned and stretched. He saw no sign of Verity. She’d probably returned to her cabin on the ship. He would visit her presently. Polperro’s posse had already laid the five new corpses on Speaker’s Green and was busy digging fresh graves. How many more would there be? Despite Reardon’s unflappable confidence in his machine, could it ever whisk them through time with any degree of accuracy? The professor maintained the first mis-jump was nothing more than a hiccup, but Embrey and Verity had seen his face turn white when confronted with the inexplicable spider’s web. Garrett Embrey was no scientist. Whom, then, should he defer to? The man who’d invented time travel, or the woman whose job it had been to make sure he didn’t invent time travel?

  Both were barking mad.

  It’s all beyond me. I’d better consult with Verity and Tangeni instead. He grinned. Yes, sharing a cabin with the captain might at least help my…perspective.

  He spun at the sound of a high-pitched whistle. But where exactly had it “Lord Embrey! Protect the professor!” one of the aeronauts yelled from Speaker’s Green. “We’re under attack!”

  Polperro’s posse fled from what looked like multi-coloured streaks darting about on the lawn. Several inhuman shrieks wrenched him to full alert. He drew his steam-pistols and shielded Reardon, who picked up his own rifle. The four aeronauts formed a protective line.

  “Anything comes this way, kill it.” Embrey aimed his weapons.

  A creature dashed across the street, as fast as a dog after a fleeing man. It had the general shape and profile of a tyrannosaur, but it was much smaller, about the size of a large wolf. Colourful feathers on its arms, neck and long tail gave it a tropical, birdlike appearance. The bugger attacked with ferocity. Its size belied a hugely powerful musculature. After it bit into the man’s throat, ripping his windpipe out with a single crunch, Embrey shared a trepidatious look with his Africans colleagues. He double-checked the water-acid canisters for both his pistols.

  “What the hell is it? Some kind of pack hunter? Hey- ” Reardon had to stop his five bodyguards from stepping back any further and trampling his machine parts. One of the Africans knocked the parasol over instead. “Somebody fire a shot,” the professor said. “Alert the rest of the crew. These civilians are unarmed.”

  He was right. Embrey fired into the air. Two of the dinosaurs dragged a human body from the lawn onto the street, and began squabbling over it. A third took advantage of the kerfuffle, sinking its sickle-like claw and razor teeth into one of the Duke of Kent’s retinue. Perhaps even the duke himself.

  Embrey gagged. A volley of gunfire erupted from the Empress’s direction moments before Reardon swivelled him northward. A hurtful shriek rang in his ears as two feathered predators bore down on them from behind. He aimed and fired both his pistols. One dinosaur fell dead on the cobblestone. The other barged into the machine parts while Reardon and an aeronaut dove out of the way. Its claw caught the arm of a standing African, gouging a deep wound. Embrey shot into the feathers on its spine and hurried away from its thrashing limbs and death-throe shrieks. All six men finished it.

  Another dinosaur leapt from out of nowhere, cleaving the injured man’s neck as it landed on him. He tore fistfuls of feathers but to no avail. By the time they killed the beast, it had bitten through the poor aeronaut’s skull.

  “Son of a bitch. ” They were too exposed out here. If a dinosaur pack attacked in full force, the situation would be hopeless. “Come on, we must get indoors.” He yanked Reardon toward the factory but the professor wouldn’t budge.

  “Stop it, man. For God’s sake, is your brain smogged?” Reardon stood his ground, cocked his rifle, glancing every which way-panic jerked him round and round.

  “Men, we don’t have time for this, and we can’t afford to lose him.” Embrey glared at the professor. “Take him by force.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Two of the aeronauts frog-marched him off the street, while the third rushed to fold the blanket over Reardon’s clock pieces. No sooner had he covered the first contraption than the sun-baked road darkened and a giant pterosaur swooped on top of him. The man tried to fling the blanket and its contents out of reach but only succeeded in spilling them.

  “ No. ” Embrey shot twice but the monstrous flier flapped its wings. Dust and rock pellets hit like a blizzard, forcing him to shield his face.

  A second pterosaur glided low over the rooftops opposite, its malign caws filling London with dread. Reardon tried his darnedest to break free and save his clock, but the aeronauts held him firm. “You stupid sod,” Embrey scolded him. “We need you, damn you. We need you alive.”

  “But my Harrison clock! I’ll never be able to find them without it. Get off me, you heathen bastards!”

  The first pterosaur skipped away as several rifle shots sounded from the north. It snatched the mauled aeronaut up in its beak and rose into the air, dropping the blanket onto the street. The force of its wings kicked up a storm. Embrey winced as the clock parts bounced away and clattered on the concrete.

  Immediately, a pack of feathered dinosaurs assailed the pterosaur. They ripped its wings and brought it down writhing on its back. One last sickening shriek faded to a pitiful groan. The melee ended outside the gentlemen’s club, where the bipedal carnivores gathered for an avian smorgasbord.

  Stunned, Embrey crept out to retrieve the clock parts. After Reardon, they were all that mattered. The hiss of Billy’s tri-wheel car approached from the north. Kibo drove. Tangeni leaned out of the passenger side, waving frantically.

  At me? What on earth has happened now?

  Embrey checked behind him but the feathered predators were all ensconced in their feast at the far end of the street.

  Just a greeting, then.

  He collected the first of the clock parts. Tangeni cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled something unintelligible-he waved again, but this time it seemed to darken the entire sky. Embrey’s blood iced and he glanced up.

  The second pterosaur landed ten yards away and snatched up the shiny kaleidoscopic cylinder in its talon. God, no. He had to shield his face from the hurricane whipped up by its wings. Before he could aim and shoot, the bastard was airborne and flying south, its grip on their future unyielding.

  “Bring it down! What the hell are you waiting for?” Reardon broke free from the aeronauts. He took a snapshot with his rifle and missed. Embrey’s pistols were empty, so he grabbed one of the aeronaut’s rifles and tried to pip the burglar before it veered over the rooftops, out of sight…

  Too late.

  “Oh, Christ, that’s it now. Lisa and Edmond! I’ve lost them. We’re all lost. We’re all buggered. You stupid bastards have gone and dug our graves. We’re buggered, buggered, bug-”

  “Professor, shut up. You’re giving me a headache.” Embrey turned and sprinted for the tri-wheel car and said to Tangeni, “It’s turned east. We have to catch it.”

  “Who’s the best shot with a rifle?”

  “I am.” Jostling his friend aside, Embrey dove onto the passenger seat and ordered the driver, “Head east, Kibo-as fast as this heap will go. Everything depends on it.”

  “On my way.”

  Under Kibo’s control the car gathered steam far quicker than Billy’s father had accelerated it that night during the storm. It reached upwards of twenty miles an hour as they passed parallel to the Empress, and still it sped up. Kibo had mentioned he used to drive racers on the European circuits. He more than proved it.

  The pterosaur circled over the rocky escarpment, the metallic glint still evident in its right talon. Christ, if it made for the ocean…

  “Where to?” Kibo kept his eye out for rocks on the otherwise flat, grassy terrain, glancing skyward only rarely.

  “East. No, northeast. It’s heading for the coast. Make for the bottleneck through the forest. I’ll have to take a shot from the cliff. And hurry!”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Though the pterosaur was capable of much higher speeds, it flew into the wind, which evened the odds for the steam-powered tri-wheel. Twenty feet before the cliff, Embrey yelled for Kibo to stop. Rifle cocked and warm in his grip, he jumped out and took aim, compensating for the wind speed and direction while he rested the barrel on the roof of the car. Hell fire. The sun was in his eyes.

  He fiddled the knob on the side of his spectrometer goggles until the lenses tinted enough to quell the sun’s glare. Better. He loosened his shoulders and crouched. The flier had climbed sharply. Four hundred feet now, at least.

  “Winner’s grace…pips the ace.” His father’s shooting mantra.

  The deep inhale and cool, prolonged exhale. The smooth adjustments. Not just knowing but feeling the right moment to squeeze the trigger, the way a snake senses its time to strike…

  Crack!

  He sucked in a hopeful gasp and held it. A few seconds later, the pterosaur jerked, fell limp from the sky and plummeted.

  Kibo gave a cheer. “ Omafele atatu, omafele anee. And in strong omhepo… strong wind. That was the best shot I ever saw.”

  But Embrey’s own celebration fell bitterly with the pterosaur. He watched in horror as Reardon’s cylinder plopped into the lake, over three hundred feet offshore. The monstrous dinosaur splashed on top of it, and both quickly sank from sight.

  Chapter 12

  Snakes and Ladders

  Verity would never have left the camp so soon after such a devastating attack had there been any other choice. A further seven men had died, a half dozen more were injured, and with the smell of blood in the air London would surely attract other dinosaurs on the hunt. Three separate species had now attacked, all of them deadly in their own ways. The latest was arguably the most dangerous of all-its silent approach and small, agile shape gave it an immediate advantage over anyone trying to survive among the Westminster ruins.

  “Them were dromaeosaurus-pack hunters from t’ late Cretaceous Period.” Billy scanned the page in his book. “We should correct that last part, shouldn’t we? The name means ‘running lizard’. First ’un were discovered in 1864 durin’ a Leviacrum-sponsored expedition to Canada. Dromaeosaurs were mainly scavengers but sometimes brought down much bigger prey.”

  “As we saw.” Embrey, wearing only long-johns and a vest, stepped into the canvas diving suit, his chiselled, sensational upper body on display for Verity and the rest of the crew. She evaded his glance. “What are those fliers called again, Billy?” he asked. “Hat shops? Jodhpur tricks?”

  The boy laughed. “Hatzegopteryx.”

  “That’s the one. And its fossils were found in Romania?”

  “Yeah. 1902.”

  “A mite far from their nest, wouldn’t you say, Professor?”

  Reardon looked up from his notebook. “Not necessarily. Migratory birds often cross oceans and continents, and we don’t know where the Hatzegopteryx goes to nest. Just because a pterosaur fossil was found in one place doesn’t mean the species is endemic to that region. For all we know, they’re Londoners like us.”

  She frowned. Londoners. But for how long? This handful of crumbling buildings would not protect Polperro’s posse indefinitely. So why on earth were they being so stubborn? Verity had invited them to reside on the Empress indefinitely, under armed protection. But the insufferable schoolmarm and her lickspittle cronies had opted to stay behind during this crucial flight. It made no sense, and yet “Miss Polperro, what do you plan to do in the event of another attack?” Verity asked.

  The de facto lady Prime Minister stood at the ladder next to Kincaid, the elderly statesman who appeared to be advising her. “We were just discussing that, Lieutenant. If you would be so good as to lend us five or six of your men, we could-”

  “Regretfully, no. I’m sorry, but we will require every spare hand to man the capstans and the winch. The diving bell is a tremendous weight, and we are already under-manned.”

  Miss Polperro closed her parasol and, nose upturned, looked askance at Verity. “As many rifles as you can spare, then? Woe is us indeed if we can’t defend London at all in your absence. I understand you have a sizeable arsenal on board?”

  “Sufficient, nothing more.”

  She’s plotting something. First she refuses the safety of the ship, now she wants our weapons? How daft does she think I am?

  “You can have two rifles,” Verity offered reluctantly, “but I strongly urge you to reconsider moving into the fo’c’sle. It might be cramped down there, but at least you will have a crew of armed aeronauts watching over you. We can always make other arrangements upon our return. What do you say, ma’am?”

  “We will take the rifles, thank you.” Miss Polperro’s instant smile was too polite, too pleasant for the occasion. The woman had just made a life-or-death decision and had erred on the side of risk. What did she and her cronies have up their sleeves? Did it have anything to do with the pious whisperings Mr. Briory had reported?

  “Very well. But before we leave, might I enquire as to your position on the spider web phenomenon? Rumour has it some of your people are opposed to any further time travel attempts, that they would even try to prevent Professor Reardon from restoring his machine. Is this true?”

  Kincaid stepped forward, chest-first. “We believe Reardon is meddling with primal forces beyond his ken.” His voice shook with old age, and Verity felt a little sorry for him. “The spider’s web is a message from the Almighty, of that there can be no doubt. But the purpose of that message is ambiguous, and therefore we must not be dogmatic. As for undoing Reardon’s folly, I uphold your right to at least try. But that is my opinion, Miss Champlain, and I am neither scientist nor priest.”

  Verity nodded appreciatively. “And you, Miss Polperro? Where do you stand?”

  “Where the wind changes, as always.” She turned sharply, handed Kincaid her parasol, and climbed down the ladder without another word.

  Icy bitch.

  Kincaid bowed to Verity. “Good day, miss, and good luck to you.”

  “Thank you, sir. I wish our situation were more amenable. Would you like assistance climbing the ladder?” She called Tangeni over but winced when the Namibian hobbled on his sprained ankle.

  “Thank you kindly, no,” Kincaid replied. “I’ve scaled plenty of rigging in my days. Eighty-one and still going strong-”

 

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