The Clockwork Scarab

Miss Holmes A Disembodied Voice

I watched in horror as Miss Stoker jolted in pain, then all at once, she was falling—toward the Ankh.

The massive Sekhmet statue teetered ominously. I saw what was going to happen, and I screamed a warning, but it was too late. All three of them tumbled to the floor with a metallic crash that echoed through the chamber. A sizzle of power zapped from the machine, then fizzled into orange sparks.

“No!” I shouted, heedless of the firearm pushing into my back. “Evaline!”

Suddenly a loud noise filled the space. A blaring, blasting, screeching noise the likes of which I’d never heard before, but the sound of which was a relief. My plan was working! If only it weren’t too late.

Osiris whirled as the Ankh’s other servants bolted into action, confused at the distractions from every direction. As they spun around in panic, the second element of my plan was executed: a low, rolling boom! erupted from the fireplace.

In seconds, the chamber filled with heavy black smoke. I heard the sounds of footsteps and shouts, followed by a disembodied voice—“You’re surrounded! Stand where you are!”—and knew that Dylan had fulfilled the third and final element of the plan.

But, good gad, Evaline! Was I too late? What had she done? How could she think I’d appear without a plan?

I ducked away from Osiris and dashed through the thick fog toward Miss Stoker and the Sekhmet statue, terrified everything had happened too late and she was dead—crushed under the heavy weight or electrocuted.

I coughed and then remembered to pull up the mask I had around my neck, covering my nose and mouth as I crawled along the floor. How much easier it was to do so in trousers than a bundle of skirts! I touched the base of the Sekhmet statue first, then my frantic hands encountered something soft and warm.

It moved, and as I attempted to wave away the smoke, I felt the statue shuddering and shifting against my leg with someone’s effort to move it. I heard the sound of metallic clinks and clanks nearby. More shouts filled my ears, smoke stung my eyes, and I heard the sound of glass shattering. A rush of fresh air burst into the chamber.

“Stop her!” cried a voice I recognized. Evaline! Evaline was alive! She was a heap on the floor, a mass of clinking chains and struggling limbs, but she was alive.

But the Ankh was getting away! I bolted to my feet in time to see the slim, dark-clad figure stumbling toward the broken window. I stumbled after her, but tripped over something and fell hard on the ground. My palms landed on something sharp and painful. “Stop her! Dylan! She’s getting away!”

The sounds of pounding footsteps and shouts—real ones this time, not from Dylan’s useful device—came from the floor and stairs below. “Stop! Scotland Yard commands you to halt!”

I lurched toward the Ankh again. I wasn’t about to let her get away. “Oh, no, you don’t—” Someone or something slammed into me from behind, and I thwumped to the floor once more. My cut palms screamed as I struggled to remove myself from beneath the hindrance of something heavy, I watched the shape at the window.

The Ankh’s slender figure shone against the opening, now jagged with glass in the drassy moonbeams. She looked at me from across the dim, smoky chamber, and I fancied our eyes met in acknowledgment and understanding. Then, outlined by the silvery light, she gave a condescending lift of her chin in my direction. Infuriated, I started toward her again. I couldn’t let her get away. I had to find out who she was!

The door burst open behind me with a flood of light. I recognized Luckworth’s voice shouting orders. “Stop! Halt! Scotland Yard!”

At the window, the Ankh froze, an arrogant yet surprised silhouette. . . . I shouted, finally erupting unencumbered to my feet, but it was too late. My nemesis gave a flippant wave—a clear farewell—then tipped backward, tumbling out into the night.

“No!” I charged toward the jagged black window. My foot caught on something, and I hurtled through the air. Screaming, I clawed at where the window should have been. Just before I crashed through into midair, two hands grabbed me from behind.

I flew up and back, and landed on the floor in an ignominious heap of gangly trousered limbs and sagging hair. I saw Dylan’s relieved expression, then looked up into the furious face of Inspector Grayling.