Vespers Rising (The 39 Clues #11)(27)

The smell of fear calmed his soul. And right now it wafted toward him full strength from the seat opposite his.

“I — believe that was Lord Cahill’s carriage,” said the valet Hargrove.

Vesper had never seen a man sweat so much. It was downright unseemly in a grown man. “The late Lord Cahill, I would imagine,” Vesper replied. “Alas, drivers these days … so reckless! I will have to speak to mine.”

He smiled agreeably, but the man remained stone-faced. How dreary. Years ago, the help could carry on real conversations — not just sit like lumps, expecting to be entertained!

Just as well, he thought. This one has outlived his usefulness.

“You did good work, Hargrove,” he said, holding out his hand. “Took the training quickly, used uncanny powers of observation. I am impressed at how you were able to recognize the ring. I will have it now.”

“Of course, Your Lordship, but you promised five hundred pounds in advance.” Hargrove’s sweat was dripping from his nose, which struck Vesper as inconsiderate. Especially from one who expected rewards.

“I said I would advance you five hundred pounds,” Vesper replied. “Which sum would be payable upon receipt of the ring!”

“I — I have seen an inscription on it,” Hargrove blurted out. “And for another few pounds, I can tell you what I think it means—”

“Inscription?” This was getting interesting. In recent years, Vesper had heard of a secret ring. But he had never connected this ring to Gideon Cahill.

It had taken him nearly two decades to track down Olivia. He’d intended to force out the secrets to Gideon’s serum but failed again. How delightful to discover there was a daughter. When he’d seen her hiding at the funeral, everything just … fit.

She was fiddling with a ring. And his memory flashed back to her father and the last conversation he’d had with Olivia. He thought she was a grieving widow then, and not another conniving Cahill.

Now he knew better.

“What inscription did you see?” he pressed. Following Madeleine, bribing the servant — all of that had been child’s play. He had no room for his lackey’s stubborn attitude.

“If I am to reveal the ring,” Hargrove said, swallowing hard, “I must have your word that —”

Vesper heard a soft zing. Hargrove fell silent, his mouth agape. He clutched the side of his neck and fell to the ground.

“Do not play with me, man,” Vesper said. But as he knelt over Hargrove, he heard another zing, and another. He flattened himself to the floor and slapped Hargrove in the face, hard.

That was when he noticed the small dart stuck in the servant’s neck.

Bandits. Vesper grabbed a firearm, a long arquebus, from under the carriage seat. “Move!” he cried to the driver. “Faster!”

His coachman whipped the horses. They took off through the woods, the carriage bouncing wildly. Vesper climbed out of the rear and nearly vaulted toward the driver.

A set of hands grabbed him from behind. Vesper twisted his body around. He dug his elbow into the attacker’s neck and raised his arquebus high.

With a grunt, he brought the butt down hard. The attacker tried to duck away, but the gun caught his shoulder. Vesper could see him now — slender, dressed in black, including a mask that covered most of the face.

Lifting his foot, he gave the thief a kick.

With a cry, the black-garbed figure fell over the side. His gloved fingers gripped the railing, and he struggled to keep his feet off the swift-moving ground.

Vesper caught his breath. With a smile, he pinched the gloved hand’s pinkie and lifted it off the railing. “This little piggy went to market …”

He flicked the next finger off, and the attacker sank lower.

Now the bandit’s feet were scraping across the roots and ruts. He let out an odd, high-pitched scream — almost a woman’s voice.

The carriage bounced violently again. Vesper flew backward and felt the small of his back hit the joint of the carriage frame. He clenched his teeth with the pain.

The fun was over.

He lifted the arquebus and pointed it at the intruder’s head, which was fast sinking over the edge of the carriage. Releasing the shuttlecock, he placed his finger on the trigger.

A deafening crack split the air. Vesper felt the recoil of the firearm, the smell of gunpowder. But his shot had gone off course. He rose into the air and then smacked back down sharply. The carriage was careening side to side, its wheels tilting inward at the top, wobbling.

“The axle!” the driver shouted. “She’s splitting, milord!”

On the edge of the carriage, Vesper caught a glimpse of the intruder’s fingers, struggling to regain a hold. This bandit had dismaying agility and strength.

Forget him, he can’t hold on forever, Vesper scolded himself. He caught a glimpse of Hargrove. He had to get the ring from that fool and then jump off before the carriage smashed to splinters. He dove into the cabin, reaching into the pockets of the unconscious valet. Where did he hide it?

There. His money belt. Vesper ripped it open and pulled out the golden prize.

With a wild, triumphant smile, he sat up and held it high. There was enough light to see a string of tiny symbols.

Holding tight to the ring, he scrambled toward the front of the carriage. He couldn’t keep his footing. The wheels were slanting, the carriage bottom scraping the ground. In a moment the axle would split in two. The driver’s seat was already empty. So much for loyalty.