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    Dead Men and Dynamite: Epiphany Club, #5
    Dead Men and Dynamite: Epiphany Club, #5
    Dead Men and Dynamite: Epiphany Club, #5
    Ebook126 pages1 hour

    Dead Men and Dynamite: Epiphany Club, #5

    By Andrew Knighton

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    About this ebook

    Adventurer Dirk Dynamo is heading to Egypt in search of the lost Great Library. But others are there ahead of him, people with far less enlightened agendas. As he races spies and criminals through the land of the Pharaohs, Dirk must decide how far he will go for knowledge and what he really values most in the world – life, love or learning.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAndrew Knighton
    Release dateFeb 16, 2018
    ISBN9781386598510
    Dead Men and Dynamite: Epiphany Club, #5
    Author

    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.

    Read more from Andrew Knighton

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      Book preview

      Dead Men and Dynamite - Andrew Knighton

      Chapter 1: Dressed to Impress

      Dirk Dynamo jutted out his square jaw, trying to get a better look at his bow tie in the mirror. He'd tried to tie the damn thing a dozen times now and however he did it the bow came out crooked.

      This shouldn't have been hard. Give him a decent length of rope and he could tie everything from a horse hitch to a hangman's noose. Yet here he was, stuffed into an over-starched shirt, unable to manage one lousy scrap of silk.

      A knocking drew his attention away from the mirror.

      Come in, he said.

      The door of the guest room opened and Sir Timothy Blaze-Simms appeared in a gangle of thin limbs and rattling pockets. His tie was annoyingly straight, his tailcoat a perfect fit, and gold cufflinks gleamed at his wrists. Behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, he was grinning like a child.

      Isn't this place splendid? he said as he shut the door a little too loudly and flung himself down in the only chair. They have the latest telegraph machines and one of those dumb waiters with the clever counterweights.

      I'm sure it's swell, Dirk said. But do I really have to go to this party?

      We're guests in the British embassy, Blaze-Simms said. Not attending the reception for the French delegation would be terribly rude.

      I thought you folks and the French liked offending to each other?

      Yes, but it's good manners to turn up and be rude in person.

      The tie still wasn't straight but Dirk had had enough. It would have to do. He slid his holster over his shoulders, a far more comfortable fit.

      Allow me. Blaze-Simms got out of his seat. With darting movements of his slim fingers he unfastened and re-tied the bow-tie. The result was a work of impeccable symmetry.

      Thanks, Tim, Dirk said.

      He picked his Gravemaker revolver up off the nightstand and slid it into the holster.

      You're not taking that, are you? Blaze-Simms asked with a frown.

      There might be trouble, Dirk said, hearing defensiveness creep into his voice.

      It's not a meeting with street gangs, Blaze-Simms said. Besides, it'll ruin the line of your jacket.

      Dirk didn't give a damn about the line of his jacket and he was about to say as much. Then he remembered who else would be at the party.

      Alright, he said, reluctantly removing the holster and pulling on his tailcoat. But if we get into a fight-

      Then we'll improvise, Blaze-Simms said. After all these years, I think we've got rather good at it, don't you?

      Dirk grinned. Reckon we have.

      The British embassy in Cairo was more elegant, more extensive, and far more cramped than the one Dirk had visited on the island of Hakon. That small African outpost had held a single diplomat and his serving staff. This was full of delegates from every sector of British government, from the ambassador to the naval attaché to a score of civil servants of unclear rank and constant activity. Each of them came with a wife, a secretary, and a translator. Then there were the valets, maids, assistants, guards, accountants, chefs... It went on and on. Membership of the scholarly Epiphany Club had earned Dirk and his companions guest rooms but not anyone's time or attention.

      Dirk and Blaze-Simms strode down the broad staircase into the ballroom. Hundreds of guests in sharp suits and ball gowns were being served by dozens of waiters in black tailcoats and ties.

      At the bottom of the staircase, a broad man with an equally broad grin held out a hand to Blaze-Simms.

      I say, Blaze-Simms Minor, isn't it? the man said. I'm Noiseby. Used to row with your brother at Oxford.

      I say! Blaze-Simms said. How splendid to see you, old chap.

      Noiseby snatched two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and the two men fell to talking excitedly about the old days. Everybody they mentioned had a nickname that would have embarrassed the family dog and clearly relished the sort of trouble that would have got Dirk locked up in his youth, but that among British aristocrats was labelled as fun japes. Not knowing any of the people mentioned, or much liking the sound of them, Dirk headed off in search of a stiffer drink to get him through the night.

      A bar of rich, dark wood stretched along the back wall. Dirk ordered the largest whiskey they could give him and took up residence at one end, next to a floor-length mirror.

      How do, lad, said a deep voice behind him.

      Dirk turned to see the enormous form of George Braithwaite. The Yorkshireman was one of the few people as tall and tough as Dirk. His bushy beard completed an intimidating image the gruff man seemed to relish.

      Good to see someone sane, Dirk said, raising his glass. What happened to Paris?

      Weren't much point selling tinned beef to the Frenchies any more, Braithwaite said. They were too busy licking their wounds after that kicking from the Prussians. Besides, I got a better offer.

      Selling guano again? Dirk asked.

      Even better, Braithwaite said with a smile. I'm here at the embassy. Part of the trade delegation.

      He winked and Dirk returned the gesture. If he hadn't already known that Braithwaite was a spy, he would have done now. If a government didn't want to explain a man's job, they usually stuck him in a trade delegation. He'd been in one himself once, back in his Pinkerton days, and he'd done no trade and very little delegating.

      Dirk's spirits rose. It was good to have another friendly face around the place, especially one whose influence might help them cut through some red tape.

      How are your local contacts? he asked.

      Depends on the sort of contacts you want, Braithwaite said.

      The sort who could help us find something in the desert, Dirk said. We're on what you might call an academic adventure, and we're going to need local knowledge and skills.

      What knowledge and skills remained to be seen. Somewhere out in the desert lay the hidden remains of the Great Library of Alexandria, concealed beneath the sands for thousands of years. Through scrutinising ancient tablets, Blaze-Simms had worked out a lot about the library's location, but Egypt in the 1870s wasn't the same as Egypt two thousand years before. They might need local learning to bridge that gap. They might need folks to help dig up the remains. They'd certainly need someone to advise them on surviving in the desert.

      I'm sure I can help, Braithwaite said. I know some lads who-

      He stopped mid-sentence. A woman was walking toward them, diamonds gleaming against the grey silk of her dress. She toyed with a champagne flute as she smiled up at him.

      Monsieur Braithwaite, are you going to introduce me to your friend? she asked.

      Madame Cluny, this is Dirk Dynamo, scholar and adventurer, Braithwaite said. Mister Dynamo, this is Madame Marie Cluny.

      A pleasure to meet you, Madame Cluny said. She held out her gloved hand to be kissed. Dirk responded by giving her a hearty handshake.

      Mighty fine to meet you, ma'am, he said.

      As Braithwaite and Cluny began a polite conversation about local affairs, Dirk found his attention torn away by another woman moving through the crowd.

      Isabelle McNair was always a figure of poise and beauty. But in a crowd like this, she truly shone. She circled the room, a glass in her hand and an expression of delight on her face, both of them sparkling as brightly as the simple silver necklace at her throat. She laughed and smiled, and those around her did the same, her evident pleasure in their company spreading like a ripple of joy through the reception.

      For the briefest moment, she glanced at Dirk. Was it just his hopeful imagination, or did her smile flash even brighter then?

      He dragged his attention back to the conversation in hand. Something about the opening of the Suez Canal a year and a half before.

      Must have been a proud moment for you, he said, trying to hide his distraction. Seeing that first French ship sail through.

      It would have been, Madame Cluny said, her expression growing cold, if Mister Braithwaite's friend Captain Nares had not broken with protocol and sailed through in front of us.

      For a long moment they stood in awkward silence while Cluny glared at her drink.

      So what brings you to Egypt? Dirk asked, dipping into the polite conversational topics Isabelle had primed him with.

      My husband is with the trade delegation, she said.

      The sight of Isabelle moving closer caught Dirk's attention.

      That's nice, he said distractedly. Him and Braithwaite being in the same line of...

      The words trailed off as he saw the stiff expressions on his companions' faces. Husband to a trade delegate was as good a cover as being a trade delegate. The British and French were competing out here and these two clearly new each other well.

      Maybe nice wasn't the right word for their connection. And maybe drawing attention to it

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