"That was-"

"Yeah."

They burst out laughing.

Amelia caught her breath first. "Know where we are? How to get where we're going?"

"I do."

"Good. You navigate." She dismounted and flashed him a blinding smile that melted his heart. "My turn to drive."

CHAPTER 29.

WICKFORD MANOR.

KENT, ENGLAND.

"I do not mean to question your judgment-"

"Then don't." Bingham ignored his mother's scowl and continued packing. The two telepages he'd received during the unexpected visit by the police had determined this course of action. Anxious to be on his way, he'd dismissed his butler to see to his own affairs. If only his vexing mother would disappear.

"But Constable Newberry-"

"Is aware of my substantial collection of aerostats and automocoaches. As such, he a.s.sumed I store ma.s.s quant.i.ties of petrol on the grounds, and as a matter of public safety, asked me to exercise caution in its use. The shire is still reeling from the fallout of that buffoon Ashford's explosion. Concern is natural."

"Yes, but that was two weeks ago, and he was unusually curious about the kind of petrol you use. Though he rephrased his question, he inquired at least three times about rocket propellant."

"And I confessed to selling Reginald Darcy a meager amount from my meager supply. The transaction was aboveboard. A favor for a neighbor. It was not my place or responsibility to monitor his use of it."

"I got the distinct feeling that the constable felt you were somehow negligent. What if Darcy's devil of a daughter or shrew of a wife means to make you accountable? What if the police continue to snoop and learn-"

"I find this paranoid line of thinking tiresome, Mother. You're reading too much into Newberry's visit." Bingham snapped shut his valise and breezed out of his bedchamber, his bulldog of a mother unfortunately nipping at his heels.

"I am not so sure," she said, crowding him as they descended the grand staircase. "Regardless, do you not think he will find it suspicious that you disappeared directly after his inquiry?"

"I'm going away on business, as I often do."

"If only you weren't going out of the country."

Irritated with her constant nagging of late, Bingham stopped cold. "I would circ.u.mnavigate the globe in order to speak face-to-face with Professor Maximus Merriweather. As it happens, I need fly only to the Australian outback."

"What if your Mod tracker is wrong about his whereabouts?"

"What if he is right?"

"You risk much in pursuit of this time machine."

"I would, in fact, risk all." He raised a brow to emphasize his meaning. "Either you are with me or against me."

Her gray eyes sparked. "Is that a threat?"

"A warning."

She wrung her hands briefly, then clenched them at her sides. "I only wish to help," she said with a righteous sniff.

"When I want your advice, I'll ask for it." He kissed her on the cheek and smiled. "Good-bye, Mother. Don't contact me; I'll contact you."

Bingham hurried out the door and made haste for the aero-hangar. He consistently withheld details of his seamier actions from his mother in order to protect her as well as himself. Yet she insisted on prying, projecting, and advising. d.a.m.ned annoying and potentially hazardous. He welcomed time away from her for multiple reasons.

As for Constable Newberry, that he'd linked Bingham to Ashford via the rocket propellant was a surprise. He'd not thought the local police technologically savvy. Regardless, unlike his mother, he did not fear further snooping in regard to the explosion. Ashford's death had been ruled an accident. The constable's visit had pertained to civil safety. Period. Bingham could not be blamed for that scatterbrained inventor's deathly b.u.mble. He'd made sure of it.

Therefore he embarked on this journey with confidence.

He'd alerted his small crew to prepare Mars-a-tron for a long flight. What they didn't know, and what he'd withheld from his mother, was that he intended a short detour. First stop, Corsica, a small island in the Mediterranean Sea where he'd meet up with that vexing Scottish pirate. According to his most recent communication, Dunkirk had Amelia Darcy in sight and would soon take possession of her "hidden treasure."

Bingham's pulse raced as he spied his zeppelin, and he considered the most optimal of circ.u.mstances. If that treasure had anything to do with Briscoe Darcy's time machine, there would be no need to travel on to Australia in hopes of tapping Merriweather's genius. Bingham would be trekking into the future, compliments of the Time Voyager.

CHAPTER 30.

North of Florence, south of Fiesole.

Those had been Tucker's general directions pertaining to the location of Mount Ceceri. After consulting her astronomical compendium to orient herself and quickly reviewing the augmented controls of the kitecycle, Amelia had set the wheels of her wondrous new dig in motion. Adrenaline surged, as she envisioned the climactic stage of their escapade.

Once they'd set upon a road dictated by StarMan, Tucker's directions became more specific. She'd easily and gleefully navigated the wide path populated by a curious combination of horse-drawn carts and carriages and various steam-belching and gear-grinding automocoaches. Papa would've been vastly intrigued by the foreign makes and models, though in her eyes, none compared to Loco-Bug. Or, for that matter, Bess Two. A vehicle that doubled as an airship and land velocipede?

Astonishing.

Though traffic was mild, Tucker soon directed her to a less traveled path. Rumbling along on this clear, sunny day, Amelia felt confident that they would reach their destination swiftly. She could scarcely contain her excitement.

While they roared along on her new kitecycle, Amelia's senses reeled as she absorbed the breathtaking Tuscan landscape. Leonardo da Vinci had gazed upon these same sights, breathed this very air. The master had lived, studied, and created in these hills. She could almost sense his presence. How would she feel when they entered the cave as described by Briscoe, when they discovered the secret chamber, when she laid eyes and hands on da Vinci's ornithopter? Dizzy with antic.i.p.ation, she pedaled faster. Her actions revved the engines and garnered a squeeze from Tucker.

"Easy, Flygirl."

He didn't have to elaborate. She had eyes. The path was narrow, winding, and rocky. The greater their speed, the more perilous the journey. Slow and steady wins the race. Oh, how she wanted that ornithopter.

"We're coming up on the quarries," Tucker said.

For centuries precious stone used in the construction of monuments had been transported from here to Florence. Da Vinci had walked these quarries, these hills. And so had Briscoe Darcy.

Amelia's pulse flared. They were close. She let her mind wander back to the day Papa had shared the contents of his letter, including the landmarks Briscoe had mentioned. Obsessed, over the years she'd secretly studied maps and photographs. She had never been here, but amazingly she knew exactly where she was. She slowed the kitecycle to a crawl as she scanned the rocky hills and distant clearings. Oh, yes. So very close.

"Now would be a good time to share some specifics," Tuck said. "I've read there's a cave dedicated to the memory of da Vinci near the Cava Sarti quarry."

"The place we seek is not far from there," she shouted over the hiss and rumble of the engine. She glanced up, noting narrow, rocky paths and thick wooded areas of cypress, poplars, and oaks. "It would've been easier to fly to the top."

"But not safer. Don't forget about Dunkirk."

"It's been four days. If he wanted to retaliate, do you not think he would have done so by now?"

"If revenge were his sole motivator, yes. Remember his initial intent."

She grimaced whilst thinking back on his seduction dinner. "To plunder my booty."

"I was referring to your hidden treasure."

"So was I." She furrowed her brow and pondered his words. "Oh. Oh. I was not speaking of my virtue, but, yes, that too. The scoundrel. Frosts my blood just thinking about it."

"Burns my a.s.s. Should've blown his d.a.m.ned ship to smithereens."

Her lip twitched. "You did try."

"Men like Colin Dunkirk don't give up easy," Tuck said over the escalating noise.

"But we haven't seen hide nor hair, and the weather is clear."

"High stakes call for high cunning."

"So he's cloaked? Tracking us? Following us?"

"Someone sure as h.e.l.l is." He squeezed her thigh. "Step on it, Flygirl."

"You just told me to slow-" She glanced over her shoulder. b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l. Someone-something-was following them and gaining fast. It looked like a frog, a mammoth rusty automaton toad with glowing red eyes and visible gears and a steam turbine. Spiked metal wheels ate up the dirt and gravel path as it bore down with a deafening croak. "Maybe it's a circus automaton, running late for a performance," she shouted whilst Tucker stoked the rear engine and she pedaled faster.

A shot rang out and splintered the bark of a tree to her right.

"Or road bandits," Tucker snapped whilst shielding Amelia and drawing his Blaster.

Crikey. Amelia veered off just as he fired. His bullet ricocheted off the frog with a loud metallic ping.

"Iron armor!"

"Where are they?"

"Right behind us!"

"No, I mean-"

"Inside the frog!"

More shots rang out and peppered the dirt in front of Bess Two.

"Either they're lousy shots or just trying to scare us into running off the road!" Tuck shouted as she serpentined up a hill. "Pull off. If I can draw them out-"

"No! What if they steal Bess? Or kill you and kidnap me? What if it's Dunkirk?"

"Not his-"

"Hang on!" Amelia hunkered low, triggered more steam, and pedaled fast and furious, hoping to lose them in a densely wooded area. "Duck!"

"Frog!"

"No, duck!"

Tucker bent over just as they sailed under a ma.s.s of low-lying branches. "h.e.l.l's fire!"

"Did I lose them?"

"Still there!" Wood splintered and exploded behind them. "Crashed plumb through that tree!"

Amelia gunned the kitecycle, her heart skipping as they burst through the shade of the woodland onto open ground. Crikey. Beyond, nothing but blue skies and a distant overview of Florence.

Pop! Pop!

"G.o.ddammit!"

Her heart nearly burst through her ribs. "Did they hit the engine?"

"No."

Oh, no. Oh, G.o.d. "You?"

He fired his Blaster three times by way of an answer.

Ping! Ping! Ping!