Her expression clouded at the memory of her murdered colleague and Raven hastened to regain her attention. “So?”
“Don’t you see? I’ve been feeling guilty for not going back to London to translate those other messages, but now I can do exactly that. Scovell should have copies of them all. I’ll be able to show him how to read the code and together we can see if any of them contain any further mention of Kit.”
She beamed at him and Raven found himself smiling in response to her palpable excitement. It was highly unlikely that the remaining messages would help their cause, but she seemed so delighted to have a purpose again.
“Have you ever met Major Scovell? I can’t wait to meet him.”
Raven frowned. “A few times. He’s old enough to be your father.”
Heloise tilted her head at this apparent non-sequitur and Raven hastened to cover his blunder. “He lost his left arm in some battle or other, so don’t let that surprise you.” He was saved from having to say more as they emerged from between two peaks and the landscape opened up before them.
Rolling countryside undulated toward the distant city of León, nestled like a sun-warmed cat among the foothills. The gothic spires of the cathedral rose above a higgledy panorama of terra-cotta roof tiles and sand-colored stone walls.
Raven breathed a sigh of relief.
—
It was strange to be among the bustle of a city again, after the solitude of the mountains. Heloise followed Raven through a maze of medieval streets, past scurrying children and vendors hawking wares, until he stopped in front of what appeared to be a monastery, set on one side of a small cobbled square. Arched niches on either side of a huge metal-studded door held weathered stone figures of saints in armor.
Raven seemed unimpressed by the imposing exterior and pounded loudly on the door with his fist. A metal grille slid open to reveal a suspicious eye.
“I’m here to see Scovell. Tell him it’s Hades.”
The grille slid closed.
Heloise must have made an involuntary sound because Raven turned to her with an amused expression.
“Your code name’s Hades?” she squeaked.
“Didn’t I mention that?”
She shook her head.
“Rather appropriate, don’t you think, considering I’ve kidnapped you? Does that make you Persephone?”
She was spared having to answer by the creak of the opening door.
The deceptively plain exterior belied an oasis of luxury within and Heloise gaped in astonishment. The bustle of the street and the cries of the vendors faded away as they rode into a huge central courtyard, framed on all sides by colonnaded cloisters. An elaborate tiered fountain gurgled in the center, flanked by arching palm trees and potted plants.
“This place used to be a Moorish palace. The Spanish comte who owns it fled to England before the war. In gratitude for asylum he allows His Majesty’s government to use it while he’s in absentia.”
“Ravenwood!”
They turned in unison toward the booming voice. An elderly soldier in British army uniform strode out from behind some intricate latticework. His white mustache and bristling side whiskers framed a swarthy, sun-kissed complexion that was the same terra-cotta red as the roof tiles. As Raven had warned, the man’s left sleeve was empty, folded across his chest and pinned to his jacket. Heloise felt an instant affinity with the old man whose physical disability was as obvious as her own. His blue eyes were as sharp and intelligent as Raven’s.
The soldier noticed the direction of her gaze and bowed. “I might have lost an arm like old Nelson, but at least I’ve still got both my eyes,” he joked.
Heloise smiled as Raven shook the man’s outstretched hand. Lord Admiral Nelson had lost not only an arm but the use of one eye before he’d died a hero at the Battle of Trafalgar.
“Well, well, Ravenwood. Pleasure to see you again. How’s your grandfather? Is he well?”
Raven’s jaw hardened. “I assume so. He prefers to stay in London. We seldom visit.”
The subtle rebuff was lost on Scovell, who’d already turned an approvingly paternal eye on Heloise. “And who’s this charming creature? What brings you to our distant outpost of civilization, my dear? Especially in the company of a hell-born rogue like Ravenwood?”
“Major Scovell, may I present Miss Heloise Hampden.”
Scovell raised his eyebrows. “Hampden, you say? Why, you’re Castlereagh’s girl!” He clasped her hand and shook it eagerly. “I’ve heard great things about you, my dear. Why, that paper you wrote on the Rosetta Stone’s Coptic translation last year was extremely impressive. I—”