The goggles were brass with silver inlaid stars, quaint, yet functional. She slipped them over her head and did up the buckle, then found the four straps of the seat harness and buckled them also.
The machine lifted off with a blast of power that pushed Claire into her seat. She gulped to subdue the crazy stew of excitement rising in her stomach. Below, men scurrying about the perimeter of the airship shrank rapidly to antlike figures. The land seemed to flatten as if made into a giant green-hued map. A distant river undulated in reflective blue loops like a jewelry snake.
The wind was cold, leaking in the side of the goggles and making her eyes water. She adjusted the leather strap.
“Where are we going?” she cried, but Theo only shook his head. With the noise of the engine and the wind blasting past their ears, she doubted he’d heard a thing. She leaned back, grinning. The view alone would keep her occupied for eternity. Airships were never this exciting.
When at last the gyrocopter descended, she peeked over the side, and her heart plummeted. A long smudged shape lay across the scorched ground near a gash in the land—like a gargantuan beast struck dead by flame with only blackened bones remaining. This was the airship crash. A hundred questions rushed gibbering through her mind. Most of all—why had he brought her here? Did he suspect she had lied?
The bump and shudder as the gyrocopter landed and the engine shut down did nothing to pull her from her bewilderment. Her knuckles showed white where she gripped the back of Theo’s chair. Metal ticked as it cooled. She unclipped the seat’s harness and hopped out. Adjusting the skirt of the jacket gave her time to gather her wits.
There might be nothing to this. Just some morbid curiosity. But she didn’t believe her own logic. She pushed up the goggles, put her gloved hand over her eyes for a moment to compose herself, then swept back some straying, wind-shredded hair.
The fall of the airship had plowed up the ground in great furrows. No rain had fallen to encourage new growth, and the brown earth, torn and raw, seemed to Claire as terrible as a bleeding wound. The stench of fire clung to the place. Sweat trickled down her back. Before this crash, she’d been a possession of the Pancontinental Mexican Empire, a thing to be ordered about by Inkline and others. Cold prickled among the sweat. She tugged off the gloves, then tucked them into a pocket.
“This is where we found you,” Theo said in a low voice. He pointed at a sail of crumpled metal with the Mexican eagle emblazoned upon it. “Over there.”
“How many…survived?” She faced the place of her rebirth—this womb of death. She knew none of the others on board, but she remembered the cries and screams that night. She pressed her hand to her stomach.
Death was never pretty or easy. Yet she prayed that Inkline had died in the most horrible way. She shook her head. A lump of charred timber tumbled when she accidentally kicked it. Ash puffed into the air.
“Six survived, including you.” He regarded her steadily, with a faint aura of concern.
This is not the time or place to fall to pieces. She cleared her throat. “Do you know their identities?”
“Why? Is there someone you’re particularly concerned about? I have the names from all the bodies—eight of those. Military or government diplomatic neck tags on all of them.”
She suppressed a frown, kept her face still and unreadable. “Inkline. Was there an Inkline?”
“Yes. One of the bodies.”
She closed her eyes.
“Claire?” Fingers under her chin. She opened her eyes, looked into his narrowed gray ones. “What is it? A friend?”
What should I say? How much can I—
A crease marked his brow. His grip tightened. “The truth, Claire. I can see your mind churning.”
That sent an alarming bolt of fear through her. She’d kept herself so close—sure nothing had shown.
“Dankyo has suspicions, and we don’t need to feed them. Is there anything you’ve not told us about this crash? Who was this Inkline?” He released her.
He’s dead. Inkline is dead. I’m free, aren’t I? Weather this interrogation, and it’s finished.
“It was in the report I wrote, wasn’t it?” Oh. Wait. I left him out. Didn’t want to write about something so close to the assassination plot. What did I say?
She made herself smile, in a twisted way. “He was my employer. In the Diplomatic Service. I hated him.” She looked at Theo square-on. He couldn’t know exactly what she thought. She’d skim the truth. “I hated him with every ounce of my body.” Her voice shook, and she let all the years of anguish, sadness, and fear flavor her words.
“If he was here right now, alive, I’d be sorely tempted to put a knife in him. There. I’ve told you. But”—she slowly turned, surveying the crashed airship—“why I was here…I cannot remember. I’m sorry. I have no memory of why I was here.” She leaned into Theo, muffled her voice against his warm chest. “I’m so sorry.”