Chapter 6
Bilson was not enjoying himself.
On the quarterdeck, Yasmeen watched the slick bastard nod to Longcock, then stop for a moment to flirt with Miss Cheeksankum. She wasn’t at all surprised that in the three weeks since leaving Port Fallow, Bilson had charmed his way into some of the crew’s good graces; he was simply that sort. Archimedes and Yasmeen remained brief and polite, as if he weren’t different from any other passenger, so the crew had initially followed their lead. And after he’d shared the reason behind Zenobia’s kidnap—in confidence, and with only a few of the aviators, though obviously knowing that the story would spread—some of the crew’s initial outrage had faded, too.
All well and good. He could play his little games; they didn’t stop the frustration that she saw rising every time Yasmeen cut the engines and allowed her aviators—and Archimedes—time to take out the autogyros or practice their weapons drills, and passing the time by planning mock escapes from New Eden. To Bilson, this must seem a holiday for most of her aviators, a slow cruise over beautiful turquoise water in the warmth of the late southern spring.
Her gaze moved to Archimedes, standing at the bow with a spyglass in hand. This hadn’t been a holiday, of course. Ever vigilant, they all searched the sky for signs of the flyers…or any other airship.
Yasmeen hoped to spot other airships, first. But even if one arrived with news of Zenobia, it wouldn’t be complete freedom from Bilson’s demands.
That had been her one frustration—they hadn’t yet found the device. Frowning over the mystery now, she retrieved a cigarillo from her case. Every inch of this ship had been quietly searched, including the crews’ belongings. Archimedes had even scoured the outside hull whilst flying the autogyro, and Yasmeen had personally crawled through the engines, shimmied along the propeller shafts, delving into every crevice and piece of equipment on her ship.
She didn’t know where the hell it could be—and still didn’t know who Bilson’s ally was.
Her eyes narrowed on him as he approached the quarterdeck. She nodded permission when he called out a request to join her, and when his gaze flicked to her cigarillo case, she offered him one.
He leaned closer to the windbreak to light it, then regarded her quietly as he inhaled. After a moment, he looked starboard, toward the southern horizon, where a green sliver of Madagascar was visible in the distance. “Is that the island again?”
Ah, yes. His greatest frustration, quietly expressed. He wanted to venture farther out into the Eastern Ocean, taking a longer, wider route in search of the floating city. Yasmeen had explained that his suggestion would make finding New Eden all but impossible; there was simply too much ocean, and it would be like trying to find a boilerworm in a desert. It made much more sense to wait by a waterhole, knowing they’d eventually come to replenish their stores. In the same way, it was better to let the city come to them, in a location that the flyers were known to frequent.
Of course, Yasmeen hadn’t shared that the flyers almost always approached Madagascar from the south. Lady Nergüi had been circling the region to the northeast—though not just to avoid New Eden. This was where she’d told Scarsdale to find them; she didn’t want to force his hired airships to search for the equivalent of a boilerworm, either.
Nodding, she blew a stream of smoke into the wind. “It is.”
His gaze narrowed on her face again. “You must despise me, Captain.”
“No.” And it was true. Nothing she felt toward him was that strong. “You amuse me.”
Oh, he didn’t like that. And what would his reply be? She’d wager a full bag of gold on a statement about his mental or moral superiority. It was the typical response from proud men who’d been mocked by strong women.
He nodded, as if he hadn’t anticipated anything else from her. “I know you want to kill me for having the audacity to go to these lengths to save my brother. I don’t expect you to understand why I would do that.”
As she’d assumed. “You know I understand exactly why, or you wouldn’t have used the device against Archimedes. Your audacious plan hinges on my caring enough not to throw him off my ship the moment he and his sister became a problem for me.”
“You call the man that you supposedly care for a ‘problem’?”
He truly did amuse her. She smiled, and had to give him credit—he didn’t step back, and he only revealed a bit of wariness in the sudden shift of his gaze, the tensing of his shoulders.
“My husband was a problem for you, not me. That’s why you used Zenobia. When you asked for his help, you knew he wouldn’t endanger me and my ship—so you already had your standby plan in place. And that plan put us both right where you wanted us, made us slaves to your cause…and it only worked because you knew very well that both Archimedes and I understand perfectly the risks that love will drive us to take.”
“I know he does.”
He glanced toward Archimedes, who was watching them from the bow. Bemusement had lifted the corners of his beautiful mouth—probably recognizing that his old friend was attempting to cut her down a bit. She saw Archimedes laugh and shake his head.
Yes, it was absolutely ridiculous.
Bilson said softly, “But I also know you, Captain. I heard all the same stories that he did whilst following your career, but I’m not as besotted or as blinded as he is. Your reputation is at stake, and that’s the only reason you’re still going along with this—so that no one discovers that I forced your hand.”
That made no sense at all. It would have been far easier simply to kill him if she wanted to preserve her reputation. But she allowed him this little moment, letting him think he’d gotten the better of her.
“Yes,” she agreed. “You have all the pieces lined up perfectly. I wonder what happens when one doesn’t fall in the direction you’ve anticipated? I think you’d have nothing left—just as you won’t when we find New Eden.”
He didn’t respond, but she had never been more certain that his kidnap of Zenobia had indeed been a bluff. There was smugness in the set of his mouth, his self-satisfied posture.
“Ah, that look,” she said. “That is why you amuse me, Mr. Bilson. You’re so certain that you’ve played your game perfectly. So certain that you’ll always have another trick. It’s a pity, actually. With this ability to prepare and plan, your ability to align yourself with and understand the people around you, you could have been a fine leader.”
His brows rose. “Are you praising me, Captain?”
“I’m not blind. Only an idiot refuses to recognize the strength of an adversary.” She let him puff his chest up before adding, “But you’re a different sort of idiot. You see the strengths of the people who aren’t adversaries, and who would align themselves with you given the right incentive, but you exploit their vulnerabilities, instead. You simply poke at weak spots—just as you did when you were writing your radical handbills. Just a little boy, poking away, and needing the help of someone like Archimedes in order to actually accomplish anything.”
His jaw clenched. “Are you claiming that you’d have aligned yourself with me, that you’d have helped me? You refused, Captain. And I knew you would.”
“You took the wrong tack from the very start. You knew our strengths. My abilities, Archimedes’ need for excitement—”
“That’s a strength?”
Anyone who saw Archimedes’ willingness to throw himself into dangerous situations as a weakness truly was an idiot. If Archimedes had been stupid or reckless, that would have been another matter. He wasn’t either of those things, and he wouldn’t have lived this long if he had been. Her husband ascribed much of his survival to luck, but that was wrong, too. He survived because his mind was as quick as his body, because of his unyielding determination to succeed no matter the odds, and because he studied every situation and prepared for the danger before throwing himself into it.
But his willingness to throw himself into the fray extended far beyond “danger.” No matter the undertaking, he approached it with that same eagerness, abandoning himself to the experience—whether he was loving her, learning the workings of an airship, or simply shoveling coal.
It was a marvelous combination of traits, and she’d seen how much his wholehearted engagement with life affected those around him, how often he inspired laughter and joy, and how his involvement in the most commonplace activities seemed to imbue them with a bit of adventure.
No wonder that she loved him so. And she could never consider that part of him a weakness.
“It’s a strength,” she told him. But then, seeing that was one of her strengths. Just as she often had to do with her crew: recognizing what was best in them, and then making use of it. “Do you know what mine is? But of course you knew—that’s why you came to us. You’d listened to all of those stories about me, and recognized that I could rescue your brother.”
“And you refused to help,” he said again.
“No, we offered to help—we just refused to go. But if you’d asked how we would have gone about rescuing your brother, we’d have told you everything. We would have given you a plan, money, names. But that wasn’t exactly the way you wanted it to happen, so you forced our hand.” Smiling, she crushed out her cigarillo in her palm. “And that is where you became the idiot, trying to poke us where we’re vulnerable instead of bringing out the best in us. Archimedes, because he’s loyal, and because when a job needs to be done he prefers to do it himself—and because after studying that job, the risks to me and my ship don’t seem as dire as they first did. And me, because I’m proud, and I’ll be damned if I let someone else take a job that I could do better. So we’d have aligned ourselves with you and offered to go. If you’d only been patient, if you’d seen that in us, it would have been a manipulation worth being proud of, a game truly well played. Instead, you made enemies of two people who’d have been far more useful to you as friends.”
“You think that matters to me?” Frowning, he shook his head. “It’s not important how I did it, as long as it’s done. There’s nothing to regret here.”
Of course he would tell himself that. Expressing any regret would be too akin to admitting that he was mistaken—and justifying the means with the end was a coward’s way of taking responsibility, and the last resort of tyrants. In Yasmeen’s opinion, it took true courage to admit to being wrong. She doubted he had the ability to admit it even to himself.
And any man who didn’t regret the loss of Archimedes Fox’s friendship was a fool.
Lighting another cigarillo, she regarded him with cool amusement until he’d had enough of it and walked away. A few minutes later, Archimedes joined her, his spyglass in hand and coiled excitement in his posture. Whatever he’d seen, it must not have been one of New Eden’s flyers.
Without a word, she offered her cigarillo in trade for the spyglass. An airship was coming in from the north, flying low to the water. At a far enough distance, it would be almost indistinguishable from a sailing ship—a trick to avoid New Eden and used by many airships in the region, including Lady Nergüi.
Yasmeen lowered the spyglass, met his eyes, and saw the same hope that this was the message they’d been waiting for. “It might not be,” she warned him.
“Such little faith. I, on the other hand, will be waiting for you in the autogyro.”
So that they could easily travel to the other airship when it came close. “That’s a bit of a wait. It’s still a good distance away.”
“I’ll spend the time composing odes to your lips. But as I can’t kiss you now, I will settle for this.” He passed her the cigarillo, and watched her mouth as he exhaled slowly. The same taste, the same smoke. Sharing these with Archimedes was one of her favorite intimacies, a simple act that had become an exquisitely sensual ritual—yet one that could be performed in full view of the crew. “What did Bilson have to say?”
“He was telling me how heartless I am and how clever he is.”
“You always have enjoyed a good piece of fiction.” He lifted the spyglass again. “It’s The Blue Canary.”
One of the skyrunners in Scarsdale’s hired fleet. Fierce satisfaction took her in its grip, and she gave Vashon the order to hail the other airship.
Bilson was about to see his pieces all falling down.
* * *
Yasmeen had never particularly liked autogyros. Often wildly unstable, they forced the pilot to ceaselessly pedal at high speeds until the rotor blades overhead spun fast enough to lift the machine into the air. The Blacksmith’s were even worse—in order to create a profile low enough for an airship’s cargo hold, the pilot’s seat had been fashioned so that, instead of sitting up, he had to pedal while reclining. Yasmeen could think few other things more stupid than lying in a metal cage and endlessly pumping her legs.
Archimedes loved it, of course. He laughed with every terrifying tilt of the machine, and whooped as a bit of wind sent them spinning about. Her knuckles were white, but he grinned and pulled levers and easily righted their course. She closed her eyes, pumped her feet, and prayed until they landed safely on The Blue Canary’s deck.
But she smiled along with him on their return trip to Lady Nergüi. Three days after printing the advertisement, Berge had returned Zenobia to her home. The Blue Canary’s captain had passed on a letter from her, which Yasmeen read aloud to Archimedes as soon as they were in the air again. The turbulence from the rotor blades made the paper flap and fold, forcing her to straighten it after almost every line—and the words themselves forcing her to pause, laughing after almost every common. Upon discovering that they’d actually flown to the Eastern Ocean, Zenobia’s opinion of their mental capacity had apparently plummeted.
“‘Now everyone knows that my only two living relations are also the only two imbeciles in the world who have ever deliberately gone in search of New Eden. I will forever hang my head in shame. Yours, Zenobia,’” Yasmeen read, and looked over at Archimedes, who was grinning as broadly as she.
“She’s overwhelmed with gratitude, obviously. And the postscript?”
“‘P.S. I’m particularly thankful because now that this farce is over, I won’t be forced to write Lady Lynx and the Floating City. What a terrible title that would be.’”
“I rather like it,” Archimedes said.
So did Yasmeen—and unfortunately, the farce wasn’t over yet. It wouldn’t be until they found the device. She tucked the letter into her jacket. “When we reach Lady Nergüi, our story will be that we only asked whether The Blue Canary had gotten word of any sightings.”
“All right. And should we start for home? Bilson’s not likely to kill me now—not when the signal will kill him, too.”
“But we don’t know what his ally will do.”
Perhaps that person had just as imperative a reason to go to New Eden, and less to lose if they used the device. Until they discovered who it was, however, it was impossible to know how much of a threat that person posed.
Frustration pushed her legs faster. “How the hell did they hide it so well? Where haven’t we looked? We’ve all but crawled up the asses of everyone onboard.”
“Perhaps we shouldn’t have stopped there,” Archimedes said easily, and offered an unrepentant grin when she snorted. “I’m not about to rule it out. The device would have to be easy to get to, wouldn’t it, because anyone who had to make an effort to retrieve it and put it away would have been noticed.”
That was true. Everyone had their place on the ship, and it didn’t go unremarked when someone ventured outside of their place.
“We’ve searched everywhere,” he said. “Except where decency tells us that we can’t—such as looking under a woman’s dress.”
“So I’ll order them to hike up their hems and give you a good look.”
His chuckle stopped abruptly. His brows drew together. “I can’t decide if you’re serious. Would you?”
“Yes.” But not in front of any male, even Archimedes. “There are only four women who wear skirts. It won’t be difficult to check each of them.”
And at this point, foolish not to check. The device had to be somewhere, and beneath a skirt was as good a place as any.
Archimedes grimaced, clearly not liking the idea. “We’re fortunate that everyone else wears trousers. There aren’t many places to carry a foot-long obelisk around without having it bulge like Longcock’s guns…”
Oh, hell. She realized at the same moment he did. His eyes widened and met hers.
“No,” he said, though clearly not believing his own denial.
“Yes,” Yasmeen said. “It has to be.”
He shook his head. “If we’re wrong…An apology could never be enough. God, I can’t even think it.”
She couldn’t either. So they had to make certain they weren’t wrong, eliminate every other possibility first, no matter how intrusive and awkward. It couldn’t be as horrible as the final option.
“When we return,” she said. “I’ll ask the others to lift their skirts.”
* * *
When the bell for first watch rang, Yasmeen wasn’t surprised to find Maria Barriga de Lata alone in the galley kitchen. The scullery woman was surprised to see her, and her dark eyes widened farther when Archimedes and Vashon came in after. The quartermaster slid closed the door leading to the crew’s mess.
“Don’t stand up, senhora,” Yasmeen said when the woman made an awkward effort to rise. “Remain on your stool with your hands to your sides.”
The woman’s expression fell. Quietly, she complied, looking past Yasmeen to focus on Archimedes. Her bottom lip trembled. “I am so sorry, senhor.”
Until that moment, Yasmeen hadn’t been absolutely certain. She didn’t feel any better for being so; instead, her heart felt heavy and tired as she said, “Will you open your stomach, please? Do it slowly. Mr. Fox, perhaps you might turn around while she does.”
Yasmeen wanted to turn away, too. She’d thought that discovering the device would be a moment of triumph, not a painful exposure. The woman lifted her tunic. The tin can that the Lusitanian butchers had made extended from her pelvis to beneath her breasts. The graft had been horribly done, among the worst that Yasmeen had ever seen; instead of the smooth melding of metal to flesh, the edges were ragged and scarred, the skin pulled tight over the unevenly sawed ends of her ribs. The smooth tin belly latched at her breastbone and opened like the door of an oven. Yasmeen braced herself, willing away the automatic revulsion, breathing shallowly through her mouth. She knew what to expect: guts and gears.
But, no. There were barely any guts. Perhaps there had been, once, but they’d all been replaced with windups and tubes. She shouldn’t have been alive—and wouldn’t have been, if not for the nanoagents. Yasmeen didn’t know how; only someone like the Blacksmith could explain how the tiny machines performed all of the necessary bodily functions, using only a few pipes, hoses and small clockwork devices with winding levers. The rest was an open cavity, empty except for the Horde device.
Maria reached in.
“No!” Yasmeen stopped her. “Please put your hands to the sides again. Vashon?”
Eyes wide and fixed on that dark cavity, the quartermaster came to her side. “Ma’am?”
“Retrieve the device and hand it over to Mr. Fox, please. Be careful not to twist the base. That will activate it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Not hesitating, Vashon knelt in front of the scullery woman. Yasmeen heard her murmured I’m sorry as she reached in. And she must have truly gone soft, because instead of reprimanding the quartermaster, she was only sorry that she couldn’t say it, too. “Please tell me if I touch anything I shouldn’t, senhora.”
Maria stared fixedly over Vashon’s shoulder, as if determinedly not thinking about having another person’s hands in her stomach. “You are fine.”
Vashon scooted back and rose to her feet with the device cradled gingerly in her hands. Archimedes sigh of relief lightened Yasmeen’s heart for the first time since she’d come into the galley.
“Now how do I destroy it?” he asked.
“The furnace would be best,” Yasmeen said, still watching the scullery woman. “Please close up, senhora, and explain your reasons for this. How do you know Mr. Bilson?”
“I had no work. I couldn’t stay in my country. After I escaped the mines, I was forced to go to the ports because of the infection. I was supposed to leave Lusitania, but I had nothing. No money for passage.” Her hands came up to cover her face. “I met him on the docks. I was trying to…No one would have me.”
Trying to earn her passage by whoring. It wasn’t an unfamiliar story. “And what did he do?”
“He wouldn’t, either. But he said Lady Nergüi was looking for new crew, including a scullery maid—and that he would pay me to carry this thing for him, and to turn it on when he gave the signal.” Tears streaked her face now as she looked to Archimedes. “He said it wouldn’t hurt you, and that I would only have to do it once. Then I was to give it back to him after you rescued his brother, and he would pay me the rest.”
Yasmeen’s pity cooled. “What was the price?”
“He told me that I’d receive enough money to pay for a body that allowed me to be a woman again.” Her breath hitched, echoed a sobbing rattle through the can of her stomach. “So that someone would have me.”
Another weakness exploited, and damn Bilson to hell for it. Vashon looked away from the woman, her eyes stricken. Yasmeen couldn’t see Archimedes behind her, but could easily imagine his feelings now: pity for the woman, anger toward the bastard Bilson.
And what solution now? Even as she watched, the woman’s sobbing quieted, and a stoic acceptance seemed to come over her. With a tired sigh, Maria squared her shoulders and met Yasmeen’s eyes.
Ready for death.
Yasmeen had no intention of dealing it out here. “Did you read your contract when you came aboard, senhora?”
“I cannot read.” She gave a weary shrug. “The steward offered to read it to me, but I only cared that there was work.”
“And there still is, so we will soon leave you to it.” Yasmeen gestured to the pots still waiting to be scrubbed. “After we’ve gone, you will tell no one of this device or your part in this plot. Tomorrow morning you will report to the steward’s quarters, and ask him to read the section of the contract which states that Lady Nergüi’s captain will pay for any augmentation or changes to existing prosthetics that allow a crew member to better fulfill her duties. Then you’ll report to Tom Blacksmith, so that he can clean up the graft and make it easier for you to sit. When we return to England I’ll see that you have an appointment with the Blacksmith.”
The woman stared at her, eyes filling again. “Captain?”
“Don’t mistake me, senhora,” Yasmeen said. “I will toss you overboard without a second thought if anything of this sort ever happens again. Do you understand?”
Sobbing again, Maria could only nod.
“Mr. Fox, do you have anything to add?”
“Nothing,” he said quietly. “I’ve got what I came for.”
Yasmeen nodded. “We will leave you to it, senhora.”
Vashon trailed them out of the galley. Though too well trained to gape, the quartermaster’s surprise and confusion were almost palpable. “Captain. A word, please?”
Would it be quick? Yasmeen hoped so. She stopped and glanced at Archimedes, who nodded and continued on toward the boiler room and the furnace.
Frowning, Yasmeen looked to the quartermaster. “You have a concern, mademoiselle?”
“Not a concern. Quite simply, ma’am, I can’t help but wonder: Is that all you will do to her?”
“Yes.” When the quartermaster seemed to struggle with that simple answer, Yasmeen expanded on it. “What should I do with her? She’s already so miserable that a whipping wouldn’t even touch her. Should I lock her up? She has nowhere to go anyway, unless she wants to jump off the ship—and then we will be short a scullery maid. Do you want to take on her duties? Do you think any of the crew does?”
Vashon sighed. “No.”
“But she will be damned grateful to do it now. Have you ever seen any person who was happy to scrub?”
A smile touched Vashon’s mouth. “This would be the first one.”
“And likely worth her weight in gold. I can’t tell you how valuable a woman who can smuggle items in her belly would have been during some of my past jobs.” Yasmeen fished out the cigarillo case tucked into her sash. “Now, please go up top and throw the engines to full steam. I want to be back to England within the week.”
An eager “Yes, ma’am” followed her order, then Yasmeen was making her way to the boiler room. Covered in coal dust and stripped down to a thin sleeveless tunic, Anisa Stoker stood casually off to the side, her elbow propped on the handle of a shovel. Archimedes waited for Yasmeen in front of the open furnace, looking down at the device.
She touched his arm, spoke over the noise of the nearby engines. “May I see it?”
At his nod, she lifted it. The solid base was heavy, the obelisk more fragile. The black surface was smooth, like polished stone. She turned it over, then closed her eyes in disbelief when she read the Horde markings on the base.
“Yasmeen?” Archimedes had seen her reaction.
“It only has one setting,” she told him, then shook her head with a laugh. “It can’t kill you. He bluffed.”
“No.” He took the device and tossed it into the orange mouth of the furnace, where it landed amid the white-hot coals. “That one setting did exactly what he threatened. Perhaps it was only for a few minutes, but for those few minutes, when I couldn’t feel my love for you, he stopped my heart—and I might as well have been dead.”
She slid her hand into his, threaded their fingers. “But you came back.”
“I always will,” he said, then sighed. “And Bilson?”
“I leave him to you.”
He gave her a wry look. “I wish you wouldn’t.”
Ah. So he was torn. Like her, he had no compunction against killing someone when they posed a threat. When that person didn’t pose a threat, the decisions were more difficult, and his relationship with the man was already complicated.
“Think on it,” she suggested. “When he wakes up tomorrow we’ll be three hundred miles north and over dry land. Perhaps his reaction to seeing that his plan has failed will help determine yours.”
Archimedes nodded and looked into the furnace, then met her eyes again. He didn’t have to say it; she already knew what he was thinking.
With a grin, she said, “And after we are back in England, perhaps we’ll see about hiring on more mercenaries and a few more airships, and coming up with a more solid plan to rescue his damn brother—and anyone else who wants to escape New Eden. But don’t tell Bilson.”
“I wouldn’t.” He shook his head, laughing. “And that sounds like a fine plan.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” Lighting a cigarillo, she smiled up at him—then stiffened as an insistent clanging sounded through the pipes.
The alarm from the deck. Now, just as they’d turned for home? It had to be a joke. Had to be.
But Vashon wasn’t the sort to joke while on duty.
Yasmeen took off at a run, Archimedes’ boots pounding behind her, up the companionways. Everyone on board was in motion, shouting as the ship came to full alert. When she reached the main deck, the lanterns had been doused, but everything was bathed in the silvery light of a full moon. By the lady, what terrible luck. The dark couldn’t hide them when Lady Nergüi’s white balloon was illuminated by that light. All of the aviators stood quietly, waiting—and all staring in the same direction.
Yasmeen narrowed her eyes. Far north, a spot of orange seemed to burn like the beacon of a lighthouse. Vashon leapt down from the quarterdeck, expression tight, spyglass in hand. Yasmeen brought the lens to her eye.
A ball of fire flickered on the water. Oh, don’t let it be. Dreading the answer, Yasmeen asked, “Is that The Blue Canary?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her stomach plummeted. By the lady’s shining teeth. Forty people had been on that airship.
“Their captain must have tried to run,” Vashon added, just as Yasmeen spotted the long trails of smoke across the night sky—not from the fire, but from steam-powered flyers.
“May they all rot into a zombie’s gut,” she said softly, and looked to Archimedes. “It’s New Eden. They shot down the Canary.”
His mouth grim, Archimedes said, “Have they seen us?”
She studied the trails of smoke, and a leaden weight settled in her chest. “Yes. They’re flying in this direction.”
So that was it, then. Yasmeen lowered the spyglass and drew a deep breath, hoping to lighten the sudden heaviness around her heart. They’d intended to return to New Eden, eventually. Not like this…but they’d make do with what they had.
“Well,” Archimedes said, and she saw the determination set in…along with the inevitable excitement and anticipation. With raised brows, he glanced at her, and began to grin. “It’s fortunate that we’re prepared for this, isn’t it?”