At that Arabella laughed in return. “Indeed? Well, so am I, miss. A Martian born and raised.”
The serving-girl tipped her head and grinned. “Cheeky little b____d. Well, you wouldn’t be the first to join the navy under false colors.” She jerked her thumb toward a table near the fireplace. “Connor’s there.”
“Thank you, miss.”
But as Arabella turned away, the serving-girl touched her shoulder. “Take care, now,” she said, her expression serious. “’Twould be a shame for a sweet young face like yours to get blown to bits by some pirate off Ceres.”
“I will, miss.”
*
Connor lounged against the wall, drinking from a glass-bottomed tankard and talking with several companions. He wore a blue navy coat with airman’s red piping, but his neck-cloth was loose and stained; above it, his cheeks were ill-shaven.
Arabella pushed down her fears and stepped forward. “Lieutenant Connor?”
The airman looked up over the brim of his tankard, but said nothing.
“My name is Arthur Ashby, sir. I saw the recruiting poster for Athena. I would like to volunteer.”
At that the lieutenant immediately excused himself from his conversation, drained and set down his tankard, and walked over to Arabella. “Delighted to meet you, Mr. Ashby.” His handshake was exceptionally rough and strong, like being gripped by a great twist of rope. “Allow me to stand you to a drink.” With a great show of cheer and camaraderie he ushered Arabella to the bar, where he ordered two pints of ale, handed one to Arabella, and raised the other. “The king’s health!” he cried, and drank off a great swallow.
“The king’s health!” chorused all those in earshot, and Arabella chimed in, slamming her tankard down on the bar afterward along with the rest. Ale sloshed out, disguising the fact that she had not swallowed any. She felt she should keep her wits about her.
“So, tell me why you wish to become one of His Majesty’s airmen.”
“Mars, sir. I am filled with a great desire to visit the red planet. And such a fine fast ship as Athena is said to be, well, I figure she will get me there sooner than any other.”
“That she will, lad, that she will. She’s a fine ship.” He took another drink. “Now, before you accept the king’s shilling and appear before the magistrate to take your oath, I have a few questions I must ask you. Are you a loyal subject of His Majesty the King?”
Arabella straightened. “Absolutely, sir!”
“Are you at least sixteen years of age?”
“Indeed I am, sir! Seventeen in March.”
He did not appear convinced, but seemed to decide not to press the matter. “Are you rated able airman?”
“No, sir.” On this point she felt sure that lying would get her in endless trouble, by raising expectations about her capabilities that she could not fulfill.
“Ordinary airman?”
“No.”
“Well then, can you reef, hand, and steer? Do you know the ropes, at least? There’s plenty of use for a sailor’s skills on an aerial ship.”
Arabella ducked her head sheepishly. “I am afraid I have no idea what those even mean, sir.”
The lieutenant did not seem surprised, nor even particularly disappointed. “Right. Landsman, then. But we’ve a place for you, have no fear.” He reached into a pocket and produced a freshly minted shilling. It gleamed in the lamplight. “D’ye know what this is, and whose face is on it?”
Was this some kind of test? “It is a shilling, sir. And that is the king, George the Third.” She did not mention his madness, or the fact that his duties were currently being performed by his son the regent. The king was still the king, and his face was still on the money.
“Exactly.” The lieutenant’s expression grew serious. “Now, a shilling ain’t much.” That might be so, though Arabella reflected that it was far more money than she owned at the moment, and more than she had any other prospect of obtaining any time soon. She felt as though her purse were salivating for it. “But for many years, English soldiers were paid a shilling a day. The pay’s quite a bit more today, I assure you! But for tradition’s sake, we still do place a great ceremonial value upon the acceptance of, as we say, the king’s shilling. Now, by taking this shilling, with the king’s picture on it, you pledge yourself to serve His Majesty, in whatsoever capacity he may choose to use you, for whatsoever period he may choose to employ you. In exchange you will be fed, housed, equipped, transported, and provided many fine opportunities for enrichment and advancement.” He held the shining coin up between them. “Do you accept this shilling?”