Arabella swallowed. It was a terrific commitment. Not only was war ongoing with both Bonaparte and the Americans, but French privateers swarmed the airlanes between Earth and Mars—joining a warship could put her into the thick of the fighting.
But she had to do it. It was her foolish tongue that had put the notion of Mars into Simon’s head, and now she was the only one who could stop him from carrying out his fiendish plan, save Michael’s life, and preserve her family fortune.
She closed her eyes, took in a breath. “I do, sir.”
At that the lieutenant broke into a broad smile. “Then welcome to the Aerial Service of His Majesty’s Navy.” And with his thumb he flipped the coin toward her.
But though Arabella reached for it, she did not catch it. For a stranger’s hand—lean, dark, and swift—darted from the dimness behind her and snatched the spinning coin in midair.
6
CAPTAIN SINGH
“What the d—l!” shouted the lieutenant at the interloper, raising a fist in anger. “This is the king’s business!”
Arabella turned. The coin had been snatched by a tall, lean foreigner in a buff coat. “I have been chasing this man for over an hour,” he declared in a clipped, precise accent. Though he was breathing hard, and his face shone with perspiration, somehow he managed nonetheless to give an impression of imperturbable calm. “I desire him for my crew, and wish to present my case to him before he makes his final decision.”
Arabella gaped at the stranger in astonishment.
“You’re too late,” the lieutenant sneered. “He’s already taken the king’s shilling.”
“This shilling?” The stranger held it up and grinned, his teeth showing very clean and white against the dark brown of his skin, and Arabella realized that she had seen the man before: He had been the customer at the automaton shop. “It seems that it is I who has taken it. But, sadly, I am disqualified for your service, so I must return it to you.” He handed the shilling back to the lieutenant.
The lieutenant refused to take the proffered coin. “He accepted the conditions of service,” he growled.
“Such acceptance is not final until he takes his oath before a magistrate.” The stranger turned his attention to Arabella. “Are you aware that you could be earning two or three times as much aboard a Marsman as you could in the navy?”
“Navy pay’s not much,” the lieutenant admitted. “But there’s prizes for captured ships! One action could make you rich!”
“Possibly. Eventually. But the navy will withhold your pay until you return home, however long that may be. If ever.”
Arabella looked back and forth between the two men. Whom should she trust, the red-faced English officer or the well-spoken foreigner? Or should she run from them both?
The lieutenant might be a good English seaman, but he stank of rum and his uniform coat was filthy and disheveled. The foreigner in the buff coat of a Mars Company ship’s officer, meanwhile, had the calm cool bearing of a gentleman … even an aristocrat.
“Furthermore,” he continued, “the navy may chain you into your hammock in port, as a deterrent against desertion.”
“Don’t listen to him!” the lieutenant roared. “Foreign b____d will say any thing to get a good English seaman. Marsman? Go with him and you’ll wake up halfway to Shanghai, and never see a penny!”
The stranger drew himself to his full height. “I am a captain in the service of the Honorable Mars Company, and I will not stand for any more such insults!”
The lieutenant’s mouth curled into a snarl, and Arabella realized that he was very likely about to say something that might lead to fisticuffs.
And if these two men fought, her chance for Mars on either of their ships might very well be the victim.
“Is that true?” she asked the lieutenant, all in a rush. “About chaining men into their hammocks in port?”
He hesitated before responding, his gaze darting from the stranger to Arabella. “Absolutely not,” he said eventually, but his vehemence had died away.
Arabella knew a lie when she heard one. She turned to the foreigner. “And your ship, sir, is she a fast one?”
The man grinned broadly. “The very fastest, sir.”
Arabella looked from one man to the other, considering, then returned to the foreigner. “I do not believe I have had the pleasure,” she said, and extended her hand. “Arthur Ashby, sir, of Oxfordshire.”
“Captain Prakash Singh of the Mars Company airship Diana,” he replied, and took it.
*