Nathaniel noticed Gideon made no mention of Tepes. The good doctor’s fate was sealed regardless of whatever the Guild decided. The only thing Gideon might still have yet to determine was which type of nail he’d choose—French horse or ox shoe.
He bowed once more, this time in farewell. Gideon paused before descending the stairs to the circle vaults and catacombs. Moonlight painted a silver nimbus on his hair. “Nathaniel, Spain isn’t the Redan, but any flight is dangerous as you well know.” His pupils were almost incandescent in the darkness. “How often can you ride the pale horse and fall? You may not rise again.”
Nathaniel had no answer for him. “Farewell, friend. Expect my message upon my return.”
The other nodded and was soon embraced by the shadows that always welcomed the Guardians.
Nathaniel returned to the tree and the dog whose eyes gleamed as brightly as Gideon’s had. The pup’s tail thumped the ground. She pressed against his hip when he sat at the tree’s base, her head between her paws. She cast an odd shadow across the grass—that of a great hulking mass with a ridged back and muscular shoulders, a beast of Herculean proportions that protected the dead alongside her master.
A thought tickled Nathaniel’s fancy. She still had no name. He grinned and stroked two fingers down the dog’s head. “Spot,” he said. “I think I’ll call you Spot.”
CHAPTER NINE
Lenore decided that despite being a few thousand feet in the air, tasks for an airship cabin boy were very much like those of a housemaid on terra firma—except for the four hour watches of course. Her lips twitched at the idea of Jane handing Mrs. Harp a set of field glasses with instructions to keep a lookout for apple thieves in the back garden at three in the morning.
She entered the Terebellum’s compact galley and spotted the cook in his usual place before the stove. No scent of wood, coal or gas filled the air in this kitchen. Airship stoves and ovens were fueled by empyrean, that almost mystical essence discovered by the British Mage Guild. Empyrean gave rise to the age of dirigibles and consolidated the Guild’s power and influence.
The galley was situated behind the control room and next to the telegraph room, with a breathtaking view of the eastern horizon from its starboard side windows. The sun, a blaze of volcanic orange began its steady climb in a sky still dotted with fading stars.
“Good morning, Mr. Smith.” She tucked herself into a corner to keep out of the way while the cook busied himself at the burners.
He nodded. “Likewise, miss. And how is the captain this morning?” He poured a dark stream of liquid into a vacuum flask. The smell of hot coffee filled the air.
Lenore inhaled an appreciative breath. “Not exactly in the sunniest of dispositions. I hope you brewed the coffee strong.” Lenore had quickly learned why several of her new crewmates had given her pitying looks and good luck wishes once they found out one of her many tasks aboard the ship included bringing “Dragon” Widderschynnes her morning coffee.
Mr. Smith closed the flask and snapped a cup on top. “Strong is the only way to brew it, miss. Otherwise, it’s not fit for drinking.” He handed her the flask. “Best step lively. You’ve learned by now, the longer her Nibs has to wait, the more dangerous it gets.”
“Indeed it does, Mr. Smith.” Lenore backed out of the galley. “I’ll return as soon as possible to help Clark serve breakfast.”
The Terebellum’s keel corridor bore a similar design to the Pollux, except bigger and more modern. Nettie’s temporary quarters were only a short jaunt down the gang walk from the control and radio rooms. Lenore exchanged morning greetings with crewmen changing watch or on their way to the crew mess for breakfast.
She knocked briefly on the captain’s door, easing it open at Nettie’s abrupt “Enter.”
“I have your coffee, Captain. Mr. Smith promised...” The rest of her sentence faded when she caught sight of Nettie’s visitor. Black garb and white hair. As with every other time she saw the Highgate Guardian on the Terebellum, her heartbeat doubled. Thank God she wore her corset looser than usual, or she’d probably faint from lack of breath. “Forgive my interruption,” she said. “Good morning, Mr. Whitley.” Lenore hoped the wide smile curving her mouth didn’t look as foolish as it felt.
He bowed, his features more guarded but his voice as warm as his hand had been on her waist when he kissed her in the abandoned rectory. “Always a pleasure, Miss Kenward.” The way he uttered the salutation heated Lenore’s cheeks and made Nettie’s eyebrows climb.
She passed the flask to Nettie without taking her eyes off Whitley. “My apologies. I didn’t know you’d have a visitor. I only brought one cup. I can bring another.”
“No apology necessary,” he said. “I was just leaving.” He glanced at Nettie who watched them both with a wry gaze. “If I see anything else, I will inform you.”
She toasted him with her flask. “I’ll pass that bit on to the gunners.”
Lenore had the very strong sense she had walked in on a particularly important discussion.
He bowed and doffed his imaginary hat. “Captain. Miss Kenward.” The action guaranteed to startle Lenore every time she saw him do it. He looked nothing like her Nathaniel, yet a great many of his behaviors and speech patterns reminded her of him.
Both women stared at the door after he left. Lenore jumped when Nettie snapped her fingers. “Ah damn! Lenore, catch him. I forgot to tell him to meet me after supper for a report review.”
Lenore saluted. “Aye, Captain.”
Why Nettie had to discuss such things with the Guardian of Highgate—or why he was even on this ship in the first place—remained a puzzle, but Lenore dared not ask. On this ship, social class didn’t matter the way rank did. Here, Nettie was Queen and Lenore a minion. To ask such questions broke a rigid protocol.
She caught up with him just as he climbed the ladder from the keel corridor to the hull. “Mr. Whitley, wait!”
He halted to peer down at her before descending the ladder back to the keel deck. Nettie had introduced him to the crew as an “official observer” on their flight. She didn’t elaborate beyond that short statement, and no one asked the question they all thought: why was a bonekeeper aboard an airship?
Lenore’s shock at first seeing him on the Terebellum had given way to excitement. The memory of his kiss still made her lips throb. She had lost count of the many times she’d replayed those moments in the empty rectory, held close in his arms as he made love to her first with verse and then with his mouth.