Chapter Nine
Though the messenger must have delivered her note well before midnight, when Mina rose from her bed near dawn, Trahaearn still had not come. She waited in her room, expecting an imperious knock at the front door, expecting an airship to hover above her house at any moment. She heard nothing.
After two hours passed, she realized he must have withdrawn his offer—and feared that she knew the reason why.
She left her valise in her room and came down the stairs to breakfast. Her parents sat at the table, talking quietly, with no newssheet spread between them. Mina looked to the fireplace. The short time they used this big room every morning didn’t warrant the expense of heating it, yet ashes lay in the grate.
Silently, she gathered her breakfast from the sideboard, and sat. Though she acknowledged their greetings, she didn’t speak until certain that her voice wouldn’t emerge as a croak.
Finally, she was able to ask, “Was the caricature so very bad?”
Her mother forced a smile. “You have earned those detective’s epaulettes.”
“What was it?”
“Nothing worth seeing,” her father said shortly. “Just a picture drawn by idiots.”
A picture seen by everyone they knew. She couldn’t eat. Even expecting that her caricature might appear in the newssheets, she hadn’t known it would hurt this much. She wished Andrew sat across from her. He would make her laugh. He would make it easier to bear.
Her father looked up. “Mina, I forbid you from looking at it. If that rag is put into your face, you will close your eyes.”
She nodded silently.
His fist struck the table, rattling the plates. “You will close your eyes!”
He never raised his voice. Now, his shout had her mother covering her face, and Mina’s heart leaping into her throat and choking her. She fought tears.
“Yes, Father.” It was a hoarse whisper.
Her mother gave a shuddering sigh, and tried for another smile. “And you cannot save eight wealthy boys and the Iron Duke every day. So it will only be the once.”
If he’d truly withdrawn his offer, then yes—it would only be the once.
Her father nodded. “And by the time you return, no one will remember. When will you be leaving, Mina?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps he didn’t receive my message.” She pushed her egg around. “He said they were departing at dawn.”
She glanced up at her mother’s gasp of dismay. “And Andrew?”
Her father caught her hand. “Do not panic now, love. We’ve had a full night to think on this. If Andrew is still on the Terror, then he will return with the Iron Duke. If not, we will figure out what to do then.”
“Perhaps we will all go after him.” Her mother gave a laugh, high and thin. “On the run from the Blacksmith, straight into the Ivory Market. It shall be like an Archimedes Fox adventure.”
“Mother—”
With a wave of her hand, her mother cut her off. “I am not panicking, Mina. I am looking forward to our holiday.”
Her father smiled and turned to Mina. “Will you be heading in to your job today?”
“Of course,” she said, just as a knock at the door sent her heart leaping again. Not letting herself hope, Mina pushed back from the table. “There is Newberry now.”
It wasn’t Newberry who stood on the step. Cheeks bright and her blond hair wild, Felicity pushed into the foyer, carrying a black overcoat.
“Oh, Mina,” she said.
Mina stopped her. “If you have the newssheet with you, do not show me. I am forbidden to see it.”
“I don’t have it. Only this.” She held up the overcoat. Mina had given Felicity a summary of the previous days’ events while she’d helped Mina dress the night before, and only second to Felicity’s questions about the Iron Duke had been the reason he’d stripped off half of her uniform. “It is too big, but the right color. Use it until you have a new one.”
“Thank you.” Mina slipped on the coat and almost drowned in wool. She looked to Felicity, who watched her with concern. “Was it so terrible?”
“Ah, well. Yes. It’s a portrait, of sorts—but not any worse than others we’ve seen and laughed at.”
“I haven’t laughed at them.” Whenever a caricature of a Horde magistrate appeared in the newssheets, she tried not to even look at them.
Felicity arched her brows. “You once sketched a bounder with five missing teeth.”
Mina’s cheeks heated. So she had. Yet she never would have drawn Hale or Newberry that way.
Now, she wouldn’t draw any bounder that way.
Felicity blushed, too. “Perhaps that’s not the same. It’s just so terrible because I know you. It must be devastating for your parents, too.”
So it was just as degrading and awful as Mina imagined—but it was only bad because it was her.
“And the article was not much better, favoring the Iron Duke’s participation over yours, and the navy’s most of all.”
Mina sighed. “Yes.”
“You expected this?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” Flustered, Felicity stepped back. “I forgot to tell you—your Newberry is outside.”
Relief made her smile. “Thank you.”
Suddenly serious, Felicity stopped her. “Mina. I know I don’t see things as you do. So I can’t imagine . . . I can only tell you, that whatever happens today, your family will be here. I am only next door. And you will have something good to come home to.”
Mina knew. And thank the blessed stars for them. She squeezed Felicity’s hand and rubbed her big belly, and went out into the square.
It was no different. She received a few extra glances from passing maids, and they whispered a little more than usual, but that was all. She climbed into the rattling cart.
“Good morning, sir,” Newberry said.
“Good morning, constable. Let us see if we can avoid both zombies and spoiled brats today, hmm?”
With a nod, Newberry threw the drive lever forward. “Yes, sir.”
The officers at headquarters were all of a good sort. A few stretched their eyes and loosened their lips, but only to demonstrate how ridiculous the drawing had been. Most were upset that the article had downplayed her participation. What could have been a good mark for the police force had been stolen by the navy, and they took it as an attack on one of their own.
Until today, Mina hadn’t known that they considered her one of their own.
And so when she was summoned to Hale’s office, Mina climbed the stairs with a light heart. Even the worry in the superintendent’s eyes couldn’t puncture the fine feelings that her reception into headquarters had engendered.
“You’re something of a celebrity this morning, inspector.”
“Unfortunately, sir.”
“Yes.” Hale sighed. “I find myself in a difficult position, and I need you to tell me true: What is the extent of your involvement with Anglesey?”
Mina had expected this. And thank the blue heavens, she didn’t need to lie. “Yesterday was the extent of our involvement, sir. With the investigation closed, I believe that will end it.”
Hale nodded, but she didn’t look completely convinced, and her worry didn’t recede. “The constables and inspectors are behind you now. But if this continues, and when the newssheets and the flyers begin looking bad on them simply because you are also an officer, they won’t be so friendly. They’ll resent being associated with someone who is always painted as a fool—however undeserved.”
“I understand, sir.” Frankly, it was the reaction she had expected today.
“You are my best, but if you did decide to develop a . . . deeper acquaintance with the duke, I would have to let you go.”
“I know, sir. Thank you. But I do not expect our acquaintance to continue.” She paused, recalling that the superintendent hadn’t just mentioned newssheets. “Flyers, sir? Political flyers?”
“Yes.”
“Was there one?” Her heart sank when Hale hesitated before nodding. Mina had promised not to look at the newssheets. But a political flyer would be aimed at her mother or father. “May I see it?”
“Inspector—”
“Please, sir.”
With obvious reluctance, Hale slid a sheet across the desk.
Mina stared at the drawing. “I—Well. They have the scale all wrong. If I stood next to Trahaearn’s statue, I would not come up to his knee, let alone my mouth to his—”
“Yes.”
Sickness rose in her throat. She couldn’t swallow it down. “And to hold a picket sign thus, I would have to clench my buttocks very hard, I think, or the ‘Ladies Marriage Reform’ would too difficult to read. And I’m not certain it could be done with my skirts pulled up so—”
“Inspector!” Hale’s face glowed almost crimson.
“I’m sorry, sir. I just need some way to . . .”
Laugh. She couldn’t laugh. If only Andrew were here—but no one knew where he was. She fought the burning in her eyes.
Hale’s voice gentled. “Yes.”
She held out her hand for the flyer, but Mina couldn’t stop looking, even when the drawing blurred and splattered with tears. It was the ugliest thing she’d ever seen. And it was of her.
“Mina.” Hale’s use of her name was soft and careful. “This is not something I’ve asked before, but I’ve wondered for so long: Is there nowhere you can go? Somewhere you don’t need a giant to follow you just so that you are not beaten . . . or worse.”
Sucking in a breath, Mina pushed the tears from her face with the palm of her hand. Terrible, to cry here in front of Hale. But better than crying at home. She struggled to find her composure.
“Perhaps I would not be beaten, but even in the New World, they would still stare. They cannot help it, just as people will always look at my mother’s eyes, or those from Manhattan City look at a dockworker’s prosthetics.” She met Hale’s gaze. “If they are from England, it is usually hatred. But everyone looks, and at first, they only see the Horde. It changes when they begin to know me—but until then, and if not hatred, there is always the curiosity, the fascination, and they look at me like a bug on a lens, searching out the differences. You know it is the truth. You did so, too. And you glanced away quickly when the bug looked back at you.”
Hale flushed. “I didn’t realize you noticed.”
“I noticed. And your curiosity did not hurt. I only mean that there’s nowhere that I will be completely accepted. There’s nowhere I can go where I do not draw looks, except for when I’m with the people who know me. And so if I am to be looked at, I might as well be near home.”
“I see.” Hale smiled faintly. “Then in your place, I don’t suppose that I would leave, either.”
A scratch at the door was followed by the secretary’s announcement. “Duke of Anglesey here to see you, sir.”
What? Mina shoved the flyer into her overcoat pocket and hastily wiped her eyes.
Hale waited. “All right, inspector?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you’re dismissed.” She raised her voice and called for the secretary to let the duke through.
Heart pounding, Mina walked to the door. It opened before she reached for the latch, and he strode through. He stopped to avoid knocking her over.
“Your Grace.”
He didn’t meet her eyes. His cold detachment froze her through. “Inspector.”
She barely breathed. “Did you receive my message, sir?”
“No.” He pushed past her.
Too shocked and numb to respond, Mina left Hale’s office, closing the door behind her. She lifted her eyes and met Scarsdale’s gaze.
Leaning against the opposite wall, he said, “I think you’ll want to wait here with me, inspector. We’ve just been to your home. I must say, your mother is a lovely woman.”
“Sir?”
“She was quite forgiving about the butler. Probably more forgiving than my clumsy entrance deserved.”
That was enough. Mina’s temper snapped. “Tell me, sir!”
He blinked. “Ah, well. On the advice of His Grace, the Duke of Shrewsbury, and the most discerning of the Lord Regents, the king’s regency council has made Trahaearn a special investigator into the matter of the weapon for auction, and they have allowed him to choose his consultants. Due to the display of intelligence and resourcefulness you demonstrated yesterday, you’ve been conscripted. You have no choice but to accompany us to the Ivory Market, where we are to determine if that was where Baxter’s murderer purchased the device used to freeze you in Chatham, and the status of the auctioned weapon. Moreover, you are to investigate whether the Black Guard is merely a rumor, or something more . . . sinister.”
He waggled his brows on the last word. The knot in Mina’s chest began easing.
“So I’m to go with you.”
“By order of the Lord Regents,” he confirmed. “Lady Corsair waits outside. May I ask a favor of you?”
She would do anything. “Yes, sir.”
“Do you have any opium handy?”
After shooting Scarsdale with an opium dart, Mina left him slumped against the wall and raced down the stairs to find Newberry. Chest heaving, she pulled the constable into an unoccupied corner, and forced him to stoop to her level.
“I have not much time,” she said quietly, urgently. “I am leaving for Africa—I can’t explain. You’ll find out soon enough, and I need you to do this for me while I am away.”
“Do what, sir?”
“The wiregrams, Newberry. And the freezing device. And Haynes’s bugs.” Poor man. She was rushing through. Mina tried to back up. “Yesterday, Dorchester said that they’d pursued the weapon after learning that Haynes’s bugs had been destroyed. But as I was shooting Scarsdale I realized that we did not include that in our updates. Did you?”
“No, sir. I never stated what killed the captain.”
“And why kill Baxter at that moment? It makes no sense. Except that Baxter knew why the Terror had been sent to the Ivory Market. I believe someone was trying to stop Baxter from telling us about the auction. They knew Trahaearn would pursue the Terror. But no one knew that the Dame had thrown Haynes on Trahaearn’s house, or had reason to believe that Trahaearn would know the Terror had been taken. So after we identified Haynes and sent the update, they had to try to beat us to Baxter—which meant someone had to send a wiregram from London to Chatham, to alert their assassin. And there is only one wiregram station in Chatham. Either the clerk or the message runner will know something.”
Newberry’s face cleared. “You want me to find out who sent it?”
“I don’t know if we’ll be lucky enough to find out who. But from where it was sent? Yes. But be careful about it, constable. Someone told the Admiralty that Haynes’s bugs were destroyed before they sent those ships from Dover. That person is probably connected to the Black Guard.”
The constable paled a little. “The Blacksmith, sir?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps someone at the Admiralty already knew what had happened during the weapon demonstration. But yes—it could be the Blacksmith.” She held his gaze. “And that is why you must be careful, and only ask at the Chatham station so that you don’t arouse suspicion in London. Find out who sent that gram. Very quietly, and with care. And then keep a lid on it until I return.”
“Yes, sir.”
Yasmeen had given Rhys the cabin across the passageway from the inspector’s, and reconfirmed his belief that her airship was worth every single livre. With Scarsdale a heavy weight over his shoulder, he entered the small cabin long enough to dump the bounder on the forward bunk. When he left, Mina’s door was ajar.
An opportunity Rhys wouldn’t resist. He pushed open her door. The narrow space had room enough for a bed, a shallow wardrobe, and a tiny writing desk that doubled as a washstand and vanity. Standing over the open valise on her bunk, she glanced at him and raised her brows.
“What did Scarsdale get into?”
“I shot him with an opium dart.” She looked past him. “You’re sharing a room?”
“Yasmeen already had another contract, and his journey won’t interfere with ours. He’ll be using the stateroom.”
He gestured to the end of the passageway, to the largest cabin on the airship aside from the captain’s directly above them.
“Ah, yes. The contract that was already half paid. You must be paying her more. Yet she wouldn’t change the cabin arrangements for the Duke of Anglesey?”
“I don’t mind. I’m not here to lie in bed.” Unless it was Mina’s.
She didn’t look convinced. Turning back to her valise, she said, “So who rates above you?”
“Archimedes Fox.”
With a laugh, she faced him again. “The adventurer?”
A fraud, probably. What little Rhys had heard of the man’s escapades sounded ridiculous and implausible. “You’ve read his stories?”
“Who hasn’t? Andrew used to make pennies by reading them to the laborers on the docks.”
Resourceful boy. “And so I am not his only inspiration.”
“No.” She smiled. “You also compete with the Blacksmith.”
“But I won out.” He watched her gather an armload of clothing from the valise. The cabin door blocked access to the wardrobe. Perfect. He kicked the door closed and moved deeper in the cabin. She had to brush past him to reach the wardrobe, and then frowned when she couldn’t open it.
Pushing closer, Rhys showed her how to lift the door before swinging it wide. “So that it won’t fling open.”
“Thank you.” She took a deep breath. “I’m not in my element.”
“No.”
She smoothed the collar of a white shirt over a hook. “I realize that you have done me a . . . favor. But I intend to perform my duty as instructed.”
“Did you expect that you’d have to do something else?”
Of course she had. Folded and tucked in his waistcoat pocket lay a simple message: I accept. -W.W.
But if she knew he had the note, no doubt she’d feel an obligation to keep up her end of the bargain. He didn’t want her that way. And though he ought to get rid of the message, Rhys knew he would keep it until she accepted all of him. Perhaps beyond that time.
She’d agreed to take him once. That small slip of paper gave him hope that she would again—but without coercion.
“No.” She lied well. Not a hint of color tinged her cheeks. “We should compile everything we know about the Black Guard. Will we have a place to work?”
“The officers’ mess, or I’ll ask Yasmeen for the use of her cabin.”
“Either would be sufficient.” She paused. “Why an officers’ mess? This is a private airship.”
“Not always.”
“Oh.” She returned to the bed. “This was a navy airship?”
“Not the Royal Navy’s.” They tended to be heavier. “It was a French ship. She took it during the Liberé war.”
“I see.” She frowned and withdrew a small combination box from her valise. “I didn’t pack this.”
“Your mother brought your case to us.”
She dialed in the numbers, and with a clicking of gears, the steel box opened to reveal a silver cross. A soft sigh escaped her. “This. I remember my grandmother would take it out to look at—and she said that her mother used to wear it, even though the Horde outlawed all of these old relics. It meant something else to them. I think my mother only looks at it to remind herself of my grandmother.” She closed the box, shaking her head. “I suppose she wants me to sell it.”
“It would fetch a good price.” When she looked up at him, he said, “I used to smuggle relics like these into the Horde territories. Sometimes into the empire itself.”
Her eyes widened. “They’ve outlawed them everywhere?”
“For taxes and peace.”
“What?”
“It used to be, after the Horde conquered a region, they let everyone worship whatever they always had—and they didn’t tax the clerics. But then rich men started becoming clerics, and hiding their money. In other regions, their dargas were squabbling over religious differences. So the Horde eradicated it altogether.”
“How do you know that?”
“There are still hidden pockets in the territories. That’s where I’d take those relics.”
“In the empire?” When he nodded, she asked, “What was it like?”
“Safe. Orderly. The Khan boasts that an old woman carrying a bag of gold could walk from one end of the empire to the other unmolested. And from what I’ve seen, that’s true. You could live there peacefully. I could live there peacefully.”
“But?”
He had to smile. Of course it couldn’t be that ideal. “But if you ever speak out against the dargas or the Khan, you’ll disappear.”
“Lovely.” She looked into the valise again and gave a small growl of dismay. “Mother.”
Rhys reached in. Nestled in a nightgown lay several small, beautifully crafted automata—singing birds, jumping frogs, clockwork bracelets shaped like kraken . . . and a tiny butterfly. Intrigued, he glanced at Mina, wondering if she knew what it was. The butterfly’s wire legs were designed to gently fit over a clitoris. When wound, the wings would flutter until the vibration brought the woman to orgasm.
A delicate little device—and nothing like the contraptions at the Blacksmith’s. Used for pleasure, rather than to hurt or degrade.
He held the butterfly in his palm. “You say your mother made this?”
Mina barely glanced at it, instead frowning at a thick envelope that she’d taken from the bottom of the case. “Blast it all. They could have used this while I’m gone. These devices would have covered any possible need I might have had.”
Rhys recognized the money he’d sent for the butler. “We have to stop in Chatham. I’ll wire instructions to my steward, and he’ll have the same amount sent to them.”
“Thank you.” She handed him the packet.
He tucked it into his jacket and looked down at her mother’s devices. “And I’ll buy all of these from you now.”
“Oh.” She cast her eye over the collection. “Two livre.”
Outrageous, but he could afford to be cheated. “Done. And you’ll show me how to use the butterfly later.”
Both her faint smile and the color in her cheeks pleased him. “I couldn’t use that. My mother made it.”
“So?”
She blinked before pursing her lips. “It’s difficult to explain to a man from a crèche. Let me put it so: If you had a daughter, would you want her to use a similar device that you made and gave to her?”
Unexpected, instinctive recoil tore through him.
“Just so.” With a nod, she closed the empty valise. “Shall we move to the wardroom, then, and begin our work?”
“In a moment.” He blocked her access to the door. “You asked if I received your message. What did it say?”
He didn’t know what drove him. She didn’t look at him with bitter disdain now, or anger—and he shouldn’t risk them again. But he had to know how she would explain it, and hope that the lies she chose would reveal as much as the truth.
“Oh. Only, ‘Thank you.’ For the butler. It was not . . . about your offer.”
“I asked too much?”
“Not too much for Andrew. But it promised to be a very high price. Higher than I ever expected.” A shadow moved over her face, as if she’d already paid some of it.
He tilted her chin up. “Should I have asked for less? I’m used to taking everything, but I suppose a gentleman should only take in bits. What would have been easier to pay?”
“I don’t think a gentleman takes anything at all.”
“I never said I’d be a good one.” When she smiled, he said, “A kiss, then. I should have offered to take you with me for the price of a kiss. Would you have paid it?”
“Yes. But I paid that after the ratcatcher.”
So she had. “And to open this cabin door?”
She laughed. And though her hands dropped to her weapons, she rose onto her toes. He dipped his head and her mouth pressed to his sweetly, firmly.
Simple. Nothing. Yet need suddenly raged through him, hardening and heating. Damn her. He’d only meant to play. But it took him over—and not her. Why not her? Was she still so afraid?
She abruptly drew away, her gaze averted, as if she’d stumbled across something that made her uneasy.
And he couldn’t play or tease her now. “That’s not all that I want. It won’t be enough.”
She closed her eyes. “Why do you even want it?”
He didn’t know. He couldn’t account for it. Frustration boiled up, drove him to her. He captured her face between his hands. “I want to possess you. And if I want something, I find a way to have it.”
“I see.”
His jaw clenched. She didn’t see. Neither did he. “This is the first time it’s a woman.”
She blinked. Rhys lowered his head. Stiffened, her mouth didn’t open, but he tasted the sweetness of her lips, the firm line between. His hands circled her waist, carried her up against him. He felt something within her hitch, like the catch of a breath, and her mouth softened against his. Her fingers threaded into the hair at his nape.
Finally. Heart pounding, he delved deeper. The heat of her mouth drew him in, the first glide across her teeth, the hesitant touch of her tongue. She shuddered against his chest and broke away, gasping.
She pushed at his shoulders. “I don’t want this.”
Bullshit. “You don’t enjoy it? Lie to me, if it’s easier.”
“I don’t want to enjoy it. That means the same to me.”
So she wanted him. She just didn’t want to. That was something. And it was enough—for now.
“Set me down.”
He did. She stumbled back against the bunk, hands on her weapons.
“Only here,” he said. “That’s all I want.”
“What?”
“You. Me. Until we return to London. There will be no ruin to you or your family. I’ll kiss you until we can’t breathe. I’ll strip you naked and taste every inch of you. Then I’ll shag you until neither of us can see straight. And we’ll have had enough of each other.”
She stared at him, lips parted. A long second passed before she shook her head. “None is enough.”
He looked her over. Her cheeks had flushed. Her breathing hadn’t yet settled. “Are you certain of that, inspector?”
“Yes.” She stood. “Let us go now, sir.”
Mina climbed up to the main decks with Trahaearn’s taste still on her tongue. Trying to ignore the sensation only made her more aware of everything else: her thin chemise, which seemed useless today, protecting the tips of her breasts from the abrasion of her tight armor. The vibration of the engines prevented her from losing herself in her skin; she was constantly always aware of her feet on the decks or her bottom in a seat. The rush of cold air against her cheeks should have brushed away the memory of his heated mouth. She should have scrubbed her lips with the heel of her hand, but she didn’t want him to see. So he lingered, and all that she could do was wait for his flavor to pass and for the tingle over her skin to fade.
She paused near the bow to look over the side, drawn by the blue and the white. The airship was headed toward gray, but even rain clouds were different than haze, full of shape and varying shades. Below, pools of sunlight dappled golden fields between the shadows of the clouds, and a breeze sent the grasses rippling like a wave.
Trahaearn stopped beside her. “We’re almost to Chatham. We’ll wait until Fox boards before heading below again.”
“Why?” Though the adventurer piqued Mina’s curiosity, the duke hadn’t seemed impressed. “You want to meet him, after all?”
He shook his head. “It’s not my ship. But I still prefer to know everyone aboard.”
“I see.” Not his ship, but still every inch the captain. “And what will you learn by looking at him? Are you such a good judge of character?”
That amused him. “No. I don’t know whether a man is an enemy until he comes at me with a knife.”
“Truly? I think that it’s obvious when someone hates you.”
“Hate, yes. But how can you know whether they intend to hurt you? I’ve met men who’d rather shit on my plate than eat with me, but they’ll still bend over their tables to make a deal that lines their pockets.” He shrugged. “So I treat everyone as if they will stab me in the back until I better know them.”
Just like Mina. She almost laughed.
His eyes narrowed. “What is it?”
“I dislike everyone until I know them.” Then had to admit, “Some, I continue to dislike even after knowing them.”
“I care nothing for like or dislike. It only matters whether they have a use to me.”
“Whether they have a use?” Though she shook her head, Mina was not surprised. She’d heard that word from his mouth too many times. “And you make it very easy to continue on as I’ve started.”
His dark brows snapped together. Had she startled him? His gaze searched her face, as if trying to confirm whether Mina meant what she’d said. Would he care if she disliked him? She couldn’t be certain.
“Perhaps not everyone according to their use,” he finally said. “I would still call Scarsdale a friend.”
Mina couldn’t imagine anyone who wouldn’t like the bounder. “And is he the only one?”
His eyes locked with hers. “No.”
She couldn’t mistake his implication. That didn’t mean she’d believe it. “Ah, but you are also a pirate and a liar, and have a use for me in your bed. I will not trust that you like me, sir.”
He grinned. “And your response is why I do.”
Her answering smile seemed to grow on its own. She did like him . . . sometimes. When he was not a complete knacker.
They soon came over the Medway River, and then the port at Chatham, where Lady Corsair cut the engines and sailed into position above a boarding house. With the tails of her red kerchief blowing over her shoulders, she left the quarterdeck and approached them, a frown creasing her brow.
“Where is Scarsdale?”
“He’ll sleep the day,” Trahaearn told her.
“Damn. He is the only one who suffers fools like Fox.” She narrowed her eyes at the duke. “He suffers one every day.”
Trahaearn gave a bark of laughter. “And he’s told me that you read the magazine serials.”
“So I do.” Yasmeen smiled and lit a cigarillo. “That bounder gave me the first adventure to read. I only follow along now to see when Fox will be killed.”
“If he’s killed this time, you won’t receive your second payment.”
“Then perhaps I’ll take up writing. As much as he paid me, there must be something in telling ridiculous stories.” Turning her head, she called out, “Lower that platform slowly, Ms. Washbourne! I don’t trust that our passenger will have brains enough to move out of the way below.”
Truly? Mina couldn’t yet read the other woman well, but she recognized bravado. And though she wouldn’t have wagered her life that the aviator captain had been struck by nerves, Lady Corsair almost seemed like a harder, sharper version of Sally upon meeting the Iron Duke.
When the chains rattled and the platform began rising, Mina glanced up at Trahaearn and saw his narrowed look. Also trying to make out Lady Corsair’s strange behavior, perhaps.
The woman sighed and crushed her cigarillo out in her palm. “Well, I’ll have to deal with him, then. There are few men who aren’t trying to fight me or to take my ship. I ought to be grateful that this buffoon has money enough to tread my lady’s decks.”
The platform rose into place alongside the airship. Mina could not be certain if Archimedes Fox was a buffoon, but surely he was an eccentric. He stood beside a large trunk, wearing a gliding contraption with wings strapped to his back, bright green breeches, and a yellow jacket. His shaggy brown hair was streaked with gold and hung over his goggles. Tall and fit, with wide shoulders, narrow hips, and a deep tan, Mina could believe that he was an adventurer. She estimated his age close to hers, but when he pushed up his goggles, he regarded Yasmeen with an eagerness that reminded her of a younger boy.
She was already finding it difficult to hold on to her dislike.
Beside her, Trahaearn went still. “Captain Corsair!”
Yasmeen turned and frowned when she saw his face. She sauntered back toward them, and Trahaearn moved to meet her halfway. Curious, Mina walked with him—and noticed the change that came over Fox when he saw the Iron Duke. All that was young and eager suddenly looked hardened and dangerous.
“That is not Archimedes Fox,” Trahaearn told her quietly. “That is Wolfram Gunther-Baptiste.”
Yasmeen’s lips curled—and then she was gone. Mina gasped. She’d never seen a person move so fast. In a blink, Yasmeen was at the platform, and had Fox on his knees with her fist in his hair and her knife at his throat. He held his hands out wide, as if in surrender.
Trahaearn caught Mina’s wrist when she stepped forward to intercede. He gave a small shake of his head. Quietly, he said, “Not here, inspector. Not on her ship.”
But they were still over English soil. She could not stand by. With her free hand on her opium gun, she watched—ready to stop them if necessary.
Yasmeen hissed into the man’s face. “Are you here to kill me?”
“No. Never.”
“I killed your father.”
“And I’ll thank you for it until I die. He wasn’t much of a father.” He suddenly grinned, showing white teeth. “Bad enough that I changed my name.”
“To Fox?”
“Yes.”
“Liar. Get off my ship.” With a snarl, Yasmeen shoved her boot into his chest and turned away. He tipped over, landing hard on the platform—and apparently onto his purse. A distinct ching! sounded.
Yasmeen’s eyes narrowed. She turned back. “Fox?”
He watched her carefully. “It has a nice ring, doesn’t it?”
“I haven’t changed my name. You deliberately sought the services of my ship.”
“I wanted to see what sort of woman destroyed him. I’m not disappointed.” Slowly, he got to his feet, and his carefree expression fell away again. “We have a contract, Captain Corsair. You’ve taken my money, and you owe me passage. Don’t make a decision you’ll regret.”
“I don’t regret anything, Mr. Fox.” Yasmeen sheathed her knife as she approached him again, but to Mina that only made her seem more unpredictable—and more deadly. “The moment you step from this platform onto the deck, never suggest a threat to me. Because I’ll toss you over the side and won’t look back.”
“I’ve been deserted once for less.” His boyish grin appeared again, and he looked to Trahaearn. “Isn’t that right, captain? Though I’ve heard you’re called something loftier, these days. Have you blown up any towers lately?”
“No. Have you and Bilson?”
“Bilson’s dead,” he said without a change in his affable expression. “And I had a change of heart . . . in more ways than one.”
His gaze returned to Lady Corsair. She stared back at him, her green eyes cold and assessing.
“All right, Mr. Gunther—”
“Fox.”
She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “—Baptiste, Mr. Pegg will show you to your cabin. You are free to move about Lady Corsair, but I prefer to see you as little as possible.”
His jaw hardened. He watched her walk back to the quarterdeck before turning to Trahaearn and Mina. Faint surprise crossed his face. “You must be Detective Inspector Wentworth. I read an account of your insubordination this morning.”
The duke frowned. “What account?”
“In the newssheets. They reported the Lord High Admiral’s version,” Mina said, relief sliding through her. If he hadn’t seen the newssheet, he hadn’t seen the caricature.
Fox obviously had. His gaze settled on her face. “Yes, they seem to have got a lot of it wrong. Perhaps you’ll share the real tale over dinner?”
“I doubt it,” Trahaearn said.
With a smile, Fox grabbed hold of his trunk. “Until then, inspector.”
A flirt. Mina watched him follow Pegg to the ladder leading below decks. But a flirt who moved lightly, and carried the heavy trunk without any awkwardness.
She looked to Trahaearn. “You deserted him for less than a threat? Why?”
“He and Bilson obtained the explosives I used on the tower, but once they’d boarded the Terror, he demanded to know what I wanted to do with them. I didn’t know him well enough to gamble that he wouldn’t stab me in the back, and I couldn’t let him tip anyone off.”
“I see. And so?”
“I threw him overboard.” When she stared at him, he added, “We weren’t far from shore.”
“Which shore?”
“Galicia—on the northern coast of old Spain.”
Which teemed with just as many zombies as France’s coast did. Mina shook her head, but found it very hard to criticize him for any action that led up to his destroying the tower. And besides . . .
“That story sounds familiar,” she said. Tossed from a pirate ship by a sinister captain, and forced to hike through treacherous forests to stop the pirate from using explosives to demolish the last medieval cathedral still standing in Spain? It was familiar—it had been the first serial adventure, Archimedes Fox and the Blasphemous Marauder.
Oh, blue skies. Her shoulders began shaking. The pirate captain had been eventually slain, after Fox tricked him into entering a dark cavern where he’d been gored by a zombie boar.
“What story?”
Mina could only shake her head. And it took her twenty minutes more before she could catch her breath long enough to tell him.