Well, then, Dr. Cooper, I am glad you are aboard. Your skills will be extremely convenient and helpful, I should think.” Lewis’s face was pale, and Daniel’s heart was racing.
Cooper’s gaze flickered to Daniel and then back to Lewis. “I . . . Yes, under ordinary circumstances. There are complications of late, and—”
Daniel waved a hand. “We can discuss everything later. Let us focus on one problem at a time.” There was no sense in anyone else knowing of Cooper’s vulnerability. The fewer who knew, the safer she would be. “Wait here with Samson.”
“Tyrant,” she muttered, extremely pale, with a light green cast that spoke to her nausea.
“Please,” he added. “I’ll return shortly. Lewis, take those pages to the engine room. You’ll see the control panels labeled along the interior wall. The last page there contains correct codes. New tins are next to the coding machine; pull the faulty ones and reprogram new.”
Lewis nodded and paused by Isla. “Doctor, can I bring you anything when I return?”
“Please, call me Isla. And no, thank you.”
He smiled, and Daniel ground his teeth together. Why was she telling him to use her given name? And why had Lewis cradled her face in his hands as though he had the right? Daniel knew he was being petty and irrational—Lewis was only seeing to her care—but it didn’t halt his irritation. Her left pupil covered more of that bright green iris than the right one, and he was grateful they were hours away from midnight. She needed to remain awake.
“I would invite you to call me ‘Adam,’ but only my mother does that. My friends simply refer to me as ‘Lewis.’”
She smiled, but then the ship dipped again, and she blew out a shallow breath. “Very well, Lewis. I should hate to usurp your mother’s privilege.”
He laughed. “It isn’t much of a privilege, truly, it’s only that she—”
“Right then, Lewis,” Daniel interrupted. “To the engine room with you. Meet back here in thirty minutes.”
Lewis eyed him askance but sketched Cooper a brief bow and left the wheelhouse.
Daniel wanted to take his time examining the bump on Isla’s head—she occasionally touched it and winced when she thought he wasn’t looking—but he had to content himself with giving her a quick once-over, moving her hair gently this way and that with his fingertips.
She brushed his hands away. “Go, then, or I’ll find the severed cable for you. It is not in my nature to sit idly by when there are problems to solve.”
“This is not your problem to solve. I am sorrier than I can say that you were injured.” He grabbed a satchel that contained a few basic tools.
“Do not be ridiculous, Captain. This was not your doing, and furthermore, you didn’t want me here in the first place. The fault lies with me.”
“Pickett,” he reminded her gruffly as he shoved an additional tool into the bag. “Only my mother calls me ‘Captain.’”
She laughed and then winced, but her smile remained. “I should hate to usurp her privilege then, Pickett.”
Daniel frowned, remembering that she had said something similar to Lewis.
Samson approached and handed him the most recent weather prediction the onboard processors had generated. Daniel scanned it, disappointed to see that the storm still stretched for miles in every possible direction, including up. He folded the paper and stashed it in his tool bag while watching Cooper try to not be ill.
“Besides, I thought we were friends,” he said. “You are reverting to the formal.”
“Trying to give all the respect due your position.”
He fastened the bag shut and gave her his full regard. “Now that would be a first.”
Her smile weakened, and she pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging her legs close. The defensive posture, combined with the long braid that hung over her shoulder had her suddenly looking very young. Vulnerable.
“You are ill indeed, if you can’t manage a snappy reply.”
“I shall not be ill forever, Pickett, and you’ve seen me wield sharp instruments. I should proceed with caution, if I were you.”
He lifted a brow. If she knew he quite enjoyed images of her throwing weapons around, she’d probably not use it as a threat. The ship lurched again, bringing him back to the moment, and he slung the tool bag over his shoulder, the heavy fabric of his formal jacket thick and cumbersome.
“Stay here,” he ordered again, and left the wheelhouse.
The day passed into evening before Daniel admitted it wouldn’t be as simple as he’d hoped to unravel the strange events that had quite literally blown them off course. He and Samson had toiled for hours fixing the cable—it had been severed at an awkward angle between decks—and he held himself responsible. He had inspected each repair made to the Briar Rose in the days before departure, but he had been desperately pressed for time and decided the cable was new enough to weather at least three more flights.
The ship had continued to sail erratically in the storm, and he had known a tense moment when a barrel in the cargo hold crashed against the hull behind him. He’d sucked in his breath and spun around in blind panic, familiar sensations from battle settling into his limbs. His rapid movement, combined with the ship’s lurch, threw him to the floor, where he knelt, taking several huge breaths.
Unexpected, loud noises—especially behind his back—had prompted similar reactions a handful of times since his return from battle in India. He’d been home less than a month and was attending the garden party of a former classmate when a child had set off a round of firecrackers. Daniel had dropped to the ground, covering his head with his hands. Blessedly few people had seen, but his mortification had been complete. He avoided events with the potential for sudden, loud noises as much as possible.
Once the cable had been repaired, he met Lewis in the engine room to review the faulty propeller programming codes. It was one more thing that should have been caught ahead of time, even with the ship having been readied hastily. It wasn’t necessary to automate the equipment for the entirety of a voyage; it could all be manually overridden or programmed in increments, if desired. He preferred all preparation done beforehand, though, and perhaps this time his efficiency had not been to his benefit.
His conversation with Isla about the possibility of his passengers shifting while still aboard rang in his ears as he returned to the wheelhouse. It certainly was something he’d worried about from the moment they departed, but now it seemed entirely plausible. According to Samson, Isla had left the wheelhouse with Lewis, who had offered to escort her to her quarters. Daniel had checked on her briefly to be sure she was well, relieved to find her eyes normal and her complexion less intensely green.
He worked through the dinner hour and beyond with Samson, and when the skies cleared and they had access to the stars again, they made the grim realization that they had lost at least two, possibly three days’ travel time.
Samson took the wheel and gently maneuvered the ship’s rudder to be certain all was in working order. The propellers were at full speed, the rudder was functional, and even with delays, they would not run out of fuel. Unfortunately, he had exchanged one set of problems for another.
He leaned against the counter, his shirtsleeves rolled up, his coat and vest having long since been thrown off. He pinched the bridge of his nose and rotated his aching shoulders and neck. His ’ton showed no signs of fatigue, and for a moment, Daniel was envious.
“Samson, I need you to make specific note of all islands between here and Port Lucy. We must determine which are inhabited, which have diplomatic ties to the Crown, and which are independent. I suspect we may need to stop before we reach the port. An uninhabited space would be ideal.”
Samson nodded. “Yes, sir. And how do you plan to explain such a detour to Mr. Crowe?”
Daniel sighed. “I shall manufacture a good story—tell him we are heading into another patch of bad weather. Or perhaps stage another malfunction. Crowe can hardly question it if he believes we’ve been forced to land.”
“I understand the preference for finding an uninhabited space.” Samson nodded, then paused. “Sir, I believe the extra exertion today may have caused me to run low prematurely. I should charge soon.”
“Excellent. Your cyborg-exhaustion makes me feel marginally better about my own limitations. Go—charge for a few hours. Relieve me at seven bells.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Thank you for your brilliance today, Samson. Although my gratitude means nothing to you.”
“On the contrary, Captain. I am intellectually aware that if I possessed emotions, your expressions of gratitude and appreciation would be of great benefit to me.” Samson smiled. “So, you are welcome.”
Daniel chuckled, and the ’ton left him alone. He withdrew his telescriber and typed in Cooper’s scribe code. He’d seen her cross the deck earlier, with Lewis’s solicitous help, which had made him scowl enough to bring on a headache. He knew from his quick visit to her quarters earlier that Cooper was recovering remarkably well. When the storm abated and the ship was calm, she had sat out on the deck for a long time before the cold drove her to the lounge. She still hadn’t had much of an appetite, but neither had Quince, Bonadea, or Crowe, so he heard dinner had been a subdued affair.
With your permission, I will unlock the connecting door between the cabins tonight. I shall leave you in peace, of course, but I will rest easier knowing that, should something happen, I would be able to assist you.
He sent the message, uncertain of how it would be received, but his motives were entirely pure; if anything, the open door would be a favor she granted to allay his concerns. The thought of her trapped in an unnatural sleep made him uneasy. The worst part was knowing that nothing he or anyone else did would awaken her. If she had a mortal enemy—Nigel Crowe came to mind—her life was forfeit without a fight.
His telescriber dinged in response.
If it will put your mind at ease, then I do not mind. Know that it is not necessary for me, however.
He smiled. Fiercely independent, as always. And although her response was true and he readily acknowledged it, it was telling that she felt the need to express it.
He busied himself over the next two hours documenting the day’s events. By the time Samson appeared at the door, Daniel was nearly asleep on his feet. He had hoped to return to his cabin before midnight, but by the time he and Samson discussed forecasts and plans for the next day, the time had come and gone.
Daniel left the wheelhouse. He checked Isla’s hallway door to be certain it was locked, and then entered his own quarters. Using the dry sink Robert had filled with fresh water, he cleaned away the day’s grime and scrubbed his hair. He donned a fresh shirt and trousers since he planned to open the connecting door and glanced at his bed with a ridiculous sense of anticipation. He hadn’t been so tired in a long while.
There were two locks on the connecting door, one on either side. He used his key to unlock his side, and was prepared to pick the lock on hers, but when he tried the handle, it opened.
As he stood on the threshold of Isla Cooper’s cabin, his heart beat ridiculously fast, and he realized he was well and truly nervous. He’d struggled through the grueling tasks of creating his business, had served time in a bloody war, had lost limbs and organs and experienced excruciating surgeries and treatments—only to hesitate now? He rolled his eyes at his reluctance and took a deep breath.
She’s just sleeping, he told himself, and because she’d left a lamp on low, he saw her form in the bed. He moved quietly into the room and crept to her side. He bent down to see her better, and his heart lodged in his throat. He stumbled back and came up against the table or he would have fallen completely flat.
Isla Cooper was dead.