The iron duke, p.25
The Iron Duke, page 25
“No. I shot him.”
Alarm replaced the concern. “With what?”
“Opium.”
“He’s fucked, then.” He sighed and dragged his hand through his hair. “That will keep him out far into the morning. Between the two of us, we might be able to drag him in here, but we won’t get him up to the bed. Shall we leave him?”
“I already did,” she said.
He laughed suddenly. “So you have. And pardon me for saying, you look like hell. I don’t know that you could stand up, let alone drag anyone anywhere.”
She supposed he knew better than most what could and couldn’t be done after a drunken binge. “I concur, sir.”
With another sigh, he sat on his bed. “Normally I’d offer to sleep in your cabin. But I imagine you left the porthole uncovered?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “Will you be all right with me here?”
“Yes. I’ll pretend you’re my brother.”
His grin flashed and he lay back. “Do you have another opium dart?”
“On the desk in my cabin. Next to the porthole.”
“Damn. Not worth it, then.”
She stared across the room at him. He turned to blow out the lamp, and caught her looking. A wry expression crossed his features before the room went dark.
“You can ask me what happened to my back,” he said.
Blast. “Was I so obvious?”
“Yes. But everyone is. And then they usually make some clever remark about how apt my courtesy title is. Scarsdale. It wasn’t so clever by the third time I heard it, though.” She heard his bunk creak as he lay down again. “My first year as navigator on the Terror, the captain had me flogged.”
“Trahaearn did?” Sickness lodged in her stomach. “Why?”
“I wanted to sail into the Antilles. Captain had plans for Liberé coast, and wouldn’t change them. So I gave the helmsmen the wrong heading.”
Aghast, she said, “You stole his ship!”
“Yes. And he figured it out quickly enough. He asked me why, and I told him. Then he had me whipped with the cat in front of the crew.”
And was fortunate to have only been flogged. Trahaearn had told her that a good captain gave second chances, but trying to take a ship from one was a different matter. Scarsdale was lucky he hadn’t been hanged.
“Why did you take that chance?”
“I’d heard Hunt was on Antigua. And when I was finally able to walk out of sick bay, I found that the captain had sailed to the island, after all. But Hunt had already left port.”
Mina stared up into the dark. Trahaearn had almost slaughtered the Dame when she’d told him she’d given the Terror to Hunt. And Scarsdale would have risked death attempting to track Hunt down. What kind of man could provoke such hatred? What kind of man held Andrew’s life in his hands now?
“Why were you after him?”
Scarsdale fell quiet, and the only sound in the cabin was the distant huff of the engines. Finally, he said, “You’d probably best wait to hear that after your stomach settles.”
Chapter Eleven
When Mina woke again, Scarsdale was still sleeping. She crossed the passageway, bracing herself against the possibility that Trahaearn lay inside, but her cabin was empty.
Relieved, she washed and dressed, then climbed to the main deck. The sun was high, and the deck shadowed by the balloon. She didn’t see him. Fox stood alone near the cargo platform, the winged contraption strapped to his back. Mina glanced over the side. They flew over a swamp crisscrossed by sluggish, muddy canals. Green vegetation all but covered crumbling stone ruins. Most likely Venice—or what was left of it.
A bell rang beside her. Mina looked round, where Lady Corsair gestured her over to the quarterdeck. As soon as Mina reached the windbreak, Yasmeen told her, “He’s shoveling coal.”
Mina frowned, wondering if she’d misheard over the noise of the engine and the wind. “What?”
“You were wondering where the captain is. He’s shoveling coal in the engine room.”
Oh. But—“Why?”
“Because there’s nowhere else to go.” As if that was an answer, Yasmeen looked away from her. Her eyes narrowed as Fox approached the quarterdeck.
Wearing a black shirt and breeches now, with leather guards around his neck and shoulders, the adventurer had discarded color in exchange for weapons. He carried a crossbow, and two machetes were tucked beneath his glider’s wings. A belt held holsters at both his hips and his back. He’d strapped long knives to each thigh, and four sheathed in his boots. And when the wind lifted his sleeve, she saw that he had two foot-long blades in spring-loaded contraptions along his forearms.
He greeted Mina before nodding to Yasmeen. “Three weeks, captain. I’ll be atop that ruin at noon.”
Mina looked to where he pointed. The pile of rubble was the highest point in the area. He’d be easy to spot from the air . . . and from the ground.
“Oh, my.” With lifted brows, Mina turned back to him. “Good luck to you, sir.”
He laughed and bowed, flashing his boyish grin. “Thank you, inspector.” Still smiling, he said to Yasmeen, “Don’t be late. Those zombies climb fast.”
Yasmeen regarded him almost lazily, as if she was deciding whether to be insulted by the suggestion that she might not arrive in time. She must have chosen not to be.
She nodded and said, “I’ll be here. And I wish you good luck as well.”
Though obviously a farewell, Fox didn’t leave. Hesitating, he looked to Mina, then back to Yasmeen.
“Captain Corsair, you must allow me to explain—”
“No!” Yasmeen’s snarl cut him off. She slashed her hand through the air, her eyes bright with fury. “I’ll be here in three weeks. I’ll fly you back to England. You’ll pay me the rest of my fee. Money is all that will pass between us, Mr. Fox, because I don’t care to hear any more of your words.”
Jaw tight, he gave an abrupt nod and strode for the side of the ship. Stunned by the sudden change in them both, Mina stared after him as he slung a small knapsack around his waist, jumped up on the gunwale, and leapt off.
Yasmeen drew a ragged breath and called out, “Fire that cannon, Mr. Siegel!”
Eyes wide, Mina looked to the bow, where the rail cannon had been mounted on the gunwale. The engines huffed, and an unholy wail ripped though the air as the electric generator wound up.
She couldn’t contain her horror. “You’re shooting at Fox?”
“I’m what?” Yasmeen whipped around. Brow furrowing, the captain stared at her for a long moment before breaking into laughter. She shook her head. “This is part of our contract. I make noise—”
An explosion from below cut her off. Aviators gathered at the rail began to cheer, laughing and slapping each others’ backs. Another explosion followed, and the crew began burrowing into the weapon chests and withdrawing rifles. The rail cannon fired again and again, soundless but for the whine of the generator and the explosions below.
“We make noise to draw the zombies!” Yasmeen shouted between explosions. “Fox glides out as far as he can while they’re all running here, so he’ll have fewer to deal with when he lands. And it gives my crew a crowd of zombies to use as shooting practice—and fewer of them left in Europe!”
Oh. Mina flushed, and Yasmeen laughed again. Stalking to a chest, she hefted out a rifle and tossed it to Mina.
The captain grinned. “If you hit five, I’ll give the stateroom to you instead of to Trahaearn.”
The stateroom wasn’t as large as the captain’s cabin, but had enough space for a full desk and bed, a wardrobe and washstand—and a private privy. It took Mina only a few minutes to move her things. She was tucking her valise beneath the bed when a heavy footstep at the door brought her around.
Trahaearn stood at the entrance, his gaze moving from her valise to the open wardrobe. Coal dust streaked his skin and shirtsleeves. A dark emotion in his eyes burned like a furnace.
“You’ve moved into my cabin?”
Her heart pounding, Mina shook her head. She almost couldn’t speak past the constriction in her chest, and her answer came out thin and high. “The captain gave it to me.”
The heat in his eyes flickered out. “I see.”
That was all he said. Mina waited for him to barge into the room as he always did, but he didn’t come inside. Didn’t take advantage of an open door. The silence stretched, and she couldn’t bear it.
“Sir?”
“I lost my head last night.” His solemn gaze held hers. “I vow to you that I won’t drink again. Not while I’m living.”
The wine had made her foolish enough that she shouldn’t, either. But it wasn’t the drink that had made her need him. It wasn’t the drink that had overwhelmed her with fear. And wine wasn’t the reason she couldn’t invite him in now.
She tried not to wish it otherwise. No good came from fighting against something she couldn’t change—and her past was immutable. She couldn’t take away the Frenzy, or the panic that her need summoned.
Gathering herself, she said briskly, “All of your life? I’m sure that’s not necessary. After we find the Terror, we’ll return to London and won’t—”
“It’s necessary.” His voice was low and implacable. “I’d never have hurt you, or frightened you. I didn’t have the head to realize I was. I’m sorry for that.”
She wanted to laugh and couldn’t. “Just for that?”
“I’m not sorry I had a taste of you.” His gaze landed on the bed. A bleak smile touched his mouth. “Though maybe I should be.”
Mina wasn’t sorry, either. But she didn’t say it. He met her eyes again. After another endless silence, he left.
The blue of the Mediterranean had more green to it than the Channel’s. Mina watched the Horde’s barges crossing the sea far below, carrying harvests from Europe to the ports in the Orient, where they’d be shipped east to the heart of the empire. The sun was setting as they neared the North African coast, and the barges gave way to airships that traveled between the great walled cities of Egypt and Morocco, still under Horde occupation. Though her heart leapt into her throat as she spotted each new vessel, Lady Corsair passed over both the sea and the coast unmolested. She watched until the night prevented her from watching anymore.
The duke hardly said a word during dinner. He might have spent it looking at her; Mina wasn’t certain. She concentrated on her plate, making her plans to escape the captain’s cabin as soon as possible. And so after her dinner was finished, it was with some dismay that she heard Scarsdale say, “Are you ready to hear about Hunt, inspector?”
She glanced up. Trahaearn had been watching her, but now he turned to frown at Scarsdale.
Yasmeen groaned. “Again? You tell that story every time you’re soused—and you’re not even close to it yet.”
“I’ll make you purr while I tell her, then.” Scarsdale pulled her close. Noting the duke’s frown, he said, “The inspector saw the scars while she was in your bed last night. I told her where I’d gotten them, and promised to tell her the rest.”
That bleak smile touched his mouth again. “I see,” he said, and reached across the table for Yasmeen’s silver cigarillo case and spark lighter.
Yasmeen watched him with a smirk. “So this time you won’t need it?”
“I’m sure I will.” Leaning back against an ottoman, he stretched out his left leg and braced his elbow on his cocked right knee. He regarded Mina over the curl of smoke, and his expression cooled into detachment. “But I’ll trade one need for another.”
With effort, she returned his stare without revealing the hurt squeezing in her chest. How foolish to feel it. She didn’t want his attention. But she supposed that no one liked knowing they could be replaced with a roll of tobacco.
She looked back at Scarsdale, and only her determination not to reveal anything of her feelings allowed her to contain her shock. He lay on his side with Yasmeen stretched out on her back in front of him, lazily smoking, her head propped on a pillow. His hand smoothed up and down her stomach beneath her untucked shirt. In full view of both Mina and Trahaearn.
Her shock faded into discomfort. She was no Manhattan City miss, but neither was she accustomed to such a display, even one whose aim seemed to be simple physical pleasure rather than sexual. Mina lifted her glass of iced lemon water, wishing that it were wine. Yesterday, she’d felt so content. Today, she could not have felt more out of place among these people to whom wallowing in luxury and sensual indulgence was as normal as breathing.
She could not even relax against a pillow. Spine straight, she prompted, “Hunt?”
“Let’s see where to start.” Scarsdale’s gaze unfocused. “Ah, well. After the captain mutinied and let Hunt escape the Terror—”
“Deserted him,” Trahaearn interrupted. “If I’d known what he was, I’d have killed him. But there’s always a coward ready to do as his superior commands, no matter what the command is—and that’s all I thought he was: a coward. I didn’t know he was as bad as Adams.”
“Worse than Adams, because he’s the slippery type with enough powerful friends who owe him favors that he always weasels out of a hanging or prison. That’s what he did after the court-martial.” Absently, Scarsdale’s hand curled around Yasmeen’s waist, dislodging the shirt and exposing several inches of olive skin. Mina looked into her glass. “But I didn’t know about the mutiny then. No, I was off helping the Liberé fight the damned French.”
“I like the French,” Yasmeen said.
“You like their money.”
“That I do.”
Scarsdale laughed before he continued, “I landed in a French war prison in the Antilles. So did Hunt, as part of a group of mercenaries that Colbert had hired to run the place.”
Mina glanced up. “On Brimstone Island?”
He nodded. Yasmeen rolled around, pillowing her head on his shoulder and stroking her hand over his chest.
“Everything you’ve heard about the prison . . . it was a hundred times worse. The money that Colbert provided for food, clothes, and medicine went straight into Hunt’s pockets.” His mouth twisting, he reached for his drink. “They crowded us in. Twenty thousand men in a prison designed to hold five thousand. Rivers of shit and the dead piled up, rotting. And one little scratch becoming infected until—”
“Skip the maggots, and everything you ate,” Yasmeen interrupted. “It’s still too soon after dinner.”
Scarsdale nodded and took a long drink. He remained silent for a long moment after swallowing, looking down into his glass. “Hunt was also making money on the side. He’d ship prisoners across the Atlantic to Santa Luzia in the Cabo Verde—islands off the west coast of Africa, and just far enough from the Gold Coast that no one cared.”
Uncertain what that meant, Mina shook her head and echoed, “No one cared?”
“Even the Gold Coast has rules,” Trahaearn said. “Laws that are understood, even if they aren’t written down. They don’t include throwing prisoners and zombies together on an island, and having rich men pay to hunt them down.”
Barbaric. “What sort of men could do that?”
“The sort who didn’t think they were killing men,” Scarsdale said. “So Hunt gave them the Liberé, and the few buggers unlucky enough to end up in the prison. He liked those. Buggers were stronger, so they lasted longer than the others.”
“And that’s why he sent you there?” Not a bugger, but an infected bounder was just as strong.
Scarsdale smiled slightly. “I wasn’t infected then. He sent me for other reasons.”
“But . . . he had to know you’re set to inherit Halifax’s title. When the eldest son of a marquess disappears, it doesn’t go unnoticed.”
“It might have. The last thing my father said to me was that I was an idiot for risking my life in a war for half men.” He shook his head. “But to return—Hunt didn’t send me because I was infected. No, I was just foolish enough to be caught kissing a marine captain.”
Truly? Mina had thought that the marine corps were still formed only of men—Oh.
Startled, she caught Trahaearn’s gaze. He regarded her with cool amusement, as if confirming the conclusion she’d drawn.
But . . . ? Surely her conclusion couldn’t be right. Even now, Scarsdale was stroking his thumb beneath the curve of Yasmeen’s breast . . . though neither of them seemed to notice what he was doing. They simply looked at each other, sharing a quick smile that spoke of a long friendship, before Yasmeen rolled onto her belly and his hand moved to rub her back.
A friendship. And an arrangement between them, because Scarsdale had something to hide.
Mina fought her quick stab of envy. How fortunate that he could hide it. That he could pass though society as everyone else did, rather than being hated on sight. She’d have given almost anything to do the same.
“I see,” she said softly. “And so you were found out, Hunt decided that you were less than a man, and sent you to the island. The marine captain, too?”
“Yes. They put us in a maze, and the men who paid Hunt were given steelcoats and rifles. They hunted us, the zombies hunted us—but as an extra incentive, the men were refunded their fee if they killed all of the prisoners before the zombies did.” His voice thickened. “Thomas’s brains were blown out right in front of me.”
Yasmeen squeezed his hand. “Better than the zombies.”
“Better than the zombies.” The hollow echo was followed by another long drink.
“How did you escape?”
He tapped the side of his head. “I can’t become lost in a maze, especially one I saw from above while they were flying us in. And those steelcoats aren’t fast. I got round behind one, took his rifle, and blew my way past the guard at the maze exit. I hid on the island until nightfall, found a boat, and sailed to the Gold Coast. And as the captain said, there are some rules that can’t be broken. As soon as I spread the word, the Ivory Market took care of the island.”
“And Hunt was arrested?”
