“Dorothea,” she said. “Dorothea Rink is my name.” She shrugged a shoulder. “Magics don’t work here, right, and I know you ain’t no witch, so I figured what the hell. And anyway, you was tryin’ to protect me.” She rolled her eyes. “And such a good job at it too, ya old fool.”

  I didn’t bristle at the attack. I was too busy smiling at her unveiling trust.

  “So what’s your real name, Scribbler John?” She set down her fork and rested her elbows on the table, then she rested her chin in her hands. “Fair’s fair. You got lots to tell me to catch up now, and I know you’re Property. I heard the pirate boy call you it.”

  I flinched when she said ‘pirate boy.’ She had no idea how cold The Scorpion could be. “Pandora, you should be mindful about what you say about—”

  “Pirate boy?” She shrugged. “He’s a scrapper who ain’t never had a momma to spank his ass, that’s all.”

  I flinched again, but she quickly pressed, “C’mon, Sribbs. Spill it. Who were ya before you sold yerself into slavery?”

  I leveled my eyes at her, curious as to whether her words were meant as hurtful, and wondered if this innocent witch girl was like all the rest out there, looking down on those of harvested talent such as myself. “I take it you’re not too kind toward Property.”

  “Didn’t say that.”

  “No,” I nodded, picking at my food, “You didn’t.”

  “So give. Tell me about yerself.”

  I drew a deep breath. I didn’t have much of a life to tell her about, and I wasn’t sure she’d appreciate it anyway. I shook my head somberly.

  She said, “His teeth were rotten, his tongue tasted like day-old horse meat, and his cock was like an icicle.”

  “Pandora!”

  “You start gabbin’ or I’ll fill yer head with so many nightmare visions you’ll sick-up all your supper.”

  I raised both my hands, pleading for her give me pause. “All right, all right.”

  “I figure you and me, and my demon, ain’t got much time here, so you should start quick.”

  Again, my eyes narrowed. “How do you mean?”

  “Well, if your pirate boy keeps an eagle eye out for his stores, he’s gonna see what gone missing. Who else woulda stole it from him if not you.”

  “But I didn’t—”

  “Was good, wasn’t it?” She lowered her hands to her lap and grinned at the grease stains on my plate. “I ‘spect you’ll want me to hide when he comes by again. How you gonna explain it?”

  I dabbed my lips on a napkin and tried to shuffle out from behind the table. “You shouldn’t have—”

  She pushed the table toward me, pinning me down. “Nope.”

  I gaped at her.

  “Speak. Tell me who you are. Really. All the secret stuff I know you is hidin’.”

  “Pandora, if he—”

  “Better make it quick before he comes back.”

  Chapter 12, A Decent Proposal

  Kinney pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “My dear, I do wish you’d stop that caterwauling.”

  Maggie continued to kick and pound on the door, screaming, and shouting to anyone who might pass by the captain’s door.

  Kinney lowered his hand and barked above her shouts, “All right!”

  Maggie looked at him, chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath, and leaning a shoulder against the door, exhausted.

  “For the last time, I’m not going to touch you.” Kinney’s eyes widened as he shook his head and raised his palms above his shoulders. Then he rolled his eyes and muttered, “Why are women always so berserk?” It was within the captain’s plan to strike, faint, strike, faint again, until he got the result he wanted.

  “You go t’hell,” Maggie said.

  “Yes, probably.” He stood up from behind his desk, hands up in a show of surrender. “Step away from the door, Ms. Tarnish, so I can use the key to let you go.”

  Maggie held her ground, but then realized she was indeed blocking her own exit. Arms folded tightly across her chest, she sidestepped toward the far wall near the porthole.

  Kinney waited until she had her distance, then fished the skeleton key out of his pocket. He rounded the desk and pulled the cap off of one of three brass blow tubes near the door. Each tube had small wooden plaque labeled, BRIDGE, ENGINE, or GALLEY. Kinney blew into the pipe labeled BRIDGE and waited.

  “Yes,” came a hollow voice from the other end. Kinney turned toward the blow tube and said, “Send Mr. Brody back to escort Mrs. Tarnish back to her husband, please.”

  The voice said, “Aye.”

  Kinney returned the cap to the tube and stepped to block the door. He rolled the key around his fingers as he met Maggie’s eyes. She had trouble meeting his. “I’m going to exchange you for your husband.”

  She looked at him, her eyes wide and fierce. She started to shake her head.

  Kinney sighed. “Please, woman. What do you take me for? Does your husband look anything like you?”

  Maggie said, “I’m goin’ to repart this.”

  “To whom?”

  “Autorities.”

  “Where?”

  “Wherever we goin’.”

  “And what if there are no authorities where we’re going?”

  “Oyl foind ‘em.”

  Kinney gave his mustache a tug. “Ridiculous.” He shook his head. “We were only going to chat, my dear. The invitation for an interlude was merely that, an invitation.”

  “Yar an evil, lecherous mon, meester Kinney.”

  “From your perspective, I suppose I can see that. I do wish you’d reconsider staying; just for the tea and conversation.”

  She shook her head.

  “You know, miss, where we’re headed there is no civilization. The uncharted territories are filled with carnivores, cutthroats, criminals, and Canadians.” He said, “They will take you, strip you, beat and torture you, rape, and kill you.”

  “Oyl take me chances.”

  “Have it your way, but know this—” He raised the key and dangled it, wiggling his eyebrows. Then he lowered the key, frowned, and finished, “You make me sad.”

  Maggie’s lower lip quivered as a rapping sounded at the door. Kinney turned, and used the key, then he turned the wheel and tugged the thick door open. Maggie rushed past him, nearly pushing Brody down as she made her escape. Brody grabbed her by the arm and held her fast.

  “Lock her up. Bring her husband.”

  Brody nodded. “Sir.”

  Once alone in the hallway, Maggie turned to Brody who politely eased his grip on her arm. She said, “Yar captain ‘as a lot to larn about manners, Mr. Broody.”

  Brody kept his eyes from her, afraid he’d catch sight of an unkempt bodice or crooked skirt, or some sign that Radio was right. “Why do you say that?”

  “E’s a beast and a cad. E’s rude and obnoxious, and dastardly to boot.”

  Brody laughed, then looked at her, relieved that she didn’t report anything worse than “dastardly behavior.” He started walking her back toward her makeshift cell in the ship’s makeshift library.

  “Well, then, that makes it unanimous among the crew.”

  Maggie stopped and looked at him. “What’s ‘e gonna do with me Kevin?”

  “I expect just chat. What’d you call it? A cupper? Same as you, I s’pose.”

  Maggie’s eyes drifted down, then back up the corridor toward the captain’s door. “T’weren’t no cuppa, Mr. Broody.”

  The chef considered the woman’s profile for a moment before offering her an unseen smile of compassion. “He ain’t like that. Not really. I mean… Radio’ll tell ya. He’s got his odd quirks, but I guarantee we’re not going to find you folks guilty of anything more than being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  Maggie blinked and sought Brody’s eyes. “Trute?”

  He released her arm and gestured ahead of them. “Truth. May not seem like it, Miss Tarnish, but you got friends here.”

  She pulled away from Brody, and tromped down the hall toward the library. “Huh. That’ll be the day.”

  ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

  The bridge of Compassion was buzzing with all the activity of a hornet’s nest whacked with a stick. Toller and Gabe moved quickly from console, to table, to wheel, wrapping thick leather strips around anything with a metallic edge.

  “I hate this,” Toller grumbled as he pulled the ropes tight around one of the upright beams. “Ignorant to make an airship with so much iron anyway.” He snorted and made a pig-like face, though Gabe figured that was just to keep his spectacles up on his nose.

  Gabe pointed out, “It was a warship before it was a pirate hunter, ya know.”

  “A lot of good it does,” Toller said as he dusted his hands, pushed up his spectacles—adjusting one of the loupes in the process, then he stepped back to the map table. “Suppose we take grape shot to the air bag?”

  Gabe smirked, taking the wheel and reaching to pull a lever that angled them higher into the sky. “Same thing that would happen if this bucket was made of wood. We’d drop and die.”

  “You lot arguing Galileo again, or is it Newton this time?” asked Engineer Razinski as he stepped through the bridge hatch and moved to the wall of dials and gages along the back.

  Ignoring the question, Gabe wiggled another lever before pulling it back. He had to let go of the wheel to use both arms to muscle it into place, and as it came back, the entire ship seemed to moan and vibrate.

  Toller held tight to the map table as the airship suddenly angled up more steeply, everyone leaning and holding on to something as she climbed straight up toward the stars. A tall metal fin rose up from where it had been resting flat along the air bag’s spine, then it turned with a roar and hum of well-oiled gears until it clanked into place, turning the gently-floating Compassion into a fat blue shark.

  “Tesla hook locked,” Razinski said. “I’m headin’ back.”

  Gabe nodded to Toller, “Let the cast and crew know, little man.”

  The navigator waddled his way toward the back wall near Razinski as the engineer stepped around him and exited the bridge, and blew into a tube marked SHIPWIDE. “Attention, hands and guests. We are about to connect with the Tesla Net. I would advise against touching anything metal at this point, and may God help us all if we cross paths with a SkyTrain.”

  “So dramatic,” Gabe muttered.

  Toller replaced the cap on the tube and made his way back up the sloping deck to the map table. He gripped it by the leather edge and bit his lip. He tilted his head back, and tip-toed to see through the row of bridge windows, and saw nothing but black and stars. Then he witnessed a faint flash of purple and green, like the glimpse of the Aurora Borealis.

  “Hang on!” Gabe shouted.

  ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

  Maggie rushed to Kevin’s arms as Brody waited in the hall, holding a leather-wrapped railing on the opposite wall. “Oh, Kevin, I hate this place.” Kevin Tarnish held his wife close, rubbing her back as he glared over her head toward Brody.

  “You next, Doc. Cap’n wants to talk to ya.”

  Kevin put his hands on Maggie’s shoulders, and pushed her back so he could find her eyes. They were overflowing with tears. “Mags, what did he do to you? Did he touch you?”

  “No,” she keened, shaking her head slightly.

  Brody stepped from the far wall and leaned into the doorway. “Let’s go, Doc.”

  “Maggie, tell me,” Kevin pressed.

  “Doc.”

  Kevin glared at the chef. “I am speaking to my wife, sir. Kindly stand down.”

  Maggie shook her head and said, “No,” as Brody stepped into the room, his hands balling into fists. “No, don’!” She looked up at Kevin, “E was a gentlemanly sart. I swear true, love.”

  Ignoring the advancing chef, Kevin said, “What did he say?”

  “Doc!” Brody barked. “That defeats the galdamn purpose. Now, come on!” Brody waved Kevin over as he took another step into the room.

  Kevin released his wife’s shoulders, then gently touched her cheek. He bent down and kissed her whisker tattoo before turning to join the chef. He called over his shoulder, “I’ll be back soon, love.”

  “Kevin.”

  He stopped at the doorway and looked back at her.

  “Don’…” She stopped and chewed her lip, then she shook her head, tossing her blond locks. “Jus’ be carful.”

  Kevin winked. “I’ll be back.”

  The two men walked in silence up the sloping deck as they neared the captain’s door, the wheel of which was now wrapped in some kind of thick rubber. Toller’s announcement about connecting with the Tesla Net echoed overhead, and Kevin turned to Brody as they stopped at the door. “Tesla Net?”

  “Yeah.” Brody looked at him as though measuring up an imbecile. “You know, the electrified layer of atmosphere that—”

  “I know what it is, but how could we possibly—?”

  “All pirate hunters have a hook,” Brody winked. He knocked on the door, and said to Kevin, “How you think we catch our prey?”

  With that, the ship groaned and popped. Kevin leaned against the inner wall, grabbing hold of a metal fire extinguisher bolted to the wall as the ship angled steeply upward.

  “Ah!” Brody also clung to the inner wall, but he was holding a wooden railing fed through brass rings every few feet or so. “Grab here,” he said, nodding down to the rail.

  Kevin blinked at him, his eyes wide as he clung for his life.

  “Seriously, mate. Let go of the—”

  A flash of lightning ripped through the ship as it impacted with the Tesla Net. A rippling purple-blue crackle wiped through the interior and exterior of Compassion like a tidal wave of lightning. Kevin saw the wall of electricity coming and quickly transferred his grasp from the metal extinguisher to the wooden railing. The wall of current passed through him, taking angry snaps at metal fixtures along the way. He felt the hair on his body stand on end, his teeth buzzed, and the air took on a strong smell of ozone. Faint green snips of St. Elmo’s Fire flickered around portal frames, the extinguisher, and bolts in the ship’s interior plating as the ship seemed to level off.

  Kevin let go of the railing and wiggled a fingertip in his ear.

  Brody laughed, “Yer not deaf, Doc. The capacitors switch over and shut down the engines the second we kiss the Net. C’mere. Look.” Brody moved to a porthole across from the captain’s door and tapped the glass. “Look.”

  Kevin reluctantly made his way closer, careful not to let his hand move toward anything metal. Through the porthole he saw clouds rushing past below them, and through the breaks in the purple moonlit clouds, a periodic glitter or cluster of lights from a farmhouse or town, gliding by slowly—though with the altitude, Kevin imagined—rather quickly. “How fast are we—?”

  “About five hundred knots, maybe more. Never really can gage it ‘cept by comparing, and we don’t waste time with math.”

  Kevin turned his gaze to Brody. “No, I can see that,” he said flatly.

  “Come on,” Brody grumbled at the doctor’s pointed comment, “Cap’n wanted to talk.” Brody stepped around Kevin and pounded his fist on the captain’s door, specifically on a wooden plaque mounted to the metal door, and waited. A moment later, the door swung open.

  Brody nodded Kevin in, gesturing impatiently until the lanky doctor stepped across the threshold.

  Like Maggie, Kevin was immediately taken with the opulence of the small room, and the sudden wall of cloying perfume. He pinched his nose as he stepped into the room, looked back at Brody who smirked as he slammed the door home and presumably remained outside to guard.

  “Doctor Tarnish,” Captain Kinney grinned from behind his desk, feet up and ankles crossed. Kevin looked around, and finding no chair, stood with his hands clasped behind his back. He pursed his lips, but didn’t say anything.

  “Oh, come now. We’re gentlemen here. Stand at-ease. You’re not one of my crew.”

  Kevin remained as he was.

  Kinney sighed and stood up, not wanting the lanky man to tower over him when he was so used to always being the tallest man in the room—even stooped. The captain rounded the desk and sat on the edge of it with his arms folded. “You first.”

  Kevin blinked, and his pursed-lip expression twisted into a scowl. “What did you say to my wife?”

  “Ah,” Kinney smiled. “So, we’ll be going nowhere when it comes to getting to the bottom of why you were on a pirate ship then, hm?”

  The other man glowered, his dark eyes searching the captain for any opportunity to breach the man’s towering presence.

  “Very well,” Kinney sighed again. He reached behind his back and withdrew a sharp brass letter opener from the desk. He held it casually, turning the handle with the tip pressed against the index finger of his other hand. The movement was clear: He intended to use the opener as a weapon.

  Kevin let his arms hang loose at his sides and stepped back.

  “I asked your wife, Magdeline, if she would be kind enough to sleep with me.”

  Kevin’s face ran hot. His hands curled into fists. “You bastard son—”

  “Of a bitch,” Kinney finished. “Yes, I thought you’d look at it that way.” He pointed the letter opener at Kevin. “Oh, now calm yourself, Doctor Tarnish. I merely gave her the option, and explained it had nothing to do with whether or not the two of you would be found guilty or innocent—and you’ll be pleased to know that despite my handsome uniform and impeccable mustache, your woman declined my ovations.”

  “Good.”

  “So, relax your stance. I’m not one to waste my time trying to climb a hill that cannot be climbed.” Kinney sniffed and put the letter opener back on the desk behind him. “I’ve seen enough of your lovely wife’s face to use it in fantasies during self-ownership, so I’m satisfied.”

  Kevin took a step toward the man, practically trembling with anger. “You—”

  The captain held up a hand to halt him. “So, you say you were saved by an angel? That intrigues me.” Kinney stood, apparently not phased in the least by Kevin’s anger, and rounded the desk to put the mass of furniture between them. He sat down, leaned forward, and clasped his hands together over the letter opener. “Tell me the whole story. I’m keen to hear it.”

 

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