An Airship Named Desire (Take to the Skies Book 1) (11 page)

I rounded the corner and entered my room, grateful to sleep in my own bed tonight rather than passed out on deck. The tiny flame of my lamp quavered behind the frosted glass and cast an orange tint around my room. I placed Matilda over the stained wooden rose embellishing the counter on my mahogany dresser. Once I removed my boots, I sat them in the corner by my sword. My sweat soaked feet basked in the cool ocean breeze sweeping through the cabins. After donning a loose chemise and less restrictive pants, I hopped into my bed.

For several moments, I lay still. My muscles began relaxing, and my head simmered to a slow boil at long last. The ceiling above me, straight wooden lines, drifted in slow dizzying circles. I pulled my blanket to my chin, sinking into the comfort of an old weathered mattress that knew me by name. Concerns over tomorrow skittered through my mind, and I turned to my side.

Jobs usually played a backburner role on my nerves because we’d always rush in, do our work and laugh about escaping death once more. Several deep breaths barely helped, but I forced them anyway. I closed my eyes, trying to focus on the sound of the ocean tides roaring from our berth. The cyclical motion of the water’s crash and roll seeped into my veins, and my heartbeat slowed to a normal pattern. I shut my eyes until the blackness overtook me.

***

Sleep had only stolen me for a moment when I sat up with a start in a darkened cabin. My lamp quavered in the corner of the room. Dread settled into my bones, and my heart twisted in pain. Something was drastically wrong.

Chapter Ten

My heartbeat pummeled my chest, but I couldn’t explain the spiked adrenaline. Peering around the corners of the room, I caught shadows loitering around the edges and crawling into every crack in the wall. My eyes adjusted to the murky blackness. The objects in my room from an open trunk to the vanity by my bedside appeared undisturbed. 

The several deep breaths I took barely helped, and numbness raced up and down my extremities. Even after shutting my eyes and counting to ten, I still couldn’t shake the instinct that something was wrong. That feeling soured my stomach, drenching my body with sweat. The gentle back and forth thrum of the tides filtered through the silence, but even the ocean’s quiet murmurs didn’t stifle my unease. 

I blinked several times until the fuzziness left my eyes. My heart still sped, but at least the numbness shifted into my fingers and toes. I picked up my arms and shook them out, trying to rid myself of the pins and needles. Despite the important day tomorrow and the rest I needed, after this wake up, I wouldn’t fall back asleep. I pressed my bare feet against the cold wooden floor and wandered out past my door into the hallway.

Dim lamplights trickled down the corridor and cast a greenish orange hue from their surrounding glass capsules. Goosebumps crawled up my arms. The cool minty breeze swept into the cabins and seared doubt into my mind whether any of this was real. I pinched my cheek just in case, but sure enough, it hurt. 

The ethereal mist of early morning filtered through the cabins, clinging to my bare skin like a second sweat. Apparently I woke up several hours off from dawn. My soft footsteps padded over the wooden planked floor of the ship, each one slow and irresolute. The sleeves of my chemise tickled my swinging arms. Even out of my room with some fresh ocean air, I couldn’t shake the wrongness burrowed deep into my marrow, spreading fear like I hadn’t known in years. I suppressed a shudder.

A cautious warning wrenched my gut like the press of a gaze with someone watching. Nervousness wouldn’t consume me from a simple exchange like the one in a couple of hours. I’d been on so many jobs that a drop off caused less stress than changing my socks. Nor was I still afraid of the dark. My father helped rid me of that fear when I turned six—physical pain was an easy motivator, and he knew the right techniques.

Rustling came from the captain’s chamber several doors down. Relief passed through my chest. Although I had been there before I retired for the night, I always welcomed our talks.

If the captain already woke up, I could plan out the drop off with him and shake this weird feeling. He must be restless over the exchange too. Maybe I had a simple panic attack and let the dark mutate my reaction into something worse. I strode down the hall until I stopped and paused at his door. Morris might want time alone to reflect and figure out a plan for the morning—tough, because he was in for a surprise visitor.

I opened the door.

No.

No, no
no
.

My brain stopped functioning. It refused to process the scene in front of me. This had to be a nightmare, some twisted mess of a nightmare. Moments later I’d snap out or wake up in my bed, and this would turn into something we’d laugh about later when swapping stories in the mess hall. If this was real, some part of my brain tucked this away as a memory that would stick with me for the rest of my life.

His long oaken desk stretched across the middle of the room like always. The maps lay across the tabletop from earlier, remnants of our discussion that morning over location. Even the short dark chair I pulled up mere hours ago remained the exact way I left it.

Morris must have switched his two aether lamps on before he retired to bed because a greenish glow coated the room. The illuminated green liquid set apart the brass fixtures and amplified their golden tones. Even the keypad on his desk lay in the same spot as before, still turned off since he rarely used it—the old man ignored that type of technology. But the captain’s chambers looked wrong.

The contents of his desk drawers scattered across the floors, and the drawers themselves hung open, some teetering off the edges. Permits, old jobs, and the multitude of scrap heap papers littered his desk while several had fallen onto the hardwood. Old maps with gilt edging and faded colors shone under the dim lamplight. Even the captain’s toy water ship collection, little Spanish ones and Italian rigs with miniature sails, lay capsized along the ground.

His wooden locker had been busted open, and the chest lay exposed though untouched. He kept liquor in there, visible on first glance. The door against the back wall leading to his bedchambers hung ajar.

The acrid scent of rusted tin hit me before I caught the spatters of red painting the desk and his items with freckled dots. Tiny flecks, almost unnoticeable, led to the trickle, which led to the pool of blood. My gaze stopped, and my brain screamed white noise.

My mind didn’t whimper, and it didn’t yell; instead it shrieked with the same caterwaul of blind rage as an animal taking its prey. So strong, the feeling blinded me, but I forced through my body’s shutdown to follow the trail.

The blood pooled around the stiff body of Captain Robert Morris. My Captain.

He lay still on the ground with his tanned features paled and painted with the sickening green sheen from the lamps. The brackish blood took on a blackened hue under that light, coating the floor surrounding him. His arms sprawled by his sides, and his head had rolled to the right with a clear view of his face. Permanently dulled eyes stared at me with a shocked expression, and his mouth hung ajar.

Those eyes, hours earlier had conveyed a world’s worth of love and pride, but now glazed over, they witnessed nothing. His scars darkened under the shadows cast across his face, which burrowed deep into the pockmarked crevasses. Strands of his blackish silver hair matted to his forehead, but most formed disheveled tufts. The aviator cap he always wore lay inches from his head on the ground.

Jensen stood mere feet away from the Captain, gun still pointed.

Chapter Eleven

I lifted my head to meet Jensen’s gaze. The couple of seconds between us stretched out like the sprawling pace of hours. His broad shoulders rose up and down with exerted breaths, and his wide chest swelled. The man standing before me wore the same clothes, the same bowler cap as yesterday, and even hunched over with the same terrible posture as always. But his gaze changed my whole view.

Dark, bleak and grim, this person before me transformed into a different creature from the man I called Jensen. His hand quivered on the trigger of his gun, and his other arm clamped around the box. The Jensen on our crew would never steal our cargo. He’d never…the captain. My numb brain refused to wrap around the word.

We stood in perfect stillness, the traitor and I. In the bleak distance the sound of mocking tides swelled with that cyclical steady thrum. This whole thing had to be a nightmare—even the syrupy air I breathed tasted unreal. This scene unmade my reality, stripped down what I believed true, and rewired my psyche.

The misty air choked my throat as my muscles strained with the labor of each breath. Every molecule of my being protested the view before me, and my mind didn’t dare to interject. Jensen pointed the revolver he brought on every job, the one I trusted in his hands all these years. However, Morris hadn’t had the same chance, with no gun in hand or anywhere around him. Jensen had given him no quarter.

Something snapped within me—something dark, dangerous, and loathsome. It twisted my stomach, and bile rose in my throat. Morris still wore his bedclothes, a striped flannel shirt, and loose black pants. He probably stumbled from his bed when he heard the noise but hadn’t grabbed the gun on his desk. The man never even suspected or imagined Jensen would do such a thing. Not after having him aboard these past five years, sharing meals, jobs, and risking their lives together.

Anger seared my chest and scorched my senses. I’d been called hotheaded many a time, but rarely had such clear righteous rage governed my brain. It bubbled up and spilled over with hot, boiling fury.

I reached for my gun, breaking the stupor between us. My hands clenched on nothing since I left Matilda by my bedside dresser, and Jensen swung his revolver around to aim for my forehead.

Some self-preservation mechanism must have kicked in because my mind exited the stage awhile back. Before Jensen took a shot, I slammed the door and ran. Bullets meant for me pinged against the wooden barrier as I raced for my room. The image of Matilda’s place on my dresser roused my mind from sluggish torpor, but if any other thoughts intruded past that, I’d crumble. I threw myself into my chambers, shutting the door behind.

Once inside, my mind blanked for a moment until it burned. I stood and groped at the air before me, but nothing registered, and no train of thought followed. Jensen’s heavy footfalls pounded through the hallway, triggering my body into motion. I picked up Matilda with shaking fingers and fed her rounds. His footsteps passed my room. The bastard was going to run.

Thankfully, pursuit, gunfights, and chases were second nature for me. Had I been some deckhand or serving wench, I’d have crumpled into a dark corner of the barracks, seized up, and rocked back and forth driven mad by the events of the night. However, as the first mate, I didn’t have that option. My body took autopilot and left my numbed mind behind. With Matilda in hand, I charged out of my room in desperate abandon. The slam of my door rang in my ears. My numbed feet barely registered the steps below me, but I hurtled up regardless.

As the deck emerged into view, I processed several scenes at once. Jensen ran headlong like a tiger lumbering at full speed for the ladder by the edge of the ship. Several deckhands strolled around up top, but every last person froze with surprise when he emerged. Except Geoff, who had stepped out from the navigation chambers, roused by the noise.

Unable to see Jensen clearly, he held his gun up but squinted at the backside of the figure. Jensen turned around with his revolver raised and took advantage of the confusion torn across Geoff’s face. I stood an equal distance from both of them. If I chased after Jensen, I could stop him, take our cargo back, and avenge Captain Morris, but Geoff would be at risk. If I helped Geoff, Jensen would get away.

It wasn’t even a damned choice.

I raced towards Geoff and tackled him down as Jensen shot. The bullet zoomed overhead, but Jensen didn’t bother firing another. Instead, he jumped over the ledge, using a cord to rappel down the side at a blinding pace, our cargo in hand. I pushed myself off Geoff and ran over to the side of the ship, Matilda out and ready. Jensen loped across the boardwalk until his massive figure blended into the shadows. I fired several shots, but they uselessly studded the wooden panels below. I didn’t care. Shots rang from Matilda, bullet after bullet until the chamber clicked, empty and done.

I sank to my knees, collapsing onto the deck. Geoff jogged up from behind me.

“Was that Jensen? Did he shoot at me?” Confusion painted his voice sharp. I opened my mouth, but no words came out, only hollow breaths. Geoff knelt before me on one knee and tried to stare me in the eyes. My head hung low, and my chin brushed against my neck while Matilda dangled in my loose grasp. I tried again to open my mouth and say something, but I couldn’t speak. Geoff’s warm hand circled my chin as he lifted my face to greet his.

“Bea,” his voice steadied to a slow, clear and commanding pitch. “What happened?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, pushed back my panic, forcing it into a partition of my mind. It was all I could do to keep from screaming.

“Jensen. He betrayed us.” My voice was foreign to my own ears, vacant and resigned. “Took our cargo for tomorrow morning—the box. And the captain.” My mind paused, stuck on repeat, on the vision from the room of Jensen standing over Captain Morris. It wouldn’t push through, the word wouldn’t budge. I couldn’t let it. Geoff’s gentle brown eyes widened in shock. Between his gaze and the heat from his hand, my mind started functioning again, one tentative step at a time. It chugged along, slow and sluggish, but there. I squinted, hard.

“Grab the crew—everyone you can rouse on deck. We’re only going through this once.” A pause stretched between us, and for a moment, I lost myself in his eyes. He knew. Reflected in them was desperation, the horror of what he feared, but also the futile grasping onto hope, onto anything but the truth. He hadn’t witnessed that nightmare of a scene. 

Geoff broke our gaze and dashed off in the direction of the cabins. While he ran, he signaled a couple of the deckhands over to my direction. Using the ledge, I pulled myself up, even though my legs shook too much to stand on my own. I leaned against the edge of the ship, drawing on her for support. Our girl held me up right now, and deep down, I knew she’d be the only thing to pull me through this. The deckhands approached, but I didn’t say a word and just gestured for them to sit. We waited in silence.

The sky overhead remained dark from the passage of night, but an ozone smell surrounded us, hinting of dawn’s arrival. Clouds smothered the starry horizon, and the first tinges of reddish orange seeped through the sky.

Geoff reappeared from the cabins with Isabella and Edwin in tow. They circled around me while Spade, Jack, and several other men rushed onto the deck. Even Adelle limped her way over to our growing circle. Finally, Seth emerged from below deck with the grimmest expression I’d ever seen on his face. He’d known Morris the longest and must have prepared for this day, though no one could truly prepare for loss.

Even though the crew still woke up, wide-eyed shock painted many a face in the crowd, while others glanced around, as if waiting for the captain to appear. Their motions sent a lance of pain through my chest. I drew in a deep breath of the laden dawn air and forced myself to stand straight. Planting my bare feet flat onto the deck, I tapped into my girl’s strength before I spoke.

“Crew of the Desire,” my voice rang out strong and loud, but cold like the distant surrounding sea. “Captain Robert Morris is dead.” Several gasps filtered around the crowd, and a shaky sob came from Isabella. “Jensen killed him over the cargo we were meant to deliver at dawn.” My voice stopped working for a moment, and Geoff’s eyes met mine. Between that and the solid grounding of the Desire’s planks under my feet, I mustered the strength to continue. I honed in on those totems because watching any of the crew’s reactions pained me more than hearing their cries.

“We’re at an impasse. Our ship’s running low on fuel, food, and excess supplies. We relied on this job to replenish our stocks, since the captain knew we’d be in dire straits if we didn’t. The traitor, who we trusted, stole that cargo. Who Captain Morris trusted.” Anger rose within me again, as constant as the dawn’s light.

“Our Captain is dead, but we aren’t. If we don’t intercept Jensen, we’ll lose cargo that we can’t surrender. There will be time to mourn him later, but that time is not now. Captain wouldn’t want the Desire berthed, and he wouldn’t want his murderer to run free. If we stand any chance at catching Jensen, we have to assemble a team to meet at the spot before dawn and wait for the parties to show up. I understand if you can’t gather the strength to join me, but I’m heading out now to stop that bastard. Step forward if you’re willing to help—I’ll need any I can get if I’m to claim revenge for the captain.”

The second my voice stopped, silence breached the air like an intruder lurking through a home. Not a person stirred.

My heart sank. Going this alone would be a suicide run, but I’d take that over letting the captain’s murderer and traitor of our crew run free. I took a deep breath, edging towards the rope ladder. Geoff stepped forward.

“I’ll follow you in. Just tell me where you need me.” His face darkened with shadows, and his eyes gleamed somber but determined. Several deckhands stood with him. Isabella moved forward, Seth, even Edwin. Before I counted to five, the entire crew shifted toward me, including little Adelle. Pride ached in my chest and mingled with the intense hole that Jensen left by stealing our Captain away. The conflicting feelings battled, but I pushed them aside and took command.

“Geoff, Isabella, I’ll need the two of you. Any more than a couple may draw too much attention.”

“Let me arm myself.” Isabella nodded and walked off. Geoff followed suit. Seth placed his arms over his chest.

“I’m coming.” His voice held a tension as if daring me to argue—I wouldn’t. Morris was his dearest and longest friend. “Captain, direct me wherever you see fit, I’ll go arm up.” I blinked several times, not realizing he referred to me. The words sounded wrong from his lips, unsanctified, but as the first mate, I took up that duty now. The chill of such a serious responsibility settled into my limbs. Seth met my eyes because he’d chosen his phrasing carefully. Those words, that affirmation from the oldest crew member here, quelled any potential challenges to my captainship. 

Geoff emerged from the navigation chambers with his pistol tucked into his holster. The wind chilled my chapped bare feet, which reminded me that I’d do no good unprepared—I had to get ready.

“I’ll be right back, the rest of you remaining on board, stay vigilant. If you see Jensen, show him no quarter. He’s an enemy now.” Several crew members nodded.

Upon descending below deck, the corridor smelled like a rusted medallion even though the blood only covered the captain’s quarters. That aluminum stench refused to leave me alone, haunting me like the crawling chill of a cemetery. I entered my room, yanking on the nearest pair of boots. My chemise could stay on, but I strapped the steel plated bodice overtop for added protection. Grabbing my leather bag, I threw in a couple more rounds before I looped it onto my belt. When I glimpsed my reflection in the mirror, I froze, and a tingling roar rose in the back of my mind.

Shutting out my last ounce of panic and pain, I willed myself onward. If I stopped now, I’d fall apart, and I couldn’t. The crew needed someone to stay strong, and like it or not, Seth nominated me. Hell, the captain nominated me by placing me as first mate. The Captain. My mind buzzed again, but I stomped my foot, hard. The pain shot up my leg, distracting me enough to keep my thoughts at bay. I reloaded Matilda, and the chamber clicked when I closed it, all while I ignored the mirror. Later, I’d have time to face reality.

I emerged from below. The circle of crew members had scattered, but they still wandered across the deck. A toxic air of hopelessness lingered throughout the bay. Isabella, Geoff, and Seth stood by the ladder, armed and ready. How Seth managed to grab his weapons before me remained a mystery, but that man packed an enigma-filled punch. I approached them. 

Isabella appeared the worst. Tears stained her tanned cheeks, and the whites of her eyes reddened under the emotional onslaught. My jaw quavered at the sight, but I clenched it firm. Under no circumstances could I falter. A blue kerchief pulled back her light brown hair, and a foul frown turned her lips. Throwing knives rested in the straps on her back, and holstered pistols weighted both hips. I didn’t bother asking if she was up to the task because the question dried on my lips. Even though the poison still weakened her, she’d blame me forever if I excluded her from this.

Seth wouldn’t forgive me either if he got left behind. With his rifle strapped to the back of his jumpsuit and the revolver at his side, he’d already prepared. Despite the shock, Seth’s face hadn’t changed expression—after all, Morris wasn’t the first friend the grizzled war vet had to bury. Geoff favored a single pistol but kept rounds of ammo on a belt around his waist. Seth and Geoff hadn’t shed a tear, but a cold fury akin to my own burned behind their eyes.