Heart of Steel (38 page)

Nasrin was waiting in their chambers when she climbed back down, her amusement plain. “We are sorry to have kept you here, but the talks were long, and the councilors have only just left.”

The talks with the French? But Nasrin didn't say. She led them to a great columned hall that might have once held a throne, but now was only laid with a thick rug. Temür sat at the head, his legs folded beneath him. Hassan sat at his right side.

Temür gestured for them to sit on his left. Smaller than she'd always imagined, with shrewd eyes and iron gray hair gathered at the top of his head in a narrow tail, he was quiet, and still—much like Nasrin now, standing slightly behind him. He did not appear the clenched-teethed madman she had always pictured, ordering a city razed to the ground; nor did he appear the generous, impassioned man that had built another city up. He simply looked like a man, seated in front of a game of strategy—and she could not determine whether he was winning or losing.

“Our friend Hassan has told us of your journey, and all that you suspect of Kareem al-Amazigh.”

Archimedes nodded, obviously relieved by the “our friend.” “Yes.”

“He is aboard one of the French ships laying siege to us now. They demand entry for their soldiers, and to allow al-Amazigh to destroy the tower.”

He ought to have listened to Hassan, Yasmeen thought. Such an action might make him a hero, but he would lose the city to a foreign power.

Either way, he would not be a hero for long. Yasmeen pictured the line of ships. She would have to discover which he was on, and then fly
Ceres
close enough that she could infiltrate . . .

No. That wouldn't do, not unless she flew her alone. She could not risk the crew with this. She would not risk Archimedes—though she didn't know how she would stop him from risking himself.

“She is already determining how she will kill Kareem al-Amazigh,” Nasrin said. “You had best talk more quickly, my love.”

Yasmeen's eyes locked on the man's face. “You don't want me to?”

“An assassination aboard the French ships would be akin to shooting a first bullet. My war machines
will
destroy the fleet, but that would also destroy many of the trade agreements we have set in place with their allies in the New World. I do not wish to embroil my city in a war.”

And a request from Temür Agha was an order. Yasmeen was not foolish enough to defy it. “And after he is not aboard the ship?”

The corners of his eyes lifted slightly. “Do as you like.”

“How long will the siege last, do you think?”

“Not long. They will have no reason to stay, and their demands will shortly mean nothing. I am bringing down the tower tonight. Or rather—” He glanced to Hassan. “My friend will, after he steps into my place.”

Shock silenced them both. Tears glistened in Hassan's eyes, sadness—the weight of responsibility.

He was a good man to bear it, Yasmeen thought.

Archimedes shook his head. “Truly?”

“Yes,” Hassan said. “We are going out into the courtyard shortly, where we will make the announcement. I wanted to extend an invitation for you to see.”

Yasmeen nodded, then glanced to Nasrin. “And you? What will you do afterward?”

“We will go somewhere. We have not decided yet.”

“But for safety, and because it would not be expected, we would like to be aboard your ship,” Temür said.

Yasmeen laughed. A rich, powerful man, planning to relocate using only
Ceres
? “She's a small ship. She can't carry much. She could probably not even fit your collection of robes.”

“We will not take anything but what we wear.”

“And perhaps we will read the wooden blocks in Goryeo,” Nasrin said. “We will walk the flowered temples of Khmer, and bathe in the sacred river.”

Yasmeen's throat tightened. Her eyes filled. She could not hear a word of Lady Khojen's tale without being overwhelmed—and it was more than a request. The iron in Temür's hair said that he would have more years, but they could not number many.

“All right.” She nodded, then realized, “And your man is already putting the provisions aboard the ship. The one you sent as a guide for my steward.”

“Yes. Your steward was very glad not to pay for anything.”

So was Yasmeen. But that didn't mean she would take this job for free. “The price of passage—to wherever you like—will be Archimedes' sketch.”

“Of course.”

She glanced at him, saw his grin, and whispered,
“Fifty percent.”

“You will have it,” he promised.

 

 

As the sun set, Yasmeen sat with Archimedes at her side,
watching from the palace roof as the tower fell—not with an explosion, but pushed over by a squat war machine, under Hassan's first order.

Inside the courtyard, outside—the cheers rose over the rumble of the war machine and the crash of stone, just as Hassan had hoped. Then the people themselves rose up, sparked by the tower's fall—which Hassan had predicted, too.

But perhaps he hadn't anticipated the speed with which they would come for Temür Agha.

Yasmeen and Archimedes had cheered with the rest, but as the tenor of the cheers and the chants began to change, she rose uneasily to her feet. A crowd had started toward the palace, where the former governor stood at the entrance with Hassan's council.

She turned to Archimedes. “We need to get to
Ceres
. Quickly. Nasrin and Temür will have to catch up.”

They returned to their chamber, where the sketch still lay in Archimedes' converted glider. He scooped it up and strapped it onto his back, and by the lady, Yasmeen was glad that he was a fast man, a strong man. He did not need to stop and rest as they raced through the palace. Behind them came shouts, the sound of stone shattering. They reached the palace wall, and he did not hesitate—not climbing the laurel tree as quickly as she, but just as surefooted.

The gardens behind the palace were quiet. They were on the eastern side of the
kasbah
, and the mob at the west courtyard. Still, it would not be long before they would spill all through this area, searching for Temür.

A crash made her look around. The war machine loomed over the palace, giant arms swinging, breaking it open for looters. Also under Hassan's order? Probably not. But perhaps it would fulfill the same need as destroying Temür Agha. Cannons fired, crushing sandstone walls. People shouted over the rumbling, huffing machine. Steam spewed into the air as it squatted, lifted, and came down to crush the palace roof like a child stomping a grape.

“Good God,” Archimedes breathed, looking back.

Yasmeen didn't dare look back again.
Ceres
hovered just outside the
kasbah
. Her eyes searched the dark for a gate, a tree, anything that would allow them over. The
kasbah
wall was too high, too smooth. Without a rope, Archimedes wouldn't make it to the top. Yasmeen wasn't certain
she
would make it.

“Can we signal them?” he asked.

She did not know with what. She and the crew of her lady had many signals, but she'd never established them with this crew.

“We might have to run through the crowd,” she whispered. “We need to find robes.”

Anything, anything to hide, anything to be safe—to make certain he made it to the airship.

“Find robes in there?” He looked to the palace again, eyes widening as the ground suddenly shook under an enormous impact. “Not in there. We'll knock someone out, take their clothes.”

A dark figure in a robe swept past them, easily carrying a hooded man. “Come,” Nasrin said. “We knew that they might storm the palace, but now they have taken over the war machine. So come quickly.”

Hope lifted through Yasmeen again as they raced after her, until a shout from behind them gave away their presence. Nasrin reached the wall and leapt, flying halfway up. Her foot struck the smooth side and propelled her the remaining way to the top.

If anyone had doubts about who had been fleeing, they would not now.

“Nasrin!” Yasmeen shouted.

She turned, flicked her hand down to them. Yasmeen grasped the smooth mechanical flesh, held on to Archimedes. Nasrin wound them up with dizzying speed, and Yasmeen might have laughed if the mob were not closing in.

Atop they wall, they looked to
Ceres
. “She is too far away for me,” Nasrin said.

People were in the streets below, but not rioting. Still cheering, many of them, others confused by the commotion inside the
kasbah
. She and Archimedes would be safe, for now, if they escaped here.

A rock whizzed past Yasmeen's head—thrown by a mechanical arm, altered and strengthened by the Horde.

Nasrin jumped from the wall, landed easily, then looked up at them.

“Jesus,” Archimedes said. “I think she intends to catch—”

A rock slammed into the wall just below their feet, breaking apart in a shower of shards.

“You go first,” he said.

Yasmeen laughed, turned to jump. The whizzing sound warned her, and she ducked. Pain shot through her brain, and everything went dark as she fell, instead.

 

 

Archimedes leapt for her, missed. Overbalanced, he toppled over, barely gripped the edge of the wall. He hung over the side, desperately watching as Nasrin caught her.

But, God—how badly had she been struck?

He flung himself away from the wall the moment Nasrin put her down. He crashed into her, and he felt her mechanical body warp beneath her robe, cushioning the impact. Still, it slammed the breath from him, and his chest was a molten hole as he scrambled for Yasmeen. Blood flowed heavily from her scalp, over her ear.

“She's alive,” Nasrin said. “Pick her up. Let us go, go!”

He gathered her up, trying to let her breath and her heartbeat ease his fear. Behind them came shouts, the crash and huffing of the war machine. He ran, carrying his life, as he'd never run before.

They reached
Ceres
. Nasrin's hand shot upward, her arm wrapped around his waist. They were carried up, onto the deck, where the crew waited, eyes wide as they looked over the
kasbah
. The war machine had begun rolling toward them.

The crew looked to Yasmeen, then to him. And holding her,
God please let her forgive him
, Archimedes took command of her ship.

Chapter Sixteen

When Yasmeen awoke, the morning sun was shining through
the portholes. Bandages wrapped her head—so that was why it pounded so badly. She couldn't remember drinking
that
much.

Archimedes sat in a chair next to the bed, eyes closed, jaw rough, head in his hands. He looked exhausted.

“Idiot,” she said. Her mouth felt parched, her tongue huge. She hadn't drunk too much; she
needed
a drink that much. “You should have slept.”

He looked up. His eyes suddenly glistened—oh, beautiful man. She felt the smile curve her mouth, the one she could not help every time she saw him.

“Yasmeen,” he said, and his voice was as rough as hers felt. He started for her, as if to pull her into his arms, before stopping himself. “How do you feel?”

She pushed up to sitting. Her knees cracked. She froze, then let the tension out on a sigh. “I feel like I need to loosen up—and I have to piss.”

“Not at the same time, I hope.” Gently, his arms slid under her. “A whipping, I can take. But I am not quite adventurous enough for that.”

She laughed, then had to stop at the ache in her head. He lifted her against him to carry her to the privy, but halted halfway across the cabin, suddenly shaking, holding her tight.

“I love you,” he said. “Please remember that when I tell you—I have taken over your ship.”

Yasmeen stared at him. Eyes bright, jaw tense, he appeared as if he were waiting for her machete at the back of his neck. “You ordered the crew to take her out of Rabat, I hope?”

“Yes.”

“Which way have we gone?”

“North.”

“Are we completely lost? Is the navigator dead?”

His tension began to ease. “No.”

“All right, then. You have said you would back me up if needed, and you have done a perfectly fine job of it.” She pointed to the privy. “Please.”

He had her morning water heated when she was finished, the soap ready. And being injured was not so terrible at all when it was followed by Archimedes carefully washing her from head to toe, then drying her with slow strokes of a soft cloth.

Retrieving one of his shirts, he slipped it over her head, and put his arm about her waist so that they could begin to pace.

Outside the porthole lay a rolling plain covered in snow. They must have gone farther north than she'd realized. “How long has it been?” she wondered.

“Three days.”

“And Rabat?”

“The mob stopped their looting after the palace. All is quiet again, and the French fleet is leaving.”

She began to nod, then realized—“If you fled, how do you know this?”

“Ah, well. I ordered the ship south first, and then west, and then back north over the sea. And when we approached the French fleet . . .” He paused as Yasmeen choked. “We are obviously still alive.”

Alive, and Archimedes would never be so stupid to approach them without a purpose. “Why did you do it?”

“We had a French academic aboard who had been part of a recent expedition that ended in Rabat, and he was seeking safe passage back to the islands. They recognized my name, of course—”