Sky Pirates (15 page)

Dashwood gave her a cynical smile. “Don’t be such a hypocrite, Mrs. Marsh. What would you call taking those artifacts you and your precious Dr. Bell were carrying away from the Sudanese? Is your respectable British Museum not doing exactly the same thing in the name of research?”

“But at least we don’t murder and pillage,” Elle said.

“Don’t you?” Dashwood arched a sarcastic eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’ve never killed anyone. That’s not what they say in the papers when they write of your heroics. I recall you being rather trigger-happy when we boarded the
Water Lily
. Five of my men died because of you. Five.” He held up his hand, palm out, his fingers all extended.

Elle looked away in shame. Dashwood was right. She had led the Battle of Battersea against the clockwork army that
La Dame Blanche
had created. And in her search for clues she had killed a man. She had shot him dead in a park at point-blank range. There had been others since; she could not deny the fact.

“And besides, what else is there for you now?” Dashwood
continued. “You have no husband. Your ship is gone. From the gossip in the airfield mess halls, I hear that you’ve gone all reclusive and dotty. No friends, no social gatherings. Just the poor, brave, grief-stricken Viscountess Greychester soldiering on, taking strange charter booking after strange charter booking. And all this to forget the tragic loss of your husband, yet you remain frozen in time, same as the day he left you,” Dashwood said. “If this were a Dickens novel, you would be Miss Haversham in an airship.”

The truth of his words hit Elle like a barrage of heavy artillery. She turned away to hide her face, but he gripped her shoulder and swiveled her round so she faced him. “Your choices are quite simple. You will either join my crew and take your rightful place among us with courage and loyalty, or you will remain my prisoner until I decide what to do with you. I might not be able to ransom you off to family, but there may still be some profit in you yet. I just need to find the right buyer.”

Elle felt herself grow cold. The last thing she wanted was for Dashwood to start turning his mind to selling her to someone. As the Oracle, there were more than a few nefarious parties who would pay handsomely to have her delivered to them. That would be a very bad fate to suffer indeed. She was just lucky that Dashwood did not seem to know that she was the Oracle. And she intended to keep it that way.

“I need a little time to think,” she said softly.

He let go of her shoulder and smiled. “Certainly. I take it that I will be dining alone, then?”

She looked up at him. “I’m sorry, I—I just need some time to order my thoughts.”

Dashwood made a sweeping motion with his arm. “Think it over as much as you want. Just remember that you have nowhere to run.” Then his eyes hardened. “You have until tomorrow.”

Back in her cabin, Elle lay in her bunk and stared into the darkness for a long time. She heard the signal whistle for the shift change. Rubber boots squeaked and thumped on the metal stairs as crewmen manned their stations and went about the daily business of eating and sleeping. Life aboard a pirate ship was, for the most part, surprisingly mundane.

Around her, the ship creaked, pitched and rolled as it plowed through the air currents.

She lay awake until late night turned into early morning and a gentle silence fell over the ship. This was her favorite time of day—those magical few hours before the light broke, when it felt like the whole world was asleep except for her.

The greatest irony of her current situation was that being a crew member aboard a big airship like this one was the one thing she’d dreamed of doing for as long as she could remember. Granted, she had hoped that it would be one of the large commercial airships that plowed through the skies and not a pirate rig, but the principle was the same. To be part of the breed of men and women who sailed the skies was all she had ever wanted. Until Hugh Marsh came along. He had stumbled into her world and everything had changed. And she had been happy with that change. But as soon as everything had settled in, the whole thing had shattered into a million tiny, irreparable fragments.

She gave a small, cynical laugh. Perhaps life was granting her this, her most ardent wish, as a vicious joke.

Dashwood’s words had struck a nerve. That nerve had been connected to sensitive thoughts she had buried deep within herself. She had been so preoccupied with her grief that she had managed to entirely avoid thinking about who and what she really was.

Dashwood was of course entirely right. She was a
killer. She had killed more people than Dashwood could ever know.

She counted them off in her mind, trying to recall their faces as she always did. She needed to remember their faces. There were the two men she had shot in cold blood in Battersea Park. Then there were the dozens of alchemists and nightwalkers who died in Constantinople. Patrice. She did not want to think about Patrice right now. Then there was
La Dame Blanche
, whom she had beheaded, although she was not entirely sure that the witch could be counted as a person, given that she was more monster than human.

But worst of all, she had killed Marsh.

The thought sent another spasm of grief through her. Not a day went by when she did not blame herself for leaving him, and the terrible things she had said to him. Had she not left her husband in a huff that day, he would never have met with Commissioner Willoughby. He would never have gone in search of the Duke of Malmesbury’s son, and had he not gone in search of the missing man, he would never have ended up in the clutches of the evil Lady in White.

Elle could not deny that slicing
La Dame Blanche
’s head off had given her some measure of pleasure, but once the heat of the quest for revenge had cooled, the fact remained that she was nothing more than a bitter woman with blood on her hands. So much blood.

The saddest part of it all was that the violence and the bloodshed seemed so utterly pointless when viewed against the one true tragedy of her life. In the end, Marsh had chosen to leave her. He could have stayed. They could have fought to find a way to break the curse, but he had taken the decision to leave her and stepped through the barrier into the world of Shadow. It was such a small thing, that step, but it had shattered her heart completely.

As much as she hated to admit it, Dashwood was right. She had become a recluse. She had avoided everything and everyone who had reminded her of that awful time. She had been extremely efficient at pushing everyone away until they were all gone. She even pushed away Gertrude, whom she had known for only a short time and who wanted nothing more than to be her friend. With the
Water Lily
gone, what else was there left for her in this world, she wondered?

The answer was only emptiness.

She sat up and rubbed her face. Despite the fact that she had been cooped up in this little cabin for days, she was unbearably tired. It was the kind of weariness that no amount of sleep could cure.

Perhaps it was time to move on. Perhaps joining this crew was her chance to try something new. Perhaps a change in environment might help her find her way back to the world. Not permanently, mind you. These pirates were far too rough and unpleasant for any long-term commitment. But they would do for a little while—at least until she was ready to move on.

Yes, that’s what she’d do. She would pretend to be a pirate. She would bide her time until they trusted her. She would use that time to plan her next steps. Of course, she would have to find a way to get word to her father and Mathilda. It was not fair to leave them believing she was dead. No, she would send a message as soon as Dashwood let his guard down, to let them know she was alive.

If she played her part carefully enough, Dashwood and his crew might even let their guard down completely. And if they did, she would escape. And once she was free, she could find a way to search for the lost city.

Elle smiled to herself. Yes, with a little luck, her plan might just work. All she had to do was bide her time. All that was needed was one unguarded moment in a port.
Somewhere for her to slip away. On shore, away from this iron-boned ship, it would simply be a matter of opening up the barrier between the two worlds and slipping away. They wouldn’t even know she was gone.

Dashwood was wrong. She did have a choice.

She stood and stretched. Outside, the blanket of clouds below was turning soft shades of lavender-gray, not unlike the feathers on a pigeon’s breast. The sun would rise soon. It was a strange thing, the sun at this altitude, she thought. Strange because the sun always shone up here, no matter how hard it rained on the ground.

Elle rubbed her arms to warm herself from the chilly air that seeped in through the seams and rivets of the ship.

She nodded to herself slowly. She would give Dashwood her answer today. Yes, it was time to start living again.

It was Heller who came when she banged on the door of her cabin and called to be let out.

This morning he was dressed in a magnificent leather waistcoat. The expanse of leather would probably have been big enough to be a coat on any lesser man, but on Heller it just about covered his barrel chest and belly. The waistcoat was adorned with all manner of shiny things sewn onto the leather in a pattern. There were coins, some of them gold; silver pins; and in one or two places, Elle could have sworn she spotted jewels—a ruby earring winked at her from the breast pocket, a diamond cravat pin sparkled in one of the buttonholes.
This twinkling garment of shiny things must be Heller’s pride and joy
, she noted. An outward expression of his success as a pirate.

Heller gave her a quizzical look, his sharp black eyes missing nothing.

“I’d like to see the captain, please,” she said.

“As you wish. But I must warn you, he’s not a morning person.”

“I don’t care. I must see him without delay.”

Heller shrugged and stood aside to let her walk in front of him along the narrow walkway.

Elle did not stand on ceremony. She knew the way now and she started marching off toward the captain’s chambers, as Heller stumbled to keep up with her. She
had things to say and she wanted to say them before she lost her nerve.

The captain’s quarters were deserted when she arrived. A whiskey glass sat on the desk where it waited patiently to be cleared away. Without pausing for breath, she pushed through the set of louvered doors that led to his private berth.

Dashwood was in his singlet and trousers. Behind him was an unmade bunk, the pillow still holding the indentation from where he had slept.

He looked up from the washbasin, where he was busy brushing his teeth, with a look of mild surprise.

The sight of him in such a private setting made her reel, and she almost ran back the way she came, but he spoke before she could.

“Mrs. Marsh! Good morning,” he said, placing his toothbrush on the washstand.

Her eyes were drawn to the little black amulet that hung around his neck, suspended from a strip of worn leather. It was infused with the power of the Shadow, and while she wasn’t entirely sure how it worked, she knew it allowed him to sense people’s thoughts. It was a handy trinket to own, for it made him an infallible poker player. Fortunately, she had noticed what he was up to when they had met in Amsterdam, so she had been shielding herself from him ever since. The amulet must have been rendered useless by the iron in the ship, she thought, for she had not sensed it before now.

“And to what do I owe this early and rather unexpected visit?” he said.

She stood before him and placed her hands on her hips. “You asked for my answer today and so I shall give it to you.”

He folded his arms over his chest. “And what might that be?” he said.

“It is yes. My answer is yes.”

“Well that is indeed good news.” He stuck out his hand and she took it. He had a firm grip and he held her smaller hand in his with confidence. “I welcome you to the crew of the
Inanna
.”

“Thank you,” she said with more enthusiasm than she felt. “Where do I sign?”

Dashwood gave her one of his lazy smiles. “Here, a man or a woman’s word is their bond. You signed when you shook on it.”

“So, where do I start?” Elle said, her mind moving to matters at hand.

Dashwood picked up a towel and wiped the small bit of tooth powder that had accumulated in the corner of his mouth. “You can start by taking out the slops,” he said, gesturing at the washbasin.

“Slops?” She stared at him in surprise.

“Penance for barging in on your captain unannounced,” he said. “Next time, it’s lashes.”

Elle looked at him in surprise. “Lashes?”

“Oh yes, Mrs. Marsh. I think you might find that I run a tight ship round here. And I have no compunction about dragging you over my lap and punishing you. Would you like to test me?” His expression was that of a man who was not joking, and Elle felt a shiver of apprehension run up her spine. Discipline was essential to the successful management of an airship and right now was not the time to test the mettle of her new captain. So instead, she held her tongue and edged past him to retrieve the washbowl. He watched her, the amusement on his face barely hidden. She gritted her teeth as she took up the washbasin with her head held high. He might treat her like a skivvy, and she might even have deserved it, for being so insolent, but she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her falter in her resolve. She would be obedient and she would earn his trust, if it was the last thing she did.

“Very good,” Dashwood said. “And once you’re done with that, you can do the rest as well,” he said, gesturing to the bed and beyond to his open quarters. “Don’t forget the chamber pot.”

“Aye, Captain,” she said.

“You will find that there is no maid service on board, Mrs. Marsh. We all pitch in when it comes to cleaning.”

“Yes, Captain.” She nodded.

“And once you’re done here, please report to Mr. Heller so he can issue you some work overalls. This is a crew of men who know a thing or two about the world. We don’t have time for delicate sensibilities.”