The Kraken King (39 page)
The general spoke and a boy seemed to appear from nowhere, cracking a window and lighting the copper brazier beside the table. He clanked a tin kettle onto the grate and was gone as silently as he’d come.
“Do you speak English as fluently as you write it?” the general asked in that language.
Zenobia’s heart sank. “Yes.”
“It’s easier for me.” He regarded her steadily, and in that long second she felt as if he stripped away every secret she’d ever tried to hide. She clutched the blanket tighter around her shoulders as he continued, “I spent almost five years in England when I was a young man—a soldier for the Golden Army. A faithful, steadfast soldier. I’d heard of the rebellion, but their disloyalty to the Khagan disgusted me. That changed in the labor colony.”
Of England. She’d never thought of it as a colony. Instead it had been invaded, occupied, enslaved. She supposed
colonized
was more palatable to those who’d done it. “Why?”
colonized
was more palatable to those who’d done it. “Why?”
“Have you ever seen a young girl beg not to have her legs cut off and replaced with rickshaw levers?”
“No.” And she thanked God for it. “But I’ve seen the women those girls have become.”
He nodded. “You’ve been?”
“To London and Brighton.”
“They’re better off now.”
Since the revolution against the Horde? “Yes.”
“We would all be better off.” His gaze fell to the papers piled on the desk. Her dagger contraption was there, too, sheathed and the spring loaded. The fat bag of gold lounged next to it. “After England, I was plagued by uncertainties. Change was necessary, but I didn’t know if it should be attempted from the inside or out—whether I should bring my concerns to my commanders and, eventually, the Khagan and his ministers, or join the rebellion. That uncertainty cost a good man his life. Another soldier and I had been sharing our concerns, our uncertainties, and he attempted to speak with our superiors. Testing the waters, as they say. Those were the last words he spoke.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yes. But it taught me well. Never since have I risked indecision, for in those moments of wavering we are most vulnerable.”
So the general wasn’t the sort to ramble on without a point. “And what are you deciding now?”
He smiled faintly. “I have already decided. But tell me—why do you write in English? It’s not your natural language.”
“Because if the letters are intercepted, fewer people can read them,” she said dryly, and his chuckle acknowledged the irony.
He tapped her manuscript pages. “And this?”
“The people in England seem more eager for stories like these.”
“So it was a calculated decision.”
Partially. And partially because she remembered how desperate she’d once been for escape. A locked closet or a fist wasn’t the same as being invaded and enslaved. But she liked to think those girls wanted adventures, too.
“Perhaps poorly calculated. As I said, fewer people can read the language.” In England, groups crowded around a literate friend who would read aloud—and she sold one copy of a story per dozens of listeners. “But they became popular elsewhere, as well, so I was fortunate.”
“And seditious.”
“And . . . What?”
Beside her, the boiling kettle began to rattle. The boy appeared and poured the steaming water into a pot.
“Your last story was labeled seditious.” The general seemed amused. “Or so the Nipponese ministers believed. Copies were burned. The ending had to be rewritten.”
Lips parted in shock, she stared at him. “I don’t know whether I’m proud or offended.”
“Be proud.”
“I’m offended. I’m certain I was
never
paid for Nipponese translations.”
never
paid for Nipponese translations.”
His laugh was a pleasant one, low and deep. “Have you met the twins?”
“In the Fox Den?” She shook her head. “I’ve only heard of them.”
“And you’ll only hear of the money your work earns for them. You’ll never pry a coin out of their hands.” He spoke to the boy, who left them again. “I cannot see anything seditious in what I read here.”
Because there wasn’t anything. But Zenobia watched him uneasily, because he might have recognized the plot she had been building since the marauders had fired on the French airship. Lady Lynx had stopped her attackers and saved her crew from megalodons, but that had only been the first act.
“Yes.” He confirmed her unspoken question. “The destruction of the airship. Not by pirates intending to plunder, but serving another purpose.”
To prod the empress into sending her forces to the western Australian coast—to threaten Ariq’s town. “Then why am I here?”
“Admiral Tatsukawa believed this would be more efficient.”
More efficient to threaten a single woman than to follow through on a convoluted plot involving the empress and her navy? “I have to agree. But you don’t?”
“Love is a powerful motivator.” He continued regarding her steadily, but the warmth of amusement faded, as if now he was observing an insect pinned to a board. “And the admiral remembers how Ariq risked a Nipponese prison to free his brother.”
Her heart thudded. “He did?”
“Fourteen guards dead. Twice as many injured. So the admiral believes that if he risked so much to save his brother, he will easily sacrifice a machine to save you. But what Ariq did in the prison was not out of love.”
It sounded like love to her. “What was it, then?”
“Anger.” He poured the tea into two cups. “He didn’t even know his brother. But his mother was dead. He was angry—at me, at the admiral, at everyone.”
“He might be angry now.”
“He probably is. But there was one factor in that rescue the admiral didn’t consider: It was against the Nipponese. Though Ariq abandoned us, he remains loyal, and he would never jeopardize the rebellion or his people.” The general set the teapot on its tray and met her gaze. “And he won’t come for you.”
Her chest seemed to cave in, crushed beneath the agony of those words. But Zenobia wouldn’t let the general see. She only looked at him.
“He won’t give over the machine, either,” he continued. “At least not now. He won’t give it over until the empress is firing on his town. When he escapes the admiral’s airship, he might make an attempt to find you. After he realizes that we’ve gone, however, he’ll have to decide between leaving you here or returning to his town to prepare. He’ll leave you—because he knows that we won’t harm you, and because his loyalty to his people is greater than his loyalty to his heart.”
Each word was another blow that ripped open her insides and left her bleeding. She could barely breathe past the pain. Everything he said made sense. She wouldn’t even blame Ariq if that was the choice he made.
He barely knew her. And even though he’d claimed to be falling in love with her, that was with a woman who didn’t exist—the spy, the desperate woman who’d needed his help. It wasn’t Zenobia, the writer with a few secrets, a reckless brother, and a pregnant friend.
Though it felt as if a burning coal had lodged in her throat, she managed, “You won’t harm me?”
“No.”
“Will you let me go?”
“Not yet.” Lips pursed, he cooled the surface of his tea before sipping. “You’re still useful. But when you are not, we will send you home to the North Sea. And perhaps when this is all done, Ariq will come for you.”
Too late. She wouldn’t blame Ariq if he sacrificed her for the sake of his town. But she couldn’t be with him, either—not if she was always wondering what else he might sacrifice her for.
Heart aching, she asked, “May I at least send a message to my friends in the Red City and reassure them that I’m well?”
Mara and Cooper might have already arrived in the Red City, only to find her gone. And Helene . . . God only knew what her friend must be going through. To have both Zenobia and an important guest stolen right out of her very home.
He set his tea down. “No.”
“Please. They must be frantic with worry.”
“And in that, you are useful as well. Nipponese flyers circled over the embassy on the night you vanished. Word of that will reach the empress’s ears.”
Nipponese flyers. Not an airship—but the vehicles the marauders had used.
Dear God. Wordlessly, Zenobia stared at him. The abduction wasn’t just intended to force Ariq’s hand, then. It furthered their original plan, too. A French airship destroyed, then an embassy infiltrated and two residents kidnapped. If one didn’t prod the empress to action, the second might.
And the abduction must have been decided on quickly. Zenobia and Ariq had only been in the Red City a couple of hours. The general must have had him under observation—and was prepared to take advantage of any situation.
One thing was certain. She would never be so foolish as to underestimate this man. Even now he was probably manipulating her. But to what purpose? To destroy her hope?
She only had a little bit of that left, anyway.
“This is useful, too.” The general picked up her dagger. “This and the glider. I intend to keep these devices—to have my men replicate them for our use.”
He was welcome to anything on that table except for her letters and manuscript. “Will you return my papers?”
“No.”
Her stomach twisted. “When I go home?”
“I’ve read through the letters, Mrs. Fox. They include intelligence not commonly known.”
“I have no intention of telling anyone about Temür Agha. Take that one, but leave me the rest.” She hated to lose any of Archimedes’ letters, but if the general feared the contents, better to have it out of her hands than one day give him reason to harm her—as Ariq had thought might happen. “Please. They are only from my brother, and only describe his travels. They have value only to me.”
So much value.
“I can’t be certain of that. Some are written in code.”
Her aching heart solidified into a thick lump. “Yes. My brother ran into some troubles and we changed our names. We used code to refer to events from the past, so that we wouldn’t be exposed. That is all. There are no other secrets in those letters.”
“I believe you.” With a heavy sigh, he set down his tea. “But I can’t be certain.”
No. Desperately, she looked to the letters. Over fifty of them. Almost six years of travels. Archimedes had seen wonders. He’d fallen in love. He’d married a woman he’d expected would kill him. He’d been happy. Zenobia had more letters at home, but she couldn’t lose these. Couldn’t.
“Please.
Please.
”
Please.
”
The general raised his voice and spoke. Two guards entered. They didn’t approach the table, instead taking a post on either side of the door.
But the threat was there, and it was a locked closet. She could fight. She could try to run. But there was nowhere to go, and she would only hurt herself trying.
“Please.” The plea was broken glass scraping her throat. “These letters are a record of places that won’t be visited by living humans again.”
And so many jokes. So many silly titles in the postscripts that Archimedes had hoped she would use in the written adventures. So many confessions—of loneliness and hope and doubt and stupidity. They’d escaped her father, but they’d been apart after that, and almost everything meaningful that she and Archimedes had said to each other had been through those letters. His endless love and affection lived in every single word.
The general gathered up the pile of unfolded letters. “I’m sure your brother can still describe them.”
He dumped the stack onto the brazier. Stunned by disbelief, she sat motionless, staring at the letters on the grate. They weren’t even catching. Just smoking—
The edge of a page flared up and suddenly the whole pile was aflame. With a cry, she dropped her blanket and lurched for them, though she knew it was useless, though she would only hurt herself.
The general snagged her wrist, yanking her hand away from the flames. A guard caught her shoulders and forced her back. Melting wax hissed and popped.
A second stack went in. Hot tears blurred her vision, but she could still smell the smoke, could still hear the crackle. “Please,” she whispered again, though it was too late anyway.
The general reached for the manuscript.
“No!” She ripped out of the guard’s grip, slapping her hands protectively over the pages. “There’s nothing here! You read it yourself!”
“Except that it reflects a plan that we would never want the empress to know.”
And Zenobia could just write it again. But sense made her bite her tongue against that response until she tasted blood. The pain was going now, replaced by hate and anger that was harder and colder and emptier than she’d ever known. Jaw clenched, she stared at him.
The guard dragged her back. The heavy stack of pages landed on top of the remaining letters with a hot
whoosh
—almost blowing out the fire, but it returned, first with black curling edges and then rising flames.
whoosh
—almost blowing out the fire, but it returned, first with black curling edges and then rising flames.
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