Steamed E-Book

Katie MacAlister

• Herausgeber: Katie Macalister
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

Katie Macalister takes on Steampunk—and romance gets hotter than ever…

Jack Fletcher’s heart is about to get punked.

Computer technician Jack Fletcher is no hero, despite his unwelcome reputation as one. In fact, he’s just been the victim of bizarre circumstances. Like now. His sister happens to disturb one of his nanoelectromechanical system experiments, and now they aren’t where they’re supposed to be. In fact, they’re not sure where they are when…
…they wake up to see a woman with the reddest hair Jack has ever seen—and a gun. Octavia Pye is an Aerocorps captain with a whole lot of secrets, and she’s not about to see her maiden voyage ruined by stowaways. But the sparks flying between her and Jack just may cause her airship to combust and ignite a passion that will forever change the world as she knows it…

Leseprobe

Copyright © Katie MacAlister, 2010, 2017 All rights reserved

Originally published by New American Library, a division of Penguin Group 

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Cover by ebooklaunch.com

Book production by Racing Pigeon Productions

DEDICATION

My heartfelt thanks and appreciation go to Aleta Paradalis, Zita Hildebrandt, and Kat Robb for all their support, no matter how wacky things get. I hope everyone enjoys this taste of something new and different.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

C hapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Glossary

About the Author

Other books by Katie

A Plague on Sisters

“Good morning, Jack. Is that a molecular detector in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

The voice that called out as I passed was female, soft, and sultry as hell. I paused to toss a grin at one of the two women who were occupying the big kidney-shaped desk that graced the front lobby of the Nordic Tech building. “Morning, Karin. Would it be against human resources policy if I was to tell you how much I liked that top?”

The red-haired receptionist giggled and leaned forward, giving me a better-than-normal view of her cleavage in the skimpy tank top that she liked to wear on casual-dress Fridays. “Probably, but I’m not going to tell anyone. You know my rule, Jack.”

“What happens in reception stays in reception?” I asked, winking.

She giggled again. “You’re so naughty. You look really yummy yourself in khaki. Is that the new Airship Pirates shirt?”

“It is. Saw them last night at the Foundry,” I answered, naming a local hot spot favored by bands that were a bit out of the mainstream. I turned around so she could admire the design on the back of the T-shirt.

“Oh, and I was hoping you would ask me to go see them,” she said, pouting just a little, and leaning over a bit farther. She traced a finger down my arm as I turned back to face her. “We had such fun the last time we went out. Well, until I got sick and had to go home, but I just know we would have fun again.”

She paused, clearly waiting for me to do my duty and ask her out again, but the memory of her lying in a drunken stupor in the back of my car—not to mention the money I had to pay to have the vomit cleaned up and the car deodorized—was enough to warn me against any such thing.

That wasn’t the Jack Fletcher she wanted, however. It was the fake Jack she was appealing to, the fictional Jack who had somehow garnered a reputation as a wild ladies’ man. I did what was expected and slapped a quasi leer onto my face as I leaned in close. “You know I would snap you up in a minute if it wasn’t for your boyfriend.”

“Oh, him,” she simpered, brushing my hand with her fingers. “Jerry’s jealous of everyone.”

“He threatened to rip my head off and spit down my throat the last time he saw me,” I said, dropping my voice. “I think he meant it, too.”

“I don’t for one minute think you’re scared of Jerry,” she said, looking both pleased and coy. “Not you. Not the famous Jack Fletcher. Oh, Jack, this is Minerva. She’s going to take over for me while I’m in Cancún for two weeks.”

A girlish face hove into view, her eyes wide and somewhat vacant. “Hi, Dr. Fletcher. I’ve heard so much about you from Karin.”

“Don’t believe a word of it,” I cautioned, giving her a wink, as well. I had a reputation to maintain, after all. “I doubt if any of it is true.”

“Of course it’s true,” Karin said, squeezing my arm as she heaved herself a little farther over the counter so her breast could press against my arm. “Everyone knows you’re a hero! You’re just too modest to admit it.”

Or perhaps resigned to people’s determination to ignore the truth in favor of more attractive and entertaining fiction that had started several years back.

“Karin said you tracked down a notorious ring of industrial spies in Cairo,” Minerva said, breathless with excitement. She started to lean toward me over the counter, but a gimlet-eyed glance from her friend warned her off.

“He didn’t just track them down—he beat the crap out of them, and got secret plans back for the government.”

Minerva ooohed appreciably, her eyes filling with hero worship. Honesty prompted me to correct that particular fallacy. “I didn’t actually track anyone down so much as accidentally ran into a meeting of some folks selling proprietary information. They thought I was following them, but I was really just lost and trying to find my way back to my hotel so I could rejoin my tour. In fact, I wasn’t even in danger from them, since Interpol had them under surveillance, and the Cairo police were hidden around the bazaar, but it was exciting for a few minutes until everything was straightened out.”

“And then there’s Alaska,” Karin said, ignoring the boring truth just as everyone did when I tried to explain what really happened in Cairo.

“Alaska?” Minerva asked her. “What about Alaska?”

Karin turned to her friend. “It was so amazing! It’s all over the Greenpeace Web site.”

I groaned to myself and prepared to explain that incident, as well.

“What happened?” Minerva repeated, a rapt expression on her face.

“I was on vacation, doing some fishing, and my rented boat had engine trouble. I got picked up by some animal-activist people, and they—”

“He hijacked a whaling ship!” Karin interrupted, a triumphant note in her voice as she beamed at me.

“Ooooh!” Minerva breathed.

“I wasn’t even part of the group,” I said quickly, wondering why no one was ever willing to believe that I had been the victim of odd circumstances. “My engine had died and the Greenpeacers picked me up on the way to attacking a whaling ship. It was just the purest of coincidences that I was even on the ship at the time, and that picture of me holding a gun on the captain was totally misleading. He’d dropped it and I was going to hand it back to him when a photographer took a picture of us—”

“You went to jail for that, didn’t you?” Karin asked, squeezing my arm a little more insistently now, her face filled with sympathy.

“Three months,” I said, resigned. “It took that long for my lawyer to convince the judge I had nothing to do with the whole whaler fiasco.”

“But the really amazing thing was in Mexico,” Karin told Minerva.

“I love amazing things,” she said, grasping my other arm. “What happened? I’m dying to know!”

Oh, Lord, not Mexico. “It’s really not worth talking about—”

“Jack was in Mexico City with Mr. Sawyer on some business matters, and Mr. Sawyer was kidnapped by radical Mexican antitechnology fanatics!” Karin said, her gaze earnest and fervent as she told the story to her friend. “Jack rescued Mr. Sawyer right as the fanatics were about to sacrifice him on a Mayan altar! He saved his life!”

“Saved Mr. Sawyer’s life!” Minerva gasped.

The addition of the Mayan altar to the whole crock of bullshit was too much for me. “There was no altar, Mayan or otherwise,” I said firmly.

“Mr. Sawyer totally swore his undying gratitude,” Karin answered her, nodding vehemently.

“And it really wasn’t so much a group of radical fanatics as it was a couple of people who had been unemployed and took Mr. Sawyer’s limo for that of the labor secretary.”

“He told Jack that he would have a job at his company for the rest of his life,” Karin added in a confusion of pronouns.

“They drove us straight back to the hotel after they realized their mistake,” I said, a hint of desperation entering my voice. Why the hell did no one ever listen to me?

“Well, I would promise that, too,” Minerva told her. “Being sacrificed on a Mayan altar would scare the bejeepers out of me! That was so brave of Dr. Fletcher!”

“The whole thing got blown out of proportion when the police had a report of a kidnapping, and brought in some military troops to try to find us, which was ridiculous because by then we were back at the hotel, safe and sound, having margaritas next to the pool. It wasn’t until the next day that we realized they were looking for us,” I finished, but I knew my breath was wasted. People, I have frequently noticed, hear what they want to hear.

“Well, you know, Jack was in the military,” Karin said, her voice dropping to a confidential level, apparently forgetting I was standing right there. “Secret military research.”

“Wow,” Minerva said, her eyes huge. “What sort of research?”

“I don’t know, but it has to be something pretty juicy because Jack never talks about it.”

I sighed, gathered up my leather satchel and the morning’s paper, and headed for the stairs.

“He’s just like Indiana Jones, isn’t he?” I heard Minerva say as I started up the stairs to the fourth floor, where my office was located. “Right down to the hat. I wonder if he has one of those long whips he could wrap around his waist.”

“He should totally get one. . . .”

“Hey, Jack.” I entered the first in a connected set of rooms that were our research labs, unloading hat, satchel, and newspaper onto my desk. A tall man with curly black hair emerged from the far room. “You’re late.”

“Had a late night.” I slumped into the chair behind my desk and pulled out my laptop.

“Foundry?” Brian, the graduate student who was interning for a year, plopped down on the corner of his desk.

“Yep. Airship Pirates were playing last night.”

“Airship . . .” His face screwed up in thought for a few seconds. “Oh, that goth band?”

“Part steampunk, part goth, part industrial.” I frowned as the e-mail started loading into my in-box. “You should go sometime.”

“Like I have time to go hang out at the Foundry? You may, but I have work to do.” He nodded toward the clean room behind him. “If I don’t get those dots set today, I’ll be out of an internship. Speaking of that—Dr. Elton’s been asking for you. He says that latest version of the quantum gate you sent him refuses to reverse, and could you fix it by noon so he has a working model to show Sawyer.”

“It’s on my list of things to do today,” I murmured.

“Feeley called and said if you don’t get that budget to him by the end of today, he’ll sauté your balls in garlic and wine sauce.”

I made a face. I hated dealing with the yearly budget.

“Oh, and a woman was here to see you.”

“A woman?” I looked up in surprise. “Who?”

Brian shrugged and picked up one of the small canisters of liquid helium we use to cool down the computer equipment. “Didn’t say. Said she’d be back, though.”

“I wonder who it could be.” I racked my brain for any female acquaintance who would be willing to brave the geekified air of Nordic Tech.

“Someone you met last night?” Brian offered as he headed for the clean room.

“Doubt it. I went with a couple of Friends last night.”

He paused at the door, his eyebrows raised. “You went with Quakers? To see a goth band? Isn’t that like a sin or something?”

“Of course it’s not a sin,” I said, giving him a quick frown. “It’s not like they decapitated a bat.”

“Yeah, but Quakers! At a goth concert! It’s just so wrong!”

“Hardly. I’ve been a part of the church my whole life, and I assure you, there’s nothing anywhere in the Bible that says goth concerts are on the forbidden list,” I answered, quickly scanning an e-mail from the CEO, Jeff Sawyer.

“I know you’re one and all, but you’re kind of like Quaker Lite, aren’t you? I mean, you drink, and you swear better than my old man, and he was in the merchant marines. You go out with women. And you were in the army. I thought that was, like, totally anti-Quaker.”

“Many of us are conscientious objectors, but still manage to be useful in ways that don’t compromise our beliefs.”

“That’s right. Karin at reception said you did research in the army in lieu of seeing action in the Middle East. High-tech stuff, huh? Spy technology and all that?”

I looked up and cocked an eyebrow at him. “I could tell you, but then I would have to kill you.”

His jaw dropped a smidgen.

“You don’t see the irony of that statement, do you?” I asked, unable to keep from smiling.

“Well, I see the irony in you threatening to kill me when I’m the only intern you’ve got,” he answered quickly, edging closer to the door.

“Tempting as it is to explain, we both have work to do. If you expect to get those quantum dots down before the afternoon, we’ll have to forgo a discussion of my personal philosophy for another time.”

He glanced at the clock, uttered an expletive, and bolted into the changing area for the clean room beyond, where we did the bulk of our construction on the quantum computer we were building.

A half hour later, when I was doubled over a minute circuit board, soldering on a tiny circuit, the door opened.

“Good morning, Indiana. What adventures have you had this morning? Rescued a damsel in distress? Saved a priceless amulet from being stolen by ruffians? Smuggled innocent baby seals from a fur-processing plant?”

“Hallelujah,” I said, looking up and waving a small soldering iron at her by way of greeting. A minute piece of silver solder flew toward her. “What are you doing here?”

“Avoiding internal injury, evidently,” she said, sidestepping the solder. “And don’t call me that. You know I hate it.”

“Not nearly as much as I hate being called Indiana.”

“He who weareth the hat shall be calledeth by the name,” she said, grabbing a stool and hauling it over to my worktable. “At least you haven’t gotten a bullwhip. Yet.”

“You’ve been talking to Karin.”

“Bah,” my sister said, waving away the subject. “I hope you’re not serious about her, because she’s totally the wrong type for you.”

“I’m not serious about anyone, not that it’s any of your business,” I said, looking through the microscope for placement of a minuscule part.

“Ah, but it is, big brother. I am here in my official capacity to hook you up with an absolutely terrific woman.”

I set down the soldering iron. “Not another blind date, Hal? You promised me you weren’t going to set me up on any more of those hellish experiences.”

She picked up a piece of circuit board and toyed with it as I went across the lab to grab some wire. “Trust me, you’re going to like Linda. She’s different. She likes all the things you like.”

“Such as?” I took the piece of circuit board from her. Absently, she picked up a pair of forceps meant to position small pieces, and used them to poke at my notes.

“She has a laptop that she takes everywhere, so she’s clearly a computer geek, just like you. And she likes reading, and you always have your nose in a comic book.”

“Graphic novel. They’re called graphic novels.”

“Whatever.” She forcepped a piece of muffin left over from my breakfast and popped it in her mouth. “She likes those—she was reading one that she said was a retelling of a Jules Verne book, and it sounded just like something you’d read, what with all those Victorian rocket ships to the moon, and people marching around with ray guns and goggles.”

“I’m delighted that you have a friend who enjoys steampunk and computers, but I fail to see why you would want to match her up with me. I’m perfectly happy as I am.”

She slid off the stool and moved around the lab, tidying papers, rearranging boxes of computer components, and generally doing what she referred to as “straightening up.” “It’s . . . well . . . you see . . .”

“Spit it out, Hallie,” I said, squinting through the microscope as I wrapped wire around a semiconductor.

She took a deep breath, then said very quickly, “I promised you to Linda.”

I looked up at that. “You did what?”

“I promised you to Linda. That is, I sold you to her.” She held a small canister of helium in her hands, absently twisting the top as she watched me with anxious eyes.

“You sold me? Like a slave or something?” I asked, completely confused. “What do you mean, you sold me?”

“No, not like a slave, don’t be stupid,” she said, biting her lip. “It was an auction. A charity auction.”

I closed my eyes for a moment before shaking my head. “Which charity?”

“Now, don’t you get that tone of voice,” she said, adopting a defensive attitude. She shook the canister at me as she spoke. “I know what you think about my charities, but this one is fabulous, Jack, just fabulous. It’s for care and rehabilitation of released parakeets.”

I was so surprised by what she said, I stopped worrying about whether the top had been loosened on the helium. “Released what?”

“Parakeets! Do you have any idea how many parakeets each year are shoved out of their homes and left to fend for themselves? Hundreds, Jack! Hundreds and hundreds of poor little innocent birdies just tossed out the window, and they have no idea how to forage for food, or where to sleep, or even where to live. It’s a horrible, senseless tragedy, and we at the People for Humane Treatment of Parakeets are doing what we can to try to rescue parakeets, and rehome them with good people who will take care of them.”

Hallie always had a cause. Ever since she was a little girl, she had been a joiner of causes. When she grew up, she had taken to throwing herself wholeheartedly into whatever cause appealed to her at the moment.

“What happened to that group you belonged to that was supposed to knit sweaters for hairless dogs who lived in animal shelters?”

“Oh, that fell apart months ago,” she said, twisting the lid of the canister again. “We couldn’t decide on whether mohair or acrylic yarn was best. This group is totally rock solid, Jack. And you like animals!”

“That doesn’t mean I want to be sold into slavery on their behalf. What did you sell me for?”

“Five hundred dollars! Can you believe it? No one else’s husband or brother went for as much. It was a shame you couldn’t be there to model yourself, but I took that picture of you that was in the paper that time you and Jeff Sawyer were in Mexico, and you rescued him from being disemboweled by crazed Mayans.”

I sighed to myself again. It was pretty sad when my own sister refused to listen to me.

“Anyway, everyone loved that picture, and lots of ladies bid on you, only Linda won, and that’s so perfect because she’s just the woman I would pick out for you. She’s smart and she likes the things you like, and she paid five hundred dollars just to spend some time with you.”

“I wasn’t asking how much she spent; what services of mine has she won?” I asked suspiciously.

“Oh, well, that’s up to Linda,” she said, waving the canister at me.

“Stop shaking that!” When I realized what she was doing, I jumped to my feet and lunged toward her in the hopes of getting the canister before it blew up.

“Now, I know you’re a bit peeved that I sold you without telling you, but really, it’s for a very good cause—” Hallie skirted the lab table, keeping just out of my reach as she pleaded with me.

I cut her short, worried about her safety. “No, you idiot! The lid is off and you’re shaking the canister. It’s very volatile!”

“This?” She looked down at the helium. “It’s just a thermos of coffee. How can coffee be volatile?”

“It’s not coffee—it’s liquid helium.”

“Helium?” She held the canister up as if she could see through the stainless steel walls. “What on earth are you doing with helium?”

“We use it to cool the core of the chip when it’s being tested. Now set it down very carefully.”

“Oh, like canned air? I use that all the time at home on my stereo. I like the way the bottle frosts up when you use it for a while. You’re not mad at me about the auction, are you?” she said with sublime unawareness of what she held. She reached for the lid, jamming it down on top of the canister.

“My emotions at this moment are rather indescribable,” I said, moving around to take the canister from her.

“Stupid thing won’t go on,” she grumbled, trying to force the lid on, but the inner valve had been jostled and was out of position enough to keep the lid from screwing on properly.

“Just set it down, Hallie, and I’ll deal with it.”

“Maybe it’s got an air bubble or something that’s keeping it from closing properly.” She tossed aside the top, right on top of the circuit I had been finishing. Several tiny LED lights lit up, indicating the computer’s brain was receiving power.

“No!” I yelled, lunging for her. Just as my hand closed around hers, she flipped up the valve, sending liquid helium boiling out to the circuit below. Hallie snatched at the precious circuit, obviously to save it from being harmed, but it was too late. A brilliant silver light filled my mind as she grabbed the circuit board. In the dim distance, I could hear voices talking, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. The light expanded until it seemed to fill the room, filling me with a soothing, calming presence.

Hallie screamed as the light erupted around and through and inside me.

Log of the HIMA Tesla

Monday, February 15

Forenoon Watch: Four Bells

––––––––

“Cap’n Pye! Cap’n Pye!”

“The word is ‘captain,’ Dooley. We are not pirates, nor are we yokels who cannot expend the extra effort to pronounce words correctly, and judging by the nonstop chatter I hear from you in the mess, I am reassured you have the vocal capacities to do so. Yes, I see it now, Mr. Mowen. The valve to the left of the intake cylinder, isn’t it? It’s cracked, you think?”

“Aye, Captain.”

I sat back on my heels after examining the valve in question. Cracked, my three-legged uncle. It was no more cracked than I was.

“Captain Pye, Mr. Piper, he says you’re to come to the forward hold immediately!” Young Dooley fairly danced with agitation as he spoke, but that was nothing new. Dooley was a quicksilver sort of lad, always moving or talking, apparently unable to sit still for even the shortest amount of time. In a way, he reminded me of a hummingbird I’d seen in the emperor’s aviary, for Dooley flitted and dived around the ship just as the hummingbird had done in the high-domed aviary.

“Can you fix the valve, Mr. Mowen?” I asked the chief engineer, fully confident of an affirmative answer. “Or will we need to land at Lyon?”

“An unauthorized landing?” Mr. Mowen looked scandalized at the thought. “That would put us off schedule, lass. Er . . . Captain.”

“Captain Pye—” Dooley tugged at the sleeve of my new scarlet-red Aerocorps jacket.

I quelled both the tugging and the excited dancing with a look, one I had honed on lesser crew members for a decade. “I will be with you in a moment, Dooley. Mr. Mowen has my attention now.”

“But Mr. Piper said you must come quick—”

“Mr. Piper would never condone your interrupting an important discussion about the ability of the Tesla to fly, Dooley. You have delivered your message, and may return to your duties.” I spoke in what I hoped was an authoritative, yet kindly, tone. I didn’t want to be perceived as an ogre to the crew, not on this, my first assignment. Yet the seven other individuals on board must acknowledge my position of command, or it would all end badly. Firm but tempered, that was the key.

“But, Cap’n—”

Mr. Mowen watched me with interested, somewhat amused eyes. He was waiting to see how I handled the overexcited teen who was the bosun’s mate, no doubt curious to see whether I would let him ruffle me. Ah, but had he known I had long since lost that ability . . .

“You have duties, Dooley, do you not?”

“Aye, miss. Cap’n. Captain. I’m to be cleaning the galley, then tending to the boilers as Mr. Mowen likes.”

“You are excused to attend to your duties.”

Dooley responded to the voice of authority, reluctantly tugging on his smart black cap as he left the cramped quarters of the aft boiler room. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

“That wasn’t nearly so bad as you thought, now, was it?” Mowen asked with the hint of a smile beneath his big salt-and-pepper walrus mustache.

“Not at all, and how did you guess?” I asked, a little surprised by the perspicacity in the older man’s eyes. “Is it that obvious that I was expecting such a test?” One of several that were laid all ready for me, no doubt.

“I’ve been sailing the skies betwixt Rome and London long enough to see a full score of captains come and go,” he answered, his eyes now twinkling with amusement. “The first run is always entertaining, with the crew watchful, waiting to see what sort of man the company has saddled us with.”

I glanced at him, curious as to the meaning behind his words. “I can’t believe that no one from the Aerocorps told you anything about me. I received a dossier on the crew; surely you had something about me?”

“It wasn’t so much a dossier as it was a note telling us that you were taking command of the ship.”

I waited, sure there was more to come.

There was. “Mr. Francisco has a mate in the Corps offices, and he told us a bit more about you. He said you were a woman, which we’d guessed from your name, that you had red hair and brown eyes—not that it matters, you understand, but Mr. Francisco, as you might have noticed, has a bit of passion for redheaded ladies, so he was particularly overjoyed about that bit of information—that you joined the Corps when you were sixteen, and have been in it just as many years, and that you have some friends in high places.”

My brows rose just a smidgen. “The Aerocorps files say that?”

“Ah, well . . .” Mr. Mowen slid me a sidelong look. “Perhaps that was my own speculation.”

“Indeed.” I made my voice as neutral as possible. “On the whole, that is an accurate summation. I hope the crew will not be disappointed with me.”

“Time will show,” he said, nodding, idly rubbing a spot of grease on his cuff. “Good or bad, there’s naught we can do but accept.”

“Oh, I imagine there are all sorts of things a crew could do to make an unwanted captain feel less than welcome,” I answered, deliberately keeping my tone light. “Food that is oddly inedible when compared to the crew’s fare, unpleasant surprises of the insect and rodent nature to be found in the captain’s bed, repeated rousing during the sleeping hours to examine strangely malfunctioning equipment that was sound only a few hours before . . . Yes, I have heard of such dealings, and imagine it would be quite easy for a dedicated crew to take care of an unpopular captain.”

Mr. Mowen gave me a long look. I allowed myself a little smile, at which he relaxed. “True enough, Captain, true enough.”

“I trust that this valve, which strangely appears to have been wrenched to the side and thus is no longer seated properly rather than cracked, can be returned to its proper position without delay, Mr. Mowen.” A light of respect shone briefly in his eyes. I waved away his offer of help as I rose to my feet, dusting off my long navy wool skirt and the edges of my knee- length jacket. “I also expect there will be no further tests to determine if I am familiar with the workings of an airship steam engine and boilers. I assure you I am.”

The engineer saluted me. “And right glad I am to hear it, ma’am. It’s about time the Tesla had a captain who understood her.”

“Even one who is female, Mr. Mowen?” I couldn’t help but ask as I made my way along the narrow metal catwalk.

He replied after a few moments of silence. “I would be prevaricating if I was to say that, Mr. Francisco aside, we did not have concerns about having a lass as a captain.”

We reached the gangway. I gave the engineer a considering look. I had expected a token amount of resistance when I took over as captain, but surely in these enlightened times no one could protest the fact that I was a woman. “There are several female captains in the Southampton Aerocorps, Mr. Mowen. It is not at all uncommon.”

“Aye, but those captains are limited to domestic routes. You are the first we’ve heard of taking command of an international route.”

“An oversight on the part of the Aerocorps, I’m sure. I served for several years under Captain Robert Anstruther, and he, as you might know, commanded the largest passenger airship to travel the empire. I am quite familiar with both the routes and the duties of a captain, even those that fall under the domain of a small cargo transport, such as the Tesla.”

“Captain Anstruther will be well missed,” Mowen said, his face now somber. “Those damned Black Hand revolutionaries have much to answer for, killing as fine a captain as ever sailed the skies.”

“Indeed they do,” I answered, squaring my shoulders at the pain that always followed the memory of Robert Anstruther’s last hours.

“You knew him well, did you?” Mowen asked, watching me closely.

I made an attempt to present a serene expression. “I did. He was my guardian, and a very great man. I consider him my father.”

The engineer’s eyebrows rose above the steel rims of his spectacles. “Then I am sorry for your loss, Captain.”

I acknowledged his sympathy, the pain that rose at the memory of Robert’s sacrifice a familiar burden. “I was given into his care when I was very young, and both he and his wife treated me as if I was their own child. I miss them very much.”

“The captain’s lady—she died, too, in the airship explosion?”

I closed my eyes for a moment as once again the vision of the burning aerodrome rose in my mind’s eye, the figure of Robert Anstruther silhouetted against the flames licking the black sky stark and hard.

“There is no other way, Octavia,” he had said, and I felt again the pain in his voice. “The emperor will not be appeased this time. If it was just myself, I could bear what would follow. I am old, and my time has almost run its course. But there is Jane and you to consider. I will not let my shame destroy your lives.”

“I will go with you,” I had begged at the time. “Let me go with you and Jane. I can help, I know I can.”

He had merely smiled sadly, and cupped the side of my face. “I bless the day the old emperor brought you to me. Do you remember it, Octavia? You were just a wee little girl, lost and confused, talking of wild, impossible things, and trying so very hard to be brave and not cry. Jane called you our little miracle, coming as you did right after our son died.”

My throat ached as I fought vainly against tears. Robert considered me for a long moment, ignoring the wetness that rolled down my face and over his hands.

“You have a bright future ahead of you, my dear. If we are lost to the fire, nothing will taint that future.”

“Am I to never see you again?” I asked, my voice cracked with pain.

“No. We cannot come back to England. We are too well-known. But you will always be with us, in our hearts.”

I bowed my head, overcome with the grief, wanting desperately to cast aside all my burdens and flee with the two people I loved best in the world.

“Fight for what is right, little Octavia. Do what Jane and I cannot.”

Those were his last words. No more had been needed—I stayed behind to do my duty while Robert Anstruther, decorated three times by the emperor himself, and a hero to the entire empire, walked toward the burning aerodrome, and into the pages of history.

“I’m sorry, Captain. I did not mean to distress you.”

The voice had softly spoken, but pulled me from my dark memories back to the present. Robert and Jane had been gone for almost a year. It had all come to pass as he predicted—the inquiries that had swirled around his activities had withered to nothing, and a nation mourned its lost hero.

I squared my shoulders and gave the engineer a little nod. “Thank you, Mr. Mowen. If any other issues arise, I will be in the forward cargo hold seeing what it is that has Dooley in such a swivet.”

He touched his cap in a salute as I moved down the narrow gangway, past the two rear boilers that powered the steering engines. The low thrum of the engines as they turned the propellers sounded in time to the throb of movement felt in the metal framework structure that ran the length, breadth, and height of the ship. It was a familiar sensation, one I didn’t even think of now, and certainly not one I noticed until I was on land, and it was missing. Indeed, the feeling of the ship as it sailed through the air was as much a part of me as breathing was, and I could tell instantly—as could every man on board the Tesla—when something was awry with the engines. A slight change in tempo in the vibration, or a higher tone in the thrum, was enough to have the crew looking to me with concerned eyes.

“You’re not going to have any problems, though, are you?” I asked the ship softly as I made my way down a small metal ladder to the lower gangway. “You know how important this trip is. You know how valuable the cargo is. You know what will happen should we fail.”

The ship didn’t answer, but I felt an odd sort of kinship with it. The engineer might find it remarkable that an international route had been given to me, but I knew better—it was a payment for services rendered, nothing more. My silence had been bought with the most insignificant, smallest cargo supply route in all of the Aerocorps. The Tesla was a minnow when compared with the new airships that graced the skies, an outdated model that showed visible signs of her age, from the stained fabric that made up the envelope, to the forty-year-old engines that were far from the highly efficient machinery that ran the bigger, longer, sleeker airships.

I knew all this, and yet I was proud of the Tesla, proud to be commanding her. If only everything would go right. If there was the slightest delay or problem that kept us from landing the ship in the small aerodrome outside Rome, all would be lost. I had argued with Etienne that such a tight timeline was tempting disaster, but he ignored my warnings and pleas, as he always did. “The man may be the leader of the Black Hand,” I murmured as I strode the gangway toward the forward hold, “but he’ll always be a presumptuous, stubborn idiot when it comes to listening to me.”

I pushed down the worry of what might happen should things go awry, and focused instead on ensuring they didn’t. “That includes unwanted problems,” I grumbled to myself as I arrived at the hold, one of four compartments that filled the middle section of the gondola.

“Captain Pye.” An elderly, grizzled man who shuffled with an almost-crablike walk moved forward in his peculiar gait to greet me. I knew from perusing the crew dossiers that his odd method of movement was due to injuries sustained when he’d flung himself from a burning airship. “I was hopin’ ye would come soon. We have a great hairy bollock of a problem, we do.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Piper. I assume the hairy bollock must be very great indeed if Mr. Christian is unable to deal with it.” I kept a mild expression on my face, despite the urge to laugh at his colorful language, well aware that it could be another test or an attempt to rattle me.

At the sound of his name the tall, very thin redheaded man who was my new chief officer jumped, his pale blue eyes wide with distress as he stammered out an excuse. Amusement faded as I considered him. There was no denying I was a bit disappointed in my right-hand man—thus far, he seemed ineffectual and totally unsuited for the job—but I reminded myself that everyone deserved a chance to prove himself, and that he might grow into the job. I certainly hoped that was so.

“. . . and I only just arrived here before you, Captain. Didn’t I, Piper? I just arrived here. A matter of seconds, isn’t it? I couldn’t know what’s going on when I only just got here myself, could I?”

“Aye, that ye did, arse-backward and shittin’ coal.”

Aldous Christian looked almost panic-stricken, and I was quick to absolve him before he worked himself up any further. He looked on the verge of an apoplectic fit as it was. “My apologies for my false assumption. Since we are both here now, perhaps we could know the extent of the situation?”

“But I don’t know!” he all but wailed, his face turning beet red.

“I was directing that comment to Mr. Piper,” I said in a soothing voice, giving the chief officer’s arm a reassuring squeeze. He stopped blushing, but looked as high-strung as a racehorse before the wire. “Proceed, Mr. Piper.”

“It’s bodies, Captain,” the bosun answered with brevity.

“Bodies?”

“Oh, mercy,” Mr. Christian said, looking for a moment as if he was going to swoon. He clutched at the edge of the nearest stack of crates and weaved for a moment.

“What sort of bodies?” I asked, eyeing the chief officer lest he suddenly totter toward me.

“Bloody great bodies, that’s what sort,” Mr. Piper answered, scratching absently at his crotch. “Gettin’ in me way, they are.”

“There’s blood?” the chief officer wailed, his eyes filled with horror as he grabbed the bosun. “I . . . I . . . faint at blood.”

“Where exactly are these bodies?” I asked, almost positive that I was being tested again.

“Over yonder, behind the barrels of salted meat.” Piper nodded toward the far side of the hold, where stacked neatly were three dozen barrels of salted venison, pork, beef, and fish destined for the emperor’s troops in the south of Italy. “Neptune’s salty cods, man, let go of me arm! Ye’ll have me uniform wrinkled.”

“Dead or alive?” I asked.

“Alive, we think,” Piper answered, plucking Mr. Christian’s hands from his arm. “That is, there ain’t no great big pools o’ blood soakin’ into everything.”

“Urk!” Mr. Christian said, swallowing hard.

“And no severed limbs that we could find, nor any entrails or guts spewed out everywhere.”

“Entrails,” Mr. Christian whispered, his voice hoarse with horror as he groped blindly for the stack of wine barrels. “Entrails would be the end of me.”

“Aye, and they’re a right shiv up the arse to clean up, too,” Mr. Piper agreed, sucking his teeth for a moment before he continued. “Ye need sawdust to proper clean up after entrails, ye do. An arseload of sawdust. And sodium carbonate, and we don’t be havin’ much of that on board.”

“It’s good, then, that we will have no need for it,” I said, finding it difficult to keep my lips from twitching.

“ ’Tis the truth ye’re speakin’,” he agreed, before adding, “It’s hard to tell if they be alive or dead, Captain. Ye’ll just have to be lookin’ for yerself.”

“An excellent suggestion. Mr. Christian, you will come with me, please.”

I took three steps, but paused when the chief officer made an inarticulate noise of horror in his throat before falling over in a dead faint.

It was going to be a very long trip.

“Son of a whore’s left leg,” Mr. Piper swore, looking with interest at the chief officer’s prone form. “He’s light in the ballast, that one is, Captain. Ye should have seen him carry on when Auld John—he were the steward two seasons ago, before Mr. Ho joined us—when Auld John had three toes drop off.”

I paused on my way toward the cargo in question. “His toes dropped off?”

“Aye.” He sucked his teeth for the count of three. “We’d been to Marseilles, and ye know how it can be there—lads’ll go out lookin’ for a good time, and get mixed up with a strumpet or two, and the next thing ye know, someone’s lopped off a few of their toes.”

I stared at him in growing horror. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of anyone losing their toes because of promiscuous activities, even in so rough a city as Marseilles. None of the crew I’ve sailed with have ever done so.”

“Aye, well,” he said shrugging, and poking at the inert form of Mr. Christian with the highly polished toes of his boot. “Could have been the pox, too. He had that right enough. He thought his rod was going to drop off one time, but it turned out to be the clap.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but there was just nothing I could say to that, so instead I gestured toward the unconscious officer, and asked, “Would you see to him while I view these bodies of yours?”

“They ain’t me bodies, at any rate,” he said, shuffling over to the door. “As if I’d leave them lyin’ about me hold. I’ve been on airships for the last forty years, and never once have I left a body in the hold where anyone can trip arse over ears on it. Dooley! Where are ye, ye useless sod? Mr. Christian’s taken one of his fits again.”

The old man bellowed as I moved off, carefully picking my way around the stacks of scientific equipment and supplies, wondering what on earth bodies were doing on my ship. If they were dead, I would have some explaining to do before the emperor’s men in Rome. If they weren’t . . . I gritted my teeth. Stowaways would spell disaster. Either it was someone Etienne had sent to watch me, or a spy for the emperor. The former I could deal with, but the latter? It didn’t bear thinking about.

A foot came into view as I hiked up my skirts and scrambled over a long packing crate. The crate had shifted slightly during the last day, and now rested a good yard from the wall of the hold. The foot lay in plain view, with the rest of the body assumably wedged between the crate and wall.

I didn’t usually carry firearms, preferring instead the blade hidden inside of the walking stick that Robert Anstruther had given me on the occasion of my thirtieth birthday, but that was unfortunately in the tiny captain’s cabin, whereas the standard- issue Empyrean Disruptor that was given to all captains was strapped to my hip. I pulled out the small weapon, turning a switch that would allow the galvanic charge to be released upon firing.

“I am armed,” I told the foot in what I hoped was a calm voice. “If you intend on attacking me, please be aware that I will defend myself.”

The foot didn’t move, nor did its owner respond. I edged closer to it, frowning at the foot. It was clad in a strange sort of half shoe, with only the front of the foot covered. The rest was bare, as was the ankle. I moved around the crate, leaning over it to peer behind, my grip firm on the Disruptor. “Are you injured?”

It was a man. He lay half-propped-up against the wall, half-flung across another person, a woman. Both appeared to be asleep—or dead—although there was no blood to be seen, and no sign of injury.

“Has Mr. Christian been roused?” I called over my shoulder, straightening up.

“Aye, but he looks as pale as watered piss.”

I counted to ten, then said, “Tell him there is no blood whatsoever, and ask him to come forward.”

Both the chief officer and Dooley appeared, the former looking as if he was going to be sick.

“Are they . . . dead?” he asked in a thick voice. I wondered if he was likely to keel over again.

“No. Their chests are moving, and there is no sign of injury. I believe they are merely unconscious.”

His eyes widened as he glanced around wildly.

“Mr. Christian, please remember you are an officer in the Southampton Aerocorps,” I said purely to brace him up. “Officers do not panic when faced with unconscious stowaways. Nor do they faint repeatedly, or vomit willy-nilly.” That last bit was added in reference to the green cast to his face.

He swallowed hard, his pronounced Adam’s apple bobbing a bit wildly, but in the end he squared his shoulders and gave a nod. “Aye, Captain. I’m ready.”

Oh, I had my doubts as to whether he was ready for the stresses and strains of life aboard a Corps airship, but that was something I would have to deal with at a later time. Right now I had to figure out who the stowaways were, and what it would mean to me. Etienne would kill me if anything happened to mess up the Black Hand’s plans. “Help me move them out from behind the crate. Perhaps they swooned due to lack of air.”

It wasn’t a horribly good theory, but I didn’t dwell on that as we pulled out first the man, then the woman, laying them tidily on the two long crates near the door Piper indicated as suitable resting spots.

“Where’s their velocipedes?” Mr. Christian asked as we stood back to gaze down on the inert man and woman.

I stared at my chief officer. “Their velocipedes?”

“Aye.” He gestured toward the woman. “She’s wearing bloomers, so she must have been riding a velocipede.”

I glanced at the woman, wanting to point out the obvious. But I was captain now, and I had a duty to my crew. “Those are trousers, Mr. Christian, not cycling bloomers.”

“But . . . she’s a lady.” A puzzled frown pulled his eyebrows together.

“There’s more to a lady than a pair of titties,” Mr. Piper offered as he eyed the woman.

“Mr. Piper,” I said, goaded into admonishing him.

He gave an odd little half shrug. “I’m just sayin’ that a woman ain’t necessarily a lady.”

“I do not have argument with your sentiment, just your method of expressing it.” I moved around him to consider the man lying on the crate.

“I’ve heard tell that some ladies wear trousers,” the earnest Dooley offered. “In America. Before the war. I don’t know that they do now, but I did see pictures of ladies in trousers walking in a parade.”

“You aren’t old enough to remember the time before the war,” Mr. Christian scoffed. “It’s only been over for four years, and it was on for eighteen before that.”

“I’ve seen pictures!” Dooley said stubbornly, and I knew the two would get into what I feared were perpetual arguments about trivial matters.

“Dooley, please ask Mr. Ho to join us. Perhaps she can ascertain if there is any injury to the stowaways.”

“You think they really are stowaways?” Mr. Christian asked, looking both scandalized and thrilled. “Will we have to throw them in the brig?”

“Considering we don’t have a brig on board the Tesla, that might be a little difficult. Let us first find out who they are and what they were doing in the hold. Perhaps they had some sort of an attack while the cargo was being loaded, and are here by mistake.”

I didn’t believe that for one minute, but I couldn’t bear to contemplate the repercussions of the pair being spies.

Mr. Piper gave me a long look, but said nothing, just cocked his hip up on a nearby barrel and watched silently as I made a cursory examination of the two.

“Well, they don’t seem to have any weapons upon them,” I noted as I finished my examination of their pockets. The man was wearing an undershirt, and dark gray trousers. The woman was clad in a long blue tunic made of silk, and matching trousers. It was beautiful material, and I couldn’t help but touch the hem of the tunic with longing. Reality returned quickly, however, and I surreptitiously brushed down the heavy wool of my uniform jacket and skirt before turning to the bosun. “I wonder why the man is wearing nothing but an undershirt?”

“And a black one at that,” Mr. Piper said, squinting at it. “Black as the devil’s cods, it is. Ain’t never seen one that color.”

“Could be he’s a thuggee,” Mr. Christian piped up.

I looked at him in surprise. “A thuggee? The Indian thuggees, do you mean?”