by A. C. Cobble
“I couldn’t do more than two percent without the approval of the Company’s Board of Directors,” said Oliver, “and I don’t think either one of us wants to explain the situation to them.”
“I have two nieces,” said Child. “Two percent for each one of them. Make it four total, Duke Wellesley, and I’ll even open up my country home for you and either of the girls to relax and celebrate when you return from the tropics. Bring both of the girls if you can convince them.”
Oliver grimaced.
“Who is that?” asked the baron.
Glancing over his shoulder, Oliver saw Sam had stepped out of the carriage. He turned back to the baron. “Two percent — one for you, one for your brother. Enough in the family to give both girls a secure future. I cannot do more, Nathaniel, so do not press it. I do this for the girls, only them. Not you or your brother, and not out of some fear you’ll tattle to my brother. They’re good girls, and either one would make a fine match if it came to that.”
The baron stared at him for a moment and then offered a curt nod. He stepped forward and held out his hand to Oliver. “I wouldn’t call you a good man, Wellesley, but you’re not a bad one either, when you pause to think things over.”
“Thank you… I think.”
Baron Child stepped back. “I’m satisfied, but my brother won’t be. Not by pounds sterling.”
Oliver frowned.
“No percentage of shares in the Westlands will appease my brother if he hears who I caught violating his daughter,” continued the baron. “He would have insisted on a marriage. A proper thank you, though, may keep him happy. In the spirit of keeping this between us, I do hope you won’t mention it to your own brother. If this comes back on me or on my body man, I hate to think of what the papers would say about it.”
“What are you talking about?” asked the duke, a flutter of concern creeping up his spine.
“Jack,” said Baron Child, his voice suddenly cold, “leave him able to travel in two turns of the clock, but otherwise in as much pain as you can manage.”
“My pleasure, boss,” growled Baron Child’s body man.
The hulking giant stepped around the baron and removed his small circular hat and then his coat. His shirt strained as heavy slabs of muscle shifted beneath it.
Oliver stepped back, his eyes darting around the alleyway. The driver of the carriage seemed to have vanished, and otherwise, the alley was empty. That late at night, it was sure to stay empty. He briefly considered running, but it wasn’t befitting a man of his stature, so instead, he let his hand drop to his belt where his broadsword should have been and would have been if he had been out on expedition that night, instead of taking in the theatre and bedding a baroness.
The big body man rolled up his shirtsleeves and shuffled forward, his fists raised in a boxer’s stance. A giant bushy mustache framed the straight-line of his mouth, and his bald head reflected brightly in the sole light of the carriage’s lantern. His knuckles were scarred from what Oliver could only guess were countless rounds of fisticuffs.
“I hired him out of the fighting pits two years ago,” explained Baron Child. “Jack had a, what, a thirty-and-three record at the time?”
“Thirty-two, m’lord. I’d won thirty-two bouts. All of my last dozen or so.”
“Ah, yes, thirty-two,” said Baron Child, “and in the prime of his career. He enjoys the fight, Oliver, and only agreed to hire on when I promised him the opportunity to practice his craft on noble flesh. You won’t tell your brother, will you?”
Oliver raised his fists and fell into a stance similar to the looming Jack.
Baron Child laughed. “Good luck, Duke Wellesley. You’ll need it.”
Jack closed, and the duke decided there was no point waiting. He wasn’t intending to run, and at the very least, he fancied getting in a few jabs before the bruiser flattened him. He darted at the big man, feinting with a fist.
Calmly, Jack raised his hands, prepared to absorb the blow on his battle-scarred forearms.
Oliver ducked and launched a quick rabbit punch at the man’s side with his left hand. It landed solidly and he grinned at the sound of his fist thumping into meat.
Then, Jack caught him with a short jab on the side of the head and followed with a punishing cross. Oliver staggered back, blinking stars from his eyes. Taking his time, Jack pursued, his feet dancing gracefully over the cobbles. With speed that belied his size, the big boxer swung a fast hook.
Slipping it, Oliver dodged to the side and brought his fist up as hard as he could, pounding the larger man on the chin, snapping his head back and eliciting a startled grunt from the massive boxer. He launched a flurry of strikes into the former pit fighter’s midsection, forcing him back. Then, Oliver wound up to crash a fist into the man’s head again but paused as the former boxer gave him an undazed, painless smile.
“Nice one, Wellesley,” drawled Jack. “You’re faster than you look, but now it’s my turn.”
The thought of running flitted through his mind again, but before he could decide on the matter, Oliver was rocked by Jack’s fist jabbing him in the face. The knuckles were a blur in the dim light. He didn’t have time to block or dodge, so he tilted his head and absorbed the blow on the crown of his skull. His vision flashed white, his neck creaked in protest, and he stumbled back.
“Stupid move, Wellesley. You’ll get hurt doing that,” chided Jack. He reached out, gripped Oliver’s shoulder, and then smashed a fist into his gut.
Coughing and heaving, Oliver stumbled to the side, a string of bile trailing from his open mouth.
“Hurry it up, Jack,” instructed Baron Child.
The big man moved forward and then stopped.
Oliver, dreading the sound of the next step, glanced at the boxer and saw Sam had come to stand between them.
“That’s enough,” she said.
“What?” guffawed Jack. “I’ve just gotten started. The man touched the baron’s nieces, and he’s going to regret it.”
“It was consensual,” mentioned Sam.
“What does that matter?” growled Baron Child.
“Well, it… it matters a lot,” explained Sam. “It’s all the difference.”
The boxer snorted and glanced back at his boss.
The baron shrugged. “I have no idea who she is, but she’s with the duke, so don’t kill her.”
Jack grinned and turned back to Sam just in time to see her spin, her foot whipping through the air and cracking the big man on the side of the head.
The former boxer stumbled back, and Oliver straightened unsteadily, watching in awe as Sam darted after Jack, her fists a blur, peppering the giant’s sides until he howled in pain, hunching over trying to protect himself. She grabbed his bald head, holding it in place with one hand while she unleashed three lightning quick blows with her elbow. Jack’s nose crunched underneath the onslaught and a waterfall of blood was pouring from his nose by the time Sam released his head.
He raised his hand to wipe the blood from his face, but she didn’t relent. Spinning, she swung the back of her fist into the side of his head again and clipped him above the ear. Jack fell to the side, crashing against the carriage and grasping at the large back wheel as he tried to stay on his feet.
Sam took two quick steps forward and leapt into the cold night air, swinging one booted foot up and catching Jack full in the face.
The big man was flung back from the impact. He bounced off the carriage and then collapsed onto the cobblestones in a motionless heap.
Sam landed lightly and looked between the duke and Baron Child. The baron’s jaw was hanging open, resting on his chin.
“What do you think, Duke?”
He stretched his neck, wincing as it cracked and throbbed with pain. No doubt he was going to be sore from the truncated beating the former boxer had dished out, but it should have been worse.
He glared at Baron Child. “If you want satisfaction, next time, challenge me yourself. I will still grant the two pe
rcent of the expedition, but in the girls’ names. You and your panderer brother will do without. If I catch wind of you ever trying to exploit the girls in this way again or sniffing around Company shares, I will crush you, Nathaniel.”
Baron Child worked his jaw, grinding his teeth and clenching his fists, but then finally he relaxed. “I miscalculated and I apologize. I should have taken your offer and left it at that. If it matters at all, I do have the girls’ best interest at heart.”
“That’s the only reason I’m not dragging you off to my brother’s gaol where he’d be certain to drape the hangman’s noose around your neck,” declared Oliver. He pointed a finger at the man. “We agree, then, you’ll let it drop? I have your word? I don’t want to be looking over my shoulder. If this comes up again, Nathaniel, you will regret it.”
“You have my word, on the Child family name,” offered the baron with a quick bow. When he rose, he allowed a small smile onto his lips. “I miscalculated tonight, but perhaps my brother did not. I’m sure the girls will be eager for your company when you return, Duke Wellesley.”
Oliver grunted and watched as Baron Child vanished into the night. He glanced at the carriage, the open door, and groaned. He considered running after the baron, requesting he take his niece with him, but it didn’t feel right. A gentleman finishes what he starts.
“What should we do about him?” asked Sam, nudging the unconscious Jack with her foot.
Oliver touched his throbbing cheek and forehead where he could already feel the swelling starting. “Leave him. Hopefully by morning he’s robbed but not killed. Do you know how to drive a carriage?”
“No,” she responded. “Why would I know—”
“I’ll drive then,” barked Oliver, and then he climbed up on the driver’s bench.
Sam shut the carriage door and followed him up front to the bench. She settled beside him as the vehicle lurched into motion. “A duke who can drive a common street carriage. You’re full of surprises.”
“So are you,” he replied.
He drove the puttering four-wheeled contraption out of the alley onto King’s Row, the broad boulevard that ran from the theatre to his brother’s palace. He winced and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye as the carriage jerked hard when he tried to shift gears. He owed the girl for saving him from a beating, and perhaps worse.
“I learned to drive these things years ago. I was in Finavia, studying under a famous tutor there, supposedly. Most of the time, I was getting drunk with my fellow students on the sparkling wines the place is so famous for. When we’d leave the cafes at night, we’d pay the carriage drivers to let us operate the contraptions and we’d race the vehicles back to the house I’d rented. We did it every night for weeks until someone ended up wrecking one of them. Shortly after, I was sent home.”
Samantha laughed. “Who wrecked the carriage? You?”
He shifted gears again and grinned when she yelped as the mechanical carriage lurched ahead. She kicked her feet up on the footboard in front of them, and he relaxed as the wheels rumbled through the empty street. They drove down the quiet boulevard, passing through the islands of light provided by the street lanterns, rolling in and out of darkness. An hour and a half before dawn, they had the city to themselves.
“Was the man right?” asked Sam after several blocks. “Will you see the girls again when you return? For a share of your expedition, it seems like they’d be eager…”
“They’re not like that,” muttered Oliver. “Their father and his brother have grand visions. The girls want a good time. Perhaps someday they’d be interested in more but not now. Now, I’m just their favorite entertainment while they’re at court in Westundon.”
“So, you will see them?”
Oliver didn’t answer.
Sam left it alone for several more blocks before commenting, “I don’t blame you, you know. That girl is sculpted like a statue and she was on you like a dog on a bone. I can’t say I’d be able to turn her down if I was in your trousers. One thought, though, if you want my advice…”
“Why not?” asked the duke with a sigh. “You’re not going to be quiet until you give your opinion, are you?”
“Is a headache bothering you already, m’lord? That man did ring your bell, and of course there’s that little bit of drink you had last night. Seems it has already got you snippy.”
Oliver grunted. “Go on, then. What’s your advice?”
“Instead of both twins, why don’t you try sleeping with just one of them?”
Slowly, Oliver turned to stare at her.
“Beautiful twins,” said Sam, shaking her head. “Of course you’ll sleep with them both. Why wouldn’t you, even after their uncle sends some bruiser to crack your skull? Surely no further complications will arise from you splitting time between two sisters, right? The uncle won’t renege on his deal. Your brother won’t find out, and naturally, no jealousy will come between the girls. What could go wrong?”
He did not have a reply to that.
“I cannot believe men,” declared Sam. “You are all so stupid.”
Looking straight ahead, Oliver adjusted the gears, and the carriage lurched again.
The Priestess V
The sun bathed Westundon in a warm, orange glow. Sam’s jaws creaked with a barely contained yawn. She blinked her eyes, struggling to focus. She hadn’t slept a minute the night before, and after depositing the baroness with her initially sleeping and then enraged sister, they’d barely made it to the airship bridge when the first shards of daylight appeared on the horizon. The climb up the ten flights of wooden stairs to the top of the flat-topped structure had nearly done her in, though with a glance at Duke, she thought it could be worse.
The man was leaning against the railing of the platform, ignoring the precipitous drop below or, more likely, still so drunk he was unaware of it. His eye was already swollen and by afternoon, she guessed it would be a vibrant shade of purple. His forehead was puffed up like he was growing a horn out of the center of it. He reeked of liquor and sex, but in the open breeze on the platform, she guessed no one could smell the latter. They didn’t need to smell the former. One look at the man made it clear he’d had an adventurous night.
“How much longer, Captain Haines?”
The airship captain glanced over the railing to where piles of provisions were being efficiently loaded onto the pulley platform, the platform they could have taken instead of the stairs if it wasn’t loaded with freight. Duke had suggested they make the freight wait, and she’d talked him out of it, though she quickly began regretting it as they’d climbed higher and higher.
“Half a turn of the clock, m’lord.”
Duke grunted.
“I apologize for being tardy, m’lord,” continued the captain. “We’d supplied for a journey to the Westlands. For Archtan Atoll, we need a different kit. The tropical climate there—”
“I know, I know,” muttered Duke. “It’s not your fault, Captain. I’m, well, I’m hungover.”
“I can tell, m’lord.”
Duke shot the captain a glance, and the man busied himself pretending to oversee the loading of his airship, the Cloud Serpent.
Men cranked on the pulley, and far below them, the platform rose with another pallet of provisions. Atop the ten-story airship bridge, men were formed into a line, passing sacks from a half-empty pallet that had already been brought up with the pulley. The sailors continued up the gangplank and then into the hold of the ship. Their line was an efficient way to load, but it required every pair of hands on deck.
Sam watched them work and then forced herself to look the airship over. She hadn’t been on one in nearly two decades, and she’d been a child then. The sense of nervous excitement she’d felt long ago on her first journey had changed into just nervous.
The airship appeared the same as a seagoing vessel in construction, except it was floating ten stories above the ground. A series of thick hawsers kept it secured to the platform they were s
tanding on so it wouldn’t drift away. She swallowed, watching it rock with the gentle breeze.
Three masts sprouted from the center of the deck, and when they lifted off, those masts would be hung with billowing canvas sails. On the sides of the ship, she could see portals where cannon could be rolled out, and a deck below were similar portals where wide canvas paddles would be extended to try to stir the air if the ship was becalmed or needed to maneuver in tight quarters where the wind couldn’t be trusted. Becalming was a rare occurrence, she was told, but one that could have terrible implications on an airship.
A gust of wind blew across the airship bridge, stirring her hair and catching the side of the ship. It pulled, ropes creaking, against the platform. She shivered, telling herself she’d only imagined the entire structure tilting.
“First time on an airship?” asked the captain.
She nodded, her eyes still locked on the vessel. “First time in a long time.”
“Here,” he offered.
She turned and saw he was holding a set of leather-wrapped glass goggles. “When we move fast or through the clouds and the rain, you’ll want these. Otherwise, your eyes get wet or teary and you can’t see for the blinking.”
“Thank you,” she mumbled.
“It’s nothing, m’lady,” he said. “I have plenty. And don’t be worried. These ships have been in service for over twenty years now. They’re tested and safe.”
“She’s not a lady,” grumbled Duke.
Both Sam and the captain turned to look at him. He was drooped against the railing, head buried in his elbow.
The captain raised an eyebrow at her.
“He’s right,” she admitted. “I’m a representative of the Church. Do you want your goggles back, knowing I’m not a lady?”
The captain grinned. “No, ma’am, I do not. Crown, Company, or Church — someone paid the sterling to get you passage, and that means you’re an important person. I’m just a simple airship captain trying to make my way in the world.”
“A simple airship captain?” she laughed.
The man winked at her.