by A. W. Exley
Miguel smiled. “Probably because you act like one.”
There were some questions you shouldn’t ask if you weren’t going to like the answer. That was one of them. “You sound like Paniha. She said my words are shallow. Why does everyone think I’m so selfish? I can be thoughtful, you know.”
Miguel set his beer down by his feet and clasped his hands together. “Then start acting like it. Paniha is right. Words are cheap and you will always be judged on your actions. As an example, imagine if you just went around telling everyone you were a great fighter. Who would believe you? You showed people with your sword arm that you spoke true.”
Loki took a deep drink. He had an urge to sulk, but he could see what the lad was saying. “Fighting is easier. How am I supposed to show people I have more depth than a puddle after a sun shower?”
“Not as easy as it looks, is it?” Miguel stared off into the night. The yellow flicker from the lanterns enclosed them in a small bubble of light.
“What?” Loki pulled his gaze from dark indistinct shapes in the neighbouring field to the man next to him.
Miguel’s lips quirked in a brief smile. “Putting other people first. Thinking of their needs above yours.”
Loki had never put this much effort into pleasure before. He leaned back against the rough-hewn timbers of the cottage and half-closed his eyes. “I’m not sure it’s worth it.”
He said the words, but they rang hollow in his chest and set off that ache by his breastbone again. He really needed to see the doctor. What if he was about to have a heart attack?
“That’s for you to decide. You’ll change if it’s worth it. Or if she’s worth it.”
There was the bit Loki couldn’t wrap his head around. It wasn’t worth it for a night or two of physical pleasure. But the nagging at the back of his mind was getting louder. The little voice that wanted something more, but didn’t know what. He should change tack and focus his energy on an easier target for the rest of his time in the outpost, but the voice wouldn’t let him. When the opportunity for a meaningless distraction had presented itself, he had pushed it away.
Snatches of conversations with Paniha kept replaying in his head. She had asked what he sought—what if she was right? He travelled the globe, exploring new countries and remote corners, constantly on the move. He told himself that he was a free soul, born to wander and seek out adventure. Now he wondered if he was searching for something, and if, just perhaps, he might finally find it here. In Aotearoa. Was it time for the hawk to find a nest?
LOKI SPENT A RESTLESS NIGHT, replaying events with Paniha on the bridge of the Jenny Elle as she had cried over the milled forest beneath them, then in the town green where she’d said he looked different, that he was about to change. Those images were overlaid with his fight with Hone, which had ended in a hot, brutal kiss that was branded into his mind. He couldn’t decide which person to pursue. Then the teeny rational part of his mind (which he almost never listened to) pointed out that the two were to be married and he should stay right out of it and not mess up their lives.
Dawn arrived far too early and he was sure his head was stuffed full of stable waste. Either the last batch of ale packed a lethal punch or, for the first time in his life, Loki was suffering some sort of moral dilemma. He needed to fly back to a real city—one bursting with sweaty bodies, where constant noise was a deafening refrain and he didn’t have to think. Before he did something stupid, like—
Fall in love.
Miguel played mother and cooked breakfast and, bless his heart, had steaming black coffee on the table.
“You look terrible. Did you get any sleep?” the young man asked as he filled a large tin mug.
Loki blew on the coffee and took a sip. He let the caffeine slide down his gullet and waited for it to filter through his body. “Can’t sleep in this place, maybe it’s mosquitos.”
“Or maybe it’s your conscience keeping you awake.” Miguel took his seat opposite and, with the gusto of youth, started shovelling his porridge into his mouth.
“Yes, I have been meaning to talk to you about your snoring.” Loki ignored the sharp look and took another sip of coffee. Soon his body would be awake enough for breakfast. It was still too early for the unpleasant task he had to do today.
After more coffee, a meal, and a shave, Loki was ready to face the morning. He set off across the field and decided to wander up the town’s main street. He needed to seek out Colonel Austin at the army barracks. It was an oddly out-of-place building among the houses constructed by the settlers. The shacks and cottages had a hand-built charm, and you could see the sweat and labour that had gone into chopping and planing the logs. Every residence was different, though they were of similar size, all lined up along each side of the dirt road. Settlers adorned their abodes with personal touches like bunches of flowers, rocking chairs, or decorative paths and fences.
The barracks was stark. Sitting at the end of the street next to the colonel’s two-storeyed home and the church, the long, low barracks looked like another bland, mass-produced flat pack kit. It was probably manufactured in some sweatshop in England, packed up, and shipped off. Soldiers drilled on the empty field next to the barracks. Wearing bright red uniforms they marched up, spun on their heels, and marched back again. Arms swung in unison as they all took steps of the exact same size.
It looked more like a punishment to Loki, a way to spot who was still hungover from the previous night when he either dropped or caused a ruckus by missing a step. Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t even understand why the army stationed the men here, instead of at the largest town on the island in Christchurch.
Colonel Austin sat in his portable chair, watching the display. His head turned and his gaze skimmed over Loki before returning to his life-sized toy soldiers. “Ah, Captain Hawke. Tardy for our meeting but better late than never, I suppose.”
Loki would have preferred never. His gut warned him no good would come of Colonel Austin’s request for weapons. However, he needed to maintain happy relations with the settlement if he was going to be a regular visitor. That meant pandering to the officer by at least listening, murmuring a suitable platitude, and doing his best to shuffle the request into a bureaucratic black hole.
“So sorry, I have business concerns to oversee first. I’m not a government official, you realise, but a wheel in private enterprise.” He’d be damned if he would stand at the colonel’s side like a languishing butler. He dropped to the grass and stretched his legs out in front of him. The sun was a bit too bright and too low for his comfort so he pulled his hat low over his eyes.
“I would have thought duty to your queen and country would come first. We do require the assistance of your employer in protecting our interests here.” Austin waved his hand at his equerry, who rushed over with a small table. He set it up within the reach of the colonel’s outstretched hand. Then another man appeared carrying a tea tray.
“My business partner and I are willing to hear your request.” He stressed the word to emphasise that Nate wasn’t his boss. If the officer wanted to throw around credentials, he might get a rude shock to discover Loki was one of the aristocracy. He’d spent years locking that part of his history away, but he could still enunciate his vowels with the best plum in his mouth if required.
Austin made a noise deep in his throat and waited while his men poured tea. He didn’t offer any to Loki, and it looked far too pale and insipid for his taste anyway. “This is a savage country with no regard for English law. As a small outpost, our needs are, unfortunately, not a priority for our superiors in London. We require better armaments.”
Being outside the law gave the pirates quite a range of illegal options when it came to weaponry, and he did consider himself a connoisseur on the topic. “What did you have in mind?”
Austin extended his pinkie finger and sipped his tea. “Gatling guns. Can Lyons supply them?”
Loki let out a low whistle. “They aren’t even in production yet. T
he Americans are keeping them very close to their chests and don’t want anyone else to play with their new toys.”
Nate did have one, a prototype they’d managed to steal from the American government. At his workshop on his Lowestoft estate, the viscount had his own engineers developing a replica model, then they planned to improve the design. They could make a fortune selling them if they so desired, but Nate wanted them to protect his family.
Austin turned his head and a cold gaze drilled into Loki. “I understood that would not be an impediment for Lyons. Or is he not up to the job?”
“How exactly do you intend to pay for such a shipment?” Army contractors were woefully underpaid. Loki had no intention of adding the Lyons company to the list of government creditors.
Austin picked a delicate sandwich off a porcelain plate and nibbled at a corner. “Once we secure the region, we will have access to the gold mines and will be able to pay for them many times over.”
Loki held in a snort. “So you want them on credit?”
“I give my word as an officer and a gentlemen that the debt will be satisfied. And as a fellow Englishman, what price do you put on protecting innocent men, women, and children?” The colonel seemed to be addressing the cucumber sandwich in his fingers.
Loki wondered who would protect the Maori men, women, and children from being mown down by a Gatling gun. Unless Austin wanted them to hunt the mythical bear or large cat killing the immigrants. “This country is under Maori rule. Do you intend to start an uprising?”
“The British Empire expands her reach to every corner of the globe and the savages will be civilised. It’s not an uprising; it’s imposing the natural order and putting the natives in their place.” Having finished his sandwich, Austin picked up his cup of tea and took a slurp.
Loki couldn’t decide to laugh or put an end to the man’s mad idea now by using the knife in his boot. He was going to slaughter the locals and gave it no more thought than a farmer who sent his cattle off to market. Loki might be a pirate, but he still knew right from wrong where lives were concerned.
“I’ll convey your request to Viscount Lyons.” Which meant he’d tell Nate the colonel was barking mad and not to give him so much as a poisoned tea shipment.
“Good. Don’t take too long about it. Lives could be at risk even as we speak.” Austin waved his hand, dismissing Loki as though he were a servant sent to do his bidding.
Loki stood and brushed loose grass off his trousers. As he walked away, one thought leapt to his mind—he wasn’t going to stand by and watch Austin slaughter the Maori. If it came to a fight, he was throwing down with Hone and his tribe, English origins be damned. The raw beauty of this country needed to be protected—not just the people, but the land and oceans.
He could put other people first. Let Paniha judge him when she found out he would stand between the mad colonel and her people. The ache in his chest dissipated and was replaced by a warmth just as the noise in his brain abated. He had never realised that doing the right thing could actually feel pretty good.
14
That afternoon two sealers arrived with a cart of plush skins. The residents of the canvas tent settlement sent the new arrivals to the warehouse. The silky pelts they carried were in high demand in England for hats and coats and were a much-needed addition to the hold of the Jenny Elle. Loki just didn’t like the price the grim-looking men demanded for them. Obviously their comrades had told them the English merchants were a soft touch.
“You could always try the ships in the harbour at Lyttelton. Shouldn’t take you longer than a few days to ride there.” Then he stared at his fingernails and ignored their sideways glances at each other. “Have you been to the tavern here? Best ale I’ve ever had, and their pies—” He kissed his fingertips.
One of the sealers’ stomachs rumbled and growled, and they took Loki’s offer, then headed to the tavern with gold coins rattling in their pockets. Loki suspected that by the end of the evening the coins would be in the warm grasp of the three sisters.
“This trip is starting to look more profitable.” Loki tapped the pile of pelts. He wished they weren’t filling the hold with dead or smelly animal products, though. They’d had success with the whalers, and whale by-products were waiting to be loaded. Ambergris didn’t smell as bad as he expected, but it was pungent.
Loki scratched his scalp. Working in the warehouse moving the stores around made him sweaty and itchy. Not to mention he wondered what insects might be hiding in the taxidermy specimens. He needed a bath, or a swim.
“I’m taking some time off,” he announced.
“Marika was going to show me where a family of kiwi nest, if you can spare me for an hour or two?” Miguel cast a glance at the young woman at his side.
Loki waved his hand. “I’ll see you back here in a couple of hours.”
Loki walked up the river bank, past the small pier with its stained timbers. He kept on through the surrounding forest to where he’d heard there was a sheltered swimming hole. Unfortunately it was occupied. A few children splashed and played under the watchful eye of two older women chatting on the grass. He wanted alone time; he didn’t want to babysit. He was about to turn around and walk off when he spotted a mermaid under the waterfall. Paniha held a laughing child in her arms and the two ducked under the curtain of water falling over the rocks.
Suddenly the children didn’t look so bad. Loki sat on the grass next to the elderly wahine.
“Afternoon, ladies.” He smiled at them and the two dissolved into a fit of giggles. Nice to see his charms still worked on some women. He pulled off his boots and socks. Next his jacket and shirt were abandoned in a heap. In deference to the children he kept his trousers on, but rolled the legs up to the knee. Then he waded out into the cool water.
Loki made it to waist-deep and midway across the pool before he was surrounded by children. They pointed and called out questions in Maori. He turned and looked behind him, expecting to see a monster rising from the water, but there was nothing there.
“Kahu,” one girl said, her eyes wide. Then she looped her hands together and made flapping wings.
“Yes, that’s my name. I’m Lachlan Hawke.” He had acquired the tattoo his first year on the pirate airship. The bird spread its wings across his shoulder blades. He’d learned that the intricate designs the Maori tattooed over their bodies had a deeper meaning, symbolising their family, histories, and connection to the land. His own tattoo was more literal.
One of the boys swam forward, a question pulling his brows together. Emboldened by the others, he tapped Loki’s side and asked a question again in their musical tongue.
“Oh, that.” Loki looked down. The scar had been a part of him for so long he often forget he bore it. A long, circular tract curved around his torso and made a matching impression on both sides. Each scar was a small white circle.
He ran a hand over the line on his skin. “That was a shark.”
“Shark?” the boy repeated. One child looked at the other and they shrugged.
Loki waggled one hand through the water and used the other to make a fin at the midpoint of his forearm. Then he made his arms into hungry, snapping jaws. “Shark.”
“Mako,” Paniha said as she swam closer, the youngster in her arms.
The gazes on the children widened as they whispered mako between themselves. Then chatter burst out loud as rapid questions were fired at him.
Paniha opened her arms and the child swam to one of the older girls. “The tamiriki want to know how you received the shark bite.”
Not just the children. Curiosity simmered in her dark gaze. Loki glanced at her form under the water. She wore a linen shift that swirled around her thighs. The pendant at her neck glowed when it touched the water, as if it were luminescent. For a moment he could have sworn the creature rolled its body and then resettled in its curled up shape.
“Oh, that’s a boring story. Surely they don’t want to hear that?” He winked at Paniha while cr
ies of yes and aye rose from the children. They swam closer, bobbing around him like eager little ducks on a pond hoping for breadcrumbs.
Then the youngsters turned imploring eyes to Paniha and fired beseeching questions at her. She laughed and met his gaze. “I believe we would like to hear the tale, if you have the time?”
“I would find the time for you,” he whispered. Then he turned his attention to the adoring audience. Not the type he preferred, but he could get used to the earnest concentration on their small faces. “We were flying in the Hellcat as we headed for Greece. The Hellcat is fast and agile—a much smaller kereru than the Jenny Elle. Below us was the Mediterranean Sea.”
A child called out a question and Paniha translated. “She wants to know where is this sea and what is Greece?”
Their thirst for knowledge about the wider world appealed to him. These children should have a globe or atlases to learn about the world beyond their shores. Later he would bring them the small one from the lounge in the airship. “Greece is a country far, far away. It is sunny most of the time and they really like cats. The Mediterranean is the waters around them.”
He paused before continuing his story so Paniha could translate his comments, but also to consider how to phrase events that followed. The unedited version probably wasn’t appropriate for young ears. Most of the crew had been drunk at the time and what had happened was the result of a dare. Loki had only just taken over as captain of the Hellcat and had wanted to prove his mettle after far too much rum. Instead he’d made himself shark bait as a result of chumming the water when he threw up.
“My crew were hungry, and wanted fresh fish for dinner. But we were high in the air and the ocean far below—how could we go fishing from among the clouds?”
The children gathered closer. Paniha spoke his words in Maori and they chatted, figuring out his puzzle. Finally one shouted out the answer.