She laughed and then winced, but her smile remained. “I should hate to usurp her privilege then, Pickett.”
Daniel frowned, remembering that she had said something similar to Lewis.
Samson approached and handed him the most recent weather prediction the onboard processors had generated. Daniel scanned it, disappointed to see that the storm still stretched for miles in every possible direction, including up. He folded the paper and stashed it in his tool bag while watching Cooper try to not be ill.
“Besides, I thought we were friends,” he said. “You are reverting to the formal.”
“Trying to give all the respect due your position.”
He fastened the bag shut and gave her his full regard. “Now that would be a first.”
Her smile weakened, and she pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging her legs close. The defensive posture, combined with the long braid that hung over her shoulder had her suddenly looking very young. Vulnerable.
“You are ill indeed, if you can’t manage a snappy reply.”
“I shall not be ill forever, Pickett, and you’ve seen me wield sharp instruments. I should proceed with caution, if I were you.”
He lifted a brow. If she knew he quite enjoyed images of her throwing weapons around, she’d probably not use it as a threat. The ship lurched again, bringing him back to the moment, and he slung the tool bag over his shoulder, the heavy fabric of his formal jacket thick and cumbersome.
“Stay here,” he ordered again, and left the wheelhouse.
The day passed into evening before Daniel admitted it wouldn’t be as simple as he’d hoped to unravel the strange events that had quite literally blown them off course. He and Samson had toiled for hours fixing the cable—it had been severed at an awkward angle between decks—and he held himself responsible. He had inspected each repair made to the Briar Rose in the days before departure, but he had been desperately pressed for time and decided the cable was new enough to weather at least three more flights.
The ship had continued to sail erratically in the storm, and he had known a tense moment when a barrel in the cargo hold crashed against the hull behind him. He’d sucked in his breath and spun around in blind panic, familiar sensations from battle settling into his limbs. His rapid movement, combined with the ship’s lurch, threw him to the floor, where he knelt, taking several huge breaths.
Unexpected, loud noises—especially behind his back—had prompted similar reactions a handful of times since his return from battle in India. He’d been home less than a month and was attending the garden party of a former classmate when a child had set off a round of firecrackers. Daniel had dropped to the ground, covering his head with his hands. Blessedly few people had seen, but his mortification had been complete. He avoided events with the potential for sudden, loud noises as much as possible.
Once the cable had been repaired, he met Lewis in the engine room to review the faulty propeller programming codes. It was one more thing that should have been caught ahead of time, even with the ship having been readied hastily. It wasn’t necessary to automate the equipment for the entirety of a voyage; it could all be manually overridden or programmed in increments, if desired. He preferred all preparation done beforehand, though, and perhaps this time his efficiency had not been to his benefit.
His conversation with Isla about the possibility of his passengers shifting while still aboard rang in his ears as he returned to the wheelhouse. It certainly was something he’d worried about from the moment they departed, but now it seemed entirely plausible. According to Samson, Isla had left the wheelhouse with Lewis, who had offered to escort her to her quarters. Daniel had checked on her briefly to be sure she was well, relieved to find her eyes normal and her complexion less intensely green.
He worked through the dinner hour and beyond with Samson, and when the skies cleared and they had access to the stars again, they made the grim realization that they had lost at least two, possibly three days’ travel time.
Samson took the wheel and gently maneuvered the ship’s rudder to be certain all was in working order. The propellers were at full speed, the rudder was functional, and even with delays, they would not run out of fuel. Unfortunately, he had exchanged one set of problems for another.
He leaned against the counter, his shirtsleeves rolled up, his coat and vest having long since been thrown off. He pinched the bridge of his nose and rotated his aching shoulders and neck. His ’ton showed no signs of fatigue, and for a moment, Daniel was envious.
“Samson, I need you to make specific note of all islands between here and Port Lucy. We must determine which are inhabited, which have diplomatic ties to the Crown, and which are independent. I suspect we may need to stop before we reach the port. An uninhabited space would be ideal.”
Samson nodded. “Yes, sir. And how do you plan to explain such a detour to Mr. Crowe?”
Daniel sighed. “I shall manufacture a good story—tell him we are heading into another patch of bad weather. Or perhaps stage another malfunction. Crowe can hardly question it if he believes we’ve been forced to land.”
“I understand the preference for finding an uninhabited space.” Samson nodded, then paused. “Sir, I believe the extra exertion today may have caused me to run low prematurely. I should charge soon.”
“Excellent. Your cyborg-exhaustion makes me feel marginally better about my own limitations. Go—charge for a few hours. Relieve me at seven bells.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Thank you for your brilliance today, Samson. Although my gratitude means nothing to you.”
“On the contrary, Captain. I am intellectually aware that if I possessed emotions, your expressions of gratitude and appreciation would be of great benefit to me.” Samson smiled. “So, you are welcome.”
Daniel chuckled, and the ’ton left him alone. He withdrew his telescriber and typed in Cooper’s scribe code. He’d seen her cross the deck earlier, with Lewis’s solicitous help, which had made him scowl enough to bring on a headache. He knew from his quick visit to her quarters earlier that Cooper was recovering remarkably well. When the storm abated and the ship was calm, she had sat out on the deck for a long time before the cold drove her to the lounge. She still hadn’t had much of an appetite, but neither had Quince, Bonadea, or Crowe, so he heard dinner had been a subdued affair.
With your permission, I will unlock the connecting door between the cabins tonight. I shall leave you in peace, of course, but I will rest easier knowing that, should something happen, I would be able to assist you.
He sent the message, uncertain of how it would be received, but his motives were entirely pure; if anything, the open door would be a favor she granted to allay his concerns. The thought of her trapped in an unnatural sleep made him uneasy. The worst part was knowing that nothing he or anyone else did would awaken her. If she had a mortal enemy—Nigel Crowe came to mind—her life was forfeit without a fight.
His telescriber dinged in response.
If it will put your mind at ease, then I do not mind. Know that it is not necessary for me, however.
He smiled. Fiercely independent, as always. And although her response was true and he readily acknowledged it, it was telling that she felt the need to express it.
He busied himself over the next two hours documenting the day’s events. By the time Samson appeared at the door, Daniel was nearly asleep on his feet. He had hoped to return to his cabin before midnight, but by the time he and Samson discussed forecasts and plans for the next day, the time had come and gone.
Daniel left the wheelhouse. He checked Isla’s hallway door to be certain it was locked, and then entered his own quarters. Using the dry sink Robert had filled with fresh water, he cleaned away the day’s grime and scrubbed his hair. He donned a fresh shirt and trousers since he planned to open the connecting door and glanced at his bed with a ridiculous sense of anticipa
tion. He hadn’t been so tired in a long while.
There were two locks on the connecting door, one on either side. He used his key to unlock his side, and was prepared to pick the lock on hers, but when he tried the handle, it opened.
As he stood on the threshold of Isla Cooper’s cabin, his heart beat ridiculously fast, and he realized he was well and truly nervous. He’d struggled through the grueling tasks of creating his business, had served time in a bloody war, had lost limbs and organs and experienced excruciating surgeries and treatments—only to hesitate now? He rolled his eyes at his reluctance and took a deep breath.
She’s just sleeping, he told himself, and because she’d left a lamp on low, he saw her form in the bed. He moved quietly into the room and crept to her side. He bent down to see her better, and his heart lodged in his throat. He stumbled back and came up against the table or he would have fallen completely flat.
Isla Cooper was dead.
She was blue. She wasn’t breathing.
He scrambled back to her side and grabbed her shoulders. “Cooper! Cooper!” What had happened? Short of breath and light-headed, he sank onto the bed and shook her again. “Isla!”
Her head lolled back, and in a panic, unable to think, he lifted her against his chest, cradling her head close. Her arms hung limp and heavy; her body was cold. He rocked slowly back and forth, an ache spreading in his chest. It made no sense. She was vibrant, strong. Full of energy and life. He could not equate the woman he had seen in action over the last few days with the one who now exhibited less animation than a ’ton.
He released her, his throat raw, and set her gently back down on the pillow. He returned to his room for his telescriber and sent a quick message to Lewis, then waited by his door, his eyes burning and his stomach hurting so much he thought he might be ill.
In moments, a soft knock sounded and he opened the door.
Lewis’s expression was exhausted disbelief. “What happened to her?”
Daniel simply gestured for Lewis to follow him into the first mate’s cabin. He was numb. “I don’t know the details, but it is why she is going to Port Lucy,” he stammered. “A curse, a spell—she cannot awaken from midnight until six in the morning, but she never . . .” His voice broke, and he swallowed back bile. “She said she sleeps! That is not sleep!”
Lewis frowned and sat on the bed. He picked up her wrist and laid two fingers on the inside pulse point, then shook his head and put his hand at her throat. He repositioned his fingertips several times until he relaxed and straightened.
“She’s alive.”
Daniel stared at him, hardly believing it. He shoved Lewis’s arm aside and put his ear to her heart. Faintly, as light as a bird, he heard it beat. He tried to stand but his legs buckled, and he dropped to his knees.
“Daniel, look. A breath.”
Daniel looked up at Lewis, who watched Isla closely. They waited for what seemed an eternity, and then Daniel, too, saw the subtle rise and fall of her chest.
Lewis’s brows drew down in confusion. “She breathes every thirty seconds.” He looked at Daniel. “What is this?”
Daniel shook his head, his eyes gritty. “She hasn’t shared details, only that it involves her sister and a witch who was in London nearly a year ago before leaving for Port Lucy.”
Lewis nodded grimly. “And she needs the cure from the witch who cast it.”
“How do you know that?”
Lewis lifted a shoulder. “My mother is a Light Magick witch. She says I have some of her traits.” He smiled. “Why do you think I’m such a good medic?”
Daniel shoved himself upright and pulled the desk chair to her bedside. “I do not know if this is normal for her or if it’s gotten worse.”
“And she’s had it a year?”
“Nearly a year, she said.” He shook his head. “Her friend tracked the dark witch’s movements and discovered enough details about the curse to determine that Isla must have the cure immediately or it may become irreversible. She will be in this state every night.”
Lewis frowned. “Not only irreversible, I’m afraid. If it is at all similar to other curses with a deadline, she may not survive it at all.”
“It will kill her outright?”
“More likely she would be like this day and night—not dead, not quite alive—forever.”
Daniel stared at him. “What can we do?”
Lewis lifted his mouth in a small smile. “We are going to help the good doctor find her cure. And then I suppose I’ll watch you try to court her.”
Daniel scowled. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Lewis looked pointedly at Daniel’s hand, which clutched the sleeve of her nightdress.
He forced his fingers loose. “I hardly know her.”
Lewis raised a brow. “Are you this concerned about all the people you hardly know?”
Daniel’s chest began to loosen by degrees, as though his mind and body finally accepted Isla wasn’t dead. He shrugged, exhausted. “I don’t know what it is. Perhaps I’m tired. Perhaps I’ve been too long without the company of a woman of society.”
Lewis grinned. “My mother believes in soul mates. Two halves of the same whole and all that rot.” He clapped Daniel’s shoulder and stood. “I am hoping I possess my own soul in its entirety. So much simpler.” He walked to the door and turned, sobering. “Awaken me at once if anything changes. Tomorrow I suggest we have her tell us all the details. We need to know what we’re up against. She may not be thrilled about the suggestion, but Quince and Bonadea are both a wealth of information, and the more people she has aiding her cause, the better her chances of success.” He shook his head. “Entirely too independent for her own good, that one. Needs to learn to allow others to help.”
“Thank you for coming so quickly. I didn’t know what to do.” The admission cost him dearly, because he was a man who always knew what to do.
“Get some sleep, my friend.”
He nodded. “I will.” Daniel’s throat was raw, and his exhaustion had reached new heights.
Lewis quietly exited through Daniel’s cabin, and the room was still again.
Daniel reviewed the events of the last thirty minutes or so, from the time he’d left the wheelhouse. He’d known it from the first moment that first day when she’d stood before him and threatened her way onto his ship. He’d known then somehow that she would upend his life, and it had already begun.
He didn’t believe in supernatural foresight, or fate, or anything that flew in the face of his well-honed senses of logic and pragmatism. When he’d thought she was dead, however, he’d felt as though his heart had been pulled from his chest. He tried to tell himself he would have been just as horrified to walk into Quince’s cabin and find him lifeless. It was a useless endeavor to convince himself that was true. Somehow he couldn’t envision himself being so far gone in grief that he would clutch the old man’s nightshirt.
He straightened and stood, stretching his cramped legs. “I need to sleep,” he muttered and looked down at her still form. “Isla Cooper, we have much to discuss tomorrow.” First on his list of complaints would be that she neglected to tell him that when she said she “slept as though dead” that she slept as though dead.
He reached down, brushing her hair away from her face and settling her blankets. He looked at her face, peaceful but still appearing so lifeless that his heart thumped hard, and he waited interminably to see her chest rise and fall with a breath.
With a heavy sigh, he returned to his cabin. As exhausted as he was, he ought to have been able to drift immediately into oblivion, but Lewis’s words tumbled around in his brain until he thought he’d go mad. If she couldn’t find a cure in time, she may sleep forever. The thought of her lying alone in the next room, barely breathing and having lived her life believing she could depend on only herself made him feel ill. He muttered a curse and yan
ked his blankets off the bed. He crossed his cabin to the window seat and lifted the long cushion, dragging it with him into the other room.
He settled the cushion on the deck next to her bunk and tried to make himself comfortable on it, although it was a foot too short. It wasn’t any worse than the sleep he wasn’t getting in his bed, though. His breathing deepened, his exhausted muscles grew heavy, and for the first time since the eternally long day had begun, he relaxed.
Isla awoke the next morning and noted immediately that the chair usually situated at the table had been moved. She frowned, wondering if they’d passed through another storm in the night. If so, she was grateful she’d slept through it. She stretched and stood, pulling against the lethargy and cold. She’d found that moving helped her warm up more quickly. She glanced at the door that connected her cabin to Pickett’s and noted it was still closed. Had he not opened it, then?
She shrugged and went through her routine, shaking her hands, preparing for the day, donning the fresh clothing she’d laundered, and shaking her hands some more. She twisted and pinned her hair up, feeling the lump on her head and wincing. It would be tender for a while.
Yesterday’s events had been unsettling, and she wondered if the others felt the same sense of weariness. She left the cabin, hoping to find Daniel in the wheelhouse, and spied him with Samson as soon as she stepped onto the deck. She moved to the stairs leading to the upper deck, and sunlight slipped through the cracks between the sails, glinting off the enormous wheelhouse windows.
For the first time in ages, she couldn’t be irritated with the bright sunlight. It was such a welcome relief from the storms that she didn’t even mind having to squint. The ship moved forward at its customary pace, the propellers’ thrum steady and consistent, and a stream of bright blue sky was like a comforting dome above.
She spied Samson on the other side of the wheelhouse door, and he nodded at her as he opened it.
Kiss of the Spindle Page 9