Tethered

by Meljean Brook

  Flattering, but it probably wouldn’t have helped. “Some men, the words aren’t there, because they aren’t interested in the argument. They’re only interested in being right—their interpretation of right—and no argument will shake them from that.” Archimedes had learned this lesson well; he’d spent a good portion of his life trying to prove his father wrong. “In the end, you realize that the only thing to do is to get away from them, if you can. And if you can’t, to kill them.”

  With a slight smile, Yasmeen looked up at him. “Or just be thankful when someone does it for you.”

  And then fall madly in love with her.

  “That won’t make me right,” Joseph said.

  “It wouldn’t,” Archimedes said. “But when he decides that even the ones who quietly ask are a threat, you aren’t as likely to be sent down to the stoker’s quarters.”

  With a sigh, he nodded. He looked over at his companion when Doyle gestured beyond their quarters, then glanced that way. His expression tightened. “Well, they’ve come already.”

  A pair of gloved guards, their aviator goggles down around their necks. Had they been the ones to shoot down the Canary? Archimedes couldn’t be certain. And by tonight it wouldn’t matter.

  “Captain,” the one on the right said. Though slightly bulkier than his companion, taller and darker, they shared the same lack of expression. “We’ve begun our inventory. Please accompany us to Father Bushke’s quarters. He will have questions regarding your crew and ledgers.”

  “I will.” Yasmeen nodded coolly. “I suppose it’s to the city’s advantage if I tell him exactly which task each of my men and women are best suited for, and how much coal I’ll be adding to your bunkers.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  And this was exactly what they’d hoped for. Yasmeen could scout the route to Bushke’s quarters and their layout. Still, Archimedes couldn’t stop the dread that filled his chest. He wouldn’t be at her side.

  While the guards unlocked the door, she slanted a look at him from beneath her lashes. “I’ll be all right.”

  Of course she would. He still worried. “I’d be less concerned if you had a weapon,” he said softly.

  “I do.” Lightly, she traced a claw down his forearm. “And if I need another one, I’ll just take the guards’.”

  Grinning, he watched her go. The door clanged closed again. A path led across the garden terraces, branching off here and there, leading to different stairs that apparently each descended into the living quarters of an airship. He’d never seen her amid such greenery. Her long easy stride was beautiful to behold anywhere, but here the feline grace seemed especially pronounced, almost a prowl. Perhaps because she walked past so many people who had no idea the sort of woman who’d been caged in their presence. Perhaps because the scouting mission brought her hunting instincts to the fore. Perhaps because he simply preferred to see her free.

  Not that she hadn’t been already free, in a manner of speaking. She’d only remained caged because she’d chosen to stay there.

  Whatever the reason, he could easily have spent all day, simply watching her walk—except that after a few minutes passed, he happened to glance at Joseph and Doyle. They watched her, too, but without the same awe. Frustration, pity, and helplessness marked their faces, instead.

  Archimedes gripped the iron bars, his heart suddenly racing. “Joseph?”

  Fists clenched, the man shook his head. “There’s nothing you can do for her.”

  “What? What are you saying?”

  Doyle answered. “A decade ago, perhaps a bit more…rumor is, a couple of men managed to escape. Since then, others have tried. Most failed, but they tried, leading the others who’d come with them.”

  “All of them had been the masters of their ships, someone who was already in a position to lead them,” Joseph said. “So Bushke began to eliminate the problem within the first few days.”

  Eliminating it? Christ. Archimedes swung around, saw that Longcock had already risen to his feet and was heading for Maria Barriga de Lata.

  Hurry. But Archimedes slowed, forced himself to learn more. He couldn’t run into this situation blindly. “How?”

  “On the main deck of his quarters. He meets with her, as they said. He’ll discover what he needs—strongbox combinations and the like. Then…they make it quick.”

  Yasmeen was quick, too. But though she would be wary, he knew she wasn’t expecting this. “How?”

  Doyle exchanged a glance with Joseph, then sighed. “From what I’ve seen, it’s a shot to the back of the head.”

  God. Even Yasmeen couldn’t outrun that. “Open the doors.”

  “You can’t do anything—”

  “She’s my wife!”

  Joseph stilled. With wide eyes, he looked to the others inside the cage. Whatever confirmation he was seeking, he must have found it.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. We don’t have the key.”

  No. Archimedes didn’t waste time with the denial. It would slow him down, but he could pick the lock—if only he had a goddamn pick. Mrs. Fortescue rushed up, yanking a long pin from her hair.

  With a saucy wink, she said, “We don’t need a key, sir.”

  She went to work. Crouching beside him, Longcock opened a leather pouch streaked with drying offal. “Gun?”

  “A revolver, my grappling, and the red-handled daggers.” He tore off his jacket, shrugged the grappling apparatus over his shoulders like a harness. He tucked the pistol beneath the leather band around his back, then pulled off his boots. “Joseph, take off your tunic.”

  “What?”

  “Now.”

  The man drew off his top, shoved it through the bars. Archimedes pulled it on. Without needing to be asked, Joseph shucked his trousers, then looked doubtfully at the orange breeches Archimedes tossed him in return. A moment later, Mrs. Fortescue opened the door with a flourish.

  Archimedes hauled up the homespun. “I will kiss you later, you wonderful woman.”

  “I’ll settle for another look at your backside.”

  “I’ll give you both. Mademoiselle Vashon, I expect that there will soon be a commotion coming from Bushke’s quarters. Wait until most of the guards have run in that direction, then please free Lady Nergüi from her tether.”

  “She told me that we would carry that exercise out tonight, sir.”

  “We’re doing it now.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did she point out the rapid-fire guns to you?”

  “Yes. We’ve got those covered, sir.”

  He looked to Longcock, who was sliding bullets into the ammunition chambers in his arms. A blissful smile carved the first mate’s face as he thrust each cartridge home. “You’ll take the hangar shed?”

  “I will.”

  Then Doyle, last. “You know others who want to escape?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then spread the word and tell them to get ready. I expect hell to break loose in about ten minutes.” He held the other man’s eyes. “You’ll have to fight with us. Use your hoes, if you have to. We need to take out the guards and flyers. Everyone else, we’re happy to leave alone as long as they don’t step into our way.”

  With a glance at Joseph, who nodded, Doyle took off at a run. Archimedes stepped through the door, closed it behind him. If any guards happened to come this way, there was no reason to give them advance notice of their impending escape.

  He tore off a sprig of jasmine and tucked it near his heart, then started off across the gardens.

  * * *

  Bushke had brought too many good people to New Eden. By the time Yasmeen was halfway across the gardens, she’d seen her impending death in the slump of their shoulders as she passed, in the angry stares they directed toward the guards leading her to Bushke’s quarters, in the closed eyes and prayers whispered on behalf of her soul.

  Would they shoot her while she walked out here in the open? No, she thought. Fear could keep people complaisant, but terror often
pushed them to action. Bushke could have made examples of any of the dissenters he’d sent below the city, but instead they’d quietly disappeared.

  Once they reached his quarters, she’d probably be taken below, too, using his access through the hangar—or her throat slit while they spoke, and her body disposed of over the side.

  A flash of reflected light caught her eye. Across the gardens, a guard stood on the bow of an old cloud trawler with a spyglass in one hand; he used a mirror to signal the two in front of her. Her escorts stopped, facing the direction from which they’d just come, their gazes focused beyond her.

  Yasmeen turned. She scanned the gardens, the path—

  Archimedes?

  His gaze had fixed on her. That look told her what she’d already guessed: Bushke had meant to kill her. He must have learned it from Joseph or his companion, and come to warn her.

  No, not just warn her. He’d have set the rest of their plan in motion, as well. And perhaps if he hadn’t been so damn handsome, perhaps if—even wearing the same tunic and trousers—he didn’t hold himself so differently from everyone else in New Eden, he might have followed her without attracting attention.

  But since he had, she’d protect him now, too. “He’s my husband,” she said to the guards. And if Bushke wanted to speak to the Lady Nergüi’s captain, she’d give him a reason to bring them both in. “He’s co-captain of my ship.”

  Another flash came from the opposite side of the garden, repeated twice. Another guard, another spyglass. The signal repeated again.

  Twenty yards away, Archimedes abruptly stopped, eyes widening. His gaze snapped to hers. Behind her, she heard a familiar click: a gun, the hammer cocked.

  By the lady. “Archimedes! Down!”

  The roar of a blunderbuss drowned out her scream. Red bloomed in his shoulder. He spun, then staggered to the side.

  “Archimedes!” She sprinted toward him, heart bursting in her chest. A shoulder shot wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t so bad—

  He fell.

  Vanished.

  Her cry caught in her throat. She threw herself after him. Thick soil cushioned her knees. A hole opened in the ground before her.

  Access to the level below? If so, the guards wouldn’t have an angle for another shot. Now she would look down, and he would be on the platform below, grinning up at her. Almost laughing now, she braced her hands, glanced over.

  Nothing. Just water, far below.

  That couldn’t be.

  He’d be hanging on the framework, then—

  He wasn’t.

  This couldn’t be right. Her vision was blurring, and she just wasn’t seeing properly. Closing her eyes, Yasmeen shook her head, looked again.

  He would be there.

  But there was only water. Only the dissipating smoke trail from a flyer. Only gulls, cawing. And a woman crying that she needed to wake up now, needed to wake up, because she couldn’t lose him.

  Then pain exploded in the back of her head, and she was swept into darkness, instead.

  Chapter 8

  He truly was the luckiest man alive—and now, still alive.

  And he’d finally, finally proved his father wrong: God did love men who wore adornments. He must, because there was no other reason for the Almighty to send a steam-powered flyer streaking beneath a floating city at the very instant that Archimedes Fox fell through a rubbish hole.

  The pilot was a bit less lucky—or just too foolish to have strapped himself to the flyer’s body. The jolt of Archimedes’ landing bucked the man straight off. With a whoop, Archimedes scooted into his place. He didn’t know how to pilot the damned thing, but he just needed to steady it a bit while he tore off the god-awful homespun tunic—bloodied now. The wind whipped it away. His shoulder hurt like hell, but he’d had worse.

  He’d have much worse if he didn’t get off this machine before he flew it into a steel beam or rode it into the water. There were the turbines passing overhead—he shifted his weight, and the flyer banked toward the bow of the ship. He had no idea how to land it in the hangar, and didn’t want to kill himself trying.

  Thank God for sending the flyer—and for pneumatic-launched grappling hooks.

  He was losing altitude. Now or never.

  The launcher’s recoil shrieked through his shoulder. The grappling whipped around a railing on the suspended walkway. The cable drew taut and yanked him off the flyer. The harness saved his arms from being ripped from their sockets—climbing a cable after being shot by a blunderbuss was painful enough.

  He was almost to the railing when a group of men started across the steel walkway. Stokers, by the look of them—each one of them covered in coal dust. They suddenly quieted when Archimedes pulled himself over the rail and tumbled to the steel grating.

  They gaped as if they’d never seen a ridiculously handsome bleeding man in a turquoise waistcoat fall through a rubbish hole and then save himself with a grappling hook before. What did they do for fun in New Eden?

  But he had no time to ask. He had a wife to save.

  He reached for his revolver. “How do I find William Bushke? I have a message to deliver.”

  With a bullet. Except, goddammit—the revolver wasn’t in his harness. Falling onto the flyer or being yanked around by the cable must have shaken it loose.

  No matter. He’d make do.

  One of the men pointed to another suspended walkway. Archimedes nodded his thank-you, then added, “If you’d like to leave this damn city, I’m a madman with an airship and a plan. Just follow along, maybe throw a punch or two if one of the guards makes it past me, and we’ll get the hell out of here.”

  With that, he started down the walkway. No time to wait for their answer.

  Not while Yasmeen waited for him to return to her side.

  * * *

  She didn’t know which one had pummeled her head with his steel glove. She didn’t know which one had shot Archimedes. It didn’t matter. She would kill them all.

  Not yet, though. Not yet. Not when she couldn’t even draw breath.

  Her tears dripped in a steady stream, splashing against the polished deck between her knees. She’d opened her eyes in William Bushke’s quarters, but she hadn’t yet made it to her feet.

  She would get up. She would.

  Not yet.

  Archimedes could survive the fall to the water. Even though he bled and the ocean teemed with sharks, Archimedes would return to her side.

  He had to. Or she would die with him.

  “I am sorry for this tragedy, Mrs. Gunther-Baptiste. Truly I am.” The kindly faced tyrant crouched in front of her. “But my guards believed he carried a weapon beneath his tunic—and that he was en route to my quarters. They were only protecting the safety of our citizens.”

  She would kill him, too. It would be easy. This old wardroom had been transformed into a library. Six guards stood in the cabin with them. None of them had their guns ready. She would leap for the nearest guard, rip his throat out with her claws and take his weapon. The second would fall just as the others finally began to react. The third’s body would serve as a shield, and she’d use the guns she’d collected while ripping out throats to shoot the remaining three guards. Bushke would be last, the slowest.

  But she couldn’t yet. Taking that revenge meant admitting there was something to take revenge for. And he wasn’t dead.

  Another reason, perhaps. Even over the sounds of her tears and the screaming of her heart she heard the faint sounds of gunfire echoing up through the companionway outside the wardroom. The others hadn’t heard heard it yet, but she knew the sound: George Longcock was in the hangar shed.

  She would have to be careful not to slip on her tears—they were as slippery as blood.

  With a sigh, Bushke rose and made his way back toward his desk. “I can see that you are overwhelmed, but there are matters which must be attended to, and…”

  He paused, head tilted, and moved toward the passageway to listen at the open library door. Yasmeen
listened, too, but there was no more gunfire. Longcock had finished.

  She would need to get started.

  But not yet. Not until her heart beat again.

  Shaking his head, Bushke faced her. He sent a quick glance at one of the guards, who began to move around behind Yasmeen.

  Bushke picked up where he’d left off. “And so, Mrs. Gunther-Baptiste, I thought we might have a little chat about—”

  His eyes widened suddenly, his body stiffening. His left arm rose. Blood bubbled from his mouth. He fell forward, facedown and flat on the floor.

  A red-handled dagger jutted up from his back.

  Archimedes.

  The wonderful, incredible man. Joy rushed through her, fierce and sweet. Her laugh burst, easing the pain around her lungs, lifting the weight from her heart.

  The guards shouted, heading for the door, guns drawn. Heading for Archimedes.

  She caught the guard who rushed past her; he didn’t have time to scream. The next guard’s neck snapped like a twig. She took down the third, and the other guards hadn’t even recognized the fury coming from behind. Another one fell, and finally, another guard noticed. He had time to widen his eyes.

  The last one she left for Archimedes. He didn’t disappoint. The matching dagger flew through the doorway, embedded in the guard’s throat.

  Her husband came through next. He paused for a moment, staring at her before crossing the room, catching her face in his gentle hands. His thumbs swept over her cheeks. “Not these, Yasmeen. Not for me.”

  “I won’t,” she said. But her eyes filled again. She touched his hair, his jaw, his mouth. Solid, real. Her voice trembled. “You came back to me.”

  His smile all but wrecked her again. “I promised I would. And I had to save you.”

  He had saved her, more than he could know. Then his mouth was on hers, bringing her heart into the space between them, restarting it with the sweetest kiss.

  When he lifted his head, she followed him up. She would stop kissing him.

  But not yet.

  * * *

  They met up with Longcock in the hangar. The first mate had finished off most of the guards, and as they made their way back to Lady Nergüi, Bushke’s remaining guards had surrendered—a tyrant fallen, and not a single member of her new crew lost.