The Lady Captain

by Caylen McQueen

  “What would you have me do to him?” Harriot asked.

  “Find out who he told, then kill him,” Loreina said. “And if he has told someone else... kill them too.”

  Harriot answered her request with an obedient nod. “It shall be done, Your Highness.”

  His quiet deference made Loreina's heart shudder. In some strange way, he reminded her of Francis Doon. Formerly her favorite privateer, Doon was an unscrupulous rogue, but he always bent his knee to her—until he betrayed her. She hoped for stauncher loyalty from Harriot.

  “You know... Tom...” Loreina's fingers lightly brushed the delectable black curls that fell over his forehead. “I find you fascinating. Frightening, but fascinating.”

  His visible eyebrow raised. “Is that so?”

  “Indeed. I'm attracted to danger... and to mystery. I imagine you're very handsome beneath that mask.” Loreina, who was wearing a burgundy wig, wound a lock of hair around her finger as she flirted with him. “I'm not wrong, am I? After all, you have beautiful blue eyes.”

  “I, uh... thank you?” Harriot sounded unsure of his reply.

  “If you should find yourself in the vicinity of my bedchamber, and I'm not preoccupied by a feeble old man, feel free to visit me. I would be very eager to entertain you.”

  “I will bear that in mind, Your Grace.”

  Loreina pouted at Harriot's emotionless response. Why was it so difficult to get a man to flirt with her? She couldn't wait until Julian Featherstone returned, because that was a man who never shied away from a meaningless tumble.

  Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the garden, Isabella was enjoying breakfast with her brother. If the sausage hanging from his mouth was any indication, Nico enjoyed it far more than she did. He didn't use a fork, he let it dangle from his lips as he slowly devoured it.

  “Nico!” she whimpered her brother's name. “That looks vulgar! Why are you eating it like that?”

  “Becff ish mosht tssty mff shhistuff.”

  Isabella didn't understand a word, not while his voice was muffled by the tremendous sausage he chewed. “I thought you didn't like that particular sausage,” she said. “Now you can't seem to get enough of it!”

  At long last, Nico swallowed his final bite. “I dunno why I wouldn't like it, 'cause it was really good.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and burped.

  “I can see your manners suffered greatly during your five-day absence,” Isabella sighed. “You're acting... gross.”

  “I'm normal!” Nico defended himself. “You're the one who's acting all hoity toity and un-normal!”

  “Don't you mean abnormal?”

  “Yeah. Right. That.” When Nico bit into a tea cake, its crumbs littered his shirt. He devoured it in two bites, wiped his dirty fingers on his breeches and said, “Hey... I think I have to poo.”

  “Nicooo!” the princess whined again. “I didn't need to know that! Goodness, in what awful part of town did you pick up such terrible habits? What sort of ill-mannered people taught you to behave like that?”

  Her brother didn't have an explanation. He simply said, “bye,” then he rose from his chair, pilfered a sausage from her plate, and headed in the direction of the palace. Isabella's brow was quizzically pinched as she watched him walk away. Nico wasn't acting like himself in the slightest. It was as if his time away from the capital had turned him into someone else entirely.

  When Nico was gone, Isabella quickly finished her breakfast and took a turn around the garden. Ominous gray clouds loomed in the sky, but she didn't let them deter her. The flowers were still beautiful and fragrant, regardless of the sky's color.

  Isabella stopped to smell the azaleas, which were some of her favorite flowers, but an abnormally large bee chased her from the area. After a harrowing escape, she sat on a wicker bench and decided to read. Before her book was open, she saw movement in the corner of her eye, so she lifted her gaze to investigate. Her stepmother and Tom Harriot were strolling through the garden, arm-in-arm. Empress Maria had a fan in her hand, which she used to rap her companion's wrist. From Isabella's vantage point, it looked like a flirtatious gesture.

  While she would never approve of her stepmother flirting with a man who wasn't her father, Isabella couldn't blame her. Thomas Harriot was a fine figure of a man—tall and broad-shouldered. His mask was odd but intriguing, and his demeanor was quiet but imposing. His hair was pitch black, as were his clothes. Her brother's strange friend had captured her interest, and Isabella could hardly deny it.

  She tried to ignore him and focus on her book, but her thoughts kept drifting from the page, as did her eyes. When he disappeared from view, she felt strangely disappointed, but it temporarily restored her ability to concentrate.

  A few minutes later, Harriot reappeared. She saw him heading down the path in her direction, and the empress was no longer with him. Isabella held her breath as she saw him approaching. She tried to think of something clever to say to him, but her wits failed her. As he walked by, Harriot acknowledged her presence with a nod, but he didn't say a word. And Isabella, a victim of her shyness, was silent and still.

  Isabella didn't know why she was so intrigued by him. Harriot was a curiosity, to be sure, but it was more than that. She was dying to know what was under the mask. She was dying to know how he had befriended her brother. She was dying to know something about him, but that would be impossible as long as she was too timid to talk to him.

  The princess decided to challenge herself. She closed her book, rose from the bench, and followed him at a distance. When the moment was right, and when her courage was found, she would speak to him.

  Harriot turned a corner, heading deeper into the maze of flora. Isabella stayed close, but not too close. If he happened to glance in her direction, she didn't want her pursuit to be obvious. To Isabella's surprise, he stopped beside the tiger lilies and lightly stroked their speckled petals. It was odd, considering the fact that he had at least three pistols fastened to his belt. His affinity for guns was obvious. His affinity for flowers, however, was a shock.

  When Harriot turned in her direction, Isabella spun toward the flowers and tried to look as aloof as possible. He didn't say anything, so she sidled a bit closer, hoping a smaller gap would inspire him to speak. But he didn't. It was up to Isabella to start a conversation.

  “I like your flower,” she bravely spoke up.

  “My... flower? What do you mean?”

  His reply sounded a bit aggravated, but she didn't let it affect her. “On your hat. The flower.” Isabella pointed at the brim of his bowler hat. “I like it. It's very fetching.”

  As he fished the tulip from the brim of his hat, Harriot was sneering. “Oh. I didn't know that was there.” He suddenly held it out to her. “Do you want it?”

  “I... um... y-yes. That would be lovely.” Isabella's cheeks were flaming when she accepted the tulip from Harriot's outstretched hand. Was she foolish to think it was a romantic gesture? “It, um... it looks like it might rain.” She pointed at the sky, which had grown twice as dark since breakfast.

  “Indeed.”

  “When I was a child, I used to play in the rain,” she said. “It used to make my father so angry because my soggy skirts would soak the palace floor.”

  She could only see part of Harriot's nose, but it appeared to be wrinkled. After a short pause, he roughly stated, “You're still a child.”

  “Oh, but I'm nearly eighteen!”

  “You say that as if it makes a world of difference.”

  “Doesn't it?” As her lips plummeted into a frown, the sound of thunder rattled the sky. “I'm technically an adult, am I not?”

  Harriot didn't give her a proper reply, he simply murmured, “Hmm.”

  “And how old are you, Mr. Harriot?” Isabella asked. “That is what I should call you, right? Mr. Harriot? Or do you have another title that I'm not aware of?”

  Tom didn't answer any of her questions. His disinterest in conversing with her was blatantly
obvious. Isabella's heart sank. There had to be something she could say to get him engaged.

  “Nico's acting... odd.”

  For some reason, that seemed to get his attention. As his arms crossed, Harriot asked, “Odd in what way?”

  “He's saying funny things. Inappropriate things,” Isabella explained. “He likes food that he's always hated, and he hates food that he always liked. This morning, he ate his sausage but he didn't touch his porridge. It was so strange!”

  “A person's preferences can change over time. His trip to Baltmoor must have been eye-opening.” Of course, Harriot had a good reason to convince the princess of Nico's perfectly normal behavior. He doubted she would think her brother was replaced; nevertheless, he couldn't let her suspicions thrive.

  “I'm sure you're right. Still, it's odd to think a person could change so dramatically.”

  Another roar of thunder shook the sky. Hoping to change the subject, Harriot stepped forward and held out a hand. “Will you allow me to escort you back to the palace, Your Highness? Rain seems inevitable. We should go inside before we get wet.”

  “Must we?” Isabella's frown returned. “I've always thought there was something beautiful about the garden when it rains. It's haunting. Or... maybe a bit sad?”

  “It's not sad. Flowers like rain.” Harriot forcibly took her hand and led her in the direction of the palace. She already had a preexisting desire to be close to him, so the princess didn't resist. He could have led her anywhere, and she would have obediently followed.

  “You're very tall,” Isabella observed as the first droplets landed on her forehead.

  “Maybe. Or maybe you're very short.” Determined to escape the rain, Harriot increased his pace.

  “I am short. And you're tall. You make me feel tiny.”

  Harriot didn't say another word until they were inside the palace, and what he said was terribly disappointing. “Farewell, Your Highness.”

  “But... wait!” She started to grab his arm, but he was too fast. “I had something else to ask you!” It was a lie, of course, she just wanted to keep him with her.

  “Farewell,” he repeated, then he charged down the hall before he was subjected to any more of her inane questions.

  Fifteen

  “I have a plan to get you out of the brothel,” Mae excitedly told Nico when she met him in the pub. She kept her voice low to discourage any eavesdroppers. “There are usually three guards watching the door at all times. Well... one of them's sick today, and another just quit his job, and until they can rework a new schedule tomorrow, there will be only one guard tonight.”

  The words were flying from Mae's tongue, so Nico said, “Tell me slowly... I need to get this in my head.”

  “Alright...” Mae took a deep breath before continuing. She grabbed Nico's arm and pulled him to the nearest table, which was covered in filthy dishes, but she didn't seem to notice or care. She leaned close, until her mouth was an inch away from his ear. To any onlookers, it would look like they were sharing an intimate moment, which was hardly uncommon in the brothel. “In less than two hours, Martell will be the only guard watching the door.” She pointed at a large, shirtless, beast of a man. “Well, Martell has a major crush on my friend, Zita, so I'll have her distract him while you slip out.”

  “That... seems like it could work.”

  “No, it will work! And it's your only chance, because there'll be more guards tomorrow.” Mae's fingers nervously drummed the table as she continued to discuss the plan. “If for some reason Martell notices you, you'll need a make a quick getaway. There's a motocarriage in front of the brothel. I think you should steal it!”

  “Motocarriage?” Both of Nico's eyebrows raised. “What's a motocarriage, exactly?”

  “It's basically a carriage that doesn't need horses. It runs with an engine. They're all the rage right now, but they're kind of expensive, so not a lot of people have them yet.” Frances was watching them, so Mae had to make it look more like an intimate moment. She sat on Nico's lap, ignored his gasp, and licked his ear. Then she continued in a whisper, “The motocarriage in front of The Velvet Dame belongs to Kieran McCray.” She pointed across the room. The intoxicated ex-mercenary was already struggling to keep his eyes open—and it was the early afternoon.

  “Uh...” It took Nico a moment to process what she said. As soon as Mae's tongue touched his ear, his thoughts were scrambled. “So... somehow, you want to steal McCray's motocarriage?” He shook his head. “I'd feel bad stealing from someone else.”

  “Don't be ridiculous!” When Mae swatted his chest, she tried to make it look flirtatious. “Right now, you need it more than he does. Once you're out of the brothel, you can't just take off running down the street. You need to put some distance between you and Martell. What if he comes after you? What if Vee does? No... you need the motocarriage, Nico. Besides, don't you need to get to the capital? You'll need a vehicle for that.”

  Mae made a good argument. Though he hated to resort to theft, Nico was starting to warm up to the idea. Returning to the palace was more important than an ex-mercenary's joyride. “Alright. How do you propose to steal it?”

  “Well, you'll need the key.” Mae's eyes narrowed as she studied Kieran McCray. “Leave that to me.”

  “Wait, what are you planning? It's nothing dangerous, is it? I wouldn't want you to get hurt because of me.”

  “It's okay. I'm just going to seduce him and take him back to my room.”

  Nico couldn't believe how nonchalant she sounded. “No, Mae! I can't have you do that!”

  “Don't worry about it. It's no different than my usual job... not really. Besides, it's not like I'll actually end up having sex with him. Look at him! He's half-asleep already. I just need to get a few more shots in his system, and he'll probably fall asleep as soon as his head hits a pillow.” Mae shrugged. “And even if I did have sex with him, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. At least he's handsome.”

  Frances reunited with Vee, who led her into the back rooms of the brothel. Now that she was no longer being watched, Mae was free to put her plan into action. Nico didn't protest—he didn't say much of anything, actually—so she assumed he was on board with the idea. First, she asked Zita for a favor. Next, she had another bottle of whiskey brought to Kieran's table. Before delivering the bottle, she mixed in a bit of valerian root, her favorite insomnia cure. If she was going to pick his pockets, he needed to be as sleepy as possible.

  After he had a few more shots in him, Mae decided it was time to make her move. She tugged at her dress, revealing as much cleavage as possible as she hovered by his table. When their eyes met, Kieran raised the bottle and said, with a grunt, “This smells like shit! What the bloody hell is wrong with this whiskey?”

  It was the valerian root. It had a foul smell, but she thought he would be too drunk to notice. “I'm sorry, sir,” Mae apologized and simpered. “Is it not to your liking? If you'd like, I can get you another bottle.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and leaned forward, until her breasts were dangerously close to spilling from her dress.

  That seemed to do the trick. Kieran forgot all about the foul-smelling whiskey when his eyes dropped to her chest. “Would you like to have a seat, Miss...?”

  “Mae. And yes, I would like a seat.” When she landed on his lap, Kieran looked pleasantly surprised. “Is this sufficient?”

  “Oh, it's more than sufficient, love!”

  Mae briefly glanced back at Nico, whose forehead was creased with worry. It was encouraging to know he cared. “So... your name's Kieran McCray, right?” Mae lovingly stroked his hair. “I've heard about you. You have a reputation, you know.”

  “Uh oh,” Kieran grunted. “You haven't heard anything too terrible, I hope?”

  “Nope. I've heard only good things, I promise. For example, I heard you used to be the best mercenary in Englund. I heard you fought forty duels and only lost once.”

  He grunted again. He didn't want to be reminded of Fr
ancis Doon's smug face. “Aye. But I'd rather not think about the time I lost.”

  “I heard...” Mae leaned in, until her cheek was brushing against his. “I heard you're very well-equipped. And I'm not talking about guns, Mr. McCray.” Her hand lightly grazed his crotch.

  “Would you like to find out?”

  Mae grinned. Seducing him was much easier than she expected it to be. “I would.”

  “How much do you charge, love?”

  “For you? Nothing.” Kieran looked skeptical, so she really had to sell it. Pushing her chest forward, Mae said, “I want you. I've been watching you for days and I want you so bad.”

  A lusty, guttural groan rose from his throat. Mae was a beautiful girl, but her timing was terrible. Kieran couldn't remember the last time he felt so exhausted. What if he couldn't stay awake to give her what she wanted?

  “Will you come with me to my room?” Mae combed a hand through Kieran's messy brown hair, which was nearly to his shoulders. “You'll have an amazing time, I promise.”

  Mae hopped to her feet, seized the collar of Kieran's shirt, and dragged him to the stairs. Before they climbed, she checked Nico's face again. He looked devastated. While she appreciated his concern, it wasn't necessary. She could handle herself.

  “I noticed you limping,” Mae observed as Kieran staggered to her room. “I'm not sure if you're drunk or injured.”

  “Both,” a chuckling Kieran replied. “I was injured by a man named Doon. It never healed properly. That's why I'm not a successful mercenary anymore. Nobody wants to hire a gimp.”

  “Well, that's a shame.” Kieran had his arm around her, and she was practically dragging him along, so when they reached her door, she had to kick it open.

  “You know what... uh...” Kieran was squinting as he stared at her. “What did you say your name was, love?”

  “Mae.”