The Kraken King, Part 1

by Meljean Brook

  He’d also been behind Zenobia’s first kidnapping—an attempt to blackmail her brother and his wife.

  And so what if the governor had shown interest? Surely she wasn’t so desperate for attention. If she had been, her heart would have fallen prey to one of the many men who’d arrived in Fladstrand after her identity as Archimedes Fox’s sister had been revealed. Some of them had been quite adept at pretending their attention had nothing to do with her brother’s fortune or her own writing fame. Many had been as handsome as the governor, too, with strong stubborn jaws and wide shoulders. Others had possessed dark brooding eyes beneath brows that hovered like thunderclouds.

  And none of those men had reputations as dangerous as the Kraken King’s. She should have been frightened. It was a failing of practicality on her part that, instead of fearing him, she was only a little wary.

  So it was absurd. But she would continue to enjoy his attention for now, and the way her heart beat a little faster when he was near.

  Quite a bit faster. And she couldn’t seem to focus on anyone else, either. When he joined them, standing almost directly to her right, she was aware that the governor nodded in response to Blanchett’s greeting, yet she didn’t have a clue what the lieutenant had actually said.

  But she knew the governor’s gaze had never left hers.

  He didn’t begin with niceties. “You’ve found your residence?”

  “Yes, thank you. Cooper showed us. It’s lovely.” Not a single house as she was accustomed to, but a collection of structures with graceful, tiered roofs, all sharing a private garden. “I hope your arm is feeling better?”

  The bullet wound no longer bled, at least—or it had been bandaged. He’d changed into a clean tunic, and no red stained the white sleeve.

  “It feels as if I was shot,” he said.

  “I supposed hauling me out of the water didn’t help it.”

  “No.” His gaze swept her length. “You were much heavier than you look.”

  Helene gasped softly, her eyes widening, but Zenobia had to laugh. While smuggling Horde technology and weapons, he must have concealed many valuables inside other items. He could probably guess with fair accuracy how much gold made up the difference between her apparent weight and the weight that he’d lifted.

  “It was the seawater saturating my clothes,” she said.

  “Of course.” His brief smile made her want to laugh all over again before he looked to the lieutenant. “You’ve found the accommodations for your men, as well?”

  Blanchett inclined his head. “We are in your debt.”

  “So you are.”

  With a nod, the governor continued on toward the beach. Zenobia stared after him. His bluntness was rather refreshing. Most men she knew would have insisted that no obligation existed, until they needed to call that debt in.

  But it meant that she had an obligation to the Kraken King, too. It just hadn’t been so openly acknowledged.

  He looked back. “Walk with me, Lady Inkslinger.”

  “Oh, but I—” Would love to. Even if it was absurd. She glanced at Helene, who regarded her with mild incredulity. Zenobia didn’t take time to wonder if her friend was amazed by the governor’s interest, or that Zenobia returned it. “Why don’t you go on ahead for a fitting at the dressmaker’s? Take Mara with you now, and I’ll be along shortly. We’ll all need new clothes if we are to travel soon.”

  Reminding Helene of her need to reach the Red City did the trick. Determination replaced the disbelief. She probably wouldn’t think of Zenobia and the governor again until she was at the dressmaker’s being stuck with pins.

  The governor waited for her in the sand—and he had called her Lady Inkslinger, in the same way that her sister-in-law used the term to describe airships: a woman of dignity and nobility. That wouldn’t do.

  She caught up to him. “I fear you have mistaken my importance, sir. I’m only a companion, and—”

  “I haven’t.”

  Well. She couldn’t say anything to that. He continued toward the kraken, his hands clasped behind his back. Zenobia tucked her notebook at her waist and walked beside him.

  She looked up at the creature’s enormous mass. “What will you do with it? Surely you don’t let it rot so close to town?”

  “No. We skin the tentacles and take as much meat as the town and the local tribes will use. Then we tow the arms out to sea.”

  “Only the arms?”

  “The shell is too heavy.” He tapped the kraken’s armored hull with the toe of his boot. The iron answered with a dull thud. “At least while it’s full. We build a fire around the base and cook everything inside down to charcoal.”

  Turning the shell into a too-hot oven. “How long does that take?”

  “A few weeks.”

  So she would not be here to witness the entire process. “I’m told that the kraken are drawn here by the pumping machinery underground. That they walk right up into the town on their tentacles.”

  “Yes. We try to kill them before they destroy too many buildings.”

  “With a harpoon spear through the eye?”

  “By any means necessary. But the spear or a cannon is usually the only means possible.”

  She glanced toward the leaking eye. “Is that your spear?”

  The governor smiled faintly. “No. We have whalers in town who are more familiar with harpoons. If they had failed, I was waiting with the cannon.”

  They apparently hadn’t failed. “What is the pumping machinery for?”

  He took a long look at her face before answering. “The pumps collect water during the rainy season to store through the summer.”

  “But you have a river.”

  “And a week ago, it was dry.”

  Zenobia could hardly imagine it. If there was one thing Fladstrand never lacked, it was rain. But a town that relied on a store of water might be vulnerable to a villain’s mad plans.

  She penciled a reminder into her notebook, and saw a question she’d written while examining the corpse. The governor might have an answer.

  When she glanced up, his attention had narrowed on her notes. “What is that?”

  “I write many letters to friends,” she said, which was true enough—even if, as a reason for keeping her notebook, it was a lie. But Zenobia had told this one so many times, it almost felt like truth. “This reminds me of sights that I’ve seen, so that I don’t always struggle for topics. Why don’t the kraken attack the ironship?”

  His gaze met hers again. “It’s too big.”

  “That only explains why they can’t capsize it,” she said. “But the engines must draw the kraken—and the megalodons, too. That’s why no ships in the west use engines anymore. Only sails. And everyone knows that kraken fixate on their prey. That ironship should be covered with tentacles. Yet there are none.”

  “You will write that to your friends?”

  “Yes.”

  He gave her another long look. “They drag nets full of jellyfish beneath the ship,” he finally said. “The venom stuns any kraken or sharks that come too close.”

  Jellyfish. Incredible. She jotted the answer. The governor remained silent as he walked beside her. Did he think her rude? She hoped not. If she could accept his blunt manner, then he could wait for her to write a few notes when inspiration struck.

  She tucked her notebook away again as they rounded the kraken’s cone. A stream of black ink darkened the sand.

  Zenobia sighed. She needed ink. And more pens. She’d had the sense to bring Archimedes’ letters and her work—those would have been irreplaceable—but there was still so much that needed to be replaced.

  “I don’t suppose that ink is usable?”

  “No. But we’ll extract what’s left in the sacs.” He stopped to look down at her. “Would you like some?”

  “Yes.”
And she would write an adventure using the ink from a kraken. Simply wonderful. “Thank you.”

  “You’re easily pleased. But so am I.” His gaze dropped to her smile before lifting to meet her eyes again. “I’ve been thinking of your valet.”

  “Cooper?” Startled, Zenobia looked to the mercenary. He’d followed them around to this side of the kraken, keeping her in his sight. “Why?”

  “Because he’s not with your husband.”

  “My husband?”

  “Your friend called you Madame Inkslinger. You are married?”

  “Oh, yes.” Sometimes she forgot. “But Cooper is not just a valet. He fulfills many roles.”

  “Except the role he was hired for. Your husband isn’t with you.”

  “No.”

  “Is he a fool?”

  “No. He’s dead.” Zenobia expected some response to that announcement—sympathy, surprise—but she hadn’t anticipated the governor’s smile. “That pleases you?”

  “Are you still in mourning?”

  “No.”

  “Then it pleases me. I feared I was too late.”

  “For what?” she had to ask. Her heart thudded when he stepped closer.

  His voice lowered. “On the flyer, I liked the feel of you against me. Now I’d like to feel you beneath me.”

  Her lungs became a vacuum. She stared up at him, her mind just as empty. Had he truly said that? With no apology or hesitation in his expression—and no humor now, either. He watched her struggle for an answer, his intense gaze focused on her face.

  “You’re very bold, sir,” she finally managed.

  “Yes.”

  Only a few minutes ago, she’d found his bluntness refreshing. Now she wasn’t certain whether to be flattered by his interest, or to be insulted that he thought she could be so quickly had.

  But her sense was returning, and she realized there might be more to his request that hadn’t been said. “Is this a condition of our staying in this town?”

  A frown darkened his face. “No. I ask because I would enjoy it.”

  Of course he would. He was a man. It was common knowledge that they always did.

  She pursed her lips. “But would I enjoy it?”

  He gave a short laugh that spread into a grin. “If you’ll have me, I’ll make your pleasure my only goal.”

  “Then I’ll consider it,” she told him, even as she told herself, I won’t.

  Oh, but despite that quick resolution, she already was considering it. This could be an adventure of another sort. She was an independent woman. Everyone believed her to be a widow. Her reputation wouldn’t suffer. And like the kraken, lovemaking was something that she’d read about but had no real experience with of her own. What harm would it do to know firsthand?

  So perhaps she could be tempted. Her body already was, with these flutterings and tightenings. Her attraction to him made little sense, but rejecting his offer didn’t make much sense, either. An opportunity like this with a man who intrigued her physically and intellectually might not come again. She just had to be careful.

  “I’ll convince you,” he said softly, though she’d already done the job herself. But when she glanced up, he’d turned away from her to look behind them. “You should step back. We’re going to start cutting the tentacles.”

  A dozen men were coming across the sand, shirtless and on bare feet, carrying two twenty-foot long serrated blades between them.

  She looked at the governor in surprise. “You saw through the tentacles?”

  “Yes,” he said, then called out, “Taka!”

  His brother glanced over. She couldn’t understand anything of what the governor told him—but when he pointed to the top of the twisted heap of arms, she realized he was telling the other men which tentacle to start with.

  She waited until he’d finished. “I assumed you’d use a cutting machine.”

  He looked down at her again. “We used to. But when the tentacles tear free of the body, anything they land on is crushed beneath them.”

  “And one crushed the machine?” Zenobia guessed.

  “Yes.”

  He stripped off his tunic as he answered, then bent to remove his boots.

  Oh, my. On the flyer, her fingers hadn’t deceived her. Tight muscles defined his broad chest and shoulders, his every movement a beautiful display of strength beneath smooth skin that glistened with perspiration. His abdomen rippled as he stood again.

  Zenobia gestured faintly behind her. “I think I will stay and watch.”

  “Stand clear of the tentacles.”

  “I will.”

  “And find shade. You aren’t accustomed to this sun.”

  Or this heat. “I’ll send Cooper to find a parasol.”

  He didn’t respond. After a long second, Zenobia looked up from his impressive torso. She expected a grin, but instead of laughing at her, his dark gaze roamed over her expression, as if slowly measuring the arch of her brows and the curve of her lips.

  “My home is near yours.” His gaze settled on her mouth. “Come tonight.”

  Yes, she wanted to tell him. But she needed to be careful.

  “I’ll consider it,” she said again.

  ***

  At the bathhouse, Ariq soaped and rinsed away the squid, but skipped the soak. Any other night, ribald calls wondering at his hurry would have filled the bathing chamber, followed by sly observations about how well Lady Inkslinger held a pencil—most of them gleeful that it was finally Ariq’s turn to suffer through a courtship. His attention toward Zenobia hadn’t gone unnoticed. But after hours of sawing through a kraken’s tentacles, exhaustion had quieted the men sitting in the heated bath, and Ariq escaped with few suggestions tossed his way.

  Fastening his embroidered tunic, he emerged from the steam-filled chambers into an evening almost as humid. Clouds gathered in the northern sky. More rain coming. Not an airship in sight. Now that the marauders were dead, the airships would come again, too.

  Unless it hadn’t been the end of them. Ariq didn’t think that it was.

  Not with two men waiting by the cliffs. When Ariq had hailed them, they’d responded with a barrage of bullets. They didn’t speak a word before Ariq and Taka’s answering shots had killed them, but their presence told Ariq enough.

  They hadn’t participated in the attack on the airship. If destroying the airship had been their only goal, they’d have all gone. So those two men were supposed to report back. That meant there was someone to report back to. Someone giving orders.

  That person could hire more men—or recruit them—and it could all begin again. Ariq and Taka had helped cut off the arms today. They hadn’t gotten the head.

  And that head had decided to sacrifice a dozen men to bring down a French airship.

  Maybe to target Zenobia and the documents she carried. Maybe another reason. But whatever the marauders’ goal, too many people had already died for it.

  Ariq would find the head. Then he’d stick the bloodied skull on a pike and parade it through his town.

  Quietly parade it. He paused as he caught sight of Yesui Besud. A former soldier with strong fingers and an archer’s eye, she came out of the women’s side of the bathhouse, her young son in tow. Yesui’s husband had captained one of the first airships destroyed. She might like a head on a pike. But Ariq couldn’t forget the boy. Destroying an enemy should never be more important than the people he fought for—and by the time he’d been her son’s age, Ariq had seen more heads than any boy should ever have to. He wouldn’t display one for her son to see.

  “Good evening, Ariq Noyan.” Yesui still used his title, though he hadn’t commanded a unit of soldiers since they’d left the rebellion. She glanced at his embroidered tunic with a faint smile. “On your way to the soup house?”

  Where he would have eaten anyway. But ev
eryone knew that Lady Inkslinger would be there tonight, too. “I am.”

  “I’ll walk with you.” Yesui fell into step beside Ariq. At a word from her, the boy ran ahead. “I spent ten minutes scrubbing the ink from his feet and hands.”

  Ariq hadn’t spent so much time. Ink still stained his hand and arm. But he had two bottles to give Zenobia, and four barrels that would sell for a substantial sum in the Hindustani markets.

  “So he learned to avoid the black sand,” Ariq said. “What did you learn?”

  “Almost nothing,” she said. “She calls herself Mara Cooper. Her family fled Champa two generations ago.”

  A region on the mainland’s southeastern peninsula. Her accent would be nothing like Ariq’s. “And her husband?”

  “Is from England.”

  The small labor colony at the far western border of the Golden Empire. Over a decade before, the native population had risen up against the empire’s occupation—an event made significant only because the Great Khagan had withdrawn his forces from the colony rather than crush the revolution. That withdrawal had been among the first visible cracks in the Khagan’s power—cracks created by the pressure of the rebellion closer to home, and from the efforts of soldiers like Yesui.

  “Mara claims they are both servants, but she’s no more a lady’s maid than I am,” Yesui continued. “She asked questions.”

  So had Zenobia. “About?”

  “You.”

  Yesui wouldn’t have answered them. No one in this town would say anything of their neighbors to strangers. She would have affected a shy smile and insisted that she didn’t like to gossip.

  Neighbor to neighbor, they chatted like wagtails. By the end of the night, everyone would know that Ariq had worn his best tunic.

  “She is always making notes.”

  They weren’t speaking of the maid now. “Yes,” Ariq said.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know yet.”