The Kraken King, Part 1

by Meljean Brook

  Ah. She must have seen how Zenobia had looked at the governor—or how he had looked at her. “But you worry because I’ve taken interest in a dangerous man,” Zenobia guessed. “Or is there another reason?”

  “There is another reason, but I don’t want to . . .” Mara huffed out a breath. “I don’t trust that his interest is in you.”

  A soft pang struck below her breast. “Why don’t you trust it? What was said?”

  “I don’t want to repeat—”

  “Mara.” Zenobia put a snap into it. She needed protection, not coddling. “I’ve just met him. This won’t injure me.”

  Struggling, the mercenary looked away again—a woman who could shoot a man in the face without blinking, yet she had difficulty with this. Zenobia began to wonder if she really wanted to know what Mara had heard.

  But after a moment, she finally said, “His brother said that you were . . . shikome.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Ugly.” Anger returning, Mara all but spat it. “And like a ghost.”

  Oh. The pang struck again, sharper. “But his brother said it?”

  “Your man agreed. And said that he wouldn’t want to see his brother with a woman like you.”

  Zenobia had been wrong. It didn’t matter who said such things or how long she’d known him. It still hurt.

  A sick ache bloomed in her gut. But it was not the first time someone had spoken similar words about her—that distinction belonged to her father. A right bastard of a man. So she would give the words and the men as little credit as they deserved and focus on the mystery of why the governor had pretended any interest at all.

  “Then why the deception?”

  “He said that he knows you have secrets.” As if the telling had taken everything out of her, the mercenary dropped onto the bench. “And he intends to learn what they are.”

  Her secrets. Zenobia sank onto the stone beside Mara. “Do you think he knows that I am Zenobia Fox?”

  The governor didn’t seem to lack for money—but many men who didn’t need it wanted more. Nor did he seem the type to kidnap someone for ransom. Seduction had fleeced more than one woman, however.

  “I don’t know,” Mara said. “He hasn’t called you by that name.”

  And Zenobia held another name that might interest a Horde rebel. “Could he suspect that I am a Gunther-Baptiste? Perhaps he hasn’t heard that my brother’s debt to Temür Agha has been fulfilled.”

  “You do resemble your brother. Your eyes are the same bright color.”

  And he would recognize her by that alone? “Archimedes hasn’t smuggled in over a decade.”

  “Maybe he simply suspects something unusual. So be careful. Perhaps don’t always be taking notes. Everyone remarks upon it. They might wonder if you write more than letters.”

  She did. And if ever read, the letters and manuscript in her glider pack would reveal everything. Zenobia protectively flattened the notebook against her stomach. “Will you ask Cooper to keep my satchel?”

  “Yes.”

  So she was safe. But the ache in her chest wasn’t going away. “What have you learned about him?”

  “Nothing, directly. Everyone is happy to speak of themselves. No one talks about anyone else.”

  “And indirectly?”

  “He is the Kraken King. Some people have referred to him as such—but he goes by as many names as you do. They call him ‘commander’ and ‘prince,’ ‘strong arms’ and others. His name is Ariq.”

  “Erik?”

  “Arr-ig,” Mara said more slowly. “More like ‘pig’ than ‘prick,’ but a bit of both.”

  A lot of both. “Is that his given name or his family name?”

  “Given. No family name that I’ve heard, but that isn’t unusual. And his mother was a spy.”

  “A spy?”

  Mara nodded. “It sounded as if his brother was raised in Nippon and didn’t know what she was. He lost his fiancée when it was revealed. I was feeling sorry for him until he spoke of you.”

  And the Kraken King had agreed with him.

  A hard knot had tangled in her stomach. She didn’t want to go back inside and eat more. She didn’t want to see him again.

  But that was exactly what she was going to do.

  “Very well. I intend to finish my meal.” Zenobia rose from the bench. “Then I’d like to return to our lodgings. I need to write my letter to Archimedes before morning.”

  Lieutenant Blanchett had offered to include the letter in his message to the embassy; from there, it would be sent on to Port Fallow. Zenobia would probably reach the Red City before the letter reached Archimedes, but hopefully news of the airship’s demise traveled more slowly than her letter did.

  “Be careful in that, too,” Mara said.

  “I will.”

  It wouldn’t be the first time she and Archimedes had written coded messages. Best to do the same now, particularly since the governor wanted to know her secrets.

  Zenobia didn’t want to look at him as she entered the courtyard, so she forced herself to. While laughing and shaking his head at whatever his brother was saying beside him, he saw her return. His gaze met hers; relief seemed to sweep across his features, as if he was glad to see her.

  He was handsome, with chiseled cheekbones and a strong jaw, and dark eyes that seemed sensuously heavy-lidded, as if he took his pleasure just by looking at her.

  And she was an utter fool. A man with large muscles had swept her up and she’d gone all aquiver.

  Never again.

  She coolly regarded him for a long second, and watched his humor vanish. His face slowly hardened. Good. He hadn’t mistaken her expression. She was done with him.

  Turning away, she rejoined Helene and the officers. Her friend leaned in to whisper, “Is everything all right?”

  “Perfectly.” Except a heated stone seemed embedded in her throat. “It was this new dress. Mara noticed that a seam at the side was coming apart and sewed it up for me.”

  Helene accepted that lie as easily as she had every other. Patting Zenobia’s hand, she returned to her conversation with the lieutenants. Zenobia sipped her tea and choked down her soup. Every time she looked up, she met the governor’s brooding stare.

  He’d gotten her message. But apparently he didn’t like it.

  She was all too ready to leave by the time the others had finally finished. Rising, she noticed the Kraken King did the same. Heart pounding, she walked through the courtyard with Helene and the lieutenants, but on the path outside Zenobia realized she wasn’t going to escape. With a sigh, she stopped at the gate to wait for him.

  “Go on ahead,” she said when Helene glanced back. “I’ll catch up in a moment.”

  Helene looked farther up the path before nodding. Her friend smiled a little before continuing on, no doubt thinking that Zenobia intended to continue her earlier flirtation.

  Zenobia couldn’t smile in return. She could feel him coming behind her. Stiffening her spine, she faced him.

  Watching him approach was like standing next to the kraken—as if she hadn’t quite grasped how big he was until he loomed over her, taking up an overwhelming amount of space.

  Blunt as ever, he got right to it. “What changed?”

  “Nothing,” she said, and somehow managed an even tone. She wouldn’t let him see her anger. And she’d die before letting him see her hurt. “Everything is as it always was, I’m sure.”

  “No.” His voice roughened. “Your eyes were green flames. Now they are hard stones.”

  “What a flattering image. Do you write poetry, sir?”

  She could imagine how it would go: Ghostly terror, green eyes like rocks; ugly and gullible, Zenobia Fox!

  His dark eyebrows shot together in a frown. Probably astonished that she’d mocked him. But he didn’t res
pond with anger, as she’d hoped. He only stared down at her. Arms crossed beneath her breasts, she returned his stare, holding it for so long that details that she hadn’t noticed before stood out to her: the faint peak at the center of his hairline. A scar at the corner of his left eye, and another on his chin, visible as a narrow line through the stubble shadowing his jaw.

  When his quiet question finally came, it surprised her. “Are you frightened of me?”

  “No,” she said honestly. “But I’ve considered your offer and decided that I’m not interested.”

  “Why?”

  She wanted to tell him. She wanted to toss it into his face, to see if he would feel even a little ashamed for what he’d said and intended to do. But she didn’t want to make him wonder how she’d learned of the conversation; Mara’s listening device was an advantage that Zenobia didn’t want to lose if they were to be stuck here for a month.

  So he would just have to accept that their flirtation was over and let her be. “I don’t feel obligated to explain myself to you. Thank you for rescuing me, sir. Thank you for giving us a place to stay while we are in town. And I will thank you if I can rejoin my friends now.”

  A muscle in his jaw worked. For a breathless second, she thought he might refuse. That he might keep her here—or pick her up and carry her away.

  Then he inclined his head and stepped back.

  Zenobia swept past him and through the gate. Her heart thundered as if she’d scaled a mountain rather than simply refuse a man’s attentions. She couldn’t focus on anything ahead of her. Her breath felt tight in her chest, and her throat burned with tears.

  But she wasn’t crying over him. It was just all so disappointing. To be so utterly attracted to a man who wasn’t worth her interest—and who made her feel so low.

  No more. On a deep breath, she caught up to Helene and the lieutenants. And—blast it all—Helene looked upset now, too. No doubt over something that the officers had said. This night would have been so much more pleasant if all the men had stopped talking.

  Zenobia pasted on a smile. “I remember that your quarters were in the other direction, lieutenants? There is no need to trouble yourselves by seeing us home. We are well attended.”

  Blanchett glanced back at Mara and Cooper, trailing a few yards behind. After seeing them in action aboard the airship, he couldn’t doubt Zenobia and Helene’s safety now.

  “So you are.” He sounded relieved. Perhaps glad to get away from Helene’s distress. Probably thinking that the evening would have been more pleasant if all the women weren’t so emotionally overwrought. “We’ll bid you good night, then.”

  After a final exchange of pleasantries, Zenobia tucked her arm through Helene’s and continued on toward the southern end of town, where their temporary residence overlooked the bay. One of the enormous kraken-structures rose on the right. Not a house or shop, as far as she could tell—and unlike some of the others, which had been plastered over and painted, the shell was still encrusted with dark barnacles. Tomorrow, perhaps she’d walk through town and see what she could learn about the kraken shells and their uses. Then visit the few shops and replace some of the items they’d lost on the airship—maybe even find a typesetting machine. The next month could be quite productive if she wasn’t bombarded with too many distractions.

  And if Zenobia spent most of her time working, she could avoid any awkward encounters with the governor.

  She couldn’t avoid him entirely, though. The town was far too small. Zenobia wouldn’t hide from him, in any case. She just wouldn’t explore the parts of town where he was most likely to be.

  Perhaps she should also avoid the parts of town inhabited by giant spiders.

  Her steps slowed. Disbelieving her eyes, she stared ahead. A rounded body with long legs approached along the shadowy street. She wasn’t imagining that.

  Pulse racing, she glanced back. Mara and Cooper strolled together, hand in hand.

  “It’s only a mountain walker,” Mara called ahead.

  A machine. Yet she couldn’t hear an engine.

  Fascinated, she pulled Helene to the side as it came closer, stepping into the faint spill of light from the nearby houses. The belly of the machine’s body stood taller than her head. From her angle, she couldn’t properly see the driver—she only had the impression of a dark figure sitting beneath the canvas canopy. A low thrum filled the air, so much quieter than any engine she’d heard before. A soft hiss accompanied every push of its hydraulic legs.

  She would have to ask Archimedes if he had ever seen one.

  They waited until it passed before starting off again. A few steps later, Helene gave a shuddering sigh. Since she had concealed her distress after the officers had left, Zenobia assumed the sound meant her friend was ready to talk about it now.

  “Helene?”

  “Oh, Geraldine. I asked again about leaving—and Lieutenant Blanchett is quite certain that we can’t go any farther until we are sent for.” Tears shimmered in her eyes. “And I love my husband so.”

  Stopping, Zenobia took her friend’s hands. As gently as possible, she asked, “Surely a few more weeks cannot make much of a difference.”

  “It will make all the difference.” Tears slipped over her cheeks as she admitted, “I’ve been such a fool. I missed him so. And his family is . . . they do not like me well.”

  And that was as close as Helene would ever come to saying why she’d gone to another man, Zenobia understood. “So you were alone at home.”

  “Yes.” Pulling her hands free, Helene began walking again. “I must go before the month is out. Or there will be nothing for me at all.”

  “No one at all?” Her friend hadn’t become pregnant alone.

  Helene glanced at her, then looked away. “It’s not possible. And I love Basile. I do.”

  And it wasn’t unheard of for a child to arrive early, and still be healthy. But not even the most besotted of men would believe that a child was his, if it was born six months after bedding his wife for the first time in a year. Even seven months strained credibility. “So you believe that if you arrive in the Red City soon, there will be no questions later.”

  A fierce look from Helene faded into a sigh. She nodded. “It has already been six weeks.”

  Not much time left. Two weeks at best. Even then, Basile Auger would have to be an idiot not to realize the truth.

  The question was: What would her husband do when he learned it?

  “Are you afraid of him?” Zenobia asked quietly.

  “Not that he will hurt me. He is such a good man. Not like your father.”

  As she spoke, Helene offered Zenobia an apologetic glance, but it wasn’t necessary. Zenobia knew exactly what her father had been—it was why she worried for her friend now.

  “Good,” Zenobia said.

  “I do fear Basile will cast me aside. Then what will I have? Nothing. And I won’t have him.” Tears thickened her voice again. “I considered consulting a surgeon. But then I remembered your mother and I . . . I was terrified.”

  Of hoping for help, then finding a butcher.

  The memory left Zenobia’s heart sick and heavy. “Perhaps we can ask here. Who are these women? Pirates, soldiers, and smugglers. I don’t think they have such difficulty finding help when they need it. Good help.”

  “I would never find the courage.” She wiped her eyes, but more tears spilled. “I can still hear her screams.”

  So could Zenobia. Throat hurting too much for words, she only held Helene’s hand. In silence they walked, but Zenobia found her voice again when they passed the large home near to their own. The governor’s house.

  The Kraken King could not be so powerful a man if he was trapped in his own town. There had to be another way.

  “We will travel to the Red City within the week.” Whatever it took, whatever danger they had to face. “I s
wear it to you.”

  Helene’s face crumpled into sobs. “You are such a good friend, Geraldine.”

  Not always. But she would be this time.

  Look for Part II

  THE KRAKEN KING AND THE ABOMINABLE WORM

  Available from InterMix April 22, 2014

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Meljean Brook’s novel of the Iron Seas

  THE IRON DUKE

  Available now from Berkley

  By the time she and Newberry reached the Isle of Dogs,the nip of the evening air had become a bite. Not a true island,the isle was surrounded on three sides by a bend in the river. The Horde had drained the marshland and built part of it into their commercial and trading center—all looted and burned during the revolution. Afterward, the Crown had granted Trahaearn tracts of land on the island along with his title, and he’d rebuilt the docks that now serviced his trading company’s ships and the merchants who paid for the space. At the center of the island, near the Marshwall dock, he’d razed the remains of the Horde’sholdings and built his fortress on the ashes.

  The high, wrought-iron fence that surrounded his park had earned him the nickname the Iron Duke—the iron kept the rest of London out, and whatever riches he hid inside, in. The spikes topping the fence prevented anyone in the surrounding slums from scaling it, and no one was invited to his house. At least, no one in Mina’s circle, or her mother’s. She was never certain if their circle was too high, or too low.

  Newberry stopped in front of the gate. When a face appeared at the small gatehouse window, he shouted, “Detective Inspector Wentworth, on police business! Open her up!” The gatekeeper appeared, a grizzled man with a long gray beard and a heavy clanking step that marked a prosthetic leg. A former pirate, Mina guessed. Though the Crown insisted that Trahaearn and his men had all been privateers, acting with the permission of the king, only a few children who didn’t know any better believed it. The rest of them knew the story was designed to bolster faith in the king and his ministers after the revolution. Bestowing a title on Trahaearn had been one of King Edward’s last cogent acts. The crew had been given naval commissions, and Marco’s Terror pressed into the service of the Royal Navy . . . where the ship had supposedly been all along. The Iron Duke had traded the Terror and the seas for a title and a fortress in the middle of a slum. Mina wondered if he felt that exchange had been worth it.