Salvage

by Meljean Brook

  “Then I suppose it would take a lot of gold to persuade you—enough that you’d never need another job.”

  “Yes.”

  Georgiana wasn’t that well off. And giving Mrs. Winch the gold coins wouldn’t secure her help. If the mercenary would betray her employer, then she would likely betray Georgiana and Thom, too.

  But Mrs. Winch might extend a job by one day, if she knew there was a possibility of earning more money. Not changing Southampton’s plan to kill them—just benefiting from delaying it. So Georgiana would let the knowledge that a valuable submersible waited below simmer in Mrs. Winch’s head for a while.

  Cranking the pump, she shrugged and sighed. “It was worth the attempt. I doubt I could have paid more than a man like Southampton. I’m sure you will be very well compensated.”

  “You’d think so.”

  Georgiana nodded, as if she hadn’t detected the edge in Winch’s reply. “He seems a fair man. Despite taking us against our will, he has treated us well. Thom and I have no complaints, especially as he’s promised to return us home. I’m sure that Southampton is fair in his dealings with you, too.”

  Winch looked out over the water, her mouth tight. No doubt the mercenary knew very well that Southampton didn’t intend to be fair in his dealings with Georgiana and Thom. Now she was likely wondering whether he’d show her mercenaries the same type of fairness.

  “Indeed,” she finally said, and took another draw from her cigarillo.

  Satisfied for now, Georgiana glanced up at the airship. The polished hull gleamed in the early morning light. Not the swiftest vessel in the skies, but quick enough to chase them down in a boat.

  Her gaze lifted to the balloon. As the morning passed, climbing up the cables anchoring the hydrogen-filled envelope to the wooden cruiser, and hiding atop its rounded bulk seemed less not so clever, and more no other choice. But as long as they were being foolish, she and Thom wouldn’t wait until they died of exposure. They would haul one of the lifeboats up with them, start a leak in the balloon—and when the airship settled into the sea, they could row away laughing.

  Georgiana’s breath stopped. She turned to stare into the water again, her ears filled with the squawking of seagulls and the gasping thrust of the pump, and her mind filled with thoughts of leaking balloons.

  It was a terrible idea. Incredibly stupid and dangerous. And it would also take away every advantage Southampton had over them. Right now, she and Thom were outgunned. But no one would dare fire a pistol on an airship with a leaking balloon. And they couldn’t have escaped in the lifeboat now, because the flyer would simply catch up to them—but not if her balloon had been compromised.

  Oh, but they would be taking such a risk. A single spark could destroy them all.

  Yet some chance of escape was still much better than having no chance.

  She spent the next hour weighing the risks over and over, trying to minimize every one. By the time she spotted the bubbles breaking against the surface, Georgiana knew that it would be their escape plan. Not at all clever, but it was the best they had.

  As long as they could delay Southampton for a little longer. It did not even have to be until that night—just until Thom recovered from his dive.

  This time, Thom didn’t haul himself up the tether with the air hose coiled at his side, but gripped the edge of the platform and dragged himself out of the water, a bulging canvas sack in his left hand. He dropped it onto the boards with a heavy thunk—and the unmistakable clink of coins.

  With his help, Georgiana worked his diving helmet off. His eyes were bloodshot again, his face pale and sweating.

  The dome had not even cleared his head when he asked, “Are you all right, Georgie?”

  She laughed. “That is my question to you. I’m fine, Thom. Are you?”

  Beside them, Mrs. Winch crouched in front of the canvas sack. “You brought up what you were supposed to?”

  “A bloody fortune,” Thom said. “Five thousand gold pieces and no weapons. Open it and look.”

  Winch did, her eyes widening. “There’s five thousand here? Southampton said it was only half that.”

  “He must have been mistaken,” Georgiana said.

  “He must have.” Winch stood and clanked on the platform chain, signaling to the airship. The boards jolted under Georgiana’s feet. Her heart began to pound. The gold had been retrieved. Their task for Southampton done.

  “Thom still needs to haul up his air hose, Mrs. Winch!” she called over the rattling chains. “Or he won’t be able to return for the submersible.”

  Winch glanced at her. “That’ll be up to his lordship, Mrs. Thomas.”

  And the bastard would either be greedy enough to stay another day, or Thom would bring it all down. Georgiana clutched his hand through the wet canvas glove and tried to resist when he subtly moved her behind him, until he said quietly, “I’m covered in brass armor, Georgie. Let me protect you a bit.”

  That was sensible—and terrifying. She was almost dizzy with fear by the time the platform clanked against the side of the hull.

  Wearing a cold little smile, Southampton stood waiting for them at the gangway, with the band of mercenaries behind him. “You didn’t release the tether from the wreck, Big Thom. I hope this doesn’t mean you returned empty-handed.”

  “It only means that my submersible is still down there. I’ll go back for it tomorrow.”

  Southampton’s gaze lit on the bulging canvas bag. “But you retrieved my gold?”

  “I did. All five thousand.”

  Southampton looked to Mrs. Winch, whose mouth flattened as she nodded her confirmation.

  Thom continued, “You don’t have to worry that I’ll make a claim on those coins or mention to anyone that I ever laid eyes on them. But that boat down there is all I have to support us . . . and I can sell the submersible on it for thirty livre, enough to buy another ship. That’ll get my wife and me back on our feet when you return us home.”

  Oh, Thom. Georgiana squeezed his hand. So very clever. At their dinner, Southampton had spoken of his noble family’s honor and duty, and now Thom appealed to him like a vassal appealing to his lord. If Thom had been appealing in fact, this would have been impossible for him—but her husband probably liked using Southampton’s supposed honor against him.

  And Southampton still wouldn’t let them live, but he’d no doubt enjoy playing the generous noble until he put a bullet in their heads.

  “A word, your lordship?” Mrs. Winch left the platform and drew Southampton forward along the deck. Georgiana didn’t hear anything of what Winch said to him, but she could well imagine. The value of the submersible might be enough to keep her mercenaries from feeling they’d been cheated, given that the gold Southampton had was worth twice what he’d said he owed the Crown.

  Relief almost knocked Georgiana’s knees from under her when she saw Southampton’s nod.

  He returned to the gangway, a pleasant smile fixed around his mouth. “Forgive me. Of course I would never deny you the means to support your family, Big Thom—especially as you’ve done my family so great a service. We will stay until tomorrow, then.”

  Good enough. They only needed tonight.

  * * *

  The pains soon hit Thom again, though not so hard. He’d taken a longer time coming up and hadn’t been down so long. Georgiana still worried every second, checking his temperature for fever and doing her best to soothe him.

  As soon as he slept, she began to prepare. She rolled up two blankets and strapped them together, so they would be easy to carry on her back. When their noontime meal arrived, she requested extra bread for her sick husband, then made a satchel from the skirts of her pink dress and stuffed into it everything from their plates that wouldn’t leak. Coats and hats and gloves and scarves. Thom only had one change of clothes, but she dressed in her warmest wool, with two pairs of stockings.

  When he woke, she had everything ready and had settled into the chair by his bed. There were still se
veral more hours to wait. Fewer mercenaries would be on watch late at night, and any bit of fire would be easier to spot and extinguish.

  Thom sat up in the bed, his gaze searching her face. “You’ve thought of it.”

  “Yes.” She drew a deep breath. “We have to cut open the balloon.”

  His big body tensed and he shook his head, as if in instinctive rejection. “If it catches fire, Georgie—”

  “I know.” That was the reason it had taken her so long to think of this plan: Cutting open a balloon was simply unthinkable. “But when we come up from the porthole and onto the deck, we’ll have the advantage of surprising the watch. You’re strong enough to pierce the envelope?”

  Not everyone would be. The metal fabric was made to withstand weather and birds and the weight of the ship. Georgiana doubted that she could stab a knife through—the blade would just slide across the envelope’s surface. But she didn’t have Thom’s arms.

  “I can,” he said.

  “Just the threat of ripping through it will make them run to smother all the flames on deck and sound the alarm. And after it’s leaking, not one would dare use his guns.”

  Thom was nodding now. “They couldn’t come after us, either.”

  “So we could lower the boat to the water,” she said. “Get in and go.”

  He settled back against the pillows again. Frowning, thinking it over. She waited for him to decide.

  With a heavy sigh, he said, “It’s a hell of a risk, Georgie.”

  But that response meant he would take it.

  “I know,” she said, and when he reached out and tugged on her fingers, she slid onto the bed and curled against him. His arms came around her, and she rested her head back against his shoulder.

  Holding on to each other, while they could.

  Quietly, she lay with him. His back propped by the pillows, Thom stared out the porthole, and she knew he was going over it all in his head again.

  “When they sound the alarm, all the crew will come up,” he said.

  “Yes.” She slid her hand over his chest. “But we have to make sure they sound it. Or someone might come up with a lantern.”

  He nodded. “I’m just thinking about you, Georgie. There’s ten mercenaries, and I can handle them if they come at me. You’ve just got to make sure you’re behind me or out of sight.”

  “All right.” She wouldn’t argue. If Thom knew she was safe, he would be safer, too. “What about Southampton?”

  “That depends on him. I’d like to kill him for every threat he made toward you. But I won’t go out of my way to do it. My only concern is getting you off this ship.” He stroked his fingers down her arm. “When we go out, you’ll have to hold on to the rail while I take care of those on deck. Can you do that?”

  Hanging on to the outside of the ship. “I’m stronger than I look.”

  “You are.” Shifting her against him, he tipped her chin up and looked down at her with narrowed eyes. “You are, Georgie. And I didn’t think of it much until now. Growing up, everyone was strong, man or woman. But out here, everyone’s almost always weaker. Not you, though. You’re infected?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “After you left the last time. You always seemed so afraid of hurting me. It seemed practical to make certain that hurting me wouldn’t be so easy.”

  “It wouldn’t have made a difference. Hurting is still easy. Just the healing is faster.” Gently, he smoothed his thumb across her bottom lip. “Most people are afraid that the tower will go up again—or that they’ll be zombies. You weren’t?”

  “I was more afraid that you wouldn’t return to my bed again.” Her eyes filled suddenly, and she blinked at the tears, willing them away. “And I think it saved me when the lump fever came.”

  Because she hadn’t caught it, though both her parents had.

  “I’m sorry, Georgie.” His voice thickened. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I wish I had been.”

  She wished he had been, too. But she shook her head.

  “If you hadn’t gone, Thom, I’d never have infected myself. I probably wouldn’t be alive now.” And as much as she’d missed him, Georgiana liked the woman his absence had let her become. “All that matters is that you’re here now.”

  “I am.” His arms tightened around her. “I am.”

  “But only until tonight.” She grinned up at him. “You’d better not be here after that.”

  * * *

  They waited until after midnight—when, hopefully, whoever stood watch on deck would be half-asleep and huddled down against the cold.

  Carrying the blankets and her satchel, Georgiana watched Thom pinch the head of the steel bolt that fastened the thick window to the porthole frame. He twisted and pulled.

  A metallic squeal rang through the cabin.

  Thom froze. Heart pounding, Georgiana stared at the cabin door, waiting for the guard to burst through and see them attempting to escape.

  No one. She looked back at Thom. “Try again?”

  He shook his head. “We’ll need to make some other noise to cover this.”

  “What noise wouldn’t bring them in?”

  “No one came in when we were making noise last night.”

  “Thom!” Her blush warmed her cheeks.

  He grinned.

  Unable to stop herself, she laughed and looked to the bed. It would be the sort of sound that might draw attention, but wouldn’t be unexpected in the cabin of a married couple. “Shall I jump on it?”

  Thom shook his head again and led her to the door. Softly, he said, “That won’t be loud enough. Do it here, instead.”

  Where? “I don’t understand.”

  “You bang up against the door, like I’m having you against it.”

  She met his quiet explanation with a look of sheer disbelief.

  Without a word, Thom wrapped his hands around her waist and hefted her up. With her thighs around his hips, he pushed her back against the wooden door and gently rocked between her legs.

  Oh. Her fingers curled into her palms. This was actually . . . quite . . . wonderful. Despite the urgency of their situation, despite knowing a guard stood in the passageway just beyond the door, heat began to coil inside her, winding tighter with every slow thrust.

  She was almost sorry that they needed to escape.

  He set her down again, then pushed at her hips, her backside bumping against the wood. “Like that, Georgie, but harder,” he murmured. “You make some loud noise, and I’ll get those bolts out.”

  She nodded. “I can do that.”

  “Then start yelling.”

  Yelling? Georgiana thought she just had to bang against it. “What do I say?”

  “Like this,” he said softly, then raised his voice. “Going to spread you wide and fill you up, Georgie!”—his elbow thumped against the door and he gave a heavy grunt—“Going to shag your hot pussy deep and hard!”

  “Thom!” she cried—scandalized and muffling her wild laughter behind her hands.

  “You’ll soon be screaming my name.” He thumped and grunted again. “Lift your beautiful tits to my mouth now.” Thump. “I’m going to suck on your sweet nipples until you come all over my cock!”

  “Thom!” With her face ablaze, Georgiana bumped her backside against the door. “Oh, Thom!”

  Grinning, Thom lowered his head, his lips against her ear. “My mouth is full, so I have reason to be quiet. Now you start shouting all those things you said last night.”

  He left her bumping at the door, trying to recall exactly what she’d said. Every moment had been seared into her brain, but she’d barely given a thought to most of what had been tumbling out of her mouth.

  “Oh, Thom!” Bump. “Thom!” Bump. “Oh, yes, Thom!”

  At the porthole, another bolt squealed. Georgiana threw her hips back harder, faster, trying to cover the sound.

  “You’re so deep, Thom. Oh! Oh! Don’t slow down. Oh! Harder, now. Thom! I need more! More!”


  His back to her, Thom seemed to hunch over. His shoulders were shaking so hard that when he reached for another bolt, his juddering fingers missed it—twice.

  Laughing.

  Oh, Georgiana always loved to see him do that. Enjoying herself now, she slammed harder and harder. “Thom! Oh! Faster! Don’t stop! I feel it coming!”

  And she was running out of things to shout. Remembering last night was no help. Mostly she had just moaned and cried his name.

  Desperately, she called up her memories of touching his body afterward, exploring every ridge of muscle—“You’re so hard, Thom!”—running her hands up his thick shaft—“And so big. So long and strong and powerful!”—circling her fingertips around the flared crown—“They should call you the King of the North Sea. Oh, Thom, make me your queen! Oh, oh, Thoooommmmm!”

  By the time her wail faded, the glass was out of the porthole frame and her husband had collapsed into the settee with his head in his hands, tears streaming down his face and choking on his laughter. His muffled snorts likely fit quite well into their impromptu bit of theater.

  Her face flushed from the exercise, Georgiana joined him. “I must say, Thom—that was quite invigorating.”

  Still laughing, he pushed to his feet. Catching her around the waist, he kissed her hard and far too briefly. “I love you, Georgie. Now are you ready?”

  No. She wanted to stay here and bask in those words. She’d known he did. Love had never been in question between them—only whether it was enough to overcome all the other hurts.

  But even knowing that Thom loved her, it was so sweet to hear him say so. And to say it in return. “Oh, Thom. I love you, too.”

  Eyes dark with emotion, he kissed her again. Longer this time. But not as long as Georgiana wished.

  Within a few minutes, she was standing at the porthole with the blankets and satchel strapped to her back. Thom had offered to carry them, but had agreed it was more important for him to move as freely as he needed to than to relieve her of a few pounds’ burden.

  Gripping the cold frame, she leaned out and looked over. Here at the front of the airship, the prow projected forward over the steep slant of the hull, presenting a sheer hundred-foot drop to the moonlit water below.