"I believe he is coming to find us. From what he has said to Mister Fitch, he is worried at our absence."
"What? Quick! We have to finish dressing. Well, I need to finish dressing. You need to start. Could you do me up at the back?" Susanna
pirouetted gracefully around.
Mechatronic laced up the back of the dress. "This is a very impractical garment."
"That's fashion for you. Thanks. Now quickly, find a dress and put it on while I look for some shoes." The two women busied themselves, Susanna finding some dainty and well-fitting shoes while Mechatronic eventually settled on a purple dress of simple design.
"It will allow free movement," she explained.
"Aren't you going to put a corset on? Don't you have them where you come from?"
"Not quite of this type, but we do have similar garments. Ah, your brother is here."
Susanna bounded to the door of the cabin and opened it even as Hartwell raised his hand to knock.
"I wasn't aware I made any sound," he said, smiling lightly at his sister.
"Lady Mechatronic has very good hearing," said Susanna, trying to send her brother a covert message.
"What Susanna is trying to tell you is that I can easily hear the crew talking from anywhere on the ship," smiled Mechatronic. "I fancy she is worried that I may use this against you in some manner." Mechatronic laughed as Susanna blushed and looked ashamed. She seemed to be as surprised at the sound as Susanna and Hartwell. It was as though she hadn't laughed in a long time, or even at all.
"Do not worry," she said, laying a hand on Susanna's sleeve. "I will not eavesdrop if it distresses you."
"Such ability could undoubtedly come in useful," observed Hartwell dryly, "but for the sake of propriety, I think it best if you do try and refrain from listening to private conversations."
Mechatronic turned her head sharply and there was a strange clicking noise. "Done," she announced.
"Thank you," replied Hartwell.
Mechatronic looked at him closely and saw that he meant it.
"You are aware of the conversation on deck?" he continued.
Mechatronic nodded.
"I'm not," interrupted Susanna, anxiously. "Has something happened?"
"Just a rather vigorous debate on what our next move should be," said Hartwell. "Those left of Madrigal's crew wish to return to their homes. Madrigal himself is against this, as he fears that their betrayal of the pirate's hiding place will make them all marked men. My crew wishes to clear their names of Johnson's calumnious claims of treachery. They feel that the admiral has betrayed everything that is right and good about
our mission."
"So, what are we going to do?" asked Susanna.
"The only point we all agreed upon is that it is impossible to pilot this ship with so few crew members on board. Rather than head for the current pirate cove, Madrigal has suggested we make for the abandoned pirate town of Domlusa, where, apparently, many sailors are discarded if they are held to be of no further use to their crew because of old age or infirmity. There, we hope to find enough decent hands to enable us to fix this leaking, rotting vessel and plan our next move."
"Won't it be rather dangerous to go to a known pirate town?"
"No more than staying here with too few men on a dangerously unstable vessel. O'Rourke is already doing what he can to shore up the bulkhead, assisted by Fitch and some of Madrigal's crew, but we need more men and more resources. Indeed, we need a new ship."
"This vessel is in danger of breaking down?" asked Mechatronic.
"If by breaking down you mean breaking up, then, yes, it could happen," replied Hartwell, looking placidly at the silver woman, which took a great effort. He was determined not to show the strange feelings Mechatronic stirred deep inside him. "The chance of the hull giving way is quite high."
"And what of Mechatronic?" asked Susanna, fearing the answer she would receive. "Is she safe with us?"
"The crew has been concerned with the exact opposite. They are afraid that we are not safe with Lady Mechatronic." He looked at the source of the crew's fear as he spoke, his green eyes gazing steadily into the astonishingly blue eyes of Mechatronic, refusing to waver or look away. "Are you a danger to us?" he asked.
"Only if threatened," replied Mechatronic after thinking for several seconds.
"Do I have your word on that?"
"You do," said the woman. Privately, Mechatronic doubted she was truly a danger to anyone. She was still too badly damaged from the crash. Her repair systems were working beyond capacity to rebuild her internally and only her technologically advanced intelligent skin kept her externally in one piece and allowed free movement.
She didn't appear damaged, however, so she had to rely on bluff for her immediate protection. Once she had fully regenerated, she could easily kill the entire crew… except that she had just given her word that she would not harm them and she found herself anxious to keep the promise she had given the grave, enigmatic captain in front of her.
"Very well."
"Do you believe me?" asked Mechatronic, her voice sounding slightly incredulous at how easily Hartwell accepted what she said.
"I do," replied the captain, his eyes showing the sincerity of his words.
Mechatronic held his gaze but internally cursed that he seemed able to look into her innermost character and see the truth. She even suspected he knew she was hiding her injuries from them. She could see it in his eyes, despite his guarded nature. Never before had anyone been able to look through her in that way. Not even her masters who could reduce her to… She shut out the thought, and the past, from her conscious mind. She was no longer in the old place. That was behind her. Here, she could be something new. She hoped. If not, why bother with anything at all?
Hartwell frowned slightly as the distress rippled across the smooth skin of Mechatronic and he felt his heart give another tug. He slammed an ironclad barrier down on his churning instincts and was grateful to see that Mechatronic had done the same. Her control was easily as great as his. That she had a past was clear—so had he—but that was unimportant. They needed to concentrate on the present if they were to survive.
"We should arrive at Domlusa at nightfall," he said. "We shall go ashore then, as this will give us better cover."
"Good," replied Mechatronic. "We don't want the locals to be scared by a silver woman in their town."
"Are you going to go ashore?" asked Susanna incredulously.
"Of course. I wish to see this town and its people."
"James, do you think this wise?" asked Susanna.
"No, but I doubt anyone could stop Lady Mechatronic once she makes up her mind and in any case, it would not be my place to do so."
"Then I'm coming with you," said Susanna defiantly. "It will be dangerous and I don't want either of you coming to any harm."
"Do not worry, I will look over your brother," smiled Mechatronic.
There, at least, I have no doubt, thought Susanna with mischievous certainty.
hapter leven
ater that night, the unnamed galleon limped into the decaying harbour of Domlusa. Hartwell had paced the vessel several times during the journey, downing glass after glass of absinthe and checking for any sign that the hull was about to give way. It was a relief to reach dry land.
The relief was short lived. The harbour was a small, crumbling stone basin with no evidence of any maintenance work being done on the many cracked, slipping and missing stones. A series of long wooden jetties reached out from the basin and into the sea. All were greasy, filthy and broken, hence the better jetties were already taken up by other ships, forcing the galleon to use a jetty so badly damaged it had several missing sections along its entire length, while one corner facing the sea had collapsed and hung down at a drunken angle.
Dotted around the harbour were several piles of timber, barrels, old rope, old sails, oars, the rotten hulks of rowing boats, broken swords and cutlasses and even crates of old pirate plunder. All ha
d been left to rot and were covered in filth and neglect. Any conscientious harbour master, on seeing the rotten wood and rusted iron, would have put a match to the place. In short, the harbour seemed to match the condition of the ship perfectly, yet Hartwell found himself glancing back at the galleon as though reluctant to leave.
The town above the harbour, picked out by the moonlight and the flickering oil lamps in the windows of the many pubs and brothels, seemed to be in an even worse state. There was a sense of dilapidation and desperation everywhere. There was no drunken carousing, no drinking songs, just the sounds of men trying to find oblivion through drink or violence.
"I think some should remain with the ship in case we need to make a quick escape," observed Hartwell. "Any volunteers?"
"Aye," rumbled most of Madrigal's crew. Lazlo Nani, who Hartwell suspected of being a straightforward replacement of the loathsome Lieutenant Fleetwood, led them. Just as he got rid of one self-serving agitator, another one crawled out of the woodwork.
"O'Rourke, you stay here and see if any of the lumber is worth salvaging," said Hartwell. "Tench, Sporrit, you stay with him and have a look through that abandoned plunder in case anything useful has been missed. As no one else wants it, I feel we are justified in taking anything helpful."
"Aye, sir," said the three men immediately.
"And please look after the powder monkeys and see no harm comes to them," added Hartwell as the small group began the walk into the town. Behind them, Nani's lips twisted in hatred at Hartwell's assumption of command.
hapter welve
adrigal took the lead as he knew a little of the town, guiding the group through dark, twisting alleys where beggars asked for change and evil eyes lurked in the shadows, gauging the strength of the group, wondering whether to attack. The two women, both wearing oversized hoods that completely hid their faces, were of special interest to the denizens of the dark shadows.
What prevented an attack were Hartwell's uniform and Madrigal's size and grace. A rear attack was considered, but Fitch, striding along at the back, was a burly figure in the gloom, and again caution drove the rodents away.
Eventually, the group reached an inn, much larger than the others and better lit. The battered, faded sign swinging over the door announced it to be The Devil's Head.
"Charming," murmured Hartwell, looking at the sign.
Madrigal shrugged. "This is where the sailors gather that want to find work on a ship. Everyone else sinks down and waits for death. Believe me, Captain Hartwell, this is the best place to find a willing crew."
"Very well," replied Hartwell. "I think it best if I and Mister Fitch stay with the ladies, while you, Mister Madrigal, as you know the people, can make discreet enquiries and find us a crew. I'll engage a private room where we can talk to each applicant."
"No Mister, just Madrigal," said Madrigal as they walked into the inn. "I'll get started straight away and meet up with you as soon as possible."
After the dark night air, the flickering candles and oil lamps made the crew squint slightly as they walked into the building. Susanna tried looking around from under her hood and began to regret suggesting she and Mechatronic wear such clumsy headgear. It had seemed a good idea on the ship—the hood would help to hide the silver skin of Mechatronic and both women wearing them would look more natural than just the one.
As such, Susanna could only manage a few glimpses of the inn. She got the impression of a large room with several iron chandeliers hanging down over the many battered, dirty tables, dribbling hot wax onto the clientele below. The tables around the edges of the room were long and rectangular, while those that stood in the middle were all circular. Each table was covered with tankards of every shape and size, as well as the odd plate of unwholesome-looking food.
Opposite the door was the bar, which stretched fully half the length of the room. Women with painted faces and dirty corsets served frothing tankards of cheap beer, rum and gin to the customers, who drank them without much evidence of enjoyment. As they threaded their way through the crowd, Susanna caught glimpses of beards, three-cornered hats, open shirts, gold earrings, gold teeth, scars and a mismatch of clothes and styles going back at least a century, if not more.
They reached an empty table and settled down. A serving woman, aged about fifty and with at least two of her own teeth, approached them with a leer. "What can I get for you, dearies?" she rasped, her voice floating in pure gin.
"A bottle of rum and some glasses," replied Hartwell, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the noise of the other drinkers.
"Right you are, dearie," said the woman, staggering off through the crowd to their right. After a brief pause, she reappeared from the left, startling them all, with a tray full of glasses and a single bottle of cheap rum which she managed to get onto the table at the second attempt.
"Anything else you want, dearie?" she asked, more in hope than expectation.
"We need to hire a room," replied Hartwell, his lips twitching slightly. He appreciated the woman's eternal optimism, even though the alcohol she had imbibed probably fuelled it.
"Coo, you're a quick worker aren't you?" breathed the woman, raising the alcohol level considerably.
"I'm afraid it is for business purposes," said Hartwell.
"You sure?" asked the woman, hitching her bosom up a little higher, though she was fighting a losing battle with gravity.
"Enchanted as I am by your kind offer, I must put business before pleasure," said Hartwell. And I'll run like bloody hell after the business has been concluded.
"Aw, bless you, cuptain," slurred the woman. "You is a toff, you is a real gent and I'll see to it, cuptain, that you has a best room here, you leave it to old Ruby, cuptain, I'll see you right. You just follows me this way."
"Thank you, Ruby, you are too kind."
The group made their way behind the staggering woman, threading through the crowd toward the wooden stairs that led up to a balcony that ran around the building, offering access to the various rooms.
"Here," muttered a sailor who somehow managed to look even rougher than the rest of the clientele. "There are two new strumpets going to the stairs. What say we go and introduce ourselves?" His companions leered in delight. They waited until the group was on the stairs before moving over and surrounding Lady Mechatronic, who had strayed to the back as she looked about her.
"Good evening, my dear," smiled the sailor. "Now don't you make a noise or cry out, little lady, or else it will be the worse for you. You're going to slip away with us and before your friends even notice you're gone, we'll be out the back and enjoying ourselves and they won't even know where to look for you in this crowd of vipers. One scream and it's all over for you.
"I like a woman well wrapped up," he added, looking at the long gloves and heavy hood that hid all of Mechatronic's silver skin. "It makes the unwrapping so much more enjoyable."
Mechatronic turned slightly and drew back her hood just enough so that the man could see her face. "You scum," she hissed. Although her cold blue eyes burned into the sailor's terrified face, she was focused on the past as the man's tone and intentions stirred up yet more memories…
The sailor's mouth flopped open and his colour drained to a pasty grey as he gazed in horror at the silver demon in front of him, until with a squeak of terror, he turned and fled. His friends followed close behind.
Mechatronic adjusted her hood and followed the rest of the group up the stairs and into a side room containing a table and a few chairs, where she was just in time to see the barmaid make yet another play for the captain's attentions.
Lady Mechatronic and the Steampunked Pirates Page 4