Riveted

by Brook, Meljean

  “We don’t plan to lick the bottle,” David said.

  “No, we don’t.” She poured the deep burgundy liquid almost to the rim. “We shall see how distinguished our palates are.”

  Not very. David rolled the wine around on his tongue, and wished he had another biscuit, instead. Pure sugar would have been less sweet.

  “Oh, my.” Lucia set her glass aside. “I should find a funnel and pour it back in before giving it to the chief. If I don’t tell Leroux, he will enjoy it just as well. And you?”

  “He can have mine, too.”

  “It’s a pity. Oh, but—I have heard, David, that the infected are more susceptible to drink. Will you be all right?”

  “Some are more susceptible than others. I need more than one sip for it to affect me…but I also save money in the taverns.”

  She smiled at him, resting her elbows on the table and cupping her chin in her palms. “It is simply all so incredible. You heal more quickly, is that true?” At his nod, she wondered, “Did it heal your eye, then?”

  “No. That damage is permanent.” Just as the nanoagents couldn’t regrow his arm or his legs or erase his scars, the bugs couldn’t repair an eye that had been mutilated years before the infection. “But where I could only see light and dark on that side, the nanoagents use different lenses and focus for me. There is a bulging lens behind the shield, in fact. I use it like a microscope.”

  “And your hand is so intricate, like an anatomical sculpture. Is it better than the hook?”

  No question of that. “Yes.”

  “And worth selling your father’s shop to pay for them?”

  That wasn’t so easy to answer. David hadn’t just sold the velocipedal shop and the house where he and his father had lived in the years following the Inoka Mountain disaster; by infecting himself, he’d also made it impossible to ever live among his father’s people. There were days when David was absolutely sure he’d done the right thing—and he thought that Lucia hoped this was one of those days. But the unequivocal “yes” wouldn’t come.

  “Oh, David.” Her voice gentled. “Was there anything for you in that town?”

  That was easier to answer. “No.”

  No job. He couldn’t have continued his father’s work. No status, no future, and no desire to stay.

  “Then you’ve done what your father would have wanted.”

  “And what he told me to do.” His father’s last wish. David had fulfilled that, but not his mother’s.

  Soon, though.

  “And it was the first time you obeyed without adding an impertinent remark, I imagine.” She smiled again when he laughed. “I’m sorry that I’ve never made certain our paths crossed before. How can ten years pass so quickly? And yet, here we are.”

  “Whenever I came back from an expedition, I always anticipated your letters.” The only personal correspondence that David received. “They were the best part of my return.”

  “As were receiving yours. But there was no mention of a wife?”

  With a chuckle, he shook his head. “No.”

  “You cannot let that girl stop you.”

  His former fiancée, Emily. David hadn’t thought of her in a few years. “She won’t,” he said. “I’ve had no time to court a woman.”

  And hadn’t met any women who wanted to be courted.

  “You’ve said Dooley is married.”

  “And met his wife while he recuperated from bullneck fever. Will you wish that on me?”

  “Lesions aren’t as dashing as prosthetic eyepieces, but if it was successful for Dooley…” She trailed off when he laughed. As she watched him, her eyes softened, and her smile seemed to tremble. “I’m sorry. Seeing you now, like this…Oh, you were such a joy to us—to your father and me, after the disaster. You were so fearless, so unstoppable. Some of my very best memories are of you driving your little cart around town.”

  He cupped her hands between his. “Those are some of my best memories, too.”

  “You were so happy.”

  Yes. “But only you and my father believed it.”

  Everyone else believed he must be miserable and had simply worn a brave face. They must have also thought him a brilliant actor; David knew he wasn’t.

  “All those damn fools.” Lucia shook her head. “And now, are you still happy?”

  “I get along.” Whether in a cart or on mechanical legs, nothing had been the same after his father had gone. He’d once been filled with laughter, bursting with possibility. Much of that had seemed to leave with his father’s last breath.

  Perhaps that exuberance had simply been youth. David enjoyed his work, was continually excited by it. He had fine friends to share meals and conversations with. Still, he sensed that something was missing…or unfulfilled.

  Such as his promise to his mother. Was he only lacking that? He hoped so. When he spoke with the woman whose accent so closely matched hers, maybe he’d be closer to fulfilling that promise, and he’d discover whether anything else was absent in his life.

  The silence between them had gone on for too long. He saw Lucia’s concerned gaze, and smiled in response.

  “I’m well,” he reassured her.

  She nodded, and seemed to hesitate before saying in a rush, “One of Paolo di Fiore’s men is aboard Phatéon.”

  David’s chest tightened. Paolo di Fiore—the man who’d attempted to build a machine inside the heart of an artificial mountain. In a land devastated by territorial disputes, the great device would filter the soot-laden air and clean the polluted river waters, and bring the warring peoples together in a common goal. He’d intended to bring renewed life to an entire region but had instead destroyed the mountain and half a city. His mother and his uncle had both died in the disaster, along with thousands of others. David had always counted himself fortunate that he’d only lost his legs, an arm, and part of an eye. Others hadn’t been as lucky.

  Di Fiore had survived, but David had never thought the man was fortunate. He’d read the newssheets following the trial; by all accounts, grief and horror had broken the man.

  “I didn’t realize that he’d been released from the insanitarium.”

  “About five years ago. Of course the newssheets reported on it, but I believe you were in Aztlán. You heard nothing of it?”

  “No.”

  But he wouldn’t have. He’d been away for almost a year during that time. Who would have mentioned it to him when he returned? His colleagues would have either assumed he already knew, or refrained from talking about it out of courtesy. Knowing now, how did he feel about the man’s release?

  Nothing. He’d thought anger would fill him, but there was none. Only mild curiosity. “Di Fiore’s man…is he on the crew?”

  “A passenger. I only know because Captain Vashon asked whether the reminder would be too painful. She would have arranged passage for him and his laborers aboard another ship.”

  Ah. So Komlan was di Fiore’s man—and they were apparently building a locomotive railway in Iceland. Perhaps the man hadn’t fully regained his sanity, after all.

  He squeezed her hands. “I won’t think anything of it. And you?”

  “No.” She exhaled a long, shuddering breath. “It is painful. Not to have him aboard, but to see…to know how it all changes with hardly more than a blink. Oh, David. Do you know I have not stepped foot off this airship in three years? Because every time I go down, I see less and less of the world I shared with your uncle, and feel everything from that time slipping away.”

  Then David had arrived at her door and brought the change to her. He couldn’t be sorry for coming—and knew she wasn’t, either—but he could be sorry that it hurt her.

  “Oh, I’m a foolish old woman.” She laughed through her tears when he shook his head. “Yes.”

  He held on to her trembling hands. “You’re not.”

  Almost everything from that time had slipped away—and they were left to cling to what they could…or hunt down the remains.


  When she nodded and smiled at him again, he gave her fingers another squeeze and leaned back. She wiped her cheeks, then lifted the watch at her breast.

  “Oh, now look. You’ll barely have an extra moment to ready for dinner.”

  David glanced down at his jacket and trousers. They were rough, but the best he had with him. “I’m ready.”

  “No, my dear. That was my polite way of shoving you through the door so that I can repair the damage that all of this weeping has done to my face.”

  Laughing, he stood. “You’re still beautiful.”

  “And you’re forgiven for lying.”

  She turned her cheek for his kiss, which he happily bestowed. At the door, however, he couldn’t help himself. Hat in hand, he faced her.

  “I spoke with another passenger on the docks, but I forgot to ask her name. Have you met any of the others aboard?”

  “A woman, David?”

  He heard the laugh in her voice. “Yes. Young, vibrant.”

  “Beautiful?”

  Rather pretty, but with such lively expressions that her features appealed to him far more than any beauty’s. “Yes.”

  Lucia nodded. “There is one such young woman aboard. She’s bound for Heimaey, in the Vestmann Islands.”

  She spoke the name as if it should have some import, but David didn’t recognize it. “Heimaey?”

  “Hymen Island.”

  “Ah.” Heat filled his cheeks. The island off the south coast of Iceland was inhabited only by women, and was where some Catholic families sent their unmanageable daughters, keeping them pure for advantageous marriages. Rumor was, however, that the women were simply left there—and since no men were allowed to set foot on the island, distasteful stories of virgin cults and women who would steal a man’s virility had begun to spread. “Her family requested that she be taken to the island?”

  “Accompanied by her nurse, yes. They have the stateroom on the second deck. You saw her on the docks?”

  “Yes.”

  “I hadn’t realized that she’d been allowed to leave the ship.”

  Perhaps she hadn’t been. David hadn’t seen how the trouble at the port gates had started, but he felt certain that her birth documents were false. Had she been trying to escape?

  Maybe he should have helped her. “Do you know her name?”

  “Maria Madalena Neves.”

  “Lusitanian?” That couldn’t be right. She hadn’t spoken Portuguese at the gates.

  “I believe so. She boarded Phatéon in Nova Lagos—though I do recall she said that her grandmother was from one of the northern kingdoms. Sweden, perhaps.”

  That might be the answer, then. If she’d been unmanageable, she might have been sent away before, to family in the north. Would she know his mother’s family? “Will she be at the captain’s table?”

  “She has been these past two nights. I can see to it that you have a seat next to her, if you like.”

  “I would.”

  His aunt nodded, but a hint of uncertainty weakened her smile. “David, I hate that this must be said, but I hope that she has not misled you in any way. It hasn’t happened on this ship, but I’ve heard that some of these girls will attempt to make themselves…ineligible. And they’ll use any man to do it.”

  David grinned wryly. “She must not be that desperate. I asked her to join me for dinner at the inn. She refused.”

  “She refused—?” Lucia seemed to stumble, at a loss for words. “Ah, well. Perhaps she will be desperate enough to seduce you after we are under way.” When David began to laugh, she raised her hands to suddenly pink cheeks. “Oh. No, dear. That is not what I mean. Only that her fate will seem more inescapable at that point.”

  He’d known what she meant. That didn’t make the other any less true. “Is it inescapable?”

  If so, he would offer to help her escape it.

  “No. The Vashons receive a fee from the family, and so the captain will fly the girl to Heimaey. But on Phatéon’s next docking at the island, she’ll receive free passage away if she doesn’t want to stay.”

  “Do the families know this?”

  “Of course not. But here is something you won’t expect to hear, David: Of the fifteen girls we’ve taken, only two have left.” With a sly grin, she patted his hand. “Perhaps this one will have reason to leave, too?”

  He’d dug this hole, hadn’t he? “That’s not what I—”

  “Hush, now. And make certain to comb your hair.” She turned away from him, unpinning her own hair. “If you can tear yourself away from Miss Neves after dinner, I would like to introduce you to the crew in the wardroom. We’re rather starved for new company, and so passengers are always welcome—and there is one person in particular who I think would interest you.”

  Only Maria Madalena Neves interested him, and if what he suspected of her origin was true, Lucia would certainly understand why. “I will see you again shortly, then.”

  “Comb your hair,” was her only reply as he left.

  David’s cabin was on the second deck—and, he realized after asking for directions—only a few steps from the stateroom. His heart pounded when he stopped at his door, and he stood looking down the passageway toward hers. She might emerge at any moment.

  What would she think of seeing him there, after she’d run from him on the docks? What would she think of suddenly facing him across a table? Perhaps he ought to prepare her. He could look in on her, inquire that she was all right after her ordeal at the port gates.

  Everything would be proper. Her nurse would be in the stateroom. He wouldn’t even enter the cabin, but simply make his inquiry from the passageway.

  Oh, he was a fool. Knowing that, he still combed his fingers through his hair and approached her door. And if by some terrible chance, she was alone and desperate enough to invite him into her bed…

  He wouldn’t say no. Hell, he’d like to spend the entire journey there, even if only to watch her face as she talked. Even if she insisted on the dark, even if she insisted that he didn’t kiss her or touch her skin more than necessary, he could still watch her face through his light-enhancing lens.

  God. He shook his head. Who was desperate, here?

  Maria Madalena Neves wasn’t.

  A few seconds after his soft knock, the door whipped open—and yes, she was absolutely beautiful in a blue silk gown that would have been more suitable in a ballroom than at a captain’s table. Her hair was long, dark, and curling. Plump lips pressed into a tight line. Two spots of red appeared high on her pale cheeks.

  “What do you want, senhor?”

  Nothing, now. But he had to make certain. “Excuse my intrusion. You are Senhorita Neves?”

  “Yes.” She tossed her head, blue eyes flashing. “I know you as well, Senhor Porco. I know what you’ve heard about me, and why you have come crawling to my door. Do you truly think I could ever be so wretched that I would lower myself enough to let you touch me, pig?”

  She stepped back. The door slammed, shuddering against the jamb. David stared at the wood for a long moment, then pushed his fingers through his hair again, mildly surprised that her ire hadn’t burned it away.

  So that hadn’t been her. Damn.

  He knocked at Lucia’s door. Powder puff in hand, she opened it, looking up at him curiously. “David?”

  “Don’t sit me next to Miss Neves,” he said. “The woman I met had short black hair and an enormous red skirt over yellow trousers. Do you know her?”

  “Yes.” Lucia gave a merry laugh, nodding. “Yes, I know her. That is Annika Fridasdottor. I meant to introduce you to her tonight.”

  Annika. Perfect. “Who is she?”

  “Oh, David. I have been trying to discover the answer to that mystery for almost four years.” She batted his nose with the puff. “We’ll see if you do any better than I have.”

  Chapter Three

  When her stomach rumbled a hungry complaint half an hour before supper, Annika wished that she’d taken the stranger up on
his offer. She lay facedown in her bunk instead, with a hollow belly and a pillow over her head, trying to sneak in a few minutes of sleep.

  Sleep wouldn’t come. Her mind spun out waking dreams, refusing to rest.

  What sort of supper would they have eaten? For a week, she’d been craving roasted mutton; surely the inn would have served that. And a thick, salty gravy that she could sop up with crusty bread. She could have devoured an entire haunch and still had room to lick her fingers after.

  Oh, and she had to stop imagining this before she drooled into her mattress. It still faintly smelled of the sweet straw beneath the cotton cover, and nothing soured a bed as quickly as moisture seeping into the stuffing. She would dream of the stranger, instead, and of what his answers to all of her queries might have been.

  Though she still couldn’t imagine a good reason to chase after volcanoes. To study them, he’d said. What was there to study that couldn’t be viewed from afar? They shook the earth and terrified the sheep and ponies. They spewed ash that turned the daytime sky to gray and the nights to red. They poured lava down their snowy sides, sending up billowing steam that could be seen for miles, melting ice into rivers of mud that destroyed everything in its path. Everyone in Hannasvik knew to keep their distance from an eruption.

  So there must be another purpose. Annika had once imagined herself descending into the mouth of a volcano—but she had also been five years of age and her ears still ringing with tales of dragons who hoarded their gold in mountain caves.

  Perhaps that was what the man sought. Not dragons, because no sensible person believed in them, but glory. That seemed almost as foolish as searching for a dragon’s hoard, but perhaps the stranger was like Sigurd, who’d been manipulated by Reginn to carry out that dwarf’s revenge upon his dragon brother. Perhaps he’d been led to believe glory could be found in such pursuits.

  She didn’t like to think that her rescuer could be so easily manipulated, however. She didn’t like to think of him resembling Sigurd the Deceiver at all. She preferred her heroes to resemble Brunhild, who took her bloody revenge upon the Deceiver after he’d misled and taken advantage of her.