Riveted

by Brook, Meljean

  “They’ll put the passengers off before the crew. When they evacuate, you take the first round of jumps. I’ll stay back until Annika goes.”

  Dismay filled his friend’s face. “I’m not thinking that’s—”

  “I’ll help her shovel. I need you to look over my aunt, take her with you. Please.”

  “It’s an arseways time for you to fall in love.” Dooley clasped his hand, gave a firm shake. “All right. So long as you’re off when the crew goes.”

  “I will be.”

  Because he’d be making damn sure that Annika made it off, too.

  Chapter Seven

  Though Annika wished David had stayed above, she was glad to see him—and she couldn’t afford to reject his help. She gave him two pieces of cotton for his ears and a shovel, then steered him toward the furnace. She climbed up to the engine room and saw Mary coming in. With the engine already at full steam and David helping below, there was nothing for Mary to do here but wring her hands. Annika shoved her out to collect their things and to wait for evacuation.

  Down to the boiler room again. David had stripped off his coat and jacket, tossed them over her blue mantle. In his shirtsleeves, he rhythmically scooped shovelfuls from the rolling bin to the furnace. Annika dumped the bin onto the boards, left him a small hill of coal. She pushed the bin to the coal bunker and refilled it before jettisoning the rest through the emergency chute.

  She felt faintly sick. Fifty tons of coal, straight into the drink—but it would lighten the ship, give them more of a chance. Digging her boots in, she hauled the full bin back to the furnace, grabbed another shovel.

  Scoop and toss. Scoop and toss.

  Her world narrowed to that single motion, repeated over and over again. Her back ached. Her face itched with sweat. How far had they been from shore when the harpoon had struck the balloon? Ten miles, perhaps. At full steam, a little over fifteen minutes. They had to be close. She hadn’t yet heard the bell signaling the order to abandon ship. Perhaps they would make it to shore? If so, she needed to close all of the hatches, stop the engine before they landed or risk their own propellers tearing Phatéon apart.

  She glanced at David. The white-hot glow from the furnace glinted off his beads and eyepiece, glistening over the sheen of perspiration. Unlike Annika, his pace hadn’t slowed. He looked as if he could keep this up for hours—and with the nanoagents, perhaps he could. “I’m going to see where we are!” she shouted.

  He nodded without breaking the rhythm: scoop and toss. Annika’s sweaty hands almost slipped on the ladder rungs. She hauled herself up into the engine room and stopped, her heart thumping.

  She could see Iceland’s shoreline through the portholes. Oh, that couldn’t be right. They were at the tail of the ship, the portholes on the sides, and Phatéon was supposed to be flying toward the island; she should have only been able to see the ocean. And the ship was low, low—only a few yards above the surface. Was Vashon hoping to settle into the water and let the propellers drive them in, like the engine of an old ironship?

  It wouldn’t work. Phatéon would float for a short time, but the weight of the engine made her draft on the stern too deep. The engine room would flood, water pouring in through the hull along the propeller shafts and vents. She’d drown within minutes.

  Annika yanked the cotton from her ears and shouted into the pipes. “Captain!” No answer. But someone had to be on the bridge. “Captain!”

  What the devil was going on?

  Her stomach sank, and she knew. Panic followed her to the porthole again. She pressed shaking hands against the thick glass, stared toward the shoreline. There, the winged figures in the air. Gliders.

  They’d already abandoned ship…and she hadn’t heard the bell.

  Terror exploded within her. They had to go now. She hauled the engine lever back to STOP, blew the vents open wide, and raced to the hatch. “David!”

  He looked up at her scream, dropped his shovel.

  “They’ve abandoned ship! Take your coat. Run, run!”

  He did, scooping up her mantle and his coat. His boots rang against the ladder rungs as he climbed. Though slowing, the engine still huffed, but it was nothing to the pounding of her heart in her ears.

  She took the mantle, dragged it on as they raced down the passageways, up the stairs. She burst up onto the main deck, chest heaving.

  “Oh, sweet heavens.”

  The balloon was sinking in on itself like a swaybacked pony. Phatéon barely skimmed above the waves.

  David gestured to the shore, where black sands stretched back to a low plain, then rose abruptly into cliffs. “It’s not far. Are there any more gliders?”

  “We can’t jump from this height.” They’d just fall into the ocean. Annika pushed her hands into her hair, mind racing. “A lifeboat. The moment Phatéon settles into the water, we’ll swing it over and row to shore.”

  “And the whale?” He looked behind them. “They’re likely waiting.”

  “We’ll row fast. If they’re after cargo, they shouldn’t bother with us.” Annika hoped so, anyway. She studied the familiar shoreline. They’d still be twenty miles from Vik, walking all the way. “We need clothes. As fast as you can, as warm as you can find, only what you can carry. And a weapon, if you have one.”

  She worried more about the dogs than the pirates.

  “How long until we land?”

  “Three minutes, perhaps.”

  “Christ.”

  She hurried with him down to the second deck; she continued to the next. The pack that she’d carried from Hannasvik still lay in the trunk beneath her bunk. She dragged it out, stuffed the sack full of old clothes. Her new outfits would be lost—but she could make more. She grabbed her spark lighter, wrapped it in oilcloth to keep out the wet. The spanners still tucked in her belt would have to serve as weapons.

  David met her at the companionway, a pistol holstered at his thigh and a similar pack slung over his shoulder. Taking her hand, he raced with her to the main deck, then amidships, where the boat was cabled against a mast.

  She stopped, out of breath. “I thought you didn’t run?”

  “Metaphorically.” His quick smile drew a laugh from her. “How do we free this boat?”

  “We have to wait until Phatéon’s belly is in the water and she’s stopped.” It would be a rough ride until then. She pointed to the pulley and the long arm. “As soon as we do, you heft that rope, I’ll swing her to the side. We’ll get in and drop down by pulling that release.”

  He tossed his pack into the boat, then hers. The engine gave a final huff. The sound of the ocean rushed in, the wind sharp against her face. Annika looked over the bow. Even with the propellers stopped, they still flew quickly over the waves. So quickly.

  She faced David again. “There’s going to be a jolt when we hit those swells! We’ll skip along before—”

  The deck reared, knocking her to the deck. Icy spray crashed over the bow. Annika sat up, wrapped her arms around the mast. David crouched beside her, gripped the timber with his steel hand.

  His gaze searched hers. A fine mist covered his lens, matted his lashes. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded. Another jolt bucked her forward, then backward as the ship bounced off another wave like a stone skipping across the water. Around them, Phatéon shuddered, creaked.

  Another jolt. Pain tore across her shoulder as the force of the impact ripped her away from the mast—threw her toward the bow. A crate skidded beside her and smashed into the bulwark. A heavy wave crashed over the side in a thick wall, pounded onto her back like fists. Salty, freezing water surrounded her, burned her eyes and nose. She couldn’t breathe. The wave receded over the bow, dragging her with it. Her hands scrabbled against the boards, searching for anything solid. A rope slid through her mittens and slithered away too quickly to grasp.

  Her collar pulled tight. David hauled her back onto the deck, features harsh, the edges of his lips white. “Annika!”

  “I
’m all right.” She struggled to her feet, coughing. Phatéon rocked beneath her feet, water lapping at her sides. The last crash into the wave had stopped them. “Get the boat.”

  And quickly. She was scared now. She’d have to change clothes as fast as she could while he rowed, and exchange her soaked mantle for the coat in her pack. In this cold, wet meant dead. Her muscles were already shaking, her fingers aching.

  David grabbed the pulley line, hoisted the boat—and froze. Annika barely had a second to look around, to see the giant waterfall passing over the bow, the enormous cavern behind it. David leapt for her. His arm caught her waist and dragged her to the deck. His body covered hers. Heavy drops of water rained onto the boards, the balloon.

  Falling from the whale’s mouth as it swallowed them, Annika realized numbly.

  Everything went dark. David’s lean form tensed above her. “Hold on to me.”

  While he held on to something else, she guessed. She wrapped her arms around his chest, her legs around his waist.

  The deck tilted violently, throwing them against the wooden bulwark. David’s low grunt of pain was lost in the screech of metal, the splinter of wood. Phatéon was moving—sliding, her bottom scraping along a metal surface, gaining speed. David gathered her closer, his body straining as he held her against the ship’s side. Terrified, Annika squeezed her eyes shut, gripped him tighter.

  The crash almost tore her away. She screamed, held on. A deafening crack echoed through the dark. The airship shuddered.

  His hand stroked down her back, his voice a soothing murmur. “Shhh, Annika. We’re all right.”

  Annika realized she was shaking, whimpering pitifully against his neck. A few deep breaths helped her to stop. She opened her eyes.

  Utter darkness, but there were noises. The thrum of an engine. The rhythmic, gasping thrust of a pump. The insistent drip of water. The hiss of the warmers. David’s ragged breath.

  Men shouted in Norwegian. The sailors from the fluyt…or the pirates?

  Gingerly, Annika unwound her arms, sat up. The deck sloped to port, as if Phatéon had come to rest on that side. Not steep, but enough to be disorienting.

  “Are you all right?” His voice was rough.

  “Yes.” She reached for the rail, pulled herself up to her knees. “Can you see anything?”

  He apparently could. “We’re in a hold—a big one. The walls are steel, but there’s a stair on the side that leads up to a hatch door. The floor is flooded, but it’s not deep. Only a few feet. The fluyt is here. Phatéon’s stern rammed into her side.”

  “I hear pumps,” she said. “Air pumps, I hope.”

  The balloon was still deflating. Even if the hydrogen didn’t explode, a leaking balloon in an enclosed space could make the air too dangerous to breathe.

  Oh, and she would not think of the women on Heimaey. Terror already had her trembling enough. At least it wasn’t the cold—though that was seeping in, too. She needed to change her clothes before long. Hopefully, her pack was still in the boat.

  She got her feet beneath her. David caught her hand.

  “Stay down.”

  She crouched again, staring into the dark. “Why?”

  He whispered now. “Men are coming into the hold.”

  “With no lights?”

  “They’re wearing goggles—and carrying weapons.”

  Thankfully no lanterns, not with the balloon still deflating. “Guns?”

  They’d be stupid to fire one.

  “Swords and crossbows.”

  Dread joined the terror. “Pirates?”

  “Probably.” His hand tightened on hers. “I think they have light-enhancing lenses.”

  Weapons, darkness, and lenses that allowed them to see. The only reason to combine them was horrifying. “How many of them?”

  “A dozen. Oh, Christ.” David flattened her onto the wet deck. “Down. All the way down. We’ll crawl to the ladder and stay hidden behind the bulwark as long as we can. Are there any more weapons aboard? I only have a pistol.”

  “No. They all fire. Maybe a knife in the galley.”

  “Bludging hell.” He drew a sharp breath. “Go.”

  She scooted ahead on her elbows and knees, driven by panic, guided by memory. A scream ripped through the dark—and was cut short. Her teeth clenched against a terrified whimper. Another scream. Men shouted in confusion, pled for mercy. Someone was running, splashing through water. She flinched as another cry sounded, closer, thinning into a gurgling moan.

  David came up beside her, urged her on. “There’s the ladder. As quickly as you can.”

  She found the edge, grasped the rails, and slid down to the second deck. Moving to the side, she stood shivering in wet, heavy wool. She discarded her mittens, heard the wet plop against the boards.

  The thud of David’s boots followed. “They’re searching that boat and killing the crew,” he said. “They’ll search Phatéon next. There’re too many to fight, and God knows how many are manning this damn whale, but if they don’t find anyone, they’ll assume we all abandoned ship. Do you know a place to hide?”

  Annika the Rabbit always knew a place to hide. “The engine room. There’s a smuggle hole there.”

  He took her hand again, tugged her forward. Water splashed under their feet, the remnants of the wave that had washed over the upper deck—but the lower levels wouldn’t be wet. Annika stopped, pulled her hand free. She stripped the mantle and her tunic over her head, toed off her boots.

  “Annika?”

  “I’ll lead them straight to us, dripping a trail.”

  Her trousers were next, leaving her clad in a chemise, drawers, and her wool stockings. All damp, but not soaked.

  His voice was strained. “You’ll freeze.”

  Not in the engine room. Not for a while, at least. She collected her clothes and belt, keeping her largest, heaviest spanner. Her palm against the bulkhead, she felt her way to the nearest cabin and tossed them in. A wet flop told her David had removed his overcoat. She held out her hand. He threaded his fingers through hers, led her on.

  The heat of the engine room had never been so welcome. The warmth seemed to embrace her, reassure her with its familiarity.

  “Where’s the smuggle hole?”

  “In the floor, around the starboard side.” She followed him across the boards, picturing the layout in her mind. “In line with the third piston. There’s a spring-lock in one of the boards, disguised as a knot. Press it down with your thumb, and when it’s all the way in, twist it clockwise a full turn.”

  He let her go. The scrape of metal sounded, then clicking as the locking mechanism disengaged.

  “Now count three…four boards to port. The hatch is there. You’ll have to slide the regulator on the desk between the planks to pry up the door.”

  A minute later, hinges squeaked. “Will we both fit?”

  She heard his doubt—he must have looked inside. “A French count and his wife did, and they were both well fed.”

  Though it had been a squeeze. The space was no wider than her bunk, and not much deeper. The hole had been built between the decks, but couldn’t be so large as to arouse suspicion. From the boiler room, it looked like a pipe conduit.

  “Will we be able to breathe?”

  “Those pipes have open ends.”

  “All right. Even if they have thermal lenses instead of light enhancers, the heat from the boilers and engine will overwhelm them—and they shouldn’t be able to detect us through the floor.” He took her hand again, but hesitated before moving again. “The way this floor is tilted, you’ll be sliding up on top of me.”

  “I’ll try not to squash you.”

  “That’s not what I—” He stopped abruptly, made a choked sound that might have been a laugh or a groan. “All right. I’ll get in. You come after.”

  She waited until he settled. Feet first, she felt her way in. David lay on his back, stiff as the boards around them. The hole wasn’t wide enough to lie shoulder-to-should
er. She tried to hold herself up, scrunching her back against the wall. She only managed to overbalance and fall against his arm.

  Struggling to brace herself, Annika pushed against his solid chest. “I can’t seem to—”

  “Roll up against me.”

  “But if I can—”

  “Annika.”

  With a sigh, she did, rolling onto her hip and half lying against him with his arm trapped between her stomach and his left side. Her neck bent awkwardly when she tried to rest her head on the boards. “Can I put my head on your shoulder?”

  He slid his arm from between them, giving her room. “Yes.”

  She moved in closer. The cotton of his shirt was damp, but his shoulder was broad and warm beneath her cheek. His arm came around her, metal fingers resting lightly at her waist. She could feel the structure of his prosthetic through her thin chemise and his shirt sleeve, the hard muscle of his biceps narrowing to the hinge of his elbow, the steel of his forearm across her back.

  All strength. She wouldn’t have felt as safe with anyone else.

  “All right?” His whisper sounded lower, rougher.

  “Yes.”

  He moved against her, reaching up. Hinges squeaked again as he lowered the lid over them. A click sounded—the locking mechanism. Unless the pirates already knew where this smuggle hole was and how to open it, they’d remain undiscovered.

  Where were the pirates now? She listened, but only heard their own breaths and the faint ticking of David’s pocket watch. Were men still screaming outside? It was worse to imagine that they weren’t, that all the screams had been silenced. Perhaps some of the sailors had realized what was happening. Perhaps they hid now, too. Waiting, while someone hunted them in the dark.

  A tremble wracked her body. Again. Her teeth chattered.

  His arm tightened. “Are you cold?”

  “No.” Just shivering—reaction finally settling in. She clamped her jaw tight, then opened it again to ask, “Are you afraid, too?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t show it.”

  “Because you can’t see me.”

  She lifted her head and pressed her ear against his chest. His heart beat slowly, evenly. Unlike hers, racing as she recalled the whale’s gaping maw, the petrifying collision with the fluyt, and the screams afterward. David lay unafraid, but she could only think that she didn’t want to die now, didn’t want to end here—and how close they’d come to it.