Master of Myth (The Antigone's Wrath Series Book 1)

by Starla Huchton

  Max looked physically pained to accept this paltry amount, but he nodded in agreement. Danton passed him the fee and was given another piece of paper. “Eight o’clock tonight. Etoile Premiere office three,” Max said.

  Danton nodded at him and departed. The Etoile Premiere “office” Max mentioned was not an office at all. There was a pub on Rue d’Etoile Premiere with a few rooms for rent. One of these rooms served Max as a place for conducting business of the less than legal sort. Which room he rented would rotate, and he always subtracted a number from the real room number when giving instructions. Scheduling the meeting for eight was another windfall. This would give Danton plenty of time to cover Iris at the Aux Vieilles Armes and then make it to meet the mystery merchant.

  At the thought of Iris, Danton realized it was nearly time to catch up with her. She would be at the dock and he didn’t wish to keep her waiting.

  Chapter Seven

  The Agreement

  Danton was surprised Iris was not waiting for him at four o’clock. It was highly unlike her to be late. If nothing else, she was always punctual. They both had a considerable amount of things to do today, so it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility she had been caught up doing one of them. The Port Control office was likely to be quite crowded, and he imagined that getting permission to go as far as India would be tougher than usual. She would probably have to get special permission from the local director, even if they said they were granting passes for that far out.

  Most ships would port outside the Red Sea, either in Djibouti or Yemen. Yong Wu’s reach stopped near the Arabian Sea, and he would be hard pressed to push those boundaries any further than that. The Royal Navy and ATA didn’t need an excuse to pursue pirates, and Yong Wu had been on top of their most wanted list for quite some time. That he gave them cause to ramp up their assault on him was lunacy, but the man had delusions of grandeur and was convinced he was the reincarnation of Genghis Khan. Yong Wu had a certain respect for Captain Sterling, as she often had the stones to match him when it came to ship-to-ship combat, but his dismal view of women was right up there with the ideals the Brotherhood held. Were he not such an egomaniac, he doubtless would have allied with the Brotherhood long ago. As it was, he kept on killing the emissaries they sent him, and that made Danton smile. He had no love for Yong Wu, but the man did have a few redeeming qualities.

  Twenty minutes past four, Iris rushed up the dock, arms full of papers and looking murderous. He resisted the urge to shoot a sarcastic comment at her as she whizzed by him, heading for the boat. Instead, he met her threatening gaze with a bemused smile. Iris did not like to be late.

  She emerged fifteen minutes later looking a bit less hassled, but no less hateful. “Is all of the world so full of misogyny?”

  Danton chuckled. “Trouble at the Port Control office?”

  “Those disgusting bastards kept me there for three hours filling out useless forms so they could gawk at me as long as possible. In the last five minutes, I had to put a knife to one man’s throat because he decided I wouldn’t mind having his hand on my posterior. After that, the rest of the process was surprisingly quick.” At this final statement, she gave a satisfied smirk. “How did you fare? Any leads worth pursuing?”

  “Only one of any note.” He shrugged. “I’ve a meeting later tonight to discuss the terms.”

  “Perhaps I’ll accompany you,” she mused. “I’d like to see how your negotiating tactics vary from mine.”

  “If you wish.” He smiled. Truthfully, he didn’t mind her company. She was not the skilled fighter Rachel was, but was hardly defenseless. It was always better to have a little backup, rather than none at all. Iris was no slouch at black market dealings herself, so having her along wouldn’t hurt. “Shall we go?”

  She nodded, her dark curls bobbing.

  As they walked south down the docks, Danton wondered what drove Iris to help this stranger they were meeting. It wasn’t in her nature to stick her neck out so far for someone she didn’t know. “So you say you’ve never seen this man before today?”

  Iris shook her head. “No, never. I have a very strong sense about him, though. Call it intuition if you like, but when I meet someone who is important, I know. There is no doubt in my mind that there is something very special about him. He has a mission, and I am compelled to help him complete his journey in any way I can.”

  Danton was on the fence regarding the mysticism Iris so completely believed. He was raised a God-fearing man, but knew from experience that God had little to do with certain aspects of the world. Aether Manipulation was a tool to be used, true, but he didn’t keep it in the religious way Iris was wont to do. “So it’s only your instinct that guides you in this matter?”

  “It cannot be so simply reduced, Danton,” Iris said. “Instinct is animalistic and drives simple responses. No, this is not instinct. When I see people that are integrally involved in the great plan, I see them in a light you could not fully appreciate unless you were to see it yourself. I knew it with the captain as I knew it with you, and now this man as well. You may call it destiny, or fate, or even instinct if you must, but do not doubt what I do.”

  He bowed his head. “Madame, I would never disrespect you so much as to question your intentions. It was merely a curiosity to me as it is rare you go so far for a stranger. I meant no offense.”

  She paused and looked at him, a wounded expression on her face. “You think me so cold?”

  He stopped alongside her and stammered over an answer. “Non! Not at all! I do not spend enough time with you on shore to know such a thing. I do not judge you, merely state surprise at the keen interest in this particular situation.” There was no winning in an argument such as this.

  With a sour look, she continued on and kept silent the rest of the way. Danton followed behind, afraid to provoke her further with more conversation.

  It was nearly five o’clock when she walked through the door, but she didn’t look happy. Silas wondered if this boded well or ill for him. The fact that she was here told him she would probably tell him he was welcome aboard, but the irritation on her face spoke of other things. Directly behind her, a man followed, looking a bit beaten down. Perhaps he was the cause of her vexed expression. He would know in a moment, as she spotted him and approached.

  “Eddie, you’d best come over to this side now,” he said to the boy.

  “Huh?” He glanced up from the cup of tea he was holding. When he saw the woman coming their way, he understood and transplanted himself in the seat next to Silas.

  She slipped onto the chair across from him as the older gentleman sat across from Eddie. She studied Silas, then Eddie, as if deciding on something before saying anything at all. “I have received permission from Captain Sterling to welcome you aboard for our next journey.”

  Silas’s eyebrows shot up in alarm. Surely it couldn’t be that Captain Sterling. “Beg pardon my good lady, but I must ask the name of the vessel you represent.”

  Her half smile did nothing to ease his shock. “I think you know very well which ship you’ve asked to board.” This certainly answered most of his questions regarding the ship and its crew. “Does this change your desire for transport?”

  He shook his head fiercely. “No, it does not. I simply had not thought… It had not even occurred to me that…” He sputtered, desperately trying to regain his composure. He could feel Eddie’s eyes watching him, full of curiosity at his reaction. “Please forgive my response. I didn’t know your ship was in port here. This actually answers many of my questions for you. The reputation of your ship and crew is quite widely known.”

  “Which ship?” Eddie chimed in, much to Silas’s irritation.

  He ignored the question and continued speaking with the woman across from him. “What sort of fare do you require? As I said when we spoke earlier, I’m not a wealthy man, but I’d gladly offer my services for anything your captain would ask. I’m skilled with machinery repairs, welding, engines, anything involving
metal or moving parts, really. Eddie is my apprentice, and is quite taken with airships, so I imagine it will be tough to keep him from volunteering his help even when he is not needed.” He shot the boy a reproachful look, hoping he would take the cue to keep any further questions to himself.

  The woman said nothing, listening and watching Silas and Eddie. She shot a sidelong glance to the man who accompanied her, and he gave a brief nod before she started speaking. “Before we finalize our deal, I have a few questions I need answers to on behalf of the captain. First, your name and a bit about your occupation, sir?”

  Silas nodded. “Of course. I’m Silas Jensen. This is Edison Maclaren, my apprentice. I own a shop in Pevensey, England where I deal in antique books.”

  “You said you were a machinist, did you not?” She arched an eyebrow.

  “I did. The shop was my father’s. I run my true business from my workshop downstairs, mostly repairing things locally, but I also take paid commissions for new equipment fabrication. Some of my inventions are not made entirely of conventional pieces. I create machines from existing enriched pieces, if you understand my meaning.” He looked to each of them for a sign of comprehension. The woman seemed intrigued. The man gave no indication either way. “It’s not my preference to work with such materials, but as my work is on a by-piece basis, I generally have little control of this.”

  “Do you create weapons?” The older gentleman asked bluntly, his words colored by a French accent.

  Silas straightened, insulted at the question. “I do not build weapons. My focus is household gadgetry and the occasional novelty piece.”

  “But it is not beyond your capability to do so?”

  “My capabilities have nothing to do with it.” Silas frowned. “It is beyond my own moral sensibilities to do so.”

  The questions grew more hostile. “What is your business at our final destination?”

  “I’m in need of a translation. I’m in possession of an obscure text and the only scholars that could interpret it for me reside in that part of the world. It is quite the oddity and very old.”

  “So you do deal in antique books from time to time?”

  Silas tried not to let his agitation show. Was it not enough that he would be paying these people and possibly working for them? “I deal with my father’s old stock, but this is another matter entirely. It’s to do with my latest commission. I cannot know the extent of or complete my work until I know what the text says.”

  “May I see this book?”

  Silas ground his teeth in agitation. He would not have his privacy invaded to ease this man’s conscience. “Unless you are an officer of the law, the answer is no. My possessions are my own business and you have no right to them. However, I have a copy of one of the pages that I will gladly show to Captain Sterling when we are aboard. I do not have it with me.” The man’s eyes narrowed at this response, but Silas would not relinquish a thing. “What is your name, sir?”

  “I am Danton DuSalle.” His expression did not change. “Master-at-arms and head chef.”

  “Master-at-arms and… Head chef?” Silas asked, baffled.

  “Not so curious a combination if you’ve ever tasted his food.” The woman defended Danton’s title. “I’m Iris Singh, First Mate. Monsieur DuSalle, I believe he has satisfied your curiosity?” This struck Silas as more of a statement than an inquiry. Danton said nothing more, so Iris continued. “As for your fee, the captain has agreed to take you and your apprentice aboard for no less than two hundred each, and may exercise the right to put your hands to work at any time. Is this acceptable to you?”

  Silas nearly choked on the last of his ale as the amount of money she asked of him registered. This was nearly a year’s worth of wages, pending there was a constant flow of business, but the Brotherhood provided him with a large sum to spend at his discretion, however much he detested doing so. He made a quick mental calculation, noting that this would leave him very little for the return trip. There was nothing to be done for it. He could tell from the look in Ms. Singh’s eyes and the cold stare from Monsieur DuSalle that there would be no negotiations. He sighed. “It pushes my finances to its very limit to do so, but I agree to these terms. When is the scheduled departure?”

  “I cannot say at this time,” she admitted. “But I’ll send word as soon as I know. Where might I find you later?”

  Silas thought again. “Well, I haven’t arranged accommodations for the evening just yet, but I suppose I might…” He trailed off, thinking of the happenings at the Cheval Rouge. Would Rachel be there again tonight? He remembered Eddie and decided against it. “I may as well take a room here, for convenience.”

  “Very well then.” Iris nodded, and Danton stood, as if this was their cue to leave. “I’ll dispatch a messenger as soon as I have more information for you.”

  Silas stood to say goodbye. “Thank you for your assistance, Miss Singh.”

  She nodded to him, but said no more. The pair turned and left, leaving Silas to deal with the development.

  “So what ship is it?” Eddie asked again.

  He didn’t answer, instead walking directly back to the bar, and ordering two more drinks. When he came back, he sunk into the seat beside the boy and downed one of the whiskeys in a single shot before answering.

  “My boy, we will be passengers on the most infamous vessel in the air or on the seas.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “The Antigone’s Wrath.”

  Chapter Eight

  The Cargo

  “What do you mean, he never arrived?” Captain Kidham’s face burned bright red with anger.

  The desk clerk wrung his hands nervously. “Pardonez-moi, monsieur. This Monsieur Jensen was not with us yesterday, last night, or at any time today.”

  The captain blustered incoherently for a while, outraged at himself, the clerk, and Jensen. His directions were perfectly clear, how could the idiot have messed them up? Kidham had no idea where the inventor was, how he was getting to Singapore, nor what to tell his Brothers about any of this. Blast, blast, blast.

  He stalked out of the Bois de Fer. The Brotherhood had charged him with making sure Silas Jensen stayed under their watchful gaze during this leg of the journey. With the discovery of Yong Wu’s blockade against foreign ships, he was tasked with finding another acceptable means to transport the man and his apprentice to Singapore, one that had friendly eyes to track his movements. But he lost him, and there would surely be penance to pay for his mistake. The last blunder he made landed him as captain of the biggest rust bucket of a cargo ship they could find, with a crew of shiftless, witless layabouts. Kidham didn’t want to think about what was going to happen when they found out about the latest botched job.

  “Looking for something?” a voice rumbled at him from the shadows of the alley he was passing.

  He froze and tried to swallow the lump of fear lodged in his throat before he turned. “Er, no. Not really. Just out for a stroll.”

  “That’s unfortunate,” a figure in an all-encompassing black cloak stepped out of the shadows and into the pool of light cast by the streetlamp, “because you should be.”

  Kidham knew he couldn’t hide his failure. “It’s not my fault! I gave the fool perfectly good directions, he should have found this place eas—” His attempt at explanation caught in his throat as it instantly closed in on itself.

  The cloaked figure extended an arm towards Kidham. “We’re tired of your excuses. As he’s a valuable asset, you should have guided him there yourself.”

  Kidham only managed a gurgling sound as he fought for air.

  “Failure is not tolerated. It was overlooked once as a warning to you. Your incompetent presence is no longer required in the organization.”

  The captain clutched at the streetlamp, eyes bulging and lips turning blue, but the obscured man made no move to help him. The thoroughfare was deserted when Kidham sank to his knees, and, with a few jerking spasms, he collapsed onto the ground, face contorted in a terrible death
mask.

  “That is quite the amusing new toy you’ve acquired,” another man’s voice called from the alley. “It does exactly what you said it would. I’m impressed.”

  “A shame I had to squander it on one of our own.” The cloaked man sighed.

  “Kidham was a waste of skin.” The voice reassured him. “I cannot think of a better trial run than that overfed windbag.”

  At last the shrouded man moved, but only to retrieve the collapsible brass billy club from under the corpse’s coat. “Perhaps, but it would have been nice to try it out on one of those Parliament fools that keep blocking our legislation.”

  “Patience, Matthias. Patience. There will be plenty of time for that later.”

  With a sigh, Matthias returned to the shadows of the alley. “Yes, I know, Brother. I must wait.”

  At eight o’clock, Iris and Danton waited in room four of the public house on Rue d’Etoile Premiere. The interested party they were meeting had not yet made an appearance, and Danton drummed his fingers noisily on the table where he sat.

  “Would you please stop that?” Iris asked, irritated. “All that will do is make me want to break your fingers.”

  He shot her a quick look. “Pardon. It’s a nervous habit. It is never a good sign for these deals when the other party is late.”

  She shook her head at him. “They aren’t yet late, we were early. It’s only now eight. Relax.”

  Danton sighed and tried to do as she said. Normally, he felt in control of these deals. Perhaps it was her presence that threw him off. Her eyes made him uncomfortable. Her way of doing things was much different than his own, and he felt scrutinized.

  Several more minutes passed before a knock sounded at the door. Once, twice, and then three quick raps were the signal the merchant was here. The man downstairs that showed them to this room told them as much. Max was nothing, if not thorough.