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

by Starla Huchton

  “Pressure gauges indicate a go for lift off!” The cacophony of engine noise and grinding gears made it nearly impossible for Iris to be heard.

  Rachel threw her entire body weight against a lever, resulting in a screeching noise that deafened them all. With gritted teeth and hands over his ears, Silas saw the sails of the Antigone’s Wrath expanding into great balloons from his limited view out the windows. Watching this almost took his mind off the racket created by the ship’s protestation. The vessel was not at all happy with the abrupt reconfiguration, and it was very vocal about it.

  Silas did not notice Rachel motioning wildly for him to secure himself. Her frustrated ranting went unheard above the din. When she could wait no longer, she flipped the last switch and grabbed the emergency line stuffed beneath the captain’s chair. As she mouthed a few last curses at him, she lassoed him and yanked him to her side. Not wasting another moment, she tied the other end around her bolted-down seat. A quick glance told her Iris was buckled into the jump seat at the back. The entire boat rattled dangerously. She drew in a quick breath and said a silent prayer as she released the brake.

  The first bounce was the worst. The Antigone’s Wrath lifted ten feet into the air, then slammed back down to the surface. Silas hit the floor a second later. There were no extra seats to tie him to. Rachel felt a little badly for this, but the impossible man was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was lucky he wasn’t dead. Without the little securing she’d done he’d have gone out the window, or even back out the door and over the side. Silas didn’t know this. After the second bounce, he was no longer conscious.

  The third and fourth bounces weren’t so much bounces as they were quick dips. The fifth only registered as such on the altimeter. Undoing the rope with a tug, the captain sprang from her seat and began stabilizing the controls. She and the first mate created a strange ballet as pressures were lowered and speeds adjusted, and even their breathing took on a rhythm in time with their actions. This practiced precision was unmatched by any other crew she knew. Iris knew Rachel’s movements better than anyone, and the Antigone’s Wrath responded to this harmony in kind. When the last bursts of poorly aimed shells were far behind them, Rachel relaxed. She looked down at the still form on the floor. The shallow, but steady rise and fall of his chest told her Silas was alive. She supposed this was a good thing; she still needed him.

  This thought needled her and brought her irritation back to a simmer. Hopefully she’d be rid of him and all this Brotherhood nonsense soon and could get back to her usual sort of mayhem.

  “That was amazing!” Eddie burst into the room with more than his normal excitement; a feat Rachel thought impossible before now. “We’re flying! I mean, we’re really in the air! Where’s Mr. Jen—” He looked down to where Silas lay. “Oh. Is he all right?”

  “Well, I daresay he’ll need a cold compress for the headache he’ll have when he wakes up.” Rachel adjusted some of the controls to straighten their heading. “But it’s nothing a glass of scotch won’t cure. Be a dear and have someone help you haul him down to the infirmary, won’t you? He’s a bit in the way where he is now.”

  Eddie gave a snappy salute and stomped down the metal steps in search of someone to move the limp machinist.

  Rachel stared out the bridge windows. “Iris, I’m concerned about that pursuer just now.”

  “You think we were attacked earlier than usual as well?” Iris tapped at a gauge absently.

  Rachel nodded. “We were barely past the Liberian border before that ship was on us. Did you by chance see the vessel?”

  Iris shook her head. “It began before I could study it closely. The range on their weapons was astounding.”

  “Think this one saw anything?” She nudged Silas with her foot then sighed tiredly. “Not that he’s of any help right now.”

  Eddie clattered back onto the bridge with a burly crewman in tow. The man looked irritated at being tasked with this particular chore, but his face morphed into disciplined compliance when the captain raised an eyebrow at him.

  “Take this man down to the infirmary. Have him seen to,” she ordered the crewman.

  With a sigh and no further instruction needed, the man slung Silas over his shoulder as though he were a sack of dirty laundry. Rachel motioned to Eddie that he should follow. With marked disappointment at being dismissed, the boy turned and shuffled out after his unconscious caretaker.

  “Let me know as soon as he wakes!” she called out after him.

  Silas did not sit up or open his eyes when Captain Sterling came to check on him later. He ached from head to toe and was not in the mood for her brand of witty banter. The very thought of her worsened his headache.

  “Ah, good. You’re awake. I have a question for you.”

  “Why yes,” Silas said. “I’m feeling absolutely top drawer, thanks for asking. Tell me, though, next time you attempt to kill me, could I have a bit of notice?”

  “Attempt to kill—” Rachel sputtered. “I saved your life, you ungrateful idiot! If I hadn’t got that rope around you, you’d be shark excrement by now! And consequently, what on earth were you thinking coming up to the bridge? There’s barely room for two there, let alone adding a fool who thinks he’s being helpful!”

  He cringed. He knew he had no one to blame but himself for his current state of discomfort. “Perhaps I wasn’tt where I should have been. I apologize.” Silas wasn’t sure what hurt more, the wound to his pride or the bruises on his body. “What was it you wanted to ask me?”

  Rachel crossed her arms in front of her. “On one of your trips outside the pilothouse, did you get a look at the vessel firing on us?”

  Silas cocked his head to the side and thought. “I did, actually. Odd-looking thing. Not like any of the boats I’ve seen before.” He told her about the other ship as well as his memory would allow, but didn’t see any spark of recognition on Rachel’s face until he used the fishing boat description. Her eyes went wide in surprise.

  “You’ve seen this type of ship before?” he asked.

  “Yes, but never this side of Africa,” she said slowly.

  “Who were they?”

  “Yong Wu’s men.” She stared up at the ceiling. Silas had no idea what she was thinking, but apparently this news was disturbing.

  “Yong who?” Silas propped himself up with a pained groan.

  “No. Yong Wu. If there’s trade going in or out of southern Asia, it’s only on his say so.” She sighed. “I thought with our cargo being his property, we’d be in the clear. Either they haven’t got the message yet, or Yong Wu is hoping to avoid payment.”

  “And which is more likely?” Silas gulped.

  Rachel shrugged her shoulders. “It’s more likely they didn’t get the message, especially if he finds out who it is that’s transporting his precious tea. He has no great love for me, but he knows I’d dump the stuff in the ocean before I’d let him walk off with it.”

  “I take it we weren’t pursued then?”

  She shot him an insulted look. “You think every ship can convert like this one? I think not. The Antigone’s Wrath is a one-off, Mr. Jensen. The conditions weren’t ideal, but we’re airborne now and over land. There’s still a chance of anti-airship weaponry, but once we’re past Cameroon it’ll be easier. With luck, we’ll be in Baraawe in three days. That’s when the going gets rough.” She turned to leave, but stopped with her hand on the door. “Get all the rest you can, now, Mr. Jensen. After that, life will get…” Rachel smirked, “interesting.”

  With that, she departed, leaving Silas dreading the days to come.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Hookah Bar

  The journey over Africa was miraculously free of any further incident. With Eddie’s assistance, Silas was able to complete the schematic outline of the ship and was halfway finished mapping out the electrical work when they reached Baraawe. Rachel was quite impressed with their progress. He and Eddie watched from an out-of-the-way corner of the top deck
as the Antigone’s Wrath pulled up to the docking platform. The excitement of pulling into port was dampened by the night and misty drizzle of rain. Rachel watched Silas duck down lower into his coat, turning up the collar to keep out the chill. Eddie, his pep barely affected by the weather, was rattling off a lengthy list of trivia he learned about this destination from his time with the first mate and the master-at-arms. The crew on a whole was much happier with young Edison out of their way, and he had learned enough during their journey that he was beginning to be more of a help and less of a hindrance. His tasks were still menial, but he went at them with a passion that surprised the captain.

  “Mr. Jensen?” she nearly shouted from behind them. “Did you hear what I’ve just told you?”

  At the sound of Rachel’s voice, Silas jumped. “Er, no. Sorry. What was that?”

  She sighed. The man was impossible. “I said, I’m going ashore with Iris and Danton. Yourself and Mr. Maclaren are to stay behind and keep out of trouble. With luck, we won’t be here more than a few hours. Think you can manage that?”

  “I’d really rather find an inn and—” he began.

  “Absolutely not,” Rachel cut him off before he could finish his thought. “There are far too many unfriendly eyes in Baraawe, more than I thought there would be this time of year. In case we need to make a hasty exit, it will be much swifter if I don’t have to bring you in from the other side of town.”

  Silas set his jaw and nodded tersely.

  “You’ll continue working on the schematics while I’m gone. If it helps, please utilize my crew. They’ll have little to do here, as we’re only stopping for information. The sooner we’re away, the better off we’ll be. Do we understand each other?” She rested her hands on her hips, waiting for his response.

  Silas sighed. “We do.”

  She turned away from him, feeling a bit badly that she had to keep him aboard, but it was for his own safety. These days were dangerous ones in Somalia. The natives were growing more displeased every day with the presence of Europeans, and there were rumors that the British army would attempt to colonize Northeastern Africa… again. It wasn’t uncommon for non-native merchants and visitors to “disappear” from the city streets.

  With this in mind, the trio was careful to cover themselves before disembarking. Fortunately, the robes of Islam were well suited for this type of low profile visit. Their black hijab swished as they walked down the gangway to the platform. Rachel pulled the fabric tightly around her neck as the wind caught the edges of her burqa. She placed a hand on the railing and looked over the edge to the pale rock buildings below. The sandblasted walls glowed a faint orange in the torchlight pooling and flickering on their surfaces. The airship platform jutted out from a white stone tower, and the wooden boards creaked as they made their way to the stairway inside, the interior lanterns casting long shadows as the three descended. Night rendered the streets of Baraawe silent and deserted, with the exception of the hookah bars they passed.

  Rachel pulled up short a little before their destination.

  “What is it?” Danton whispered into the darkness.

  There were lights on in the shop she was headed for. It was unexpected.

  “Wait here.” She motioned them into a narrow alleyway next to the building.

  She stepped into the light cast out of the shop windows and paused a moment before entering the low, square building. A bell tinkled softly somewhere in another room. The richly colored silks that covered the interior swayed with the breeze caused by her entry. A plush chaise lounge sat empty in one corner, atop the fur of some exotic animal, but there was no one behind the small, wood counter. Rachel frowned. She was nervous already and was not put at ease by the empty room. At the back, two doorways were shrouded in heavy bead curtains, and the jangle of the one to the right jarred her. A head covered in black fabric emerged and looked around. The woman searched the room until she saw Rachel standing there, shifting her weight. “Hal beemkani mosa’adatuk?”

  Rachel cleared her throat. “Fathia?”

  The woman gave a start and ducked back through the doorway without a word. A moment later, she returned and hurried over to her guest. “Rachel?” It was not quite so much a question as it was an accusatory statement.

  The captain nodded.

  “Were you seen?” she asked in a whisper.

  “Not as far as I know. I need your help.”

  The other woman hissed a foreign curse. “I should have known you were behind all my trouble.” She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I cannot speak to you now. Wait for me in the alley, in the shadows. I’ll fetch you by the side door as soon as I can, but it will be at least one hour.”

  “Very well.” Rachel nodded. She turned to leave.

  “Wait.” She touched her shoulder lightly. “Help me take this out.” She pointed to several large sacks of rubbish. “It will give you reason to be in the alley in case you’re seen.”

  The two gathered up the bags, exited, and walked them down the side street to the small depository near the end. They placed the trash in the wooden container. “Stay here, in the shadows.” Her dark eyes darted to a corner. “And tell your friends to stay out of sight, too.”

  Rachel watched her go, releasing a held breath.

  “Was she of any help?” Iris stepped into the dim light.

  “We must wait here.” She shook her head. “I think there were others inside. Fathia’s business is not restricted to daylight hours.”

  “Isn’t it unusual for a Muslim woman to work, let alone have her own business?” Danton crossed his arms and leaned against a wall. “Does her husband allow it?”

  Rachel chuckled quietly. “Normally, they don’t, but Fathia is a very gifted henna artist, and not married. She seemed very stressed, so I imagine whoever her current client is, is either very rich or very powerful, and most likely both.”

  “An honest, hardworking businesswoman?” Danton smirked. “So how is it that you know her?”

  Rachel opened her mouth as to retort, but sounds from the opening of the alley hushed their conversation and sent them back into the shadows. Per Fathia’s instructions, she remained there even after the noise subsided, deciding it was best to play it safe.

  The time passed slowly, but soon Rachel heard the shuffling of fabric and soft footfalls approaching. She remained still, not wanting to give away her position in case it was not whom she expected.

  “You may come out now,” Fathia whispered. When the trio appeared, she beckoned them to follow, but to be silent as they went.

  Towards the beginning of the alleyway, Fathia unlocked an inconspicuous door on the side of the building and stepped inside. Rachel, Iris, and Danton followed her into a room draped from floor to ceiling in black silk. A small table butted up against the far wall, a black marble mortar and pestle the only items upon it. In the center of the room was a long ebony table, polished to a high shine. This was the room used to decorate the deceased before burial. Rachel shivered.

  “The mess my day has been now makes complete sense.” Fathia huffed as she pulled back her headscarf, revealing a wavy sheet of light brown hair. “First, I get last minute notice that the Sultan’s new bride wants me to do her mehndi for her wedding in two days. Then, I have to scramble and search the entire city for the high quality henna I need because it is in short supply due to a blockade out of Singapore. And now you show up at the worst possible time, there were customs officials here asking where I obtained my henna, and I knew you had something to do with it. So tell me, friend, what is it that I can do for you?”

  Rachel bowed. “I am deeply sorry for any trouble you have suffered on my account, but I need information.”

  “What sort of information? You know I no longer keep with black market traders,” she said indignantly.

  “And I would not ask you to go back to that life, Fathia. I only need a name.”

  Fathia narrowed her eyes. “Names can be powerful. Whose do you need?”
<
br />   “Yong Wu has a man in every port from New Zealand to Iceland. I need to know whom he has here. I must speak with him immediately.”

  A smirk crept on to the artist’s face and she burst out laughing. “That’s the name you need? You are indeed in trouble then, my friend, for you will not like the name I give you.”

  Rachel set her jaw and spoke through gritted teeth. “I have no choice. Please just give me his name.”

  “The man you seek will not speak with you. He has sworn to kill you on sight. Perhaps you remember him? He was Yong Wu’s right hand, until you deprived him of that particular appendage.”

  “Li Han?” the captain asked with a groan.

  Fathia nodded. “I think maybe he will see your companions. Depending on what they have to say, he may let them live. You, however, will get no such treatment. He frequents a hookah bar in the east end of the market district until all hours of the night, so you will probably find him there.”

  Rachel sighed and resigned herself. “Very well. Thank you, Fathia. You’ve been most helpful. Is there anything you need?”

  She crossed her arms and looked at her. “Yes. I need you out of Baraawe and as far away from my shop as you can get. I’m grateful for your help in the past, but your presence here jeopardizes everything I have worked for.”

  “Then we shall see Li Han and be off.” Rachel bowed deeply.

  Fathia opened the side door, and they left without saying another word.