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

by Starla Huchton

  “I don’t like the look of this place,” Danton said as they peered at the hookah bar across the street.

  “And what were you expecting?” Rachel crossed her arms. “The likes of Li Han don’t spend their evenings in quiet tea houses or churches.”

  “Is there anything else we should know before going in there?” Iris kept her eyes trained on the door to the hookah bar.

  Rachel shrugged. “Don’t give him any more information than necessary. Generally, there’s a banner or flag we’ll need to fly to mark us as protected, so don’t leave without that. This man is out for my blood so avoid using my name or mentioning the Antigone’s Wrath at all costs. Lie if you have to. Do you have the tea sample?”

  Danton patted a small, black pouch that hung from his belt. “We’ll be fine.”

  She watched them cross the street, suppressing the urge to follow behind. In this line of work, one accepted a certain amount of risk, but Rachel didn’t have a good feeling about this one. This was her risk, not theirs, although, this cargo was their doing. Still, they had been in port long enough that word of the Antigone’s Wrath being docked might have reached Li Han’s ears. If he had heard, he would undoubtedly link Danton and Iris to it. The coincidence would be too great.

  The captain flicked her eyes to the shadows next to the hookah bar and in other places along the road. The “if he had” was why they brought the extra men. Without looking, she knew there was a man directly above her, on the roof of the building she leaned against. There was another behind her, and four others hidden from view. She didn’t believe in taking unnecessary chances. The thought prompted her to check her weapon again, verifying the single shell was still cradled in the chamber. With one specialized bullet, she could fire off five bursts of compressed air, each one strong enough to knock a hole through a man’s chest at ten paces. These preceded a sixth shot of shrapnel she endearingly called “the kicker.” While it wasn’t the most ladylike of instruments, it did the job well enough when she needed it.

  Several minutes passed, the only sound a muffled whisper of exotic music coming from the hookah bar. Things seemed to be progressing as they should, until the shattering of glass broke the silence, and Danton flew through the front window. He somersaulted into the street and shakily, but quickly, got to his feet. A short, well-muscled Chinese man jumped through the busted out storefront, at least three more on his heels. Light glinted off the curved knife in his hand. With a snarl he leapt towards Danton, but a single shot felled the man before he was within five paces. The bullet came from the rooftop above Rachel.

  In moments, the calm of night was filled with the cries of a street brawl. Rachel stayed to the shadows, letting her crewmen take care of the rabble, firing off the occasional shot when necessary. She was worried. Iris was still inside.

  Seeing a break in the fighting, she dashed across the road and into the destroyed interior of the hookah bar. Floor cushions were strewn about, and tables with their intricately decorated smoking pipes lie broken and tipped over. A man with a bloodied face tore through a door at the back, screaming curses at her in Arabic, but his sharpened scimitar spoke her language well enough. Tucking into a roll, she dodged the wide swing of his sword, crouched, and plunged the dagger from her belt into his back, puncturing his lung. He crumpled to the floor, and she pulled the blade free.

  Proceeding with more caution, she crept towards the room her attacker came from. With a flick of her wrist, the small pistol up her sleeve slid onto her palm. The shrapnel blaster was too inaccurate for this situation. There was a good chance Li Han was holding Iris captive, and she wouldn’t risk harming her friend.

  She pressed her back to the wall and slid to the edge of the doorway, listening.

  Nothing. Not even the sounds of struggle. If Li Han hurt Iris in any way, she would take him back to Yong Wu in a box, and make sure the one-handed man suffered the whole way.

  Exposing as little of herself as she could, she risked a peek around the corner. Before she got much more than a glimpse of Iris with a henchman’s knife to her throat, Li Han fired a gun at her head. Luckily for her, he had not yet become a marksman with his remaining hand, and the bullet embedded itself firmly in the wall.

  “I knew you would come!” His half mad cry preceded another wasted shot. “Now why don’t you show yourself so we can have a little chat, hm?”

  “And trust a Han? You must be joking,” Rachel called back. “Your kind are notorious for shooting first and sorting it out later.”

  Li Han chuckled. “Perhaps, Captain Sterling, but as I see it, you have no choice.” His statement was punctuated by a sharp gasp from Iris as the knife pushed into her flesh.

  Rachel took a deep breath to ease her temper. “If you kill me, your boss will be most displeased with you.”

  A maniacal laugh came as her answer. “Displeased with me? Ever since you took my hand he’s been displeased with me. Why else would he have exiled me to this speck of a town, barely subsisting off of what little merchant trade comes through here? Oh no. You should have killed me when you had the chance.”

  As he ranted, Rachel used a pocket mirror to peer around the corner. The guard holding Iris looked very unhappy with the situation. She studied her first mate. She appeared to be fiddling with the ring on her left index finger. Very slowly, she turned it so the large agate was on the under side of her hand. The guard stared at the door but didn’t see the mirror. Iris, however, did, and mouthed the word ‘poison’ as deftly as she could. Rachel smiled. She had an idea.

  “Tell me something, what did Yong Wu do when he found out it was a woman who took your hand?” She allowed the side of her face to slip into Li Han’s line of sight. Three bullets slammed into the wall at her back, and she was thankful for the thick stones the Somali used to construct buildings.

  Li Han seethed. “You took my honor! It was only for my years of faithful service that he spared my life, but this exile is worse than death!”

  “And how is Jiao? She was such a pretty girl…”

  Another blast erupted from the gun as he screamed with rage. The telltale click of an empty chamber told her this was her chance. Rachel stepped through the doorway and fired once. Two men fell to the floor: the guard with bloody foam bubbling up through his lips, Li Han with a bullet between his eyes.

  “Are you all right?” Rachel stepped over the bodies to search the desk.

  Removing a handkerchief from her sleeve, Iris dabbed at the nick in her throat. “No real harm done.” She shrugged and kicked the leg of the guard, eliciting a last twitch from the fallen man. “Though I can’t say the same for him. Yong Wu will not be happy about this.”

  “Then Yong Wu should be more mindful about the men who work for him.” Rachel rifled about in a desk drawer. Not finding what she was looking for, she opened the bottom one. “Hm,” she said as she examined it. “Too shallow.”

  “Who is Jiao?” Iris asked.

  Pulling the drawer from its rails, she dumped the contents on the floor. “She was almost Li Han’s wife,” she replied, prying at the hidden panel with her dagger. “Also Yong Wu’s daughter.”

  “So that wasn’t only about his hand,” Iris concluded.

  “No,” she said. The board refused to come free. She sighed and stuck the blade into the desktop. “He had good reason to hate me, but he did try to kill me.”

  Iris shook her head as she watched Rachel puzzle over the compartment. “Let me.” She looked inside the drawer. “Ah, yes. Here we are,” she murmured as she ran her finger over a burned-in mark on the inside front panel. The circular seal glimmered for a moment and the false bottom of the drawer popped open with a soft click.

  “More of your magic.” Rachel sighed. She lifted the loosened wood piece out onto the desk and removed the burlap-wrapped contents. A deep scowl etched itself into her face as she saw the elegant dagger. On its hilt gleamed a circle of text surrounding a lightning bolt piercing a heart. “Apparently, Yong Wu should be much more mindful
,” she amended her earlier statement and slipped the knife into her belt. A pennant lay beneath: bright green with a glittering gold design. “There you are,” she smiled as she removed the flag. “Now, let’s see how Danton is getting on, shall we?”

  They exited the wrecked hookah bar, returning to the brawl in the street. The fight was winding down, with the crew from the Antigone’s Wrath the clear victors. “Wrap it up, boys!” Rachel called to them. “We’ve got what we came for.”

  A few more punches were thrown before the last of the thugs ran off down the street. Rachel surveyed the damage. One of her men lay face down in the dust, a pool of blood gathering at his abdomen. “Who did we lose?” She crouched next to the body.

  “A crewman by the name of Paul Fischer.” Danton wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve. “He took a blade that was meant for me.”

  She nodded gravely. “Take him with us. We’ll see him off properly.” The captain stood and motioned to the men. “We need to move quickly. Get back to the ship.” At the order, a giant of a man slung the corpse over his shoulder and he and the four remaining brawlers set off at a jog back to the dock.

  “Any damage?” She gave the master-at-arms a visual once over. Somewhere in the darkness, not too far away, the sound of horses approached.

  “A scratch or two, but that is all.” He waved her off. “Allons-y.”

  Using back roads and shadows, they made their way to the tower leading up to the air dock. The authorities in Baraawe would doubtless be looking for the cause of the bloody scene, and all ships would be detained as soon as they discovered who had been killed. Fortunately, since Baraawe was such a small port, there was no port control at this hour to ask for approval to dock or get underway, and the solitary fee collector posed no real threat. Unfortunately, due to that same smallness of the port, it would be easy to narrow down which ship held the offending parties. Punishment in Muslim countries was something to be avoided at all costs.

  “What happened?” Eddie met them as they boarded.

  “Not now, Eddie.” Rachel brushed passed him.

  “I saw them bring a body aboard,” he continued as though he hadn’t heard her, bouncing from foot to foot. “I thought you said—”

  “Not. Now.” The tone in her voice grew increasingly hostile. “Have the crew get us underway immediately,” she said to Iris and Danton. They promptly set about organizing the men.

  “Were you able to—”

  “MISTER MACLAREN!” She grabbed the boy by the lapels. “Unless you wish to end up like the late Mr. Fischer, I suggest you shut your yap and go make yourself useful. I’m a man short in the engine room now, so perhaps that would be a better place for you than on deck and in my way.”

  He stumbled as she pushed him aside, but it didn’t give her pause. Without looking anyone in the eye, Eddie retreated back into the ship to tend the engines. On his way down, he passed Silas, but no words passed between them. Not having the time to deal with the inventor, Rachel took the steps two at a time as she climbed up to the pilothouse. As she set her hands upon the controls, she heard him enter.

  “Ra— er, Captain Sterling.” Silas caught himself before completing the informal greeting. “While you were out, I made a few temporary repairs to some of the steam pipes. They were damaged after the last abrupt takeoff, which, might I say, didn’t seem like the first time you’d done that. The patching will hold for a while, but you’ll need to have some welding done for a proper fix.”

  “Duly noted. Thank you, Mr. Jensen,” Rachel said absently as she flipped switches and turned cranks in preparation for leaving.

  He coughed nervously. “If you can at all help it, I would try to avoid those hasty takeoffs for the interim. A build-up of steam could result in a burst pipe. Superheated vapor pouring through the ship’s interior would be most inconvenient, not to mention deadly.”

  She sighed. “Probably only to Pauls.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Long story.” She tapped a pressure gauge. “The end of which being that if you’re a crewman on board the Antigone’s Wrath, and your name happens to be Paul, you’re not long for this world. We lost another tonight.”

  He stood there, mouth agape, likely unsure of how to respond to the news of the Paul curse. An impatient throat clearing from behind him made him jump. Iris slid through the doorway, immediately assisting Rachel with knob-pulling and dial-turning.

  “If you insist on staying, be warned that I shan’t be tying you down again, Mr. Jensen.” When he didn’t reply, she looked at him. “Mr. Jensen?”

  “Hm?” He snapped to attention.

  She frowned. “I said, unless you’d like a repeat of our last takeoff, you should probably head below decks.”

  “Oh, of course.” He popped a small salute. “Safe journey, then.”

  Rachel didn’t answer as he left. Moments later, the Antigone’s Wrath pulled away from the air dock in Baraawe, bound for Singapore.

  “And you have no doubt it was them?” Matthias asked the crouched figure.

  “Not any more.” The figure stood and sighed. “It’s certain they’re headed for Singapore.”

  “What of our inventor?”

  “There’s no trace of him in the city, but she is all over this particular scene. Especially the one with the knife wound inside.”

  There was silence as the two men in dark robes remained in the street, a pool of motionless calm in the whirl of activity around them. The locals seemed not to notice them, or, if they did, immediately averted their eyes. They didn’t belong here, but no one told them to leave.

  Matthais’s fingers itched with the desire to crush another windpipe the way he had done with the bloated whale of a captain on the streets of La Rochelle. The power yearned to be unleashed again, but he held it in check. If he abused it, they would take it from him, and he would not let that happen.

  “Come.” The older man beckoned him away from the scene of carnage. “We must report.”

  They turned into an alley and disappeared.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Raggedy Fleet

  A full day passed without interruption when the lookout rang the warning bell. A ship approached from the southwest, a red, blue, and white Air Transport Authority flag whipping in the wind. Rachel took a deep breath and exhaled slowly before making her decision. “Head north. They might leave us be if they think we’re headed to Palestine.”

  “And our speed?” Iris stood next to her at the railing, staring out at the approaching vessel.

  “Maintain current speed. I don’t want them gaining on us, but I don’t want to arouse suspicion either.”

  “Aye, Captain.” She returned to the pilothouse to relay the message to the navigator.

  A quiet cough at her back caught her attention. “What is it?”

  Silas stepped next to her and held up a large piece of parchment for her to study. “I know it isn’t the most convenient of times, Captain, but I had an idea last night that you might be interested in.”

  She glanced down at the paper and frowned. “What is it?”

  “A weaponized modification for a stern-mounted gun.” He beamed, clearly proud of his schematic. “It transforms what is currently a harpooner into an armament designed to paralyze enemy ships,” he said, pausing in embarrassment. “It isn’t particularly useful in the water as of yet, but I’m working on other applications.”

  Rachel turned her eyes away from the distant Air Transport Authority vessel and gave the schematic her full attention. A connecting generator produced electricity that the gun discharged in bursts of flesh-frying energy. She could see his point about only using it the air. If used in the water, the charge could travel right back to them, which would be a deadly mistake.

  “A particle gun?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought these were only theory.”

  Silas nodded. “Mostly, yes, but I worked on a prototype in my youth. I think I’ve figured out the problem I had back then. I was trying
too hard to make it a self-contained unit. That’s why my previous attempts exploded. An external generator would supply and store any power needed.”

  She blanched at the word “exploded,” but the lure of a shiny new toy for her ship was too tempting. “Very well, but ask before you commandeer parts for this invention. And don’t touch that harpooner until you absolutely need it. Understand?” She pushed a finger into his chest to emphasize her point.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He flashed her a boyish grin before hurrying away to start his new project.

  That playful smile whisked her back immediately to that night at the Cheval Rouge. She blushed at the memory, then shook herself as she looked around to see if anyone noticed. They hadn’t. She released a breath and turned back to their pursuer. Even with the new heading, this ATA ship was still tracking them. “Damn,” she mumbled. If she maintained current course and speed, within thirty minutes they’d overtake the Antigone’s Wrath. It was hard to see a way out of this without engaging the ATA in air combat.

  With a sudden idea, Rachel rushed to the pilothouse and began digging around in the back corner cabinet.

  “What are you doing?” Iris watched her frantic scrabbling from her position at the helm.

  “We were banking on using Yong Wu’s forces as protection, right?”

  Iris frowned. “Yes…”

  “So what good is his protection if we’re detained by the Air Transport Authority?” The captain dug further into the cabinet, her head and shoulders disappearing inside. “We need someone else to engage the ATA, so we can claim innocence if they want to push charges.”

  “And how exactly are we to find someone else willing to do that?”

  Rachel emerged, triumphantly holding a wireless telegraph machine, and blew the dust off of it. “We call them.”

  She set the equipment down and leaned out the door. “Someone inform Mr. Jensen that the captain is in need of his services!” When her order was returned with muffled snickers, she flicked her pistol into her hand and fired a warning shot off the port bow. The laughter stopped. “That means now.”