Tethered Page 15

  It wasn’t just Archimedes now, but also her crew. And she had to allow her lady to be tied, the ship that protected them all.

  She could barely conceal the shaking that started then. Even knowing that this was the right course, even knowing that their plan was solid and that her crew was capable, her instincts clamored with a desperate urge to rip free and fight.

  And unlike when Archimedes had tied her, there was no thrill here. No excitement. Only terror and rage and dread.

  She couldn’t reveal them, though they howled within her. Outwardly calm, she stood on the quarterdeck with Archimedes, sharing a cigarillo. Then another. When she lit the third, he studied her face, and she knew by the tensing of his shoulders that he’d realized what was happening to her.

  “Let me help,” he said softly.

  There was nothing to be done that he wasn’t already doing, simply by standing at her side. “You’re here,” she said. Where he’d always promised to be. “That’s all I need.”

  She would be glad when it was done, however. By the time Lady Nergüi reached the city, her control wavered on a thin thread. Though she hadn’t expended any effort during the flight, her body trembled not just from the need to fight, but the ordeal of holding herself back.

  Despite that maelstrom of emotion, both instinct and deadly intent kept her mind sharp. Scouting out strongholds, cataloguing their weaknesses and strengths had served her well during the war and in the years since. This was no different.

  They approached New Eden at a slightly lower altitude than the city. Yasmeen studied the level beneath before passing the spyglass to Archimedes. “Can you make it out?”

  He made a sound of frustration. “Too many shadows.”

  “All right.” Her eyes were better in the dark, and the reflected moonlight on the water illuminated the underside enough for her to see. “The framework is just as Scarsdale described. Cables tether the airships to the beams, but much of it is open. The engines look to be made up of eight turbines. They’re off center and starboard, with the boilers and furnace to port and the pipes running between. Suspended walkways connect them and the stokers’ quarters.”

  “And the hangar shed?”

  “Is farther forward. Another walkway from the stokers’ quarters leads to it.” This would be key. To escape the city, they’d have to destroy the flyers…if any pilots were left to man them. “There’s also access from Bushke’s quarters, and another suspended walkway. Scarsdale and Trahaearn planned to use it to kill him before they lost the opportunity. He said the hangar is guarded at both points.”

  Archimedes nodded, lifting the spyglass again. After a long moment he said, “It’s bigger than I expected.”

  Bigger than she had, too, even with Scarsdale’s warning. “Almost two hundred airships,” Yasmeen estimated.

  But not all of the ships still tethered to their balloons—or the balloons had been removed and tethered directly to the framework. Closer now and rising in altitude, she saw that more balloons crowded the outside rings of ships, with fewer in the center—most likely to let in the sunlight over the gardens.

  Approaching the city, all but two of the flyers veered off toward the hanger. Lady Nergüi flew up over the outside ring of balloons. Yasmeen drew in a sharp breath. Beside her, Archimedes’ eyes widened. She heard the surprised murmurs of the crew, many of them leaning to look over the side.

  Bathed in moonlight, the city could have been a wonderland depicted in the pages of a children’s story book. Terraced gardens grew abundantly over almost every visible surface. Not just food, but flowers and climbing vines, trees with branches spread wide.

  Long past midnight, the people slept—below the gardens, within the airships. All was dark, except for the four lanterns lighting an open platform just aft of the central, open gardens.

  Yasmeen’s throat tightened, her awe and surprise fading. A tin-plated gun sloop was tethered next to the lighted platform. Its cargo doors were wide, the hold empty. The hull gaped open at the tail; the propellers removed, the engines and boilers stripped.

  They’d ripped the heart out of her.

  The warm pressure of Archimedes hand against her back helped to soothe the ragged shaking that overtook her again. He met her eyes. “Scarsdale said they take an inventory first, yes?”

  Too sickhearted to reply, Yasmeen nodded.

  “Then we’ll have at least a few days,” he said.

  “We’ll do it tomorrow night.” No reason to wait any longer than that.

  A shout came from below—a call for Lady Nergüi’s tether cable. Yasmeen nodded to Vashon, who gave the order. Once fastened, they dragged her lady down, forcing her belly to the ground. Ten guards waited, each armed with blunderbuss pistol and wearing iron-plated gloves and pneumatic arm braces that could make a punch feel like a hit from a cannonball. There were hardly enough of them to pose a threat to a thirty-man crew, but two more waited in the shadows with rapid-fire guns. Yasmeen pointed them out to Archimedes as more instructions were shouted: no weapons, they were to disembark one at a time.

  “All right, then.” Everyone on board had assembled on the decks. Yasmeen raised her voice. “We do as they say. I’ll be the last off. Drop your weapons to the deck.”

  A clatter of pistols and daggers followed. Longcock looked over at her.

  “Make certain your hands are up,” she told him. A new man had joined the guards—Bushke, she guessed. With soft white hair and beard and a homespun tunic over rustic trousers, he did have a kindly, unassuming look to him. Unlike the guards, he didn’t wear gloves, but she wouldn’t forget Scarsdale’s warning about his iron fist. At the gangway, she called to him, “My first mate’s weapons are grafted to his body. He’s not carrying any ammunition.”

  Bushke’s gaze narrowed on her face. “Are you the captain, miss?”

  “Yes.” She saw no hint of recognition—but then, he’d built New Eden before she’d made a reputation for herself. That could work to her advantage, particularly as few people knew her name…or Archimedes’ given name. “Yasmeen Gunther-Baptiste.”

  She saw her husband’s quick grin, and knew he would use the same name. If any of the guards had only recently come to New Eden, perhaps they might be recognized…but it was unlikely. He wasn’t the only handsome man who wore loud clothing. She was most commonly known as Lady Corsair, named after her previous ship; and she was not the only airship captain to wear a kerchief over her hair—though most of the others were pirates. Perhaps that was what Bushke wondered as he studied her now.

  It was impossible to know, however. She couldn’t read him. His appearance gave the impression of softness, but just beneath it lay steel. She couldn’t see past it.

  Unsettled, she waited for his answer. Finally, he said, “Send him out slowly. We’ll have to bind him until we can verify what you say about the ammunition is true.”

  If it was her, Yasmeen wasn’t certain she could have allowed them to do that. But when she glanced at Longcock, he seemed unperturbed. With a nod, he started down the plank. They used ropes rather than chains. At least there was that. Once tied, two new guards began a long search of his individual weapons. The placement of one pistol required him to drop his trousers.

  After a moment of silence on the deck, Vashon looked to Yasmeen. “So his name is accurate.”

  Apparently.

  Archimedes went next. A guard moved in, ordered him to remove his jacket and boots. Yasmeen tensed as those gloved hands ran the length of Archimedes’ legs, but the guard didn’t use any undue force. He cupped Archimedes’ groin, then slipped under his waistcoat and shirt.

  She looked to the rest of the crew. “Take off your boots and carry them down. Mrs. Fortescue, you’re next.”

  They searched under her skirts. Goddammit. They didn’t find anything; Mrs. Fortescue had only been the test. Yasmeen glanced at the other women aboard, and there was a soft clatter as more weapons were unstrapped and dropped to the deck.

  She glanced at Maria
Barriga de Lata. The scullery woman’s face was pale, but determined.

  “Go on,” Yasmeen said.

  All went as before until the guard’s hands found the tin can of her belly. Maria began to panic, pleading for help in babbling Portuguese, holding the latch over her breastbone.

  “Mr. Bushke!” When the man looked at her, Yasmeen said. “My scullery woman’s guts are barely contained by that thing. Please take care.”

  Bushke nodded to the guard. Sobbing, Maria let her hands be drawn away from the latch. The guard began to draw down the door.

  Yasmeen hadn’t known exactly what Cook, Tom Blacksmith, and Maria had concocted between them, but the guard suddenly gagged and turned his face away. The loop of an intestine slid out. A few of Yasmeen’s crew bent over, retching. The others watched in horror.

  Bushke spoke softly—the guard’s name. Visibly steeling himself, the guard removed one glove and gingerly reached in. For the space of three seconds, he poked around, then backed away. Maria’s hysterical weeping as she stuffed the intestine back in and closed the latch had a wild note of laughter.

  Mrs. Fortescue wept in earnest and put her arm around the woman when the search was over. The navigator hadn’t known the truth. Most of the crew didn’t. Bilson frowned a bit, but didn’t give anything away.

  The rest proceeded smoothly. When they were all gathered below, Bushke addressed them, spreading his arms.

  “I welcome you to New Eden. No doubt you have questions, but the hour is late, and we have time to address them in the following days. Tonight, you only have to know that you are free here.” His gaze settled on Yasmeen. “You are all equal. We have no captains here, no cabin boys—we are all citizens of paradise.”

  He paused, perhaps looking for a response, or to make a stronger impression on them. After a moment, he continued, “We have quarters set up for you to take your rest. I apologize for the austerity, and for the bars. It is only a temporary measure and created for the protection of our citizens. We are a simple people, and our survival dependent upon shared labor and belief. As soon as you have learned the rules that govern this city, you will be allowed to roam freely.”

  It was a short distance, a walk through a grove bursting with plump oranges and carpeted by thick grasses. The low bleating of a lamb carried across the terrace, underscored by the thrum of the engines below. The sweet fragrance of jasmine mingled with the lush coconut of the pinkball flower.

  An old cargo hold formed their quarters, the hull covered with long green calabash. Here she saw the source of the perfume; jasmine wound through the melon vines and around the iron bars that had replaced the loading doors. Inside, bunks formed rows within the hold, which looked out over the central gardens.

  The doors clanged shut behind them. The lock clicked home; a glance at the mechanism told Yasmeen that it would pose no difficulty when the time came to open it. She watched the guards leave, then faced the crew, who were milling between the bunks. A few had already claimed theirs. “Sleep, if you can,” she told them. “We’ll have a better look in the morning.”

  Beside her, Archimedes plucked a sprig of jasmine and tucked the stem above his ear. “And I will wear this as an adornment, since I can’t hold you tonight. Will you sleep?”

  No. “I’ll keep watch.”

  “If you agree to rest, I’ll cover your bunk with flowers.” He glanced at the single privy in the corner. “I have to admit this is clever. After a few days in here, staring out at all of that incredible beauty…Who wouldn’t agree to behave just to escape this little prison?”

  Who wouldn’t, indeed? At the bars, Yasmeen broke off a bloom of jasmine—her namesake. She crushed the delicate star-shaped petals with her thumb, releasing a burst of perfume. “Paradise,” she murmured.

  Archimedes nodded, and looked out over the moonlit gardens. “And there’s no doubt who the snake is.”

  * * *

  To Archimedes’ relief, she rested after a while—in a fashion. He dragged a thin pallet off one of the bunks and over to the bars, and they sat together, watching the dawn come.

  With it, the city woke. In droves they came to the gardens, all of them dressed in the homespun tunics and trousers. They carried with them spades and hoes, and sang as they worked. His father had never allowed singing, but Archimedes still recognized the hymn.

  Children played, many of them laughing and running through the terrace paths. A few approached the bars, curiously peering at Lady Nergüi’s crew, their faces fresh and clean, their clothes well-worn and well-scrubbed. Now and again a shout from the adults warned them not to play too near the rubbish holes—an order which they seemed to gleefully disregard.

  Two men arrived not long after the sun had risen—the civilian guards, Archimedes guessed. One of them was a familiar face.

  Bilson leapt toward the doors. “Joseph!”

  There was no mistaking the genuine joy on Bilson’s face, or the shock on his brother’s. Laughing, the two men embraced, arms awkward through the bars. Joseph’s companion watched the reunion, grinning, and near enough that Archimedes could have reached through, grabbed his shirt, and smashed him unconscious against the iron bars.

  Obviously, these guards were just for show. Their only weapons were light clubs attached to a woven belt. Bushke apparently had no real fear that anyone might escape—or prove to be a threat if they did.

  Joseph’s gaze lit on Archimedes then. His jaw dropped. “Gunther-Baptiste?” He laughed again. “I’m astonished I didn’t recognize you first! That waistcoat outshines the sun.”

  “It’s my handsome face that blinds you, not the clothes.” He clasped the man’s hand, told him quietly, “Your brother has mounted a rescue. Do you see how well it has gone?”

  “A rescue?” Joseph’s grin faded a bit. His gaze darted to Bilson’s. “Why?”

  “Why?” Bilson frowned. “You have to ask?”

  “No, but…You shouldn’t have.” He stepped back from the doors. “I’m not going to leave.”

  “If you’re afraid, Joseph, then know that we can—”

  “Stop.” The younger man interrupted whatever assurances Bilson was about to make. “Stop talking, Miles. Listen. I understand that you think I’ve been abducted, forced to work, desirous of nothing but escape. And when those flyers came, I was terrified. But this is the truth, brother: Now that I’m here, I don’t want to leave.”

  Beside Archimedes, Yasmeen began quietly laughing. “Oh, fuck me,” she said.

  Joseph glanced at her, paused, then stared. Fear slipped into his eyes. Slowly, his gaze lifted to Archimedes’. “You two hired her? She killed your father.”

  A controlling man, who never hesitated to kill someone who didn’t fall into line with his plans. “That made her the obvious choice,” he said dryly.

  “Well, I appreciate it, I do. But, Miles, you shouldn’t have come. I’m married. I’m content, as I never have been before. This is my home.”

  His face reddening, Bilson shook his head. “You’re only saying this because you feel that you have to. Bushke has persuaded you—”

  “Bushke is the only reason I would ever consider going,” Joseph stopped him again. “Because you’re wrong. You’re wrong. And you shouldn’t have come. God knows if you’ll be able to get away. I’ll help you, but I won’t go with you.”

  Apparently family could fluster Bilson, when nothing Archimedes had seen before ever had. He stalked away from the bars, sitting down hard on his bunk, and leveling a stare at his brother, as if a flounce and a pout might convince him when words couldn’t.

  Joseph sighed and looked to Archimedes. “I’m sorry. I truly am. I understand why you came—if I’d heard that Miles had been taken, I’d have tried to rescue him, too. But this place is…” He turned to look out over the gardens, seeming to struggle with the words. “I’ve never been a part of anything like this. No one lacks for anything. We share all that we sow. I feel at home here, and I never want to go. And I know it’s difficult to belie
ve, but there are many of us who don’t want to leave.”

  This might not be a wasted trip, then. “But there are those who do?”

  “Of course. It doesn’t suit everyone.” A shadow crept over his face. He glanced to his companion, who was nodding. “Some of them, like Doyle here, they quietly ask and they wait. I’ve been with them when they’ve spoken with Bushke. But he’s determined. This is a war for him—a battle against the corruption of the outside world.”

  Considering the manner in which he waged his war, that made no sense. “They why bring outsiders in?”

  “So he can save them. He’s a bit of the Good Works sort, but without the hellfire and damnation. He doesn’t need that; he has the guards.”

  Yasmeen’s green eyes narrowed dangerously. “And those who don’t ask quietly?”

  “They’re sent down to the furnace to stoke. I haven’t been here long enough, but others tell me that no one who goes down comes back up.”

  “Not since I’ve been,” Doyle spoke up. “And going on seven years now.”

  “It’s Bushke, I know. When we talk to him about releasing those who want to leave, there’s no argument that he doesn’t seem to turn about. Not even shooting down those airships who won’t come. He justifies it every time, that if he let them go, they’d be a threat. That it just takes one balloon exploding here to kill two thousand of us, so the flyers are the city’s greatest defenders, not murderers. Within a few days, he’ll justify ripping that man’s guns off of him.”

  He gestured toward Longcock, sitting on a nearby bunk. The first mate looked up, his expression bemused.

  “I’m tempted to wait and see them try.”

  “Resist temptation, my friend,” Archimedes said. “Especially in Eden.”

  “Especially here,” Joseph said more seriously, and met Archimedes’ eyes again. “I thought of you often since coming here. You and the brotherhood, and those handbills we used to write. The way you could always point to a book that would help us find the right thing to say. I wish now that I’d paid more attention, and maybe I could find the words that made a difference.”