Tethered Page 3

  “Very well, Mr. Fox.”

  In truth, Yasmeen was happy to have him there. He sank onto the pillows centered in the pool of afternoon light that spilled in through the two large portholes, directly in her line of sight—and an appealing sight it was. Summer had streaked his brown hair with gold, and as the months passed without a cut, he’d tamed the ragged length with a leather tie at his nape. After a lazy morning, he’d skipped a shave, leaving his jaw roughly shadowed. Now, making himself comfortable, he loosened the linen around his neck. What an incredibly appealing combination that was—the orange silk of his waistcoat, the white shirt, the tanned skin at his throat. She loved to bury her face in that spot, to feel the lean muscles underneath that outrageous clothing.

  It was strange how many people underestimated him, who only saw the color he wore and not the strength beneath it. That had been another failing of the last quartermaster, who’d acted as if Archimedes didn’t exist—who’d treated him like a pretty boy with an empty head.

  Her husband was anything but.

  She met Vashon’s eyes again, aware that the other woman hadn’t looked away from her face during the exchange with Archimedes. Had she noted that Archimedes hadn’t actually asked for Yasmeen’s permission to remain? No, he was simply making certain that the new quartermaster saw his respect for Yasmeen’s position.

  Judging by the hint of uncertainty in the woman’s expression, however, Yasmeen would soon have to clarify Archimedes’ position aboard this ship. But first, she needed to clarify exactly what Vashon’s would be.

  She leaned back in her chair and pinned Vashon with a sharp stare. “Before I make your appointment official, mademoiselle, I have questions regarding your record and recommendations.”

  “Of course, Captain.”

  “Your references from your family are quite favorable, as are those from your former commanders. Normally, that alone would recommend you to any captain.”

  Yasmeen paused, creating a silence that seemed significant—but Vashon didn’t rush to fill it. She didn’t try to second-guess Yasmeen, but waited to discover what the problem was before addressing it.

  Good.

  “With your qualifications, you ought to be seeking command of a Vashon ship. Why aren’t you?”

  “In my family, Captain, there are two options: to serve the king in the navy or to serve aboard the Vashon fleet. I’m loyal to my king and I’m loyal to my family, but I wanted a broader experience than that.”

  “All well and good,” Yasmeen said. “Except that you’ve already gained plenty of experience aboard different merchant carriers—and all without lowering yourself to a quartermaster’s position aboard my airship.”

  Vashon’s gaze held steady. “I was given to understand, Captain, that unlike a merchant or navy vessel, the quartermaster’s position aboard a mercenary airship is to act as second in command, and that I’d be your first in the deck department. That isn’t lower than any position I’ve held previously.”

  “It’s true you’ll be my first, but the rest is utter shit. Whether captain or cabin boy, the only thing lower than a mercenary is a pirate—and you won’t be expecting any invitations to your family gatherings while you’re aboard my lady.” Yasmeen rocked forward, eyes narrowed. “Don’t feed me a cock’s tale, mademoiselle. What the hell is someone of your background doing aboard my ship?”

  Vashon’s fingers tightened on the arms of her chair. Rattled, but only a little. “Two months ago, I took passage aboard Ceres. My cousins Peter and Paul are still co-captaining her.”

  The twins hadn’t destroyed each other? Incredible. Yasmeen had doubted that they’d ever stop squabbling over possession of Ceres long enough to properly command her. She’d liked them well enough—who couldn’t appreciate such good-natured mischievousness and charm?—but that didn’t mean they were fit for a captain’s position.

  “I’ve known them all my life, Captain—and for as long as I’ve known them, they’ve been a disappointment to the family. Undisciplined, careless, impulsive. But although they were still utter rapscallions, I couldn’t mistake the change in them—a change for the better. They told me it was because, in the weeks they served under you, they’d finally seen what a good captain should be.” She paused, her mouth twisting briefly. “I’ll confess that I was angry, at first. It was an insult to our family, to each Vashon who’d ever borne a captain’s responsibility. I soon realized, however, that every Vashon was expected to bear that. But even though we also expected it of Peter and Paul, they wouldn’t live up to those expectations—they didn’t, they couldn’t. Yet you inspired it in them. I want to know what did it. You are a mercenary, but there’s obviously more to you than your reputation—and obviously some truth to the Lady Lynx story.”

  By the lady. Yasmeen hadn’t expected any of that. She glanced at Archimedes, saw his grin. No doubt he was enjoying her discomfort.

  And she needed to read that damn story. What sort of captain did it suggest she was? “Why would you assume any of that ridiculousness is true?”

  “Even though the twins’ names and descriptions were changed, and though they told me that none of the events were quite the same, the two brothers in the story were unmistakably Peter and Paul. Their characters were captured perfectly.”

  Even though Zenobia had never met the twins, and had to rely on Yasmeen’s and Archimedes’ descriptions of them. How much of that was luck?

  And how much of Yasmeen had Zenobia captured? Whatever the level of accuracy, hopefully Lady Lynx’s personality had been determined before Yasmeen’s heart had softened. There was no need to have that sort of reputation spread around.

  Yasmeen shook her head, suddenly realizing that the very existence of Lady Lynx forced her to consider something she never had before. “Do you hope that this position will secure a bit of fame for you, as well?”

  It was almost unthinkable. Work aboard a mercenary ship was often dangerous and always difficult—there had to be easier ways to earn a mention in a newssheet or an adventure story. But it was impossible to guess what drove someone seeking such things.

  “No, ma’am. In fact, it was the one thing that threatened to put me off. I’m rather terrified of discovering what Archimedes Fox sees when he describes a dull arrow like me.”

  Yasmeen had to admire her balls. She’d confessed to terror without revealing a bit of it in her demeanor, yet Yasmeen didn’t doubt its truth. She suspected that Vashon admitted to the fear only to prove—to her new captain or to herself—that she could overcome it. “You’re quite safe. My husband doesn’t write those stories.”

  And he only faintly resembled the Archimedes Fox that Vashon probably thought she knew. Even Yasmeen had long been fascinated by the fictional version of her husband—yet that adventurer was nothing compared to the reality of the man.

  “I thought he did, ma’am. But if you say otherwise, then I’m obviously mistaken.”

  Despite Vashon’s words, she clearly didn’t believe it. Behind her, Archimedes heaved a dramatic sigh and shook his head.

  Amused, Yasmeen leaned back again. She still had a few more questions—though she already knew the answer to this one. “Your last assignment aboard a merchant vessel ended six months ago. What have you done since then?”

  “I spent time aboard my mother’s airship.”

  That was the truth, but not all of it. “Smuggling rebels into Castile, as I’ve heard it. Do you make a habit of bucking authority?”

  “Not my captain’s authority, ma’am.”

  She hadn’t even hesitated. Perhaps she ought to. Yasmeen pressed, “Even if that captain once took jobs that helped the Liberé during their war with your king? You’ve already stated your loyalty to him.”

  “As I recall, you also took jobs that helped the French. I understand that a mercenary ship is loyal to no one, Captain, except for when it serves your interests.”

  “And what if my interests conflict with yours? If I ordered you to board a Vashon ship, woul
d you comply?”

  Yasmeen was pleased to see the quartermaster take more time considering that. After a moment, Vashon replied, “In all honesty, ma’am, I don’t know. If I can’t fulfill my duty, however, I won’t take a coward’s way out of it and work against you behind your back. I’ll tell you if I’ve turned.”

  “Good. I’d kill you for going against me, but only toss you off my ship for refusing an order.” When the other woman nodded, acknowledging those consequences, Yasmeen continued. “Is there any order you categorically refuse to carry out? If so, you’d best tell me now.”

  “I won’t kill a child, ma’am, or murder an innocent. But I wouldn’t be here if I thought you’d ask me to do either.”

  Fair enough. Yasmeen would have thrown Vashon off Lady Nergüi immediately if the quartermaster had been willing to do either. “Are you infected?”

  For the first time, Vashon seemed taken aback. She hesitated. Deciding whether to lie?

  Yasmeen couldn’t blame her. In the New World, most people feared the Horde’s nanoagents. Though the tiny machines strengthened anyone infected by them, the Horde had also used radio signals broadcast from enormous towers to control occupied populations. The signals dampened emotions such as fear, love, and hate—anything that might provide a motivation to rebel—while increasing obedience, pliancy. The nanoagents and radio towers created the perfect workforce.

  The perfect hell, for many. Now so many New Worlders feared the nanoagents that no infected person was allowed past their port gates, and they were convinced that the infected became zombies after their deaths. The infected themselves were often treated like lepers, as if the nanoagents spread with a touch rather than a transfusion of blood.

  If the woman was infected, that might serve as another reason for her joining Yasmeen’s crew. Though the Vashon family likely had enough money and pull to bribe port officials and let her enter the New World countries, Yasmeen doubted that the quartermaster wanted to rely on that.

  “If you are infected,” Yasmeen said, “you will be in good company. I am. My husband is. Many of the crew are—several have been augmented with mechanical prosthetics and tools.”

  “Yes. I saw that as I came aboard.”

  “Then perhaps you fear being infected by one of us?”

  “No. It is simply a more intimate question than I was prepared to answer, Captain.”

  Ah. Of course a New Worlder would think so. “There’s nothing personal in my interest,” Yasmeen said dryly. “I simply want to be prepared. Lady Nergüi flies routes that other airships do not—including routes that will take us over Horde-occupied territories. If my quartermaster suddenly begins responding like an automaton, I’ll have a better idea of why it might have happened.”

  “Well, then.” She nodded. “Yes, I am.”

  “What strain?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “English, Moroccan, Egyptian? Some other tower? Obviously, if you have a Moroccan or English strain, you are in the clear, because those towers are gone. But others are still active, so if you are infected by bugs from Egypt or the territories in southern Africa, I will know to fly clear of their towers.”

  “English, I believe.” She blinked. “I didn’t realize they were different, ma’am.”

  Unsurprising. Of the New Worlders who had infected themselves, most could trace the nanoagents back to the Horde occupation in England—and most didn’t know that the towers operated at different frequencies.

  “Just be glad that the zombie strain is different,” Yasmeen said, and leaned forward to brace her elbows on the desk, satisfied with the interview. The woman hadn’t squirmed much, which pleased her. Yasmeen needed someone who could stand up to fierce scrutiny without flinching—and in the air, Yasmeen would be much harder on the woman than this.

  “All right,” she said. “After you sign your contract and stow your trunk, you’ll find the first mate, Mr. Longcock, on the deck.”

  Vashon grew very still. “Mr. Longcock?”

  Yasmeen smiled. “Many people on this ship have chosen their own names, and for their own reasons. I don’t question that—or whether it’s an accurate name.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” It emerged on a choked laugh.

  “Accurate or not, however, you won’t be required to identify him by that description. He’s the big one.”

  “The big one?” The quartermaster’s mouth rounded as she realized who Yasmeen meant. Of course she’d seen him on deck. George Longcock was impossible to overlook. “The one with…”

  “Guns grafted to his arms and chest, yes.”

  “A lot of guns, ma’am, if I can be so bold.”

  “There are more that you can’t see.” Yasmeen held in her laugh when the other woman’s face registered disbelief. She had to admit, her first sight of the man had struck her speechless, as well—though a part of her understood exactly what he’d done, why he’d done it. A factory builder in Horde-occupied England, he’d already been modified with steel arms. After the revolution, he’d added weapons to protect himself. Then, after leaving England for the high seas, he’d added more…and hadn’t stopped.

  After the occupations, some people turned to the opium dens. Longcock had grafted weapons to his body. Yasmeen thought both reactions were exactly the same, in their own way.

  “I’ve asked him to walk with you through my lady,” Yasmeen continued. “In the weeks since we’ve left Lusitania, Longcock has acted as Lady Nergüi’s quartermaster—and he was quartermaster aboard The Flying Spear until a month ago. You’d do well to listen to him. He has rough edges, but he knows what he’s about.”

  Vashon nodded, then asked, “The Flying Spear? A pirate ship, ma’am?”

  “Quite a few pirate ships have come upon us lately, and many of them have experienced crews. I offer better pay, however, so some of those pirates now serve aboard my lady.”

  “If he was a quartermaster aboard The Flying Spear, why isn’t he yours?”

  She was already trying to figure out whether Longcock’s demotion would pose a problem, Yasmeen realized. He wouldn’t—Longcock preferred the first mate’s position—but Yasmeen would let Vashon determine that for herself. “He can’t read and write. I need you to do both at times. You are my right hand with the aviators.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She took a deep breath. “And which hand is Mr. Fox?”

  Archimedes looked up from a letter, brows arched in surprise. Yasmeen smiled. Though the question was impertinent, she was pleased Vashon had asked. It was best to lay out the rules now.

  “As far as you are concerned, he is me,” Yasmeen said. “If he ever makes a request, you will consider it an order.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” After a brief hesitation, she asked, “And if his order conflicts with yours?”

  “Tell him so. If he still insists that you carry out his order, then do as he says.”

  Both stared at her—Vashon in some confusion, Archimedes in absolute shock.

  Yasmeen pretended that neither of them was gaping at her like a fish that had been coshed over the head. Though she had never imagined making such a decision, the past few months had made it a simple one. She knew Archimedes would never undermine or question her authority on this ship unless absolutely necessary—and to him, that necessity would be saving her life. If Archimedes Fox, Fearless Adventurer thought any situation was that dire, it was worth pausing and reconsidering.

  And she didn’t want to lose him, either.

  Yasmeen continued, “Then come and let me know that he’s countermanded my orders, of course—if he does not beat you to it. But if he feels it necessary to overturn my orders without first consulting me, I know he’d have a damned compelling reason. That’s worth listening to.”

  Slowly, Archimedes sat up, holding her gaze. By the sweet heavens, he was a beautiful man. The shock had fled, leaving an expression of incredible intensity that all but shouted the depth of his love. Yasmeen’s throat constricted. Why had she never said this so clearly before
? She thought he’d known. Perhaps he had—but had just never thought she’d say it.

  Beautiful, incredible man.

  And if he kept staring at her like that, she would soon throw herself into his arms. Shaken by the strength of her reaction, Yasmeen forced herself to look away from him. Vashon had managed to close her mouth, but clearly had no idea how to respond.

  Yasmeen cleared her throat and helped her out. “It probably won’t happen, you realize. He won’t even make any requests. In the unlikely event that he does, however, these are my instructions.”

  The quartermaster released a long breath. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “All right.” Yasmeen slid a sheaf of papers across the desk. “This is your contract. Your duties are listed; if you have any questions, I suggest that you ask the steward for clarification before you sign it. After you have signed it, he’ll add you to the payroll. Your wages and share are noted on the second page.”

  Vashon’s eyes rounded. “That’s incredibly generous, ma’am.”

  Only if she lasted long enough to collect it. “Don’t be fooled by the number, mademoiselle. My last quartermaster thought that amount of money made him a man of leisure—but I will work every single denier out of you.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Then welcome aboard Lady Nergüi, mademoiselle. You’re dismissed.”

  The moment Vashon made her exit, Yasmeen’s gaze returned to Archimedes. He rose from the pillows, so lean and strong.

  The roughness of his voice was a caress up her spine. “Why?”

  “Why do I state what has become obvious to all of the crew? I am still captain, but this ship is your lady, too. I trust you to care for her, for us, if the need arises. I trust that you will do it, even if by undermining me you risk my anger—I trust that you will do it, even if it’s at the expense of your own heart.” Yasmeen stood and came around the desk, her pulse racing. She wasn’t adept at these sorts of declarations, not like he was. Still, she was glad to make it. “But I would never ask you to risk your heart. I want you to know that if you ever do need to override me, you can without fear that I’ll resent you for it. Because I have no fear that you would ever do it without great reason.”