Tethered Read online

  The glint of steel in Bilson’s hand stopped her from returning to the cabin. Wary, Yasmeen watched him. Surely he wouldn’t be foolish enough to attack Longcock? But, no. Injured arm held awkwardly to his side, he swept the dagger over his head. The blade clanged against an exposed copper pipe running the length of the deckhead.

  The slick bastard, Yasmeen realized. He was using the pipes to signal someone on the ship.

  A terrible, haunted moan came from behind her. Archimedes? The hairs on the back of her neck prickled.

  He charged out of the cabin, unleashing a primal scream of rage and hate, unlike anything she’d ever heard from a man…and had never imagined coming from Archimedes. Stunned, Yasmeen barely had a moment to step out of the way. He tore down the passageway, face contorted with fury. Bilson’s eyes widened and his grip on the dagger firmed.

  He wasn’t as fast as her husband. Archimedes dodged the slashing blade. His fist smashed into Bilson’s jaw. Yasmeen watched in fierce satisfaction as the man staggered. Archimedes’ knee rammed into his stomach, crumpled him to the boards. Pinning Bilson’s dagger to the deck with his foot, Archimedes yanked the man up by his bloodied shirt, then pounded another blow to his face.

  Was Archimedes going to kill him? Yasmeen’s relief at seeing her husband released from the device transformed into mounting worry. She rushed forward, caught his wrist as he brought his fist back for another strike.

  Yasmeen held on as he attempted to swing, and was almost hauled over his shoulder. God, he was strong. She braced her feet.

  “Stop! Archimedes, you have to stop! If you go too far, they’ll use the device to kill you!”

  “Good.” Roughly, he shoved her back. His voice was hoarse, his eyes tormented. His knuckles bled. “I’d rather be dead than feel nothing again.”

  Gutted, she stared at him. He’d rather be dead?

  No. She was never going to lose him.

  He picked up Bilson again, drew back his fist. Yasmeen leapt, grabbing Archimedes’ hair, yanking him away.

  “Enough!” she shouted into Archimedes’ ear, whipped him against the bulkhead. The wood shuddered against the impact. Blindly, he fought her, trying to rip out of her grip—a man driven mad by what his friend had just done. His pain overwhelmed her, became her own. By the blue heavens, how could she help him? How could she ease this? She didn’t know, and her fear and horror reached up to choke her. “Please, Archimedes. Please.”

  His eyes seemed to clear…not completely, but just enough. His devastated gaze locked on hers. He stopped struggling and began to shake, uncontrollable tremors that rattled his frame.

  “You’re all right. I’m here.” Yasmeen released her grip on his hair and gently cupped his face between her hands. His beloved features blurred in front of her. “You’re all right.”

  With a ragged, sobbing breath, he clutched her to his chest. His face buried in her hair. His shaking intensified when, behind them, Bilson’s gave a pained groan.

  Archimedes lifted his head, the sheen over his eyes making them appear brilliantly green. His hair had come free of the leather tie, an unruly tangle that looked as wild as he had moments before—and still was, she saw. He was just barely containing the emotional eruption.

  “God, Yasmeen. I have to go. I need to run.”

  Her throat aching, she nodded. Archimedes wasn’t like her. The airship wasn’t big enough for him—he needed more, and especially now. “I’ll come with you.”

  “No.” A violent shake of his head followed the response. “No.”

  God. How could she agree to that? She couldn’t let him go alone when he was like this.

  But she also couldn’t imagine what was going through his head. Whatever it was, he obviously couldn’t bear for her to see it.

  “Not to the city wall,” she said. Zombies crowded Port Fallow’s wall—and even though he needed to bring himself back, to seek danger…out there, he wouldn’t be reaffirming life. He’d only find death. “Promise me, Archimedes. There’s too many. Promise me.”

  Nodding, he pressed an unsteady kiss to her lips. “I love you.” His voice was broken. “More than I can…God.”

  He abruptly pulled out of her arms. Yasmeen watched him disappear up the companionway, trying to breathe past the pain in her chest. She looked to the first mate. He glanced at Bilson, who was struggling to his feet—the bastard obviously wasn’t going anywhere, and he’d already communicated with his associate on board.

  With a short salute, Longcock headed off after Archimedes. Whatever her husband got into, the first mate could help him if he needed it.

  And Bilson…She wasn’t done with him yet.

  Archimedes’ old friend spit blood from his mouth as she approached, regarding her with disgust. “You let him go alone? You ice cold bit—”

  She whipped around. Her bare heel cracked against his jaw. Bone snapped. Bilson’s eyes rolled back, and he dropped to the boards.

  Yasmeen looked up at the sound of steps. Vashon stood at the head of the companionway, staring at the unconscious man, her expression impassive except for the barest widening of her eyes.

  “Would you like us to move him, ma’am?”

  “In a moment.” They couldn’t kill him yet, but they could make certain the device wouldn’t only affect Archimedes. She glanced toward her cabin, where Ginger still waited by the girls’ berth. The girl hadn’t flinched—but then, she’d seen much worse. “Run for Tom Blacksmith and Anisa Stoker, and bring them both to Mr. Bilson’s stateroom.”

  As the girl started off, Yasmeen reached for Bilson’s uninjured arm and sent a significant glance to his boots. Vashon caught on, lifted his feet, and they began sliding him toward the companionway.

  Walking crab-like to avoid the trail of blood they were leaving, the quartermaster asked, “Do we need to call for a surgeon, Captain?”

  “No.” And normally, Yasmeen wouldn’t cross this line and infect a man without his consent—but Bilson’s goddamn game had pushed her over. He’d hurt Archimedes. The man was lucky she wasn’t flaying him alive. “He only needs the blacksmith.”

  The nanoagents would heal him more quickly than any surgeon’s tricks could. And if he was smart, he’d be damn grateful that Yasmeen hadn’t ordered the ship’s blacksmith to bolt his mouth shut while he was at it.

  Chapter 4

  A system of copper and brass pipes ran all through the ship—some for heating, others for communication. The pipe that Bilson had clanged ran through the aviators’ mess. Several crew members were seated at the long table that dominated the midsection of the berth deck, engrossed in a game of Five Click Mérelles. Others came and went without notice—particularly tonight, while Lady Nergüi was still docked and lightly manned.

  Yasmeen firmed her mouth against a sigh of frustration. Following the pipes hadn’t helped. Anyone on the ship could have listened for Bilson’s signal and deactivated the device without drawing undue attention.

  Anyone but Yasmeen.

  Despite having just swigged a mouthful of grog, the second mate abruptly stood when she saw Yasmeen. The table jolted, scattering the marbles across the rotating game board. A shout of dismay went up, a jeer at her clumsiness—then they were suddenly on their feet, too.

  The second mate swallowed and announced, “Captain on deck!”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Markel. Please, return to your activities.”

  They immediately sat again, though all were clearly uncomfortable—and would have been with any captain. This was one of the few places on her lady that Yasmeen rarely visited, because a simple statement inviting them to return to their game became an order to sit. A crew shouldn’t always have to be mindful of a captain’s presence. Even Archimedes—whose relationship with the crew was both less formal and far more complicated than Yasmeen’s—rarely intruded here, accepting only spontaneous invitations during celebratory occasions.

  She wished he was here now. Not knowing how he fared was killing her. She had to trust that he’d be all
right…he was Archimedes Fox, after all. But he’d been so enraged, so devastated—nothing at all like the Archimedes Fox she knew, the man who rarely even worked himself up to a temper. How could she guess what he would do, what he was thinking? Never before had she seen him in such a state.

  And she’d never let it happen again. Only a thin thread of self-control had kept her from tearing through her lady, searching for the device. Quietly, she walked the length of the aviator’s mess, and even though she rarely visited, Yasmeen knew her lady and the look of her decks well enough to know that nothing appeared out of place, as if recently moved or used to conceal another object. Of course, she hadn’t expected to find anything. There was little hope of locating the device before Archimedes’ return. Eventually, Yasmeen would find it, but not in any obvious spot. Bilson had prepared too well.

  She could destroy all of those preparations now by leaving Archimedes in Port Fallow and flying out of the harbor. Her husband would be safely out of range, and she could search every inch of the airship.

  Except…she couldn’t. That was Archimedes’ decision to make. Perhaps later, when he was thinking clearly again, he would choose to leave the airship until she found the device. And even though distance would be safer for him, she wouldn’t abandon her husband while he was still reeling from Bilson’s attack.

  Bilson. The fucking bilgewater trout.

  Unfortunately, whatever happened to the man was also up to her husband. Though Yasmeen would have liked to toss him straight into a kraken’s clutches, and though Bilson deserved much worse than what she’d already done, his fate was Archimedes’ to determine.

  If he gave the bastard over to Yasmeen, though…

  “Captain?”

  The query came from the table, where the aviators were watching her. When she turned, the second mate’s eyes widened. The others paled and hastily looked back to their game. Apparently, the fierce and bloody vengeance she’d been imagining had found its way to her expression.

  Still, Mrs. Markel had balls enough to ask, “Are you searching for something, ma’am? May we help you?”

  Could they? Yasmeen stopped, her heart stuttering with the sudden realization: she could lose her crew over this.

  She hadn’t thought of it until now—how could she, while Archimedes was out in Port Fallow somewhere, trying to jettison the effects of the device?—but the simple truth was that Bilson had come aboard her airship and taken command. Until they found the device, that bastard would determine where they flew.

  She’d killed several people who’d tried to take control of her airship before. She’d even tossed Archimedes off her lady and into a zombie-infested swamp for attempting the same. Each time, there’d been some risk to her life, a weapon aimed her way, yet she’d never submitted to the demands—and she’d stopped every single bastard who had ever tried to steal her ship.

  Yet now, it wasn’t her life that had been threatened, but Archimedes’…and she’d backed down. Even if only to give herself time to find the device, she’d backed down, and allowed Bilson to live in order to save her husband.

  Yasmeen couldn’t regret it, not even for a moment. All the same, a sick uncertainty began roiling in her gut. How could she prevent Bilson’s blackmail from destroying the crew’s confidence in her? Someone had seen her weakness and exploited it. Why would they follow someone who couldn’t maintain command of her own airship?

  Thank the lady, the danger wasn’t immediate. For now, the aviators knew that she’d shot Bilson, but not why—and Bilson’s associate probably wouldn’t reveal himself by talking about it. George Longcock and Ginger knew of the device and its effect on Archimedes, but Yasmeen didn’t doubt their ability to keep their mouths shut. She’d already asked Ginger not to mention the device, in case the associate did inadvertently expose himself, but also to avoid a panic; many of the crew were infected by nanoagents, and few cared that none of them shared the same strain as Archimedes—except for Anisa Stoker, who’d been in her bunk and sleeping while the device had been activated.

  Ginger wouldn’t talk; the girl’s loyalty had survived the explosion that had destroyed Lady Corsair, and nothing Bilson could do would shake it. Though an excellent first mate, Longcock’s loyalty to Yasmeen ended at the bottom of her purse—but not his loyalty to Archimedes, whose quick thinking and pneumatic grapnel launcher had once saved the first mate from a megalodon’s jaws, even though Archimedes had risked his own life to do it. Already an admirer of the adventurer Archimedes Fox, George Longcock had become a devoted friend of the man himself after that brush with death.

  An impossible friendship, Yasmeen would have thought, but somehow, Archimedes easily navigated through the lines of position and ranking aboard Lady Nergüi.

  Though not as close to him as George Longcock, many other members of the crew felt similarly toward Archimedes—either because they’d read his serial adventures, because of some kindness, or simply because he was always good company. Her husband wasn’t part of her crew, yet beloved by them. None of the aviators would have wondered why their captain had a soft spot for him, too.

  They wouldn’t have wondered why…but they might have wondered whether that soft spot made her too vulnerable to properly command them.

  She wasn’t. Yasmeen had no doubt of that. Still, she was shaken by the realization of how much damage Bilson’s scheme could do to her position. Perhaps she would have reason to kill him herself, after all.

  But not yet. She wouldn’t risk Archimedes.

  The second mate was waiting for her reply. Yasmeen came to a decision, shook her head.

  “No, Mrs. Markel. Thank you.” She wouldn’t send her crew scuttling about in search of the device, driven by fear. Better to determine a course, to prepare. Both would be easier to do after Archimedes returned and her every thought wasn’t consumed by her worry for him. “As you were.”

  She started aft, toward the galley kitchen. The aviators’ sighs of relief as she left the mess would have been inaudible to most people; Yasmeen heard them, smiled slightly—then wondered if she was too soft on them.

  The galley was empty, except for the scullery woman. Of course it was. This late, Cook was already abed. She’d have to speak with him about securing enough provisions for a months’ long flight tomorrow.

  The scullery woman glanced up, her hands red from the scalding wash water and the fringe of her brown hair curled by the steam. Yasmeen immediately saw the same discomfort that the aviators had shown, but held out her hand to stop the woman’s attempt to stand. “As you were, senhora. I’m only passing through.”

  Though clearly uncertain, the woman eased back down on her cushioned stool. “Yes, Captain.”

  The galley was spotless and in perfect order. Though there were likely more places to conceal the device here than anywhere else aboard her lady, Yasmeen suspected that Cook would have ferreted out any foreign object in his domain and made everyone aware of his displeasure long before Bilson’s associate had managed to use it.

  Indeed, the only thing out of place in Cook’s firmly regimented kitchen was Maria Barriga de Lata—the scullery woman. It was a bit late for scrubbing pots, yet Yasmeen wasn’t surprised to see her. She’d heard that Cook had been allowing the woman to rest during the last dog watch. Typically, all cleaning duties would be completed before the eighth bell had been struck, but Barriga de Lata had difficulty sitting for long stretches of time, thanks to the blacksmith butchers in the Lusitanian mines. Yasmeen didn’t know what they’d been hoping to do to the woman—aside from making their own strong laborers who came cheaper than those abducted from Horde-occupied territories—but all they’d managed to do was replace most of her abdomen with a tin can filled with guts and useless clockworks. Only her nanoagents kept her alive.

  By the time Yasmeen reached the end of the galley, Barriga de Lata was diligently scrubbing again. Out of pity or some other reason, Cook had relaxed the strict order of his kitchen for this woman—and Yasmeen didn’t care whether sh
e worked the usual schedule, either, as long as her duties were completed every day.

  But was Yasmeen being too soft on her, too?

  Sense told her that she wasn’t. Still, the question of her softness nagged at her—and in turn, that nagged at her. She’d never been uncertain like this.

  Perhaps it was impossible to be certain of anything when her life and emotions had suddenly been turned on their heads by one goddamn device, when the man she loved had been so devastated by it…and hadn’t yet returned.

  Though she wouldn’t find the device before he came back, she could help him by making certain that Bilson’s associate had no reason to activate it again. Letters needed to be sent to Scarsdale, and to the Blacksmith in London—she didn’t want to see even a glimpse of New Eden, but by the lady, she would be prepared for it. Instructions had to be written for her steward, lead engineer, and quartermaster, ordering them to secure enough provisions for a long trip. She could help Archimedes best by returning to her cabin, by being the captain her lady needed.

  And by being here when he came home.

  * * *

  Archimedes ran.

  He ran the length of the dock that he’d danced down that afternoon, each step just as quick, quicker—but no partners now, except for those that veered out of his path or jumped out of his way, and no music, only cries of surprise or anger as he rushed past. Past the bridge choked with steamcoaches, the light from their hissing gas lanterns flickering over the surface of the canal, gilding the floating refuse and gleaming in the eyes of swimming rats. Though contained by water and walls, Port Fallow was endless, the curving streets and twisting alleys forever leading to others. Everything that could be felt was here to see and hear, the despair of digging through rotting scraps, the joy of laughter between friends, the sorrow of the lost-and-couldn’t-be-led, the passion of lovers coupling in the dark, the terror of cold nights and rough hands. Like a boilerworm leeching minerals from dirt, he wound his way through the city, drawing out as many emotions as he could. His lungs became a fiery bellows and his thighs screaming pistons, and the pain and exhaustion helped more than all of the rest because it was his.