Master of Myth (The Antigone's Wrath Series Book 1) (2 page)

She aimed her pistol between his beady black eyes.

Somewhere between the knife-throwing and the gunshots, the thoroughfare cleared of all people, only the bodies and the two opponents remaining on the street.

“You shot my men in the back,” Mr. Mustache said with a sigh. His tone indicated this was merely an inconvenience.

“After you beat an old woman. Do you intend to lecture me on cowardice and courtesy?”

He sneered at her. “Not at all, but I would like to know the name of the
woman
who intends to kill me.”

She kept the gun trained on him. “I’m quite sure you would, but I have no desire to kill you. Unlike you and yours, I do not find pleasure in the pain of others.” His gaze flickered to his fallen men. “But I will kill you if I must.”

A smile played across his lips. “Then by all means, you have the upper hand. May I ask what it is you’d have me do now?”

“You can start by dropping the weapon.” The club fell to the street with a clatter. “And now, I suggest you make yourself scarce.”

His movements were slow, but he backed away. She didn’t risk lowering her gun until Mr. Mustache was out of sight. Her time was short, as someone in the dispersed crowd would have alerted the police. She needed to move quickly.

He was a block away before he broke into a run. Obviously not accustomed to the activity, his lanky form looked very odd swaying down the street. The man with the destroyed knee managed to drag himself away as well, leaving her with two dead men and a barely breathing Mrs. Tweed. When she was sure it was clear, Rachel knelt to assess the damage to the old woman.

Mrs. Tweed’s jaw had been smashed with a fierce strike, and dark pink foam oozed from the side of her mouth onto the disheveled blanket. Rachel grasped the knife that held the woman’s sleeve and yanked it free, the limp arm dropping to Mrs. Tweed’s side. After sliding the dagger into the top of her boot, Rachel brushed the hair from the dying woman’s face and tried to comfort her a little. There was nothing anyone could do now. Had she moved a little faster, been a little closer, acted more decisively… Regret washed over her as she met the woman’s glassy-eyed stare.

“You shouldn’t… have let… him live…” The words sounded bubbly with forced air from her blood-filled lungs.

“Hush. You mustn’t speak,” Rachel said, reaching to brush away another hair.

“No!” She grabbed Rachel’s hand and squeezed. “Listen… to me. That ring… keep it safe. Its power… It’s beyond anything you can imagine. They must… not get it.”

Rachel held her hand tightly. “Please don’t speak. You’ll be fine, but you must be silent. Help is on the way.”

A rasping chuckle escaped her lips. “Must have been… fate… that you came to me… today. That ring was… your mother’s, dear one.”

Rachel would not have been more stunned if Mrs. Tweed stood up and slapped her. “My— my mother’s ring? But how?”

“Keep…” Her breath was even more labored now. “Keep… safe.”

“Did she give it to you? Why? Did my father know about it?” Mrs. Tweed’s eyes closed, and panic gripped Rachel’s heart. “Mrs. Tweed! Please! I have to know!”

“Safe…” was the last thing the old woman managed to say as her final breath rattled free from her chest.

Rachel’s eyes welled with tears of frustration and sadness. Mrs. Tweed was dead, and there was nothing she could do now. Not only could she not get answers to her questions, but she didn’t even know where the woman lived. She would be unable to pass condolences to her family or beg forgiveness for her own failure to act in time.

The shrill screech of a police whistle ripped her from mourning. Her time was up. Rachel scanned the street. Constables ran toward her from the south end of the market. It would look suspicious if she bolted, but that was the likely outcome even if she stayed. It mattered little that she’d been defending a helpless old woman being beaten to death. She killed two other people in the process and wounded another, and who knew what sort of political ties they had. Organized thugs always did.

So, she ran.

It was not her first time dodging police. She caused as much chaos in her wake as she could, dumping barrels in the street and slapping the occasional horse on the rear end to spur it suddenly forward. One animal was so badly startled that it overturned a cart in the middle of the road. Fruits and vegetables spilled onto the cobblestones and were trampled beneath hooves and shoes, creating a slippery mess. She glanced back as one of her pursuers crashed to the ground. Another tripped over the first, creating a tangle that halted the constabulary’s progress entirely.

She wound her way from the market back to the docks. Rachel was confident she had a good lead, but it would all be for naught if the
Antigone’s Wrath
were not ready to leave immediately.

When she saw the ship, steam billowing from the exhaust port of the center mast, the knot in her stomach loosened. Iris and Danton had done their jobs well, as she knew they would.

She took the steps of the gangplank by two, all the time barking orders. “First Mate, get us out of here now!” Rachel burst through the door to the pilothouse and answered the puzzled look on her friend’s face. “Iris, don’t ask. Just go!”

Rachel grimaced. Emergency departures weren’t unheard of, but weren’t altogether common. There was a protocol, however, and Iris followed each step with practiced precision. They would set off on the water, taking to the air as soon as it was feasible to do so. The plan was a little tricky, as it would mean getting underway, then immediately inflating the six sails and leaving the water. Rachel hated putting her beloved ship through this sort of rough treatment, but she was confident the vessel could handle it.

“Departure protocol omega initiated,” Iris called into the communication tubing that ran throughout the ship. A few grumbles of disapproval came back, but the crew complied. The gas pressure gauges rose. On a leisurely cruise, the sails would fill over the course of several hours. For a fast take-off, the heat of the gas in the pipes would build until near to bursting in order to fill the sails in a matter of minutes. While the method worked in a pinch, too many uses of the technique could result in exploding pipes, or worse. Rachel gripped the back of the pilot’s chair to keep steady and glanced down the pier. Her pursuers had cleared the far end of the docks.

A gruff voice called through the tubing, giving the “all go” for engineering. More confirmations followed. The crew topside would give her visual indications of readiness. When the final call came in, Iris waited. “Captain?”

Rachel gave a terse nod and took her place at the wheel. The first mate released the brake and pushed the engines to ahead one-eighth. “Give her a bit more, Iris,” she called over her shoulder. “I need speed, and I need it now.”

“Aye, Captain.” Iris clucked her tongue at the reckless pace.
 

Pulling away from the dock was not the time to experiment with piloting accuracy, even if she was a master helmsman. There was little chance another ship would be ready or notified in time to intercept them, regardless of their speed. Rachel knew Iris wanted to say something, but a single look told her that it was not the time for helpful suggestions. Iris set her jaw and went back to monitoring dials and flipping switches.

“Stop fuming back there.” Rachel sighed. “I’ll explain it all later. I’ve a good one for you this time.” It was sadness, and not amusement that colored her words. In times past, the need to be away quickly was always accompanied by a jovial laugh and a bawdy story. She only wished it were so now.

Rachel took a rough turn to avoid the path of a barge and cursed under her breath. “How are the gauges looking, Iris? We need to get airborne.” She yanked down the periscope with one hand and adjusted it to the rear view. “I won’t relax until they’re a good fifty leagues behind us.”

Iris cocked an eyebrow at this. “
They
? Who are
they
?”

Rachel cringed and let the periscope go. “I don’t know, Iris. I honestly don’t. I told you we’d discuss it later, and I won’t discuss it until it
is
later. The gauges?”

“We’re nearly to the mark. Another minute, and she’ll be there.”

Rachel corrected course to avoid a cargo ship, then sighed to see the remaining path before them was clear.

“Make ready for air travel,” Iris said into the communication tube.

Gears ground in protest as the deck crew loosened the rigging and wound it into the spools attached to the masts. Rachel watched them lock the reels in place to secure the cable. “Fill the sails!” she said.

Bracing her foot against the wall, Iris grabbed a lever with two hands and heaved, a muffled bang indicating the gas was on its way. The six flat sails grew to resemble giant, withered fruit hanging on either side of the three masts, and fully inflated in minutes. The ship lurched, fighting gravity, but the superheated gases in the balloons insisted on taking them into the skies. Iris crossed the pilothouse to the panel that controlled the engines and switched them over to flight mode to adjust the ship for air travel.

When they reached cruising altitude, Rachel flopped back in her chair and released a relieved breath. After sounding the “all clear,” Iris approached her with arms crossed, awaiting explanation.

Rachel’s head lolled to the side to look at the first mate in exhaustion. “All right, all right, but not here. Fetch Danton and meet me in my quarters.”

As Iris approached the mahogany desk in the captain’s quarters, Rachel placed the ring and confiscated dagger on its surface. At the sight of the ring, Iris clasped her hands tightly behind her back in an effort to restrain her excited grasp.
 

Danton strode in with his usual swagger, hands deep in the pockets of his brown, pinstriped trousers, tweed jacket swaying loosely about his waist. At ten paces from her desk, the master-at-arms came to a dead stop, his eyes fixed on the hilt of the knife she had taken from the fight.

“Danton?” Rachel said, but he seemed not to hear her. “Monsieur DuSalle?”

Iris laid a hand on his arm and his entire body recoiled. A trained killer’s reflex tightened his face and shoulders, but only briefly. He hadn’t lost himself in thought so much as to lash out at a friend, but the Frenchman’s knuckles were white in his clenched fists.

“Apologies,
Capitaine
.” He seated himself in one of the guest chairs but remained distracted by what lay on the desk.

In the ten years she knew him, Rachel never saw him react to anything with such obvious hatred. With a quick calculation, she decided she would ask him what he knew of the weapon, but not right away. She would do better to let its presence and possible meanings rest with him for a few moments.

Iris lowered herself into the chair next to Danton. He continued to watch the knife as though it were a snake that might strike at any moment.

“You’re aware of my regular meetings with Mrs. Tweed here in Grimsby, yes?” Rachel asked. They nodded in acknowledgment. “Danton, you’re likely unaware she was the woman who cared for me as a child while my father was away at sea. She was kind and thoughtful, though not always encouraging of my chosen profession.” She stopped as small bits of memories flitted at the edge of her awareness, threatening her composure. “She was a very dear friend.”

“Was?” Iris asked, worry creasing her forehead. “Rachel, what’s happened?”

Ignoring the question for now, she continued. “This ring,” Rachel jabbed a finger at the object in question. “Is no simple piece of jewelry. I discovered this shortly after I boarded this morning. What it does exactly, I don’t know. I’m not at all sure I
want
to know. When I realized it was one of these objects you have such an affinity for, Iris, I immediately set out to return it to Mrs. Tweed.”

Iris opened her mouth to speak, but Rachel held up a hand to stop her. “In this case I was not inclined to hang on to it to turn a profit. I cannot tell you why, but I have the distinct feeling that this isn’t one of those
innocent
trinkets. That sort is positively commonplace in comparison. In the five seconds I held this ring between my fingers, its power was undeniable. While true that I hold no love for Aether Manipulation, the feelings I get from this one…” She shuddered, remembering the strange sound and stench in the air. “No, Iris. Not this one. Selling it to the highest bidder is out of the question. And, no,” she sighed as the first mate reached a hand forward, “you may not have it. Not until I know exactly what it is and what it does.”

The disappointment was evident on Iris’s face, but Rachel would not concede. She generally overlooked her first mate’s trading in illegal magical items, but they’d never come across anything quite so obviously dangerous before. It was because of items like this ring that those objects were rendered contraband by her Majesty Queen Victoria in 1840. In the forty-two years since, governments worldwide followed suit and became intolerant of any trade in such things, even if the one in question were completely benign.

“When I attempted to return the ring, there were four gentlemen already there, surrounding Mrs. Tweed. One of them used this to pin her to the building while the others got out their clubs.” She flicked the dagger in disgust. “From what I overheard before the violence began, they were probably looking for this.” She indicated the ring, but her gaze was trained on Danton now. “They managed a few swings before I could intervene, and by the time I’d secured the situation… it was too late.” She closed her eyes, fighting to contain her anger and sadness. “Before she died, Mrs. Tweed told me that this ring belonged to my mother, and that I must keep it safe.”

Iris stifled a gasp and Rachel shared a meaningful look with her. They understood each other perfectly.

“So that is what I know.” Rachel studied them each in turn, brushing a lock of dark brown hair from her face. “I look to you to help me fill in the rest.”

Iris said nothing as she pondered. Danton looked like he would rather crawl out of his skin to leave the room than discuss the items before him. “You’re a fool, Monsieur DuSalle, if you think I’ll believe you know nothing of at least one of these articles.”