Master of Myth (The Antigone's Wrath Series Book 1) (6 page)

Silas was amazed at the boy’s level of obsession with machinery, which sometimes exceeded his own. Still, the lad seemed safe enough here and probably couldn’t get into too much trouble. He gave the captain a questioning look as the man puffed at his ever-present pipe. Kidham nodded his round head and smiled amicably. He’d taken a shine to Eddie in their short journey to La Rochelle. Silas shrugged and decided it was a lost cause. “All right, if that’s what you wish, but stay put. Do
not
leave this vessel for any reason until I come for you. Do you understand?” Eddie nodded enthusiastically. “I’ll fetch you at midday tomorrow, so be ready to leave by then.”

“Yes, sir!” Eddie snapped a salute and ran off to enjoy his bit of restricted freedom.

Silas gave a tired sigh and turned to go when the captain called to him. “I say, good man, sure you won’t stay over yourself a night and start off in the morning? Not much in the way of passenger fares to be had at this hour. Most of that sort will be hunched over a pint by now.”

He bowed slightly. “You’ll forgive me, Captain, but I don’t share young Eddie’s love of ships and travel. I prefer my feet on solid ground and a bed I don’t have to strap myself into at night. Please don’t take it personally. It’s been a fine journey, and I thank you for your hospitality.”

“No offense taken, Mr. Jensen, and you’re quite welcome. Might I suggest an inn for you this evening, at least?”

Silas smiled politely. “I’d welcome any advice you have, most certainly.”

He puffed a bit more on his pipe. “The
Bois de Fer
has comfortable accommodations for a reasonable price, and would suit you well, I dare say. Tell the owner, chap by the name of Alain, that I sent you his way and he’ll be sure to be especially welcoming.”

Silas listened to the directions to the
Bois de Fer
and walked down the gangway to the dock below. Truthfully, it wasn’t only sleeping on a moving transport that bothered Silas about traveling. He had a horrible sense of direction. He came to the conclusion that north and south were, in fact, much more troublesome than right and left. After hours of meandering through bustling city streets teeming with Hansom cabs and carts alike, he was unforgivingly lost and decided to give up on ever finding the
Bois de Fer
. It was getting very late, and he would have to find a place for the night soon or risk sleeping on a bench somewhere, or worse, having to take another night on the ship he sailed in on. Of course, he would have to find his way back first.

As he wandered the streets, he decided to stop at the next place he came to that didn’t look to be infested with rats or seedy clientele. He turned the corner and was greeted by the warm glow from the open doorway to a place called the
Cheval Rouge
. Looking in the window, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sizable crowd gathered within, but they didn’t appear to be overly raucous or suspect. There were smiles everywhere.

And then, he saw her, her dark hair holding a golden glow in the gaslight. His breath disappeared from his lungs as he traced his eyes over her face. She was not slathered in the heavy makeup the loose pub women were inclined to wear, but she didn’t need to be. Such things would only detract from the pink in her cheeks and the luscious upward curve of her mouth as she gave a coy smile to the man behind the bar. Her clothing was not the fashion most women wore, either. Her wardrobe was functional. Her brown trousers and deep red velvet vest hugged her graceful curves, and the ruffle of her cream-colored blouse cascaded down her chest and wrists. The telltale bumps of a leather holster wrapped around her shoulders and back, marking her as a woman familiar with weapons, but this didn’t deter him.

Before he knew it, he was inside the public house and approaching the bar. As he leaned there, trying not to stare at the woman a few seats down, he removed his gray gloves and unfastened the buttons of his overcoat. It was chilly in the streets outside, but he feared the warmth of the establishment might cause unflattering perspiration. He was not accustomed to approaching women, but felt drawn to this one. Typical ladies did not suit his tastes, with their mild mannerisms and airy giggles. He had nothing in common with them. If he couldn’t hold a conversation, there was little chance of getting anywhere else with her. For the first time in a long time, Silas felt hopeful about a member of the gentler sex.

The barkeep sauntered up to him; the man’s chiseled good looks dampening Silas’ sudden good mood. “
Bon nuit, monsieur. Bienvenue sur le Cheval Rouge. Que puis-je faire pour vous?
”

Silas stared at him blankly, the small amount of French he knew completely failing him. “I don’t suppose you speak English, by chance?”

The bartender laughed heartily. “But of course,
monsieur
. What can I do for you?”

“A dark brew and a room, if you have one,” he replied as he stuffed his gloves in his pocket.

“You are in luck.” The bartender grinned as he tossed a key onto the counter. “That is the last one.”

After settling the payment and receiving a mug of ale darker than engine grease, Silas settled onto a stool and tried to relax. Far too many out of the ordinary things had happened the last few days, and he sorely needed a moment to breathe and let it all settle. The tepid beer went down as smoothly as the icy cold ones available in winter in Pevensey. It was a hearty drink that left his gullet with a comforting warm buzz.

He studied his mug of beer, wracking his brain for anything he might say to the woman sitting further down the bar. Was she French? If so, how could he possibly speak with her, get to know her, if the only French he knew mostly involved ordering food? When he felt eyes on him, he looked up. The woman sat one chair away, studying him with an amused look on her face. He was not a man given to bouts of modesty, but his cheeks flushed at being caught deep in thought. He knew he should say something, but all rational thought evaporated from his head.

“It’s rare to see a man so thoroughly analyzing a good stout.” She lifted her own mug in a “cheers” motion.

Silas chuckled. “The English swill I’m forced to drink has made me appreciate the good stuff, when I can get it.”

“Ah, a fellow countryman.” She nodded approvingly. “Whereabouts are you from?”

“Pevensey,” he answered with a shrug. “Yourself?”

“I’m a bit of a vagabond,” she made a flippant gesture, “though I grew up in Liverpool.”

Silas considered this information. “A vagabond you say? I suppose you’re with one of the ships in port then?”

She nodded, her hair catching the light. “And what brings you to La Rochelle?”

An involuntary grimace soured his face. “Chasing down information.”

She recoiled a bit, and he wondered what it was about his statement that was so off-putting. He did what he could to win back the moment. “Wish I could say I was going to find what I was looking for here, but, alas, I’ve still a long way to go. Just a stop on the way.”

Her shoulders lost a bit of their tension, and she continued the conversation. “Information? And is it information on a someone or a something you’re looking for?”

“Bit more abstract and considerably more complicated, I’m afraid.” He took another swallow. “And I’m not at all happy about having to leave my workshop to go and get it, either.”

This piqued her interest. “Workshop? What is it you do?”

Despite her sudden enthusiasm, Silas wished he hadn’t said that aloud. “I tinker with machines, mostly.” He cast a glance around the room to see if anyone else listened in on their conversation.

“What sort of machines?” She leaned forward, the same spark of curiosity he saw in Eddie in this beautiful stranger’s eyes.

He chuckled inwardly and moved to the next stool, if for no other reason than to keep their private conversation, private. If it was also convenient for other things, well, that was so much the better. “Oh, this and that. A lot of household appliances, some industrial machinery, whatever is asked of me, really.”

“Ever do any work on transport ships?”

He shrugged. “Which variety? Air or sea? Either way, the answer would be yes, though not often.”

The conversation continued on in this vein for quite some time, and Silas lost himself in the banter. She had many questions for him, but had knowledge of the subject matter as well. Clearly she had done her own experimenting with this sort of work. It was quite impressive. So few women he knew showed any interest in the way things worked. Yet here he was, discussing the finer points of how to improve fuel efficiency by decreasing the diameter of certain pipes and tweaking steam and air pressure ratios to find the right balance. Had he finished his first mug of stout, or did the bartender keep bringing him fresh ones? He had no idea, but, then again, he didn’t really care.

She liked this man.

Truthfully, she liked the look of him the moment he walked in. There was something very natural about him, something uncomplicated. Maybe it was his tousled hair, or his pale gray eyes. When he took a long moment to savor his first taste of stout, she decided to investigate further.

She had a moment of hesitation when he said he was in La Rochelle seeking information. She fleetingly considered that the man was looking for her on behalf of the Brotherhood, but he would have known who he was looking for then. He didn’t seem keen to discuss the matter, but it struck her as more out of annoyance and wanting to put that aside in favor of leisure, than of not wanting to tell her about it.

He was good-natured and laughed easily, which she also liked. However, when he told her that he was an inventor, although not in those specific terms, she was convinced this man would be the entertainment of the evening. It was rare that she enjoyed herself and learned so much at the same time. During the course of the conversation, Rachel made plans in her head for improvements to the engines of the
Antigone’s Wrath
that she would put into motion the next opportunity they had for upgrades. Though, at this juncture, she doubted that would be any time soon.
 

As the night progressed, she found herself flirting more than she usually did. He wasn’t aggressive, but she relished the challenge he presented. It wasn’t as though he showed no interest at all, simply that he enjoyed her conversation so very much more than her slight advances. This was also refreshing. Men so often were only concerned with talking about themselves, their work, or how lovely her eyes were.

It struck her suddenly, and she stopped him mid-sentence with a finger on his lips. Stunned, he remained frozen for a moment. “I’ve just realized something,” she said to him, smiling.

“And what’s that?” He leaned towards her, grinning. “That I’m the most interesting gearhead you’ve ever met?” His laugh was genuine.

She returned his chuckle with a playful smile of her own. “No, but nice try. I was going to say, I don’t even know your name.”

He smiled his slightly crooked grin at her again. “You first.”

For some reason, she blurted out “Rachel” before she could stop herself. She tried not to look too shocked at giving him her real name, though she couldn’t fathom what possessed her to do so. She never, ever used her real name when talking with men in pubs.

“Rachel,” he extended his hand, and she took it. “That’s a lovely name.” Without missing a beat, he brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them lightly. “I’m Silas.”

Their still-joined hands lowered to the counter, but did not part. His grey eyes met her dark ones and she could feel his desire as closely as her own. “Silas,” her voice was low and breathy. “It’s truly a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

He reached up and brushed a bit of hair from her face. “Dear lady, I assure you, the pleasure thus far has been mine. But, if I might be so bold, I do wish I could return the favor.”

Again, she found herself unable to control her actions. Without another word she closed the last few inches to him and pressed her lips to his. At first, he was as shocked as she was, but he recovered and placed his palm against her cheek, cupping her face in his hand. After a moment, he broke the contact and pulled away, but held her to look at her. “Perhaps I wasn’t so bold after all?” Another sly grin played across his mouth, which she returned.

She reached up and took his hand as she slid off the bar chair. “I should really show you the weapon I’ve modified. It’s a family heirloom of sorts, passed down from my grandfather, but I think you’d appreciate the improvements I’ve made to it.” She winked at him. “Would you care to have a look?”

While part of him did, indeed, wish to have a look at this bit of gadgetry, what he had in mind for the remainder of the night did not, for once, involve metal or parts of anything but the organic sort.

He followed her up the stairs, but was barely able to unlock his room and get inside it before she was kissing him. She thoroughly stole his breath away. This mysterious woman, though he barely knew her, held his attention in a way that he generally reserved for his inventions. As he crushed her against the inside of the door, his mouth to hers, he felt the solid form of a gun hiding beneath her vest. Momentarily distracted, he wondered about the object for a split second before her insistent kisses returned him to the task at hand. There was another pause when cold metal brushed the back of his neck. More hidden weapons? The thought left him uneasy, but her hand ripping open his shirt, buttons scattering in all directions, pushed it from his mind. When it occurred to him to look for these little additions later, the devices were gone, most likely hiding under discarded clothing.

The night streamed by in a fiery blur, until, at last, they were both exhausted and fell into deep slumber. He slept soundly, in part from the bedroom calisthenics, but mostly from nights of restless sleep on board a ship at sea. In the hours before dawn, the arms of Morpheus enveloped him in total blackness. He would not have heard her leave had she been on the back of an elephant.

When the first rays of sunlight hit his face, Silas realized that he had, in fact, had quite a bit to drink the previous evening. At the memory of the remainder of the night’s activities, however, he grinned broadly and forgot about the headache entirely. He stretched, reaching out expectantly for another warm body.