Steele-Faced (Daggers & Steele Book 6) (13 page)

Steele’s voice drifted over again. “Did you style your hair?”

“I combed it.”

“And did you put on makeup?”

“What do you think?”

“Do you think perhaps you’ve answered your own question?”

I drummed my fingers on the armrest and neglected to further the conversation, mostly because in doing so I’d make myself look more foolish than I already had.

“We’re going to be late, you know,” I called out. “And I’m not warning you for my own benefit. I find the merits of a show sung in a language and tenor that’s completely unintelligible to be dubious at best.”

“Very well,” said Steele. “I’m all done with my makeup. If you help me zip into my dress we could probably be out of here in a minute or two.”

“Zip into…? How tight is this thing?”

“Quite, in the places where it needs to be,” said Shay. “Now come in here and give me a hand.”

I stood and crossed to her door. I rested my hand on the doorknob, wondering if I should ask whether or not she was decent, but she
had
told me to come in. No need to be overly reticent.

I pushed my way in and found Shay standing in front of her mirror, wearing an ankle length strapless black evening gown with a sweetheart neckline and a fair amount of lace in the bodice. She had her back to me, and though the dress came to just under her shoulder blades, the majority of said back was currently exposed. A single clasp held the dress together under her armpit, but the zipper on the side was completely undone, showing off a length of creamy skin that reached from her ribs down to the curve of her derrière.

“Well don’t just stand there,” said Shay, looking at me through the mirror. “Come help me.”

I crossed to her side and took hold of the zipper’s pull tab. Shay collected her hair and drew it over her opposite shoulder. She’d curled it slightly and treated it with a different perfume than normal, a jasmine scented one if I wasn’t mistaken.

“Be careful not to catch my skin. As I said, the dress fits snugly.”

“I’ll be careful.” I pulled the dress’s fabric tightly toward me and worked the tab north, moving it in hitching increments until catching a groove and sliding it all the way home.

“Perfect.” Shay turned and smoothed the front of her dress. “So…what do you think?”

Her hair tumbled across the side of her face, cupping her cheek before cascading over her shoulder in a jumble of curls. A touch of rouge brightened her cheeks while a hint of dark liner made her azure eyes pop like pools of the clearest ocean shoal. Her lips had been enhanced with a natural-colored balm that somehow made her seem fresher and more beautiful than she already was. I wanted to dive in and kiss her.

“You’re gorgeous,” I said.

Natural forces conspired to enhance the effects of the rouge. “Thanks. Now let’s go, otherwise we really
will
miss the show. We’ll need a little luck as is.”

I ushered her to the front, but I paused with the door a few inches shy of closed. “Oh, one thing,” I said. “Before we leave, could you pluck one of my hairs? One of the gray ones, if you can find one. I won’t miss those.”

Shay’s eyebrows furrowed, and she opened her mouth. “You know what? I’m not even going to ask. Hold still.”

Shay’s fingers dug into my scalp. I felt a tug followed by a sharp pluck. I winced but didn’t yelp.

“Thanks,” I said.

Shay eyed the hair. “And what am I supposed to do with this?”

“Put it in the doorframe as I close up.”

“Ah. Got it.”

With the rudimentary alarm in place, we set off down the hall and into the stairwell. Our feet clattered off the steps and echoed off the ship’s steel walls.

“Daggers, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” I said.

“Are you self conscious about your gray hairs?”

“Well, that depends,” I said. “If you mean am I aware of them, then yes. If you mean do they bother me, then still yes.”

“You shouldn’t be, you know,” said Shay. “They don’t impede your charm in the least.”

I snorted. “That’s nice of you to say, but I suppose it’s one of the perks of going prematurely gray. People are taught to be kind to the elderly.”

“I’m serious. I don’t mind them.”

I opened my mouth, ready to launch into a joking, thinly-veiled tirade of self-loathing wherein I tore myself down, assuring anyone nearby I was unattractive and thoroughly unlovable, but I stopped myself in the formative stages. For one thing, I didn’t really believe that anymore. I’d seen the effects of my diet and exercise regimen, and those physical changes had helped spark a psychological renaissance. I wasn’t anywhere near as repellant as I’d once convinced myself I was, and if Shay liked the way I looked…well, who was I to dissuade her?

I nodded and smiled.

Apparently, we weren’t the only ones running late. A crowd swelled against the face of the ship’s theater, crashing into the overwhelmed ushers out front in waves. We joined the sea, shuffling back and forth and back and forth before eventually working our way to the front of the mass. There, I flashed one of the ushers our room key, and he herded us in through a set of thick, velvet drapes.

If not for the slightly lower than normal ceilings, the theater would’ve been indistinguishable from one on land. Over a dozen rows with thirty seats apiece stretched back from a full-sized stage, one currently closed off by heavy red curtains. A single layer balcony provided additional seating at the sides, though exactly how much I couldn’t tell. The lights had already been dimmed, and my eyes were in the process of adjusting.

The usher showed us to our row. We excused ourselves to the other patrons as we shuffled past them into our seats—not particularly close to the stage, but at least centrally located in the row.

“Apparently, money can’t buy quite everything,” I said as we seated ourselves.

“What are you complaining about?” asked Shay. “As if any seat in this house is a bad one.”

I would’ve replied, but our tardiness didn’t provide me with an opportunity. The orchestra sprang to life, the crowd’s communal voice dwindled to a murmur, and the red curtains drew apart.

20

The lights from behind the curtain cut through the dark, revealing a backdrop of pristine blue, dark for the water below and bright for the sky above. Wide-leafed palms thick with coconuts hung over the sides of the stage, and in the back, up high, white clouds shifted back and forth. The orchestra quieted, but the void of the music was filled with heavy thumping.

A man raced forth from stage right, dressed in a billowing white shirt, torn brown trousers, and with a bandana wrapped around his head. He looked about wildly before exiting stage left. Moments later, a band of pirates followed him from the right, racing across the stage without pause, bellowing all the while. The first man reappeared after their exit and hid behind one of the palms, only to have the pirates reappear and race back across the stage in the opposite direction. He paused after they’d left, looking to his left and right before eventually leaving the safety of the tree and moving to the center of the stage. He placed his hands on his hips and shook his head. The music started back up, and the man erupted in song.

I couldn’t understand a word of it.

Maybe ten percent, if I was being honest. As it turned out,
The Pirates of St. Gustifere
wasn’t performed in a foreign tongue, but that didn’t make it any more intelligible. I caught snippets here and there, something about the man’s past as a carpenter turned sailor and the appearance of a press gang. I had to admit his booming voice and rich baritone made for a final product that was pleasing to the ears if hard on the gray matter.

The gang of pirates returned, as did a woman who I gathered was the love interest. The pirates threatened the man. The woman pleaded for his life, and they all joined together in song. The orchestra intensified, further muddling the already jumbled vocals, and I began to lose interest.

As I did so, my eyes wandered. They’d finally adjusted to the light, letting me see into the furthest reaches of the balcony, which wasn’t that far away, all things considered. Each balcony contained a modest three rows, four seats wide apiece. The accommodations seemed a little finer than those in the central portions of the theater, and I wondered just where our tax dollars had gone if not to provide Shay and me with the finest luxuries possible.

As I scanned my eyes across the balcony, I spotted a pair of familiar faces in the back of the one furthest from the stage. Jimmy and Ghorza, with their elbows in a heated war over the shared armrest between them. How they’d come to be seated next to one another in such a spacious theater I had no idea, but despite the cramped quarters, they didn’t appear particularly displeased. In fact, it seemed as if they were talking. Was Vlad back there, too? I couldn’t spot him, even accounting for my dark-adjusted eyes.

I glanced at Steele who had her eyes trained on the stage. The corners of her lips turned upward, and her eyes sparkled in the dim light.

I dipped my head low next to hers and spoke in a hushed tone. “Jimmy and Ghorza. Balcony, left side. Sitting together.”

“Hmm?” She glanced in their direction before immersing herself back in the action. “Oh, yes. Good find.”

Good find?
Did she even care? Why
were
we at the opera, anyway? With the mixer, our presence had purpose: to meet our fellow poker competitors and learn their strengths and weaknesses, or at least a little of their backgrounds. But with the opera? Shay had mentioned nothing of the sort. She’d simply insisted we attend. And how would we perform reconnaissance, anyway, with us restricted to our seats and limited by social norms? All of which meant she’d seen the event as nothing more than an opportunity for us to spend a nice evening together.

Why wouldn’t she, though? I enjoyed the luxuries offered to us by the cruise: the food, the drink, the time with Shay. It was only fair she do the same.

I let her bask in the show while I scanned my eyes over the rest of the crowd. After a bit of effort, I located Orrin, a few rows in front of us near the aisle. I didn’t envision the gruff dwarf as a fan of opera, but his intense focus on the stage said otherwise. I did, however, expect to find Verona and perhaps even Johann at the show, but try as I might I couldn’t spot them among the crowd. Neither could I spot Wanda, but that didn’t surprise me. She’d already proven herself a recluse. Theo was another matter. He seemed just the sort to enjoy a boisterous show, but just because I couldn’t see him didn’t mean he wasn’t there. With his stature, I’d be surprised if I
had
laid eyes on him. I wondered if perhaps they reserved the front row for gnomes and other breeds of similar stature. Within our capitalist society, probably not.

I glanced back at Ghorza and found the situation in the gallery had deteriorated. She and Jimmy no longer amiably shared space, instead appearing to be involved in a heated if hushed argument. Jimmy jabbed an angry finger in Ghorza’s direction, and his mouth moved quickly. The opera attendees in front of them looked back at them with stern eyes and pursed lips.

I nudged Shay and nodded in their direction. “Check it out. Squabble at eight o’clock.”

Shay looked again. As she did so, Jimmy stood and stormed off through the back of the balcony. Ghorza threw up her hands before crossing them over her stomach, shaking her head all the while.

“Think I should go over there?” I whispered.

“To do what?” asked Steele.

“Spy on them. Talk to Ghorza. Follow Jimmy. I don’t know.”

“Don’t you think they’d find all that a mite suspicious?” whispered Steele. “Remember, we’re here to enjoy a few days of luxury on the high seas. You can’t poke your head into other people’s matters willy-nilly. And unless you can fly, you’d have a hard time tailing Jimmy.”

Shay had a point. By the time I shuffled past the other guests in our row and hiked up to the back of the balcony, Jimmy would be long gone.

I shook my head nonetheless. “I don’t like it. What are Jimmy and Ghorza talking about? Jimmy’s already out of the tournament. Do you think he and Ghorza have a deal? That he threw his hand for her?”

Despite our hushed tones, our neighbors had started to give us less than pleasant glares as well.

“Perhaps these are things you could investigate
after
the opera,” said Shay, “when we all retire to the bar.”

“There’s a post-play mixer?”

Shay nodded.

Now I understood. Even if Shay had intended our operatic outing as a pleasurable one, she’d hadn’t meant it purely as such.

“Why don’t you focus on the performance?” said Shay. “Try to enjoy yourself for once.”

I sighed, pushing down my suspicions as I turned to face the stage. Given the nature of the beast, enjoying myself might be a stretch, but for Shay, I’d certainly try.

21

Shay and I filed out of the theater, following the other patrons as we snaked our way into the adjoining hallway.

“Oh, that was lovely, don’t you think?” said Shay, her hand resting over my proffered arm. “Despite the publicity associated with the
Prodigious’s
maiden voyage, I didn’t think they’d get top shelf talent for their onboard entertainment, but I’m glad to have been wrong. Stanislaw Thatcher was superb as Captain John James Ringleford the third, and Betty…what was her last name? Well, she was a revelation as Elizabeth Beets. So strong and feisty and clever. I loved her.”

“I wonder why,” I said.

“Oh, come off it,” she said. “I’m nothing like Elizabeth.”

“I seem to recall you asking for a thesaurus earlier,” I said. “Maybe I’ll include a dictionary when I gift it to you, because your definition of ‘nothing’ isn’t the commonly agreed upon variant.”

“Well, perhaps in attitude we’re similar,” said Shay. “But in terms of dress and mannerisms and our situation in life, we’re polar opposites. Besides, I’m far more elegant than she. And I don’t care for sand between my toes.”

“I can’t comment on that last part, but I do agree with you on the elegance.”

“Good. Because if you didn’t, there’d be something wrong with you.” Shay nodded toward the stairwell. “Should we head to the lounge?”