Steele-Faced (Daggers & Steele Book 6) (19 page)

Unfortunately, it did the same for tailing, or for finding subjects who’d been lost due to a vice cop’s misinterpretation of orders. The most I could do was head into the engine room’s deepest shadows and hope for the best.

Sweat poured down my face as I popped between patches of orangey-yellow coal-fired glow to darkness and back. My shirt stuck to my chest like glue, and I considered ditching my coat on an unattended coal bin. After another minute and a pint of perspiration lost, I did more than consider it. After all, the coal dust had likely ruined it, and weren’t the clothes mine to do with as I pleased?

As I peeled the garment from my damp sleeves, I spotted a hint of motion behind a steam expansion cylinder twice my height. Something dark. Probably not another stoker. Those blokes were smart enough to wear short sleeves, and in white to make themselves more visible.

I tossed my jacket to the side and followed the movement, not sure if it had been Wanda but figuring there couldn’t be too many other interlopers in the dark, cavernous space. Of course, it could’ve been a piston or a flywheel or any number of other inanimate components, but given the size of the ship those all moved glacially, and the movement I’d seen had been sharp.

I turned the corner and blinked. It was dark as night behind the piston chamber—darker even, given the absence of stars—but a bit quieter than near any of the open furnaces or next to a giant rotating crankshaft.

“Hello?” My voice came across clear in my ears, though muffled by the ever present background roar. I squinted, searching the darkness for any evidence of milky skin not covered by a black turtleneck and shades. Could that be why she wore the glasses? To prepare herself for a predetermined spelunking expedition into the ship’s underbelly? It seemed a rather elaborate ruse just to give her an edge for whatever meeting she must’ve planned here.

I heard a whistle, like that of a blade cutting through air, and dropped instinctively. Something clanged into the cylinder behind me, followed by a grunt. Not a feminine one.

I kicked out a leg and made contact with something meaty. Another grunt followed, as well as a whoosh of air. A shadow blotted out what little light reflected off the edge of the engine compartments before crashing into me, knocking the breath from my lungs.

A powerful smell of liquor rolled off my assailant, mixed with a stale sweat stench and a hint of something sour. Hands grappled at my face and arms, hands I couldn’t clearly see but that felt large and strong and rough. One tried to hold me in place while the other pulled back.

I mustered my strength and rolled to the side, hoping to avoid the blow I expected if not saw. The figure above me grunted again, and I felt their weight release from my ribs. A clang sounded, maybe that of a head or an elbow ricocheting off the nearby metal cylinder.

I sucked in air to appease the burning in my lungs and called out for help. “Steck! Steck!”

Another thump from near the cylinder. I rolled in the opposite direction, then cast my hand about the floor for a weapon. Anything hard that could cause damage to a skull. Nothing.

Footsteps towards me. Could my assailant see better than me? I crouched low and braced myself.

Knees smacked into me, rattling my skull and sending shooting pains lancing into my brain, but I held on, pushing and twisting at the same time. My assailant tipped and fell, crashing to the floor. Their cry was accompanied by a resounding metal clatter, the banging and bouncing of at least a dozen reverberating poles. Rebar, perhaps.

A glimmer caught my eye, and my hand found it. The cool metal fit easily into my hand just as Daisy’s would’ve if I’d been smart enough to bring her along, but the bar’s balance was off. It was too heavy, and it torqued on my hands, probably due to its length.

Somewhere in the distance I heard a shout, and I called back. “Steck! Here!”

Another clang sounded to my left. I turned and swung, missing everything. I twirled like a top.

The shadow in front of me drifted to the right, and I heard another footstep. I swung again.

This time my aim sailed true. The bar impacted at chest level with a meaty whump, sending a vibrating jostle through my hands. My mystery attacker yelped—a pierced cry of pain that could’ve stemmed from any number of voice boxes.

More cries. Nearby now. I could make out the words. “Waters? Waters!”

The yelp trailed off into a whimper, and I heard a rapid patter of heavy feet.

“Hey! Wait!” I called, but my voice rasped and didn’t carry. Coal dust choked my lungs, which burned fiercely, to say nothing of the rhythmic, lingering thumping that coursed through the blood vessels in my head.

Steck’s voice drifted over clearly now. “Waters? Where are you?”

I stumbled toward his voice and the light—meager though it was, it seemed bright against the pitch black of the corner tucked away behind the piston chamber walls.

Steck materialized through the edge of the darkness, the side of his face lit in dim oranges and yellows. Baldy and another stoker, wide-necked and swarthy, stuck to his back like glue.

“Good gods, man,” said Steck as he laid eyes on me. “What in the world happened?”

I felt the weight of the iron bar in my hand, its patterned edge biting into my skin. I dropped it with a clatter. “That bad, is it?”

“You’re covered in sweat and coal dust, your shirt is torn, and…is that a welt on the side of your face?”

“Probably from the flying knee,” I said.

Steck’s eyebrows furrowed.

“I was attacked,” I said. “As if that wasn’t obvious from my screaming.”

“Who?” asked Steck. “Wanda?”

I started to shake my head, then stopped as needles poked through my eyeballs. I winced and leaned over, resting my elbows on my knees. “No. Someone big. Strong. Soaked in booze. Didn’t say a word, and I didn’t get a good look at them. It’s dark back there. They knew that. I thought
I
was following
them.
Guess I was wrong.”

Steck stepped over to my side and lay a hand on my shoulder. He lowered his voice so only I could hear it. “Daggers…are you doing alright?”

“My head feels like it’s going to burst,” I said through clenched teeth. “Turns out working yourself into a lather and taking a knee to the noggin isn’t much fun when you’re still half doped up on goofy pills.”

“We need to get you back to the room,” said Steck. “Harry. Give me a hand, will you?”

Baldy took a step forward, and I lifted my hand, ready to argue that what we really needed was to go after the mystery assailant, but did we?
Really?
Whoever it was had melted into the shadows and run off. The engine room was cavernous, not to mention dark as a mineshaft and ten times as loud. My attacker had done their homework. Chances were they’d scouted the rest of the engine room as well, and without being spotted by the stokers all the while. What chance did I have of finding them, all while nursing a drug hangover and a probable mild concussion?

Baldy extended a hand, and I took it, pulling myself upright. “You’re right. Let’s get to the room, before anything else happens to my poor brain.”

29

Steck helped me back to my quarters, lingering in the living area as I headed into my bathroom. It wasn’t until I’d guzzled another two glasses of water, washed my face, combed my hair, and gotten halfway through changing my shirt that it hit me.

Shay hadn’t returned.

I popped the last couple buttons into place, tucked the shirt tails into my slacks, and headed back into the living room. There, I found the note I’d penned for Shay exactly where I’d left it. I glanced at the grandfather clock.

“Steck,” I said. “Where’s the ship medic’s office?”

“What?” He blinked. “Why? Have you taken a turn for the worse?”

“Think, Steck. Shay went there. Where is it?”

“Oh. I, uh…let’s see. On the B deck. Toward the front, near the bridge.”

I did some mental math. Given how long it should’ve taken Shay to get there and back and my own time spent in the engine room, Shay should’ve returned a good ten or fifteen minutes ago, at least.

I turned toward the front door. “Let’s go.”

“You can’t be serious, Daggers. You need rest. If Steele were here…”

Steck trailed off as he noticed the look on my face.

“Right,” he said. “I’ll lead the way.”

We took the most direct route from my stateroom, passing through the bulk of the promenade deck, past the mixer lounge, and down a flight of stairs. There, toward the ship’s prow, we found an open bulkhead door with the word ‘MEDIC’ printed above the molding in bright red.

I stepped inside to a small room with walls of pristine white. A pair of examination tables with white padded cushions and chromed legs populated the space, as did a couple more traditional hospital beds, each dressed in white linens and with the privacy screens drawn back. They were all empty, but the desk at the front of the room wasn’t. Zander sat there, facing the wall. He tapped a pencil against a sheaf of papers—a stack of reports by their appearance—but he turned at the sound of us.

Zander leaned back and tugged on one of his beard braids. “Oh. It’s you, again. I sincerely hope you didn’t come to have me revisit the events of last night. Once was enough, thank you very much.”

“Where’s Samantha?” I asked.

“Pardon?”

“You know. My partner. Steele. She was here not ten or fifteen minutes ago. Where is she?”

“Oh. Her.” Zander pointed his pencil at the doorway lazily. “Well, the last person through that door was a woman by the name of—well, for patient confidentiality purposes I can’t say, but she was suffering severe indigestion for eating too many shrimp at the ship’s buffet. That was well over an hour ago.”

I glanced at Steck.

“Why do you ask?” said Zander. “Is there…a problem?”

“You’ve just been enlisted,” I told the dwarf. “I’ll need you to work down the port side of the ship. Steck, you can take the starboard side. I’ll go back through the middle.”

“Daggers, I can understand your concern,” said Steck, “but are you sure a full blown manhunt is necessary?”

“You didn’t see her when she left,” I said. “She was adamant I stay right there in the room and wait for her to return, which she’d do with Zander in tow. She was determined, Steck. And in her mind, I was in despair. I needed help. She wouldn’t lollygag about knowing that, go frolic in the ship’s gardens or stop at the bar for a few drinks.”

Steck regarded my face again and nodded. “Very well. Given what just went down in the engine room…well, better safe than sorry.”

“She’s wearing a light grey and black cocktail dress, Zander,” I said. “I can count on you, right?”

The dwarf seemed to have mostly followed along despite the gaps in knowledge. “I’ll help look for her. Protect and serve, that’s what I do.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

I headed back into the ship’s interior, walking up the stairs to the promenade deck and working my way toward the aft portions. I stopped a porter and a crewman, asking them about Shay with no luck, before pausing outside the double doors to the mixer lounge. Despite my claims about Shay not stopping for a drink, I went in anyway. A number of people milled about inside, from bartenders to waiters to patrons. Someone might’ve seen something.

I approached the bar, where a young man in a white shirt and black vest rattled a cocktail shaker above his shoulder.

“Excuse me. Barkeep? I don’t suppose you saw a young elven lady pass this way. Tall, beautiful, chocolate brown hair. Wearing a black and grey dress?”

The bartender cracked the shaker and poured the contents into a martini glass. “Ah, yes. Madam Samantha.”

“Samantha?
You know her? And you’re on a first name basis?”

The bartender smiled as he washed out the shaker. “She gave me her last name but insisted I call her by her first. You must be her husband, Mr. Waters.”

A mixture of annoyance, relief, and curiosity coursed through me. I forced it all down to the same place I’d shoved my lingering headache. “Perhaps you could start at the beginning. What was she doing here, and where is she now?”

“I’m not sure I can answer all those questions,” said the bartender as he scooped ice into his shaker. “I first noticed Madam Samantha about twenty, twenty-five minutes ago. She’s hard to miss, as I’m sure you’re aware, sir. She loitered for a few minutes before heading here to the bar and taking a seat at the end.” He pointed out the stool. “I served her a drink. Sangria with a touch of limoncello. We made light conversation, but she wasn’t terribly focused on it. Kept looking over her shoulder, as if she were expecting someone.”

Or trying to spot someone,
I thought. “And then?”

“She left, perhaps ten minutes ago. Out the front doors.”

“Alone?” I asked.

The barkeep nodded.

“She head left or right?”

The barkeep pursed his lips, his brow furrowed.

“Don’t act as if you don’t know,” I said. “I’ve watched her walk away. It’s hard to peel your eyes from her backside, even when she’s not wearing a dress. So I’ll ask again.
Left or right?”

“Ah…right, sir.”

“Thanks.”

I headed out and turned right, back in the direction I’d already scoured. Clearly Shay hadn’t been standing around in the main promenade deck hallway, otherwise I’d already found her, which meant…

I headed into a side corridor and down the stairs, popping open the door to the
Prodigious’s
exterior. A chill wind cut through my dress shirt, bringing with it a salty spray that cleared the remaining flecks of coal dust from my nostrils. The sun had disappeared from the sky, though the last vestiges of its light trickled over the horizon and painted the sky in deep purples and blues.

I headed down the deck, looking for Shay, but apparently the cold had forced everyone inside. Far off in the distance, a pair of men in navy and white uniforms coiled rope. I headed toward them, hoping they might’ve seen something to aid my search.

The wind gusted, and I put my head down against it, all the while thinking about what the bartender had said. Shay had come to the lounge, loitered, and paused at the bar. But why? She’d thought me in distress, so it would’ve taken something serious to make her deviate from her plans. Perhaps she’d been followed and hoped to discover the identity of her tail? It would explain her lingering at the bar, glancing over her shoulder, but spotting a tail in a crowd at a cocktail lounge would be a hard task. Much easier would be to isolate the tail. Like, say, on a largely deserted ship deck…