Touch of Steel: A Novel of the Clockwork Agents (24 page)

“Surely this wreck of a ship has swallows on board?”

Every smart captain made sure his flying girl had the small flying machines in case of emergency or necessity. “None that will be available to you. This isn’t up for negotiating. Do what needs to be done and I’ll deliver you safe and sound back to the Wardens’ front door.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Don’t challenge me, Evie. And don’t think for a minute our past makes one lick of difference. Twelve minutes.” With that, he turned and closed the door behind him. He didn’t lock it. At several thousand feet in the sky, it didn’t seem necessary.

Plus, Evie wouldn’t try to escape. She’d do what needed to be done and then try to kill him in his sleep, or give a detailed report to W.O.R. when he dropped her off. Regardless, she’d remain on board if for no other reason than to make his life miserable. She was good at that.

His right hand splayed over his chest. His fingers didn’t have to search for the faint ridge of scar tissue; they went there instinctively. Evie might have saved his life, but she’d marked him forever with that cut, though the wound to his pride had cut much deeper. His heart was still raw and inflamed—the memory of her was like an infection that refused to respond to treatment.

And Mac tried to find “treatment” in the arms of every obliging woman he could.

He reached the end of the narrow corridor and the stairs where he could climb up or descend to the lower levels where the galley, hold and crew quarters were. This floor had his rooms, Nell’s, and two cabins for passengers. Easiest money ever made was squiring people back and forth betwixt destinations they wanted to keep secret.

He climbeStdever made d the stairs, the bright morning sunshine greeting him as he reached the deck. He blinked his watering eyes, squinted and stomped toward his first mate, who was at the wheel. Nell always had been the one who had the most common sense, and thus had a pair of tinted goggles over her eyes to protect them from the light.

His most trusted companion took her eye off the horizon long enough to shoot him an assessing glance. “You’re still standing and in one piece, so I’ll assume she didn’t take it too badly.”

Mac’s own gaze went to the sky. He never got tired of the view. There were several ships like his soaring through the air over Leipzig—passenger vessels on their way north to Berlin, or perhaps southwest to Frankfurt. Germany produced some of the best airships in the world, which made the country a hub for dirigible traffic. People would transfer to other ships, and ships could often get serviced by some talented, mechanically minded buggers who always knew where a man like him could get some extra passengers or cargo.

“I haven’t told her why she’s here yet.”

Nell snorted. “I don’t know why you even have to tell her. Just get the gel patched up and we’ll be on our way. Seems unnecessarily cruel to give her an explanation.”

“I can’t trust anyone, my friend. You know that.” He turned his gaze to the ground far below them, partially obscured by low, wispy clouds. Everything looked small from this far up, including his life.

“You trust me.”

“You’re an exception.” She’d only saved his arse six or a dozen times. He’d done the same for her.

“You telling me you don’t trust Evie? Poseidon’s hairy sac, Mac. She saved your life—twice.”

“It takes saving my life five times for me to truly trust someone,” he retorted with mock gravity.

“Don’t you play that with me. I can still kick your skinny arse. Who broke your nose the first time?”

Mac tried not to smile. “You. I remember you got your arse slapped later by Ma.”

“It was worth it,” his sister shot back with absolutely no remorse. “I’m amazed you can even breathe through the damn thing now.”

“You’re just jealous because I’m so pretty. Have twelve minutes gone by yet?”

“You gave her a time limit? Good thing you’re pretty, because there ain’t a brain in your fool head.”

“We don’t have much time, Nelly. I’m already risking Imogen’s safety giving Evie that long.”

“It’s been six minutes since you came up on deck.”

“Damnation.”

“Oh for pity’s sake, just go get her.”

“I can’t appear too desperate.”

“You are desperate, remember?”

Mac’s teeth ground together. He loved his sister, but there were times he wanted to pitch hted”
er over the side of the
Queen V
without a volans canopy to slow her fall. “The longer I can keep her in the dark, the better. She may decide not to assist me on the principle of it.” And that was something Mac couldn’t risk.

“Are we still talking about Evie? Because I’m pretty sure that she is above those sorts of shenanigans.”

“She used to be.” He’d like to believe she hadn’t changed, but he wasn’t keen on thinking too highly of her either.

“I think she’s still sweet on you.”

He turned his head and locked his gaze with hers. “No, she’s not. Even if she is, I’ll be ruining all of that in a few minutes.”

“She might understand.”

“Are you sure we’re talking about the same Evie? No matter how I play this, she won’t understand it at all. It hardly matters.”

“No,” Nell agreed in that dry tone of hers. “I reckon not.”

They stood in silence for a few moments. Finally, Mac consulted his pocket watch for the fourth time and said, “Bugger this. I’m going to get her.” Three minutes shouldn’t make much of a difference. Hopefully the extra minutes Imogen had to wait hadn’t made much of a difference to her condition.

“If I hear screaming, I’ll bring a bucket of water.”

“Who are you going to throw it on? Me? Or Evie?”

“Not certain. Whichever one of you I think will be most entertaining, no doubt.”

Nell was right—he was desperate. Imogen’s life depended on Evie’s skill, and here he was fretting and whining over a few moments. He shouldn’t have given them to her to begin with. Damned stupid of him.

A few crew members passed him as he made his way below deck. They all smiled and acknowledged him with some form of respect. He wasn’t much for standing on ceremony, but it was comforting knowing that his crew respected and trusted him.

Or at least most of them did. He had a sickening suspicion that at least one didn’t share his crew mates’ sentiment, but he wasn’t going to think on that now, not when the only woman he’d ever die for—and almost had—was in his cabin. He didn’t knock, the boy in him hoping for a glimpse of skin.

Alas, he was denied.

Evelyn had washed her face and, he assumed, the rest of her. She was clad in a fresh pair of trousers and a white shirt with a black corseted waistcoat, which was all the rage among ladies now. Her hair was twisted into a messy bun. Within an hour she would have little tendrils of curls slipping free around her face. He would have to watch that he didn’t try to tuck them behind her ears like he always used to.

“You’re early. I still have two minutes.”

He didn’t rise to the bait. “Come with me.” When she didn’t budge, he sighed in exasperation. “Please?”

“That’s more like it. This life of debauchery has made sport of your manners.”

“My manners are just fine. It’s the people offended by them who are the problem.” He stood sideways so she could slip through the door. Her hand brushed his thigh. He had steeled himself for contact, so he didn’t jump three feet in the air and squeal like a little girl. He wasn’t over her. He’d been aware of this for some time, but the realization of just how much power she had over him . . . well, it wasn’t welcome.

“Second door on the left,” he told her. Evelyn stood and waited for him to do the entering, which he did.

“They have this new thing now,” she informed him—rather peevishly, he thought. “It’s called knocking. Apparently it’s all the rage. You should try it now and again.”

“My ship. My doors.” He held the heavy oak open with one arm. “After you.” He wanted her where he could see her, and certainly not with access to his back. She’d already stabbed him there once.

The room was small but comfortable—as good as on any steamship. The shades had been opened to allow some sun into the room. The woman in the bed couldn’t enjoy the sunshine—she was asleep. Sweat beaded her pale brow and pain furrowed it.

“Mac?” It was all Evie said when she discovered the woman.

“Her name’s Imogen. She was shot yesterday. I thought it went right through, but I reckon it was scatter shot and some is still in her. She started running a fever a few hours ago.” He didn’t have to tell her how dangerous scatter shot could be, the tiny fragments breaking off to infiltrate organs and cause even more damage.

“This is why you shocked me and took me prisoner?” Evie turned a disbelieving gaze on him. “Bloody hell, Mac. You could have just asked.”

Seriously? Yes, she meant it; there was none of the mockery she’d used before. She had to know he’d rather chew off his own arm than ask her for any favors. “I couldn’t take the chance you might say no.”

She placed her hand on Imogen’s forehead. “I don’t say no when someone is injured.” She put her fingers at the base of the other woman’s throat. “She’s fevered and her pulse is erratic. I’m going to have to take a look at her wound and clean it. Fetch my bag, will you? I’m sure you made certain it was brought with the rest of my things.”

He had, and he didn’t care that she gave him that pointed look that said she knew him so well. “I’ll get it.” He’d put it someplace she couldn’t get to it—he wasn’t about to risk her injecting him or his crew with some sort of drug that would make escape easy. He would let her go, but not until he knew Imogen was safe.

“She must be important for you to come to me.”

Mac paused at the door and turned his head to regard her over his shoulder. “She is.”

“Who is she?” Did he imagine the tension in her features? The false disinterest in her tone?

Evie had walked out on him. There was no reason for him to feel any guilt over what he was about to say, but he did.

“She’s my wife.”