Heart of Steel - Meljean Brook [28]
“Zombies or a city full of Horde soldiers,” she said. “What did you choose?”
“In summer, I’d have chosen the wall. Winter, the only choice is Cairo.” Where there hadn’t been nearly as many soldiers as he’d expected; they’d been replaced by rumors—the most popular that they’d been ordered east to defend the heart of the empire. “From there, I boarded an airship to the Ivory Market, and then a ship to Port Fallow.”
“All without your purse?”
“I stowed away and stole what I needed to. And I still had my guns.”
“You threatened your way aboard? That didn’t work so well the last time.”
Archimedes disagreed. She’d thrown him overboard but he’d ended up on her lady again, so it had worked perfectly well. He didn’t mind taking a roundabout way. “I traded the guns. Horde rebels are always looking for weapons.”
“That they are, though the rebels are also difficult to find.” Yasmeen lifted her cabin’s door latch and led the way inside. “Interesting that you knew where to look for them.”
He bowed before stepping through the entrance. “I have many talents, Captain.”
With a roll of her eyes, she shook her head and crossed her quarters toward the writing desk bolted to the starboard bulkhead. He watched the pull of her tight breeches across her luscious bottom before glancing around her quarters—the same quarters his father had once occupied. Gone were the shelves of leather-bound books, the unforgivably firm bunk, the straight-backed chairs, and the solemn table as simply made as the sparse fare that had topped it. Emmerich Gunther-Baptiste had been a lean, hard man, and his cabin had been the same.
Though also lean and hard, Yasmeen had filled her quarters with softness and color. His boots sank into thickly woven rugs. Bright silk cushions surrounded a low mahogany table; carved grapevines and leaves created an intricate pattern in the wood. In the recessed berth, red curtains formed a tent over her mattress, which appeared to be little more than an enormous pillow. The cabin’s two portholes had been enlarged to let in more light, and between them hung a large metal cage. Inside, two lovebirds flitted and chirped.
Yasmeen sank to her heels beside the desk, where a steel strongbox squatted on wide feet—though not quite like any strongbox he’d seen before. Shaped like a fat egg standing on end, the smooth casing possessed no hinges, and he couldn’t determine the location of a lid or a door. Curious, he joined her.
She didn’t attempt to conceal the movement of her fingers across its face. This close, he could see the thin seams joining the steel, but he still couldn’t make out the pattern of a door. She rotated one section clockwise. At the front of the strongbox, a steel panel the size of his palm lifted a few inches, parallel to the casing. Not much room. Archimedes had to lay his cheek against the strongbox to peer beneath the panel to see the twelve flat metal dials, each resembling the face of a clock, and each of them blank except for a faint, raised dot.
“Based on the al-Jazari locks,” she said, sliding her hand under the panel. “But with improvements.”
A combination lock, like the slave bracelet. “You can’t see the dials.”
“No.” She grinned. “And neither can you.”
No numbers to memorize, just the position of the dots—and she had to do it blind. “And if you mistake the sequence?”
“Then I’ll need to ask my blacksmith to make me a new hand. But not this time.”
She sat back. A series of hollow clangs sounded from deep within, like knocks from inside a tomb. The rounded top slowly unscrewed, widening the gap in the midline seam and revealing the six inches of steel that formed the housing. Christ. When closed, a firebomb could hit it and wouldn’t do any more damage than a few scratches and a smear of smoke.
The top finished spinning. With another hollow thump, the belly of the strongbox opened like a drawbridge, pivoting on an interior steel rod. Coin bags were stacked neatly inside. She reached