Heart of Steel - Meljean Brook [52]
That didn’t make her paying for the cab sting less, especially now that he knew how little money she had. Gritting his teeth, Archimedes followed her through the boardinghouse entrance. A small lamp offered feeble light in the foyer. A boy in tweed trousers, coat, and hat slept on a bench against the wall. Probably some urchin who’d sneaked in from the cold. When Archimedes closed the door, he jerked awake and blinked owlishly.
“Stay there if you like,” Archimedes told him as he passed the bench. “I won’t alert the matron.”
“She knows I’m here, sir.” The boy rubbed his face. “Mr. Gunther-Baptiste?”
Archimedes froze. Ahead, Yasmeen turned smoothly, as if she’d never been headed in the opposite direction. Her gaze found his before she glanced past him, peering into the next room as if searching the darkened parlor for more visitors.
He faced the boy. “I am.”
“A message, sir.” The boy offered him a letter, the paper rolled and tied with a string rather than folded and sealed. “He told me to wait for you. He said if you couldn’t come tonight, to please send a reply that you will come tomorrow morning.”
Dread clutched at Archimedes’ throat, but he took the message and moved closer to the lamp. The Arabic script was small, neat.
Wolfram,
An opportunity for true freedom has arisen, and your assistance would be appreciated. I will explain all when I see you. Please accept my apologies for the abrupt notice and the hasty summons. I depart from Port Fallow tomorrow.
Hassan
Archimedes glanced up at the boy. “Hail that cab again. Tell him to wait for me.”
The boy darted for the door.
“Shall I come?” Yasmeen said. Her fingers rested lightly on the knives sheathed at her thighs.
“No.” He wouldn’t risk her. “It’s only an old friend, but I don’t know when I’ll return. Take my room tonight; I’ll take the other if I need it.”
“Are you certain?” Her gaze slipped over his face as if searching out the truth.
God. He should have kissed her in the cab. But if he kissed her in desperation now, no doubt she’d follow him. “I’m certain,” he said. “Sleep well, Captain.”
She smiled and turned for the stairs. “Beware the barmaids, Mr. Fox.”
Hopefully, that would be all that he had to beware.
Chapter Six
Hassan’s lodgings lay beyond the first canal, in the heart of Port Fallow’s wealthy ring of residences. Archimedes knew the location; when his purse had been heavier, he’d spent several nights in a suite of well-appointed rooms. But although they were larger and more comfortable than in Archimedes’ current boardinghouse, they hardly befitted Temür Agha’s prime counselor.
So did the lack of guards and attention that Archimedes received upon his arrival. A liveried house porter showed him inside, led him up the stairs. The door of Hassan’s suite opened to the porter’s quiet tapping.
Opened by Hassan himself. A grin widened his bearded cheeks. He spread his arms in welcome, the loose sleeves of his knee-length tunic billowing with the movement. A rectangular bulge beneath the linen was the only remaining evidence of the apparatus that had once been grafted to his chest, designed for labor in the Rabat salt factories. The lung tanks had allowed him to remain beneath the surface of the salinity pools while he cleaned the crystallization from the filters—and now, lent a deep metallic resonance to his every breath and word.
“Wolfram!” He came forward, clasping Archimedes’ hand between his. “It is very good to see you.”
A warmer greeting than Archimedes anticipated—or deserved, perhaps. Hassan couldn’t have known that Archimedes had deliberately sunk the barge that carried Temür Agha’s war machines rather than simply losing the shipment, but the counselor might have guessed.
“As it is to see you, Hassan,” he replied. “Though unexpected.”
“Yes, well—Come. Come inside. I will explain all.”
Archimedes followed, disconcerted by the counselor’s ebullience. Though he knew the