Heart of Steel - Meljean Brook [60]
His gaze landed on her, and his face contorted with disbelief and anger, erasing all resemblance to his cousin. He turned to the man waiting next to him, who by description Yasmeen guessed was Hassan.
“That is the wife?”
Every aviator on deck turned to look. Clearly taken aback by Guillouet’s tone, Hassan only nodded.
“She is not welcome on this vessel!”
Guillouet bellowed the declaration so that everyone would hear—and would know him for a fool when he was overruled on his own ship. Yasmeen barely contained her amusement; that would not go over well with the crew, either. No need to antagonize the only people who could make this trip unbearable.
Hassan looked bewildered. “Explain, Captain.”
“Corsair. She calls herself Lady Corsair. It means she was a privateer—a friend to the French, you understand? But she was no friend to us.”
She’d done every single job well. Yasmeen reached for her cigarillo case, but it wasn’t there.
When Hassan looked to her, she said, “The French newssheets gave me the name.”
“Newssheets.” Guillouet spat. “Misguided fools, supported by the nobles. You took our money and Liberé money that rightly belonged to our king.”
Already, the irritation began to set in. “Then it seems I only took French money,” she said.
Understanding finally came to Hassan’s face, and Yasmeen realized that he hadn’t been lost, only having difficulty with the language. “A mercenary?”
“Yes,” Yasmeen said.
Though there was no visible hardening of Hassan’s expression, though he didn’t stand any straighter or raise his voice, he suddenly gave the impression of quiet strength and authority. He looked to Guillouet. “Does her presence mean you will not take my money, Captain?”
The threat was clear. Guillouet’s jaw tightened, the struggle visible on his face. An airship captain who stood on principles over money soon had no ship to stand on. “I will not allow her to share meals in my cabin. You cannot ask that insult of me.”
“You will insult her, too?”
“It’s no insult,” Yasmeen said. She didn’t want to eat with him, either. “The wardroom will do.”
Faint apology entered Hassan’s voice. “The wardroom is taken by the marsouins. I have already displaced several of the captain’s men.”
“We can eat with the crew,” Archimedes suggested. “We’ve made the acquaintance of several, and enjoyed their company before.”
They had?
“Very well, then.” With a sharp nod, Guillouet pivoted on his heel, began shouting orders.
With the only threat to her diminished, Yasmeen finally looked away from Guillouet and glanced over the aviators on deck. Her gaze stopped on one large man who sported a puffy bruise over his left eye and a split lip. The red-shirted twin. She couldn’t suppress her grin when the recently deflowered Henri raced toward them, offering to show them to their cabin. The boy reached for the trunk but was stopped by Archimedes.
“I’ve got that, young Henri,” Archimedes said. “It’s heavier than it appears.”
The trunk wasn’t at all heavy for a man infected by nanoagents, but it did look impressive when he so easily hefted it over his shoulder and turned to Hassan.
“Hassan, allow me to introduce my wife—Captain Yasmeen Fox.”
He took far too much pleasure in saying that. She returned Hassan’s greeting, adding in Arabic, “Thank you for handling that so well. Though I am not surprised by your diplomacy, given all that my husband has told me of your association with him.”
His eyes widened slightly, and his gaze ran over her face, as if trying to place her appearance and dialect. Yasmeen wondered what his reaction would be when she removed the warm hat with the Arctic fox-fur flaps that covered her braids—and her ears.
“It is sometimes the nature of business, unfortunately,” he said. “And now I see that it was wise to bring your husband on as Archimedes Fox. We will hope that Captain Guillouet doesn’t realize who Wolfram was selling those weapons to.”
When her brows rose, Archimedes supplied under his breath, “Primarily,