Heart of Steel - Meljean Brook [61]
Yasmeen laughed, and was favored by a grin from the older man.
“It is very good to meet you, Captain. I hope you will come speak with me later, after you’ve settled—and I have had my midday rest. I am but a frail old man.”
He continued smiling as he spoke, but Yasmeen couldn’t miss the weariness behind the good humor. She nodded and looked to Henri, who had been waiting, listening, and clearly not understanding a word.
“Well, Henri. Show us the way, then.”
Their cabin was tiny, housing two stacked bunks with barely space enough to walk beside. Brass hooks screwed into the bulkhead offered a place to hang their clothing, and their trunk slid below the bottom bunk. A washstand stood in the corner. A porthole offered just enough sunlight to see.
It was perfect.
“Top or bottom?” Archimedes said, indicating the bunks.
“Bottom.” Her knees wouldn’t allow anything else. “That went well with Guillouet, didn’t it?”
“Very. And now it will be easy to avoid him.”
“Yes.” Seeing the man would be inevitable, especially on the main deck, but no one would expect them to exchange any words. “I’d like to go above before we start out.”
“And see how a sailor’s crew handles her?” Archimedes guessed correctly. He retrieved his fur hat and their aviator goggles. “I’ll accompany you, and count the number of faults you add to Captain Guillouet’s character.”
“We will see if they ever equal yours.” Tugging on her own hat, she stepped into the corridor and almost collided with a portly man, face long and belly ample. Receding brown hair had been combed back from his pale features, and he wore a mustache and beard in the current French fashion, with chin and jaw shaven, and whiskers sweeping to his ears like a walrus’s.
Recognition hit her. “Why, it’s Mr. Ollivier!”
“Lady Corsair.” His eyes darted from her face to Archimedes’, then down the passageway as if looking for an escape. “I didn’t realize you were aboard.”
“Oh, yes. With my husband, Archimedes Fox. You’ve heard of him?”
“Yes.” Surprise brought his focus back to Archimedes, and curiosity slipped through his panic. “Yes, of course. I follow your adventures with interest, Mr. Fox.”
“Of course you do,” Yasmeen said. “Tell me, will you be eating at the captain’s table?”
“Yes.”
“Wonderful.” She grinned. “I have heard we will speak to you about the expedition when our friend Hassan awakes. I look forward to seeing your maps. Until then, Mr. Ollivier!”
She had to give Archimedes credit—he waited until they were up on the main deck before asking, “What was all that?”
“I will tell you.” The engines started, a familiar thrum beneath her feet. Oh. Her heart hitched painfully. On earth or in sky, there was no sweeter sound than a well-tended propulsion engine. “Come with me aft!” she called to Archimedes over the noise. “There’s no net across her bow—we don’t want to be killed by a bird!”
A few aviators heard her. Yasmeen didn’t care. A captain took care of their safety, or he didn’t deserve the title. She led Archimedes to the stern, where the engines spewed clouds of smoke and steam into the air.
He turned his back to the rail. “Also, because it’s loud!” he shouted. “You won’t be overheard!”
“Yes!” she called out and leaned closer. “Do not eat or drink anything without letting me taste it first. Anything. Even something from your trunk, if you keep a flask.”
Suddenly serious, his green eyes met hers. “Why?”
“Ollivier’s an assassin. Or he was, during the war. A Liberé sympathizer. He’d pose as an academic—in truth, he is an academic—and make his way into important households. He uses poisons.” A cowardly way to go about it, in Yasmeen’s opinion, but Ollivier considered poison a more refined method of assassination than knives or guns. “Guillouet probably doesn’t know. He calls me a traitor, but Ollivier is a traitor.”
“Do you think he would poison us, then?”
“I don’t know. The war is long over, but he might fear that I’ll say something—or hold it over his head. So we’ll be careful.”
Archimedes nodded. The engines directly below their feet were huffing hard now.