Heart of Steel - Meljean Brook [8]
“Oh. How can I help you?”
How can I help you? Disbelieving, Yasmeen stared at the woman. Could an aviator’s daughter be this sheltered? What else could it mean when the captain of a vessel appeared on her doorstep? Every time that Yasmeen had knocked on a door belonging to one of her crew members’ families, the understanding had been immediate. Sometimes it had been accompanied by denial, grief, or anger—but they all knew what it meant when Yasmeen arrived.
Perhaps because Archimedes had been a passenger rather than her crew, Zenobia didn’t expect it. But the woman should have made the connection by now.
“I have unfortunate news regarding your brother, Miss Fox.”
The “unfortunate news” must have clued her in. Zenobia blinked, her hand flying to her chest. “Archimedes?”
At a time like this, she called him “Archimedes”—not Wolfram, the name she’d have known him by for most of her life? Either they’d completely adopted their new identities, or this was an act.
If it was an act, this encounter was already turning out better than Yasmeen had anticipated. “Perhaps we can speak inside, Miss Fox.”
With an uncertain smile, the other woman stepped back. “Yes, of course.”
Zenobia led the way into a parlor, her too-long skirts dragging on the wooden floor. A writing desk sat by the window, stacked with blank papers. No clickity transcriber’s ball was in sight, and no ink stained Zenobia’s fingers. Obviously she hadn’t been busy penning the next Archimedes Fox adventure.
A shelf over the fireplace held several baubles, some worn by age, others encrusted with dirt—a silver snuff box, a lady’s miniature portrait, a gold tooth. All items that Archimedes had collected during his salvaging runs in Europe, Yasmeen realized. All items that he’d picked from the ruins but hadn’t sold. Why keep these?
Her gaze returned to the lady in the miniature. Soft brown hair, warm eyes, a plain dress. The description seemed familiar, though Yasmeen knew she hadn’t seen this portrait before. No, it was a description from Archimedes Fox and the Specter of Notre Dame. In the story, he’d found a similar miniature clutched in a skeleton’s fingers, and the mystery surrounding the woman’s identity had led the adventurer to a treasure hidden beneath the ruined cathedral.
How odd that she’d never realized that fictional miniature had a real-life counterpart. That she’d never imagined him digging it out of the muck somewhere and bringing it to his sister. That he’d once held it, as she did now.
The stupid man. Yasmeen lied often, and so she didn’t care that he’d lied about his identity when he’d arranged for passage on her airship. It did matter that she’d allowed Emmerich Gunther-Baptiste’s son aboard her airship without knowing who he really was. A threat had sneaked onto Lady Corsair right beneath her nose.
She couldn’t forgive him for that. Too often, she led her crew into dangerous territory, and they would only be loyal to a strong captain. A captain they could trust. She’d invested years making certain that her crew could trust her, and rewarded their loyalty with piles of money. There wasn’t enough gold in the world to convince a crew to follow a fool, and Archimedes Fox had come close to turning her into one when he’d boarded her ship. She’d only been saved because he’d openly thanked her for killing his father, negating his potential threat. He’d become a joke, instead.
And later, when he had threatened her in front of the crew, she’d gotten rid of him . . . maybe.
Yasmeen turned to Zenobia, who stood quietly in the center of the parlor, tears trailing over her pink cheeks.
“So Archimedes . . . is dead?” she whispered.
Funny how that terrible accent came and went. “As dead as Genghis Khan,” Yasmeen confirmed. “Unfortunate, as I said. He was a handsome bastard.”
“Oh, my brother!” Zenobia buried her face in her hands.
Yasmeen let her sob for a minute. “Do you want to know how he died?”
Zenobia lifted her head, sniffling into a lace handkerchief, her blue eyes bright with more tears. “Well,