Heart of Steel - Meljean Brook [84]
“Yes.” No need to point a finger at Henri. “I haven’t spoken with your crew outside of it.”
Some of the tension returned, but this time, Yasmeen sensed that it wasn’t directed toward her. Holding her gaze, he said, “Beginning this evening, I would like for you to take your meals in your cabin, and to remain there as much as possible.”
This was also an order, but Yasmeen’s instincts didn’t immediately rise against it. Though he didn’t explain it, Captain Guillouet’s concern was clear—and a mutiny could be dangerous for anyone who wasn’t a mutineer. “And my husband?”
“Can eat where he chooses.”
She nodded. Whatever rumors had reached his ears, Guillouet obviously believed they’d been sparked by her presence, even if she hadn’t sparked them herself. “We will be away from the ship for two days, Captain, beginning tomorrow.”
“Yes,” he said, and she saw relief lighten some of his tension. And it might be true: The talk might settle without her presence to prompt it. Crews often grumbled, and rarely did it escalate into something more—but whether it did would depend on Captain Guillouet.
And in this instance, at least, he’d done exactly what Yasmeen would have. So she returned below, prepared to keep her mouth shut, her eyes open . . . and her gun within reach.
In the cabin, Archimedes was in his bunk, lying on his side with elbow propped as he paged through Ollivier’s notes. Ah, but he truly was a fine specimen of a man. He looked up, met her eyes. His smile faded. “What is it?”
Yasmeen held up a finger. She didn’t want to talk with him from across the cabin, even as small as it was. With the pipes running through the ship, sometimes voices carried over the engines, and she wasn’t familiar enough with Ceres to know where the dangerous spots were.
After shedding her coat and hat, she went to the side of the bunk, crossing her forearms on his mattress. He leaned forward, and she said softly, “Captain Guillouet fears a mutiny.”
His brows shot up. He drew back to study her face, as if to determine whether she was serious. “We are but two days out.”
“We are,” she said. “They left the New World many weeks ago. If there was already dissatisfaction, then seeing Guillouet’s reaction to my coming aboard and the insult of him sending me down might have sparked more.”
“But they didn’t seem insulted by you. Well, not all of them.”
“That doesn’t matter so much, does it? The grumblings would not truly be about me. But, regardless—I am confined to our cabin until we leave tomorrow morning.”
He stared at her. “And you agreed to that?”
“Mutiny is never to be taken lightly. Even if this is not a navy ship, the crew would fear anyone witnessing what happened. Perhaps we’d be safe simply by staying out of the way, but it’s impossible to know. So we ought to ready our packs and gliders for tomorrow, but keep them ready, even after we return.”
She’d rather take her chances in the wilds of Europe than stay aboard a mutinous ship.
Archimedes seemed to agree. He nodded. “All right.”
“When you go to dinner, bring back my plate first so I can taste it.” It all came from the same pots; he should be all right to eat his afterward. “When you eat with them, listen—especially to what isn’t being said. Last night, I didn’t sense anything of this sort, but most mutinies are whispers in the dark, not out in the open.”
“I’ll do that,” he said.
She sighed. “And then I will be glad we are not on this ship the next two days.”
“And Hassan?”
“If it does happen, tell him to stay in his room, to be quiet, and if they come for him, to offer money—and to give them all the wine.”
“And remind them he is a friend to Temür Agha.”
His gaze was flat and hard, reminding her that a dangerous, clever mind lay behind those emerald eyes. Archimedes wasn’t thinking of what Temür might do; he was thinking of what he would do if Hassan were harmed.
“Yes,” she said.
“And the marines?”
“If the crew is riled to the point of mutiny, the marines’ presence alone might be enough to suppress it. But I will add that they rarely