Heart of Steel - Meljean Brook [96]
“I think they could very easily kill us.”
“Not easily.”
“No—the decision would be easy for them.”
And so it would be. They didn’t leave evidence. “Who hired them before al-Amazigh did? Does Hassan know who recommended them, what contact they used? You can’t find a team like that in a tavern.”
He nodded. “We’ll ask him.”
“Yes.” By the lady, she could not imagine . . . And now she was sorry she’d saved any of them from the zombies.
No. She was still glad she’d saved three of them. Not just because they might be innocent.
But she’d rather kill them with full knowledge if they weren’t.
Suspicion was like a toothed saw through her heart, rasping away. Ceres came in over the wall, dropped the rope ladder. Yasmeen reached for it, then glanced back, over the dark courtyard.
“I think I will come back in five years, just to see whether it flies.”
“And I will come with you.”
Together? She held his gaze long enough to say it, but didn’t say it aloud. Turning away, she started up the ladder.
No sign of Bigor and his marines on deck—just Captain Guillouet. Definitely no mutiny, then, but it had been a rough few days for some. Hassan stood next to the captain, face slightly pale, weary. “Did you find anything? Do we need to lower the cargo lift?”
Archimedes came up behind her. “Those at the Horde outpost must have taken everything. There’s nothing left.”
The old man gave a resounding sigh and nodded. “We will go south, then. It will be warmer, if nothing else.” He looked to Captain Guillouet. “We go to Italy.”
The captain moved off to give the necessary orders, and Yasmeen was left, feeling more stupid than she’d ever felt. It was warmer on the boot of the Italian peninsula, though not significantly at this time of year and on an airship. Hassan might feel better.
But he shouldn’t have been feeling poorly at all. Older men and women felt their age, just as Nergüi did . . . unless they were infected with nanoagents. Except for a fever now and again as the nanoagents fought off severe sickness or attempted to heal a badly injured body, the infected were almost always healthy. Thousands of people in England had lived their lives without so much as a sniffle, and Yasmeen would have wagered anything that the same was true in Morocco.
Yet if it was poison, no one else was suffering from it. The other men who’d been eating at the captain’s table showed no sign of sickness . . . and they would have exhibited symptoms faster, because they weren’t infected. But Hassan consumed one thing that no one else did.
“Hassan,” she said quietly. “No more tea. Drinking nothing is better than that.”
He frowned, and then understanding came over his features. “Who?”
“We will speak in your—”
Near the rail behind her, one of the crew called out, “Zombie on the tower wall, Captain! May I fire?”
Her breath caught. There were no zombies in the fortress. Oh, no.
“No!” Yasmeen said sharply. “Hold your fire.”
Quiet fell over the ship. Guillouet stared at her, face darkening in fury.
Oh, by the lady. She had not even thought—hadn’t checked herself. Opening her mouth was the hardest damn thing she’d ever done. “My apologies, Captain, but—”
“You’re giving orders on my ship? Fire, Mr. Simon.”
Yasmeen turned, but Archimedes had already whipped around. His foot struck the back of Simon’s knee as he pulled the trigger. The gun bucked upward, bullet whizzing past the envelope.
Yasmeen faced Guillouet again, hands outspread to placate. “Please understand, Captain. It’s not a zombie. It’s a boy.”
Shock registered on his features. “A boy?”
“From the outpost.”
“From the Horde?” Shock became distaste. “And yet you stopped my man from shooting it.”
It? Rage swept through her. Archimedes tackled her from behind, wrapped his arms around her stomach, pinning her hands to her sides. Quickly, he said, “Apologies, Captain. I’m sure this is only a misunderstanding.”
“Captain,” Hassan said easily. “The shot might have alerted the outpost.”
A shout came from the starboard side. “They’re lighting up across the valley, Captain!