A Tale of Two Airships (Take to the Skies Book 2) (5 page)

I squinted, scanning the street for the sort of bar I expected—a little dive or maybe even a modest café, somewhere with tight blinds and wedged into a corner. To be honest, I couldn’t imagine Mordecai’s friend would even operate business in this section of town. Bounty hunters didn’t associate with tripe like the rich unless for a job or gimmick. After all, who could stand the insufferable folks who tromped along these streets? The rich were oblivious to us miscreants who got shot at for the privilege of going to bed with a full stomach.

Mordecai came to a halt in the middle of these fancy-dancy shops I wouldn’t be caught dead in, and my brows scrunched together in confusion.

“Bea.” He turned to face me, a weary gaze gracing his features. “I beg of you, keep your pistol in its holster. By dragging our crew into a place like this, I’m already committing a thousand and one faux pas.”

I placed my hands on my hips. “A place like what?”

He tilted his head towards the nearest store. A brass lattice woven with morning glories bordered the rich green door. Violets bloomed inside the two ornate copper pots set by the stoop. The strains of elegant violin wafted through from the open window, almost as loud as the clouds of jasmine perfume leaking from the place. My stomach turned. As I peered into the window, I spotted what Mordecai referred to. The bar inside was the epitome of stuffy, a sort of nausea-inducing elegance that gave me a gleeful satisfaction at the muddy state of my boots.

Try as they might, my crew wasn’t known for dainty soirees or tea with the rich, but it appeared we’d be making an attempt. The sign hung above the door with as fancy a name as one expected from a joint like this.

I heaved a sigh before puffing my chest out and resting my hand on Matilda. Mordecai let out a groan as I flashed him a grin. “Let’s go make some new friends.”

Grabbing the handle, I made my way into the Ivory Cup.

Chapter Five

I’d never been inside a room preaching such elegance in my life. Not a stain or smudge existed on any surface in this place, making me wonder what sort of sorcery the owner performed. A woman in a bustle the size of France and a gentleman with more waistcoats than I could count sat by the fireplace whispering to one another. The moment I walked in, both turned and stared, awarding me one hell of a sneer. Too bad I didn’t play pin the tail on the social reject. I grinned extra wide, thrust my hips forward, and waggled my fingers at the pair. From behind me, Mordecai sighed. I promised I wouldn’t start any fights, yet no promises had been made about ladylike behavior.

This place was small enough that after a minute of standing in the entryway, every eye locked on us as the patrons scrutinized the rough and tumble state of our attire. Not going to lie, I’d gladly get some new threads—after all, I’d been eyeing corsets and skirts in every marketplace to replace my blood spattered ones for an age now. But not all of us could afford the luxury.

Isabella brushed past me, giving me the side eye as she made her way to the polished mahogany countertop. The woman behind the bar spun around, glasses in hand.

Although she only indulged for a second, I caught the grimace as she made her way up to greet us. Of course, the owner of this establishment would be appalled by us ruffians. I rolled my eyes and bumped hips with Isabella, eager to distract myself by annoying more folks in this place.

Even though she looked down on us, the bartender did it with panache. “What can I get for you ladies?” she asked, keeping a courteous tone. The woman obviously played up her assets, but unlike the cheap girls in Reno who splayed their wares for all to see, she exposed enough skin to entice but maintained tastefulness. Tumbles of honey blonde curls fell to her shoulders, and her pink lips curved into an ambiguous smile.

As Mordecai shouldered past me, I made sure to rest my filthy arms on the countertop right in view. “Viola Embrees, please forgive my intrusion.” His rich voice charmed at once, and her attention slid his way.

“Mordecai Blacksmith, it has been some time.” She granted him a small smile, though she cast a pointed glance to her patrons. I lifted my brows. This was the bounty hunter he wanted us to meet with? My stomach sank at once. I’d banked on a badass bounty hunter to bring my proposition to, not this upper class lady whose lips pursed in disdain at the sign of the smudges I left on her counters.

He slid a piece of paper across the bar. “Hope your business is doing well. We’ll get ourselves to an inn to freshen up after our time on the road.”

“All that traveling makes one parched. Are you sure I couldn’t interest you in a beverage?” she asked in the sort of polite fashion, making it clear she didn’t mean the question.

“I’ll take one,” I said with a smirk. Her eyes didn’t even narrow behind the mask she wore, even though Isabella’s eye roll made it clear I committed an egregious faux pas. I would say this, the woman held her temper well. Whether or not she learned the stealth or skills to act as a bounty hunter—well, we’d see.

“We must be on our way.” Mordecai placed a hand around my shoulders and began guiding me out, ignoring my protests. The stares of the patrons followed us as we paraded out. I figured Mordecai passed her a more discreet location, although I found the entire process idiotic. Why we couldn’t ask her questions, have a quick one on one, and be done with the whole affair was beyond me. While we wasted time on proprieties, the gypsies could’ve decided our crew wasn’t worth the trouble of keeping.

“Don’t worry, we’ll meet her later.” He leaned against the creamy stone exterior outside the place. Isabella sauntered beside him, and Jack followed like a pup. Spade had never entered in the first place, a silent presence soaking in our surroundings. “Affronting her clientele isn’t the best way to win any favors, and we need all the help we can get.”

“But they’re such easy targets,” I grumbled. “Well if we’ve got some time to kill, I’d like to swing over to the closest bounty site—time to do some homework.”

“You? Prepare ahead?” Isabella placed her hand over her chest. “Color me impressed.”

I snorted. “Yeah, well my guns blazing approach landed us in this mess in the first place. We should’ve never entertained the job with the gypsies. Time to turn our luck around.”

***

Half the day had worn away while we tromped through the town, biding our time until she closed up shop at sunset. My sort of bars stayed open until the later hours, but Miss Embrees and her clientele didn’t adhere to such uncouth timelines. Why Mordecai believed this stuffed skirt could help us surpassed my comprehension, but we were in agreement on one thing—we were desperate, so at this point I would hop into bed even if her prissiness set my teeth on edge. The moment night fell and the globe lights flickered on, we wandered our way to Knife’s Edge, the sort of rough and tumble bar I thrived in.

Back in Shantytown, the sounds of squawking some might misconstrue as singing from the broad onstage cut through the room. Folks shouted at each other from tables over, and the scent of dried beer and questionable substances permeated the joint. This was the sort of bounty hunter bar I’d thought Mordecai would bring us to in the first place. These folks knew each other in the knife edge way you’d expect from the name. The way we used to handle the Morlocks, with healthy caution but respect, until those bastards slipped with the blade and we retaliated.

“Since you played nice, Captain, pints are on me.” Isabella sauntered her way to the bar, flashing a wink at the gruff hulk manning the place. Girl could charm a caterpillar from cocoon. Mordecai had taken to scanning the area while Jack popped a squat at the nearest open table. Spade pulled a chair over and continued his troubled silence. His fingers tapped along the table at a rapid pace, about the most nervousness he’d ever express. After all, those hands normally wrapped around the wheel when he steered our girl—no wonder he’d be restless.

Isabella, with the help of Mordecai, managed to wrangle five pints of ale, which they plunked onto the table in front of us. I stared into the amber depths, reminded of this morning and how I’d focused on the wrong target. How my girl had been stolen out from under me. And how the crew and my Geoff could be—I swallowed, hard, and to cover up my lapse, I took a deep draught of the smooth beverage.

I nudged Spade’s boot from under the table. “Think Edwin’s poisoned the gypsies by now with one of his healing concoctions? I’d be willing to place money on it.” My sass earned a grin from him, one that warmed my insides more than the tingle of ale.

“Chances are, the crew’s already seized the ship, and they’re flying her back this way.” Jack forced a smile, doing his best to hang with the big boys of bravado.

I clapped a hand on his shoulder, proud of the attempt. “Right you are, Jackie-boy.”

He raised his brows. “Please don’t tell me that’s my new nickname.”

“I like it,” Isabella purred. “It’s adorable.” She sipped her ale, pinky out as her mischievous glance sparked our way.

Jack let out an annoyed grunt. “Adorable’s not a term I’d call a pirate, or any recon man worth his salt.”

“Nonsense.” Mordecai grinned, joining in on the fun. “I’m fairly sure folks will be quaking in their boots as they hear tales of the adorable pirate, Jackie-boy.”

Jack let out a huff and dove headfirst into his pint. I leaned back, basking in the present laughter, knowing guilt and worry loomed a spare second away. The door creaked open and shut as more folks filtered into the bar but no Miss Viola Embrees. I almost looked away, until familiar markings snagged my gaze. The M surrounded by the cog tattooed to the man’s arm gave him away as well as the fur pelt looped around his holster. A couple others walked through the door with him, all part of the same big bad gang. The one whose registry marked us as kill on sight.

“Morlocks,” I growled, my voice low as my hand inched for Matilda.

“No need for a slaughter,” Mordecai reminded. “As long as they don’t notice us, we can sip our drinks in peace.”

I snorted, right as Isabella placed her hand on Mordecai’s arm.

“Oh honey,” she said. “You don’t believe that, do you?”

He smirked, meeting my eyes. “Though I suppose if Captain Trigger Happy hadn’t fired the first shot on them, I may have never met you all.”

I sniffed, feigning cavalier while my fingers latched around the handle of my pistol. “You’re welcome. Always happy to hurl myself in the middle of overwhelmingly bad odds.”

“See now, this is the sort of bet you make,” Isabella interjected, jabbing at the table. “How long it’ll take for those bastards to notice our little crew.”

“With the racket we stirred by launching them into the ship of redcoats? Not long. Especially since our stunt got them outlawed in Britain.” Spade already finished his ale, even though I hadn’t seen him sip it once.

My gaze had never left the Morlocks, even though I focused on my table. I didn’t like the how the six of them managed to plunk themselves down a mere two tables away from us. Didn’t seem planned until I caught the first of the glances darting our way. What were the chances our crew ranked high up on the Morlock shit list? Pretty high given all the money and lives their failed attack on us had cost them. I let out a long breath to stay calm, though my trigger finger itched.

“Hey, Shadow Ward—think it’s time for you to take a walk to the bar.” I met Mordecai’s gaze and glanced to the circuit around the roundtable our Morlock friends sat at. “No better way to suss out intent.”

“A walk sounds nice. I could use the chance to stretch my legs.” He passed an easy smile as he stood, towering over the rest of us. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, which protruded past his trench. We liked to wave around our baubles before using them. Sometimes, though not often, it helped avoid a brawl.

The moment Mordecai’s boots scuffed the floorboards near them, one of the Morlocks stood from his seat, gripping the top.

“Well now, if it isn’t the Shadow Ward.” Greasy strands of hair glued to the lanky bastard’s forehead. “You’ve been in our database for awhile now.” His gaze flicked to our table. “And Captain Bea with her sidekicks.” Isabella bristled at the mention of sidekicks, and I had to stifle a smile. The air in this place grew tense. Even though this bar filled to the brim with scurvy bastards, I didn’t have to worry about other folks getting involved—after all, the sole reason these guys would act is if they had a bounty to claim. The Morlocks only paid their own.

“Come on now, you’re making me blush,” I called, leaning in my seat and palming Matilda on the table so she lay in plain view. “When did we get so famous? And here I hoped for a night out of the spotlight.”

“We’ll be heralded as heroes after taking down you lot. You wouldn’t believe the price on your heads,” the man sneered, hand inching for the revolver by his side.

“Well darling, you sure know how to flatter a girl,” Isabella’s voice flattened as she palmed her knives. Folks around the bar clung to their drinks, watching. Place like this, bar fights were the finest form of entertainment—much better than Squawks the Songstress on stage.

Though I was dying to sling the first punch, the irritating voice of responsibility that descended the second I took up the captain’s mantle stopped me. “Come on now boys—a fight in here, do you think you stand a chance against monsters like us?”

The squat guy standing next to lanky got a glint in his eyes I didn’t like. The air roiled with unspent gunpowder, and the eager looks on their faces must’ve matched ours. None of us were the sort to trust each other after the whammy they’d done on the Desire, led by our ex-crewmate.

“No, you’re right,” the guy said, steel glinting as he reached for his pistol. I already grabbed my own, finger on the trigger as I aimed the muzzle. “But we’ll split half the bounty to anyone in this place who keeps them from leaving alive.”

Oh, shit.

“We need to get out of here. Now.” I threw the command to the air, but I’d already taken off towards the door. Alert a whole bar full of bounty hunters we were up for sale, and we’d expire off the shelves faster than a hot meal to the starving. Even with my pistol’s handle pressing into my palm and finger poised to aim, I didn’t feel confident in swinging her around and attempting a shot—not if it cost us seconds we could be spending to escape.

This city was no longer safe for us, as news of our bounty would spread like wildfire.  The Morlocks never shared their bounties, so if they were offering, folks would be lining up to cash in on this rare opportunity. Worse, we had no ship to escape to, only a prayer and hope the next town over might hold refuge. At least, if we escaped this room alive.

The first bullets pierced the air mere seconds after I’d barked out orders. One whizzed close with a whistle while the other darted overhead.

“Looks like we’ll have to bounce on the check,” I called out, pounding against the splintered floorboards as I raced to the doorway. Shouts split the air, and from behind me, the rustle of weapons and the click of triggers followed.

Of course, the door couldn’t stay clear for long, not when a bounty dropped on our heads. A pair of mean looking ladies stepped in the way, their holsters empty and their pistols in hand. Mordecai took two large paces in front of me, and in the span of a second, his sword flashed. Blood followed. I fired a shot at the first bounty hunter, dropping her before she got me in her sights. As a third stepped into view, the man’s skull exploded, fragments scattering to the floor and fluids staining the wall.