And quickly. She was scared now. She’d have to change clothes as fast as she could while he rowed, and exchange her soaked mantle for the coat in her pack. In this cold, wet meant dead. Her muscles were already shaking, her fingers aching.
David grabbed the pulley line, hoisted the boat—and froze. Annika barely had a second to look around, to see the giant waterfall passing over the bow, the enormous cavern behind it. David leapt for her. His arm caught her waist and dragged her to the deck. His body covered hers. Heavy drops of water rained onto the boards, the balloon.
Falling from the whale’s mouth as it swallowed them, Annika realized numbly.
Everything went dark. David’s lean form tensed above her. “Hold on to me.”
While he held on to something else, she guessed. She wrapped her arms around his chest, her legs around his waist.
The deck tilted violently, throwing them against the wooden bulwark. David’s low grunt of pain was lost in the screech of metal, the splinter of wood.
Phatéon
was moving—sliding, her bottom scraping along a metal surface, gaining speed. David gathered her closer, his body straining as he held her against the ship’s side. Terrified, Annika squeezed her eyes shut, gripped him tighter.
The crash almost tore her away. She screamed, held on. A deafening crack echoed through the dark. The airship shuddered.
His hand stroked down her back, his voice a soothing murmur. “Shhh, Annika. We’re all right.”
Annika realized she was shaking, whimpering pitifully against his neck. A few deep breaths helped her to stop. She opened her eyes.
Utter darkness, but there were noises. The thrum of an engine. The rhythmic, gasping thrust of a pump. The insistent drip of water. The hiss of the warmers. David’s ragged breath.
Men shouted in Norwegian. The sailors from the fluyt…or the pirates?
Gingerly, Annika unwound her arms, sat up. The deck sloped to port, as if
Phatéon
had come to rest on that side. Not steep, but enough to be disorienting.
“Are you all right?” His voice was rough.
“Yes.” She reached for the rail, pulled herself up to her knees. “Can you see anything?”
He apparently could. “We’re in a hold—a big one. The walls are steel, but there’s a stair on the side that leads up to a hatch door. The floor is flooded, but it’s not deep. Only a few feet. The fluyt is here.
Phatéon
’s stern rammed into her side.”
“I hear pumps,” she said. “Air pumps, I hope.”
The balloon was still deflating. Even if the hydrogen didn’t explode, a leaking balloon in an enclosed space could make the air too dangerous to breathe.
Oh, and she would
not
think of the women on Heimaey. Terror
already had her trembling enough. At least it wasn’t the cold—though that was seeping in, too. She needed to change her clothes before long. Hopefully, her pack was still in the boat.
She got her feet beneath her. David caught her hand.
“Stay down.”
She crouched again, staring into the dark. “Why?”
He whispered now. “Men are coming into the hold.”
“With no lights?”
“They’re wearing goggles—and carrying weapons.”
Thankfully no lanterns, not with the balloon still deflating. “Guns?”
They’d be stupid to fire one.
“Swords and crossbows.”
Dread joined the terror. “Pirates?”
“Probably.” His hand tightened on hers. “I think they have light-enhancing lenses.”
Weapons, darkness, and lenses that allowed them to see. The only reason to combine them was horrifying. “How many of them?”
“A dozen. Oh, Christ.” David flattened her onto the wet deck. “Down. All the way down. We’ll crawl to the ladder and stay hidden behind the bulwark as long as we can. Are there any more weapons aboard? I only have a pistol.”
“No. They all fire. Maybe a knife in the galley.”
“Bludging hell.” He drew a sharp breath. “Go.”
She scooted ahead on her elbows and knees, driven by panic, guided by memory. A scream ripped through the dark—and was cut short. Her teeth clenched against a terrified whimper. Another scream. Men shouted in confusion, pled for mercy. Someone was running, splashing through water. She flinched as another cry sounded, closer, thinning into a gurgling moan.
David came up beside her, urged her on. “There’s the ladder. As quickly as you can.”
She found the edge, grasped the rails, and slid down to the second deck. Moving to the side, she stood shivering in wet, heavy wool. She discarded her mittens, heard the wet plop against the boards.
The thud of David’s boots followed. “They’re searching that boat and killing the crew,” he said. “They’ll search
Phatéon
next. There’re too many to fight, and God knows how many are manning this damn whale, but if they don’t find anyone, they’ll assume we all abandoned ship. Do you know a place to hide?”
Annika the Rabbit always knew a place to hide. “The engine room. There’s a smuggle hole there.”
He took her hand again, tugged her forward. Water splashed under their feet, the remnants of the wave that had washed over the upper deck—but the lower levels wouldn’t be wet. Annika stopped, pulled her hand free. She stripped the mantle and her tunic over her head, toed off her boots.
“Annika?”
“I’ll lead them straight to us, dripping a trail.”
Her trousers were next, leaving her clad in a chemise, drawers, and her wool stockings. All damp, but not soaked.
His voice was strained. “You’ll freeze.”
Not in the engine room. Not for a while, at least. She collected her clothes and belt, keeping her largest, heaviest spanner. Her palm against the bulkhead, she felt her way to the nearest cabin and tossed them in. A wet flop told her David had removed his overcoat. She held out her hand. He threaded his fingers through hers, led her on.
The heat of the engine room had never been so welcome. The warmth seemed to embrace her, reassure her with its familiarity.
“Where’s the smuggle hole?”
“In the floor, around the starboard side.” She followed him across the boards, picturing the layout in her mind. “In line with
the third piston. There’s a spring-lock in one of the boards, disguised as a knot. Press it down with your thumb, and when it’s all the way in, twist it clockwise a full turn.”
He let her go. The scrape of metal sounded, then clicking as the locking mechanism disengaged.
“Now count three…four boards to port. The hatch is there. You’ll have to slide the regulator on the desk between the planks to pry up the door.”
A minute later, hinges squeaked. “Will we both fit?”
She heard his doubt—he must have looked inside. “A French count and his wife did, and they were both well fed.”
Though it had been a squeeze. The space was no wider than her bunk, and not much deeper. The hole had been built between the decks, but couldn’t be so large as to arouse suspicion. From the boiler room, it looked like a pipe conduit.
“Will we be able to breathe?”
“Those pipes have open ends.”
“All right. Even if they have thermal lenses instead of light enhancers, the heat from the boilers and engine will overwhelm them—and they shouldn’t be able to detect us through the floor.” He took her hand again, but hesitated before moving again. “The way this floor is tilted, you’ll be sliding up on top of me.”
“I’ll try not to squash you.”
“That’s not what I—” He stopped abruptly, made a choked sound that might have been a laugh or a groan. “All right. I’ll get in. You come after.”
She waited until he settled. Feet first, she felt her way in. David lay on his back, stiff as the boards around them. The hole wasn’t wide enough to lie shoulder-to-shoulder. She tried to hold herself up, scrunching her back against the wall. She only managed to overbalance and fall against his arm.
Struggling to brace herself, Annika pushed against his solid chest. “I can’t seem to—”
“Roll up against me.”
“But if I can—”
“Annika.”
With a sigh, she did, rolling onto her hip and half lying against him with his arm trapped between her stomach and his left side. Her neck bent awkwardly when she tried to rest her head on the boards. “Can I put my head on your shoulder?”
He slid his arm from between them, giving her room. “Yes.”
She moved in closer. The cotton of his shirt was damp, but his shoulder was broad and warm beneath her cheek. His arm came around her, metal fingers resting lightly at her waist. She could feel the structure of his prosthetic through her thin chemise and his shirt sleeve, the hard muscle of his biceps narrowing to the hinge of his elbow, the steel of his forearm across her back.
All strength. She wouldn’t have felt as safe with anyone else.
“All right?” His whisper sounded lower, rougher.
“Yes.”
He moved against her, reaching up. Hinges squeaked again as he lowered the lid over them. A click sounded—the locking mechanism. Unless the pirates already knew where this smuggle hole was and how to open it, they’d remain undiscovered.
Where were the pirates now? She listened, but only heard their own breaths and the faint ticking of David’s pocket watch. Were men still screaming outside? It was worse to imagine that they weren’t, that all the screams had been silenced. Perhaps some of the sailors had realized what was happening. Perhaps they hid now, too. Waiting, while someone hunted them in the dark.
A tremble wracked her body. Again. Her teeth chattered.
His arm tightened. “Are you cold?”
“No.” Just shivering—reaction finally settling in. She clamped her jaw tight, then opened it again to ask, “Are you afraid, too?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t show it.”
“Because you can’t see me.”
She lifted her head and pressed her ear against his chest. His heart beat slowly, evenly. Unlike hers, racing as she recalled the whale’s gaping maw, the petrifying collision with the fluyt, and the screams afterward. David lay unafraid, but she could only think that she didn’t want to die now, didn’t want to end here—and how close they’d come to it.
Her eyes burned.
Oh, not now.
She squeezed them shut. Whether terror or relief, she didn’t know, but she couldn’t stop the pressure welling in her chest.
No sound. She would
not
expose them to the pirates with her sobs.
Her breath shuddered. She felt David’s fingers in her hair, brushing the curls back as if to reveal her face. “Annika. Are you all right?”
Yes.
But only because he was here.
She broke, curling against him, burying her face in her hands. He held her until the storm of silent weeping passed, until she used the hem of her chemise to wipe her face, feeling utterly stupid.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’ve never been the brave one.”
“Who was?”
“Källa.” She settled her head against his shoulder again, rested her hand over his heart. “She was the one who would explore the New World. The one who’d leave and bring back tales that our children would repeat. She always wanted to have adventures, to face danger.”
“Has Källa ever been swallowed by a giant mechanical whale that shoots a harpoon out of its blowhole?”
She had to smile. “Probably not.”
“You’ll have that story, then.” His thumb brushed over her cheek in a light caress, as if wiping away a tear. “You’ve had a hell of a day, Annika. Heimaey, Elena, now this. Crying over it is no reflection on your courage.”
Annika buried her face again. Oh, he was the most wonderful person—and his words the most wonderful thing anyone had ever said to her. It
had
been an awful day.
And he was very good at pretending she was brave.
“Thank you.” It was muffled against his chest. She lifted her head when another thought occurred to her. “Do you think these pirates are responsible for the death in Heimaey?”
“I don’t know. They weren’t killed the same way.”
“No.” She bit her lip, realizing that their situation now might be disturbingly familiar to him. Darkness. No room to move. A woman on top of him. “Being in here doesn’t remind you of the mountain crushing your house?”
“Not until you mentioned it.” His voice was dry. “But, no—it doesn’t. This doesn’t compare in any way.”
No, she supposed it couldn’t. They were both alive, both unhurt.
His muscles tightened as a faint thud came from one of the upper decks. “They’re aboard.”
His whisper was hardly more than a breath of sound. She nodded against his shoulder, reached for her spanner. If the pirates found the smuggle hole, there wasn’t much she could do but whack at their hands. Still, broken fingers couldn’t hold a sword.
Judging by the noise they were making, the pirates searched every cabin, every storeroom. She waited in an agony of tension. Finally, steps approached the engine room. Someone walked across the boards above—looking around the sides of the engine.
A male voice called down the passageway; the man above them answered. Spanish, she thought, but it might have been Portuguese. The planks creaked as he moved about, stopping frequently. Annika stared into the darkness, unblinking. Though she couldn’t see a thing, she didn’t dare close her eyes. She imagined him crouching, searching beneath the machines, glancing behind the banks of pipes. Taking his time, making a thorough examination.
He climbed down into the boiler room, and she waited, certain
he’d realize the pipe conduit was a fake, that they’d be discovered. She heard him dig through the pile of coal, as if making sure that no one hid within. He opened the bunker, his steps echoing hollowly inside.
The steps retreated. The sound of male voices came again, farther away now. David’s fingers squeezed lightly at her waist, as if to reassure her that they’d made it. Long minutes passed, then there was only quiet again—except for the distant thrum of a powerful engine.
Phatéon
moved around them, an almost imperceptible swaying.
“We’re under way,” she breathed, and felt his nod. “How long should we wait in here?”
“They wouldn’t take two ships just to kill the crew. They must be after the cargo.”
And they’d have to unload it. What would they do with the ships then—spit them out and let them sink? If so, David and she needed to escape before they emptied the hold. But where to hide then? They’d be stuck in the submersible whale, without a boat in the middle of the ocean.