Tethered (7 page)

That probably wouldn’t have stopped them—perhaps something else had. “And there were women?”

“A few.”

“A few more than that,” Bilson countered. “All of the sudden he’s this charming bastard, always laughing and singing
like a fool—nothing like the buckled-up inknose I’d known. At first I thought it was an act, some ruse to ease his way into their beds. But it wasn’t. The laughing fool had been under those buckles all that time, I think, and he’d finally let it out.”

“That’s a bit what it felt like,” Archimedes said.

Bilson nodded, his gaze speculative. “I always wondered what happened to you that summer. Was it a girl?”

“No.” His smile held little humor. “A man.”

And probably not in the way he suggested, though Yasmeen would have preferred that to the likely truth. Archimedes had reasons for wanting to kill his father. No doubt one of those reasons had been created that summer.

Bilson accepted that without further question. As Yasmeen refilled his wine, he continued, “At any rate, not long after that I heard about a smuggling job through one of my political acquaintances. I asked the others in the brotherhood if they wanted to join me—though Archimedes was the last one I expected to go. He took to smuggling, though.”

He’d taken to the danger of it, Yasmeen knew. “Did you?”

Bilson shrugged. “It was a job.”

“A job we did well,” Archimedes said. “Until I was infected in Morocco.”

“We did well even after that, when we began salvaging. It wasn’t exactly the same, but we muddled through together.”

“Barely.” Archimedes looked to Yasmeen. “He accused me of running after death.”

“Deliberately running up against zombies is the same thing,” Bilson said.

No, it wasn’t. Not to Archimedes.

After being shot during a smuggling run, one of Temür Agha’s men had saved Archimedes’ life by infecting him with nanoagents—and the influence of the Moroccan tower had all but stifled his emotions. Archimedes had always loved danger and excitement, but after the tower, he’d
needed
it.

For Archimedes, running from zombies wasn’t seeking death at all; it was just a way of making certain that he was alive.

“I understood why you did it, after a fashion,” Bilson said. “Seeing you affected by that signal…it was like someone blew out a lamp. I hope never to see it again.”

“Me, too,” Archimedes said softly.

Yasmeen slipped her hand into his. It wouldn’t happen again; the tower was gone. Unfortunately, that didn’t erase the memory for him.

Bilson’s gaze flicked to their linked hands. With a deep breath, he abruptly set his wineglass on the table. “You must be wondering about the help I mentioned in my earlier note.”

“I assumed you’d come to it in your own time.”

“Time I shouldn’t be wasting.” He sighed. “Do you remember my brother?”

“Joseph? Or the younger one?”

“Joseph.” Bilson added to Yasmeen, “He was part of our brotherhood, too.”

Archimedes said, “And only there because we always had liquor.”

“True enough.” Bilson’s smile was short-lived. “He began trading weapons not long after we left the business. I gave him some of my contacts, and now he makes regular runs round the bottom.”

To the smuggling dens in southern Australia. Yasmeen nodded. It was a well-sailed route for both legitimate traders and those carrying illegal Horde technologies, though not one that she often made herself. If Bilson planned to ask for their help smuggling an item, however, she wouldn’t mind flying that course again.

“He’d been doing well enough until a few months ago,” Bilson said. “I didn’t hear from him for a bit. Then I got word that his airship had been taken by New Eden.”

Oh, damn
. She met Archimedes’ eyes and saw the dismay that matched hers.

Led by the idealist William Bushke, New Eden was a floating garden city made of airships tethered together—and almost all of them had been taken by force. After capture, no one was allowed to leave the city. Yasmeen had heard rumors of a few escapes, but only knew for certain of one made by her friend, Scarsdale, and the pirate captain Rhys Trahaearn.

And now she saw where Bilson was headed. Archimedes apparently did, too, though he tried to stop his friend before getting there.

“So he’ll be given hard work and religion,” Archimedes said. “Both are likely doing him some good.”

“Maybe.” Bilson’s gaze held steady on Archimedes’ face. “I want to hire you and this crew; I want you to help me get him back.”

Yasmeen’s mouth tightened. So he hadn’t come asking for Archimedes’ help, not truly. He wanted hers, and had just used Archimedes as a connection—all the while reminding Archimedes of their old friendship in order to deepen the obligation her husband might feel.

“No,” Archimedes said. “Not this ship, not this crew.”

Bilson didn’t react, except to look at Yasmeen.

Was he waiting for her to contradict Archimedes? Amusement mixed with sharp anger. Did he think that just because Archimedes had made a decision on her lady, she’d counter it to assert her authority? She didn’t need to prove anything to him.

He apparently tired of waiting for her response. “You let him give the orders on this ship, Captain?”

Humor lightened his voice, as if he were making a joke, but Yasmeen assumed that she was supposed to feel its bite.

She merely lifted her brows. “If he doesn’t think your brother is worth the risk to my crew, why would I?”

And it
would
be a risk. Aside from the enormous, rigid dreadnoughts that accompanied naval fleets, airships weren’t built for battle; it was too easy to incinerate the balloon. The etiquette of the seas demanded that enemies didn’t target an airship’s envelope, though the wooden cruiser beneath was a fair target. Only the dirtiest pirates and mercenaries fired on a balloon.

William Bushke was dirtier than any of them. As soon as he spotted an airship in the distance, he sent out steam-powered flyers to pursue it. Every captain prayed for cloudy skies if they were unlucky enough to come close to the floating city—and once those flyers came, prayer was all they had left. Bushke gave them a choice: surrender or die. There were no further negotiations, and the flyers
would
fire on the balloon.

It would have been a terrible risk…yet if Archimedes had wanted to go, she’d have gone with him. She’d have helped him if her husband felt he owed his friend that much.

Thank the blue heavens, he didn’t seem to feel that obligation.

Still, that didn’t mean her husband wasn’t willing to help. He offered, “If you need money to buy mercenaries and an airship willing to go, I’ll give it to you.”

“I have money. And I’ve found someone who would go—but they wouldn’t be good enough to get away. No, I need someone who can get in and out, and get the job done. Someone with expertise.” He looked to Yasmeen. “You. After you killed his father, Archimedes followed your career, sought every mention of you. I heard all about how you scouted for the Liberé and French, how you brought in infiltration soldiers to garrisons fortified with more weapons and men than Bushke has. I know what you can do.”

“And most of it over jungle canopy,” Yasmeen said. Infiltration was far more difficult over the wide-open sea. “I know people who can do it for you, and they might be persuaded by money more readily than we are.”

Bilson’s jaw clenched, and his frustrated gaze shot to Archimedes. “Do the years we spent as partners mean nothing to you? Every time I saved your reckless ass, every time I stood behind you. You won’t even consider honoring that debt of friendship?”

Archimedes met that accusing stare without flinching. “They mean quite a bit, and are the only reason I did consider it. But I won’t risk Yasmeen and this ship.”

Bilson closed his eyes. A long silence followed. Finally, with a tired smile, he shook his head. “You understand I had to try.”

By questioning Archimedes’ honor? If not for that, Yasmeen could have felt sympathy for his dilemma. She left it to her husband to express any, instead.

She was surprised when he remained quiet, watching his friend. He held his wine lightly, but she could see the tension in his forearms, felt it in the tautness of his thigh against hers. Archimedes was on his guard, though his expression gave away none of his wariness. He regarded Bilson with solemn regret—not regretting his refusal, Yasmeen thought, but sorry that his refusal had pushed his friend to insult. Her husband forgave personal transgressions quite readily, but after such
words had been said, Yasmeen couldn’t see how they could be completely easy with each other again.

Already, awkwardness had set in. Bilson cleared his throat and attempted to rescue the conversation. “Well. Where are you off to next?”

“England, to kidnap an earl,” Archimedes said, his manner affable. “Then on to Cordoba to look for a statue.”

He didn’t mention their planned visit to Zenobia. Of course, Bilson hadn’t mentioned his visit to Fladstrand the week before, either, which had prompted Zenobia’s express. That hadn’t struck Yasmeen as strange until this moment, but Archimedes must have noticed and wondered why Bilson hadn’t spoken about the meeting with his sister.

Now Yasmeen wondered, too.

“An earl? I hope you receive a hearty ransom for him.” Bilson chuckled, all ease and comfort again when he settled against the cushions. “If you are flying to England, may I ask a different favor? I have a contact in London who might be able to assist me. I would have arranged for passage tomorrow, but if you are—”

“We’ll take you,” Archimedes said, then glanced at Yasmeen. “Captain?”

“Of course,” she confirmed. Archimedes apparently wanted to see his friend off in the direction opposite from his sister’s—and though she didn’t quite understand the source of his worry, she’d do anything to help him. “It’s the least we can do.”

*   *   *

In no time, they’d hired a porter to retrieve Bilson’s
belongings from his lodgings and bring them to
Lady Nergüi
. While Archimedes showed Bilson to the stateroom on the third deck, Yasmeen informed the steward of their new passenger and returned to their cabin.

She removed her jacket, boots, and weapons, then settled into the cushions around the table and helped herself to the wine. Archimedes’ expression was still pensive when he let himself in.

Yasmeen waited until he closed the door. “We’re no longer visiting Zenobia?”

He eased down beside her, and Yasmeen automatically curled against his side, her head on his shoulder. His hand rested on her hip. His thumb stroked circles just above the edge of her sash, where only thin cotton separated him from her skin. A purr rumbled through her chest. God, but she couldn’t help it. That absent little touch was pure pleasure to her.

And the touch wasn’t so absent now. Archimedes smiled, pulled her closer. “Bilson usually has a standby plan, in the event that his first doesn’t pull through.”

Was that to warn her or to reassure her? “So he’ll ask another mercenary to help him?”

“No, he’ll try to convince us again. He’ll have some reason for us to help him held in reserve.”

And he would need time to deploy it. “Was that why he asked for passage, then?”

“Probably.”

“Will he try to lay more guilt on you?” Or, if he was clever, attempt to convince Archimedes that infiltrating New Eden would be the height of excitement, more dangerous than zombies. “Or will he try to entice you into it?”

He slanted her an amused look. “Do you think I would be enticed so easily?”

If
Lady Nergüi
wasn’t at risk? “Yes.”

“Yes, perhaps I would be.” His sudden laugh shook through her. “You know me well.”

So did Bilson. Perhaps he hadn’t anticipated that Archimedes’ love for Yasmeen would override his need to pursue a thrill—but surely he must have realized how protective Archimedes was of the people he cared for. After all, Bilson had known Zenobia.

“Would he use your sister in some way?” She hoped Bilson wouldn’t be that stupid, but it would be an effective play. For Archimedes, there could be no more powerful incentive than protecting Zenobia—except, perhaps, protecting Yasmeen…but threatening her never seemed to work out well for anyone. “Is that why we’re making certain he travels to England?”

“I don’t know if he would use her,” Archimedes said. He tilted his head back and stared up at the ceiling, clearly troubled.
“I didn’t think so…until he called my honor into question. He’s already gone further than I’d have expected.”

“Would he
hurt
her?”

“No. Not physically. But he might try to manipulate her, use her to persuade me—especially if he has guessed her feelings toward him.”

His sister was too practical and too clever for that. “She wouldn’t let him.”

“True. Still, it’s better to take him to England, then let Zenobia know what he wanted so that she’s prepared if he attempts to work on her. He’ll be at least two days traveling back to Fladstrand; we’ll have alerted her before then.”

“Shall we send the express now?”

He nuzzled beneath her ear, sending a shiver racing over her skin. “I’d rather do this.”

So would she. But they’d both make Zenobia a priority.

“I won’t kiss you until it’s done,” she said.

Eyes narrowed, he lifted his head. “You’re sending me away so that you can begin reading her manuscript.”

Yasmeen laughed. She’d forgotten about the story, in truth. Lady Lynx would never come before Archimedes Fox, not for her. “Perhaps,” she said. “But I’ll give you reason to hurry back.”

She slipped her hand into the warmth between her thighs. Archimedes caught his breath and scrambled to his feet, dumping her face-first into the cushions.

“Christ.” He raced across the cabin, followed by her laughter. At the desk, he stabbed a pen into ink, and spoke aloud as he scrawled: