“Mate, you’re either very lost or very stupid. This ain’t a graveyard yet, but to back-slang it onto my ship is a sure way to see you end up berthing next to the dead you watch over.”
Nathaniel exhaled a slow breath and bowed, never breaking eye contact. “Captain Widderschynnes,” he said softly, his great affection for her surging into his voice. Surprise flickered in her flat stare. “It’s been far too long.”
Her aim never wavered. “You’ll pardon me if I don’t recall our association.”
He knew that tone. Step lively or be shot. “I wish to speak with you.” The crew gathered behind him, a silent, breathing beast ready to tear him apart at its mistress’s signal. “Alone.”
One of Nettie’s eyebrows lifted in a doubtful arch. “Is that so? I’m not in the habit of having chinwags with Guardians.”
“I’m here regarding Lenore Kenward.”
Nettie’s finger flexed on the trigger, and Nathaniel’s body reacted. Fabric transformed to steel, encasing him from head to foot in black armor. Various cries calling upon the Almighty filled the narrow hallway.
“‘Oly mother o’ ‘Baub!”
“Blue damn, it’s a demon!”
To her credit, Nettie didn’t blink, even when the only thing she saw of Nathaniel were his eyes behind a mask of plate steel. She gave orders to her crew. “Back to work and carry on proper.”
A chorus of reluctant “Aye, Captain,” answered her, and Nathaniel listened as the crewmen backed slowly down the corridor, in no rush to leave Nettie alone with him.
Her stoic expression grew annoyed. “Move it!” she snapped, and this time the running thud of boots filled the space. Nathaniel himself had to squelch his own reaction to the order and not race after them.
His armor softened, changing back to cloth and the ensemble that many mistook as a vicar’s. She might still shoot him, but her trigger finger had relaxed. She gestured toward the door at the bow. “Through there,” she said. “I’ll follow.”
Once inside her quarters, she motioned for him to sit in one of the chairs facing her desk. Nettie’s quarters were exactly as he remembered, even down to the heavy silk coverlet folded neatly at the foot of her bed—a gift from the crew a decade earlier. The comfortable chamber reflected a mix of both her rank and her personal tastes—books, maps, souvenirs from her many travels, some beautiful, others macabre.
She settled into her own chair opposite him and laid the pistol down within easy reach of her right hand. Her left hand, hidden from view, rested idle in her lap—or so she liked her visitor to believe.
Nathaniel knew better. The danger to himself was no less now than when he stood in the corridor staring cross-eyed at the Howdah. He had no doubt Nettie’s index finger caressed the trigger of the loaded 12-gauge break-action shotgun mounted and braced under the desk, its sawn-off double barrels guaranteed to put down anyone sitting in the chair he now occupied.
“You’ve always been a suspicious sort, Captain.” He hid a grin when her eyes narrowed to slits. “I’m no danger to you or anyone else on thePollux.”
“Then I suggest you crack the bell, mate, and make it quick, or I might just shoot you for playing games and wasting my time.” Her lips tightened, and she spoke the words through her teeth. Lamplight bounced off the beads in her wild hair and cast her sharp features in partial shadow.
He nodded. Nettie never issued idle threats. “Miss Kenward told me she requested a post on this ship.”
Nettie cocked her head to one side, puzzlement replacing hostility. “And why would she say such a thing to the Highgate Guardian? I knew you two spoke, but I didn’t think you chums.”
The bottom of his stomach dropped out at her statement. “She mentioned me to you?” He closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the idea.
“Just today in fact. You’ve watched over her father’s grave.” Nettie’s fingers tapped out a drumming rhythm next to the Howdah. “And now you’re here, making her affairs yours. Why is that?” She perched on her chair, a harpy ready to rip his face off with her talons if she didn’t like his answer.
“ThePolluxis a risky mistress to serve on, a battleship suitable only for the most experienced crewmen. Her architect’s blue-stocking daughter has no place on such a ship, even if serving under so able a captain.”
Nettie snorted, her suspicious gaze stripping him down to bone. “Be that true or not, what business is it of yours?”
He struggled with how to adequately convey his fear without revealing why. “Her safety is of utmost importance to me.” He tried another tack. “I knew her parents. Jane Kenward will disapprove and Arthur Kenward’s spirit will be troubled.”
Nathaniel knew the first to be absolute. The second—he wasn’t so sure. Arthur had given his only child a great deal of freedom when he was alive, encouraging her various exploits and thirst for adventure. His spirit might well applaud the idea of his daughter serving on the ship he designed and Nettie captained.
“The chance to watch Jane Kenward pop a stay-lace isn’t the best way of convincing me Lenore shouldn’t come aboard.” Nettie’s hand, as free of jewelry as her hair was heavy with it, played across the Howdah’s grip. “As for Arthur, either you just told me a lie or you didn’t know the man at all.” The dead flatness returned to her voice. “I don’t like liars.”
Clearly, almost dying once wasn’t enough for him. His fate demanded he waltz with the Reaper twice. He forced back the warning crawl of armor on his skin and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk in a casual pose. “Do you want her to meet the same end as Nathaniel Gordon?”
Nettie’s eyes blazed. He barely heard the cracking echo of the shotgun before a round of shot pummeled him point-blank in the stomach. The chair rocked under him, and he bent over with a low wheeze, certain he’d just been kicked in the gut by a pair of Shire horses. Wet heat streamed down his torso, and silvery blood painted the strands of his loose hair where they dragged through the growing pool of gore in his lap.
“Damnation, Nettie Eliza Whitley,” he said between gasps. “That hurt!”
