Her father’s grooms, the men he paid, reached them at the same time she did.
Bex laid Papa on the ground. She hugged her father’s neck, but part of his face had been burned. Red scars covered his jet countenance.
Papa said nothing, but he gripped Bex’s hand.
“Sir, I’m going back for that last man.”
“No,” Papa said, struggling to breathe. “He dead…already.”
Bex turned and went back to the opening. “Got to save ’em. Won’t let them kill him.”
“Bex, wait!” she called to him. “It’s too dangerous.”
His face was blank, ghostly. “Not another man can be lost. No more being tossed overboard.”
He charged back in.
She rose to go after him, but her father grabbed her arm. He coughed and coughed but still had a bear’s strength in his palm. “Too dangerous, girl.”
A doctor-looking man had started poking at Papa when Phineas the reporter showed up. “Where’s Bex?”
“Don’t be useless. The man who saved your life tonight keeps going back into the burning building.”
Phineas jumped down from his horse and tossed the reins through the phaeton’s big wheel. “He saved me. I’ll save him.”
The man charged into the structure that was spewing ebony smoke. A window exploded, showering glass like snow.
The flames belched with a new explosion on the roof. The rooms upstairs collapsed, taking her old home. Now the fire would take her husband.
Why hadn’t she told Bex she loved him?
Why was the man so determined to get himself killed? She looked at Papa, the doctor ripping away his fine coat to get to the burns on his arms and chest.
Bex had saved Phineas and Papa, two men who hated him. Two men Bex felt were his brothers.
The scent of ash closed in upon her. Nausea burned her throat. She’d lost Bex, for how would he be lucky enough to make it out a second time?
…
Arthur yanked his cravat off and covered his nose. The thick, heavy smoke made it difficult to breathe. He heard someone calling him his nickname. Telling him to get out of the hull. He couldn’t heed. No one could be lost. Not one.
“Bex, get out of here! Anybody left in here is dead.”
The voice wasn’t Uncle Bexeley. It had to be one of his murderous crew members. “There are men to save. Men are not cargo or ballast. Men! Tell Bexeley he’s wrong. Tell my uncle, he’s wrong.”
“Bexeley? Who is that, Bex?”
Arthur moved from the ghost voice and fought deeper into the flames. He saw a figure on the floor. “See, there’s one you haven’t tossed away. I’ll save him.”
Dropping to his knees, Arthur crawled to where a beam had fallen and pinned the man. Arthur pushed, his fingers circling the crumbling girth of the wood. The sky moaned above, dropping wood around him.
“Bex, you’re going to take the rest of this roof off if you move that beam.” The ghost touched the imprisoned man’s neck. “He’s dead, Bex. It’s too late.”
Choking on the air, Arthur couldn’t quit. “Get up, man. I won’t let them toss you away. Get up.”
The ghost clawed at the man’s sleeve until his dark wrist showed. “See, Bex. There’s no pulse.”
“I just have to get this beam from him. Can’t you see it’s chaining him in place?” Arthur lifted with all his might, but he couldn’t get the beam free.
