He put the scroll aside. “Could it be a coincidence?”
Saito shook his head. “I wondered the same. But she gives the key to the code in the first line. ‘A dashed-off letter.’ It means to write quickly. But ‘dash’ is also the name of that horizontal line.”
Writing in code. Was she asking for help? But she’d told them to send their response to the Red City.
“Where was the letter directed?”
“Port Fallow.”
A thieves’ den in Europe. Ariq had been there several times; many rebels conducted their business in that city. It was a lawless port, like the smugglers’ dens to the south. He’d thought those towns would be too rough for Zenobia, but she might be familiar with such places—and that might explain why she always had guards with her.
But it would be six weeks or longer before her letter reached Port Fallow. If she was looking for help, it would be months away—as if she expected them to come, but didn’t want them to come to his town first.
Because the Kraken King was here. She must believe that he’d recognize the man she’d sent this letter to.
Ariq didn’t know an Eratosthenes Inkslinger. It could be a false name.
Was hers? His gaze fell to the name at the bottom of her letter.
Geraldine.
Her friend called her that as well. Yet the mercenary had shouted “
Zenobia!
” when they’d fallen from their flyer. So who was she?
“How does she know who you are?” Taka asked.
Ariq didn’t know. She hadn’t immediately recognized him after the airship attack. She’d thought he was Nipponese.
But only for a second. Then she’d realized he was from the Golden Empire, even though he hadn’t told her. Something had alerted her. She’d said it was his accent, then had lied and said it resembled Mara Cooper’s accent. Her family came from the empire, as well—but they sounded nothing alike.
So how had she known he was often called the Kraken King? She might have heard that he governed the town. Or perhaps one of the mercenaries had recognized him.
Perhaps something else. It hardly mattered. Because for the first time, Ariq thought he understood why she was in such a rush to reach the Red City.
“Maybe she isn’t the marauders’ target,” Saito said. “But you were right. She must be delivering something. Information, most likely.”
“A spy?” Taka said.
Like their mother? A brilliant strategist. Endlessly patient.
Saito laughed. “If so, she’s not very good at it.”
Taka grinned a little, too. But it worried Ariq. She
wasn’t
good at it. He’d immediately known Zenobia wasn’t merely the companion she claimed to be. She’d used a simple code in her correspondence that had been easily discovered. It had taken no effort for Ariq to find her out.
But he wouldn’t hurt her. If an enemy found her out, they would. She’d have a blade at the back of her neck.
And Ariq would
never
let that happen.
Taka suddenly sobered. Thinking of their mother, too. “I hope she isn’t one.”
“She might not be,” Ariq said. “She might have been forced into it, instead. Not everyone who carries information wants to.”
But voluntary or not, she would still be in danger if discovered.
“Pushed into it by the French?” Taka asked. “Blanchett wanted to travel with you to the smugglers’ dens as soon as he heard the ladies were.”
Ariq shook his head. Blanchett’s request to join them had been a rueful one—and as a former commander in the rebellion, one that Ariq understood well. The lieutenant had been caught in an impossible situation. When he’d first arrived, he’d chosen the prudent course: to remain in town until a ship could be sent for him and his aviators. If he’d chosen any other route to the Red City, his superiors would have reprimanded him for taking unnecessary risks. But if two women from the airship arrived in the Red City and Blanchett did not, his superiors would question his capabilities. So Ariq would keep an eye on the lieutenant, but didn’t suspect the man now.
Saito downed the remainder of his tea and wiped the drops from his beard. “What of the mercenaries? Are her guards helping her, or were they hired by someone else to force her along?”
“Helping her.” Ariq had seen the affection and respect between them.
But helping Zenobia might also mean making certain she stayed on course—and her attentions toward Ariq had abruptly changed after speaking with Mara Cooper. Had the mercenary reminded her of the mission? That made more sense than anything else he’d tried to imagine. Perhaps Zenobia had made the same decision Ariq had. His town had been threatened; he’d chosen to fight that battle rather than fight for her heart.
If she’d been forced into carrying information, someone must have a hold over her, as well. Perhaps keeping something she cared about hostage. Of course she would choose that over a man she’d only just met.
Whatever she carried, Ariq would help her. He’d keep her safe. But why did she worry about Ariq suspecting her? Unless the information she needed to deliver concerned the rebellion. He no longer fought with them, but his loyalty wasn’t in question.
Would
it affect the rebellion? Ariq couldn’t see how she could know anything of it. But he’d find out.
Ariq glanced at the letter again.
The Kraken King suspects me.
Of what?
***
Zenobia hadn’t written a word on her manuscript since the attack on the airship. To avoid attracting notice, she’d stopped jotting ideas into her notebook, as well. Now she stood beneath a pink sky watching their supplies being loaded into two mountain walkers, and didn’t know how she would find a private moment to work. She’d go mad.
If the seating arrangement didn’t destroy her sanity first.
“So we ride with the governor?” Helene said beside her.
Her friend sounded delighted by the idea. And why not? Helene was feeling generous toward the man, and Zenobia hadn’t said exactly why he’d fallen out of her favor. Helene probably meant to throw them together, starting the moment they boarded the vehicle.
Now that the mountain walker stood before her in the light of day rather than creeping down a street at night, the machine didn’t resemble a spider so much. More like a crab, with a carriage on its back and storage in the belly. Two of the jellyfish balloon flyers waited nearby. Cooper would ride one. The other would be flown by the wiry man waiting silently beside his flyer, his hair hanging in ropes to his shoulders and his dark chest bare. A native Australian, she thought. Four of the townspeople—three men and one woman—were taking the small crawlers that resembled the walkers, but were half the size. And so they would all journey across the Australian southwest, a family of mechanical spiders and two flies.
Three aviators had joined Blanchett at the second walker. The lieutenant had been given a quick education on driving the machine the previous day. Zenobia wished she’d taken that lesson, as well. Instead she and Helene had spent the day buying items needed for the trip.
“Perhaps you would like company, Lieutenant?” she called up to him. The arrangement was that each walker would carry four people, but there was space in each for at least twice that number.
“I would.” Standing on the walker’s ladder, Blanchett hefted a tin water canteen into the carriage. “But I must decline. I am not as accomplished a driver as the governor. I would never forgive myself if I endangered you.”
“But you will endanger them?” Zenobia nodded to the three aviators who would be traveling with him.
Blanchett grinned. “I will.”
“Geraldine, I’ll sit in the rear-facing seat with Mara,” Helene offered. “I’m sure you want to jot your little notes about everything you see.”
Helene looked much too pleased with herself for coming up with that excuse to put Zenobia beside the governor. Zenobia might have asked Mara to take the front, but Helene would pop a vein at the thought of placing a maid next to him, and would take the seat herself.
If the governor wanted to know Zenobia’s secrets, there were few better people to ask than her friend from girlhood. Helene would only have to let slip Zenobia’s maiden name and the governor might realize who her brother was.
So perhaps it was for the best. Zenobia couldn’t steer the machine, but she might be able to determine the course of any conversation.
The last bundle of supplies went up into the walker’s belly. They’d hoped to be off by sunrise. So where was the governor?
She looked to the south and saw him walking toward them, with his brother and Commander Saito at his sides. He stood a head taller than the other two men. Gone was the beautiful embroidered tunic from the first evening. He’d replaced it with a simple blue one that fastened with a brass buckle at his shoulder, edged in darker piping that matched his trousers. A wide belt cinched the tunic closed. Zenobia’s own tunic was disturbingly similar. Though longer, with a hem that reached her knees instead of stopping at her thighs, it had apparently been made of the same fabric by the same seamstress.
It wasn’t so surprising. This was a small town. The seamstress made men’s clothing, too, and she likely had a limited variety of cloth. Half the people in Krakentown probably had a similar tunic.
Still, the tips of her ears burned. She and the governor looked like a matched set.
Helene muffled a laugh behind her hand, then rushed out from beneath Zenobia’s glare.
“Governor! Commander!” Her friend hurried forward to bow and give her thanks.
Zenobia remained where she stood, her stomach in heated knots. She wanted to tell herself that it was just remembered anger, or hurt—or even the irritation of wearing similar clothing, as if it declared her his.
But, no. This was the portion of herself that still wanted everything between them to be like that first day, when she’d held his every glance and word and laugh close to her heart for safekeeping. When she hadn’t been able to stop looking at his mouth and anticipating a kiss. When she’d felt a part of something unexpected and wonderful.
The fanciful, stupid portion of herself. She wished it was easy to tuck away, like her luggage. Right up into the belly of a cold, unfeeling machine. And fool that she was, Zenobia was staring at his mouth again, watching him greet Helene.
Then he looked past her friend and his gaze narrowed on Zenobia.
Instantly the knots in her stomach tugged tighter. His expression seemed speculative and determined, but she didn’t know what he was thinking.
She shouldn’t
care
what he was thinking. After an abrupt nod of greeting, she looked away. Smoke stained the view toward the bay. The townspeople must have started roasting the kraken on the beach. Above, pink and gold gilded wisps of clouds. The day promised to be hot and humid again.
Even watching the sky, she was aware of his approach. Helene’s chatter moved closer, punctuated by short replies from the men. It was as if Zenobia couldn’t hear anything but that conversation. Her friend was already telling the governor how they’d decided on their seating arrangements.
And of course she made it sound as if Zenobia had asked to sit beside him.
By the balloon flyer, Mara gave Cooper a quick kiss—Helene must not have seen that, or Zenobia would have heard a scandalized gasp—before joining them.
She was surprised when the governor’s brother approached her, as well. He spoke and Mara translated, “It would be my honor to assist you onto the ladder.”
He looked sincere. He must think that ugly women couldn’t climb, or that her long nose would get hung up while rising past one of the rungs, and had decided to take pity on her. How kind.
“Thank you,” she said, then her heart jumped when the governor spoke beside her.
“The other ladies first, Taka, so that they can settle in the back.” His voice lowered as his brother took Helene’s hand. “Did you secure everything you need, Lady Inkslinger?”
“I believe so.”
Despite her offer to pay for supplies, he’d taken care of the food, tents, and fuel. She and Helene had only needed to replace the personal items lost on the airship.
His brother turned to help Mara, but Cooper was already there. With a grin, he boosted his wife level with the carriage in one smooth toss. She easily caught the ladder at the top rung and laughed down at him before climbing in.
Unwelcome envy stabbed Zenobia’s heart. Anyone could leap to great heights on steel legs or listen to distant conversations. They only needed an infection of tiny mechanical nanoagents and a clever blacksmith to create the devices. But she didn’t know of any inventor who could build what the two mercenaries shared. People fell in love all the time. Yet somehow, love was still precious and rare and difficult.
But maybe inventors had the right idea. Creating automatons was so much easier than manufacturing love. The machines would probably be easier to live with than people were, too.
Taka glanced at Zenobia and extended his hand. The governor spoke in Nipponese. His brother moved to the side of the ladder, as if waiting.