Pressing my lips together firmly, I determined not to let such silly musings distract me from my business. Advancing two steps into the center of the room, I held out the compass and turned in a slow circle, keeping a close eye on the needle.
Playing a serious game of “Hot and Cold”, I narrowed the disturbance to the overhead above the bed. Now firmly in an analytic state of mind, I did not hesitate to climb onto the soft padding of feather mattress and linen sheets to run my hands over the exposed beams and the underside of the decking which formed the cabin’s ceiling.
Nothing but a lantern hook on the first beam, nothing at all on the second. The same result on the third, but on the fourth—and last—beam, my questing fingers encountered the cold, solid outlines of a large pipe wrench, held to the beam by tacks and wire.
Taking a screwdriver from a waistcoat loop, I pried the tacks loose and the wrench fell to Josiah’s pillow, narrowly missing the toes of my boots. I realized suddenly that I was trampling Josiah’s bed under my coal-stained boots, leaving dirty grey prints over the counterpane and linens.
He was going to yell at me; I knew it.
I bent to pick up the wrench, and saw that he was going to yell about more than the boot prints on his bed. The wrench belonged to me.
It fit my hand with the familiar ease most women, I assume, felt when they took up their knitting needles or a horseman felt settling into his own personal saddle. I turned the tool over and found the initials I had scratched into the handle, the rough edges of the cuts worn smooth by long years of use.
How did my own tool come to be here, hidden in Josiah’s cabin? Our saboteur, once again. If I had needed further proof that he was one of our remaining crew, I now had it. Who else could have gotten into my tool cabinet, perhaps while I slept scant inches above it, and placed the wrench here in the captain’s quarters; situated it where it would cause havoc with the compass?
Benjamin, Reuben, Whitcomb, Josiah. Who would I choose to be a traitor?
My knees gave way, and I sank to the bed, sitting cross-legged as I had seen Turks do, wrench cradled in my lap. How could I accuse any of my crewmates? I would as likely accuse myself, perhaps having done these things in a sort of dream state—a fugue state, perhaps. I had read the term somewhere, in a news article, I believe. An appropriate word for my state of mind since Captain Rollins’ death.
My mind leapt on the possibility that none of the people I trusted had betrayed that trust.
Yes, I could have done it, unknowingly, myself! I had never wanted Josiah aboard my ship—Josiah’s ship, however reluctant I was to admit the fact. Perhaps I had been trying to get rid of Josiah, all along. No one would have questioned my movements about the ship. My tasks entailed I go over the Mercury from stem to stern constantly, examining each crack and crevice. I could have done everything.
Except the poisoning. I could not figure how I could have gone ashore, bought the poison—known which poison to buy—and introduced it into the bouillabaisse, all while remaining on alert, and on the ship.
Perhaps… Perhaps two forces were working against us? One internal, and one external, possibly to do with Mr. Jones, and having nothing to do with Winged Goods at all?
The coincidence seemed far-fetched.
“Everley!” Josiah’s shout filtered through the flimsy door an instant before that same door burst open and Josiah stormed in. “What in blazes is taking you so long? I must have the compass back immediately or God knows where we shall come to shore!”
I had no time to leap to my feet, or to hide the damage my boots had done to his bed, and the scramble to do so left me flushed and tangled in his bedclothes. I nearly tipped head-first to the floorboards, but Josiah’s quick grab for the back of my coat saved me that particular humiliation. I already had more than enough humiliation without adding to my stock.
I struggled to sit upright, still ensconced firmly on coal-stained blankets. “My apologies, sir, but I found the problem. And fixed it.” I dug out the compass from the pocket I had stored it in and held it out, hoping to distract Josiah enough he would not notice the wrench I edged under my coat with my other hand.
Josiah took the compass, depositing it in his own pocket. His eyes flicked over me, over the state of his bed, darkened. I braced for the first onslaught of temper.
It did not come. Instead, he drew a tight breath. “I suppose you could not have taken your boots off before you trampled my sheets?” he said in a long-suffering tone that set my nerves on edge more than shouting would have done.
I was, in a way, accustomed to shouting. Obadiah shouted. Of course, he never meant anything by it. I was secure in the knowledge of his friendship. That he, well, loved me, in his way. I had no such security, of regard or friendship, with Josiah.
“I shall change the linens at once, sir, and get these washed.” I tugged a corner of blanket free from where it had lashed itself around my ankle and clambered to my feet, boots firmly on the decking and my wrench hidden behind my back under my coat. I stepped toward the door, but jerked to a stop as Josiah held his ground, blocking me in the narrow cabin.
“Hold, Everley,” he said. “You did not tell me. What exactly was the problem?”
“Oh.” I swallowed to try to work some moisture into my suddenly dry mouth. “Someone had fastened a chunk of metal onto one of the beams under the binnacle. Easy fix, but I would keep your door locked from now on if I were you. At least, until we find the culprit behind these troubles.”
“Show me,” he said.
I edged backward, pointing to the beam at the head of his bed where I had found the wrench. “Right there, sir. Check for yourself.”
Josiah shook his head impatiently. “The chunk of metal, Everley. I can see you shielding it from me behind you. Show me, now.”
Ah, well. He was already angry with me, suspicious of me and my motives. Might as well have him know the worst. I pulled the wrench out and handed it to him. “It was wired to the backside of the beam, where you would not be able to easily see it.”
“A… wrench?”
“Yes, sir. A pipe wrench.”
Josiah turned it over in his hands, spotting my initials immediately. “Your pipe wrench?”
I lifted a shoulder. I wanted to stand at attention, to raise my chin, but frankly, I was too weary. I did not wish to have this discussion now. Perhaps not ever. “Yes, sir.” I waited for his fury to wash over me.
It did not come. Once again, he surprised me. “I suppose I do not need to ask if you put it there,” he said with a sigh. He rubbed a hand over his head, making his hair stand on end.
“No, sir.” His very refusal to blame me forced me to admit the legitimacy of his concerns. “I would be a reasonable choice, though, sir, if one were looking for a saboteur amongst the crew, which I feel would be a logical decision.”
Josiah raised an eyebrow. “I’m glad to know you feel my suspicions are logical. Yet you assert your innocence?”
“I took no overt action against you or Winged Goods. Although…” I hesitated. Had I done everything I could to prevent the sabotage? Or had my resentment held me back from some action I should have taken to protect Josiah and the Mercury? Should I confide my self-doubts to this man, who so clearly disliked me, too?
Although, his attitude had seemed to soften lately. Or was I simply longing for a replacement for my former Captain Rollins, a trusted ally and confidante?
I shook my head. It did not matter what my deep, dark motivations might be. As my captain, Josiah deserved my best work and judgment. “You know I resented you at first, I suppose?”
“You made that fact quite clear.”
“Your own, shall we say, lack of confidence in my abilities was also clear. Given those facts, I wondered if, perhaps, I failed to work as hard as I should have to avert our rash of mishaps.”
To his credit, Josiah did not hesitate an instant. “Nonsense, Everley. Who knows better than I how many sleepless hours you spent tending to our poisoned
crew, when you were suffering from the aconite’s affects yourself?”
“But I left the ship in Paris. I should have stayed on board and kept watch…”
He waved away my objection. “Nonsense! Even if you had stayed on board as you should have, you would have been asleep in your bunk. I am responsible for this ship, Everley, not you. I should have put more men on watch.”
I could not hold back a mixed shiver of relief and anger as Josiah simultaneously soothed my conscience and needled my resentment.
“Thank you, sir. I shall breathe easier knowing I had no direct part in this.” I frowned, turning to pace the step and a half between the bunk and desk. “But if I am not the culprit, sir, and you are not, who is it? Who would risk our lives over and over? Who would be so callous as to kill Henry, who had harmed no one in his life? And to what end? I cannot help but think it must be related to your father’s death. How could it not? Coincidence is highly unlikely in this case. First, Captain Rollins is murdered. Then Henry. And it appears someone is trying to destroy your reputation as a captain. Does someone have it in for your family?”
Josiah frowned, too, deep in thought. “I do not believe so. Not a personal vendetta, in any case. I cannot think of enemies that I have made. I feel this may be more a professional rivalry.”
“A business rivalry potent enough to commit multiple murders?” I did not want to believe Henry and Captain Rollins had died for so sterile a cause. Everything in me rejected Josiah’s theory.
“It hardly matters why, at this point. We can do nothing to find out more now.”
“No,” I agreed. “Not until we reach Constantinople.”
“As you say.” Josiah dropped onto the foot of the bed and put a fist to the small of his back, stretching out a crick. “We need to stop the sabotage, and find who is doing it.”
“The villain must be someone aboard the Mercury, but I cannot conceive of any of the crew betraying us so badly. Benjamin Tibbett? He is merely a boy, and a good one at that. He’s only been with us for a year, nearly, but I have no qualms about his character. Reuben loved Henry and would have done nothing to harm him. He would never harm me, either. Whitcomb may be a prig, but he is as loyal as a retriever. I did not do it, and you would not sabotage your own business.” I threw up my hands in frustration. “Is it possible we have a stowaway?”
Josiah laughed at the ridiculous suggestion. The Mercury provided few places to hide, especially if the person hiding needed ready access to roam the ship in order to do mischief. “I think you have overlooked a much simpler explanation.”
I pulled out the desk chair, looked to Josiah for permission, and at his nod, sank onto the leather padding. “Which would be?”
“Our Mr. Jones.”
Oh. The presence of Mr. Jones had escaped my current calculations. I had fallen into the habit of regarding ambassadors and spies as just another form of cargo. “But he is from the government, is he not?”
“He said he was and had papers to prove it. But papers can be forged.”
“And he spent time ashore, unobserved, at every port of call.”
Josiah nodded. “No one would remark on the man’s taking a turn about deck on occasion, or prowling the ship, if he were a man of action.”
“I would not have noticed his movements, not at first. I wanted to keep better watch later, but my duties confined me to the engine room and galley for much of the time. He could be an agent of some other company, looking to destroy you!”
Josiah leaned forward, capturing my gaze. “We cannot know this for certain. You must say nothing, do you hear me? He may be a spy for another company, yes, but then he may also be a spy for England, as we were led to believe. War or peace may hang on his safe arrival. Our contract with the government rests on his believing in our respect. We must continue to behave as if we do not suspect anything of Mr. Jones.”
I nodded to show I understood, but I could not smother my moue of dissatisfaction. “We cannot do nothing!”
“We shall not do nothing. You shall continue to tend the engines, wringing out the best speed possible. Lieutenant Whitcomb and I shall make certain our passenger is never lonely. We shall show him the hospitality for which the Winged Eros is rightfully famous.” Josiah’s eyes glinted in the light that streamed through the glass panes behind me.
“But we’re the Mercury!”
“No reason a fast courier cannot also be civilized and gracious,” Josiah replied. “If Mr. Jones is truly with the government, the extra attention will be all to the good. Our reputation could use the polish after this trip.” He hauled himself to his feet, visibly gathering himself for another long shift of work. He held out the spanner, in obvious dismissal. “Back to work, Everley, and leave Mr. Jones to me.”
I stood, and took the heavy tool. “Aye, sir.” I wondered if I would have to slide past him to leave the cabin, as he still blocked the door. He did not seem to want to move.
He stood there looking down at me long enough for me to, once again, note the differences, both good and bad, between him and his father. His more athletic frame; his dark hair, not yet touched with silver; his smoke-grey eyes. His scent, that odd amalgamation that spoke to my twin obsessions for security and adventure. Strangely, the bad parts had faded since last I studied the man. Especially the iciness in his eyes.
After a bare few seconds of hesitation, he turned and exited the cabin.
I refused to speculate on what that hesitation might mean. I had a hard enough time calming the whirl of emotions roiling my insides without stirring the pot with baseless conjecture.
* * *
I had precious little time to entertain any thoughts that did not apply to working the engines and seeing that the ship’s mechanisms ran smoothly. Reuben kept busy adjusting the sheets to take advantage of the following wind, gaining us considerable speed. Benjamin Tibbett had his hands full attempting to fill Henry’s shoes in the galley, along with taking care of his own duties.
I sent him to change out Josiah’s bed linens as soon as I returned to the engine room. I could not face entering that space again. Not so soon. My jumbled emotions would not stand for another such trial.
Consequently, I reverted to snatching naps where I could, twenty minutes here, half an hour there. On the bright side, I no longer felt the safety of the ship depended solely on me—a fact for which I thanked whatever gods listened to overworked engineers.
Day blended into night, and merged seamlessly into day once more. Our brief stop for fuel and water in Ptolemais allowed only enough time to grab a bite of bread and cheese eaten at the galley’s counter instead of standing in front of the engines, checking gauges.
The wind remained at our backs, cutting a half-day off the leg to Constantinople. Once again, my heart lifted at the sight of the Topkapi Palace spires, glowing orange and pink in the sunset as we approached the airfield.
Not one single thing more had gone awry.
Chapter Nineteen
Mr. Jones had left the ship by the time I got the engines shut down and squared away. By that point, I was glad to see the last of him, even if I should have tried to discover his actual name and for whom he truly worked.
But my head ached, my eyes were so full of grit from lack of sleep I had a hard time making out the tower across the field in the soft evening light, and my body felt as if it had been used as a punching target at a boxing academy.
Dragging my blanket from my berth, I slung it across my shoulder and plodded out onto deck, head down, making for the gangway. I intended to sleep next to it, to make sure no unauthorized person came aboard. The scrubbed boards beneath my feet blurred as I trudged wearily to my station.
I did not see Josiah standing in the way until I was so close I stumbled to avoid slamming into him.
“I beg your pardon, Everley,” he said, reaching a hand to steady me. “I wanted to let you know I have had the chief engineer’s quarters aboard the ship prepared for you. I would appreciate it if you made use of
them. I will be staying on board as well, but another watchful presence would be welcome.”
“Aye, sir.” I tried to snap to attention. The attempt was not very convincing. “I can take the first watch, if you like.” How was I going to stay awake for a full watch?
Josiah waved away my offer. “Neither of us is in any shape to stand watch at present. You have had no one to spell you at the engines, and whenever I was not at the helm, I was nursemaiding Mr. Jones. No, I have sent for a pair of ground crewmen whom my father noted in his log that he could trust. It was the best I could think of to do, under the circumstances.”
“Aye, sir,” I repeated, deeply grateful for the chance to become horizontal in the very near future, and remain that way for an extended period of time. Tomorrow was soon enough to begin searching for Captain Rollins’ killer. “Sir, do I have any leave coming? I have a few errands to attend to.”
“A day or two, while I arrange for a shipment home. Departure times will be posted in the tower when I have more information.” He turned me to face the fore, where the chief engineer’s quarters were located—when they were not needed for paying passengers.
I realized, dimly, that Josiah’s hand had been on my shoulder all along, keeping me steady, and I had not even noticed. Before now, I would have judged such an occurrence to be impossible. I was in desperate need of rest, indeed.
“Dismissed, Chief,” Josiah said, and he gave me a little push to start me on my way.
I reeled like a drunkard as I made my way to the first cabin door on the right. I am fairly certain I was grinning like one, as well. Josiah had called me “Chief.”
Perhaps I could become accustomed to calling Josiah “Captain.” Become accustomed to seeing him on the bridge, hearing his voice over the speaking tube.
Perhaps I would not have to leave the Mercury and take Mr. Fairlane’s offer after all.
* * *
Morning came and nearly went before I stirred from my bunk. The light shone through the port over my head with the clear, warm quality that I had come to associate with Turkey. Or perhaps the odor of cardamom, coffee, rotting oranges, and dog feces that permeated the air clued me in, or the sounds of donkey carts and the multi-lingual cries of the vendors clustered around the gates of the airfield.
Fires of Hell: The Alchemystic Page 16
