Captain Gravenor’s Airship Equinox (Steampunk Smugglers)

by Hiestand, Heather

  “A small operation,” Philadelphia murmured, after they had climbed down the ladder and were escorted off the field. “Is this part of a larger family, like the Owlers?”

  “Do not ask questions. I take it you’ve never associated with free traders?”

  She used both hands to smooth back her tangled hair. “Of course not. I led a most retired life.”

  “And yet you know about the Owlers?”

  “My brother was the sheriff of Newgate Prison,” she said. “He used to mention top crime families at dinner, so yes.”

  Brecon had ever had a taste for the wrong sort of female, but this was pushing the thing too far. “Newgate Prison?” he repeated, thinking of Terrwyn and what he’d heard of her stay there, the child she’d borne to one of the overlords. For all he knew, the sheriff himself.

  A crewman gestured to them and Brecon pulled Philadelphia to the ladder. “Climb down. I’ll be right behind you.” He unhooked a section of the rail just above the ladder attached to the hull to make it easier, then let her disappear into the dark before he followed.

  “Now what?” she asked once he had joined her.

  “I need to tell Captain Red Kite what happened to my aircraft. Then you need to ask permission to stay.” He touched her elbow, gently steering her toward the faint light of a candle in the farmhouse window. Though they were far away from other humans, the Red Kites were still a cautious lot, which was wise because they couldn’t hide themselves from the air.

  “Are there any women here?”

  He laughed dryly. Little did she know. “Yes, three or four. There is a dormitory for them. I am sure there is a spare bed.”

  “That would be wonderful.”

  He heard the exhaustion in her voice. “You need medical attention as well.”

  “There is a doctor?”

  “In the old way of things, we have a multi-talented barber. I’m sure he can take care of the wound I inflicted upon you.”

  “It is little compared to the wound I planned to inflict upon myself.”

  “Nonetheless. You don’t want it to become infected.”

  When they reached the back door, loud boots stomped up the porch behind them and a large, gloved hand reached around Brecon and hauled the door open. “I’ll go first.”

  He let the captain through, knowing that since he was kin to Captain Red Kite, his word would hold more weight regardless of who spoke first. Smugglers were a tribal lot, holding their illicit knowledge among family members. Only his skill had allowed him into the group. Otherwise they would not have been welcoming.

  He captured the door and held it for Philadelphia, wondering for the first time what her fate would be in the Red Kite camp. Should he have brought an outsider here? Surely they would have no trouble with a defenseless woman.

  He glanced at his bedraggled charge. While her carriage was upright, her dress sagged around the torso thanks to various damages, and the hem was muddy and ripped. She had a trail of slime oozing down her right side. Her chin thrust out as he assessed her. Proud, stubborn, unbroken. That was what he would have said of her. How could such a magnificent creature have wanted to end her life?

  Two men stepped into the hallway and crossed their thick arms over hard-muscled chests. Brecon hadn’t noticed the summer heat until now, having spent the afternoon in a dank pit and the evening in the sky, but now he noticed the dark rings of perspiration on the identical twins’ shirts. He wished he could shed his own jacket but he, unlike these two lieutenants, did not have an informal relationship with the captain.

  “Bring the woman,” one of the twin lieutenants growled.

  Brecon took Philadelphia’s elbow and pulled her into the gap the twins created.

  The front room was illuminated by a gasolier. Chairs pushed up against the walls surrounded a large rectangular rug, stolen, so it was said, from Windsor Castle. In the middle of the room was a hard-backed arm chair covered in green velvet. Next to that was a three-tiered table on which sat a silver tea service and a selection of slim finger sandwiches on a plate.

  Close to him, Brecon heard the telltale sound of a stomach growling. He bit back a grin, since he was as hungry as his companion.

  One of the twins put a beefy hand to his back and he stumbled forward onto the rose medallion in the center of the rug. Philadelphia stumbled too, since he still had her elbow.

  “Are you planning to lead the firing squad yourself?”

  Brecon looked up, into the darkly mesmerizing eyes of Captain Red Kite. Her long dark hair was tucked into an old tricorne hat, but her frock coat and slim trousers were tailored to her long, strong female form. No one would mistake the lieutenants for anything but this Amazon’s brothers.

  He bowed his head. “Captain.”

  Captain Red Kite grimaced. “Where did you find her?” She pointed.

  She was pointing at Philadelphia. “I rescued her from a cliff’s edge.”

  “You should have pushed her off. She is a murderer.”

  Confused, he glanced to his right, and saw his Philadelphia’s eyes fill with tears. His Philadelphia? Where had that come from? She hadn’t cried this whole frightening day. Had he heard correctly or were his ears full of muck? “Murderer?”

  “Philadelphia Hardcastle. Or should I say Dr. Castle, the inventor of the infernal devices that the Blockaders use to keep Wales under their thumb?”

  His lungs emptied of oxygen. When he opened his mouth nothing came out. “This lady is Dr. Castle?” His hand dropped from her elbow.

  Philadelphia—Dr. Castle— turned to him, tears filling her eyes. “I didn’t know what my brother was doing with my inventions.”

  He stepped away. “You were trying to kill yourself. I should have let you,” he spat.

  She put her hands to her face.

  Brecon glanced up and met Captain Red Kite’s gaze, which was coolly amused.

  “Yes, you should have, for her crimes against humanity.”

  Philadelphia rocked toward him, her shoulder brushing his as the pendulum of her body moved in his direction. She wiped tears from her face. “I am not afraid to die. Feel free to tie a rope to the nearest tree.”

  “And let you out of a fitting punishment?” The captain sneered. “I prefer to discover your greatest fear and indulge myself in playing with you.”

  “What was done to you to make a woman so cruel?” Philadelphia asked. “I tell you, I did not know. After the free traders killed my brother the truth came out.”

  “How could you not know?”

  “I all but lived in my laboratory. I only left to take long walks, or ride. I had no assistant, no husband, just myself and my thoughts.”

  “Oh?”

  “We had no money to go out in Society, so I just developed my thoughts, considered ways to make the farm operation more profitable.”

  “You are claiming your brother stole your inventions?”

  “Not exactly, but my goal was to fence animals without physical barriers. I had no thought of using my inventions on people. He subverted my ideas, adding things and using them in different ways. He would take my inventions back to Town, but I never knew why.”

  Even Brecon frowned at that. “But the brass hands work as electrocution devices,” he said, referring to the mechanical devices the Blockaders placed on amputees. “The Man Immobilizer freezes people. How does that apply to animals?”

  “I designed a warning system. When a sheep would come too close to the barrier, for instance, the alarm would go off in the hopes of scaring the creature away. Then it would receive a small shock if it touched the barrier. The BAE strengthened the shock, obviously. I never tested on people.”

  “So why did you feel so guilty that you wanted to die?” he asked.

  She pushed matted hair away from her pale face, her gaze unfocused. “People have died because of me. And my brother’s widow wants no part of me. I wasn’t allowed out of the house unless I was willing to leave forever. Not to my laboratory in the stable bloc
k, not to walk or ride. So I left to live with my cousin, but I am not used to such a communal life, being little better than a servant. I am at her beck and call all day, scarcely with a moment to think.”

  Brecon could sense the darkness inside her, the desperation and hopelessness she let grow into a wish for death.

  “Your worst fear is imprisonment then, and not alone either.”

  Brecon knew what was coming. Even Philadelphia took a half step back, sensing something bad.

  “This is my ruling. Brothers, take Dr. Castle to the cage. Mr. Gravenor will bring her what tools and equipment she requires to reproduce her infernal devices, then you will lock him in with her too, to be her assistant.”

  Brecon felt faint. He had only guessed half of it. “Why must I be involved?”

  “Why, Mr. Gravenor, you nearly brought the Blockaders down on our heads. You know we use that abandoned castle as a training ground for pilots. Now we’ll have to find somewhere new. The least you can do for us is to be Dr. Castle’s test subject.”

  He stared at the hook attached to his right arm stump. “I wouldn’t mind having a Dr. Castle contraption, that is, if it won’t electrocute me.”

  Philadelphia glanced at his hook and winced. “I will design a hand for your men, Captain, though as I’ve said, I am not the one who made the hands, just the underlying mechanism. But I will not be imprisoned.”

  Captain Red Kite sneered. “Unless you have a way out of this room, you will.”

  Philadelphia stepped toward the captain, shoulders squared. Brecon was shocked and impressed by her bravado. He put his hand out, not sure what he’d planned, but he knew nothing good could come of a physical confrontation. The twins moved forward, but the captain, no stranger to self-defense, whipped her heater from her belt with one hand, and a dagger with the other. Philadelphia stopped.

  “I will not do the work in a cage,” she said, very slowly and clearly.

  The captain shrugged, gaslight creating sinister shadows on her harsh, warrior queen’s face. “Then rot. Go mad. I am indifferent. But that is where you will be going.”

  “Very well.” Philadelphia’s sharp nose rose into the air.

  Brecon could see the dried blood on her back through her torn clothing. Even her corset hadn’t escaped his hook. She had to be in pain, but she was still willing to argue the point.

  “But.” The captain held up her dagger. “You sentence your rescuer to the same fate. You rot, Mr. Gravenor rots too. So this recalcitrance will cost another life.”

  “Damn you to hell!” she cried.

  Brecon echoed her words in the privacy of his mind.

  One side of the captain’s mouth lifted in an evil grin. “Never let it be said I took away your free will.”

  Philadelphia lunged forward. Brecon grabbed for her, forgetting his hook yet again. His hook tore a gash down her sleeve and he saw blood welling. Her lips tightened, but she didn’t cry out.

  The captain stared, expressionless. “Bloody Knife, fetch the surgeon for Dr. Castle. He can attend her in the cage.”

  The free trader captain put his hand to his cap and left the room. The twins came forward and tugged at Philadelphia’s elbows.

  “Mind the arm,” Brecon said, following them out of the room. Not for the first time, he cursed his fate. Couldn’t he have found somewhere better to go once his arm healed? But he had had no heart to try and learn a new trade, now that he was crippled. And he liked building airships. Who would have taken him on, other than criminals?

  At least the twins didn’t take him in hand, but he couldn’t run, not when Philadelphia being here was his fault. So he followed, head held high, down the winding iron steps into the basement. No one stood guard here as a rule, but fresh straw had been strewn over the dirt floor and the chamber pot had been scrubbed clean in the corner cage. Two walls were stone, two were iron bars. Brecon couldn’t remember another prisoner spending time here since a free trader named Jasper had been hanged for informing to the Blockaders, and that had been only two weeks after he’d arrived at the camp.

  One of the twins ushered Philadelphia into the cage, then stepped aside so Brecon could join her.

  “I was supposed to get her equipment,” he temporized, having an instinctive loathing of crossing the threshold.

  “We’ll let you discuss what she needs inside,” sneered One, the only name he’d ever heard for the twin. If he had a proper name it was long forgotten, or kept a close secret in the family.

  Two, the less gifted of the twins, lifted his heater from its holder and waved it menacingly.

  Brecon fixed them both with a hard stare as he walked in.

  Philadelphia put her hands to her hips and glared at the twins while they locked the gate. Brecon reflected that if he’d been down here with Terrwyn Fenna she’d probably have been able to pick the lock with tools stashed in her hair or something, and they’d have escaped the compound on a stolen airship. He’d saddled himself with the wrong sort of prisoner entirely. Although, maybe she could electrocute the twins and they could escape that way. He entertained himself with that thought as his fellow inmate collapsed onto a sturdy wooden bench that would serve them as chair, table and bed.

  One scratched his nose. “We’ll get you a proper cot, Gravenor.”

  He lifted an elbow. “And one for her too?”

  Two sneered. “I won’t offer comfort to a mass murderer.”

  Brecon glanced at Philadelphia and saw her face had gone white. She didn’t meet his gaze, just dropped her face into her hands. “Can I have my bundle?” he asked. “It’s in my trunk in the men’s dormitory.”

  Twin Two shrugged. “Sure, Brecon.”

  The barber came twenty minutes later and cleaned Philadelphia’s wounds. He bound her arm with clean strips of cotton and both men turned to allow her to wind bandages around her torso. When One brought Brecon’s personal possessions, he gave her his other shirt.

  “Don’t you want to change?” she asked.

  “You need it more than me,” he told her. How he had come down in the world since he’d lost his hand. Once it had seemed as though he had an endless supply of clean clothes. With two brothers of nearly the same size as he was, there had always been a cupboard full to choose from.

  “Turn away.”

  Brecon faced the open bars while she rustled behind him. He imagined she was stripping off what remained of her shirt and replacing it with his. She’d already taken off her jacket while the barber tended her. While her form was spare, she’d been revealed as perfectly proportioned in a way highly appealing to him.

  He scratched his nose and thought back to the last time he’d been so close to a female. For sure it had been in more luxurious accommodations as this, and far more private.

  “There,” she said, sounding clipped and authoritative for the first time.

  He turned. His shirt accentuated her slender form, but at least she was covered from the other free traders.

  “The twins aren’t hiding in the shadows, are they?”

  “No, they will be still at their dinner.”

  “How are we going to escape?”

  ~*~

  CHAPTER THREE

  “We’ll be released when you make the brass hand,” Brecon said, hoping she could reengineer the Blockader’s design quickly.

  She wrinkled her nose. “I hope you realize that is not going to happen.”

  He ignored the adorable way she scrunched her face. “Why not? She has enough money to get you whatever you need.”

  “It’s bad enough that I presented my brother with the tools to control men, however inadvertently. I’m not going to give that technology to criminals.”

  “We’re only criminals because the government is so controlling. Do you agree they have the right to be in total command of the sky? A fisherman can fish in the water, but we can’t even rise into the air on a pleasure craft.”

  “You use the sky to steal,” she said flatly.

  “Mostly fro
m government warehouses. And free trading isn’t all stealing you know. We just avoid paying taxes on purchased cargo we transport into Wales.”

  “Mostly?”

  “Well, that’s the Owlers’ approach.”

  “And what is the Red Kite approach?”

  He chewed on his lip. “They are a little more martial,” he admitted. “Captain Red Kite likes to nip at the heels of the Blockaders whenever possible. She’ll even call for ground raids on their yards.”

  “I’m not going to give the containment technology to a bloodthirsty pirate. Much less the Man Immobilizer technology, even if I knew exactly how that worked.” She held up a hand. “I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. You saved my life, and you attempted to protect me.”

  “Where do you plan to go if you escape?” he asked. “You’ve all but informed me you have no life to return to.”

  “We’ll have to get to Italy. My brother had a house there. With his widow back in Berkshire, that house is standing empty. Why not take advantage of it? I can start over there.”

  “We? Why am I included?”

  “You said you were a ship builder. I’m sure you can find work. Surely you don’t want to stay when you’re being punished for merely trying to save your own life.”

  She did have a kernel of a point. “But I’m Welsh.”

  “Better than Irish,” she muttered. “I do not think you will find prejudice against the Welsh in Italy.”

  “That is not what I meant. I like it here and haven’t been anywhere else. Do you speak Italian?”

  “I speak Latin.”

  “Right.” A dead language would be so useful.

  “It will help,” she said defensively. “I know the house staff speaks English. My brother didn’t speak Italian.”

  He scratched his cheek, felt the beard bristling there. How long were they to be stuck down here if Philadelphia didn’t produce a brass hand? He understood why she didn’t trust the captain, but didn’t it negate the danger if both sides in a war had the same weapon?