Ultimate Nyssa Glass: The Complete Series

by H. L. Burke

  “Nyss, I thought we agreed to talk to Amara first.” He frowned.

  “I just want to see if it’s here.” She pushed aside the suitcase then looked behind and inside the trunk, and under both beds. “It’s gone. The hatbox is gone.”

  “Could Blythe have sent someone to steal it? No one was here watching.”

  “No, I don’t think so. Nothing else seems to be disturbed, and we weren’t gone that long.” She sat at the foot of the bed. “If someone were searching for the ruby, they would have to check inside the trunk, under the mattresses, everywhere … the chances of them simply guessing it is in the hatbox without checking one or two places first are slim. No, whoever removed the hatbox knew exactly what they were after.” She bit her bottom lip. “Amara must’ve moved it.”

  “Do you think she somehow figured out you met with Blythe?”

  “I don’t know. I think the smaller of her suitcases is gone, too.”

  A part of Nyssa couldn’t help but hope they were rid of them. That the love-struck pair had taken what they could carry and ran … to where she wasn’t sure. It wasn’t as if there were many places on the zeppelin to hide. Still, their absence would solve everything.

  Before she could relax, the door opened, and Amara whisked in, Renard obediently at her heels.

  Nyssa glared at her. “Where were you?”

  “We just took a stroll.” Amara shrugged then peeled off her long black gloves. She set them aside. The familiar smell of grease tickled Nyssa’s nose.

  Renard crossed his arms. “We aren’t prisoners, you know. We can come and go as we please.”

  “Prisoners, no, but you agreed to specific guidelines when we entered into this arrangement,” Ellis said. “Gallivanting around the ship puts us all in danger. Remember, you two have neither tickets nor passports.”

  “We kept out of sight. It was only a quick jaunt.” Amara eyed Nyssa’s trousers. “And you were outside out of costume. We agreed that was inadvisable too. Anyone looking at you now would know at a glance that we’re different people. They might even doubt we’re the same sex.”

  The hair on the back of Nyssa’s neck stood on end. “I suppose they might. However, I learned to judge whether someone was a lady based on their behavior, not their garb. Considering you rob people in dark alleys and fondle your boyfriend in stolen staterooms, I think I have an edge in that.”

  Fists clenched, Renard stepped towards her. “You don’t talk to her that way.”

  Ellis rolled his chair to block Renard. His eyes glinted. “If you take one step closer to her, you will regret it.”

  Renard looked from Ellis to Nyssa. “I wouldn’t hit a lady … or a cripple. I think I need some air.”

  Nyssa bit her tongue, resisting the urge to fling words—or perhaps the alarm clock—after Renard.

  Amara sank down on the bed with her head in her hands. “I have a headache. Oh why can’t this voyage be over?”

  Nyssa bent near Ellis’s ear and whispered. “I need some air, too. If you want to talk to her while I’m gone, go ahead. I’m too roiled up to try.”

  “Don’t go after Renard,” he murmured. “As gratifying as it would be for you to throw him overboard, you’re already wanted for one murder. Don’t make it two.”

  “I promise.” She kissed his cheek.

  His hand grasped hers then loosened, allowing her to slip away.

  Nyssa touched the door’s handle and drew back in surprise. A dark, oily substance clung to her fingers. She raised it to her nose. It had the sharp edge of mechanic’s grease.

  What have Amara and Renard been up to?

  As Nyssa entered the hall, Renard was exiting through the door at the far end, towards the crew quarters. Nyssa hesitated.

  The whole point is to avoid Renard and his nonsense. What did Mr. C used to say about peacemakers, though? They’ll be blessed? Find peace? Something like that? Maybe Renard will be more reasonable if I talk to him away from Amara’s influence.

  Nyssa started after Renard. When she got through the door, however, the next hallway was empty.

  “Where’d he get to?” she murmured.

  She continued down the hall, noting each doorway. Most were labeled as supply closets or clearly markedCrew Only. Renard wouldn’t necessarily acknowledge such a restriction, though. Though Nyssa couldn’t fault him for that. There was a time, not so long ago, when Nyssa made a career out of being places she wasn’t supposed to be.

  She walked to the end of the hall. The door here was reinforced steel withKEEP OUTemblazoned across the top.Even Renard wouldn’t poke his nose in there, right?It had to be locked. She touched the handle but pulled away without trying it. Grease coated her fingertips.

  This is where they were, then. She considered entering, confronting Renard doing—whatever he was doing.

  Does he have his revolver with him?

  She decided to wait and speak with him later. So what now? Return to the room? She turned away. Something rattled behind her. Instinctively, she dove for the nearest door, labeledParachutes. The handle gave. She slipped into the cramped, dark space, and held the door closed. Footsteps echoed through the hall, then faded. She counted to a hundred, in time to her pounding heart.

  Nyssa scanned the hall. Empty.

  “I’m overreacting,” she whispered to herself. “He’s not a hardened criminal. Just a stupid kid … I hope.”

  For all she knew, Renard was perfectly capable of cold-blooded murder. Age was no guarantee of innocence.

  “I wonder what he was up to in there.” She returned to the door markedKEEP OUT.

  It wasn’t locked. Closer examination showed that someone had fiddled with the mechanism, so it would latch but the lock wouldn’t engage. I didn’t peg Renard for particularly clever, but this shows some skill. What is he up to?

  She opened the door and nearly fell backwards from the blast of cold air.

  Only a small, open deck separated her from the vast emptiness of the sky. She clutched the door frame, gulping great breaths. An air-raft, a smaller version of the zeppelin itself, bobbed in the air beside the deck.

  A waist-high railing surrounded the open area and the tail end of the zeppelin’s cigar-shaped casing overshadowed it. However, a large opening had been cut into the deck to allow the air-raft to dock.

  I wonder if there’s another smaller airship inside that airship, nestled one inside the other like unending Ruskan nesting dolls.

  The air-raft was perhaps thirty feet from one end to the other, with a small passenger gondola that could hold at most four or five people. Red letters on the side of the balloon read,The Mercutio.

  If it’s meant to be a life raft, it wouldn’t be much of one. It couldn’t hold a fraction of the crew. Maybe for jaunting back and forth between the airship and port?

  She closed the door behind her. The chill air bit at her face, and her nose began to drip. She dabbed at it with her sleeve before continuing her investigation of the deck, her back plastered to the wall of the zeppelin’s gondola.

  Finally daring to peel herself from the safety of the wall, she approachedThe Mercutio. The gate to the gondola was open. Inside there was a steering column, videophone, and control board as well as two cushioned benches. A tool box stuffed with greasy rags sat on the floor.

  The deck had a few sealed crates, ropes and riggings, but was otherwise bare. Whatever Renard was up to, it had to have been on boardThe Mercutio.

  Nyssa clenched her jaw and hopped over the half-foot gap between the airship and its smaller counterpart. The air-raft bobbed beneath her. Yelping, Nyssa hit the deck on her hands and knees.

  Her fingers clawed the boards. The raft bounced for what felt like an eternity, first quick like Nyssa’s pulse, then slower, until finally it floated still and steady in space.

  She dared to look up.

  “Such a ninny,” she chided herself.

  Even so, it took her a moment to rise. She pulled herself to her feet but kept one hand on the nearest bench
, worried the raft would pitch and send her toppling over the rail.

  The bench’s cushion wasn’t the typical fine fabric found throughoutThe Juliet, but rather a rough, water-treated canvas, dyed a vibrant red. Several greasy fingerprints marred the otherwise clean surface.

  Nyssa pried at the edge of the cushion. It pulled away from the wooden bench, revealing a cavity beneath. In the cavity sat Amara’s hatbox.

  She glanced at the door. Still closed. No sign that Renard or anyone else knew she’d come here. Rather than get out her lockpicks, Nyssa pulled out a penknife and sliced through the thin lining of the box. A cool, hard object slid into her hand. Nyssa’s jaw dropped.

  The pendant hung from a diamond-studded rope of twisted gold, but the ruby eclipsed the other stones like the sun compared to midnight stars. It was a deep, throbbing red, as long as a hen’s egg but cut into a many-faceted oval. It weighed against her palm.

  The men Nyssa had grown up around would’ve called this the score of a lifetime, a single piece that could pay for everything one ever wanted, provide wealth, comfort, whatever luxuries men like that dreamed of … probably loose women and flowing alcohol. For Nyssa, though, it could mean never being dependent on another human again, always being sure of her next meal, never having to steal or beg … or even work unless she desired.

  Still, whoever this necklace belonged to, it certainly didn’t belong to her. Now that she’d cut into the box, she couldn’t very well hide that she’d found it. Even if she put it back, Renard would be sure to question it … could she confront him and Amara with it? Demand their side of the story? Or would Renard just pull his revolver again, take it by force, and leave her and Ellis to deal with the fallout from Blythe?

  If only she could go to the captain with it, or someone in ship security, and let them decide. However, the knowledge that her face was on a wanted poster, combined with her thieving past, no matter how distant, made that inadvisable. Give it to Ellis to take care of? I did tell him I’d let him speak to Amara first … I’ll go to him, see what he’s found.

  Nyssa slipped the necklace into the pocket of her peacoat. She carefully replaced the now-empty hatbox, then the cushion, and vaulted over the gap between the raft and the airship. The space crossed, she ran to the door and slammed it shut behind her.

  She continued through the crew area and into the staterooms. A few doors down from their stateroom, a red-headed man stood in the hallway. Something about his stance, his square shoulders and imposing height, struck her as familiar. He smiled when she approached.

  “Ah, Miss, just the woman I want to see. My employer, Mr. Blythe, wishes to have a word with you.”

  Nyssa swallowed. She could bolt past him, but then Blythe would know she was hiding something. “He’s early. I have at least another hour.”

  “Mr. Blythe believes in keeping his employees on their toes.” The man’s grin widened, revealing yellow teeth. “Come on.”

  She cringed. Something about him didn’t remind her of a manservant. No, he looked like he’d be more at home with her late uncle’s thieving comrades.

  Ignore him. Refuse, and if he protests, get Renard’s gun.

  Nyssa took a step forward, then an airman in the black and white uniform of ship security entered at the other end of the hall. Her heart dropped. What if he recognized her from her wanted posters?

  The manservant’s rough, meaty hand clamped down on her wrist. She shook him off. He growled. The airman looked up. Nyssa angled away, her breath quickening.

  The manservant glanced from her to the airman, then cleared his throat. He offered her his arm. “Shall I escort you, Miss?”

  The airman eyed them. Nyssa took the servant’s arm, trying to look as if nothing were wrong.

  Nyssa hid behind the manservant as they passed the airman. By the time the airman had exited the hall into the crew area, they were already in front of Blythe’s door.

  The manservant gave a mocking bow. “Ladies first.”

  Nyssa said a quick prayer and opened the door.

  Chapter Ten

  The manservant remained outside as Nyssa entered Blythe’s cabin. The older man sat upon his bed, his hands resting atop his bronze-handled cane.

  “How is your mission coming along?” he asked.

  Nyssa drew a deep breath. “It’s coming. How do I know I can trust you, though? That the necklace truly does belong to you and not Amara?”

  “I suppose you could ask yourself, how would a foolish young ingenue like my niece, with her poor taste in men and her decided lack of judgment, come into rightful ownership of such a treasure? You saw the photograph of the jewel upon my dearly departed mother’s breast?”

  “Hardly undeniable proof.” Nyssa crossed her arms. The stone felt heavy in her pocket, and she was certain the bulge must be visible. Hopefully her position obscured it.

  “Perhaps.” Blythe’s eyes narrowed. “I will say, however, that I’m not a man who is used to being crossed. If you would stand between me and what is rightfully mine, be prepared to be crushed … you and everything that has meaning to you.”

  “Very little in my life has meaning to me.” Nyssa forced an unconcerned shrug. It was mostly true. Other than Ellis, she couldn’t think of any entanglements, and Ellis could take care of himself.

  Blythe stood. He twisted his cane, and with a rasp of metal on metal, the handle detached, revealing a long silver blade. Nyssa’s heart faltered.

  “Don’t trifle with me, girl. You’ve had time to search the stateroom, and I suspect you already had an idea where the gem was hidden. Now, do you or do you not have the Dragon’s Heart?”

  He’s an old man. I’m young and quick … but choosing to fight him now burns a bridge. Do I trust him, or do I trust Amara?

  An image of Renard with a gun to Ellis’s throat flashed through her head, and she drew the ruby from her pocket.

  Blythe’s eyes glinted as he sheathed his blade. He tapped the metallic device lodged in his ear with his fingertip. “It’s good to see it again. I’m glad you came to your senses.”

  “Well, you’re right. You make more sense as the owner than Amara. I’m not a thief, Mr. Blythe, and I’m not interested in being an accomplice to thievery.”

  “Not a thief anymore, you mean, Miss Glass?” He raised a bushy eyebrow.

  Nyssa stiffened. She hadn’t told him her name.

  He reached into his vest and pulled out a folded paper. Smoothing it out, he revealed one of her wanted posters, her face shown in detailed profile as well as face-forward. She bolted for the door. The manservant on the other side blocked her escape. He pushed forward, shutting the door behind him.

  “You summoned security, Barabbas?” Blythe inquired.

  The man nodded. “As per your orders.” A bronze knob, not much wider than a coin, protruded from his ear.

  He’s in contact with Blythe somehow. Does tapping on the device in Blythe’s ear send signals? In Morse code? No, he didn’t tap it enough times to send any real message with that … maybe a code of their own devising.

  “Good, then we shouldn’t have long to wait.” Blythe patted his pocket. “I have what I want. The girl will spend the rest of the trip in the brig, then when we reach port, she’ll be taken into custody and I can have Renard extradited.”

  “And your niece?” Barabbas asked.

  Blythe gave a dismissive wave. “Drag her back for the sake of appearances, maybe … but if she wants to strike out on her own, let her have at it. It’s no skin off my back if she starves in the streets.”

  Nyssa’s teeth clenched. “Is the gem even yours?”

  “Oh yes. I was honest about that detail. It’s a family heirloom, and while the provenance may be contested, like I said, possession is nine-tenths of the law. As you can see …” Blythe drew the ruby from his vest pocket and smiled. “I have it in my possession.”

  Someone knocked on the door. At a nod from Blythe, Barabbas opened it to a pair of brawny airmen.

  “You
claim to have a captured a stowaway?” one asked.

  Blythe pointed at Nyssa then held up the poster. “I saw her lurking about the decks and recognized her from this. I knew the captain would never allow a wanted criminal on board … I believe she’s in cabin 15, accompanied by two other people who I doubt are traveling on legitimate tickets.”

  Two? Is it possible he doesn’t know about Ellis? He saw us together, but maybe he doesn’t realize we’re together-together.

  “Cabin 15? We’ll look into it.”

  The airman dragged Nyssa from the room. She didn’t resist. It wasn’t as if she had any place to run to, and if she played meek and mild, perhaps they wouldn’t think to look in her back pocket for her lockpicks.

  They led her through the passenger areas. A small cabin lay behind a bolted door. Inside, two portholes cast dim light over what was essentially an iron cage with a bench, built so that one could walk all the way around it.

  The first airman opened the door.

  “Hey,” the second said. “Shouldn’t we search her first?” He smirked in a way Nyssa didn’t like at all.

  The first scowled at his companion. “Not you. You’ll enjoy it too much.” He pulled Nyssa aside. “Sorry, Miss, but you sort of brought this on yourself.” He ran his hands over her body, swiftly and lightly, but Nyssa still flushed. He came away with her lockpicks and penknife. “Necessary, you see. Now, get in.”

  Nyssa plunked down on the bench as the door clanged shut behind her. She could touch the far bars with her toes while sitting on the bench. She doubted they got many criminals on-board a luxury liner like this … or at least only criminals like Blythe who could pay to travel in style without being questioned and detained.

  I should’ve found a way to hold onto the gem. It was my only leverage, and now it’s gone.

  The leering airman left the room, but the more genteel fellow sat a few feet away in a wooden chair and began to read a periodical. A heavy-looking clock hung above his head. It was 3:14.Pi. Ellis would appreciate that.

  She examined the room for anything that might help her escape. There was an old broom, mop, and bucket propped in one corner next to a water barrel and some supply boxes in another. I wonder what’s going on with Ellis, Amara, and Renard? Will they join me here? Ellis hasn’t technically done anything wrong. He paid for his ticket, even. She said a quick prayer for Ellis’s safety, trying to stare past the bars.I hate cages.