Seared With Scars

by C. J. Archer

  “Well, well,” he said cheerfully. “It seems you have caught me.” His arm flexed as Aunt Winnie tried to speak beneath his hand. “Or have I caught you?”

  “Let her go,” Tilda said. “Please,” she added as an afterthought.

  “Please? Such manners.” His blue gaze took in her tight bodice, gold and pearl drop earrings and matching necklace. Tilda willed herself to be still under his bald scrutiny. “You are a long way from home, Little Chick. Or do London’s whores dress like ladies now?” A smile flicked the corners of his lips but vanished when Aunt Winnie bit him. “Ouch!”

  He let go and she bustled to Tilda’s side. Belatedly remembering that she was the chaperone and her niece the virginal lady of only twenty-four tender years, Winnie pushed Tilda behind her broad skirts and tossed her head. “We are not whores!”

  Inspecting his bitten hand as if checking a bucket for holes, he said, “In your case, Madam, there was never any doubt. But to the young lady, I humbly apologize for the mistake.”

  Winnie frowned. Before she could realize he hadn’t paid her a compliment, Tilda moved out from behind her aunt. “And I apologize for following you, Black Ja...Lord...ahem...Captain. But if you had stopped when you first heard our approach, this cat and mouse game would not have been necessary.”

  “Ah, but it was fun.” He flashed a brilliant grin that Tilda didn’t trust. “Now, who are you and what do you want?” The sudden change in his voice, one moment playful, the next as cold and sharp as the hidden dagger strapped to her forearm, sent a chill through her despite the oppressive thickness of the laneway’s air.

  “My name is Matilda Upton and I have a proposition for you.”

  “Really? How intriguing.” He gave a shallow bow. “I am propositioned by beautiful ladies every day but none of them are quite so...determined as you.”

  She blushed then silently cursed the pale complexion that made it obvious. “Oh. When I said proposition, I meant...my aunt and I would like to employ you, Captain, in a venture rather risky in nature.”

  “My favorite kind. But my services are not for sale.”

  “You haven’t heard my offer yet!”

  “I don’t need to. I have enough copper.” He strode off and did not look back.

  “I’m not offering copper,” she said quickly. “I’m offering redemption.”

  He stopped and for one long moment, didn’t move. Then slowly he walked back to her. “Redemption?”

  Tilda’s skin tingled with excitement. She had him. When she’d first made her enquiries about this man, she’d guessed he couldn’t be lured by copper or material objects so she’d looked for other means. It seemed her instincts had been correct. “A chance to clear your name. Of your original crime,” she added, in case he assumed she meant all his subsequent pirating. She was no miracle worker.

  Knight said nothing. The light summer breeze carried the sounds of the new docks both above and at ground level—the hammering of iron nails, the clank of chains as cargoes were loaded and unloaded, the whistle of the steam engines as ships jostled for space above. In the lane where they stood motionless, a baby mewled and a door banged. Dirty faces in the shadows pretended not to watch the strangers. Tilda pretended not to notice them. Thankfully they were out of earshot. No one must overhear their conversation.

  Eventually Knight spoke. “For a guilty man, that kind of redemption is impossible.” His blue gaze challenged hers.

  “You don’t believe you’re guilty.”

  “I know I’m not,” he said, too mildly for a man who would be locked up in Newgate if the constables discovered him and hung if convicted by a jury. “But do you?”

  Beside Tilda, Aunt Winnie drew a sharp breath. “That,” said Tilda, “is irrelevant for my purpose.”

  “And what is your purpose, Chick?”

  “Her name is Miss Upton,” said Aunt Winnie from behind the lacy handkerchief she held to her nose. “A gentleman would call her such.”

  He laughed. “I’m no gentleman, Madam.”

  “You were,” said Tilda. “Once.”

  “I repeat,” he said as if he hadn’t heard her, “what is your purpose with me?”

  “I want you to find a ship,” she said, “and capture its treasure.”

  “Which ship? What treasure?”

  “The Adrienne. It carries an object I wish to obtain. That’s all you need to know.”

  “No, it isn’t. What object? Gold? Jewels? Information?”

  Perhaps it was only fair that he knew the reason he would be risking his life. Although not the entire reason. Not yet. Not until he had agreed. “A man. He’s traveling from the Orient to the king of France. The airship is equipped with cannon and a brigade of gendarmes. He won’t be easy to capture.”

  “What is so special about this man that requires the French king to send some of his own personal bodyguard to protect him?” He stepped closer and his hard blue eyes swept over her, their iciness pinning her to the spot. She shivered but met his gaze when it finally returned to her face. “And why, Miss Upton,” he continued, “do you want him badly enough to risk your reputation and your neck to follow the likes of me through the bowels of London?”

  Tilda hesitated. How much should she divulge? Reveal everything and she risked the unscrupulous pirate making off with her treasure. But reveal too little and he might refuse the commission altogether, despite her offer.

  “Matilda,” Aunt Winnie whispered. “Tell him.”

  Tilda nodded reluctantly. “I have been, er, commissioned to find him." Knight gave no indication he'd noticed her hesitation. "The Oriental is an inventor.” There, not a lie, although it danced around the truth. "He's made a machine which my employer wishes to possess. Don't ask me what it does, I don't know. Nor can I tell you who I work for. I've been sworn to secrecy."

  “I see,” said Knight. He rubbed his stubbly chin with a hand criss-crossed by old scars. “And my payment? My redemption?”

  Tilda's discreet enquiries had taken her to a moderate and rundown house in the low part of Clapham where she had bought the chronometer talisman from a man only too pleased to liquidate his one valuable asset. She had probably paid too much for it but the man, once the butler in the Ironside household, had given her the piece of information she could use to entice Knight. He’d told her the entire story behind Jack Knight’s downfall from younger brother of the third Baron Ironside to ironwing slave then sky pirate. She had been fascinated, appalled and ultimately relieved when she realized she could use his history as leverage for her cause.

  “I can find the witness you’ve been seeking these last three years,” she said to him.

  His head jerked back as if he'd been punched in the jaw. If he'd been wearing a hat it would have fallen off. “How do you know about that?”

  “I visited your family home in Richmond and asked some of the servants about you. Everyone knows you fled the country but they told me you were in fact seeking the man you claim witnessed the death of your brother. Most of your servants think you’re innocent, by the way. Of your brother’s murder, at least.” It was one of the maids who'd suggested Tilda find the man who'd been the Ironside's butler at the time of the baron's death. She had, and was relieved the visit had been fruitful.

  “I am.”

  “So you say.” His innocence was neither here nor there, although it was reassuring to think that the man she was about to employ wasn’t as black-hearted as his name implied. Fratricide was a serious charge and all the evidence pointed to his guilt. He stood to inherit his childless brother’s lands, title and factories, but worse, Thomas Knight, Lord Ironside, was known to have been a beast to his employees, something the younger brother couldn’t abide. They’d clashed many times, often with violent consequences. In the past, Thomas, older by four years, had always won those physical contests but when Jack eventually surpassed him in size and ability, he had out-mastered Thomas. The younger brother had proved to be a superb natural swordsman, shooter and puglisist and
by all accounts, Lord Ironside hated him for it. Their rivalry became legendary. And deadly.

  Jack Knight’s coarse laughter unexpectedly cut through the silence. “Go back to your mama, Little Chick. You’re wasting my time.”

  He made to stride off again but Tilda caught his arm. Her fingers closed over hard muscle that flexed beneath her touch. “My mother is dead, as is my father. Aunt Winnie is all I have.” She let go of his arm. He didn’t move. “He's a sailor on a merchant airship, your witness. But I suspect you know that already.”

  The brief flicker of his lashes meant Tilda had guessed correctly. Knight had apparently fled to the sky after his brother’s death to find the witness as well as avoid capture. Even after he escaped the airship on which he’d been an ironwing slave—one of dozens of men forced to operate the massive iron wings when the ship ran out of steam—he’d stayed in the air, albeit as a pirate.

  “I will take you to him after you bring me the Oriental. Trust me, Captain. I will find him for you.”

  “How?”

  She concentrated on being still to give an outward appearance of calmness even though her nerves felt frayed under the pirate’s penetrating gaze. “I don’t feel obliged to reveal that at this point in our negotiations.” She had no intention of sharing that particular secret with someone she didn’t know and certainly didn’t trust. She'd made the terrible mistake with Sir Magnus Grimshaw, she wasn't going to make it again.

  “I see.” He leaned one shoulder against the grimy brick wall of the nearby warehouse. Two young boys ran past, squealing with excitement as they chased each other. Knight crossed his arms and watched the boys disappear round the corner. “You’ve been following me for some twenty minutes through a part of London where no lady should wander,” he said without looking at her or Aunt Winnie. “Considering my reputation you took a risk coming here with only one matronly aunt and a hidden dagger to protect you.”

  How did he know about the dagger?

  The eyes he turned on her shone with a wicked gleam. “Is it strapped to your thigh?” he asked, his voice a purr. His gaze traveled lazily from the crimson lapels of her gown down the tight black bodice to the base of her skirt, slashed to reveal the crimson satin inserts, as if he could see through all the layers to her drawers. “No, too difficult to retrieve in a hurry.” He caught her hand, the one not holding the chronometer. She didn’t try to move away although Aunt Winnie protested loudly. His calloused fingers slowly pushed up Tilda’s sleeve to reveal white skin and the point of her dagger. He explored the goosebumps prickling her flesh before drawing her hand up to his lips. He kissed her fingertips, knuckles and wrist, sending warmth humming across her skin.

  Tilda, caught off guard by the gentlemanly gesture and her body’s enthusiastic response to it, took several heartbeats to react. She snatched back her hand.

  In a move so quick she didn’t have time to gasp, Black Jack Knight spun her round and held a dagger to her throat. Her dagger. The cold steel stroked her skin and the lips that had kissed her hand now whispered in her ear: “How did you find me?”

  Behind her, Aunt Winnie screamed again but the sound ended with a stifled gurgle. The Captain must have given her a murderous glare to silence her.

  Tilda shivered as the blade dug into her flesh. One flick of his wrist and she would bleed to death before Aunt Winnie could run for help. Not that Aunt Winnie could run anywhere with her voluminous skirts and a bustle the size of a watermelon.

  Tilda's fingers closed tighter over the talisman still in her free hand and recited the story she’d memorized earlier. “We frequented several taverns near the docks until we saw you at the White Swan. When you left, we followed. I suppose we were fortunate to find you so quickly.”

  “Very. Considering my spies at those taverns would have sent word that a pretty lady sought me. Besides which, I only docked yesterday after a long voyage and no one except my crew knew we were coming to London. You would have to be a seer to know I would be here today.”

  She sucked in a steadying breath. Keep calm. He doesn’t know. He couldn’t possibly.

  He let go of her only long enough to swing her round and grab her other hand. He squeezed her wrist and her fingers opened, releasing the chronometer.

  “Where did you get this?” he growled.

  “That’s my business.”

  “No. This...” He held it up and the sliver of light filtering between the hulls of two airships above picked out the Ironside family crest etched into the brass case. “This is very much my business. Talk.”

  Beyond him, Aunt Winnie shook her head emphatically. “We’ll tell you nothing.”

  “Then let me guess,” said the Captain without looking at Winnie. “You’re not a seer, you’re a hellhag and this chronometer is your talisman to find me. And you have something else in your possession that will lead you to the Oriental as well as the man I seek. Correct?”

  Aunt Winnie’s face drained of color and Tilda felt the heavy air wrap around her like a stifling blanket. The two women drew instinctively closer together.

  “I’m not a hellhag,” she whispered.

  “But you mustn’t tell anyone about this,” Winnie added.

  He shrugged. “Honor our transaction and I will keep your secret.” He dropped the chronometer in the inside pocket of his long black leather coat. “But if you use your powers to help the authorities find me, I won’t be able to keep that promise. Understand?”

  “Agreed.”

  He nodded. “Now, let’s discuss terms. Everything on the Adrienne other than your Oriental is mine.”

  “I thought you didn’t want financial payment.”

  “Not for me, my crew. If I don’t give them some incentive I’ll have a mutiny on my hands.”

  “You can’t command your own men?” Aunt Winnie snorted.

  “Madam, my crew’s loyalty is not something I want to test up there.” He nodded skyward where one of the airships moored to an iron ring on the ground nudged the propeller of a dirigible next to it.

  “I agree to your terms,” Tilda said. “I only want the Oriental.”

  “I sail at first light. I’ll have an agreement drawn up by then for you to sign.”

  “A little formal for a pirate, don’t you think?”

  His eyes narrowed. “I don’t trust anyone. Especially little chicks and their mother hens who can find anyone anywhere.” A devil-may-care wickedness tugged at the corners of his lips and eyes. “Don’t worry, it will merely stipulate that I’ll hunt you down and gut you like a fish if you double-cross me.”

  Aunt Winnie swooned and Tilda caught her before she hit the ground. Fortunately the big woman recovered quickly because Tilda didn’t have the strength to hold her for long and Knight didn’t make any attempt to help.

  “I won’t double-cross you if you keep your word,” Tilda said, unperturbed. She had every intention of keeping her end of the bargain.

  “Then you’ll have no problem signing the articles. You can do it before I sail in the morning. Be early. My airship is the three-mast brigantine flying the German flag.”

  “German?”

  He nodded. “Under the patronage of an obscure merchant from that country.”

  “So obscure that no one has heard of him? Including other German merchants?” She couldn’t hide her smile. Tilda admired the devil’s ingenuity. She had wondered how the pirate could dock undetected by the authorities while he restocked and repaired. “I’ll be there,” she said.

  “You can wave us goodbye from the sky pier. My men always appreciate a pretty face.”

  “But Tilda--”

  Tilda shot her aunt a warning glare. “Come along, Aunt. We must get home. It's tea time.” She hooked her arm through Winifred’s and the two women turned their back on the pirate, leaving him and the dismal lane behind.

  Download REDEMPTION now.

 
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