by Trisha Telep
Her fingertip pressed into the hardened scar tissue. No, her reward waited at the Kresa and—
Warm breath tickled her ear as a body pressed close to her back. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Ro pulled back from the voice, reaching for the pepperbox revolver at her side.
A firm hand wrapped around her wrist as she spun to face her accuser. Light hazel eyes sparkled with deadly amusement. “Is that any way to treat an old friend?”
Ro eased her stance. “Mason Beck,” she said, as the man who held her smiled. “I thought you were in prison.”
His smile widened to a grin and he inched closer. “I decided an early release was in my best interest.”
“Hmm, I suppose self-release is a subject with which you are quite intimate.”
Mason chuckled. His hand slid from her wrist to her shoulder, making her shiver despite the day’s repressive heat. “My sweet Rosalind.” His roughened fingertips stroked the flesh exposed by her shirt’s collar. His distinctive southern Asthegan drawl colored his words with visions of verdant forests and balmy nights. “That wit of yours will be the key to your undoing.”
Ro retreated a few steps, anxious to slow her racing heart. “Perhaps, but you, sir, won’t be the one doing the undoing.”
Mason followed her until she bumped into the rough-hewn edge of a market stall. He placed one palm on the wall beside her head. Sun-lightened brown hair pooled on his shoulders in soft waves as he leaned forward. His breath made her already warmed cheek all the hotter when he whispered in her ear. “Are you certain of that?”
Ro swallowed the lump in her throat to reply a little too breathlessly, “Quite certain.”
He examined her face. A languid smile tugged at his full lips. He swept a lock of her golden curls over her shoulder and a wicked gleam sparked in his eyes. “A pity, love.”
“Why are you here?” she asked.
His smile remained firmly in place, but his expression grew guarded.
“You wouldn’t risk coming to Ithe without good reason,” she continued.
“Isn’t your company reason enough?”
“For you, no.” She’d known Mason since they were both adolescents living on the streets. Both outcasts, but Mason’s charm and pleasing features had made him a favored inamorato for many high-born women while Ro had fought to simply stay out of the brothels. However, it was Mason’s inclination toward theft and piracy that had landed him in prison. “Thinking of stealing another airship? Maybe even Queen Octavia’s crown?”
“Nothing as lofty as that, my sweet. My goals are far more humble and . . . personal.”
Curiosity gnawed at her. She leaned close and lowered her voice. “What are you after, Mason?”
“Would you believe there’s a price on my head and I aim to have it removed?”
“The bounty or your head?”
He laughed and his gaze shifted to the street. He stepped back, took her hand in his and kissed the scar in the center of her palm before turning away. “Always a pleasure, Ro,” he said over his shoulder. “I do enjoy our spirited conversations.”
She watched him depart and took deep breaths, willing her heart to cease its mad pounding. Heat from his lips lingered on her scar and made her skin tingle. Until today, her last encounter with Mason had been when he’d stolen the airship from the Merchant’s Guild. He’d wanted her to leave Ithe with him, but she’d refused, scared of the motives she’d sensed behind his request. Now she wondered what his reasons were for returning.
Mason was a thief, a liar and a scoundrel, but he wasn’t stupid or insane. She replayed their conversation in her mind. Dawning realization spread over her like the annual rains swept over the mountains.
“Spirited conversations,” she repeated his parting words.
Only one thing could draw him to the festival to risk a meeting with the Peacemakers while tagged with a bounty – and it wasn’t her.
“The orb.”
Anger replaced her worry. She and Mason were both thieves, but unlike him, she had principles where he had few. She was under contract to produce the orb and return it to its rightful owner. Mason would undoubtedly sell the orb to the highest bidder and use the resulting profit to pay off his bounty.
She balanced on the balls of her feet and scanned the crowd. Like a phantom, Mason had disappeared. Stars above, why had she let him simply walk away?
Silently berating herself, she drew in a deep breath, savoring the zesty sweetness of fruits, spices and roasting meat. Her stomach rumbled its dissatisfaction. She pushed aside thoughts of Mason and food and focused on the task at hand.
Lady Helena had said that Dacat, the man who stole her husband’s ecto-orb, would pass through this section of the market on his way to the airship port. Ro checked the vertical sundial on the tower in the center of the market. She studied the tightly packed street. He had to be here. Somewhere.
A man wearing foreign robes and standing a head taller than most of the native Ithians jamming the streets drew her attention. His dusky skin and knotted hair garnered more than a few stares as he strode through the crowd. Based on the description she’d been given, the foreigner had to be Dacat.
Ro settled a pair of smoked-lens goggles over her eyes to protect them from the burning sun, and stepped out of the lean shadows. Mingling with the throng, she angled her path to intercept Dacat. She could no longer see him or much of anything beyond the torsos of the people around her. Her small height and slender frame made slipping through crowds and tight spaces to escape the Peacemakers easier, but it often worked against her when she tracked a specific target.
Trusting her instincts, she diverted her path around a small group arguing beside an overturned cart and its spilled cargo of apples. Without breaking her stride, she scooped up a couple of the shiny red fruits and pocketed them for later.
The crowd thinned and she spotted her mark still advancing in her direction.
Ro sucked in a breath and slowed her steps. Mason Beck and two obviously intoxicated revelers swayed up the street behind Dacat. Mason’s sober eyes met hers. He winked then doubled over in peals of laughter at something one of the other men said.
Her moment’s hesitation cost her. The crowd swelled, cutting off her view as Mason closed the distance between himself and her target.
Stars burn him. He was going to reach the orb before her.
She pushed her way through the crowd. Raised voices admonishing her for her rudeness trailed in her wake. She hurled half-hearted apologies over her shoulder and continued to forge ahead. She had to reach—
A foot hooked her ankle and sent her stumbling forward. Her momentum knocked both her and the person in front of her to the ground.
“Blazes, woman!” A deep voice rumbled as vicelike hands grabbed her arms. “Get off me!”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” Ro countered, feeling heat rise in her cheeks. She tossed a mass of tangled pale curls from her face. “Truly, I don’t know—”
Ro’s apology died as Dacat’s furious gaze bored up into her as he lay trapped beneath her.
Another pair of hands grabbed Ro and hauled her to her feet. Mason stepped between her and Dacat, offering his hand to the downed man. “Need a lift, mate?”
Ro could only watch as the stranger accepted Mason’s hand and was dragged to his feet.
Mason swatted dust from the man’s robes, sending small plumes of the fine red powder into the air. “There we are. No harm done.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Ro said, trying to insinuate herself between Mason and Dacat. “I hope I haven’t injured you in my carelessness.” The crowd around them had stopped to watch the spectacle. Peacemakers would be coming to investigate soon. She had to grab the orb. Quickly. “Please, allow me to—”
“Hands off, love.” Mason swatted her hands. “You’ve done quite enough, I think. Now shove off and ply your wiles elsewhere.”
“Ply my wiles?” she spat between clenched teeth. “Just what kind of a w
oman do you take me for, sir?”
Mason paid her no heed. He turned to Dacat, blocking her access with his body. “’Tis a shame a gentleman such as yourself should fall prey to a wanton harlot’s uncouth behavior.”
Ro’s mouth opened and closed like a gasping fish.
“You know this woman?” Dacat asked, nodding in her direction.
“Ah, Stars above, no,” Mason said with a laugh. He glanced at Ro. “But I’ve seen her type before.” He leaned closer to the other man. “No doubt a paid concubine.”
Ro’s voice returned. “Now see here—”
Mason grabbed her arm and spoke over her. “Your protestations fall on deaf ears, woman. Save it for the Peacemakers.”
Her eyes widened when a low rumble sounded from the end of the street. The crowd in that direction parted as though something large moved through the market, heading toward them.
Mason saw it too, and bowed to Dacat. “I’m certain you have business to attend, good sir.” He nudged Ro in the direction of the thinning crowd. “I’ll see that she’s dealt with properly.”
“Let me go,” Ro hissed. “The Peacemakers are coming, you idiot.”
As if summoned, four men encased in heavy steel suits appeared among the crowd. Steam belched from their armored joints as they plodded toward Ro and Mason. An amplified voice issued from the lead Peacemaker. “You two! Halt in the name of Her Majesty!”
“Run!” Mason shoved Ro to the left side of the street.
She didn’t argue. They pushed through the crowd, ducking under brightly colored banners and dodging would-be attempts by merchants to block their escape. The steady pounding of the earth behind them warned her that at least two Peacemakers were in pursuit. Once the armored suits gained their top speed, they would be nearly impossible to outrun. Their only hope was to go to ground until the Peacemakers abandoned their search.
Mason tugged on her sleeve. “This way,” he ordered, correcting her course.
She trailed behind him and dashed into a merchant’s deserted stall in time to see Mason’s head disappearing over the back wall. Without slowing, Ro hopped onto a derelict crate, and leaped for the top of the wall. One hand caught the rough-hewn wood edge but the other slipped off, splinters gouging her palm. Her face slammed into the vertical surface before the rest of her body. Stars burst before her eyes but her grip on the wall held.
The salty-copper taste of blood trickled into her mouth. She cursed Mason and her own stupidity as she grabbed the top of the wall with her free hand. Using all of her strength and scrambling over with her feet, she managed to heave her body up and almost over.
But steel-encased fingers grabbed her leg before she could pull it up.
“C’mere,” the amplified voice of the Peacemaker growled. He tugged on her ankle and nearly unseated her. “You’re not getting away so easy.”
Ro kicked and struggled to free herself. The Peacemaker could snap her bones as effortlessly as a zeppelin sliced the air. Once a Peacemaker had a grip, little could be done to loosen it.
He tugged again, almost toppling her. She pitched forward and wrapped an arm around a nearby flagpole to maintain her precarious perch. Using her free hand, she searched the pockets of her coat and pulled out one of the apples she’d pilfered earlier. She aimed it at the clear glass visor that was the Peacemaker’s only view on the world.
The fruit hit and splattered the glass with a dark mass of pulp and seeds. The Peacemaker snarled and tried to wipe at the mess but didn’t release her.
Her perch swayed with sudden added weight. Mason’s face appeared inches from hers. He let out a piercing whistle that made Ro’s ears ring, and lobbed a smoking clay sphere into the stall.
The Peacemaker shouted a curse, released Ro, and dived for the street.
Ro swung her body over the edge of the wall and dropped safely into the narrow alley along with Mason. The leg that the Peacemaker had crushed protested, and she groaned.
Mason grabbed her hand, pulling her roughly along behind him. “Don’t you dare stop now.”
His order summoned up a memory of their first meeting. She’d stolen a loaf of bread from a merchant’s stall. As she ran from the market, she and Mason had collided, knocking the bread from her hands, but he’d caught it before it hit the ground. With the merchant screaming for the Peacemakers, and the husband of the woman Mason had recently bedded rounding a corner, Mason had grabbed Ro’s hand and led her through the streets, commanding her not to stop, despite her pleas.
Now, she and Mason launched into a sprint down the alley. They’d evaded the Peacemakers for the moment, but they would double back soon and come after them again. “What did you—”
Mason shoved her against a building, covering her with his body as an explosion shredded the air. Bits of shattered pottery pelted the market alley. Wisps of black and red smoke curled around the building, carrying a stench unlike any Ro had experienced.
“By the Stars, what was that?” She gagged and pulled a handkerchief from her pocket to cover her nose and mouth.
“Stink mortar,” Mason coughed. Keeping a grip on her hand, he retreated into a lane until it dead-ended. “Something I learned to make during my holiday in Dismia.”
Ro wondered what else he’d learned while in prison, but didn’t dare ask. As the stink from the market intensified, she wondered if the remaining seventeen coppers owed to her were worth suffering Mason’s intrusion.
A small iron grate at the end of the street drained into a network of tunnels beneath the city. Mason grunted as he moved the grate aside. Ro sat on the edge of the opening, pushed her goggles to the top of her head, and dropped onto a small ladder.
Mason followed, and moments passed while he maneuvered the grate back into place. When it settled into its resting clamps, they both heaved sighs of relief. Even if the Peacemakers tracked them to the tunnels, they wouldn’t be able to follow in their armor.
They slipped into the darkness and down the ladder, beyond the sun’s reach. Pausing at the bottom, Ro rummaged through her pockets and produced a Y-shaped copper frame attached to a wooden handle. A glass tube, with thin copper mesh lacing its exterior, lay nestled between the tapered prongs. Two disks – one made of thick leather and the other of flat copper – capped the tube’s ends. When Ro moved the tube and the copper disk touched the frame, a gas trapped in the glass sparked and radiated a soft bluish-white light.
“Impressive,” Mason said, nodding to her glow-rod and adjusting goggles to cover his eyes. He twisted a small knob attached to the side of the goggles and two tubes similar to Ro’s flickered to life. He smirked. “But not as impressive as mine.”
Ignoring his comment, she ran her free hand over his waistcoat and shirt. “Where is it? I know you have it.”
“Looking for something, love?” he asked, laughing.
“The orb. I know you have it.”
“As a matter of fact, I have two.” He grabbed her wrist and guided it to his crotch.
Ro yanked her hand. “You cad!”
He cocked his head, giving her the impression of a predatory insect studying its next meal. “Are you blushing?”
Warmth spread from her neck to her cheeks.
“By the Stars, you are.” Mason grinned and stepped forward as she retreated. He raised his goggles to his forehead. “Could it be that my sweet Rosalind has never known the touch of a man?”
The heat in her face intensified and stoked her anger. She threw and landed a solid punch to his jaw.
He blocked her second blow and slammed her back against the tunnel wall. “How many times have I told you, love? Never in the face.”
“I’ll be certain to aim for your precious orbs next time,” she huffed. “Now release me.”
“Your threat hardly gives me incentive to let you go. In fact, I feel inclined to teach you a proper lesson in etiquette.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wouldn’t I?” He smacked her bottom with his hand, forcing a yelp out
of her.
She loosed a string of curses when his hand lingered. “Mason Beck, by the Stars, I swear I’m going to—”
The unexpectedness of his kiss startled her. She tried to break away, wanting to run. He pressed close, enveloping her petite frame with his taller form. Her protest melted with the heat of his advance.
Crudely formed bricks dug into her back as she returned his kiss. Fire raged beneath her skin, reducing her mind to cinders. She tugged at his coat and shirt, knowing only his touch could restore her sanity.
He shrugged out of his long coat without breaking contact. Something heavy within the inside pocket thumped and clinked against the tunnel floor.
Ro dropped the light in her hand and slipped her arms around his waist. Her fingers traced the muscular curves of his lower back. She hesitated for a moment and then slipped her hands down the tight contours of his buttocks.
A small growl rumbled in Mason’s chest and he molded his body to hers; the evidence of his arousal intensified her own. His lips trailed from her mouth to her neck.
Chills prickled her flesh and made her gasp. The light from his goggles seemed to pulse an eerie green along the tunnel. Cold seeped slowly over Ro from the passage leading up to the street.
She glanced at the ladder. Her breath solidified in her lungs. She froze and her eyes widened.
Mason leaned back to look at her, his voice a husky whisper. “What’s wrong?”
Ro couldn’t speak but nodded toward the ladder.
He followed her gaze.
A man dressed in a faded brown suit and bowler hat seemed to float at the bottom of the ladder, his lower legs lost in a swirling mist of greenish-blue light. He studied his surroundings, confusion evident on his pale face.
“Where am I?” he asked in a hollow voice. “What is this place?”
“By the Stars,” Mason breathed. “Are you seeing what I believe I’m seeing?”
“Yes,” Ro answered.
He relinquished his hold on her and moved closer to the hovering specter.
Her knees quivered and she locked them in an effort to remain standing. A fresh wave of chilled air washed over her. She wanted to call Mason back, to wrap herself in his warmth again, but the sudden coolness seemed to break the fever that had taken hold of her senses. Realization of what she’d nearly done slammed into her and brought the sting of tears to her eyes.
