Zoe Archer - [Ether Chronicles 03]

by Skies of Gold

  “But no,” Mayhew continued, choking, “they turned me away. Denied me my chance at triumph and fame.”

  “Triumph and fame?” Fletcher snorted. “Mayhew, Man O’ Wars are just weapons. Hell—there probably wouldn’t even be a war if we didn’t exist.”

  “But they do exist,” the lieutenant fired back. “And they are the pride of every nation that creates them. That’s what I’ve wanted. What I’ve always wanted.”

  “So you mutilated yourself?” Fletcher demanded, staring at the grisly network of telumium covering Mayhew’s skin. Whatever procedures the lieutenant had performed, they hadn’t been done by a skilled surgeon. The flesh around the wires was angry and torn, red. Scar tissue crisscrossed his torso.

  “Perfected, not mutilated,” Mayhew corrected. “I studied Dr. Rossini’s old notes. Used them as a blueprint to create this.” He waved at his chest. “Implanted all these pieces myself. Just like the telumium inside you. It’s taken me years to become what you are. I was weeks away from finishing the last of it when Liverpool happened.”

  No wonder the lieutenant had to be dragged, screaming, to evacuate without the final piece to his mad puzzle. Which he currently held.

  A realization hit Fletcher. “That telumium you’ve dug into your body, the parts for that thing you’re holding—you took all of it from the Persephone.”

  “Piece by piece. Little bits here, there. No one ever noticed.” Mayhew smirked at his own cleverness.

  Fury threatened to choke Fletcher. “Thief,” he snarled. The bastard had stolen from him, from the ship that had given him a home, protection.

  “Not a thief,” the lieutenant retorted. “Not if this should’ve been mine.”

  “A goddamn scavenging thief,” Fletcher growled. “Stealing to make your own Man O’ War’s heart.”

  Mayhew glanced at the heart. “I wanted to be a better man. Now I can. Your heart concentrates all your power. This’ll do the same for me. Complete my transformation. I’ll be one of the elite.”

  “The navy won’t take you,” Fletcher said. “Doubt any civilized nation would.”

  “Navies are for fools who like dancing on the end of an Admiralty’s chain,” Mayhew answered. “Plenty of your kind have left their navies and gone rogue.” He smirked. “I’m cutting out the middle man. And then . . . oh, I’ve such glorious plans.” His smile widened. “World’s first assassin of Man O’ Wars. It takes a Man O’ War to kill a Man O’ War.” He chuckled at his own wit.

  Much as Fletcher questioned the purpose and existence of Man O’ Wars, he couldn’t stomach the idea of someone deliberately murdering them.

  He had his ether pistol out and pointed at Mayhew’s head in an instant. “Drop the device.”

  But Mayhew didn’t blink. He smiled blandly. “I think it’d be better if you drop your weapon.” He glanced up the hill, and Fletcher followed his gaze.

  His blood rusted to a stop.

  Mayhew’s men had Kali. One of them had grabbed her and pinned her arms to her sides, his hand clapped over her mouth. The other had a knife to her throat.

  Pure fury blazed in her eyes, matching the rage surging through Fletcher. Rage—and terror.

  He could move quickly, but there was still too great a chance she’d be hurt. All it would take was one fast cut of the henchman’s blade, and her blood would spill. He’d seen men take wounds to the neck. It was ugly—a spray of red and hands clutching uselessly to stem the flow.

  Kali wouldn’t see that fate.

  He set his ether pistol on the ground.

  “A dozen steps back, if you please,” Mayhew commanded.

  Fletcher had no choice. He took the dozen steps backward, hatred making every movement stiff and ungainly. The cliff was narrow, and it continued to shudder beneath him.

  Ship captains needed to keep their heads level to emerge victorious in battle, but seeing that knife against Kali’s flesh stole all rational thought. All he knew was that he had to cooperate. Just until he had a chance to beat to death those bastards who held her.

  Satisfied that Fletcher wasn’t going anywhere, Mayhew stared excitedly at the mechanized heart. His hand shook as he brought it closer to the port embedded into his chest. He pressed the device into position, and it clicked as it locked in place.

  Nothing happened.

  Mayhew cursed as he glared at the mechanical heart. Despair shattered his expression—an almost pitiful sight, if one didn’t think about what the lieutenant had been trying to do.

  But then, the heart glowed. It shook, sending a shudder through Mayhew, and a thin, high drone pierced the air. The telumium in Fletcher’s body pulsed, sensing the surge of fresh energy.

  Mayhew gasped, the sorrow in his face turning to pain. He tore off his shirt and coat, then held out his hands as he stared at his arms. The telumium wires covering the lieutenant began to glow, brighter and brighter, as if growing superheated. His veins bulged. Mayhew screamed and dropped to his knees.

  From her vantage atop the hill, Kali had watched in horrified fascination as the mad lieutenant secured the heart device. Any other time, she would have loved to study the mechanism. But now she only feared it, and wanted it gone. And she prayed for Fletcher’s safety, trapped as he was with that lunatic on a fragile cliff.

  It didn’t help that she was stuck on this hilltop, one thug holding her like a vise, his filthy hand covering her mouth, the brute called Robbins pressing a knife to her throat.

  Mayhew’s scream echoed up the hill. The device was doing something to his body, transforming him. He was on his knees. Vulnerable.

  The edge of the blade against her skin lightened in pressure. And the other man—Grady, the lieutenant called him—loosened his hold. Just a little. Both of them were watching the scene playing out below, distracted.

  Now.

  Using her prosthetic leg, Kali slammed her calf against the side of Grady’s knee. With a pained grunt, the man stumbled, pulling her away from Robbins’s knife. His hold slackened even more, enough to gain her arms room to move. She rammed her elbow into his stomach. As he bent over, gagging, she spun around, driving the knee of her artificial leg up to meet his chin. The man’s head snapped back, and he toppled to the ground. Conscious, but dazed and hurting.

  She sent out a silent prayer of thanks to her father, for insisting that she learn not only the basics of firearms, but simple hand to hand combat, as well. A thorough man, her father.

  Kali whirled back to face Robbins. He looked briefly stunned that she would even fight back at all, let alone take down Grady. But he recovered quickly, thrusting with his knife. She’d no weapon of her own. All she could do was dodge his attacks, ducking and weaving, trying to find an opening for a well-placed kick or hit from her knee or elbow.

  Robbins swooped forward. She bobbed to one side. As she bent low, she scooped up a bit of dirt and rocks. She tossed the grit into his eyes. He cursed and fell back. When Robbins attacked again, she countered with a kick to his upper thigh, using her metal shin. Grunting, he stumbled away from her.

  Thank Hephaestus and Agni and all the gods of the forge that I’ve got a metal foot. Causes some fine damage.

  She glanced down the hill, and met Fletcher’s furious glare. But his fury was for her attackers. Snarling, he started up the hill.

  She pointed at Mayhew, still in the agonized throes of his transformation. “Stop him!”

  But she’d spoken too late. Mayhew lunged for Fletcher. Pulled him down to the cliff.

  Kali moved to help, then something smashed into her. She slammed into the ground. Her thoughts of Fletcher and Mayhew fled as she found herself on her back, Robbins pinning her to the earth with his thighs, his blade poised above her heart.

  Damn it. She didn’t have room to use her legs. And his knife headed straight for her chest. Kali threw up her hands and gripped his wrist, trying to push him back. But Robbins was bloody strong. Determined. Angry that she’d even put up a fight. She shoved as hard as she could against his
wrist, but she didn’t know how long her strength would last.

  The knife crept forward.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  * * *

  Fletcher and Mayhew tumbled down the incline toward the cliff’s edge. Throwing out a leg, Fletcher stopped his roll before he fell over the edge of the precipice. He leapt up. Instantly, Mayhew attacked.

  As they struggled, Fletcher felt the change in the lieutenant’s body. Already, Mayhew was growing bigger, the way Fletcher and others had when they underwent the transformation from man to Man O’ War. But Fletcher’s change had happened over the course of weeks, not minutes, the agony diffused—though he’d spent too many damn nights clenching his jaw to hold back his groans of pain.

  They broke apart. Fletcher dove for the ether pistol. But the lieutenant kicked the gun over the edge of the cliff.

  Fletcher rammed his fist into Mayhew’s face. The lieutenant took the blow, but there was no crunch of bone. No spray of blood. A punch from a Man O’ War would make a normal man’s face cave in, but Mayhew had changed enough that the hit only made his head snap to one side.

  “See?” the lieutenant crowed, though he grimaced in pain. “Already I’m as good as you.”

  Fletcher didn’t bother rising to the bait. He only cared about prying that mechanized heart off Mayhew’s chest. If he could reach that, maybe he could stop the transformation. His muscles coiled, and he leapt, tackling the lieutenant.

  Hell. Mayhew was hot as an iron straight from the forge, and Fletcher could actually feel the lieutenant’s skin stretching to accommodate his growth. Energy surged and pulsed in invisible, palpable waves.

  He and Mayhew rolled across the ground, trading punches. Beneath them, the cliff shuddered, and chucks of earth broke off, plunging down into the sea. Fletcher scrabbled at the heart, but Mayhew managed to hold him off, knocking his hands aside.

  Fletcher jammed his forearm against Mayhew’s windpipe, but as he did, the lieutenant rammed his knee up. Twisting to avoid the blow, Fletcher caught the hit in his ribs. Breath became scarce for both of them.

  “You can’t stop this from happening, Captain.” Mayhew said through bared teeth. “Nothing. A waste of damn time—that’s what you are. Who cares if you’re alive or dead? Killing you is meaningless.”

  The cliff continued to shake and crumble as Fletcher and Mayhew fought, more and more earth and rocks tumbling into the waves. Fletcher might be able to survive the fall, but so might Mayhew, and the lieutenant could make his escape once they both hit the water. And plummeting into the sea would take Fletcher too far from Kali, and her own fight.

  He managed a glimpse up the hill, and for the second time that day, terror for her nearly froze him. She was pinned beneath Robbins, struggling to keep the thug’s knife at a distance.

  “I’ve got other targets in my sites,” the lieutenant continued to taunt. “Targets that will make the world take notice.”

  “Don’t give a fucking damn,” Fletcher snarled.

  All that mattered was reaching Kali. Protecting her.

  With a roar, Fletcher pushed Mayhew away. The ground collapsed beneath them both.

  Kali couldn’t hold Robbins back forever. But she’d never be able to get the knife out of his hand, either. There had to be another way to break free of him.

  She brought her legs up, planting her feet on the ground. Then thrust up with her hips, her prosthetic leg giving her extra leverage. The movement threw Robbins off balance. He fell forward. His free hand shot out to keep him from completely splaying on top of Kali.

  With his equilibrium thrown, Kali twisted, and she rolled them both until she was on top, and Robbins beneath her. One hand she used to keep hold of his wrist, making sure he couldn’t cut her with his knife. But her other hand had a different purpose. She reared back enough to give herself room. Then punched Robbins right in the groin. Several times.

  Not standard military combat training—but as her father had reminded her, This world’s cruel to lasses. Only right that the lasses are cruel right back.

  Robbins turned red, then purple, as he screamed. Leaping up, Kali kicked the knife out of his hand. She took several steps back, putting distance between herself and the thug, but her legs were unsteady. One step, another, and then suddenly, the world spun as she tumbled down the hill. Right toward the cliff—the cliff that was, at that very moment, collapsing into the sea. With Fletcher on it.

  The precipice broke apart under him and Mayhew, huge chunks of rocks and dirt plunging to the water. His blood chilled when he noticed at the same time that Kali was rolling down the hillside. Without the cliff to stop her fall, she’d plummet down, four hundred feet—right to her death.

  Reflex took over. As the cliff disintegrated beneath him, he launched himself toward the hill, a diagonal jump that placed him directly in Kali’s path. From the corner of his eye, he saw Mayhew also leap to the hill.

  But Fletcher didn’t care if Mayhew made it. His focus was only on Kali. She rolled toward him, trying to stop her fall with her hands. He threw himself over her, acting like a cage and pinning her down. She wasn’t going anywhere.

  They lay like that for a moment, both gasping. She had her back to his front, so he couldn’t see her face, but he felt her shuddering breath through his own body. Proof that she’d not only fought, but survived. Relief poured through him like ether, making his head light.

  “All right?” he managed to rasp.

  “I’m a little dizzy . . . but tolerably well.” Her voice was a balm to his thudding heart. She managed to turn her head a little so he could see her dirt-streaked face. “You?”

  “Shipshape.”

  An unsteady smile curved her lips. “And heavy.”

  He snorted, but pushed himself up onto his forearms, taking his weight off her. “Ready to sit up?”

  She nodded, and slowly, carefully, he rolled off of her. They both sat upright, bracing themselves to keep from sliding down the slope of the mountain. Damn everything—there’d been too many close shaves this morning. He’d been in countless battles, but nothing had rattled him like seeing Kali at the end of Robbins’s knife, or tumbling down the hill, the dark blue of her dress like the sky itself falling.

  But she was alive. He didn’t have to see her lovely throat torn open and her blood upon the ground. He didn’t need to pull her limp, battered body from the water.

  They both looked down at where the cliff had once been. Nothing was left—not a single pebble or shrub. She let out a soft, quivering curse and her cheeks went pale.

  “I’d have survived the fall,” he said.

  “That doesn’t mean I want you taking that plunge.”

  He cursed when he saw that Mayhew was gone, along with his thugs. The need for revenge was a hard beat beneath his pulse. He leapt to his feet. “I’m going after him.”

  “We are.” Kali also stood. Or tried to. Her legs wobbled beneath her, and he was at her side instantly, supporting her. Jesus, it felt good to have her safe in his arms.

  He could go faster on his own, but he wouldn’t leave her here. Not with her legs still unstable and the sea so far below. So he did exactly as she suggested, picking her up and swinging her onto his back. She made a slight burden. Even so, when they reached the top of the hill and were far enough away from the edge, he set her down.

  “Stay here,” he commanded. “Do not move a sodding inch.”

  Her lips pressed into a tight line, but she nodded.

  He took off down the mountain at a dead run. Here was some benefit to his months on this island, hunting to feed himself: he could read tracks in the earth. Not so difficult when three large men had dashed down a mountain and over moorland within the past fifteen minutes.

  They’d a goodly head start. Though they left him a decent trail, he couldn’t see the men—or whatever Mayhew was now—ahead. He tore across the heath. Until he reached the northern shore. There wasn’t a beach here, just a five-foot plunge from the land into the water.

&nb
sp; No Mayhew, either. His boat was a heaving speck on the water, growing smaller by the second, the trail of tetrol smoke from the engine a dark stain against the sky.

  Could Fletcher catch up to him? He could swim far, and fast, but fast enough? The sea rose up in angry, white-topped peaks. It’d be a rough swim.

  Man O’ War he might be, but even he had his limitations. The fight with Mayhew, his terror at seeing Kali in danger, the sprint across the island—if he swam after the lieutenant and managed to catch up with him, he’d arrive at his boat so spent he’d put up a piss poor fight. Accomplishing nothing.

  He bellowed a curse. But there was nothing to be done. Furious with Mayhew and himself, he turned back and headed toward where Kali waited.

  It stunned him that she stood precisely where he’d left her. Though she didn’t look pleased about it. And she let out a string of oaths in Hindi when she saw that he was alone. But he knew that her anger wasn’t for him and his inability to catch Mayhew. No—he knew her well enough to understand she raged against the lieutenant’s escape.

  “Damn it,” she fumed as she marched toward him, “what a bloody psychopath. To encourage our trust like that. We sodding helped him find that strongbox. And what it contained,” she added darkly. “You two served together—you were his commanding officer—and this is the fruit of his so-called loyalty.”

  Fletcher shook his head as they made their way down the hill. Everything within him had coalesced into a knot he couldn’t possibly untie. He took Kali’s hand in his because he needed it, needed her touch.

  “A mild one, Mayhew. Never gave a sign. Not a look, not a word about how he felt about Man O’ Wars or wanting to be one. All that tinkering, but I never knew what it was he worked on.”

  “He was mutilating himself,” she muttered. “Readying himself for . . . gods, I don’t even know what.”

  “Vengeance.” The word tasted oily and sour.

  “He was on the Persephone, butchering his own body, and quietly, privately despising you.” She looked appalled.