An Airship Named Desire (Take to the Skies Book 1) (17 page)

“I’ll be having two pints of grog.” I raised my voice. “And if you don’t hurry, I’ll step behind the counter and get it myself. I’m pretty parched and don’t like to wait.” The bartender didn’t say anything or even bother glancing my way. He pulled out two mugs from the ledge, filled them with grog, and plunked them onto the countertop. Some grog spilled over the side, but he didn’t say a word, and I didn’t offer any thanks.

Places like these, if we didn’t swagger in and establish ourselves, the other men would mark us as easy targets. I took a deep sip of my drink, scanning the other patrons. Bartenders here didn’t talk because gossip ended with a bullet through your chest. They overheard so much that if they chatted up every patron, they’d become a liability, fast. I passed one amber pint over to Geoff.

“Mm, grog.” His tone was dry.

“It’ll do.” I laughed. “I need something to continue my alcoholic trend. Watch out though—if I start talking in half sentences, I may turn into Seth.” Down the line I spotted several mercenaries enjoying cognac glasses of absinthe. You could always pick them out because they spent the most, but not in the sense of some stuffed shirt peacocking around expensive jewelry or flashing too much coin. Regardless of how much coin they squandered, their weapons glinted from their belts whenever they moved, so the bar knew they were armed. Closest to us, a drunken wastrel sat with his nose an inch from touching the ale in his mug. I took another swig.

Behind us, folks with vacant eyes slumped over the slot machines, cranking the lever and gambling their savings away. Sharks ran these tables, so I hoped Isabella would lead them on a waltz of her own. They cheated just as much as she would. Whoever had the faster hand won, and I’d seen Isabella draw a gun before, so I’d place my bets on her. I scanned the casino for anyone with the hulking build of Jensen, but no one fit the bill. Slumping back over my mug, I stared into my muted reflection.

A shout carried from across the room.

I whirled around at the sound, and my heart sped. Isabella sat over at a table with a span of cards still in hand. My gaze followed the wall until I spotted the source of the noise. A man stood in the corner of the room, as broad as Jensen, but with taller stature. Three men surrounded him, brandishing their weapons. Glad that Isabella hadn’t gotten herself into a scuffle, I relaxed, at least until I caught their markings. A fur pelt looped around their holsters, and one wore a dark blue monocle signifying rank. The glimpse at the tattoo on their biceps of the M with the cog around it confirmed their identity.

“Morlocks,” I growled.

Chapter Seventeen

My fingers gripped Matilda tight, but Geoff placed a hand on my shoulder. The cornered man loomed over the three Morlocks, and his shotgun glowed under the hazy bar light. Still, there were three Morlocks and only one of Mr. Tall and Strapping. The rest of the bar quieted. Some of the men by the furthest slot machines inched towards the door, one slow step at a time while the mercenaries already grabbed their pieces. No one jumped to help, but everyone in the bar tensed, waiting for a fight.

“You owe us a debt, Mordecai, and it’s time to pay up. You’ve been in our database for some time now, and we don’t like live reports in our wanted files.”

The tall stranger gave the Morlock officer a half-lidded stare, making no effort to move. He wore a black trench coat that swept the ground, and matching slate pants that accentuated his green eyes. “This is unnecessary. Civilians could be harmed. Why don’t we take your issue with me elsewhere?”

“You’d just run. Like we’d let you get away again.” The younger Morlock sneered. The Morlock officer kept his gun aimed at this man they called Mordecai. While the dark blue monocle hid the officer’s one eye, his other expressed all the coldness I needed to see. They were the eyes of a dead fish. Watching them corner this man brought back the memories of my last job with the captain. 

Isabella met my gaze from across the room. A Morlock officer, like that one, had shot her in the leg and started our streak of horrible, horrible luck. The trouble that led to this unwanted cargo. The trouble that led to Jensen’s betrayal. The trouble that led to my Captain’s murder.

My temper strengthened to a boil. Chances were the captain, Isabella, and I held files of our own in their stupid ‘wanted’ database after the last encounter. Hatred burned through me. This man was probably like us, on the receiving end of some bad luck and cornered by these bullies who called themselves pirates.

“No one crosses the Morlocks and lives.” The officer growled.

“Why is it always the same lines with you guys?” My voice broke through the quiet, and I aimed Matilda straight at the ranked Morlock. The seats of the bar patrons squeaked behind me as they shifted back. Geoff let out a sigh and drew his gun to back me up. “Could you just once not deliver a stock scumbag line?” I asked. “Or do they teach that in school? Good little Morlocks must find every cliché in the dictionary and memorize them by heart.” At this point, the other two turned their guns on us. The officer still kept his pointed on Mordecai in the corner.

The bartender shot first.

Thankfully he aimed at the Morlock men and not at us because the moment his gun clicked, my muscles tensed to duck. The bullet missed and pinged against the wall, but the sound sent the bar into an uproar. Panicking, the three Morlocks opened fire onto Mordecai. My feet moved as I surged to help him, but I shouldn’t have bothered.

He didn’t pull out the shotgun by his side. Instead, something glinted from inside his trench coat. It blurred faster than my eyes followed, and lame bullets bounced onto the ground. His fluid motion stopped as he sheathed his sabre. My jaw dropped. The Morlocks needed more men if they hoped to best him because I’d never seen swordsmanship like that. The Morlocks had known they wouldn’t be enough for this man too—four more of their men kicked in the door. That bartender smashed one of the mugs lining the countertop and cursed. 

I aimed a shot at the nearest Morlock, but with people standing in the way, the bullet missed my target, burrowing into his leg. He let out a gasp and lifted his gun as his face purpled with rage. Geoff and I dashed towards the slot machines for cover right as the bartender aimed several shots at the Morlocks by the door. Startled, since they stormed into a gunfight, they let loose a hail of erratic bullets.

My senses reeled from the combined noises of the casino machines, the roar of gunfire, and the scratchy voice of some siren playing on the gramophone. Bullets pinged off the steel hulls of machines and drove into the wall while some clattered onto the floor. Others found marks, and several bystanders dropped. In a bar full of scumbags, criminals, and lowlifes, that was the last thing they should have done.

A bullet flew past the drunkard by the bar, startling him out of his stupor. The man screamed and scurried behind the counter with the bartender. Isabella, bless her soul, had ducked under the table for cover at the first sign of trouble, and a bubble of relief burst in my chest once I saw her safe. The mercs sitting in the corner fondled their guns in irritation at the interruption of their well-paid drink. One scowled, stood from his stool, and unloaded a clip on the Morlock team who entered. 

Every man fell.

Meanwhile, Mordecai kept the original three Morlocks busy from helping their friends. He wielded his sabre again with a finesse I envied, as the nearest man rushed him. The novice Morlock still had a trick to play—the shimmer of a fireburster around the muzzle of his gun snagged the light. My voice caught in my throat as I tried to call out a warning. A glint flashed as quickly as before, and with a flick of Mordecai’s wrist, the Morlock’s arm fell clean off.

“Leave,” his deep voice bellowed. The man whimpered, and blood sprayed from the open wound at his shoulder. Several flecks hit the stranger, but he didn’t blink. The mercenaries from the back corner popped their guns back into their holsters, starting a chain reaction of rustling leather. My shoulders relaxed. Until two more Morlocks appeared through the door.

Pop. Pop. Both dropped.

I glanced back in surprise that they drew their guns so fast. The mercenaries hadn’t. Their eyebrows rose with appreciation as they stared in the other direction where Isabella crouched under the table, both pistols drawn. Smart girl. Even after her hiatus, she hadn’t lost her edge. Geoff’s gun blared next to my ear, and I winced. The officer fell with a howl, collapsing onto the floor when the bullet burrowed into his right leg. I couldn’t bring myself to fire another shot since they lay helpless on the ground. Their eyes widened in panic when they realized the whole bar stood against them.

The stranger stepped in front of the Morlocks with his arms spread. He turned his head.

“Leave now and you’ll have your lives,” he offered. The men groveled on the floor before scrambling away. One’s arm spurted a river of blood, and the other two shambled from their leg injuries. Right as they reached the door however, the bartender dropped them with three shots.

“Not in my bar.” The sullen barkeep’s jaw jutted out, and he settled back against the ledge, finally picking up one of the countless mugs lining the counter to clean it.

Mordecai’s lips wrinkled in distaste. He stood a foot taller than anyone else with waves of dirty blonde hair down to his shoulders. His head tilted for a second as he studied the room like a sparrow, but then he stopped, tucked his sword back into the sheath, and strode through the broken door.

“That’s the type of recon man we need,” Geoff whispered into my ear. I nodded and marched straight to the mercenaries. The bartender had since gone back to neglecting his bar, and men stepped over bodies to return to their slot machines.

“Who was that man?” I jerked my thumb at the door. Several leers greeted me, as if they’d never seen a female before, but the one who shot down the Morlocks spoke.

“Mordecai Blacksmith. Although, I don’t know what he was doing down here. The man’s brilliant at finding anyone and staying invisible himself. Morlocks tried to recruit him for years, but it looks like they’ve marked him as kill on sight,” another mercenary interjected.

“I’ve heard rumors of the Shadow Ward, but I’ve never seen the man before now. Pretty handy with a sword.”

“Where is he normally found?”

The mercenary’s grin widened, and a hunger filled his eyes. “That’ll cost you.” He scanned me up and down, stopping at my chest. I placed a hand on my hip, ready to argue back when Isabella stepped between us to press a coin into his palm.

“Here’s your payment, big guy,” she breathed and passed me a quick wink before taking a step behind me.

The mercenary shrugged, placated. “I’ve heard he swings around Nautilus, the casino on the main stretch. As for seen, that’s a whole other thing. Good luck finding him, he’s better at staying out of sight than anyone. Rumor says he could stay invisible in plain sight if he’s trying.”

Isabella gave him an innocent glance and thrust her chest out. “Cherie, you wouldn’t have happened to see some large brutish guy in here, would you? He’s built like an ox with lighter eyes and armed with an arsenal of weaponry most of the time. He’s incredibly American—loud, obnoxious.”

“We’ve seen a lot of types. He sounds like most of the mercenaries I’ve worked with.” The guy shrugged. Isabella sighed.

“You tried.” I clapped a hand on her shoulder and turned on my heel. “Thanks,” I called and threw a wave. The casino patrons ignored us—after all, in this part of town, a bar fight surprised no one. I tiptoed past the broken doors, careful not to worsen the damage, while Isabella and Geoff followed me out. My eyes had adjusted to the aged light inside, and I squinted when we exited into broad sunlight.

“So we’ll be hitting the main stretch, aye?” Isabella’s eyes sparkled under the early dawn’s rays.

“It looks it.” I sighed. “Geoff, you’re right though, that’s the exact type of recon man we need. Besides, if this man can find anyone, he’d be able to pick out Jensen.” The road back to the ports stretched out before us. If we travelled back, we could get some blessed sleep, but during that time, Jensen could travel further and further away. Checking my gun, I was surprised I only fired one shot in that last fight since I normally blew through ammo. After reloading Matilda, I placed her back in the holster. “We’re underdressed for Nautilus,” I said. “Hopefully they don’t judge. If it’s a bar on the main stretch too, they’ll take our guns, so we’ll have to use caution while we search for Jensen.”

“Are you reminding yourself?” Geoff grinned. “Because I’m pretty sure you were the one who stepped in back there.”

“Three to one.” I folded my arms over my chest. “Those odds are not fair.”

Isabella shook her head. “I don’t know. Tall, strapping, and handsome took care of himself well.” A wicked smile lit her face, and I mirrored hers.

“My, what a pity if we have to deal with him.”

Isabella bit her lower lip. “Mmm,” she added for extra emphasis. 

“I swear, you ladies are worse than any man I know.” Geoff’s smile twisted wryly. “You treat us like pieces of meat.” We broke into laughter and walked further into town, following the S signs for the sub bus. A chill of a wind sent leaves tumbling across the dirt covered streets as we strolled past empty houses. 

“By the way Isabella,” I said as we walked, “How did you make out with your gambling?” She passed me a handful of coins, the initial amount I’d given her. However, her full leather pouch jangled with extra coin.