Captain and a Corset (9 page)

Bion chuckled softly, a flicker of heat entering his eyes. “That is a fact, Guardian.”

“It is—” Lykos paused, looking past Bion at someone entering the hall. His expression hardened instantly and Bion was on his feet a second later.

“Captain Donkova, Head Guardian Pavola has been searching for you but you were not in your rooms.”

“I know where I was, man.”

The young Guardian swallowed nervously, betraying his inexperience. Bion clamped down on the urge to snap at the man.

“It seems the suspected traitor Grainger was not insane.”

“There was nothing suspected about it; the man is a traitor,” Bion snarled. Lykos reached out, gripped a hand around his arm to silence him.

“Where is the man now?”

The young Guardian stammered. “He was… transferred to… to the medical… wing but it seems… the staff underestimated his condition.”

“How badly?” Bion demanded.

“He killed the two orderlies charged with moving him from the prison wing and… it seems… he also took the two Guardians standing watch over the secured Novice—”

Bion lost control of his temper and grabbed the front of the man’s jacket. “Where is my trainee?” he snarled savagely.

The man paled. “Gone.”

***

The sweet smell of fresh air—Grainger paused for a moment to savor it. The city streets were quiet in the dark hours, but he wasn’t foolish enough to believe them deserted. There was a whole different class of people who preferred the darkness to the light of day. Even in the better parts of town, the shadows would be harboring creatures; really, they were more base than anything that might be called human.

He pushed the wheelchair, keeping his chin level as he went. The night breeze blew some dry leaves across the road and footsteps echoed from down one of the alleys he passed, but no one stepped out to stop him. Grainger passed the tailor shop and moved past the millinery store and other merchants. Two more blocks and he came to the door he sought.

Wouldn’t the Illuminists like to know that there was a devoted Helikeian living so very close to their Solitary Chamber?

He laughed softly as he reached for the door knocker. The sound echoed through the silent city street, but no one moved their curtains aside to look down at him. Of course not; it was far healthier to ignore those who came calling at such hours. A small panel opened and a doorman peered at him through the iron grate secured over it.

“I have just escaped and do not have my pin.”

The man remained silent and looked at the slumped form of Sophia. “This is a Navigator. Open the door, Compatriot. I am delivering a prize worthy of reward.”

The door opened and Grainger pushed the chair inside. Behind him, the doorman shut it softly, concealing their location completely.

***

Bion was a man who prided himself on his control. But when provoked, he was capable of pure, undiluted savagery. It wasn’t civilized or polite, but when it came to snatching victory out of the jaws of bastards like Grainger, that facet of his personality served him well.

Tonight, he let it loose, covering the distance between the dining hall and Sophia’s room in record time. Only Lykos kept pace and the Guardians inside the small chambers moved out of his way. The signs of a struggle were clear. Bion followed the overturned furniture, kneeling to inspect the dark splotches of blood on the floor.

“I do believe the rougher aspects of your personality might come in very handy very soon,” Lykos said softly, kneeling next to him.

Bion locked gazes with him, surprised by the fierce determination in the fair-faced Guardian’s stare. Lykos Claxton was a wolf, cleverly donning the fleece of a sheep to dupe those around them.

“My plan exactly.”

“I believe I should be part of any planning,” Guardian Pavola interrupted from across the room.

Bion stood and fixed the head of security with a deadly look. “I was opposed to lodging Miss Stevenson here, and I believe my argument has unfortunately been proven valid. She should have been in the air, where this could not have happened. Retrieving her will be my duty.”

“Your position may indeed be correct, but that does not endow you with the ability to brush aside the law,” Pavola answered. “We have Hunters for this sort of situation.”

“Your Hunters are not anywhere near suited for this.” Bion stepped closer, forcing Pavola to look up at him. “Grainger is no doubt hurrying out of the city while we stand here arguing. Once he has her aboard an airship, retrieving her will become nearly impossible. Every second you waste discussing the necessary course of action increases the odds of the Helikeians utilizing her for their own means.”

There was already an unstable situation in the skies. Utilizing the dimensional gates was the only way to escape the pirates roaming the trade routes. It was the Illuminists’ most critical advantage and now Sophia just might tip those scales back into the favor of the Helikeians.

Guardian Pavola stiffened. “Your insolence is misplaced, Captain Donkova. What makes the Illuminist Order strong is our dedication to rules and structure. Otherwise, we would be nothing more than outlaws.”

Bion slowly grinned, but it wasn’t a cheerful expression. Pavola stepped back in response.

“Oh, there are times for lawlessness,” Bion offered softly. “Now more than ever. I promise you one thing, Guardian, I am your man.”

And he was going to find Sophia or die trying.

***

She needed to wake up. Sophia knew it but couldn’t seem to break free of sleep’s hold. She struggled, straining to open her eyes, but they felt glued shut. Thrashing from one side to the other seemed of little help. All she managed to do was half open her eyes.

“Hurry up with that chloroform.”

Horror kept her eyes partially open, but her straining only allowed her to see a white cloth coming toward her face. She smelled the noxious fumes and tried to hold her breath.

“Resist all you like. I do enjoy a good fight.”

She was regaining her wits and opened her eyes all the way. Grainger stood over her, pressing the cloth to her face. Her skin crawled with revulsion and her lungs were burning. Her captor clasped the nape of her neck, and her hands were still strapped to the armrests of the wheelchair. The need to breathe broke through her resistance. She inhaled and the chemicals began to do their work. Her vision blurred and another few breaths sent her back into darkness.

“And I will enjoy seeing you put to work for the Helikeian cause.”

Grainger smiled, watching Sophia slump once more against the back of the wheelchair. He stood there for several long moments, making sure she was disabled. He wanted to take advantage of the fine house he was in, bathe and make himself presentable, but delivering his prize was much more important.

“Is the carriage ready?”

“Yes, Compatriot.”

Grainger enjoyed the sound of the title “Compatriot.” It had been too long since he’d heard the word spoken with the proper respect. The Illuminists had tried to humiliate him by sneering as they spoke his title, but he was the victor now.

“Send word to Dr. Nerval that I have recovered the Navigator. Since he was the man who discovered the Pure Spirit Janette Aston, he will be happy to hear the Navigator is now in our hands.”

“Yes, Compatriot. I will send the telegram myself.”

Even Dr. Nerval would have to acknowledge his achievements. The doctor was an esteemed member of the Helikeian Community, his bloodline almost royal. It would be good to have the approval of such a man. Grainger rubbed his hands together.

“Let us go.” Three words had rarely given him such satisfaction before. Now, as he pushed the wheelchair through the house toward the back door, he was filled with a sense of accomplishment.

Yes… he was the superior man. Soon, every member of the Helikeian Order would see proof of his standing among them, for he was certain to be decorated with the Sapphire Phalanx for his achievement. It was the highest award within the Helikeian Order. Once he wore the pin, no one would question him. Not ever.

All he had to do was deliver his prize to the airship station. The doorman opened the back door and a carriage waited there. The house was owned by a doctor, giving him the perfect excuse to order the vehicle brought around at such an hour. They loaded his prize and set off without a single look from the residences nearby.

***

“Not going to ask what I’m doing?” Bion asked Lykos.

Bion didn’t stop what he was doing to turn and look at Lykos, nor did he care that the other man had followed him into his private rooms. Bion reached up, onto the top of his wardrobe, and lifted a case. Once it was sitting on a small table, he opened it to reveal a stack of neatly folded garments.

“I’m more of a visual man,” Lykos remarked nonchalantly. “A man’s actions often say more than his words.”

“True.”

“Of course, I would be delighted to hear your plan if you are in the mood to share it with me?” Lykos drawled.

“I’m not.”

Bion stripped off his maroon uniform coat and tossed it across the footrail of his bed. His pants and polished boots landed nearby and he reached for the first item in the case. He pulled on a pair of sturdy pants with leather-reinforced inner thighs. The shirt was less formal than the one he’d worn beneath his uniform. He didn’t bother buttoning it all the way, leaving the top gaping open. A leather vest was next, worn in several places and constructed with numerous pockets. Over that he secured a weapons harness with a holster that hung beneath his left arm and two scabbards for knifes. He reached into the case and removed a pistol that gleamed from recent polishing. Bion checked the Deep Earth Crystal secured in the firing pin before sliding it into his holster. A pair of worn, knee-high boots came next. He finished off his look with a sturdy, dark blue wool over-jacket. It was the sort of thing a Naval man might wear, unless you took a closer look and noticed the additional pockets for glasses and other Illuminist paraphernalia.

“You have achieved a rather disreputable look, Captain.”

Bion wasn’t quite finished. He picked up a scarf and knotted it around his head. Once the ends fell down his back, Lykos chuckled.

“You lack only the gold hoop earring to be taken for a pirate from a century ago,” Lykos observed. “Mind you, another man might question just why you have all the necessary accouterments to achieve such a look.”

Bion grinned. “I know my enemy because there are times it is very beneficial to blend in.” He pulled a hat off the hatstand in the corner and tugged it down low. “Which is why I can tell you with all confidence that I will retrieve my trainee. Or die trying.”

Bion shot Lykos a hard look. For a moment, the two men found solace in each other’s company because they were brethren.

“I can promise you this much, Guardian. The Marshals will not get another opportunity to deal with him.”

“You present yourself as if you expect some manner of great reward.”

The room was quiet as a tomb. Sophia watched the three men seated at the end of it as they contemplated Grainger with narrowed eyes. Each one sat in a throne-like chair that reminded her of something Henry VIII might have used. The backs were carved with crests of some sort but the room was only partially lit, so she couldn’t make out the detail.

She could make out the shackles clamped around her wrists well enough. Each band was two inches wide and there was a chain running between them.

“I have brought you a Navigator,” Grainger insisted. “One I created. Such a feat is most certainly worthy of notice.”

“Her eyes may be altered, but she is not fully trained,” one of the men observed. “Therefore, you have brought us an unusable trainee.”

“She is not untrained.”

“She is not fully accomplished in the art of distinguishing interdimension gates,” the man in the center chair replied. “Did you believe we have not been keeping abreast of her progress? I assure you, we have. It is true that you helped to create her, and for that, you may continue to serve within our ranks. But there will be no reward until she becomes a Navigator.”

“Bastards,” Sophia muttered, but the gag tied around her mouth muffled her curse. She really wished she knew a few more.

The man sitting in the center chair shifted his attention to her. His thin lips curved slightly, the expression nauseating her. There was something about him that made her skin feel dirty. He stood up and his polished shoes made sharp sounds on the gleaming wooden floor as he approached her. She strained against the leather strap binding her, but it didn’t give even a tiny bit.

The man waited for her to expend her strength, enjoyment flickering in his eyes as he watched her flail. He leaned down and peered into her eyes. “She has potential, but as you know, Compatriot Grainger, only success is rewarded among our ranks. The Soiled Dove is due to dock this evening. Captain Aetos will be expecting you.”

Grainger stiffened, rage twisted his features, but he kept his lips pressed firmly together in spite of the way his face turned red.

He offered a half bow. “She will be everything you expect. I swear it.”

The man standing near her turned, his hands locking formally behind him as he walked back toward Grainger. “Captain Aetos will be taking on supplies and no doubt a few more crew, since some choose death over serving the Helikeian Order. You will need to find someone who can train her, since the Soiled Dove doesn’t boast a Navigator.”

The two men still sitting in their chairs chuckled softly, making it plain they didn’t think Grainger could accomplish the task being put to him.

“I understand my task and I will prevail.”

There was a confidence in his tone that chilled her blood, because every man in the room appeared very pleased by it. In their eyes, she was a thing without rights. A shiver made its way down her spine and Bion’s warnings rose from her memory.

“Men will kill to own you…”

The ones watching her certainly thought they could own her.

***

“It is a shame we must take to the skies so soon.”

Grainger was standing in front of a mirror, inspecting his newly shaved face. He turned his head one way and then the other before sniffing with approval.

“We’ll have to endure the rougher conditions of living aboard a ship.” He adjusted his silk cravat. “Still, I intend to enjoy civilized attire while I might—something I shall not forget the Illuminists denied me.”

Satisfied that his vest was sitting perfectly, he turned to consider Sophia. “I should leave you bound to that chair, as your brethren did to me.”

Sophia narrowed her eyes, the only insult she might offer with the gag still in place.

“But I suppose I cannot begin to educate you on the merits of the Helikeian Order if I treat you as the Illuminists would.”

He waved his hand and someone behind her began loosening the gag. Some of her hair was caught in the knot and was yanked out of her head before the thing came loose. The pain was miniscule compared with the relief of finally being able to close her mouth. Her tongue was dry as a bolt of wool.

“You may bathe, but be assured that there is no escape from this house. Attempt it and you will be secured to that chair until nightfall.”

Two burly men finished unbuckling the straps which bound her, then withdrew to the doorway. They never looked directly at her. Each wore a gold pin with the crest of the Helikeian Order on it.

For all that she had heard of the Illuminist enemy, being faced with men who believed as deeply in the Helikeian cause as Bion did in the Illuminist one was startling.

She stood up and shakily moved toward the bathroom at the other end of the room. It really wasn’t a choice, unless she wanted to soil herself. At least it had a sturdy door with a latch, but once she’d secured it, she realized just how small it was compared to the two men guarding her.

They’d kick the door in with little effort.

Well, she had privacy—for the moment at least. Tears stung her eyes. She wiped them away and turned on the water to the bathtub to cover any sound she might make. She didn’t have time to cry. Hadn’t had the time, really, for a very long time. More tears eased down her cheeks in spite of her resolve to maintain her composure. She decided to focus on the task at hand, which brought Bion to mind. In order to ignore the rogue, she’d quite often focused on the task at hand.

Maybe
that
had
been
a
foolish
waste
of
an
opportunity.

She looked around the bathroom, seeking any form of escape, but there was none—only the door she’d entered through. Dread knotted her belly as she undressed and stepped into the bath. She might well have lost her opportunity to choose her first lover.

A day ago, she’d have chastised herself for thinking about Bion in such a way, but it was amazing the way opinion changed when freedom of choice no longer rested in her hands. She’d always expected to be formally courted and won by a man her father would happily shake hands with before granting them his blessing.

Bion was a devilish rouge who stormed her defenses; he wasn’t the courting type.

But she had trembled in his embrace. For a moment, she allowed herself to relive the experience. Never once had she believed a kiss might affect her so deeply. It was frightening in its intensity but wildly enticing for the very same reason. There was something deep inside her that blossomed at the idea of being so completely out of control.

She trembled as she realized the harsh reality facing her. Cooperating with her captors would place her on Bion’s enemy list. The man was ferocious when it came to battling the Helikeians.

Yet she had no idea how to escape, and that unleashed a flood of despair that left her sitting on the side of the tub long after her hair had dried.

***

“Mind where you’re leading me. We’ll end up shanghaied for sure.”

A waterfront prostitute flung the words at her would-be customer when he tried to tug her down a dark alley. The man shrugged and pressed her against the wall right where they were. There was a rustle as her skirts were raised, but she didn’t protest.

Bion peered out from beneath the brim of his hat, missing none of the details of the scene before him. In this section of town, a man was wise to keep his guard up. But all around him, men were eagerly spending their pay on cheap liquor. As their wits dulled, prostitutes moved closer to relieve the men of more of their coin.

Tonight, Bion sought the women employed by the boarding masters. They didn’t demand coin first, but took their intoxicated victims down the alleys to where they might be sold into service aboard airships. It wasn’t always women who lured the unsuspecting men to their doom. Crooked barkeepers or boarding-house owners all joined the enterprise.

There was a shortage of men willing to labor aboard ships and risk dying before setting foot on land again.

Helikeians were just as desperate for labor for their sky vessels as the seafaring community was for their ships. The men who made up the crews of the Helikeian airships faced brutal masters and the added bonus of being told the only way out was death. The Order had no intention of allowing men to escape and warn the general population of the ships sailing the skies. They were little more than pirates that stole men for their crews as easily as they did cargo from defeated ships.

“Here now, love, come have a drink with me.”

Bion turned to look at a woman who had one foot propped on the top of a small barrel. Her skirt was hiked to afford him a generous view of her calf and knee.

“I’ll not bore you; you have my word on that,” she said.

“Is that so?” Bion stepped closer to her, pressing up against her body as he laid his hand over her left breast.

“Here now.” She laughed as she pushed him away. “The least you can do is buy me a drink before we get on to what you like.”

Bion folded his arms over his chest, grinning. There was the unmistakable presence of a pin beneath her bodice collar. Illuminists wore their pins with pride. Only Helikeians stooped to deception by hiding their pins. The female winked at him but all she managed to do was inspire disgust. Every man serving beneath his authority on ship did so with pride. There were recruits eagerly awaiting their turn to be airborne.

Sophia was the one exception to that.

Bion followed the woman down the alley, the sway of her hips less than arousing.

“Here we are… Peter pours the best Irish whiskey in town.” She beckoned him further down the alley, far past where anyone on the street might be able to see them.

“Just a bit more,” she continued. “It’s more private-like back here. No one to disturb us.”

Peter, the barkeep she led him to, had greasy hair and splotches on his shirt. His establishment wasn’t much better. The tables were rough and several were missing chunks due to fights. The chairs were mismatched and the customers sitting in them less than refined. Several had untouched drinks in front of them and cards in their hands that they weren’t paying attention to.

It was a den of thieves, no mistake about it.

“Just get off ship?” the woman cooed to him as she delivered a glass full of dark whiskey.

Bion lifted the glass but paused before taking a sip. “Just stepped back onto the ground.” He tossed back the drink and chuckled at the way the woman’s eyes slanted with satisfaction. She sashayed back toward the bar to fetch another for him.

Bion leaned back in the chair, giving his company the illusion that he was primed to enjoy the nighttime pleasures. Someone began to beat the keys of the worn piano, filling the space with a rather out-of-tune polka. The drink was overly strong, but they were going to have to feed him a great deal more to render him senseless. Science was a wonderful tool, especially when it came to outsmarting his enemy. Swallowing a half pound of butter hadn’t been pleasant, but the fat would coat his insides and make it much harder for the liquor to be absorbed.

“You’re thirsty,” his escort remarked as she delivered another glass. She sat on the edge of the table, making sure that her skirt flipped aside to allow him a look at her thigh. “How long were you at sea?”

“Wasn’t at sea,” Bion offered. He grinned and leaned back in the chair, letting her believe he was falling under the influence of the alcohol Peter was serving up.

She leaned forward so he was treated to a view of her cleavage. “Didn’t you say you were newly off ship, love?”

Bion shook his head, smiling like a besotted fool. The liquor was laced with something but his tolerance was higher than they gave him credit for. “I did and so I am, but I wasn’t at sea,” he drawled.

She leaned closer, peering into his eyes. Her smile faded as she realized his eyes weren’t streaked with amber. He wasn’t a Navigator.

“Now don’t you worry…” He sat forward and patted her knee. “Maybe my eyes are normal sort of eyes, but I know how to navigate.”

She smiled. He was treading on dangerous ground. It took more effort than he’d anticipated remaining in the chair. Every instinct he had was firing off, warning him to evade the trap being so neatly closed around him. Instead, he forced himself to seal his own doom by uttering a few more incriminating sentences.

“You know, there is nothing quite like a sunset… among the clouds.”

He was taking a huge risk, but it was the only plan he’d been able to concoct given the short amount of time. Grainger wouldn’t risk leaving Sophia on the ground for very long. Every moment she resided within the city was an opportunity for an Illuminist Hunter to locate her. They’d get her on board an airship as quickly as possible. The only thing they would have to wait for was dusk to conceal them. Bion glanced around the makeshift bar. It was a trap set up to fill slots on an airship. Unless he missed his guess, the barkeep and his cohorts would be gone by midnight. He couldn’t dismiss the possibility that he wasn’t going to be lucky enough to end up on the same vessel as Sophia. It gnawed on his insides as he tapped his toe in time with the offbeat piano.

But a bad plan was better than no plan.

***

Her belly growled low and long, the sound clear in the silent room. The man guarding her kept his eyes on the tray sitting on the table. The tea was long cold as was the soup, but it still looked delicious.

Missing
a
meal
won’t hurt you.
Sophia turned her back on the table, trying to listen to her own advice. There was only one reason why the guard would be so interested in making sure she ate. The food or the tea had to be laced with something designed to steal her senses. But it was proving more difficult than she’d anticipated, ignoring her hunger—and her fear.

She worried the edge of her jacket as she contemplated the closed draperies covering the window. Thick, heavy velvet with tassel trim, they kept even a tiny sliver of sunlight from entering the room. They also made sure no one caught a glimpse of her from the outside.