Riveted (12 page)

Annika felt the sick certainty that her village wouldn’t remain hidden for much longer, trolls or not.

“Annika?” The gentle nudge came from Lucia.

Madame Collin rapped one of her wooden game pieces against the tabletop. “You weren’t worried about looking like a fool when you told us of it. I suppose now you’re worried your tale might send that young man running.”

Chuckles rose from around the table. Annika’s cheeks blazed. Oh, how they looked at her. Some with amusement, others with
pity. Had her interest been so obvious? Or did they laugh because they knew he hadn’t returned it?

If only she could crash through their group with a troll now.

Beside her, Kentewess said, “I don’t run.”

The laughter abruptly fell into uncomfortable silence—except for his aunt, who covered her smile and looked heavenward. Dooley’s eyes seemed to sparkle with humor, crinkling at the corners when he glanced from Kentewess to her.

“Will you please share your story with us, miss?”

She had little choice. A glance at the clock offered no help; a bit of time still remained before she needed to leave for her watch. With a sigh and a nod, she said, “It was four summers ago. I was aboard
Freya’s Cloak
—a sailing ship—on route from Norway to Smoke Cove.”

That was a lie, too, though
Freya’s Cloak
often took that route. Annika’s tale would stand, though; the ship was captained by one of the Huldrene, a woman who’d found Hannasvik too small for her. Ursula Ylvasdottor hadn’t abandoned the village, however. Using
Freya’s Cloak
, she’d carried the village’s wool to market and procured items that they couldn’t produce themselves—including false letters of origin.

Annika had never been aboard the ship. She’d traveled most of the distance to Smoke Cove in her troll and walked the remainder of the way, accompanied by her mother and her friend Lisbet. In Smoke Cove, they’d met with Captain Ylvasdottor, who’d given Annika her identifying documents, an engineer’s license, and a personal reference, then pointed her toward
Phatéon
.

“It was August, I think,” she continued. “We sailed around the north of the island because of the number of megalodons reported to the south.”

“That was a bad year,” Collin broke in, nodding. “Four years ago, I remember. You still hear the whalers talking about it, how
they’d find themselves a pod, then the moment their harpoons drew blood, they were caught in the middle of a feeding frenzy. The megalodons would ram the hulls of any ship nearby, attacking them whether they ran their engines or not. Any little sound would bring those sharks. They sank two dozen ships that year—maybe more, because there were others that went missing, and no one knew what happened to them.”

Annika nodded. “The captain never ran her engines, anyway—that was why I wanted an airship. Aside from the stoking, there wasn’t much to do aboard a sailing ship, so I spent most of my time on the deck, watching for icebergs. When we came around the island, we sailed as close to her shore as possible. Oh, but I remember the hills. They were so green, like a blanket of velvet beneath the sun.” She didn’t need to lie about that, or fake the wistful note in her voice. Her home
was
beautiful, from the black sands to the craggy, barren peaks. “I saw the troll then, sitting not far from the beach.”

Dooley leaned forward eagerly. “What was it?”

A machine covered by seal- and shark-skins, with a ruff made from the fur of a great Arctic bear and tern feathers collected from the nesting grounds near Hannasvik. Four times as tall as Annika, with squat legs and a square body, it had been built from the salvaged remains of the sentinels and war machines left by the defenders waiting to intercept the Horde’s navy. Its giant head could house a seated driver, who was surrounded by levers. It had enough room in the heart for three people to sleep and cook. A belly full of coal fed the troll’s furnace, and an ass made of a boiler and a steam engine moved it.

“At first look, I thought it was a rock—black and brown and mottled. But it must have just been warming itself in the sun, because it stood.” She came up out of her chair and bent over, her hands on the deck and her bottom in the air. “On four legs, like an Arctic bear, but bigger. Much bigger. Then it rose on two legs, like this. The belly was gray and smooth. Its breath steamed, and I’ll
never forget how it roared. I’ve never heard anything so terrifying before or since. Then it walked away, with long arms swinging.”

She sat again. Dooley’s mouth had fallen open.

“It’s an animal?”

“I don’t know. It had a big, shaggy head, but I couldn’t see its face properly. I only had the impression of a creature that was lumpy, disfigured—particularly when it was sitting. If it hadn’t moved, I’d have never known it wasn’t a rock.” She paused and looked to the clock. Only a minute or two more. “If you’re looking for personal accounts, you can ask the captain of
Freya’s Cloak
. She saw it, too.”

The first mate huffed out a laugh. “I’d wager anything that what you both saw was a bear washed in on an iceberg. And I can tell you the explanation behind what you think you saw is aboard this ship.” James waited until everyone looked at him. “It’s Hymen Island, and the virgins who live there. You want to keep men away, you spread those rumors about witch-women and spirits. And when people see a bear washed up on an iceberg, they assume it’s a troll.”

Dooley was shaking his head. “The Church has only been using Heimaey for forty years. And though there’ve been tales of this sort for centuries, the lore specific to Iceland and those fissure eruptions dates from almost eight decades ago.”

“So you believe she saw a troll?”

The first mate’s disbelief fired more color into Annika’s cheeks. That specific story
was
a lie, but she’d been familiar with the machines her entire life. And blast it all, she didn’t like his suggestion that she was too stupid to know the difference between a bear and an enormous, lumbering troll.

“She obviously saw something.” Dooley smiled. “Unless she’s having her fun with us.”

“I’m not.” None of this was fun anymore. “And I’m sorry to leave you, but I must prepare for my watch.”

Annika stood and dared a glance at Kentewess. He was studying her; she suspected that he’d never taken his focus from her the
entire time she’d been speaking. She didn’t see any doubt in that searching gaze now, only pointed speculation.

He still wasn’t done with her, she realized. He still wanted something from her. She couldn’t imagine what it would be.

Now she wasn’t sure that she wanted to know.

When describing his friend to Annika Fridasdottor, David
had forgotten to mention how loudly Dooley snored. The man’s sawing drowned out the noise from
Phatéon
’s engines, which had fired up not long after she’d left the wardroom. Finally untethered and under way, the airship no longer bucked against the wind, but despite the calm, David couldn’t find sleep.

He couldn’t blame Dooley for that. Months spent sharing a tent had accustomed him to the man’s snores. A half hour spent with a pretty engineer was responsible, instead.

Annika Fridasdottor was more of a mystery to him now than when he hadn’t known her name, and one David desperately wanted to unravel. Sitting with her, speaking with her had been like taking a deep breath at the top of a mountain after a month spent choking down the air in a port city.

Every word they’d shared echoed in his head. He couldn’t stop picturing her smile, her laugh. Her worry when he’d told her about the survey. Her tension when she’d recounted her story of the troll.

Her unwavering stare when she’d asked if David wanted her in his bed.

God.

David
did
want her. But he’d have to be a fool to hope for anything of the sort. Twice, he’d paid to be with a woman. Both times had been disasters—the first awkward and uncomfortable until she’d poured oil onto his erection, telling him any woman bedding a man who was part machine would always need extra help, and flinching when she felt his steel hand. He’d gone to the England for the second, where the prosthetics wouldn’t matter. She’d needed help, too. She hadn’t flinched when he’d touched her, but she’d turned her gaze away from his face, her teeth clenched as she bore his body’s advance.

He hadn’t been able to finish with either of them. He’d quickly left—for a time, feeling more grotesque than he’d felt since the prosthetics were first grafted on. That, because of the reaction of two women whose names he’d never learned. He’d rather not know how it would feel to have someone like Annika cringe away from him and grit her teeth when he entered her.

Abandoning sleep, David sat up. His photomultiplying lens clicked into place over his left eye. Though still dark, the cabin appeared illuminated with a cool blue light. Dooley lay on his back, his mouth open and blanket shoved to his hips in the heated room, his chest covered by a thin nightshirt. David reached for his trousers, then tugged his boots on over the thick cotton that padded his steel prosthetics and prevented them from slipping around inside footwear designed for people with flesh over their bones.

A glance at his pocket watch told him that it was almost midnight. Annika’s shift would be over in a few minutes…but he wouldn’t seek her out. Her intention to spend every moment of this journey with him probably didn’t include the moments in the middle of the night.

If it did, however, he’d gladly alter his schedule to fit hers. At
this hour, they’d have the wardroom to themselves. She wouldn’t lie with a man without love, but by God, she didn’t have to lie with him. Her company, given freely, had already proved more pleasurable than those earlier encounters had been. For a few hours of privacy with her, he’d happily sacrifice the sleep.

He pulled on his jacket and left the cabin. The airship’s main deck would be cold, windy—perfect for clearing his mind and cooling down the rest of him.

His mind cleared halfway up the companionway.

What the hell was he doing? David
needed
Annika Fridasdottor, but not as a friend. She held answers, and he had no more hours to waste. A week wouldn’t be enough if she never told him what he needed to know. He’d already spent too much time trying to secure those answers—and going about it in the wrong way.

He should have known. Should have realized. His mother had simply smiled whenever someone had asked where she’d come from and who her people were. For years, David had assumed that she’d hidden the truth in order to sever ties to that place—perhaps to forget some shame she’d endured, or to escape her past. He’d assumed that she concealed the truth to separate herself from her people…not because she’d wanted to conceal
them
.

But his mother hadn’t even told his father, someone she’d loved and trusted, and who would’ve loved her no matter what secrets she might have revealed. And in all this time, it had never occurred to David that his mother’s smiles might have served another purpose.

A smile allowed her to remain silent. A smile meant that she didn’t have to lie to his father. A smile suggested that the answer was a game or a puzzle to figure out; a smile allowed her to keep a secret without suggesting that his father couldn’t be trusted with it.

But his mother had never needed to work aboard an airship, where a smile alone wouldn’t have secured a job. His mother had never had to maintain a lie that might be picked apart by a man
who’d lain awake with their conversation echoing in his head. His mother had never had someone tell her that they would soon be conducting a survey of Iceland.

Would she have been able to smile then? Or would she have appeared just as worried as Annika did?

David thought she would have.

If Annika was protecting her people, as he’d begun to suspect, and if she had reason to lie, a week of flirting wouldn’t tell him where his mother had come from. He’d do better to tell Annika of his own reasons for wanting to know—and that she had no need to fear him—instead of trying to tease those answers from her.

Resolved, he headed down the stairs. Though most of the crew below decks was abed, finding the engine room was simple: he followed the noise. By the time David reached the door, he couldn’t hear his own footsteps over the rattling and huffing. The boards vibrated beneath his boots, through his metal feet—a muffled, almost ticklish reverberation.

Years ago, he’d sometimes caught himself trying to scratch an itch below a knee that wasn’t there. Now, nearly a decade after buying his mechanical legs, he still found himself surprised when something
was
there.

Ticklish, of all things.

A blast of humid air greeted him when he opened the door, the smell of hot iron and oil. Ahead, an array of six enormous pistons rapidly alternated in time to the huffing, the giant shafts cranking flywheels into a spinning blur. A woman in trousers stood in front of the engine, with her back to him. He recognized Mary Chandler’s red hair before she tied a scarf over her head, carefully tucking away the loose ends. Coming onto watch, apparently. Had he missed Annika, then?

No.
Arms akimbo, Mary braced her hands on her hips. She shifted her weight to one leg, revealing Annika, crouching sideways
to her at the base of the engine…without a shirt. Just a thin chemise, almost transparent with sweat and steam.

Shock and desire pummeled David like iron fists. His body clenched, senses reeling. He should look away.

He couldn’t.

Tiny sleeves capped her shoulders, leaving her arms bare. Spanner in hand, she tightened the bolt over a valve. Smooth biceps flexed beneath skin glistening with perspiration and darkened by a fine layer of coal dust. The same dust streaked her face, grayed her cotton chemise and buff trousers. A wide leather belt cinched her waist and held spanners of various sizes.

David’s pulse pounded in his ears, seemed louder than the engine. With her profile to him, Annika glanced up at Mary Chandler. Like the other woman, she’d tied a scarf across her forehead and down around her ears, knotted at her nape; unlike the other woman’s, it was a brilliant orange, seemingly untouched by coal dust and sparkling with sequins. Annika gave an absent nod, watching the woman.