The Iron Duke (21 page)

Yasmeen had already picked up speed, flying west—keeping out of range of the navy ships. They’d gone far enough that the forest obscured the fort from view, though the smoke rising above it marked the location.

He held on to the inspector’s hand and pulled her along to the quarterdeck. Unwilling to let her go just yet, he ignored her tugging—but he couldn’t ignore how she was looking around, her gaze panicked and searching.

He needed to take that fear away for her, then.

Yasmeen turned to him. Before she could vent the fury he saw in her eyes, he had to know, “Did her constable make it aboard?”

His inspector stilled, waiting, and closed her eyes with relief when Yasmeen snapped, “What? Yes—they’re all below decks. And those bluecoat bilgewater trouts
fired on me
without a single fucking flag!”

Rhys frowned and looked toward the ships. Ten years ago, they wouldn’t have given Rhys on the
Terror
any warning, either—but even though Yasmeen was well-known as a mercenary and had a deadly reputation, she wasn’t a pirate. She hadn’t broken English law. Unless she’d fired on them or posed an immediate threat,
Lady Corsair
should have been treated the same as a civilian or merchant vessel: signaled and given an opportunity to surrender.

Brow furrowed, the inspector shook her head. “Why would they fire on the airship or the fort? They had to have known about the ransom demand and the possibility that the boys were here.”

Rhys could only imagine one reason for such a response. “Unless they knew about the auctioned weapon, too,” he said. “If they had enough information to link the
Terror
to the auction, and the Dame to the
Terror
, they might have come up with a weapon that can kill every bugger within two hundred miles sitting just thirty miles from English shores.”

“Even if the Dame didn’t have it?”

“They wouldn’t have taken the risk of finding out. But now they’ll be wishing they had.”

Against such a threat, the lives of eight young men would have been an acceptable cost. To placate the merchant families, their deaths would be painted as a noble sacrifice, the blame laid at the Dame’s feet—and no one would have known that the weapon hadn’t actually been at the fort.

But the boys’ rescue had changed that. And both the merchants and the public wouldn’t just see their rescue as an escape from the Dame, but a narrow escape from an overreaction by the Royal Navy.

The inspector seemed to be coming to the same realization. “Whatever their intentions, this will not reflect kindly on them. They fired on that fort knowing the boys might be there—and that
you
were there. There are few people in England who will accept that they intended to sacrifice the Iron Duke, no matter the size of the threat.”

Yasmeen’s brows arched. She looked to him for an explanation, and he returned the look with a gesture that said he’d catch her up to speed soon—particularly as he’d be needing her services again.

She nodded and asked the inspector, “How could they have known he was on my ship?”

“Newberry sent an update to Hale from Chatham. She’d have passed that on to the Admiralty.”

“They might have launched the ships from Dover before receiving it.”

Yasmeen was right: The timing would have been close. But with such a cock-up, the navy might be looking to cover it up—and he didn’t want to be thrown under when they did. Especially as his inspector and
Lady Corsair
would be thrown under with him.

He said to Yasmeen, “Keep a wide berth around the ships, then fly north into London.”

“And let them shoot me down over town? We can’t know that they’ve received the message that you’re on board . . . and now they might believe I’m carrying some kind of weapon from the fort into London.”

Even if they didn’t believe it, that would be the perfect method of concealing their blunder. “Stop over Ashford’s wiregram station. We’ll send grams to the parents, police headquarters, and the newssheets that
Lady Corsair
has their children aboard.”

“And you,” the inspector added.

He nodded. “You’ll tether the ship over the Embankment near Westminster Palace, and we’ll tell them to meet with us there.”

A bell from the stern chimed. Even as he and Yasmeen looked around, the airship shuddered, and a deep rumble sounded over the roar of the engines.

He looked to the inspector, whose lips had parted as she stared at the enormous black cloud rising over the fort, tall enough that it would be seen from Dover.

She swallowed and appeared slightly faint. “The boiler?”

“Yes.” He sure as hell wouldn’t have made her run through a forest full of zombies for any other reason. “So will you tell me what to call you now?”

She blinked in confusion, but her gaze quickly sharpened and her lips curved. “How does ‘grateful’ sound, sir?”

Her smile took a good hold of him, wrapped Rhys right up into her fingers. It wasn’t comfortable, but tight and constricting. He’d accept that—but only if he got a hold on her in return.

“Not good enough,” he said.

“Then you will have to keep making do with ‘inspector.’ ”

He wouldn’t, but he pushed aside his frustration. He’d know more of her soon. He’d know
all
of her soon. With a sharp nod, he turned to the ladders leading below decks. “Let us go find your constable, then.”

Newberry waited outside the door to the wardroom, as if standing guard over the boys taking their meal inside—which meant that he didn’t think much of them. If he’d liked their company, he’d have been standing inside the cabin, instead.

His composure slipped when he spotted Mina. Last night a dress, today her hair down and stripped of her overcoat. His whole world must seem to be falling apart.

She stopped in front of him. A faint bruise darkened his cheek-bone and his bottom lip was swollen. Those weren’t from any explosion. Those were from fists . . . and the reason he didn’t wait inside the wardroom?

If so, she’d toss those boys to the zombies herself. But she’d find out what had caused those bruises before she gave her temper free rein.

“You made it all right, then?”

“Yes, sir.” With a nod, Newberry regained his stiff upper lip. “The aviators must have been watching from the airship. After I pulled the first boy up, Lady Corsair sent down a man with a rope ladder. It speeded the process, and we were aboard before the navy fired the first bomb.”

“Then why is your mouth swollen, constable?”

He stared straight ahead—which was well over Mina’s head. “After I had the boys aboard, I tried to return to the compound, sir. Lady Corsair prevented me.”

After the firebombing started? He’d have been blown to pieces. Though it was difficult to get into the face of a man who stood a foot taller than Mina, she did it. When his stoic gaze lowered to meet hers, she snapped, “You tried to return against my orders, constable?
I said to await me here.
”

“Yes, sir. You did. I apologize for my insubordination, sir.”

That apology was bunk. She narrowed her eyes, but backed down. “Your apology is noted and will be taken under consideration.”

“Yes, sir.” He paused. “It took six of her men to stop me, sir.”

Pride filled her chest.
Good man.
She turned away to conceal her reaction, and found herself meeting Trahaearn’s steady dark eyes.
Damn him.
Why did he always seem to be trying to see into her, down to her bones?

She would not let him see how that unsettled her. She knew his intentions. He wanted to bed her. But if she valued her family, if she valued
herself
, then his bed could never be an option.

Mina looked to the wardroom door. “And how do the young gentlemen fare, constable?”

“Mostly hungry, sir. Evans apparently neglected them in favor of the sick crew and the Dame.”

“And your impressions of them, Newberry?” When his gaze flickered to the Iron Duke, she said, “Speak freely, please. I doubt that His Grace will run to tell their fathers.”

“They don’t seem long out of the schoolyard, sir. Not just their age, but that they look to Mr. Wright as their leader. They take their cues from him.” He paused, as if giving it another thought. “Three of them aren’t so bad.”

So over half of them were brats. At least that solved the mystery of why Newberry stood outside—and unless they had something worth telling her about Andrew or the
Terror
, she would not be long, either. All that she wanted was something to drink, and a place to remove her boots while she let the burns and blisters heal.

“Thank you, constable. You may go above decks, if you wish. We’re returning to London. The two hours between here and there are your own.”

She opened the door and immediately saw the group formation Newberry had noted. When she entered, each boy at the table looked up at her—and then four glanced to the face of the handsome, dark-haired boy sitting nearest to her. Mr. Wright, she presumed. The three at the opposite end of the table shifted their focus behind her, instead—which told her that Trahaearn must have stepped through the door. He came to her side, and she felt him there, big and imposing, but she didn’t look over at him.

“Gentlemen,” she said. “I am Detective Inspector Wentworth of the Metropolitan Police Force. I see that you’ve been given something to eat. Is there anything else that you need? Have any of you injuries that need to be seen to?”

“We’re fine,” Wright spoke for them all, and looked to Trahaearn. “Are those bastards dead?”

“Most of them succumbed to bug fever,” Mina answered. No need to mention now that Evans had escaped with the Dame in his harvester. “We believe Dame Sawtooth will, too.”

Wright’s jaw clenched. That answer wasn’t good enough for him—and Mina supposed she couldn’t blame him. In his place, she’d have probably wished to hear that her kidnappers had been shot or killed in the bombing, rather than succumbing to an illness.

Maybe he’d be satisfied if she told him that bug fever was a far worse way to die.

A boy from the end of the table spoke up. “Was the Royal Navy firing on us?”

“We believe they had misinformation regarding the events surrounding your kidnapping. Will you tell me what you remember of the incident?”

They told her—but there was little she hadn’t already heard. The pirates from
Bontemps
had boarded
Marco’s Terror
before dawn six days ago, and most of the boys had slept through the ensuing fight. Afterward, the pirates had taken them up to
Bontemps
, and they’d been locked in a cabin during the demonstration. Haynes hadn’t met with the English fleet, they didn’t know the exact location of the
Terror
when she’d been taken, and they didn’t know where she was headed.

Mina held back her sigh, and shared a look of frustration with Trahaearn. This wasn’t the boys’ fault, but she’d hoped for more.

“Evans said that he felt a thump against his chest during the explosion,” she said. “Did any of you feel it?”

They all nodded.

She couldn’t quite contain her surprise. “Are any of you infected?”

A few looked mildly horrified by her question. They all shook their heads. She tried not to feel disappointed. She hadn’t expected otherwise.

“Were there any other sailors or officers from the
Terror
with you? Perhaps someone who developed bug fever on the way?”

Again, the answer was no.
Damn it.
But perhaps one of them knew
something
.

“There was a boy on the
Terror
—the Earl of Rockingham’s son, Andrew Wentworth. Did any of you know him?”

They looked to each other, their surprise obvious.

“No,” Wright said.

“Fourteen years of age, blond hair.” She pointed to the boy across from Wright. “As tall as you. He was a midshipman.”

There was a shocked silence—then hoots of laughter from all around.

Wright shook his head. “An earl’s son, a midshipman? You’re codding us.”

“No, no! You!” Another boy slapped the table, then pointed to Mina, wide-eyed. “She’s the one I told you all about. Her mother’s the blind countess who bent Oedipal when—”

“She saw her Horde bastard! So this midshipman is the son of the cuckold earl?” Wright crowed, laughing and shaking his head. With his fingers at the corners of his eyes, he stretched them into slits. “We didn’t know anyone who looked like—”

He broke off suddenly, his face paling. The other boys weren’t looking to Mina anymore, laughing, but to the man beside her.

“Leave the cabin, inspector.”

Trahaearn’s soft command sent crackles of ice down her spine. Sudden bursts of noise ricocheted through the room. Pleas of “No!” and “Wait!” Chairs scraped the floor as half the boys jumped to their feet, their hands out—in apology or surrender.

“I’m not finished here, Your Grace.” Still, she didn’t look at him. Her face was hot. Her heart beat with sickening thuds. “Did
any
of you see my brother? Fourteen. Blond.” She focused on the closest boy. “You?”