The Iron Duke (37 page)

“And you protect what’s yours,” she murmured. “But how is that paying?”

“That’s not paying anything. That’s what I do. But a duke?” He shook his head. “Baxter said it was what I deserved, though. For my arrogance, for my recklessness, for my selfish anarchism.”

“His words?”

Rhys had to laugh. “His words, yes. But he wasn’t wrong. So I agreed to pay, to take on a duke’s responsibilities, and to build what I could.”

“And?”

“And it’s not any different than captaining a ship.”

She narrowed her eyes and slowly repeated, “ ‘Not any different than captaining a ship?’ ”

“Yes. Instead of a crew I have staff, tenants, my docks, shipping fleets . . .” Too much to name now, especially when he could feel her temper rising. Hoping to push it higher, to see if she’d reveal what had sparked it, he summed up with, “Basically, a much bigger ship. And I take care of it.”

“A big ship.” Sitting back, she stared at him in disbelief. “And your duty is only to the people on that ship?”

He frowned. Her tone suggested he’d shirked his responsibilities, hadn’t taken on enough. “It’s a good number of people.”

“But your duty isn’t just to
your
people.”

“Who, then?”

“All of us. Oh, I know—” She waved carelessly in the air, as if brushing away an imagined response. “You don’t care. You haven’t cared for anyone but those you call yours from the day of the tower. Fine, then. You don’t do it for that reason. You do it because if you take care of everyone, that will keep
your
people happy and safe. You think a title and a seat in Parliament is just duty for my father?
Everything
he does, every letter he writes, is so that we’ll be safe and happy. Because that can only happen when the people around us are taken care of, too—whether they are his tenants or his staff or not.”

He’d never thought her an idealist. And she far overestimated the scope of his power. “No matter what I do, life can never be perfect for everyone.”

“No. But it can be
better
.” She sat back. “There’s a rope factory in Leeds where the owners decided to cut wages. They said the buggers put in less effort, because they’re stronger than men who aren’t infected—and because the Horde installed more efficient machines than in New World roperies. And the buggers were barely getting by before, but they can’t find a position anywhere else, so they’ve no choice but to stay, working twice as long for half the money. What do you think of that?”

He thought the ropery owner was full of shit. And she might have been pleased to know that it sparked anger in his chest. But he wanted to push hers and see where she took it. “It sounds like the buggers should hang the fucking owner.”

Her eyes flashed. “And then see all of them killed? Other factory owners—bounders
and
buggers—are making the same wage cuts, citing the same reasons. It’s disgusting. And I’ll tell you why you should care. Those goods you’re shipping in? The buggers can’t buy them. You make less money. And the people on your lands? The buggers can’t buy anything they produce. And yet your ships are paying the same amount for rope that costs half the price to make, with all of the profit going into the pockets of some bastard who won’t pay his people. And the buggers are tired, and hungry, and they’ll make mistakes while they’re producing your rope, and you’ll lose a sail, or a ship, and a significant amount of money when your cargo sinks. And before long, all of England falls again because a factory owner wouldn’t pay his workers what they deserve.”

Rhys stared at her. She was brilliant. Magnificent. But he wasn’t yet certain what she was getting at. “What are you asking me to do?”

“That’s your duty! To take care of the people. To take care of all of us. You’ve got a voice big enough for the White Chamber. Yet you sit in your house counting your money and your fleets and your tenants.”

So that was it. Parliament.
“I hire people to count the money for me,” he said. “And I’ll be in the White Chamber come the session following the election.”

She blinked. “What?”

With a grin, he lifted her out of her chair, carrying her against his chest. “That was my agreement with the Lord Regents. To bring you with me without force, without affecting your career, and without ruining you, I agreed that I’d take my seat.”

Her lips parted. He wasn’t sure what shocked her more: his agreement, or why. He laid her on the bed.

As the mattress sagged under his weight, she narrowed her eyes at him. “You aren’t Free Party, are you?”

“No. I lean toward Lug. Now take off your nightgown. I plan to finish my meal.”

Though her cheeks flushed and her breath shuddered, she bit her lip, as if uncertain.

“I won’t shag you. Not today. I didn’t bring a sheath in with me, and I’m not leaving this cabin until we reach the Ivory Market tonight.” He pushed her hair back over her shoulder, and leaned in to press his lips there. “But I’ll try to make you come, Mina. I’ll stop when there’s too much fear—but then I’ll try again. And I’ll keep trying until you can need without thinking of the Frenzy. Even if it takes all day. Even if it takes several weeks. Because I don’t want you afraid when I’m finally inside you.”

“I don’t want to be afraid.” She hesitated. “Did it take you a long time . . . after the Ivory Market?”

“No. Because I didn’t want anyone. I didn’t even try. I pushed everything I had into the
Terror
.” His mouth stilled on her throat. With a wry grin, he lifted his head and looked down at her. “Perhaps that means it
did
take me a long time.”

She smiled faintly. “And since the
Terror
?”

Since the
Terror
? There’d been plenty of opportunities, but few he wanted to take. He hadn’t had many women—and he still hadn’t liked being touched. Every time, it hadn’t been about wanting them, but proving that the Ivory Market hadn’t broken him. When he’d simply wanted physical release, his imagination and his hand provided both.

But then came Mina, and the flare of lust that had burned through him when he’d taken her glove. He rarely felt anything like that . . . and never like the need that drove him now. Even his imaginings were better with Mina featured in them.

“I put everything I had into being a duke,” he finally told her. “Sitting in my manor house counting money takes a lot of effort.”

Her laugh was soft and easy, without a hint of fear.
Good.

Because from this point, Rhys was putting everything he had into her.

Cutting
Lady
Corsair
’s
engines the previous night had
delayed them. It was nearing midnight before Mina climbed above decks in anticipation of her first glimpse of the Market, prudently leaving her short uniform coat behind in favor of a less conspicuous black waistcoat that buckled tightly over her shirtsleeves and armor. Trahaearn had already joined Yasmeen at the quarterdeck, and she knew they were discussing whether to wait until morning before attempting to find Colbert. That decision was made for them, however, when the notorious settlement finally came into view as an unmistakable orange glow against the dark sky.

The Ivory Market was burning.

Though the spyglass, Mina could only see flames and gray smoke. “What happened?”

Beside her, Trahaearn shook his head.

Lady Corsair
’s approach seemed endless, and from a distance, the extent of the fire impossible to determine. Trahaearn’s grim expression reflected the captain’s and the crew’s, and they waited, their eyes on the horizon.

They passed the spyglass between them, and the orange glow slowly resolved into detail. Mina watched through the lens, astounded by the size of the Market. She’d pictured a larger version of the carnival near Chatham, not a city that sprawled along the edge of the coast. By the orange light, she could make out the market proper—an enormous collections of tents and stalls that formed a wide swath at the city center. But it was flanked by large houses of stone and wood, pockets of shantytowns, and rookeries that Trahaearn told her were as dangerous as the worst in London. Not all of them were burning.

He took the spyglass again. “The fire is centered in the French quarter.”

Where Colbert’s residence and his auction house would be. Though the Market included more than four distinct sections, each one was known as a quarter—including the Horde quarter, populated by refugees who’d escaped the empire. As soon as Trahaearn pointed it out, Mina trained the glass on the terraced roofs with reluctant fascination. What would it be like to walk through those streets? To look like everyone else? She couldn’t imagine.

“Eighty ships in the harbor,” Trahaearn continued. “None of them the
Terror
. Twenty, perhaps twenty-five airships.”

“
Josephine
?” Yasmeen named Hunt’s skyrunner.

“I don’t see her. Either Hunt has given her up, or she’s flying along with the
Terror
.”

“I’ll make a round of the harbor to be certain.”

Trahaearn shook his head. “Take us into the French quarter first. The auction house is of stone, and secure. It won’t be long before the looting starts—if it hasn’t already—and Colbert would escape the fire there. So we’ll find him.”

With a nod, Yasmeen looked back out over the city. “I’ll send teams of runners down. They’ll ask around, find out what happened. I have five men to send with you, and I’ll return to the French quarter and wait as soon as I’ve had a look at the harbor.”

“And Scarsdale?” Mina wondered. “Will he be able to ride down the platform with us?”

The duke glanced at her, faint humor in his eyes. “Yes.”

 

 

But not on his own. White-faced and shaking, Scarsdale
made it up to the main deck. One look over the bow sent him scrambling for the ladder again, retching with fear. Trahaearn stepped into his path, barked his name. Scarsdale stopped. Bracing his feet, he faced the duke. Trahaearn’s fist shot out and the other man crumpled to the deck.

With a sigh, Trahaearn hauled the dazed man up over his shoulder and joined Mina at the platform.

Chaos reigned below. Carts sped through the lanes, rattling over the ruts in the baked earth. A man led two horses who snorted and pranced, necks arched and heads high. Arms loaded with children and clothing, families ran together down the walks, ducking through the sparks and burning ash. Some spotted the descending platform and rushed toward it, screaming and waving. One of Yasmeen’s crew struck the chain, and the platform jerked to a halt eight feet above the street. Mina leapt down and rushed out of Trahaearn’s way. A faint vibration shook up through her boots when he landed.

The air shimmered with heat. Backing to a stone wall off the street, Mina helped carry Scarsdale to the ground and patted him awake while Trahaearn stood over them. As soon as Scarsdale blinked, the duke hauled him to his feet by his coat.

“Ready?”

Gaze quickly sharpening, Scarsdale nodded. Trahaearn pushed a gun harness into Scarsdale’s grip and grabbed Mina’s hand.

Led by Scarsdale and trailed by Yasmeen’s men, they ran into the street, past a long vehicle that clipped along on dozens of narrow legs like a centipede, the seats loaded with children and guarded by hard-eyed nuns armed with scimitars. Mina had only a second to gawk before they rounded a corner. The sounds of shattering glass and cracking wood came from every direction. Shots and shouts rang out. Not just the panic of the fire, Mina realized. Ahead, a team of three men tossed a chair through the window of a house before climbing in. A blunderbuss boomed nearby. A robed woman crying in the seat of an abandoned rickshaw shrieked and covered her ears. Scarsdale slowed, pointing to the crater caving in the side of a large stone house. Mina’s eyes widened.

Firebombed. The French quarter had been
firebombed
.

They didn’t take time to look. Turning down a narrow lane, Scarsdale led them to a large iron gate set into a high wall of white block stone. It protected a columned marble building topped by a pilastered dome. Behind the gates, two men armed with rifles stepped forward—and quickly took aim through the iron bars as Trahaearn reached into his coat.

Their shouts of warning died when the duke withdrew a purse.

Little wonder that he assumed that everyone was for sale, Mina thought moments later, racing through the gates to the auction house entrance. Most people he encountered
were
—and this time, she had to appreciate it. Paying those men had been easier than shooting their way in.

Scarsdale was grinning when they paused at the doors and Trahaearn bent to the locks. “If Colbert paid a man what he’s worth, we’d have holes in us by now.”

“If he’d invested in a bar for this door, we’d be climbing in through the dome,” Trahaearn observed as he pushed the door open. “But he didn’t.”

Inside the thick walls, the building was cool and dark. Two pink damask sofas inhabited the small parlor to the left of the grand foyer—perhaps a waiting room. On the right, a wide marble staircase wound up toward the dome. The auctions were conducted upstairs, Trahaearn had told her. But the merchandise was secured underground and on the main level, and carried to the auction floor by lift. They listened. No sounds came from upstairs. One of Yasmeen’s men ran up the steps, confirmed that the dome floor was empty. Toward the back, then.

A locked door across the foyer opened to a narrow passageway. From deeper within the building came the hiss of hydraulics, the rattle of chains, the squeal of metal bearing too much weight. Trahaearn moved to the front, followed by Scarsdale and Mina, holding her pistol at ready. Opium wouldn’t stop an uninfected man as quickly as it would a bugger. They passed empty rooms, stopping to check each one. As Trahaearn stepped into the next corridor, metal glinted in the dark to his left.