The Lady Machinist (Curiosity Chronicles Book 1) (17 page)

Finley took shelter behind the wall again.

Lydia’s shouts prompted Rhys to turn once again to the brig entrance. The automaton had her where she couldn’t slide out to the side. She pressed into the corner of the wall. “Stand down.” Her tone grew fraught as she learned her commands were not being heard by the automaton. “Cease.”

The floorboards trembled as the automaton moved. Its bulky frame blocked the brig’s entrance as it stretched its arms towards Lydia, fingers grabbing for her head. She ducked just before the automaton smashed its hands against the wall behind her. Metal skidded against metal, sending up sparks.

Rhys cupped his hands over his mouth. “Stand down now.”

The automaton came to a rough halt, body bent, its fingertips embedded in the wall.

Lydia twisted beneath the soldier’s arms. “I’m caught.”

He couldn’t get close to free her. Finley rammed him in the side, sending him into the brig. The gun flew from Rhys’ hand and splashed beneath the bilge water. He fell under Finley’s weight.

“This is my ship now.” Finley pounded his fist into his ribcage. “You won’t take it from me.”

Rhys expelled painful gasps of air as he contorted to gain a hold on the hull frame. Finley pressed a hand to the back of his head and forced his face underwater. The cold, foul bilge coated the inside of Rhys’ nose. He jammed his elbow into Finley’s sternum.

As Finley’s hold slackened, Rhys pushed out of the water and countered the next hit with another elbow, shoving him off. Finley dropped Rhys’ empty pistol in the water. Rhys picked it up.

Winded and nose bloodied, Finley staggered back. “I have control of the ship. I neutralized your crew.”

“And you call me a thief.” Rhys grabbed him by the collar and delivered an uppercut to the jaw, then another punch before offering up a side blow with the butt of the pistol. Finley swayed towards the entrance.

“On your guard,” Rhys summoned the automaton.

He heard the gears turn as the machine activated. Lydia crawled out from under its arms when it rose to its full height.

“Catch.”

He kicked Finley in the gut. Finley plunged backwards into the automaton’s waiting arms. The machine locked him in an iron-fisted embrace.

Finley grimaced as he struggled to break free, blood running down his face. “Fight me fair, pirate.”

“As you did when you ambushed me and drugged my crew?” Rhys left him to wriggle in the automaton’s arms and went to see about Lydia.

She supported her back against the exposed steel insulation, catching her breath. Alarm spiraled in the pit of Rhys’ stomach when he saw the dried blood on her shirt for the first time in full view.

“It’s not mine.” She read his expression. “It’s Nikolaos’. He—”

“He was still alive when I found him.” Rhys clutched his left arm, certain his elbow was fractured in several places. The muscles girding his ribcage went into spasms when he drew a ragged breath. “We’ll get Nikolaos and Thomas to the infirmary table.”

Lydia gave a perfunctory, stilted nod. She rushed to Rhys, and before he comprehended what he was doing, he held her against him with his right arm, not giving his injuries another thought.

“When were you going to tell me that you moonlighted as a tinkerer, Rhys?”

He rested his cheek against her brow, taking in the soft, pleasing warmth of her skin. “I had no idea I was one until tonight. I reset the automaton’s windup key. It accepted my voice pattern in the process. That’s how it recognized me and came into the brig.”

She raised her head, pursing her lips into a pretty frown. “That’s not how the voice response mechanism works.”

“Maybe it isn’t effective.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Rhys spoke quickly as he could see her forming a protest. “I mean that perhaps the voice response is in the armor plating itself. You said it contained an alloy that conducted sound. What if that alloy makes the automatons register commands in addition to its wiring?”

“It’s possible, especially if you activated the automaton simply by speaking near it. But that’s a very dangerous effect. I must find out how to stabilize it.”

He touched the knot at her temple, anger rekindling at the mutinous crewmen. “Not until we get to New Britannia. That automaton freed me from my cell. It’s now functioning as one for Finley.”

A smile passed her lips. “It’s about time you appreciated my work.”

“That’s not all I appreciate about you.”

She didn’t quite know what to do with his comment. She glanced to the side, bashful. “Finley changed course to Le Havre with intent to give the automatons to Broussard. You’ll want to reset your coordinates, unless you intend to pursue Broussard on his shores.”

“We’ll continue to New Britannia. My first priority is getting you to safety. Then I’ll hunt for Broussard.”

“What am I doing in the brig?” Malcolm’s voice echoed out of the darkness. He staggered forth from the entrance, eyes glued to the decimated doorframe and floor. “Mother’s love, what happened to the brig?”

Rhys let go of Lydia. “You missed the mutiny. Finley drugged you and the crew with chloroform and put me in the cell.”

Malcolm looked up at the automaton holding Finley and reared back. He saw Thomas’s body on the floor. “The machine did
that
to him?”

“He’s still breathing, but he’s in need of doctoring. So are two more men. Nikolaos and Duncan are outside the cargo hold.”

Finley spat at Malcolm. “I should’ve done to you what I did to that Aspasian toady.”

Rhys marched up to the automaton and delivered a punch between Finley’s eyes. He slumped over. The automaton adjusted to accommodate the slackened weight of his unconscious form.

“Thank you, Captain.” Malcolm wiped his arm on Finley’s shirt without missing a beat. “And how are you, lass?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Clark.” She looked to Rhys. “Now.”

A slow heat spread through Rhys’ veins, doing more wonders for his aching ribs and elbow than a warm compression ever could.

“The engineers are waking up. Don’t waste time gawking, you two.” Malcolm fussed over his shoulder at Smythe and O’Neil “‘Tis the brig you’re in. The captain will explain all later. How, I don’t know, but get to and follow me. We have injured to tend to.”

He grabbed the two groggy men by the shirtsleeves and hauled them towards Thomas. Once they gained their bearings, they lifted him up and carried him to the stairs. Malcolm looked to Finley. “What are we to do with him?”

Rhys barely spared Finley a glance. “He stays there till the COIC comes to view their choice pick of navigators. We’ll keep the automaton wound up to hold him in place. Just find a feeding bowl and a slop bucket.”

“I always knew he was about as useless as the foam off a whale’s blowhole.”

“See that Duncan and Thomas are also restrained after they awaken.”

“Aye.” Malcolm hustled O’Neil and Smythe up the crumbling stairs.

Lydia wrinkled her nose after they left. “A slop bucket?”

“Would you rather we dispense with one for Finley? Things could get rather distasteful very fast.”

“My automaton had better be scrubbed top to bottom before I get it back.”

“You have my word, my lady. You should return upstairs and get cleaned up.”

She nodded. “It’s a shame how Finley corrupted Duncan and Thomas with lies. I’ve seen plenty tonight to make me sleep with the lantern lit for months.”

Not if he was there to kiss her to sleep. Something tugged in Rhys’ chest as he thought about spending a life with Lydia. It didn’t matter that she came from a different country or had a foreign way of life. With her, he never felt more at home.

She caught him looking at her and cleared her throat. “I’m going to see about Nikolaos.”

“You should. He did act as your guardian tonight.”

“How do you know?”

“I was in the cargo hold when Finley shot him. I would have got Finley if he and Thomas hadn’t been in the way.”

“You truly are everywhere on this ship.” She gave him one of her reticent little smiles before leaving.

Everywhere on the ship. But now that Lydia embraced him and hinted at some affection towards him, where did he stand with her?

#

New Britannia, August 1837

“Land ahead, gents. Furl the sails. We’re coming upon New Britannia.”

Rhys’ hearty cheer reached Lydia’s ears from across the top deck. As the reduced crew hurried to obey, pepped with enthusiasm to get home after a grueling fortnight at sea, she raised her head to welcome the crisp breeze that blew from the crags of New Britannia’s rocky shore. Scents of unfamiliar timber filled her nose. She took in the first sightings of her new home ahead, a land mass of dark greens and browns surrounded by gray-blue waters.

“What does it look like?” Nikolaos shifted on his pallet beside her chair. He grimaced from the effort behind his choppy movement.

Lydia took the spare folded blanket at the foot of the pallet and tucked it behind his head. “Better?”

He managed a weak nod. “A finger of rum would complete things.”

“You sound just like a sailor.” She reached for the bottle on the medical tray at her side. “Malcolm thinks it makes the best curative.”

“It numbs the pain of his doctoring, at least.”

Lydia glanced at the bandaged stump that was once Nikolaos’ right arm. “Malcolm did all he could, but there was no saving your arm.” She held the cup of rum to his lips. “But it did keep the bullet from hitting your vital organs.”

Nikolaos drank while he clutched his bandaged side with his left hand. “The bosun did a thorough job,” he admitted when she took the cup away. “But removing these stitches will not be pleasant.”

“You should cease complaining and be grateful he stitched you closed.” Lydia craned her neck to see the sail she mended flying overhead. The corner seam at the very top puckered in the wind in sharp contrast to the smoothly sewn ones stitched by Malcolm’s hand. “If I had to close your wounds, I would have welded them shut.”

“You mean cauterize.” Rhys strode up to her chair, carrying a telescope in his right hand. His left arm was bandaged and wrapped in a sling about his neck. The mutinous ordeal of five days ago still shown in the tired lines around his eyes, but his wind-tossed hair gave him a playful, indolent look that Lydia couldn’t help but smile at.

“Cauterize. Weld. The processes are essentially the same.”

“Not quite.” Rhys’ lips twitched.

“How fortunate I am that Lydia did not become a doctor.” Nikolaos turned his head away.

“Or a seamstress,” Rhys added, his gaze flicking up to the sail with the puckered corner.

Lydia scoffed at their efforts to make sport of her. “A fine thing to say when I’ve played nurse to you, Nikolaos. And you, Rhys.” She narrowed her eyes.

He blinked in picture-perfect innocence, or as much innocence as an imposing, dark-eyed, six-foot-four inch sea captain could muster.

“I need not begin to tell you what I’ve done to keep your ship afloat.”

“You’re beautiful when you’re modest.” He handed her the telescope. “Take a closer look to shore. The coastal watch has already alerted the COIC representatives to our approach.”

Lydia peered through the telescope. Everything about the envoys was foreign, from their layered, elaborate dress to the armored carriages their horses maneuvered along the sandy portion of the beach. “They’ve been expecting us.”

“We’ve been delayed with no form of communication explaining why.”

“You have three reasons confined in the brig below.” Lydia held the telescope for Nikolaos to look towards shore.

“The COIC won’t be pleased to hear about the mutiny,” Rhys said. “But that’s nothing you need concern yourself with. We row to shore in an hour. If you’d prefer to change into a dress, there’s time.”

Lydia arched an eyebrow. “Are you implying that my mode of dress is not flattering to Londoners’ eyes, Captain?”

He took an appreciative study of her pants-clad legs. “Londoners prefer women to wear dresses, but…I am Welsh.”

Nikolaos groaned. “And I am an ill man. My stomach hurts to breathe, much less retch from listening to you both prattle like lovesick schoolchildren.” He pushed the telescope away from his eye.

Lydia retracted the instrument. “That’s about enough of your melodramatics, Nikolaos.” Didn’t he realize that his current injuries only served to keep Rhys from giving him new ones?

Rhys held his hand out to her. “You heard him. Mustn’t trouble a sick man.”

She and Rhys left the foredeck and walked to the ship’s stern, away from Nikolaos and the crew.

Lydia leaned on the rails overlooking the waters of the Channel they earlier navigated. “That’s how you know Nikolaos is feeling poorly. He usually has much stronger bards than calling people schoolchildren.”

“Lovesick schoolchildren,” Rhys corrected.

She bit the inside of her lip as she thought of a comment to deflect from the awkward moment. “He’ll have more ridicule as the laudanum wears off.”

“I’ve had enough, Lydia.”

“You’ve listened to him for a few months. Try doing it for years.”

“I was referring to you.”

“What have I done?”

Rhys took his hand off the rail. “You’re evading me. I can tell by the way you bite your lip.”

She ceased the action immediately.

He took a breath of sea air. “I am not lovesick, but I am in love with you. It’s obvious to all but you, since I can’t seem to hide it from anyone on the ship.”

Lydia kept quiet as she let the declaration sink in.He went on. “You’re far too intelligent to convince me you have nothing to say.”

“Well, since you put it so sweetly.”

Rhys ran his hand through his hair, the first time she’d seen him make such a nervous gesture. Was Rhys ever nervous about anything? “It’s not easy for a man to reveal such things.”

“It’s not easy for me, either.” Lydia stared into his eyes and imagined they possessed a wealth of secrets. “When the mutiny occurred, I thought you were dead. You have no idea what it did to me to assume the worst happened to you.”

He reached for her. It amazed Lydia each time how readily she went into his embrace, both sheltering and solid.