But Thom doubted that help would come at all. It would be up to him to get Georgiana off this damned airship, and he would do anything to make sure it happened. Even if it destroyed him.
Because losing her would, anyway.
* * *
Georgiana held tight to Thom’s hand as they were escorted down the ladder to the second deck. The man showing them the way, Mr. Blade, was the same leering pirate who had come to the entrance of the shed, and as they walked, he kept prodding Thom’s back with the barrel of his gun. Thom didn’t react in the slightest, but only the danger of their position prevented Georgiana from whirling on the man. Fury dogged her every step along the corridor. Whatever niceties and manners the master of this airship pretended to have, the crew obviously did not share them.
Blade prodded them toward a cabin door at the far end of the passageway—toward the front of the vessel. Georgiana had never been on an airship before, but the narrow corridors and wooden bulkheads didn’t appear or sound much different from a sailing ship’s. The engines had been stopped while they’d waited for Thom, and from all around them came the creaking of boards and the noises of the crew. The sway was much different, however—as if they were swinging rather than rocking. Not badly enough to affect her balance, yet still disorienting.
They reached the cabin door. Blade gave Thom another prod.
“Go on through, the both of you. Lord Pinchpenny is playing captain, so he’s given you the fancy room. Don’t leave it unless someone’s come to get you.”
Lord Pinchpenny? That didn’t bode well. A crew member’s blatant disrespect for the master of a ship never did. But there was little here that did bode well.
The door closed behind them. Thom’s hard arms immediately surrounded her waist, pulled Georgiana tight against his broad chest. She clung to him, his warmth and the strong beat of his heart soothing away some of her anger and fear.
Almost as quickly, he stepped back and swept his gaze from her head to her toes. “You’re all right?”
“I am. Oh, Thom. Who is this man?”
He shook his head. “No idea. But he’s not a pirate, as I thought.”
“Not a pirate? He stole your coins and your ship.”
And Georgiana wasn’t surprised that Lord Pinchpenny had heard all about Thom in Skagen. She was only surprised that he’d flown there. Pirates avoided the harbor, preferring rum dives and lawless cities like Port Fallow. Georgiana could only recall one pirate coming into town—Mad Machen, in his search for Ivy Blacksmith.
“He stole them, just as a pirate would,” Thom agreed. “But look at this cabin, Georgie. This isn’t a pirate ship.”
She’d barely had a moment to look. Turning, she saw that Thom was probably right. Roughly triangular to accommodate the shape of the bow, with a personal privy cabinet taking the point, the stateroom abounded in luxuries. Deep rugs of blue and cream covered the deck boards. Sunlight streamed through two thick glass portholes, twice the diameter of any she’d ever seen in a ship. A table large enough to seat four stood beneath one of the portholes, and a settee upholstered in blue damask lay beneath the other. A full-sized bed topped by a fine, pale blue counterpane sat flush against the port bulkhead, and there was still room enough for a wardrobe and washstand.
She glanced at the rugs again. Only someone who thought nothing of cleaning would ever put a pale color on the floor. This was a wealthy man’s personal vessel. Perhaps the pirates had stolen this as well, but if so, they likely wouldn’t have kept this cabin waiting for passengers.
“But what of the crew?” she wondered. A motley bunch. She hadn’t seen even one liveried servant. “They don’t fit here.”
“They don’t. Blade said that the nobby gent was playing captain.” Thom strode to the starboard porthole and looked out. “I’m thinking that he put the regular crew off and hired mercenaries.”
A cold slip of fear trickled down Georgiana’s spine. She’d have preferred pirates. Most of them operated by a code. They would kidnap and steal and murder, but in trade for ransom, they’d usually leave most captives alive. She might have been able to negotiate that.
But mercenaries had no code except the cash they received from their employers. And anyone who kept a personal flyer probably had more at his disposal than Georgiana did.
“If he hired mercenaries,” she said, “then he had a job in mind.”
Eyes cold, Thom glanced back at her. “Yes.”
A job that he didn’t want his regular crew to be involved in . . . or to know about. Such as boarding a salvage ship and shooting her captain.
“Whatever his purpose, he needs to keep you alive for it,” Georgiana said. “And he will keep me alive to see that you perform it. While he does that, we’ll watch for a chance to escape.”
As she spoke, the engines started again, the thrum humming through the airship. The boards vibrated under her feet. Flying away from home.
She fought the panic that fluttered in her belly. They would come back home. Alive.
As if seeing her distress, Thom returned to her side. Earlier when he’d looked down at her, his face had been gentle. Now determination hardened each bold feature. “I won’t let any harm come to you. We will escape.”
Nodding, she desperately tried to think of how they would. Her gaze fell to his gloved hands. “You put bullets in your arm—do they function as guns?”
His lips twitched. “Among other things.”