path or jumped out of his way, and no music, only cries of surprise or anger as he rushed past. Past the bridge choked with steamcoaches, the light from their hissing gas lanterns flickering over the surface of the canal, gilding the floating refuse and gleaming in the eyes of swimming rats. Though contained by water and walls, Port Fallow was endless, the curving streets and twisting alleys forever leading to others. Everything that could be felt was here to see and hear, the despair of digging through rotting scraps, the joy of laughter between friends, the sorrow of the lost-and-couldn’t-be-led, the passion of lovers coupling in the dark, the terror of cold nights and rough hands. Like a boilerworm leeching minerals from dirt, he wound his way through the city, drawing out as many emotions as he could. His lungs became a fiery bellows and his thighs screaming pistons, and the pain and exhaustion helped more than all of the rest because it was his.
But it wasn’t enough.
He could still picture the stabbing hurt in Yasmeen’s gaze when she’d looked up at him, could still feel the nothing inside as he’d looked back. He hadn’t cared. God, that wasn’t him—but the memory of her expression was his, the vision of her pain that he hadn’t even tried to protect her from, and it ripped him open now, filled him with shame.
Even that wasn’t enough.
Every time he turned toward the harbor, the sight of Lady Nergüi was a razor to his gut. He couldn’t go back, not yet. Not until he was himself again. But he couldn’t go to the wall, where armed men fired into the night, where the ravenous moans and growls never ceased. There were other places, though—zombies couldn’t be found in Port Fallow’s worst rum dives, but when the patrons had enough to drink, they were almost the same. Stinking, vacant-eyed, and willing to tear a man apart at the slightest provocation.
Archimedes couldn’t see much difference—and shortly after provoking the right one, he couldn’t see anything past the blood and the sweat dripping into his eyes.
This, too, wasn’t enough. But it was something.
Something absurd. Laughing wildly, he swung at a drunken giant and was pummeled in return. Ah, God, yes. This was pain, rupturing through his chest and gut, eating away the edges of his memory until the agony of remembering her face and his nothing in response began to blur. Until the goddamn mechanical bugs in his blood were forced to begin healing him, until they had a use other than smothering him into oblivion.
A fist sent him into that void, instead. Archimedes reeled back, hit a wall. His knees folded. The world spun and darkened.
That wasn’t enough.
Killing Bilson might be. That duplicitous bastard had used him to get to Yasmeen. She’d found a new ship and new crew and Bilson had ripped it from her…using her love for him. God. Would she resent him for that? Hate him for it?
That pain of that thought was too much, shredding everything, leaving only despair. It had to be Bilson, instead, the utter betrayal of using that device. Embracing his horror and anger, Archimedes pushed the darkness away and lifted his head.
Longcock squatted in front of him, a foaming pint in hand, and more foam dissolving in his blond mustache. His rough blue tunic bulged over his arms and chest, covering the guns beneath without concealing them. Behind him, the drunken giant was on the floor, rubbing his jaw.
“And he’s awake,” the first mate said. “Are you done?”
Hurting everywhere, but not enough. “Not yet.”
Longcock nodded, as if unsurprised. “Did you mean to pick out the biggest one?”
“Yes.” And would have gone another round, except the drunken giant was hauling himself up and sidling toward the door, keeping one eye on Longcock. “Not that it does me any good now that you’ve chased him away.”
“I thought the device had addled your brains. But any man who salvages rubbish from a continent full of zombies can’t have many brains to begin with.”
Even smiling pained him, so Archimedes laughed and relished the full-bodied, agonizing effect.
Longcock shook his head. “I can’t figure New Worlders. Buggers like me lived all our lives under the tower in London, and when that tower went down we went mad with feeling. I did things during the revolution I can’t bear to think of now, that even as a pirate, it couldn’t compare. Before that, I thought I knew who I was—and after, I’d have done