echoed a sobbing rattle through the can of her stomach. “So that someone would have me.”
Another weakness exploited, and damn Bilson to hell for it. Vashon looked away from the woman, her eyes stricken. Yasmeen couldn’t see Archimedes behind her, but could easily imagine his feelings now: pity for the woman, anger toward the bastard Bilson.
And what solution now? Even as she watched, the woman’s sobbing quieted, and a stoic acceptance seemed to come over her. With a tired sigh, Maria squared her shoulders and met Yasmeen’s eyes.
Ready for death.
Yasmeen had no intention of dealing it out here. “Did you read your contract when you came aboard, senhora?”
“I cannot read.” She gave a weary shrug. “The steward offered to read it to me, but I only cared that there was work.”
“And there still is, so we will soon leave you to it.” Yasmeen gestured to the pots still waiting to be scrubbed. “After we’ve gone, you will tell no one of this device or your part in this plot. Tomorrow morning you will report to the steward’s quarters, and ask him to read the section of the contract which states that Lady Nergüi’s captain will pay for any augmentation or changes to existing prosthetics that allow a crew member to better fulfill her duties. Then you’ll report to Tom Blacksmith, so that he can clean up the graft and make it easier for you to sit. When we return to England I’ll see that you have an appointment with the Blacksmith.”
The woman stared at her, eyes filling again. “Captain?”
“Don’t mistake me, senhora,” Yasmeen said. “I will toss you overboard without a second thought if anything of this sort ever happens again. Do you understand?”
Sobbing again, Maria could only nod.
“Mr. Fox, do you have anything to add?”
“Nothing,” he said quietly. “I’ve got what I came for.”
Yasmeen nodded. “We will leave you to it, senhora.”
Vashon trailed them out of the galley. Though too well trained to gape, the quartermaster’s surprise and confusion were almost palpable. “Captain. A word, please?”
Would it be quick? Yasmeen hoped so. She stopped and glanced at Archimedes, who nodded and continued on toward the boiler room and the furnace.
Frowning, Yasmeen looked to the quartermaster. “You have a concern, mademoiselle?”
“Not a concern. Quite simply, ma’am, I can’t help but wonder: Is that all you will do to her?”
“Yes.” When the quartermaster seemed to struggle with that simple answer, Yasmeen expanded on it. “What should I do with her? She’s already so miserable that a whipping wouldn’t even touch her. Should I lock her up? She has nowhere to go anyway, unless she wants to jump off the ship—and then we will be short a scullery maid. Do you want to take on her duties? Do you think any of the crew does?”
Vashon sighed. “No.”
“But she will be damned grateful to do it now. Have you ever seen any person who was happy to scrub?”
A smile touched Vashon’s mouth. “This would be the first one.”
“And likely worth her weight in gold. I can’t tell you how valuable a woman who can smuggle items in her belly would have been during some of my past jobs.” Yasmeen fished out the cigarillo case tucked into her sash. “Now, please go up top and throw the engines to full steam. I want to be back to England within the week.”
An eager “Yes, ma’am” followed her order, then Yasmeen was making her way to the boiler room. Covered in coal dust and stripped down to a thin sleeveless tunic, Anisa Stoker stood casually off to the side, her elbow propped on the handle of a shovel. Archimedes waited for Yasmeen in front of the open furnace, looking down at the device.
She touched his arm, spoke over the noise of the nearby engines. “May I see it?”
At his nod, she lifted it. The solid base was heavy, the obelisk more fragile. The black surface was smooth, like polished stone. She turned it over, then closed her eyes in disbelief when she read the Horde markings on the base.
“Yasmeen?” Archimedes had seen her reaction.
“It only has one setting,” she told him, then shook her head with a laugh. “It can’t kill you. He bluffed.”
“No.” He took the device and tossed it into the orange mouth of the furnace, where it landed amid the white-hot coals. “That one setting did exactly what he threatened. Perhaps it was only for a few minutes, but for those few minutes, when I couldn’t feel my love for you, he stopped