Tethered (Novella) - By Meljean Brook Page 0,56

them leaning to look over the side.

Bathed in moonlight, the city could have been a wonderland depicted in the pages of a children’s story book. Terraced gardens grew abundantly over almost every visible surface. Not just food, but flowers and climbing vines, trees with branches spread wide.

Long past midnight, the people slept—below the gardens, within the airships. All was dark, except for the four lanterns lighting an open platform just aft of the central, open gardens.

Yasmeen’s throat tightened, her awe and surprise fading. A tin-plated gun sloop was tethered next to the lighted platform. Its cargo doors were wide, the hold empty. The hull gaped open at the tail; the propellers removed, the engines and boilers stripped.

They’d ripped the heart out of her.

The warm pressure of Archimedes hand against her back helped to soothe the ragged shaking that overtook her again. He met her eyes. “Scarsdale said they take an inventory first, yes?”

Too sickhearted to reply, Yasmeen nodded.

“Then we’ll have at least a few days,” he said.

“We’ll do it tomorrow night.” No reason to wait any longer than that.

A shout came from below—a call for Lady Nergüi’s tether cable. Yasmeen nodded to Vashon, who gave the order. Once fastened, they dragged her lady down, forcing her belly to the ground. Ten guards waited, each armed with blunderbuss pistol and wearing iron-plated gloves and pneumatic arm braces that could make a punch feel like a hit from a cannonball. There were hardly enough of them to pose a threat to a thirty-man crew, but two more waited in the shadows with rapid-fire guns. Yasmeen pointed them out to Archimedes as more instructions were shouted: no weapons, they were to disembark one at a time.

“All right, then.” Everyone on board had assembled on the decks. Yasmeen raised her voice. “We do as they say. I’ll be the last off. Drop your weapons to the deck.”

A clatter of pistols and daggers followed. Longcock looked over at her.

“Make certain your hands are up,” she told him. A new man had joined the guards—Bushke, she guessed. With soft white hair and beard and a homespun tunic over rustic trousers, he did have a kindly, unassuming look to him. Unlike the guards, he didn’t wear gloves, but she wouldn’t forget Scarsdale’s warning about his iron fist. At the gangway, she called to him, “My first mate’s weapons are grafted to his body. He’s not carrying any ammunition.”

Bushke’s gaze narrowed on her face. “Are you the captain, miss?”

“Yes.” She saw no hint of recognition—but then, he’d built New Eden before she’d made a reputation for herself. That could work to her advantage, particularly as few people knew her name…or Archimedes’ given name. “Yasmeen Gunther-Baptiste.”

She saw her husband’s quick grin, and knew he would use the same name. If any of the guards had only recently come to New Eden, perhaps they might be recognized…but it was unlikely. He wasn’t the only handsome man who wore loud clothing. She was most commonly known as Lady Corsair, named after her previous ship; and she was not the only airship captain to wear a kerchief over her hair—though most of the others were pirates. Perhaps that was what Bushke wondered as he studied her now.

It was impossible to know, however. She couldn’t read him. His appearance gave the impression of softness, but just beneath it lay steel. She couldn’t see past it.

Unsettled, she waited for his answer. Finally, he said, “Send him out slowly. We’ll have to bind him until we can verify what you say about the ammunition is true.”

If it was her, Yasmeen wasn’t certain she could have allowed them to do that. But when she glanced at Longcock, he seemed unperturbed. With a nod, he started down the plank. They used ropes rather than chains. At least there was that. Once tied, two new guards began a long search of his individual weapons. The placement of one pistol required him to drop his trousers.

After a moment of silence on the deck, Vashon looked to Yasmeen. “So his name is accurate.”

Apparently.

Archimedes went next. A guard moved in, ordered him to remove his jacket and boots. Yasmeen tensed as those gloved hands ran the length of Archimedes’ legs, but the guard didn’t use any undue force. He cupped Archimedes’ groin, then slipped under his waistcoat and shirt.

She looked to the rest of the crew. “Take off your boots and carry them down. Mrs. Fortescue, you’re next.”

They searched under her skirts. Goddammit. They didn’t find anything; Mrs. Fortescue had only