Burning Up by Nalini Singh
Uncomfortable, Ivy looked out to sea. She didn't want to think those decisions were difficult for Mad Machen. It didn't fit with the image she felt strangely desperate to hold on to.
"So he hanged you?"
"Not for that." A wry smile touched his lips. "The next morning, when he gave the helmsman the bearing that would take us to the Ivory Market, I told the crew to belay that order."
Ivy covered her mouth, staring at him. "You are mad."
His deep laugh creased his lean cheeks and wrinkled the corners of his eyes. He shook his head. " 'Mad' was accepting the bargain he laid out for me: he'd hang me over the side, and sail toward the island as long as I was alive. Otherwise, he'd shoot me where I stood."
"Why is that crazy? You were dead either way."
"Quick would have been easier." His gaze fell to her hands. "I think you know."
Yes. Even knowing what good would come of it, there had been times during her surgery she'd wished for death just to end the pain. He'd seen that with Barker.
And Ivy hadn't had a Mad Machen to carry her home afterward.
He turned toward the sea again, so close that only an inch separated their arms, braced on the rail. When the ship rolled, her hip bumped lightly against his thigh.
Ivy couldn't catch her breath.
"So that's the story," he said. "Trahaearn avoided the kraken and sailed us to the island, the men foraged for fresh food, and I woke up a week after they hauled me back onboard, miraculously still in one piece."
Lucky to wake up at all. "And lesson learned: don't question the captain."
He shook his head. "My men question me often enough, but not in front of the crew. That, I won't allow. Tolerating one man who undermines my authority puts the entire ship at risk."
Her fingers tightened on the wooden gunwale. Perhaps she shouldn't have pushed that coffee mug into his hand.
Mad Machen must have read the sudden worry on her face. "You're not part of my crew, Ivy. When you challenge me, they understand you're challenging the man, not the captain--and that you aren't trying to take my command."
Relief eased through her. "I don't want your command."
"Or the man?" Stark emotion lined his face for an instant, stealing her automatic response. He didn't give her time to recover. "What do you want, Ivy?"
Clean air. A view of the stars. Work for her mind and her hands. "To build what I've come to build, and to return home."
He looked out to the sea. After a second, he nodded. "Then let's get you started."
She followed Mad Machen down a ladder into the dimly lit lower deck. He walked with his shoulders bent, ducking beneath low beams with an ease that spoke of long familiarity. He led her forward through cabins lined with cannons, past sailors who snapped to attention, around stanchions, past the galley were a tall, rawboned woman argued with slick-haired man over a bushel of potatoes, both of them gesturing wildly, paring knives in hand.
A narrow passageway terminated at a locked door. Producing the key from the pocket of the coat she still wore, Mad Machen opened it and showed her into a triangular cabin at the very front of the ship. Well-lit and stocked with tools, Ivy immediately saw that it served as a smithy. She started forward, but paused when she caught sight of the glass tank along the bulkhead near the door. Waist-high, reinforced at the edges with iron, the aquarium was filled with water, a few silver fish . . . and a small squid. It darted around the tank, eight arms forming a cone, tentacles trailing.
She turned to him, brows raised. "Supper?"
"No. The Blacksmith said you'd need it." He glanced around the room, frowning. "If I'd known it was you, I'd have put it in my cabin."
Because his was more comfortable or to keep her near his bed? Ivy didn't ask. "This suits me," she said, and it did. "What do I have to do?"
"Repair a submersible."
She laughed, looking around the cabin. Though not as cramped as some of the men's quarters, she certainly couldn't fit a submersible here--let alone fit it through the door. "In here?"
He smiled faintly. "No. It's in Wales, already constructed--and as-is, it's a complete loss. I need you to discover where my blacksmiths went wrong."
He strode past her to a chest constructed of steel. Ivy recognized that design--it was the Blacksmith's. Like her bank in Fool's Cove, it expanded and reconfigured when given the right combination. This one unfolded into a solid worktable. Long rolls of paper that had been hidden inside now lay on the surface.
Curious, Ivy smoothed out the paper, and stared at the first sketch. Not just a submersible--it was shaped like a kraken, with mechanical arms and maneuverable tentacles. This had to be a joke. "Someone built this?"
"Yes."
She tilted her head, struggling with her disbelief. It could be done, she supposed. A small, one-man craft that--
Her gaze skimmed over the dimensions. She choked. "This is longer than your ship!"
"Only the tentacles."
With a body as big as his cabin. "It can't be done. This is of metal, not . . . not"--she wiggled her fingers at the squid--"what they have. The weight of the tentacles alone would destabilize the entire structure. There's no counterweight."
"And you know that just from looking at the plans. My people had to build it first." Mad Machen studied her face, his gaze dark and unwavering. "Fix it, Ivy. You'll have mechanical flesh to work with. Yasmeen is traveling to London now to collect it from the Blacksmith."
She frowned at the plans, then at the aquarium. Using mechanical flesh could offset some of the weight, but the locomotion couldn't function like a squid's. The material simply wasn't that fluid. "It can't be done."
"It has to be."
"Why?" She couldn't imagine any use a kraken might have. "What do you plan to do? Frighten sailors? Tear apart ships?"
"Yes."
His implacable expression and the conviction in his voice stopped her. That was what he planned to do. Her chest tight, she looked down at the plans. "I won't build a monster for you."
His face darkened. He moved in suddenly, solid behind her, pushing her hips against the table. Her fingers clenched, crumpling paper. Trembling with shock and anger, she waited, but he only stood behind her, chest heaving. She felt his ragged breath against her ear, then her neck. Her stomach tightened as calloused fingers slid her hair aside. Warm lips caressed her nape. Oh, blue. A shudder wracked her bones, and she didn't know if it was anger or fear . . . or something else.
Tension hardened the body pressing into hers, and he pulled away. Wary, she turned to look at him.
His eyes were closed, his jaw clenched, his scars starkly white against his skin. Then he was striding for the door, pausing at the threshold. "Fix it and I'll take you back to Fool's Cove. If you refuse, you'll never leave this ship."
He issued the rough threat without looking back. A moment later, he was gone.
Ivy stared at the empty doorway. He was absolutely and utterly mad. Her heart pounding, she looked to the tank, then at the plans. She picked up a pencil.
To return home, she needed to begin thinking like a madman.
FIVE
The ship's bell woke her. Silently, Ivy opened her eyes to the dark. Mad Machen's heart beat steadily beneath her cheek, his arm a solid brace of heat between her back and cheek, his arm a solid brace of heat between her back and the cold bulkhead, his hand lightly resting at her waist. She'd curled into him during the night until she almost lay completely on top of him, all but straddling his left thigh.
She didn't move. The hard length against her hip told her that even if he hadn't roused yet, his body had. She closed her eyes again, pretending to sleep.
The previous day, she'd taken her meals in the smithy and worked until he'd come for her. Without a word, he'd taken her hand and led her to his cabin. She'd watched the stars while he washed and undressed, and he'd accepted her coin without comment. Their silence had been a swelling pressure that had grown as he followed her into the bed, but one she'd been unwil
Ivy didn't want to break it now, either, but this time she could identify the reason: her body wanted his.
She'd felt this before--the hollow ache between her legs, the tightening of her nipples, the urge to crawl on top of another human and feed the hunger. It wasn't a memory she liked to revisit. Only a few months before the end of the Horde occupation, she'd been cleaning a factory's chimney when a rare Frenzy had struck. The two members of her sweeper team who were supposed to haul her out of the chimney had fallen on each other. For hours, she'd listened to their grunts and moans, compelled to join them--but trapped within the narrow pipe.
As terrifying as that had been, the alternative could have been worse. A good number of the women she'd known had gotten with child during the Frenzy. And although her hunger for Mad Machen originated from within her instead of from a radio signal, succumbing to it carried the same risk. She barely scraped by in Fool's Cove. How would she support a child? Netta would undoubtedly help, just as Ivy would her if their situations were reversed . . . but if Ivy had any choice in the matter, she wouldn't put that burden on her friend. Two years ago, when she'd offered Mad Machen her virginity, her desperation had outweighed any other fear. She couldn't take a similar risk now simply because her body wanted.
And she couldn't let Mad Machen take her simply because he wanted, too.
His chest rose and fell on a great sigh. So he was awake. Perhaps staring up into the dark, thinking whatever mad thoughts occupied his brain.
Or thinking of her. Ivy remained limp as he lifted his hand from her waist. His fingers stroked softly through her hair, and a light touch against her crown might have been a kiss. Turning onto his side, he began to ease away from her, his thigh moving deeper between hers as he rolled her gently onto her back. His erection brushed her hip and he froze, his breath hissing between his teeth.
Unable to continue pretending, she lifted her head from the pillow. A short groan escaped him, and she stilled when his big hand cupped her cheek.
"Ivy." Her name sounded low and rough.
What could she say? Ivy wet her lips. "Captain Machen."
"Eben."
Her stomach turned over, a frightening little flip. "I prefer 'Mad.' "
Judging by his voice, she thought he might have grinned. "Go back to sleep. There's nothing to do on a ship when it's dark." He paused, and amended, "That's not true. There is something, but you paid me not to do it."
Mad Machen must have felt her smile against his hand. He answered with a deep laugh.
After a moment, he said, "Before you head into the smithy, come topside. Your arms are strong enough to keep you safe climbing into the rigging. You'll enjoy the view from the crow's nest."
This, after threatening that she'd never leave his ship? She couldn't make sense of him--but she didn't want to pass up his offer.
When she nodded, his hand dropped from her cheek and he swung over the bed rail. His right foot clanked heavily against the deck. She still needed to adjust his pneumatic valve . . . but perhaps she'd wait until she had no more money to bargain with.
Only six coins left.
She rolled onto his part of the mattress, into the warmth left by his body. The memory of his hard thigh between hers wouldn't let her be. Clutching the blanket to her sensitive breasts, she squeezed her legs together until she shook.
Ivy didn't just enjoy the crow's nest--she loved it. She remained on the small platform for as long as she could stomach the swaying, using Teppers's biperspic lenses that brought the horizon to within an arm's length. She watched pods of whales, searched for icebergs and Megs. She held the lenses for so long that her sunburn formed white goggles around her eyes, and only left after she extracted a promise from Teppers that he'd show her how to skylark.
Her bugs had just healed the burn when she returned the next morning--and Teppers fulfilled his promise. She slid down the backstays from the top of the main mast to the poop deck, laughing wildly as she skimmed above Mad Machen's head. His grin when he met her at the quarterdeck flipped her stomach over.
He showed her every part of the ship, and gave her leave to explore on her own. She met the Lusitanian cooks, a husband and wife team whose passionate screams in Portuguese during their fights and lovemaking were legendary among the sailors. She learned that Duckie's name was Tom Cooper, and he'd gotten the nickname after shooting up six inches in as many months, and that the recurring red mark across his forehead came from his habit of running full tilt through the low-beamed decks. She discovered the ship's blacksmith had remained in Wales when the bosun approached her for help fixing a broken pulley in the rigging. She spent half of an afternoon with Leveque, the engine master, and though she couldn't understand a word of his French his love for the machine made perfect sense.
She didn't know the languages half the crew spoke. French and Portuguese were the trade languages, and she understood a few words, but the men from the New World also spoke Dutch, Spanish, Arabic, and the Libere that gave Barker his musical accent. On a ship only a hundred and fifty feet long, she saw more of the world than she'd known before--and realized how much she hadn't yet seen.
And she'd never laughed so often. Had never felt as free. Yet she had to keep reminding herself that freedom was an illusion.
Every day, she came closer to building a monster. She dunked her arm into the tank and watched the squid attack her metal skin, imagining a mast or a person. The claws at the end of his tentacles couldn't bite into her arm. Wood and flesh wouldn't be so resilient. Yet Ivy used what she learned to improve the plans.
She wanted to believe that, despite what Mad Machen had said, the machine wouldn't be used to terrorize and destroy ships. She wanted to believe that the Blacksmith's involvement meant his intentions were good. But as brilliant as her mentor was, and despite the debt she'd always owe him for taking her into his guild, she knew the Blacksmith could be ruthless when someone crossed him--and there was much about him she didn't know. If the price was right, he might have agreed to help.
And every night, she slept next to Mad Machen, her body aching . . . and one denier poorer.
Eben braced himself before entering the smithy. The past few days, she'd left this small cabin sporting a surly temper. He thought that meant she'd been making progress on the kraken. If her ideas failed, surely Ivy would be pleased.
Still, she wouldn't be pleased to see him.
The previous night, when he'd come into his cabin, she'd been sitting at the window. She hadn't been looking at the stars, but the two coins glinting in her palm. She'd quickly put one away, and given him the other--not quite hiding her fear.
After tonight, she'd have no more coins left, but he wasn't certain if she was afraid that he'd force her . . . or because she wanted him. A few times, he'd caught her looking at him with heat in her eyes, and he didn't think it was anger. When her nipples pebbled under her thin shirt, he didn't always think it was the cold. He thought she might ache as much as he did--but he didn't know.
Not knowing was tearing him apart.
He stepped inside. Though a gas lamp burned brightly on the worktable, she wasn't sitting in front of it. Her expression clouded, she crouched in front of the squid tank, her hands braced against the glass and fingers drumming. Her silvery nails pinged with each beat.
Without glancing at him, she snapped, "Say what you've come to say. Then leave me be."
Anger fired through his veins. In front of his crew or not, no one dismissed him on his ship. Closing the door, he stepped toward her--and forced himself to stop. She still hadn't looked at him. Temper darkened her sharp features, her soft lips in a thin line, her green eyes stormy as she focused on something within the tank.
He glanced inside. The squid and several silvery fish darted about the water. At the bottom, a foot-long metal replica of a kraken lay on its side, its eight segmented arms waving about and tentacles limp, looking as pathetic as a beetle turned upside down.
<
His practical, careful Ivy apparently had an artist's temperament.
"I had a friend at university who looked much the same when he couldn't find a rhyme for his poetry."
"Like a dying privy louse?"
Eben barked out a laugh. "I was speaking of your expression, not your kraken."
She snarled. He'd never wanted to kiss her so badly. Deliberately, he added fuel to her fire.
"It couldn't swim?"
"You've got eyes, don't you? Do you see it swimming about?" Disgusted, she pushed to her feet and dunked her arm into the tank.
His amusement fled. His heart jumped into his throat. Grabbing her waist, he hauled her back.
"Damn it, woman, that squid will . . ." He trailed off, staring at her gray hand dripping water.
The squid would do absolutely nothing to her.
She whipped around and stared at him as if he were a lunatic. Her brows drew together. She opened her mouth, then shook her head, pushing past him. "I can't reach the bleeding thing unless I stick my head in, anyway."
Eben turned to watch her. Muttering, she rummaged through shelves, pushing around Kleistian jars, tossing aside small gears and cylinders, and emerging with a coil of copper wire and an influence machine, its glass disks sealed inside a vacuum bell. Setting the machine next to the tank, she pushed up her wet sleeve and began wrapping the wire around her forearm. When she glanced at him, he saw curiosity had replaced her temper.
"You attended a university?"
"Yes."
A wistful expression softened her features. Oh, hell. Something in his chest tightened. He wanted to tell her that he'd hated every moment of society's rigid confinement and the blasted rules, but compared to the Horde, Manhattan City had been a bastion of freedom. So he only told her, "My parents disapproved of my choice of profession--both surgery and the navy. The only tolerable ship was a passenger ship, and it was best if you owned it."