Heart of Steel by Meljean Brook Page B

at least none of the crew could discern his thoughts.
    That probably wasn’t what she’d had in mind for him. Ah, well. She’d be after him soon enough, and he looked forward to the chase.
    With the satchel strapped to his back, he hopped off the platform to the dock. Though the night was in the wee hours, there were still a few handfuls of sailors and aviators about, most of them staggering. The only person not in motion was a robed figure at the west end of the docks—
    Oh, Christ save him. Archimedes almost stumbled over his own feet when his heart burst into a rapid pace and his gut urged him to run, then forced himself to continue walking as if nothing were amiss.
    Cold sweat gathered along his spine. A man with a taste for danger, he embraced the sweet excitement and challenge of it, but even standing a hundred yards from that woman was nothing like the delicious thrill of being next to Yasmeen. With the captain, there always existed the hope of success.
    If the woman at the end of the docks spotted him, there would be no hope at all.
    Archimedes walked almost forty yards before casually turning toward the wooden crates stacked along the boarded walk. They’d hid him well before, and they could do the same now. He hunkered down next to a sailor passed out and his clothes soaked in urine—if he was lucky, his own.
    Breathing through his mouth, Archimedes forced a crate forward a few inches and created a narrow opening through which he could watch the woman. Judging by the angle of her body, she didn’t appear to be looking his way, though he couldn’t be certain. From this distance, he couldn’t even be certain that she was Temür Agha’s assassin—but the rebel’s personal guard had stood exactly as this woman did now: quiet and watchful, as if nothing escaped her notice.
    Hopefully, Archimedes had.
    Minutes passed. The awkward crouch cramped the muscles in his thighs, but he’d sat through worse for longer. The woman didn’t move. What was she looking at? Perhaps the harbor itself, studying the boats and airships. He glanced back at Lady Corsair . Like the other airships, her balloon shone like a pearl in the moonlight, and the deck lamps emitted a soft glow.
    Or perhaps the woman was simply watching the aerial acrobats.
    He saw them now, swooping their gliders around The Grecian Queen . Two of the four broke their arrow formation and spiraled upward, before dipping back around the Queen in a long, looping dive. Late for practice, but some of the troupes that traveled the North Sea guarded new maneuvers as carefully as state secrets, to build anticipation for their shows.
    As skilled as they were, these acrobats would be nothing compared to some of the spectacles the woman saw in Temür Agha’s court.
    He looked toward the west end of the docks. She wasn’t there. His heart seized, but he didn’t dare poke his head up over the crates. He waited, stiff with tension. Footsteps approached on the boards. Not the assassin. He wouldn’t hear her.
    A sailor swaggered into view, with a satisfied puff to his chest that told Archimedes he’d spent time in the bawdyhouse or a serving girl’s bed.
    Archimedes cleared his throat as the sailor passed. “Do you see a woman in a black djellaba ? A Musulman’s robe,” he clarified when the sailor simply looked at him.
    Recognition lit the man’s eyes. “I saw her. A pretty little raven. She turned onto the north dock.”
    Away from them. Thank God. Archimedes tossed the sailor a gold sous and took off at a run.
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    That silver-tongued bastard.
    Blissed and spinning, Yasmeen kicked out four times before her foot connected with the wardrobe lever. She felt total shit: cotton-mouthed, feverish as hell, her lungs aching. She didn’t trust her legs to stand. Opium had never affected her like this before—and it wasn’t the first time she’d taken two darts in