The Lady Captain Read online

  When Julian sat down, he smoothed the wrinkles from his greatcoat and confidently cleared his throat. “My name's Julian Featherstone. Baron Featherstone, if you like titles. Have you heard of me?”

  “The name does sound vaguely familiar.” The woman offered him a hand, thinking he would shake it, but he kissed it instead. “I'm Mamie Rowden.”

  Julian's lips lingered on her knuckles a bit longer than necessary. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Rowden. Do you come to this pub often?”

  “No. I'm from out of town.”

  “As am I!” Julian's eyes lit up. “I came on my airship. Have you ever been on an airship, Miss Rowden?”

  “I'm afraid not, but it does sound exciting.”

  “I'd be more than happy to take you for a ride on my airship.” Julian's eyebrows danced as he sipped his port. “Would you be interested in such a thing?”

  “I would, but I'm waiting for a friend.”

  “A friend?” A hint of worry drifted across his face. “A... female friend?”

  “Yes. Penelope. She should be here any minute, in fact.” When Mamie leaned forward, her breasts nearly spilled from the top of her dress. Julian tried to maintain eye contact, but she made it difficult, if not impossible. However, when Julian felt her hand stroking his leg, it made him think she wouldn't object to his roving gaze. “Lord Featherstone... maybe Penelope and I could both take a ride on your airship?”

  Julian nearly spat his wine. He didn't want to get his hopes up, but airship was starting to sound like a euphemism for something else.

  Penelope arrived a few minutes later, at which time he offered to buy both ladies a drink. In Julian's opinion, the ginger-haired Penelope wasn't quite as fetching as her friend, but her superfluous curves more than made up for it. After several minutes of flagrant flirting between all three of them, Julian left the pub with both women, one tucked under each arm.

  Lettie was strolling the deck when Julian returned with Mamie and Penelope. He was loudly serenading them, and possibly intoxicated. Both women were giggling and clinging to his body. When the three of them stumbled onto the ship together and staggered to Julian's room, Lettie tried to look away, but she couldn't.

  Unfortunately, Julian caught her staring at him. And he winked.

  Lettie sneered.

  Maybe she was a bit jealous after all.

  Twenty Three

  “Now remember, Bryce...” As he spoke, Miles raised his monocle and studied his companion's face. Bryce looked bewildered, which was hardly unusual for him. “We're here to recruit on behalf of Captain Doon, which means we are also representing him. You must exhibit your best behavior today. That is of the utmost importance.”

  Bryce scratched his bushy hair as he tried to make sense of Miles' fancy words. After a few seconds of contemplation—or rather Bryce's slack-jawed equivalent of contemplation—he finally replied, “Uh huh.”

  “We must be picky today!” Miles exclaimed. “If we're going to extend an invitation to new crew members, we must only accept the very best.”

  “Uh huh,” Bryce said again. Before he sat beside Miles at the table, he plucked his tight-fitting breeches out of his bum. “These clothes ain't comfortable.”

  “I'm very sorry, Bryce. I know this isn't what you usually wear, but we must present ourselves as fashionable, well-to-do persons.” Miles carefully extracted a piece of lint from Bryce's greatcoat. Bryce was even wearing a cravat, which had been tied by Miles, as well as a top hat, on loan from Captain Doon. “When our potential crewmates see us, we must give them an impression of quality.”

  “Awright.” Bryce shrugged. “You do the talking. And you do the thinkin'. I'll do the, uh... uhhh...”

  “You're here to give me a second opinion, Bryce,” Miles said. “You needn't overtax yourself.”

  The barmaid brought tea, which had Miles smiling from ear-to-ear. It was difficult to find proper tea in Columbigo, but this particular pub could brew a passable cup. “Would you like a cup of tea, Bryce?” Miles asked as he poured.

  “Nah. I hate tea,” Bryce grumbled. “Tea tastes like piss.”

  “If it tastes like... piss...” Miles winced. He was unaccustomed to using such crass words. “You must not be brewing it or sweetening it properly.”

  “Sweetening don't make no difference,” Bryce claimed. “You just get sweet piss.”

  “Well, I'm very sorry you feel that way, because tea happens to be one of my favorite things in the world.” Miles raised the tiny teacup to his lips. As he sipped, their first potential recruit approached the table. He was a large, bald man with a massive nose and round, bulbous arms.

  “Hello there, sir,” Miles politely greeted their prospect. “Might I ask your name?”

  The man simply replied, “Bo.”

  “Bo?” Miles raised his monocle as he repeated the name. “Just Bo, or...?”

  “Bo,” the man repeated. “Or Bobo to my friends. Sometimes Big Bo.”

  Miles looked no less perplexed. “You don't have a surname, sir?”

  “Nah. I'm just Bo,” he insisted. “I forgot my surname.”

  Bryce gave the man a lazy nod, and the man nodded with him. Somehow, they seemed to understand each other.

  “What are your skills, young man?” Miles asked. “What assets could you bring to our crew?”

  “I don't really got no skills, truth be told.” Bo suddenly bared his teeth and picked a bit of spinach from the ones on top. “And I don't understand the question about asses.”

  Miles, who was taking notes, drew a large red X over Bo's name. Then he decided to give him another chance. “What are your passions?”

  “Hmm. I dunno. I don't really got none of those either.” Bo's mouth was gaping as he stared at the ceiling. “Well, maybe I like to sing a bit.”

  “Alright then!” Miles plopped another red X on his paper. “It was very nice to meet you, Bo. I think we've heard all we need to know.”

  Before he left the table, Bo lifted his shirt and scratched a bright red rash on his stomach. When he finally walked away, Miles heaved a sigh.

  “We're not off to a very good start, are we?”

  Bryce shook his head. “I dunno. I kind of liked him.” As they waited for their next interviewee to arrive, he slipped a piece of toffee from his pocket and pitched it into his mouth. “I shouldn't be eatin' sweets. I got a toothache.”

  “That's unfortunate, Bryce. Toothaches tend to get worse, never better.”

  Before they could continue their conversation, another potential crewmate approached their table. He was tall, well over six feet, with a shock of white hair and a handlebar mustache.

  “Good day, sir!” Miles greeted him with a firm handshake and a smile. “You look like a fine, strong gentleman. Might I ask your name?”

  “Gerald Olssen.”

  “And why do you think you'd be a good addition to our crew, Mr. Olssen? Why should we take you on?”

  Gerald's nose wrinkled at the question. “I don't know. I like airships and I need a job. That's really all there is to it.”

  Miles heaved a discouraged sigh. “And do you have any past experience on an airship? Or any job experience that might benefit us?”

  “I've never been on an airship before,” Gerald shamelessly confessed. “And I can cook.”

  “Uh huh.” Miles added a red X and a question mark to his notes. “Would you consider yourself a decent fighter? Have you trained with swords or guns?”

  When Bryce suddenly spoke up, his hard toffee rattled against his teeth. “I like swords and guns.”

  It didn't matter how much Bryce liked guns. At the moment, only Gerald's opinion mattered, and his answer was somewhat disappointing. “I won't lie to you. I never fought a day in my life, sir. I guess I'd be willing to learn.

  Another red X. “Right... well... I suppose we'll be in touch, Mr. Olssen,” Miles said. In other words, Gerald wasn't getting a job—unless they were suddenly desperate for another cook, which didn't seem likel
y. On Doon's ship, even the cooks were superior warriors.

  “Maybe he makes good cookies, though!” Bryce's opinion suddenly flew from his mouth. “I think maybe we should hire him if he makes good food.”

  Unfortunately for Gerald, Bryce's opinion had little sway on the ultimate decision.

  By the time Miles finished his first first cup of tea, the situation looked bleak. His second cup must have been his lucky cup, because there was a sudden influx of capable candidates, and they all had one thing in common.

  “Until recently, I worked for Julian Featherstone,” a middle-aged man said. “And by recently, I mean twenty minutes ago.”

  “I have experience working on Captain Featherstone's airship,” a second man said. “It... got disheartening.”

  A third man went into greater detail. “I can shoot, I can swing a sword, I can follow orders... but I refuse to work for a dandy, and I can't follow a man I don't respect. So I'm leaving Captain Featherstone.”

  The mass exodus of Julian's crew continued when Jared Foster stepped up to their table.

  “Hello there, young man!” Miles greeted the red-haired youth as cheerfully as ever. “Let me guess... you're formerly a part of Julian Featherstone's crew?”

  “Not formerly. Not yet,” Jared sighed. “If I don't get a job with Captain Doon, I'll probably go back to Captain Featherstone, but I won't be satisfied. If I do get the job, I'll leave in a heartbeat. I'm ready to move on to something else. Something better.”

  “What, pray tell, is so dissatisfying about working with this man?” Miles sipped his tea as he awaited the young man's answer. “I've heard some rather scathing opinions about Mr. Featherstone recently.”

  “Lord Featherstone. I don't mean to correct you, but if Julian was here, he'd let you know he's a baron. He likes to brag about that,” Jared explained. “He's pompous, self-serving, spineless and ridiculous. I honestly don't think he's a bad person, but he's not the sort of man I want to work for anymore.”

  “I think you'd appreciate working with Francis Doon, then,” Miles said. “He can be a bit reckless, but he's far from spineless.”

  “Our captain's crazy,” Bryce added. “But a real good kind of crazy.” He offered the young man a piece of toffee, which was politely declined.

  Miles nodded. “It's true. I've seen him run into legions of enemies and emerge unscathed.”

  “You see, Captain Featherstone is quite the opposite,” Jared said with a sigh. “He'd be reluctant to stand and fight one enemy, let alone legions.”

  “So, he's a bit of a coward then?” Miles asked.

  Jared simply nodded. His shred of respect for Julian Featherstone made him hesitant to say anything else to shame him. “Please, sir,” Jared pleaded, “I'd be grateful for an opportunity to work for someone else. I may be young, but I'm skilled. I can handle a sword and I can definitely fire a gun. I'm hard-working, I work well with others, and I'm good at following orders. I've heard a lot about Captain Doon and what he's accomplished. He's a hero in my book. So if you give me a chance, I promise you won't be disappointed.”

  Miles looked down at his notes. They were barely legible, even to himself, but there was one fact he couldn't dispute. So far, there were no red X's over the name Jared Foster.

  He exchanged glances with Bryce, who nodded firmly, albeit with his mouth hanging open.

  “Well then, Mr. Foster...” As he spoke, Miles extended a hand to the much younger man. “I'm sure you'll be happier with Captain Doon. Welcome aboard.”

  Twenty Four

  “I'm glad you're here, Queen Lyneah.” Isabella's fingers flitted across a sunflower's petals as they ambled along the garden path. “It's nice to have someone my own age to talk to. Well... I know you're a bit older than me, but it's close enough.”

  A taut smile appeared on Lyneah's lips. In comparison to the young princess, she felt ancient. Their age gap wasn't vast, but Isabella had an undeniable air of innocence about her that Lyneah had long since lost. “Isn't it your eighteenth birthday soon?” she asked the princess.

  “Indeed. In two days, to be precise.” Isabella's face went blank.

  “Is something wrong?” Lyneah spotted a storm of bees in front of them, so she steered the princess in the opposite direction. She was a brave girl, but bugs had always been her undoing, especially ones that buzzed.

  “No. Nothing's wrong. I was just thinking about something.” Of the many benches in the garden, only one was protected by trees and shade. When Isabella found that bench, she pulled Lyneah toward it and sat. “My stepmother wanted to have a tournament for my birthday, but I hate violence.”

  “Did she convince you to have it, despite your reservations?”

  Isabella nodded. “Yes. But it's my birthday. I don't really want to see people beating each other up in my name!”

  “I wouldn't fret too much. Tournaments can be entertaining. Violent, yes... but certainly entertaining. If nothing else, it's amusing to see how quickly men turn into animals.” It was an uncommonly hot day, so Lyneah pulled a fan from her pocket and fluttered her cheeks. “Interestingly enough, my mother used to have tournaments for my birthday.”

  “Oh?”

  “Mmhmm. It's something your stepmother and my mother have in common, apparently.” And it added to Lyneah's suspicions. “By the way, where is your stepmother? I haven't seen her since I've arrived. Is she still ill?”

  “I'm afraid so,” Isabella sighed. “She might even miss the tournament.”

  “Well... that's a shame.” Lyneah could feel her fists clenching. Her curiosity demanded satisfaction. At some point, she would have to demand to see the empress, even if it made her look like an insensitive guest. “You know, when my mother held tournaments for my birthday, one of the prizes was always a kiss from the princess. You should do the same. When you know you have to lock lips with the winner, it adds to the anticipation. It's a bit silly, but fun.”

  Isabella's face went white. She couldn't possibly confess to never being kissed before. At her age, it was not only embarrassing, it was pathetic.

  “One time, the winner got more than a kiss. He became my boyfriend, albeit briefly. Anthony was his name.” Lyneah's nose wrinkled at the thought of him. “He turned out to be a twat, pardon my language. And I really don't mean to discourage you. In fact, I'm trying to encourage you, because you never know what that kiss could lead to.”

  Isabella opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She was too ashamed to own up to her inexperience with men.

  “Of course, the winner could always end up being a sixty-seven-year-old man with perpetual bad breath... in which case, you'll probably want to throttle me for telling you to offer a kiss as a prize.”

  “No one would want the prize,” Isabella timidly spoke up. “Of course they'd want a kiss from you. You're beautiful. But I'm... plain. Everyone knows it.”

  “Nonsense! I think you're very pretty, and any man would consider himself lucky to kiss you, I'm sure.” Lyneah tried to give her an encouraging smile, but the princess looked joyless. “I don't mean to put any pressure on you, Isabella. The kiss is entirely your decision. And you don't have to decide right away, of course. I just thought it would be an interesting diversion for you.”

  “Uh... perhaps,” Isabella softly replied.

  A strong breeze tousled nearby flowers; its pleasant rustling sounds joined a chorus of sparrows. An errant red petal escaped from a rose and landed on Lyneah's knee. She stared at the lost petal for several seconds before finally brushing it off. A strange thought entered Lyneah's mind: what if this was her last idyllic moment? What if there was only chaos after this? She knew better than anyone how quickly one's life could change.

  Why did she feel that way?

  “I should probably find Tobias,” Lyneah said as she rose from the bench. “Ever since we've been together, I don't think we've been apart from each other for more than an hour at a time. I'm sure that sounds pathetic.”

  “No. Not pathetic,
” Isabella disagreed. “I'm envious. I think it'd be nice to have someone in my life who couldn't bear to part from my company.”

  “I am lucky to have him.” Thoughts of Tobias lifted Lyneah's lips, as they often did. “All too often, people don't realize what they have until they've lost it. So... at the beginning of each day, I try to remind myself how grateful I am.”

  “That's very wise of you.” Isabella tried to smile, but the expression was weak. Perhaps she was more envious than she realized? “Thank you for your time, Your Highness. I enjoyed our walk.”

  “As did I. And please, call me Lyneah.”

  After parting ways with the queen, Isabella returned to her bedchamber, where she spent the majority of each day. Isabella busied herself with the usual activities. She painted. She knitted. She even wrote a poem:

  I wonder, what secrets do you conceal?

  And what would your dark blue eyes reveal?

  If I could gaze in them, but for a day.

  If walls could talk, what would they say?

  Your mysteries, they surely know.

  And would you share them with me, if you were my

  “Beau...” Isabella finished with a sigh. She couldn't bring herself to write the word. Isabella tried to convince herself the poem wasn't about anyone in particular, but the truth was plain to see. Sneering, she crumpled the paper and pitched it into a nearby waste bin.

  After supper, which she ate in her room, Isabella decided to read a book. She recently finished a novel and needed something new to read, which meant she had to make a trip to the palace study, where veritable mountains of books were waiting for her. Isabella loved to read. Each book was a world to disappear in, and each character was a new companion. Her own life was so dreadfully dull that an escape was sadly necessary.

  When she entered the study and saw Tom Harriot at one of the tables, she froze. From where he was sitting, only one side of his face was visible to her. As she studied his profile, Isabella's heart was in agony, because he was even more handsome than she realized. Harriot was in his shirtsleeves, and the collar of his pale gray shirt was gaping open. His eyes were sharp, blue and intense. His hair was black, wavy and disheveled. His lips were full and pink, and she couldn't stop staring at them. Isabella was dying to see what was under his mask, but after the way he'd reacted when she mentioned it before, she was afraid to broach the topic again.