 
## **Contents**

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Thank You!

What's Next

About the Author

The Amazing Adventures of Acacia Carlisle

BLOOD & STEAM #1

By Cate Morgan
COPYRIGHT

Copyright © 2015 by Cate Morgan. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events or locales is purely coincidental. Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

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CHAPTER ONE

In Which We Begin At The Beginning

Acacia Carlisle prided herself on being up for a challenge. The Skies knew she'd had plenty of practice.

For one, the Carlisles were Irish as well as nouveau riche, and the vaunted peerage of the realm was not particularly keen on either. For another, she was twenty-three, happily unmarried, and cared not one whit for what anyone outside the family thought of her. So instead of gnawing her nails to the quick over her husbandless state, she trimmed them quite cleanly, all the better to manage her work.

She pressed her palms against the leather folio on the desk before her, smoothing over the front cover. Inside represented more a year's worth of work—maps, navigational routes, projected budgets and supply inventories. In short, everything needed to plan a lengthy journey to what amounted to the ends of the Earth. It had been her work, her master's piece, and she couldn't wait to show it to her father.

She only hoped it would be enough to persuade Captain Carlisle, known as the Raven of the High Winds for his infamous cunning, to take her with him. The time had come to leave the comfortable library of Glen Garrogh and gain practical experience in the field. She was ready to be his navigator in truth. To see their shared dream of mapping Africa come to fruition. In her wildest of wild dreams, she even imagined them discovering the source of the Nile.

Now her father just needed to come home. Currently the Captain was in London, at the Royal Exhibit of Science and Exploration, seeking shareholders and crew members alike for their expedition. Most of the scientific groups with the resources they needed were clubs as private and White's, and not interested in allowing someone like Robert Carlisle anywhere near their hallowed halls. Instead he sought assistance among the Exhibition, that perfect storm of scientists, adventurers, and potential investors.

She gazed at the telegraph machine before her with a certain amount of accusation. It gazed back her in sullen silence, as only an inanimate object made of solid metal could.

Her sister Rebecca poked her head around the library door. "You're not still working, are you? It's time to dress for the evening."

Acacia feigned horror at the prospect. "People won't begin arriving for hours yet."

Becca arched a brow in pure Carlisle fashion. "Tell me you do not intend to be late for your own birthday party?"

Acacia leaned her elbows on the desk and cupped her chin in her hands. She did so enjoy tweaking her sister. "I rather think I'm the only person who can get away with being fashionably late, don't you?"

Becca looked less amused than Queen Victoria, and that was saying something. "Fashionable or not, it is time Acacia."

Acacia returned her gaze to the recalcitrant telegraph. "Papa isn't here yet."

"Papa, as is his wont, will arrive when he arrives and not a single moment before."

Acacia shrugged. "Then I shall continue to wait." She grinned at her sister's scowl. "All right, if Papa isn't home before dark, I'll give up the vigil. Will that save you the crow's feet, Becs?"

"I have asked you repeatedly not to call me that." Becca's shoulders heaved with a put upon sigh. "Very well. But if you don't keep your word, I shall never forgive you."

Which must mean the Hamiltons must be due. Joy.

Acacia had once overheard Lady Hamilton describe her as "little short of harum-scarum," and her husband, who she liked little better, responded with "quite the cracking shot, though—but not at all the proper thing, o'course." This last at his wife's viperous glare.

Their only son, however, had been trying to impress her for the better part of two years. Nigel had taken to cultivating a mustache nearly as extravagant as his proposals. He had asked her to marry him no less than three times, to her growing discomfort.

Acacia did not care for proposals. Not socially adept enough to turn them down with taste nor style, she would much rather avoid them altogether. Nigel's last attempt had involved a declaration to shave his mustache if Acacia would not accept him. Her unthinking response had been "Promise?"

Relations between their families had grown rather more strained after that.

Acacia shook her head at her sister's dignified, retreating back. Why Becca would want to waste her brilliance becoming a proper lady for a peerage that did not want her, she would never understand. But, she supposed, it was not her place to. And despite deriving an excessive amount of enjoyment from teasing her sister, she would rather die than truly disappoint her, or show any sign of disloyalty. It was all a matter of family, and Acacia loved hers more than anything in the world. Even adventures to Africa.

In the end, Acacia was forced to abandon her post with no further word regarding her father's approximate whereabouts. He'd telegraphed upon leaving London early that morning, and she had been able to keep tabs on his progress via the vast Carlisle Shipping network, but after Edinburgh all sightings seemed to have dried up. So she left a servant to guard the telegraph and went upstairs before Becca felt compelled to retrieve her.

Acacia washed and dressed under the everlasting patience of her maid, Peggy. It took a maid of great skill and calm to manage Acacia's wardrobe and person. Acacia herself did not do patience well. Every quarter hour that passed without her father's return only added to her anticipatory excitement, knowing he might descend upon them almost any moment. The running calculator that was her mind distracted her in the form of geography and the times it might take to reach a variety of destinations, depending on which route Captain Carlisle took.

Finally, Acacia met Becca in the hall perfectly, if not extravagantly, attired. She stood still as her sister gave her a narrow-eyed once-over. "Lucia down yet?"

If anyone was habitually late to family affairs such as this, it was the youngest Carlisle sister Lucia, who spent the majority of her time tinkering in their grandfather's laboratory. Lucia tried her best to please everyone, especially Becca, but what time she spent physically absent from her work was spent inside the workings of her own mind. The disadvantage of this is that while Lucia loved pretty things, she could never quite keep them that way. Ink smudges, burn marks, and the occasional oil stain marred nearly all of her clothes.

"Already in the foyer," Becca said, absentmindedly. She gave a firm tug to Acacia's sky blue gown and straightened the line of her sapphire pendant. "Very nice," she declared finally, her brow clearing as she turned to lead the way downstairs.

"And Grandpapa?" Acacia asked, hoping to forestall the inevitable.

"On the verge of another breakthrough, Lord help us," Becca replied. "Papa will make an appearance before he does. How are the new slippers?"

Acacia hedged. "Fine. Lovely."

"Really?" Becca turned her head to lower a suspicious gaze to the vicinity of Acacia's feet. "No complaints?"

Damn and blast--she'd said the wrong thing again. She took a deep breath and tried to brazen it out. "Not a one," she said cheerfully.

"No pinching? No comments on the heel threatening to unbalance you?"

Acacia scoffed. "I've never been unbalanced in my life."

Not entirely true. Lucia had once made her a pair of slippers with a retractable heel so Acacia could adjust the height as she preferred, appropriate to the terrain in question—walking over gravel in heels, for instance, was little short of torturous. All had gone well until, in the middle of the evening, one of the heels had suddenly retracted, pitching her and her dance partner mid-country step into a group of onlookers. A wave of surprised party-goers had toppled in rapid succession, upending an entire buffet table that culminated in the upsetting of the punch bowl.

Acacia, unseen in the tumult, had limped off to the ladies' retiring room to repair the offending heel and laugh herself breathless.

Smiling at the memory, she entirely missed her sister's akimbo stance and patented glare. "Acacia."

She mimicked her sister's posture. "Rebecca."

Becca jabbed a finger in the general direction of Acacia's feet, who sighed before raising her hem an inch or two.

Becca covered her eyes with one hand. "Boots, Cass? Really?"

"They're new," Acacia pointed out. "And see how well they're polished?"

Down the corridor, the massive front door opened to admit the first guests. Becca groaned, and grabbed her sister's wrist to drag her bodily into the front hall. "Too late now," she muttered. "Whatever you do, don't let anyone see them."

"Yes, Becca."

"You can change after dinner and before the dancing."

"Yes, Becca."

"And be nice to the Hamiltons. I know they're tiresome, but they're well respected and invited everywhere we are. They're easier to manage if you remain civil."

"Of course, Becca."

After that, Acacia hoisted her best demure expression and took her place beside her grandmother, with Becca on her right. Lucia, adorable in emerald green and pearls, stood next to Becca. Grana gave them all an approving once over, and turned to begin greeting guests.

Nigel's mustache was the first thing Acacia saw, staring at her as it did with a personality of its own. It seemed to conspire with the equally unfortunate overbite, to which it drew inordinate attention. Acacia had just cleared her throat and managed to get through civil thanks for his birthday wishes when his mother's voice assaulted her from nearby.

"A complete surprise, you know," the horrible woman trilled so that anyone and everyone in the general vicinity might hear her. "Who knew his lordship was such a devotee of the grouse season?"

"And naturally Aldershot has the best shooting in the county," Grana replied pleasantly. She despised the Hamiltons as much as Acacia, but knew better than anyone how to play the game. Acacia suspected she enjoyed out-politing Lady Hamilton even more than Acacia enjoyed tweaking her. It was the only possible explanation for Grana's unfailing equanimity when dealing with the woman.

"I do hope I'm not a bother, my lady," a deep voice rumbled as Acacia took a page out of Grana's book to accept Lady Hamilton's "Many happy returns, my dear," with as much grace as possible, as an experiment. No, she decided, the old bird was much more fun to tweak.

"Not at all, my dear Baron. May I present my granddaughters? Miss Acacia Carlisle, whose birthday this is. Miss Rebecca, and Miss Lucia."

Acacia turned and found herself looking up—way up—into the handsome, smiling visage of...what was his name again? "My lord Baron," she tried, with a curtsy. Curtsies weren't half difficult, she realized, when one wore comfortable boots rather than pinching heels.

"Girls, this is Lord Gavin Rothschild, the Baron Lindsey."

"Apologies, dear ladies, for crashing a family party. Her ladyship assured me I would be welcome when I descended upon them practically out of thin air after my horse threw a shoe near their estate." Lindsey raised her, kissing her hand as his dark, merry eyes glinted at her. They crinkled at the corners, which she discovered she quite liked.

"Of course you are welcome," she assured him. Beside her, Becca released a hissing breath of relief.

"I'm glad. Shocking bad manners of me, I know, but I confess a birthday party for a pretty young lady sounded much more amusing than the leaky inn at Glen Orchy. Excellent whiskey, but terrible roads and even worse hunting. I was annoyed to be misdirected in that respect, but now I find my trip redeemed."

The longer Acacia stood in the receiving line, the more she appreciated her new boots. Perhaps she would agitate Becca and start a new fashion.

Speaking of agitation, she didn't know whether Grana was more pleased Baron Lindsey acted the charming star of her elegant dinner, or more annoyed Lady Hamilton had provided him for the occasion. He spent the lion's share of his attention on Acacia, who was thrilled enough that Nigel had been relegated to a less favorable seat to entertain her unexpected guest as cordially as she could from sheer gratitude. Fortunately, when Lindsey discovered her aspirations explore to Africa, he engaged her in lively discussion on the latest expeditionary news.

Before the dancing could commence, however, their ghillie Jock sidled into the hall to have a word with Grana as they were all passing into the ballroom. When she saw the smile light her face, Acacia knew. She excused herself from Lindsey and hurried over. "Papa?"

"Possibly," Grana said, terse as usual. Her eyes, however, twinkled. Grana adored her son-in-law to pieces, though she might never admit it out loud. Grandchildren did wonders for a man's domestic situation, her father often told her just to tease Grana. Grana would huff, but be unable to repress her amusement. "Follow me," she said now, clapping her hands to garner everyone's attention.

"Shall we?" Lindsey said with a smile, offering his arm and blocking Nigel in the process. Acacia accepted with a grin, deciding the evening wasn't such a loss after all.

Everyone migrated to the gardens, exiting out the far end and onto the lawn, chattering with wild curiosity. Acacia's heart hammered away in her chest, her excitement rising with every step.

The party milled about, attempting to guess what was going on. But Acacia's gaze stayed riveted to the horizon, waiting. Her companion seemed content to wait with her in silence. In fact it was Lindsey who first noticed the anomaly in the sky.

"What's that there?" he asked, pointing with his free arm. Acacia followed his gaze, and caught her breath.

Slowly descending toward them in a tightly controlled glide, came a grouping of flickering, colored lights. Before long the lights began to spread further apart the closer they came, until the airship they hung from began to take shape like a mirage shimmering into existence.

"He's not going to land on top of us, is he?" Lady Hamilton's demand ended in a near-shriek.

Acacia's arm slipped from the Baron's, and she strode in the direction of the oncoming ship. She could hear the crew singing, faintly, in the clear night air. She lifted her skirts above her ankles, and turned her stride into an all-out sprint as she discerned her father's hearty baritone over the rest. She pelted over the lawn just as a rope ladder tumbled over the side.

In a show of unrestrained exuberance, she leapt for the ladder.

"Cass!" Becca screamed, suffering an uncharacteristic lack of control. "You're wearing a gown!" Male laughter indicated Baron Lindsey was less than scandalized. He went up a notch in her estimation.

Acacia hauled herself up until she had a foot jammed in either corner of the ladder's first rung. Then she scaled it like a spider monkey even as her heavy gown threatened to hinder her. She kept her eyes on the rim of the ship's starboard side, waiting for her father to appear above her at any moment. Her breath shook in her throat with the force of her excitement, and the tears pricking her eyes had little to do with the wind at this height. He'd been gone so long.

A pale face framed with dark curls peered over the side, and grinned at her. Not her father, but just as good. "Archie!" she shrieked, and doubled the speed of her ascent. When she reached the top, he reached for her. Instead of accepting his assistance, however, she braced her hands on the rim and bodily launched herself at him.

He caught her with a physical and audible oof, and they went tumbling across the deck. Her brother was so close to her in age—less than two years—they may as well have been twins. He was the sibling she had most in common with, for they shared the same memories of another, different life before the money and privilege. They were clearly their father's children, sharing his love for adventure and his boldness.

Eventually, Archie was able to sit up and embrace his sister. "Happy Birthday, Cass," he said, laughing.

"Surprise," someone else said, sounding pleased.

Acacia looked up into the smiling countenance of her Captain Robert Carlisle, the unusual blue-gray eyes she'd inherited from him snapping in mirth. She pushed herself to her feet and threw herself into her father's arms. "Papa!"

"There's my girl," he murmured, hugging her hard. "How I've missed you."

CHAPTER TWO

In Which It All Goes Wrong

Robert Carlisle's ship was called the Sweet Cass after Acacia's mother, who had died of child bed fever after Lucia was born. The ship was his pride and joy, second only to his children.

The pilot continued to lower the ship, slowly but surely, until the gangplank could be run out to the ground and anchored in place. Acacia craned over the side to appreciate the skill it took to keep the Sweet Cass steady in midair. "Who's got the helm?" she asked, turning to her father. "They've got the hands of a surgeon."

"I'll be certain to tell my new first mate you said so," he said, sounding pleased.

Acacia raised her brows, and linked her arm through his as though to keep him attached to her. "Another one, Papa?" Ever since Jock had happily retired into ghillie-hood, Captain Carlisle had gone through any number of replacements.

Robert shrugged. "At the risk of tempting fate, this one might actually stick. I have a mind to make him captain of one of my other ships. He might be suited to the Australian run."

High praise indeed. The Australian run was not only arduous, but her father's first. He was infamous for making it look like child's play when it was anything but. "Indeed? Might I be introduced to this paragon of potential captaincy?"

"In due time. Let's get this lot airborne first, shall we?" With that, he moved forward to greet his other children, followed by his stern mother-in-law. Lucia squealed with delight when she spotted Archie, and that started an enthusiastic, if typical, family reunion in which everyone attempted to talk over everyone else.

Acacia stood off to one side, welcoming the rest of her guests onto the main deck. She repressed a smile when Nigel appeared, the curling tips of his mustache fluttering slightly in the wind. But she openly grinned when Baron Lindsey appeared.

To her surprise, her father interrupted his own reunion to greet him. "Lindsey," he said, sounding affable enough to fool an outsider. But Acacia recognized the warning undertones, and she wondered why on Earth her father had taken such an instant dislike to the man. "I had no idea you were coming to Scotland."

Lindsey didn't appear to have noticed the undercurrents in Robert's tone. "Hadn't planned to, but I was assured of prime bit of grouse shooting so I made the detour." He cast a look toward Acacia. "Now I'm glad I did."

Robert's eyes turned to the frozen silver-gray of the moon, with no trace of blue. "Are you, now?"

Acacia was beyond puzzled, even as her instincts started to clamor. Perhaps the Captain and Lindsey had met in London and fallen out, but why? She would have to ask her father about it later.

Lindsey continued, either oblivious or uncaring. "Tell me, who did you end up taking on as your new first mate in the end? Not that cowboy, I hope."

"As a matter of fact, yes. I needed someone with a bit more gumption than your English lads, and he seemed like just the thing to give my competitors pause." Robert's brogue, usually little in evidence since she was a small child when he first began traveling extensively, thickened.

At mention of her father's new first mate, Acacia turned and looked up into the helm. The Captain's Deck was surrounded on all sides by thick glass panels framed in sturdy wood that could withstand gale force winds. Illuminated by the moon and colored lanterns hanging from the crossbeams overhead, she could just make out the tall, broad figure at the controls.

She sensed him looking at her, regarding her. A cloud momentarily passed, causing a shadow to half-blanket her view of him.

"Father's first mate," Archie said next to her. "He really is a cowboy."

Acacia turned to her brother, interest piqued. "Where did Papa find him?"

"At the Crystal Palace, if you can believe it. The American was looking for funding on some invention or other. When Father's last Mate left—along with the navigator, no less—Papa was in dire straits to get home in time for your birthday." Archie grinned. "He was nearly forced to sail, if you can imagine."

Acacia chuckled. "Heavens forfend."

"In any case, he went for broke and hired on the American and his engineer, in exchange for funding their invention, whatever it is."

"You've no idea?"

"It's some sort of engine. Or something engine-related. I'm not entirely certain. There was much interest in the rumor the invention could either help locate the Northwest Passage or cross the Atlantic without stopping."

Most impressive. "Hail the grand empire. But will it ever be big enough?"

"Indeed." They strolled port side, where several musicians were tuning instruments. "I'm leaving the Air Brigade, Cass."

"What?" Acacia stared at him. "I thought you loved the RAB? Your letters certainly indicated as much." If the Brigade accepted women, she'd have joined like a shot. Travel, adventure, a positively spiffing uniform...And not a single dancing slipper in sight.

"I do. But I want to do more than participate in the expansion of an empire that is already quite expansive at the end of the day."

Papa had gone to a great deal of trouble and expense to buy him the commission. "So what will you do?"

"Actually, I've had more than one enlightening conversation with your Baron Lindsey."

"He's not my Baron Lindsey." But her glance skated in his direction, wondering if the awkward conversation between him and her father had been diffused yet by Grana. "He had a suggestion?"

"He offered me a position as navigator and cartographer on one of his ships. It's more money, more prestige...and better travel opportunities. He wants to be the first to map Africa." He leaned on the port side edge as the ship began to lift off. One or two of the passengers cried out in surprise, followed by nervous laughter. "Think of it, Cass. Africa."

Acacia did think of it. It was all she'd thought about, for years. So she completely understood his driving need to follow his dreams.

"Papa doesn't like Lindsey," she said instead.

"I imagine Lindsey was annoyed when Father snatched up the American and his new engine. He had his heart set on it for his expedition."

"You think he poached Papa's crew in retaliation?" If so, it was the worst sort of bad form. But Lindsey certainly possessed enough charm to get away with it.

"I doubt it. It would be beneath him, and he doesn't need the men. Besides, he has the support of Her Majesty and that of the more prestigious exploration and scientific societies, so what would be the point?"

Still, something about it rang suspicious to her, especially since Lindsey seemed to have finagled his way into their home. An inveterate tweaker herself, she began to recognize the signs of a true master in the Baron.

Robert unhooked the nearest speaking tube and whistled into it. "Take us round the estate and out over open sea, Mr. McCallan."

The silhouetted figure at the helm saluted, and went to work. Acacia lifted her face to the moon and wind, reveling in the joy of being airborne. Her first journey via air had been from Ireland, to their new home in Scotland. It had been a short journey, as such things went, but she'd been hooked from the first moment. She'd been hooked on the idea of it long before that, when her father's letters first started arriving in Dublin from Australia and she became consumed in maps and Captain Carlisle's firsthand accounts of his adventures.

"Boots, then, Cassie mine?" her father said, taking Archie's place beside her.

She shrugged. "You know I'm not one for slippers."

"No, you leave the slippers for Becca, on whose feet they belong. At least, as far as any punch bowls are concerned."

She chuckled. "You'll never let me live that down, will you?"

"A father must have something with which to tease his otherwise remarkable daughter."

She looped her arm through his, her knees compensating for the shifting of the ship as it began its majestic turn toward the cliffs of Glen Garrogh. "I wanted to speak with you about that, actually."

Her father gave her a narrow, knowing look. "You want to come with me, of course. You've been working as hard on this Africa trip as I have."

She tilted her head and gave him her own knowing look, learned from Becca and Grana, and for which there was no escape. "Is there any reason why I shouldn't?"

"None that I can think of," he conceded. Acacia's hopes soared before she could restrain them. "Other than your age. But then, I was younger even than you the first time I traveled. And, like you, it was in my blood."

Acacia caught her breath. "Africa? Really Africa?" She threw herself into his arms for the second time that night.

He laughed and lifted her from her feet. "It will be a long journey, but it will give me the chance I need to be with my daughter. And the fact remains that if you're going to be an independent woman of means, you may as well see how the practical side of our business works."

Acacia swelled with pride, until she felt she might float away on the cross breeze currently ruffling her hair into a disorganized mess. In a little more than a decade, it would be a whole new century. Who knew what would be possible by then?

Her father smiled over her shoulder. "It's all settled, Mr. McCallan. My daughter will act as our navigator."

Acacia turned in the circle of her father's arm to get first look at her father's new first mate. He was another tall one, and broad with it, just as she imagined a cowboy from the wilds of the American frontier must look. His long brown coat and leather hat, worn low on his brow, flapped slightly in the night wind.

"Glad to hear it," he drawled, nodding to Acacia. "Boy we have now doesn't know his left from his right, let alone his north from his south. Drew McCallan, Miss Acacia." He stuck out his hand in greeting.

Acacia readily slid her hand into his. Americans certainly were friendly. "Who's got the helm, Mr. McCallan?"

"Pilot by name of Toby Phaeton. Scottish, apparently brilliant, and from what I can tell about seventeen kinds of crazy." He had a pleasant voice, rich and a bit husky, as though it had been roughened by regular laughter.

"In other words, he fits right in among the Carlisles," Robert summed up, giving Acacia an affectionate squeeze.

"We're shooting for twenty kinds of crazy," she informed McCallan with mock solemnity. "It's taken a couple generations, but we're getting there."

"Nice, round number, twenty," he said with an approving nod. "It's certainly something to shoot for, Ladyship."

She decided then and there that she liked Drew McCallan, American cowboy and adventurer. With the matter resolved to her satisfaction, she turned to her father. "You might as well invite Archie to Africa, too," she warned him. "It's not my place to tell you the details, but I think he wants to talk to you himself."

Robert's eyebrows lifted. "Oh? Well, then. Archie first, then Africa."

The dancing on the deck began as the Sweet Cass canted low over the ocean, just beyond the cliffs that marked the extreme end of the Carlisle grounds. The musicians played lively country dances and sweet, graceful ballads alike. Those less daring slipped into safety harnesses and enjoyed refreshments while they looked on. The aviators, perched in the rigging like so many crows, clapped along and called out encouragement.

As she awaited her turn to prance down the line of a lively reel, she looked across the deck to find Drew leaning against the rail, watching. He smiled and lifted his hand, and she smiled back. Then Archie spun her between the two rows of dancers to the end.

After, Acacia slipped her way between the dancers preparing for the next round and joined him. "You don't dance, Mister McCallan?"

He tilted his hat back in consideration, revealing startling eyes of deep blue framed with extra-long lashes. All thought of Baron Lindsey fled straight from her mind at the sight of them. "I'm agile enough in a firefight, Ladyship, but put me on a dance floor and half your participants will go limping off it before the song's even close to done. 'Sides, I generally prefer a good drink accompanied by better conversation."

"In that case..." She beckoned to a nearby servant. "Whiskey for the First Mate, please. Champagne for me."

While they waited they watched Captain Carlisle twirl his mother-in-law around in an exaggerated gallop that had everyone laughing.

"Robert!" she exclaimed, restraining her obvious mirth.

"You have a nice family, Ladyship," Drew observed, smiling.

"I do indeed, Mister McCallan." She accepted their drinks from the returning servant and handed him the whiskey. "And there's no need to call me that. I'm not one of the peerage."

He shrugged. "You think I can keep all the myriad lines of British heritage straight? I'm American. I don't even know which fork to use first."

"And I do? I'm Irish. I just generally guess and have a grand time watching the real ladies faint into their soup course."

They clinked glasses, grinning.

"So how does an American cowboy with social fork anxiety find himself in the heart of a world that turns on the quality of one's table settings?" she asked.

He toasted her with his glass. "By way of Iceland, as it happens."

Her internal map shifted, until North America filled her mind's eye. Depending on coal and engine capacity, one traveled north, not directly east, from New Foundland or Nova Scotia to either Iceland or Greenland. From there it would be southeast to the Isle of Syke, that aviator's haven from bad weather and boredom between journeys.

An engine that could take an airship straight across the Atlantic would set the science and exploration industry on its ear. The whole, wide world would shrink exponentially in its wake.

"Iceland?" she asked now. "I've provided the drinks, Mister McCallan. Now, I'm afraid, it is incumbent upon you to provide the conversation."

The evening ended on a high note as Acacia and Archie performed one final, wild dance that concluded in a dramatic flourish. It was definitely easier when wearing boots instead of slippers, retractable heels notwithstanding.

Afterward, Drew took the helm once more and brought the ship in for its final descent back at the edge of the gardens. The great gusts of flame that burst from the mast-like smoke stacks into the envelopes were banked by the engineers, the dual coal engines controlling the thrust of the ship and flow of hot air into the balloons at the same time.

The gangplank was lowered to the ground to accommodate the less daring guests, but Acacia slid down the ladder after her brother like the professional she was soon to become. She was eager to get to bed at an hour that would allow her to rise early and breakfast in the library with her father as she showed him all she'd done in the past year. She raced into the house, entirely forgetting the manners that required her to thank her guests as her mind whirled. How she would be able to sleep at all that night, she had no Earthly idea.

As suspected, she tossed and turned, unable to settle her mind or the excitement that rushed through her. Having no idea of the hour, she wrapped herself in her warmest robe—even in high summer, these old estate homes could be as drafty as any airship—and tucked her feet into her slippers before leaving her room. The family wouldn't be up for hours, but Acacia was wide awake, and wild to begin planning her journey in earnest.

She was quite surprised, then, to hear voices coming from the library, which her father used as a study the rare times he was home. The voices were raised, and, to her astonishment, angry. Like any Irish family, the Carlisles were as outspoken as rowdy school children in the midst of a disagreement, but they would also turn as a whole on anyone who dared say one word against any of them.

But this sounded like something else entirely. In fact, if she didn't know better, it sounded like her father and brother screaming at one another in high dudgeon.

Acacia was about to wrench the door open when Archie did it for her, coming from the other side like a runaway steam engine. He shoved past without seeing her, and she turned to stare at Robert, who was standing behind his desk with both hands planted on its surface.

"Papa?" she asked quietly. "What's wrong?" For the first time since the day her father had immigrated to Australia in search of a better life for his family, Acacia was afraid.

Her father's face, so enraged a moment before, seemed to crumple. "Your brother has accepted a position in Baron Lindsey's African expedition."

Oh, no. "But why?" she asked. "If he's going to leave the Air Brigade, why not join the Carlisle fleet? Why not come to Africa with us?"

"I said as much," Robert said wearily, sitting. Taking this as invitation, Acacia hastened to sit across from him. "Unfortunately, he will hear none of it."

This baffled Acacia more than ever. "But why?" she asked again. "It makes not one bit of sense."

Her father searched her face, clearly debating how much to tell her. "This is something you should probably keep to yourself, Cassie."

She nodded. "Of course."

"What you don't know is that Archie struck up a friendship with Baron Lindsey while in London. To tell the truth, Archie got a bit...wild."

Acacia tried to repress a smile, but the corners of her mouth curled nonetheless. "No."

He grinned in appreciation, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. "Not Carlisle wild, little demon. The kind of wildness that comes with a great deal of money and privilege. Entitled wildness. Gambling, alcohol, and other...pursuits."

Now she was well and truly baffled. "That doesn't sound like Archie at all."

"From what I gather, our lad's managed to keep his head on his shoulders, mostly. But he's an intelligent young man with an eye for adventure, and he's grown bored and restless in the service of Her Majesty. To put it mildly, Archie was in the right state to have his head turned by someone as charismatic as Lindsey."

Acacia recalled her earlier question to her brother, about her father's crew being poached. "Do you suspect Lindsey targeting and wooing Archie on purpose?"

Robert's eyes flashed. "Not content with luring my crew with promises of wealth and glory, tempting my son against me is exactly the sort of man Lindsey is."

"So he was here on purpose, then," Acacia said, fighting back a flash of anger. "How it must have amused him to flirt with me as he did."

"I have no doubt it did." Robert's smile held no humor. "And I'm certain it was no burden, with you being an heiress in your own right, more than easy on the eyes, and with a taste for adventure yourself. Perhaps he sought to poach you, as well."

Idiot man. "He would have had a difficult time doing so," Acacia assured her father. "I have no intention of marrying. But what do we do about Archie?"

"We let him cool off, and we try again in the morning," her father said with a sigh. "Perhaps, between the two of us, we might yet prevail."

And that, Acacia would be doomed to recall later, was when it all went wrong.

CHAPTER THREE

In Which There Is Hot Pursuit

Archie was gone by morning.

The Carlisles were devastated by the news, especially Acacia. She blamed herself for not persuading Archie into a different course of action sooner. Angry with herself as she had never been with anyone else in her life—except, perhaps, Baron Lindsey. She should have followed her instincts, and gone after him the previous night. Her father, for his part, would have called Lindsey out to demand answers, had not the Baron himself mysteriously vanished as well.

"Where is his fleet based?" Acacia asked, neither of them having touched their respective breakfasts. "Surely that's where they're headed?"

Robert shook his head. "Lindsey is not so obvious as that. He will want to be up and away as soon as possible, to put distance between himself and us." He glowered. "Rotting coward."

Acacia pulled a map toward her. "Isle of Skye, then. Hiding in plain sight."

He nodded. "That's where I'll begin my search."

"You? You'll not allow me to come, Papa?" Disappointment filled her, until what little appetite she'd been ignoring fled altogether.

He stood. "I'll be back before you know it. Don't forget, I have a ship, and Lindsey must ride. I have no doubt I'll spot them from the air before the day is out. Now, I must go." He smacked a kiss on her forehead. "While I'm away, why don't you work on plotting our route to Africa? It will take your mind off things."

Acacia wanted to point out that Lindsey would see him coming a mile away from the air, while riding might allow them cover if they stayed off the roads. She wanted to say that two pairs of eyes, and therefore two heads, were better than one. She was desperate to tell him he was the last person Archie wanted to see right now, and that Acacia might have better luck reasoning with her brother.

But she said none of these things. Instead she swallowed her hurt, and her pride, and nodded.

"That's my girl," Robert said with deep approval. "Keep my dinner warm for me, and set a place for Archie."

When he was gone, Acacia went to the glass doors of the library that faced the gardens. She stepped out on the stone terrace and leaned her elbows on the balustrade in a most unladylike fashion. Beyond the gardens, on the lawn, the great balloon of the Sweet Cass lay spread across the emerald grass like a spill of blue lake. Her father's crew either worked to get hot air into the balloon or stood by, watching and eating breakfast from a picnic table setup for the purpose. Acacia smiled. It was so like Grana to refuse to allow anyone within her purview to go hungry, having missed so many meals in her own life before her son-in-law had swept her from it.

The tall, broad figure of Drew McCallan strode across the lawn, shouting orders before looking over the breakfast table. As though sensing her regard he looked up, the brim of his hat lifting. After a moment, he lifted his coffee cup in silent salute. Leave it to Grana to also know Americans preferred coffee to tea, and to have some on hand, just in case.

Acacia straightened, blushing to be caught watching him, though she couldn't say why. She'd all but missed the bulk of her party, their conversation had been so engaging. Feeling unacountably foolish, she lifted her hand in response, and returned indoors.

It would be hours yet before the ship's balloon could be fully inspected according to safety regulations, re-inflated, and then checked again, which would give her brother and his new patron a head start. She and Archie knew the area better than anyone, so it was an even playing field on that point. Archie would expect Acacia to figure out his route, but he would also no doubt expect to be able to persuade her to let him make good his escape.

She probably wouldn't be able to talk sense into him. But, perhaps, she could convince him to let her tag along for a while, and then get a message to their father. Lindsey had thought her charmed by him; surely she could extend the subterfuge and let him think he stood a chance, if it meant she could give him some of his own back. It was her duty as a Carlisle to educate him on the perfidies of playing merry havoc with her family.

Within half an hour Acacia was dressed for riding in beige breeches, a cream-colored shirt, a brown leather riding vest with a high collar, and matching boots laced to the knee. As Jock brought round her horse she tugged on her leather gloves, expertly lacing and buckling them to her elbow. She'd gotten her maid to braid, knot, and pin her unruly hair into submission. A week on the deck of an airship traversing the Alps would not budge it.

Over her riding gear she'd donned her pride and joy—a gentleman's leather overcoat in black, tailored for her curves and reaching her ankles. The lining was emerald green silk, and the coat contained so many pockets she had lost things in it more than once. It kept her warm and dry in all weather, and looked dashing besides.

"Will you come with me, Jock?" she asked hopefully. If anyone knew the area better than she and Archie, it was the ghillie, who'd memorized every nook and cranny by air as well as by land. He'd taught her to ride, and to shoot besides.

"Naturally, Miss," the grizzled former airman agreed readily. "I've already got old Foxer at the block ready to be mounted. Just give me a moment, and it'll be a wonder if we don't find 'em before the Cass is a foot off the ground."

She grinned. With Jock at her side, there was no way she could miss. "Where to first?" she asked as they turned out of the stable yard onto the drive.

"We'll start with the old deer track what don't get used no more," he said in such a way that led Acacia to believe he'd been talking it over with the Captain.

"Lindsey said he was boarded at the inn in Glen Orchy," Acacia yelled as they picked up speed and the wind began to rush in her ears. It was almost as good as being on deck. "Do you think they'll have stopped there first?"

"It's the only place in twenty miles to get fresh mounts, so probably. But don't forget, Miss," Jock answered as they cantered along within hearing distance of the Cass' balloon being inflated. It was a dragon's roar, and only served to remind her of the time rushing away on her. "A true hunter doesn't go after the place they think their quarry is. They work out where their quarry's going to be, and then they lie in wait."

Acacia nodded absently at the old lesson. "Alright. Then the question is whether we need to work out where Lindsey plans to go next, or Archie."

"We'll start with Archie," Jock decided. "We know how he thinks, and he knows the lay of the land. Lindsey won't know how to maneuver about without being seen."

"And they'll be in a hurry," Acacia concluded, and urged her mare into a gallop.

Three hours and change later, they were no closer to tracking down Acacia's wayward brother than when they started. Jock, as always, appeared untroubled by their lack of progress. But he was patient on a preternatural level Acacia had little understanding of. His was the sort of mind that could wait out violent windstorms or a mare's difficult foaling in the middle of the night with equanimity. Acacia, on the other hand, was victim to vital energy and certain amount of recklessness that made her afire to be doing something. Like her father, she was meant for action—the bolder, the better.

Currently she and the ghillie were up a pair of trees overlooking a twisting road from a distance not easily spotted, each with their spyglasses out. Their horses had been reined near a creek and sufficient foraging a few hundred yards away. From her vantage and with her glass she could see miles down the road in either direction. Jock had approximated that Archie and Lindsey would have to pass down this road sooner or later either by horse or carriage, if her father was right and they were heading for the Isle of Skye.

Then why did she get the feeling something wasn't quite right?

Jock looked in no hurry to switch strategies. Shifting on her branch in a futile effort to return blood flow to her backside, she sighed and once more lifted her glass to her eye.

The strangest thing captured her attention. Not on the road, but in the sky.

She wasn't quite certain what she was seeing. She wasn't even certain she was seeing it at all. Up in the sky, practically at one with the horizon, there appeared to be a strange shimmer. One moment, it looked like a hot air balloon or scout ship coasting the air currents below the clouds. The next, there was nothing there at all.

After a moment's debate, Acacia whistled over to Jock and tapped her spy glass. The ghillie obligingly lifted his own glass in the direction she pointed.

He remained still for several minutes, while she waited impatiently for his assessment. It came in the form of an extremely vulgar term, followed by another even more vulgar, which was subsequently followed by the old man descending his tree at a rapid rate. Acacia scrambled down, dropping the last ten feet from an iffy branch that creaked ominously in her grip.

She hit the ground running. "What is it?" she wanted to know.

"That Lindsey bastard is as crafty as they come," Jock spat. "I don't know how, but he got his hands on enough mirrored silk for a balloon."

She'd never heard of it. "Mirrored silk?" she repeated, as she vaulted up into the saddle.

"Some bright spark in India got the idea. It reflects back what it sees, so it looks like there ain't nothing in the sky unless you're looking at it right. Thank the Skies you happened to be doing just that, missy."

Acacia shook her head as they took off in pursuit. Mirrored silk? What would they think of next? She would have to tell Lucia about it, if she didn't already know.

Lindsey must have gotten it at the Science and Aviation exhibit in London, where Papa had found his cowboy and the new engine. She could only hope engine and cowboy together would be enough to beat Lindsey at his own game. In all the time they'd spent talking, she'd never gotten around to asking McCallan about it.

It was soon clear she and Jock would never be able to catch up, though they didn't stop trying. The problem was that Lindsey's balloon, wavering in and out of sight as the afternoon sun shone across its curve just so, wasn't just moving faster than they were. It was also eating up the miles across the craggy Scottish landscape in places their horses weren't able to go.

"They're heading for Glen Linnet," Jock called to her. "We can skip through the woods on the south and cut across the creek. There's a gully we can use as a shortcut."

"Right behind you!" she shouted back, and squeezed her mare's flanks until they flew like an airship under full steam. Her mare rejoiced in the wild run, and Acacia almost forgot for a moment why they rode so fast.

They just made it, their horses' hooves thundering over the cobbled streets of the village a mile or so ahead of the balloon. It was easier to spot now, this close to the thing. Acacia had no time to give it the admiration it deserved; her gaze was locked on the local signal tower. It wasn't long before they were reining in before it.

"I'll take care of the horses," Jock told her. "You get that message through."

Acacia barely heard him as she threw herself from the saddle and barreled through the tower's door. She nearly groaned when she saw the little old lady manning—er, womaning—the desk.

"I need to get a message through immediately," she gasped, leaning on the counter. "There's a balloon coming through any moment."

"Sure thing, dearie," the woman replied, giving her a broad smile. "What's the message?"

Acacia scribbled it down on the paper the woman passed her, who then called up the spiral stair. "Outgoing!" she sang out.

"I'll take it up," Acacia offered hurriedly.

"Bless you, dear, there's no need for that." The woman clipped the message to a pulley line and cranked a wheel to send it up. She was much more spry than she appeared, Acacia would give her that. "Although you're welcome to see it through, if you like. Top of the stairs."

Where else? Acacia hopped the counter and raced up the stairs two at a time until she thought she felt the entire building shake beneath her. She burst through to the top floor, where an even older, smaller man was just pulling her message from the line. "Urgent, then is it?" the man asked, shoving his spectacles up his nose. "Off we go, then."

He reached up to pull the roof hatch open, which also released a set of stairs. Acacia followed him up onto the roof and looked up in the direction of the approaching balloon.

"Mighty strange one," the old man commented. "Never seen the like before."

"But you see it?" Acacia asked, eyeing his bottle-thick lenses.

"Oh, yes—watch this, now." He removed his glasses and lifted the goggles that were hanging about his neck. He changed the lenses on either side until he was apparently satisfied. "There we are. Now I've got a bead on their aviator."

Acacia removed her spyglass from one of her vest straps and lifted it. Her heart lifted when she spotted Archie, hands on the basket's rail. She even knew the moment the old man's signal flags went up to garner their attention. Archie motioned Lindsey over, who lifted his binoculars in their direction.

The old man danced about with unprecedented vigor, his flags swishing around him like a matador's cape. As Acacia watched, Lindsey passed his binoculars to Archie, who leveled them on the tower's roof. Relief washed through her as she lifted her arm in a wild wave.

When he didn't respond, she lowered her glass and waved both arms, jumping and shouting his name. To her eternal surprise, Archie scowled down at her, and shook his head. "What is he doing?" she asked, baffled.

"It doesn't look like they're taking the message, miss," the old man said, sounding equally confused. "What sort of aviator do they have on board?"

"One who follows strict orders, I suspect." Acacia lifted her glass once more. Archie looked decidedly uncomfortable. Perhaps he suffered from gut-wrenching guilt, as well he should. But Baron Lindsey, revealing his true character, simply gave her a supercilious, triumphant little smile she longed to wipe from his handsome face. She just resisted an overwhelming urge to respond with a rude gesture.

"What now, miss?"

Acacia turned to find the little man blinking owlishly at her from behind his magnifying lenses. "Can you get a message to all towers in the area? I need to get word to my father." He would have launched by now.

"Just leave it with me. My wife runs the telegraph like a demon and I'll watch the skies from here in case his ship passes."

Tense with hurt and anger, Acacia took her descent back down to the main office much slower than her ascent. She paid the woman behind the counter for both messages, and slumped outside to alert Jock of the current situation.

He looked up from watering the horses, and frowned at her dejected demeanor. "I take it you couldn't stop him, then."

She shook her head. "He wouldn't even take the message. By the looks of things, he may already regret signing on with Lindsey, but he's too stubborn to call it quits. So I left an All Towers for Papa, so he knows about the mirror silk and Lindsey's mode of travel."

Jock nodded. "That's all you can do for now, miss. Time to get back in case the Captain needs our help from the ground."

Feeling something of a failure, Acacia mounted up with a lack of enthusiasm that made her proud mare snort in disgust.

Back in the dark days before her father had made his fortune in Australian mining, Acacia's grandmother had made ends meet by running her own unregistered telegraph machine. Even had the Carlisles been able to afford a telegraph machine as well as the registration fees, there had been no way for Grana to leave three young children at home—Lucia not yet even a twinkle in Robert's eye—while her daughter worked herself to the bone as a map copyist. So Grandpapa had reclaimed an old machine meant for the scrap heap, and Grana painstakingly taught herself to use it. Then she ran the machine from her kitchen table at a penny a message. In the end, it added up to quite a lot of pennies.

Now, however, there was a state-of-the-art machine on its special desk in the library, attached to the Carlisle shipping network. Acacia, being an especially rambunctious child on rainy days, had been taught the telegraph operator's art at the age of twelve by her exasperated grandmother. Upon returning home after losing Archie, Acacia marched straight into the library, muddy boots and all, and took her father's office chair in a rite of passage as painful as it was unexpected. There, she stared gloomily out the window and waited for Peggy, that faithful of all co-conspirators.

Her maid arrived on the heels of their butler Monroe, who looked not at all fussed at having the Great Outdoors tracked down the proudly gleaming floors of his Great Indoors. "I take it you'll be dining in your father's office, Miss?" was his only comment as Peggy knelt to remove the boots from her mistress' feet.

"For the foreseeable future," Acacia confirmed. "I'll need to intercept any messages from the Sweet Cass until Papa returns with Archie."

"As you say, Miss Acacia. I'll alert your grandmother and the staff as to your plans." Then, like all good butlers, he more or less dematerialized upon leaving the room.

Acacia's boots successfully removed to the boot boy's wooden bin, Peggy started a fire in the grate and got it to the roaring level she knew her lady preferred, then went to see about getting tea and something to eat. When she was gone, Acacia pulled several maps from the pile nearby and unrolled them across the desk, anchoring the corners with paperweights and various other objects convenient to hand.

By her estimation, there was little to no possibility Lindsey was bound all the way to the Isle of Skye in that little scout balloon, due to its small fuel capacity. It could, however, get him and Archie as far as Inverness. If, as she suspected, Lindsey intended to keep his little jaunt away from prying eyes as much as possible, then he more than likely had one of his airships waiting for him on a private field there.

At the end of an hour, two cups of tea, and a bacon and cheese sandwich, Acacia had plotted the three most likely routes Lindsey would take to Inverness. Then she painstakingly copied every three-letter code for every signal tower within a five mile radius of those routes from her father's book. Starting with the most likely of routes, working from the theory Lindsey believed they believed he was headed to the Isle of Skye and therefore wouldn't bother take a less likely one, Acacia notified all towers that Captain Robert Carlisle of the Sweet Cass was on the lookout for the Baron's balloon. "Mirrored silk" featured prominently in the message, so she could be certain of garnering everyone's attention.

In less than another hour, the response came in: Baron Lindsey had been spotted, precisely where she thought he might, with a confirmed ETA for Inverness.

She tapped out a hasty message, this time addressed to the Carlisle shipping office in Inverness as well as the one in Skye and marked urgent. Then she paced until the receipt notification came in, forwarded to her by her father: That's my girl.

Acacia sighed with relief and fell back into her chair. A moment later, a grin crawled across her face, secure in the knowledge her brother would be home in time for supper after all, duly chastened but safe.

CHAPTER FOUR

In Which Our Heroine Embarks On Her Journey

It had been a long few months since Archie left, and much had happened. Too much. Acacia felt weighed down by it, her shoulders heavy and her chest tight with tension. But now that she and Jock had made the first leg of their journey, the burden she bore had finally started to shift. If only a little.

Archie's abrupt departure had only been the beginning. Captain Carlisle had been grounded at the Isle of Skye after being caught in a violent squall, missing Lindsey's ship by mere hours. After that, the good Captain had chased leads ranging anywhere from France to as far as Cairo. In the meantime he'd given over the running of Carlisle Shipping to a trusted Board of Trustees and put Acacia in charge.

Finally there had been Sky City, in the Straits of Gibraltar. That's when the Raven of the High Winds, for all his cunning and resources, had gone down while fighting another storm and was now presumed dead.

The memorial service had been horrible. A dreary, gray Scottish churchyard, in a dreary, gray Scottish drizzle followed by an interminable luncheon at Glen Garrogh during which she comprehended not a word of interchangeable, rote expressions of sympathy.

For the first time in her life, Acacia found herself at a loss, her normally facile mind working at barely more than a standstill. She tried to force it into motion, to remember why she'd entered a room, the reason she found herself out on the lawn that doubled as their airfield, blinking in even weakest, overcast daylight.

She remembered her party. She remembered all the wide-open possibility of her future spreading before her like the landscape beneath the Sweet Cass's rudder. She remembered Africa, her life's work about to begin.

At some point she found herself in the library. She ran her fingers along the bookshelves and curio cabinets filled with her father's souvenirs until she reached the desk. There she lifted the sheaf of telegraph messages from its highly polished surface and shuffled through them unseeing.

One stood out. Just a couple of lines, and a single name. Most importantly, there was no expression of sympathy.

Tell me what I can do.

~Drew

P.S. No fork will go unused.

It was her first genuine smile in weeks. Laughter, however rough in her throat, became a real possibility. Her father had given Mister McCallan money to buy a ship and the directive to conduct his own investigation into Archie's disappearance, since Robert was too notorious to search unnoticed. As far as she was aware, he only reported to the Captain. Before she knew it, she was at the telegraph tapping out a response.

Forget the forks. I'm taking Lindsey's heart with a grapefruit spoon.

~Cass

Suddenly her synapses were firing, the sluggish flow of blood in her veins speeding up. Suddenly she could breathe, and feel, and think.

Suddenly she could plan.

His reply was, surprisingly, more or less immediate. As though he'd been waiting for her.

Come to the Isle of Skye.

So that's where she was now, her and Jock.

The island was perfectly situated for travelers of sea and wind alike, and had become one of the best known ports of call for sailors as well as aviators. The picturesque town of Port of Skye was a merry haven for all things adventure and ship mastery. Some of the best shipwrights in the British Empire were based here, Scottish and Irish whiskey makers competed for the bustling business provided by the island's constant flood of visitors, and it was full of music and lively trade.

It was easy enough to leave their luggage at the local Carlisle Shipping office before heading out to the airship docks that jutted out from cliff tops over the ocean. As a child, Acacia had been fascinated with the arrival and departure of the airships. The harbor master's men would direct a ship's pilot via semaphore flag into an empty track, which would then be adjusted on both sides via massive cranks to fit the ship's hull while the pilot cut the engines. And if there were no berths to be had, the ship captain had to locate a handy, empty patch of pasture elsewhere. Preferably one without sheep.

Acacia and Jock joined the colorful crowds strolling along the boardwalk in search of Drew McCallan or his ship. The sea air was brisk and salty, just the way she liked it, and she spared a few minutes reveling in the festival-like atmosphere, tipping her wide-brimmed hat to the occasional passerby. The world of aviation, being one of scientific progress in addition to its appeal to adventurers of every caliber, tended toward a greater degree of open-mindedness when it came to a traveler's color, creed, class, and gender. Skill and knowledge came first, all else a very minor second. A keen sense of adventure was the great equalizer.

This meant Acacia was, by no means, the only woman clad in breeches and corseted harness, a gun belt slung over her hips. Engineers wore coveralls, aviators harnesses and flight caps, and nearly everyone had goggles dangling from a belt or hanging from their necks.

But there were also plenty of what Jock termed "looky-loos", those curiosity seekers out for a day's gawking after lunch at one of the inns or restaurants on the boardwalk. It was to these Acacia politely tipped her hat to, as the folds of her gentleman's overcoat flapped in the wind.

"I don't know why we just don't commandeer one of the Carlisle fleet," Jock grumbled, examining the air traffic with a sour expression.

"None were free," Acacia explained. "I checked. Besides, most of our ships are meant to carry cargo, not passengers, and our ships are too easily identified. We need something faster, that won't require an escort."

"And you trust this McCallan."

"Papa did, so yes."

"There's the harbor master's office," Jock said after a while when they had no luck. "I'll see what berth he's registered in."

Acacia found a handy length of boardwalk rail to lean on while she watched the ships and people come and go. A sleek little sloop that looked as though it had seen better decades, let alone days, almost slumped in its berth with its balloon deflated in the frame of its rigging. Beneath the storm scars, however, Acacia could see the potential in its lines and make. Some Irish women knew their horseflesh in their blood and bones; Acacia knew ships.

Curious, she strolled over to see where the ship was bound, but there was nothing on the placard outside the berth gate that would indicate who her captain was, whether it was available to take on passengers, cargo, or crew, or where it was bound.

Out in front, lounging on a rickety deck chair and reading a book, was what appeared to be the ship's engineer. He looked young, his small face as grungy as his clothes, and his goggles were of the sort worn by those in the engine room rather in the flies, as an airship's rigging was called by the aviators that crewed them. The engineer rubbed his small nose, leaving yet another smudge behind.

Acacia tipped her head to make out the book's spine. "I say," she called out, "is that the latest Artemis Hawke adventure?"

The engineer looked up, startled, and Acacia realized that he was, in fact, a she. A very pretty one, with wide hazel eyes and windblown hair. "I finally managed to scrounge a copy, can you believe it? Three other places I've been, and they were all sold out!"

Acacia could believe it. They were her favorites, too, though she hadn't had a moment to read in ages. "I used to have to special order them from Edinburgh. Did he ever escape the Arctic?"

"On a whaler. Though I'm afraid it was a bit of 'out of the fryer and into the fire', if you know what I mean."

Acacia nodded. This was fairly typical of an Artemis Hawke story. The author had a teeth-gnashing habit of ending each story in a dramatic, if highly improbable, cliffhanger just when things were beginning to look all right. "Where are you headed?" she asked.

The engineer's pixie face twisted in a scowl. "Nowhere, unfortunately. The Captain's having a fine time of it—or, to be accurate, not so fine—trying to scrounge up repairs from that weasel Hamish Vaughn."

Acacia heartily sympathized. "My father's dealt with Hamish on more than one occasion," she said. In fact, he'd done the repairs on the Cass during her father's last ill-fated trip to Skye—the bill even less probable than an Artemis Hawke story. "Perhaps I can be of assistance."

The engineer beckoned her over the rail. "I'm Ash, by the way."

"Acacia." She vaulted over the barrier. "Cass, for short."

Ash gave Acacia's black overcoat a gaze of open admiration. "You're the adventuress? I've heard of ladies like you, hieing off to the pyramids every other week in search of Pharaoh's treasure."

Acacia blinked. "You know who I am?"

Ash grinned. "The Captain told me to look out for you while he tries to find a ship repair crew without the inclination to rob us blind. Welcome to the Icarus II, Ladyship."

Captain Drew McCallan was in a foul mood. Every day his ship was caught up in berth without receiving the repairs necessary to get her airborne again cost him the money needed for those repairs. He knew he shouldn't have pushed the ship to Caracas through that storm on so thin a lead, but he'd been desperate and time had been short. He'd initially thought they'd be all right, but later they'd been forced to limp into Port of Skye like an amateur drunkard. Hamish Vaughn, however, refused to budge on price, knowing all his competitors' repair docks were full to capacity.

He stomped his way back to the Icarus II's berth to find his head engineer deep in enthusiastic conversation with another woman, dressed for traveling. Ash waved her latest book around with great fervor. He couldn't suppress a smile, no matter his frustration. It seemed Ash had found another adventure novel enthusiast, or perhaps just a friendly ear to bend. His engineer would talk nonstop to anyone and everyone, if they let her. It was rather like being harassed by a small, fluffy animal of the twitching nose variety. What could he say? He had a soft spot for strays.

Ash brightened when she caught sight of him, and interrupted herself mid-sentence. "Here he is, now. Captain, I was just telling Cass about our problems with Hamish Vaughn."

The other woman turned, lifting her head so the brim of her hat revealed her face. His first, striking impression was that Acacia Carlisle was as lovely as he remembered—all creamy skin typical of the British Isles, paired auburn hair pulled back in a braided knot and eyes the changeable blue-gray of a bright, summer sky. But those eyes held the intelligence of a hawk, and the amused curve of her smile promised more than it was willing to give.

His second impression was that she was young enough to make him feel old.

She stuck out her gloved hand. "Captain McCallan," she said, her voice enhanced by a rhythmic, Irish lilt. "It's good to see you again."

He shook her hand. "I'm sorry we're not meeting under better circumstances," he said, abruptly aware he'd been staring a little too long. "I was sorry to hear about your father. I admired him greatly."

She accepted his sympathies with a slight nod. "I'm here to discuss a business proposition, one that will benefit us both."

Music to his ears, and not just because of her heady accent. He indicated his not-fit-for-company ship with an expansive gesture. He'd been afraid his employment had terminated along with Robert Carlisle's search. "Then step into my office, by all means."

Drew followed her up the swaying gangplank, the fluttering of her long coat snapping in his direction as though to keep him at bay. Up on deck, she lifted the hat from her head and canted her face up into the wind and sun with a blissful expression, the hard look leaving her face for a moment. In that brief time, he saw the woman in her from her party, before she turned her attention back on him with an assessing look. Wondering if she could trust him? Or if he was worth the trouble?

"You're American, so I'll speak frankly. My father left me a great deal of money when he died. Most of it's invested, of course, but I still have a not unimpressive amount of liquidity at my disposal, and the paperwork to prove it."

This peaked his interest, as, he was certain, it was meant to. "I appreciate your candor, Ladyship. Go on."

Acacia leaned back against the port side rail, her hat held casually in one hand as she cocked her head at him. "My father trusted you. That means I trust you. Therefore, I intend to not only retain your employment with Carlisle Shipping, but to act as your patron, as my father did."

Drew nodded, the abrupt inward flow of cash washing him with relief. "And in return you want my help finding your brother."

The corner of her mouth twitched slightly in amusement, but she regarded him coolly. "I require one or two things: exclusive passage to Sky City, and I act as navigator."

His jaw dropped. "Sky City?" Had she any idea how dangerous place was? Slave traders, pirates...all found welcome haven there.

She arched an eyebrow. "That's where my father's ship went down, so that's where my search will start. You don't have to tell me how dangerous it is. That's why I intend to hire security, as much as we can carry in the way of crew and weapons." She patted the pouch at her side. "I've already plotted our route, and I have information from the Carlisle Shipping network that Lindsey's last official berth was there—on his way to Africa."

He shook his head, feeling the need for a stiff drink. A double, hold the water. And ice. Hell, just leave the bottle. "You've got it all figured out, haven't you?"

"Hardly," she said with a bitter laugh. "But I'm doing the best I can, with the information I have."

"That's all any of us can do, Ladyship. Forks notwithstanding." He stuck out his hand. "All right, Ladyship. You're on."

"Excellent. Now let's deal with Hamish Vaughn."

Drew pictured her facing down the wily little shipwright, and something truly terrifying in its glee rose up within him. She may be trouble, he reflected as he followed her back down to land, but at least she was on his side. He almost felt sorry for Baron Lindsey.

But only almost.

It was even better than Drew imagined. Cool as a cucumber in a tea sandwich, Acacia Carlisle instructed her grizzled companion to have their luggage delivered to the Icarus II before leaning over the boardwalk rail and whistling to summon a conveyance. An open carriage with a whirring engine and spitting, coughing exhaust halted almost immediately, and she used the foot ledge to hop in without assistance or the small matter of the door. Happily settled, she gave the direction to the driver, who gave her a hearty, "As you say, miss!" and they were off at a brisk, jostling pace.

Drew spent the intervening time in the pleasant occupation of watching her watch everything else. He saw it in her eyes. She'd notice something, observe it keenly, and then catalog it before moving on to the next item of interest. One or two gentlemen, apparently thinking themselves the object of her attention, actually stopped cold in the street, looking a little wistful as she passed.

Soon they were disembarking before Hamish Vaughn's place of business. Acacia paid the driver with the cheerful generosity of one to whom money didn't matter very much, and took Drew's proffered hand to exit the carriage. Then she strode straight through the shop's open front door, past the startled rows of clerks, blew by the front desk and its stammering attendant like a sudden, brief wind, and entered Hamish Vaughn's inner sanctum without so much as a by-your-leave.

The proprietor himself was engaged in the extremely serious business of a post-lunch nap. His feet were anchored on his desk, his misshapen hat pulled low over his eyes, unshaven chin tucked into his chest (shirt still sprinkled in crumbs), and the end of his cigar glowed gently with each inhale, a little puff of smoke clouding the air with each exhale.

Acacia arched a considering brow, using the time to remove her gloves to take in the scene. Drew leaned against the nearest wall, crossed his arms, and waited. By the Skies, this was going to be good.

He wasn't disappointed. Acacia put her hands on her hips, and, with clear, calculated deliberation, kicked the office door shut.

Hamish's response was electric. The tilting chair righted itself hard enough to splinter its legs, his feet scattered the slurry of disorganized papers on his desk as they dropped to the floor, and the cigar landed in his unsuspecting lap.

Hamish flew from his chair with a shriek, batting the offending heat away from his flammable bits. He then stared at Acacia with reddened, blinking eyes. "Who are you, then? You don't have an appointment!"

Acacia strolled over, removing her hat and dropping it on the corner of his desk before taking a seat uninvited. "Forgive my intrusion," she purred, not sounding sorry in the least, "but I was banking on the fact that you've done business with my father in the past."

Hamish stooped to retrieve his cigar with careful fingertips, and reclaimed his seat with as much dignity as he could manage. "Your father? If, as you say, I've done business with him before, why isn't he here now? No offense, missy, but I don't deal with women if I can possibly help it. Too troublesome." He re-lit his much abused cigar and glared belligerently at her over the top of it.

She crossed one leg over the other, and as the edge of her coat fell away to reveal the pistol on her hip. "My father," she drawled, "is deceased."

"And you're here to pay his bill, are you?" He brightened right up at the idea.

"His bill was paid in full some time ago. No, I'm here regarding new business."

His manner changed abruptly. "Well, now. That's a different sort of sprocket entirely. What sort of job it? Envelope replacement? Cargo hold extension? Glass shielding for the quarterdeck?" He shuffled through his papers. "What was the name again?"

In the tone of someone drawing pistols at high noon over a stolen horse, Acacia gave Hamish Vaughn his second shock of the day. "Carlisle."

Hamish's head jerked up. His renewed cigar hit the desk with a thump, where it started to smolder. "That would make your father..."

"Captain Robert Carlisle, yes. Known in aviation circles as the Raven of the High Winds." She leaned forward to rescue his cigar, which she solicitously stubbed out in his ashtray before it could set fire to her service contract. "For his cunning."

Hamish continued to stare. Then, against his apparent will, he swallowed. "I...I...I..."

Acacia sat back once more. "I do hope we can do business, Hamish. I would hate to take my custom elsewhere."

His eyes rounded, until Drew could see his reds were, in actuality, his whites. He would have been able to see Hamish staring in the dark, like the frog he was.

"Of course, Miss Carlisle," Hamish croaked.

"Excellent." It was Acacia's turn to kick her feet up onto his desk, hands folded before her in satisfaction and smile firmly in place. "Now, what's this I hear about you not giving Captain McCallan absolutely everything he needs?"

Acacia was growing gradually more concerned for Captain Drew McCallan. As they returned to the Icarus II in the same conveyance they'd arrived in—the driver having hung back in the hope of a return fare, as she'd intended when tipping the man so heavily—he'd gotten a certain dazed look about him. His large frame practically filled the carriage as he leaned back against the seat with his hands folded behind his head, and he gazed dreamily at the sky.

"That," he finally said, "was quite possibly the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Acacia tucked away a smile. Poor man. Had that really been the first time he'd witnessed the full force of a genuine Carlisle tweaking? No wonder he looked pummeled about the head.

"Hmmm," was her only comment as she reviewed Hamish's slightly overblown invoice. If he got the job done in three days as promised, and heavens help him if he didn't, then it would be worth the extra money. Just.

"When you gave him your name, and he dropped his cigar again..."

"Mm-hmm." The tip of Acacia's pencil ticked down the edge of the paper as she added the numbers up in her head. It was astounding, what new brass balloon girding cost.

"And then you called him out on the price he quoted me..."

"Hush, I'm counting," she murmured.

Now he quoted her. "'I take no issue with making a profit, even a hefty one. But I draw the line at outright extortion.'"

"Quite."

"Marry me, Miss Carlisle."

"Not on your life, Cowboy," she replied, folding away the invoice once more. "Or mine, for that matter."

He sighed. "You're my kind of woman, Ladyship."

"If you say so." She adjusted the set of her coat so she wasn't sitting on it and, as a result, rendering herself virtually helpless from the shoulders down. "Now, we've got three days to recruit a crew and supply the ship. You'll do better with the recruiting, but drop the Carlisle name if you have to. Credit inquiries may be forwarded to our shipping offices. I'll handle the supply side of things."

Drew snapped out of his daze. "What? Why?"

Acacia's smile was feral. "If you liked what I did to Hamish, just wait until you see how I negotiate for dry goods."

The conveyance pulled to a halt before Drew's berth. He waited until she paid the delighted driver once more, holding open the door so he could pull her out of the way. "Oh no, you don't," he said, abruptly back to his former self as reality took hold once more.

She blinked. "Whyever not?"

"Because it ain't fair to do to an innocent dry goods clerk what you just put Hamish Vaughn through." Despite the stern expression, Drew's cobalt blue eyes snapped with mirth. "He's still a growing boy who lives with his dear old mum on some lonely, wind blasted Scottish moor. My ship, my decision."

Acacia stopped in place, forcing him to stop with her. She crossed her arms and gave him her best Pity-The-Fool-Who-Challenges-A-Carlisle look. It was a look that had quite a lot going for it, in her experience. "My money, remember?"

"And I appreciate it, more than you know. But I'm still Captain."

"And I'm supposed to do what, exactly, for three days if not see to business?"

He shrugged, waved vaguely toward the town. "Borrow a book from Ash. Shop for the journey and eat at fancy restaurants while you still can. I may or may not end up unleashing you on Hamish again, if only for my own questionable amusement. If nothing else, I can sell tickets for card money."

Thoroughly amused herself despite her annoyance, Acacia gave in with poor grace. "Who am I to argue with a man who named his ship the Icarus II?"

He crossed his arms back at her, mimicking her stance. "Doesn't everyone deserve a second chance?"

"Nearly everyone," she corrected, thinking of Baron Bloody Lindsey. "But I take your meaning."

He continued to gaze at her, stone-faced and immovable as the Rock of Gibraltar.

Acacia placed a hand on her hip. "Or, I could supervise the ship repairs."

Drew nodded. "Or, you could supervise the ship repairs."

"One condition."

He rolled his eyes. "What?"

"Jock's your First Mate. That's non-negotiable."

"Agreed." He took her by the shoulders and spun her around, piloting her in the direction of the ship. "Now go."

"Aye-aye, Captain." She mock-saluted and marched smartly up the gangplank.

Behind her, she heard him groan, and grinned.

Miss Acacia Carlisle was being watched. She had no inkling this was the case, else she might draw one of the shotguns she'd brought with her and shoot him, Captain Quincy—former First Mate of the Sweet Cass—right between the eyes if she found out why. She certainly would if she ever found out about the agent he'd placed on her ship to steal the plans to the new engine.

He lowered his binoculars, shaking his head. Of course she was out looking for her brother, more a fool than even he might have hoped. Archibald Robert Carlisle had provided much in the way of information regarding Carlisle Shipping, its various operations, and, without meaning to, its financial situation. It's very lucrative financial situation.

Lindsey's notion to kidnap the Carlisle heiress by using her brother as bait and while the mysterious new engine was in her purview had been a stroke of genius. Sky City had been a wealth of resources for just such an endeavor. Quincy, acting on the Baron's orders, had given the terms of the job to one man, paid another, and at the end of the day had no idea who had actually executed the thing. Instead, he'd been given a contact to get in touch with when he was ready for the either return of Lindsey's 'shipment', or its transport elsewhere.

These same people had taken out the seemingly unstoppable Captain Robert Carlisle under the cover of a storm before he could get too close, and now the daughter had taken up his mantle, just as Lindsey had predicted. In due course Quincy would 'help' Acacia locate her brother, and thus lead her into a well-prepared trap. And it would cost her a pretty penny to pry it open.

For very few were aware that Baron Lindsey, for all his funding and status, was destitute. Penniless. He was, in fact, stealing from Peter to pay Paul just to keep his nose above water. He'd drained the coffers of his African expedition to pay for this entire operation. The engine blueprints were a contingency plan, in case the Carlisle girl proved more difficult to take than anticipated. Of course, if they got both...well, it couldn't getter any better than that.

Because if Lindsey were to marry Acacia, then he'd be set for life. And if Lindsey was once again rich, then Quincy's instrumental work in the endeavor would be richly rewarded. After all, he'd already been promoted to Captain for the express purpose of conducting the wedding on board his lovely new ship.

He lifted his binoculars once more. Acacia was leaning on the rail of that ridiculous McCallan's wreck of an airship, staring off into the distance with a satisfied smile on her face. If only she but suspected the disaster that awaited her on her journey.

Acacia would be the gift that kept on giving.

CHAPTER FIVE

In Which There Are Krakens

(Because Of Course There Are)

Thanks to Miss Carlisle's eagle eye and head for numbers, the Icarus II was refitted in record time. The three days allotted for the job had been pared down to two and a bit, and Drew barely had time to load his final recruits before it was time to prepare for departure.

Ash had even persuaded Miss Carlisle to install new ventilation in the engine room, to be extended into her attached repair room. When the engineer got a load of the shining copper tubing throughout her inner sanctum, she'd been in a seventh heaven of delight and spoke of little else except to express burgeoning hero worship for Acacia.

Drew was growing quite partial to his new employer himself. For the first time since he first met her father in London, he felt his luck changing. It was like fresh air in his sails after being becalmed for so long.

Their new crew was an eclectic one, to say the least. Their ship's doctor, for instance, was a neat, little man who had wartime field experience and doubled as the ship's cook. Elijah Garrett's seafood chowder was capable of putting stars in one's eyes.

His security team was calm to the point of being preternaturally terse. It was Jock who had found the sibling team of Mirren and Martin Cordova, who in turn led the unit of twenty or so mercenaries. The Cordovas were twins, spoke out loud only when absolutely necessary, and had brought with them more elegant and creative means of death than Drew had sampled whiskey and sailor's grog combined.

They were highly efficient, and hardly said a word to anyone. They seemed to get quite a bit done with an incomprehensible code of grunts and nods, but from what Drew gathered, they were more than worth the money.

Then there was their rigging crew. All aviators were crazies by definition, as evidenced by their current contest to see just how far they could fly from the top rigging out over open air and sea, whooping as they swung back in a wide arc that caused all on the quarter deck to instinctively duck as they careened overhead.

Acacia spent her time getting to know them all, and laughing like a lunatic at their stories, which seemed to involve a great deal of expansive arm movements accompanied by sound effects.

And then there were the half dozen or so engineers Ash had found looking for work, all of them as grubby and apparently as brilliant as she, and who all spoke a language of mechanics as incomprehensible as the mercenaries' grunts and nods. Proving herself curious about pretty much everything, Acacia ducked into the engine room on a regular basis to watch them work, careful not to get in the way.

Eventually Ash showed Cass her pride and joy—the hydrogen converter she'd designed to turn water into hydrogen. The added benefit was that it also acted as a water turbine, boosting the engines to greater speed. If she could get it to work, they'd make a fortune and a half of their own selling the patents—with less coal needed as fuel and plenty of water in the Atlantic, the first transcontinental flights would be more than a possibility. Ships would fly higher, faster—safer.

Acacia, her eyes gleaming at the idea, immediately put Ash in touch with her sister Lucia, who was apparently something of an inventor. A flurry of correspondence ensued.

The most unlikely of their crew, however, was their quarter master. The quintessential definition of "accountant", Simeon Clark was as elegantly cool and precise as any of the good doctor's scalpels. Tall and lithe, his black hair and cool blue eyes soon had more than one of the ladies on his crew making excuses to visit his office for supplies. Drew suspected a deep, dark secret on the young man's part, for he was as different from most airship crewmen as Drew was from Harley Street. He wore shirts with starched collars and silk waistcoats, for Skies' sake.

They were scheduled to depart the morning of the fourth day. There were one or two cargoes Drew was able to pick up for Skyhaven, since they were scheduled to stop there anyway to refuel and replenish supplies, and Carlisle Shipping brought a third. Acacia went up another notch in his estimation when she charged her own people for the privilege, despite the fact the Carlisle Shipping heiress—namely her—was on board and acting as the ship's patron.

"What kind of patron would I be," she drawled, to her horrified shipping manager, "if I didn't let my captain make a decent profit?"

Her shipping manager wandered off to supervise the loading, looking dazed. Drew knew the feeling.

Finally, they were ready to disembark. Drew watched over Toby's shoulder like a hawk, watching the gages measuring the heat levels being released into the envelopes from the engine room, and the pressure in the balloon. Watching the pilot work the various levers and dials was like watching a master chef move about his kitchen, or a tango dancer putting his partner through her paces. He knew precisely what to do, and when do to it—not a moment before or after. This, despite his manic litany of muttered prayers and clutching the no less than thirteen good luck charms and holy emblems hanging about his neck.

Drew began to relax, the tension easing from his shoulders. He left the pilot to it with Jock's assistance and went down to the main deck to join Acacia at the rail.

His unconventional employer had exchanged her wide-brimmed hat for a black pilot's cap, complete with goggles. Her hair had been wound and knotted tightly at the nape of her neck, but a few curling tendrils had escaped to glare against her fair skin. He was relieved to see the safety belt clipped to her leather harness. He wouldn't have put it past her to free-walk it during departure, or to join the aviators up in the flies.

He grabbed another belt from the hooks hanging from the quarter deck and latched it to his own harness. The other end ran along tracks beneath the rigging and along the ship's rail that allowed the wearer to safely negotiate the deck during flight.

Currently, Acacia was leaning on the rail, watching with interest as the harbor master's men furiously turned the cranks that pulled the metal frame from the hull. More than a few passengers would have preferred to stand away from the rail during departure, or even waited out the worst of it indoors, but leave it to Robert Carlisle's daughter to crane over the edge until her feet practically left the deck. Drew edged closer, in case he needed to make a quick grab for her.

The bellows from the engine room drove steam and heat up into the envelopes seated inside the balloon. It wasn't long before the hull began to creak against the metal frame in its effort to get airborne. The harbor crew turned other, larger wheels, requiring two men apiece, to pull the frame away from ship. A rough lurch followed, during which it took Toby a moment to rectify the balance, but then they were away and up into Winds.

"How long do you think it will take to reach Skyhaven?" Acacia shouted above the wind whistling about them, pulling her goggles down over her face. She left her chin strap unbuckled, however, giving her a dashing sort of look.

"Depends on winds and weather," he yelled back, though he was close enough to brush against her with the gentle shifting of the deck beneath them. "Things stay fair, I'd say about ten or twelve days."

"My father always said he'd never had a flight that was completely fair," she said.

"Neither have I," Drew conceded. "To play it safe, call it about eighteen, even with your adjustments."

Acacia was an excellent navigator, shaving miles from their journey without taking unnecessary risks and leaving him options should the weather play up at any given point. She studied and interpreted maps the way expert anglers regarded the currents of their native rivers and lakes, using a combination of intuition and outright knowledge to turn the art of flight into a graceful, gliding dance.

Drew was a fair navigator, as all captains must be. Acacia had it in her blood.

Even now, as they turned slowly up into the High Winds, she laughed like greeting an old friend. Its gentle spinning made even Drew a little light-headed, but not Acacia Carlisle. She behaved as though she were coming home.

Things started to go wrong not long after that. Not immediately, and not significantly, but little things. Just enough to be first an intermittent, and then continual, annoyance. First it was the flour, which Doctor Garrett reported as being riddled with weevils—though it had been inspected prior to launch. Then there had been a rash of what appeared to be small thefts: Ash's Artemis Hawke book, a round half dozen wrenches from the aviators—the best and fastest way to ensure ill-feeling between flies crew and the engineers, two parties extremely particular about their tools. And, strangest of all, several of Toby's good luck charms, certain to turn the pilot into a gibbering pile of panic. If Acacia hadn't known better, she'd swear a leprechaun had been let loose to wreak havoc.

She ducked into the ship's kitchen where some of the crew were taking their turns at washing the supper dishes and put the kettle on the little pot-bellied stove in the corner for just that purpose. Some of the crew made their own tea or warmed brandy of an evening, and so the stove was there to accommodate them without having to do anything untoward like use the big stove, and end up setting the ship on fire over a cup of Darjeeling. No cuppa, no matter how good, was worth extinguishing a fire mid-flight.

She made two cups, added a splash of cream to hers and left the Captain's hot, bitter, and black as tar—essentially as close to coffee was it was possible to get—and took both into the Captain's office, just off the corridor from the helm.

"You didn't have to leave me the Captain's quarters," she told him, referring to the expansive rooms at the back of the ship with its rows of windows and private bath.

He looked up from his maps and notes with a smile as she set both cups on the desk and took a seat. "There's no reason for me to have an office as well as quarters, and them separated by an entire ship. No, the state room's all yours, Ladyship. I'm sure you have unmentionables to hang, or something."

Acacia took the teasing in her stride. The way she figured he was due a point or two, just to keep things interesting. "You really don't have to call me that, you know."

His blue eyes twinkled at her. "It fits."

She arched a brow. "If you say so, Cowboy."

Together, they went through the latest telegraph messages, taking note of storms in the area, or the increase in pirate activity near Calais, one of their destination points now that they needed to replace their weeviled flour.

"I'm glad you insisted on a larger security crew," Acacia commented on this last item. "What are our weapons stores like?"

"Terrifying," Drew answered. "And by 'terrifying' I don't mean 'out of stock'. I mean 'Even our quartermaster won't set foot in there'. He fears being impaled by something he can't identify at the least hint of turbulence."

Acacia nodded. "Good job the Cordovas are in charge, then."

"Agreed." Drew examined a slip of paper, turning it this way and that with a frown. The furrow in his brow was adorable. "Are these coordinates? Or our oil expenses?"

Acacia took the paper from him and flipped it around. "Who wrote this, a near-sighted monk? With a fatal aversion to double-entry accountancy?"

They blinked at each other in mutual confusion. Then, "Ask Toby," they chorused. Acacia set the paper aside. "Speaking of the Cordovas, how goes the investigation into our little rash of problems?"

"No news as of yet." Drew returned his attention to his maps. After a spell of companionable silence, he cleared his throat. "Ever been to Andorra, Miss Carlisle?"

She smiled, but didn't look up. "Never had the pleasure. My father told me how beautiful it is, though."

The tiny country of Andorra was situated smack in the middle of the Pyrenees, the mountain range separating the south of France from Spain. Skyhaven had built up along the foothills on either side of the divide, with a friendly rivalry between the two. Beautiful, elaborate staircases and moving bridges from the heights down into the city itself, level after level of restaurants, shopping, and stunning attractions to compel travelers, including resorts on mountain tops and down in the valley, lakeside. It was a popular destination for honeymooners.

"I thought we might alter our course a little." He coughed, clearly uncomfortable. "To take in the sights along the way. We won't lose any time by it."

"Sights?" Acacia continued her review of the inventory Simeon had submitted, stopping halfway down the page. Then she reached for a pile of invoices. She was quite certain they'd paid twice for some of the same dry goods, including the ruined flour. Thus she wasn't, exactly, giving the captain her full attention.

"Well, there's these sort of—

What he was saying finally registered, elbowing aside the running columns of numbers in her head. She gave him a suspicious look. "You're not going to propose to me again, are you? I am armed, you know."

He held his hands up in surrender. "Not even in jest, I swear. I just thought you might like to see the waterfalls, is all."

She relaxed. "Oh," she said, a little lamely. "Of course. Lovely. Shall I make the course adjustments?"

"No need until we cross over into France. But I think you'll find it's worth it."

Before Andorra, however, there were other sights to see. Having crossed Scotland and England, they were now soaring over the North Sea, heading for the channel and the South of France. They were ahead of schedule despite the mysterious mischief flaring up through the ship, and Ash wanted to test her converter while they were over open sea. Doctor Garrett chimed in, hoping to get some fishing in while there was opportunity. Both ventures would mean flying low and hovering for a time while lines were cast over the side of the ship.

Acacia was game to try, as she wanted to see the converter in action. They were within a day's sail of Calais, and had made excellent time down, so Drew had no objection. So Jock assisted Elijah in making the necessary arrangements for fishing, the engineers dragged a portable pump and length of leather hose to the deck, and they were soon joined by interested mercenaries and off-duty aviators alike. The burliest mercenary anchored a harpoon gun on a collapsible tripod to the deck, giving them all a sunny grin as he wound the rope in a neat coil around one meaty arm, hand to elbow and back.

They decided on a spot off the coast of Margate, in England, and readied the lines. In fact he was quite looking forward to a day's fishing, especially if it meant he got to spend the intervening hours between bites watching Acacia Carlisle with her hair, still damp from her morning bath, tumbled down her back to dry in the sun. Amazing, really, how the light glinted on the red and gold strands as she leaned lazily on the rail.

"She's lovely," Elijah commented, casting his line once more.

"What's that?" Drew turned from the beguiling sight of Acacia smiling as Ash explained how the pump worked without waiting to be asked. Ash assumed everyone was as fascinated with how things worked as she was. Fortunately for her, Acacia was as keen to hear as Ash was to talk.

"Miss Carlisle. She's a lovely young woman."

Drew cranked his reel once or twice, for the look of the thing. "I suppose so."

"Let me know when you're ready to get your eyes checked, Captain. All due respect, you're clearly a few degrees short of a full twenty-twenty."

Drew snorted. "If you're that desperate to tread the boards, Doc, we can drop you off at Paris on the way to Skyhaven. Without slowing."

Elijah's dark eyes went misty. "Ah, Paris. Haven't been there for years. It's been reported they're building a structure meant to be the world's tallest tower as a centerpiece for the World's Fair in '99. I'd be quite keen to see that."

"You just might get your wish," Drew told him. "Careful I don't toss you off the side to give you a view a mite too close for comfort."

The doctor did not appear in anyway threatened. Instead, he grinned like a heathen, and Drew was forced to recall how much he'd come to like the man.

Just then, movement caught his eye.

"Um, Captain?" Ash called over. "I think something's happening."

Drew reeled in his line and anchored his rod through the rail before joining them. Acacia hadn't altered her stance any, but her eyes, reflecting the endless blue sea below, remained riveted to the currents. "Have you ever seen a leviathan before, Captain?" she asked, as he reached her side.

He swallowed. "Can't say that I have." Feigning a calm he didn't feel, he took hold of the rail in both hands and peered over the side.

The currents had started to turn rough and choppy not far from them, though that wasn't the case with the rest of the seascape in the vicinity. A dark shape flashed below. It was bulbous at the end before trailing off gracefully, like an underwater comet. "Ash, do me a favor and fire up the engines, will you?"

"Yes, sir!" she scampered off, eyes wide. "You lot get that hose up and stow the pump!"

"Aviators to the flies! All of you!" He turned to find the Cordovas both standing behind him, eerily silent and awaiting orders. "Get your boys ready, just in case."

Acacia reached back to knot her hair messily at her nape. "Jock!"

"Right you are, Miss!" Jock went running for the helm, hauling his lanky frame up the stairs.

Despite the clear skies, the sea had gone downright stormy by the time Ash was able to get enough steam going to get the ship into motion once more. Her off-duty engineers shot by with the pump, which squeaked on its wheels.

"It's not a leviathan," Acacia said. "It's a kraken. At least a hundred feet long."

Drew, who'd gone as still as she in his intense focus on the water, nodded. "At least."

"Ever seen one that big before?"

"Not even close."

The Icarus II was just starting to get some lift when someone did something so colossally stupid it look Drew a full three seconds to react.

Someone shot the harpoon gun.

The ship immediately jerked violently to one side, tilting at a near ninety degree angle. Drew made a run for the nearest communication lines and snatched the speaking horn from the hook. "Get us out of here. NOW!" Off to the side, Martin Cordova flattened the burley mercenary insane enough to like the idea of never ending calamari.

As if the cargo hold could hold a beast of that size. The damned thing probably outweighed the ship, brass fittings and all. When the big man staggered to his feet, Martin tripped him in the direction of his sister, who ducked and flipped the man overboard in a neat maneuver Drew immediately decided to learn for himself.

But first, there was the not insignificant matter of a hundred foot kraken determined to remove the sharp object in its side, and turn his airship into a bath toy as a result. Drew grappled his way around the side of the quarterdeck and yanked open the door to the weapons locker affixed therein. He grabbed a rifle from the rack just as Jock came hurtling back down to the deck with two more.

And all the while, Toby and Ash both struggled to gain more height, to dislodge the harpoon tethering them to the now very riled up kraken. Drew skidded back down the sharp angle of his deck, passing the harpoon gun's tripod anchor as it strained to remain in place. He hit the rail just as the creature's tentacles came whirling up out of the sea, its shriek pitched to shatter glass and eardrums alike. The salty, oily rank of bleeding sea monster filled the air.

He shot for the rope, and missed. In the meantime, mercenaries showered bullets into the ocean like hail. He staggered for balance as he tried to reload.

Jock tossed one of his rifles into the air, and it was caught by Acacia as she slid on the swaying deck. She fell back, hand slapping the wood to control the speed of her fall. Her boots slammed into the side and she used the rail to leverage herself upright. Drew finally managed to get reloaded. They shot at the same time.

Drew would never know which of them hit the rope. Perhaps they both did. All he knew was abject relief as the ship spiraled into the air at full speed. He and Acacia tumbled to the deck as it righted itself. He grabbed her and ducked them both beneath the rail as one last, meaty tentacle swiped over the top.

"All right," she said, voice muffled as he covered their heads. "Who released the kraken?"

CHAPTER SIX

In Which Our Heroes Reach Skyhaven

The Icarus II limped into Calais' sky port a day or so later, looking much the worse for wear. To Acacia's infinite relief, the damage wasn't quite as extensive as she anticipated. They did, however, end up losing the time they'd gained in her constant rounds of course adjustments and reappraisals, but time they could afford.

"She's been through worse," Drew assured her with a smile. "And she'll go through it again, Ladyship."

The Cordovas were more talkative after the kraken incident than she had seen them to date. They apologized profusely for the overly ambitious actions of their colleague, for which they took full responsibility. As it turned out, all the items that had gone missing over the last week were discovered in the man's footlocker.

Drew, she was surprised to note, accepted the siblings' contrition with aplomb. After all, he told her later, what worse could be possibly done to the man that hadn't already been done? Justice was served, and he certainly wasn't in a position to do it again. He was more worried about what it meant, a saboteur on board from the very beginning of their journey.

Two days were lost in the repair dock at Calais, during which Captain McCallan showed her around to the best parts of the city: where to get the best food, the prettiest trinkets, the finest and strangest goods. If Acacia hadn't known better, she'd suspect that the good Captain was attempting to woo her. Only instead of the usual rounds of parties, social calls, and rides through the park, he was showing her the world.

But, no, Captain Drew McCallan was not a man who wooed, or even attempted to woo, young ladies he happened to work for. It was simply that they worked well together, and enjoyed one another's company.

"What I don't understand is why he wasted his time with so many petty, inconsequential thefts," Acacia wondered as they strolled along balmy waterfront.

"I'd say he was a saboteur," Drew said, shrugging, "except that he was extremely bad at it."

"Maybe it was a distraction?" she guessed. "To get close to Ash's hydrogen converter? Maybe Lindsey paid him to steal it?"

"He'd have a hell of a time figuring it out," Drew pointed out. "The damn thing doesn't work, even with your sister's help. And how would he get it off the ship, anyway? The crazy contraption is heavy enough to put a hole in someone's deck if they tried to lift it away, provided they got it out of the engine room to begin with. Only way is through the cargo hold when the ship's docked."

The bittersweet nature of her first adventure only grew more acute once they crossed France to Cevennes, by way of Paris. To her disappointment they didn't stop in the City of Lights. But they flew over at night, and drank wine on the deck, and that was almost as good.

But Cevennes was where the waterfalls were.

Acacia was having lunch in the galley with Doc Garrett, enjoying a contest of one-upmanship in tale telling between aviators and mercenaries when one of the engineers came to tell her the Captain was requesting her presence on deck—and to bring her goggles.

She had just reached the deck, goggles dangling from one hand, when Toby canted the ship into an unexpected, sharp turn that caused her to stagger to one side before she could clip a safety belt to her harness. Fortunately, Drew was there to set her right and get her latched.

"Thanks," she said, casting a suspicious look up into the helm. Toby responded with a wide-eyed innocence she could discern even from here. If he wasn't careful, she'd feed his recovered good luck charms to the next kraken they came across.

"Come on," Drew said, turning his catch into a friendly escort further along the deck, hand hovering behind her in case she lost her balance again. "You'll like this."

Acacia allowed herself to be led to her usual spot on the rail, adjusting her goggles as she went. Toby directed the ship lower in a much more graceful turn than the last one, the deck shifting by increments beneath her boots. She adjusted her weight from one foot to the other, compensating.

A roaring sound outmatched that of the Icarus II, drowned all sound until her ears pounded with it like a second pulse. Curious, she leaned on the rail and peered over the edge. And gaped.

Tier upon tier of waterfalls greeted her sight, miles of them it seemed. They were magnificent, and majestic, and quite possibly the most wonderful thing she'd ever seen.

As if in response to her awe, Toby lowered the ship even more, until she felt she could practically touch the powerful water beneath them. Spray shot up into her face, and she laughed. It was like sailing above a thunderstorm.

"It's not quite as impressive as the falls at Niagra," Drew shouted over the deafening rumble. "But it'll do."

Acacia grinned at him. "American."

"Better believe it, Ladyship." He crossed his arms on the rail next to her, his eyes crinkling when he smiled.

That was when she realized he wasn't showing her the world, but his favorite parts of it. She wondered if he realized what he was doing, or if he knew why he was doing it.

Acacia checked the stability of her safety belt, then climbed up on the rail.

Drew stared at her. "What are you doing?"

"Getting a closer look," she said, and then, to his obvious horror, hopped over the side. As she inched down the ship's hull, she lost all capability of hearing anything, let alone his shouting—probably a good thing. Using her belt as a tether, she slid lower and reached out, grinning as she trailed her fingertips in the spray. It was the most invigorating thing she'd ever experienced.

A harsh tug on her harness yanked her up, just as the ship coasted past the edge of the falls and the ground yawned beneath her. Acacia turned and planted her boots on the hull, and looked up. Drew's terrified expression stared back at her.

"Hang on!" he hollered, giving her tether another hard pull.

"I'm fine!" she called back, exasperated. Then she took the leather in both hands and climbed up much faster than he could pull her. When she reached the railing she hauled herself over the side, where he caught hold of her and high-tailed her away from the edge. He dropped her in the middle of the deck and spun her around by the shoulders.

"Are you crazy?" he demanded. "You could have been killed!"

She blinked up at him. "What are you talking about? I was harnessed the entire time."

That seemed to slow him down a bit.

"You're behaving as though I've never been on a ship before, Captain. When, in fact, I was practically born on one. It's in my blood." She pointed at herself. "Carlisle, remember?"

Drew shook his head. "You're loonier than the aviators—and don't take that as a compliment!"

Acacia snorted, wholly unrepentant. "Where do you think I got the idea?"

Drew scowled. "Yeah, well, anything happens to you, Ladyship, I don't get paid."

She cocked an eyebrow. "As a matter of fact, you do. In fact, you'd get a bonus to compensate for the untimely ending of your job."

"Whatever it is," he said, stalking away, "it ain't worth a Carlisle's worth of aggravation."

Drew McCallan was still growling when the Icarus II canted west at the Pyrenees to make for Andorra and Skyhaven. He hadn't carried so heavy a thunder cloud with him since Port of Skye, before Acacia straightened out Hamish.

His lips curled at the memory. She'd straightened him out so hard you could bend iron around him. Drew would go to his deathbed dreaming of that day. So, probably, would Hamish, though for different reasons.

He frowned again. Acacia was a great deal too reckless. He was honest enough with himself to admit he kind of liked her brand of crazy, in theory. She was whip-smart and fearless and knew her way around ships and guns, right enough. And if he weren't careful, she'd make herself cozy as a kitten in yarn in his life, and just as pleased with herself.

His life was no place for Her Ladyship. She'd be much happier in another man's life, on another man's ship. Drew tried hard not to envy that other man, that other ship that would benefit from her place on it.

He drew on his coat and gloves, and wound a scarf about his shoulders before heading out to the deck. Well, it would be over soon enough, at any rate. They were skirting the edge of the Pyrenees, now. They would arrive in the French side of Skyhaven by tomorrow, latest. And then it wouldn't be long before they were berthing at Sky City—where he'd have to watch out for her doubly hard.

But damn it if he didn't love it when she called him "Cowboy" in that Irish lilt of hers, with the long vowels that sounded as though she were savoring it. He loved it even better when she called him "Captain." As if he'd actually earned the title instead of just buying a wreckage of a ship she'd had to fix up for him.

That's when someone smacked him square in the face with a snowball.

Acacia put her hands on her hips, and smiled. "Seemed like you could use some cooling off, Captain," she drawled.

Ash laughed herself silly beside her. "I can't believe you actually did it!" she hooted, pointing and holding her stomach as she bent double with the force of her mirth.

Drew wiped the snow from his face with one hand. "Tell me you didn't go over the side again."

She shook her head. "Nothing so dramatic. Ash wanted to experiment with the converter using snow, so the engineers sent buckets over to collect it."

His shoulders sagged in relief. "Really?" He turned to find several buckets filled with mountain snow, neatly lined up against the quarterdeck.

She nodded. "No more thrilling heroics, I promise. On my honor."

"Well, in that case..."

Acacia managed the duck the first snowball when it came hurtling toward her. The second one got her in the shoulder when she dove out of the way. "I take it back!" she shouted from behind the gunwale. "I'm going over again, this time with skis."

"You just try it, Ladyship. I'll tie you to the rigging in the middle of a blizzard if I have to."

The third snowball knocked the still howling Ash from her feet like a ten pin. The engineer only laughed all the harder, and now her feet kicked freely. Before they knew it, all their newly acquired snow became ammunition in a war between aviators and mercenaries.

He was still grinning when they reached Andorra.

They arrived in Skyhaven in the evening, just as the sun was setting behind the mountain peaks. Acacia was leaning on the railing again, as the mellow lights and sounds of the port city began to trickle toward her. A tall, broad shadow joined her, bringing with it a feeling of friendly warmth.

"First the lights of Paris," she said. "Then the waterfalls of Cevennes, and the snow-capped peaks of the Pyrenees." She sighed. "You really know how to show a girl a good time, Captain."

"Don't forget the kraken," he pointed out, sounding amused.

"Heavens forfend," she agreed, laughing. "You have the rare privilege have showing me my first kraken. What will you come up with next?"

"Well, I figure a man of my limited status and means has to try harder than the average gentleman, seeing as I don't know the difference between a shrimp fork and a dessert fork. How'd I do?"

She smiled up at him. "All things considered, I think the kraken was my favorite."

"Mine, too." He leaned next to her, watching the lights of the town twinkle into focus in the lowering dusk. He smelled nice, like wind and rain and warm leather. "You're my kind of woman, Ladyship," he said again.

She cocked a brow. "No more marriage proposals on your part, and no more thrilling heroics on mine. Agreed?"

"Agreed." He smiled. "Like I said—my kind of woman."

She snorted, and returned her attention to Skyhaven. "What was it like, traveling with my father?"

"Rather like traveling with you, only less harrowing." He turned to face her, leaning on one elbow. "Why ask? Now, I mean, when you've had the whole trip?"

She shrugged. "All my focus was on getting here," she said. "But now we're getting close to my brother—I can feel it, in my gut. So I'd quite like to know, please."

Drew didn't answer at first, his gaze gone distant as he recalled. "He was generous, and fair, and loved his crew even more than his ship, and that was saying something. And he never stopped talking about his family, especially you." He blinked himself back into the present, and smiled.

Acacia nodded, and pretended the tears stinging her eyes were due to the fact she wasn't wearing her goggles in the stinging cold. "Thank you."

He put his arm around her shoulders. "You're welcome, Ladyship."

As Toby settled the Icarus II into its appointed berth on the French side of Andorra, Drew made his way to Simeon's office and had him send a certain telegraph off to a local business. He'd been considering this for some time, but Acacia's questions about her father settled the matter for him.

"You just missed Miss Carlisle," Simeon said, checking his book for the appropriate routing code. "Insisted on sending a private message to the Carlisle Shipping network."

"Oh?" Maybe she had to wire them for additional funding after the near-disaster of the kraken. When the response for his own message came back, he found himself faced with a dilemma.

In the end he shrugged and determined to just bite the proverbial bullet. How better to mark the halfway point of their journey than something Robert did every trip he made to this particular port, and Acacia, he figured, would appreciate the connection to her father.

He paused outside her door at the sound of laughter. Female laughter. In, as it were, cahoots.

This did not bode well.

He told himself he was being ridiculous. Then he girded his loins, straightened his spine, and rapped smartly on the door. After he received permission to enter, he creaked the door open and poked his head around like an abject coward.

Ash was sitting on the edge of Acacia's bed, swinging her legs back and forth. Acacia's eyes were snapping with mirth, and she was clearly trying to keep a straight face as she folded a shirt. "So the snow actually worked?"

"After a fashion. It really seemed like it was going to sputter to life for a second or two. I'm expecting a mail packet in Skyhaven from your sister that might help—should be here any moment from the Carlisle office." She noticed Drew. "Hullo, Captain. Have any good snowball fights lately?"

"Don't you have an engine room to manage?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow at his chief engineer.

"The lads have got everything under control," Ash replied, utterly unfazed by his stern tone, leading him to believe he was losing his touch. "Besides, we're berthed."

"Then go rearrange your wrenches or something. I need a word with Miss Carlisle."

"Oh, Mama and Papa want to talk." Ash hopped down and sauntered out. "Why didn't you just say so?"

"Why do I put up with you?" he growled, nudging her along when she looked inclined to linger.

"Because I'm the only engineer in a hundred miles who'll put up with you or your ship." And with that parting shot, she closed the door behind her.

"Sad but true." He turned to address Acacia, his gaze taking in her open trunk and the clean laundry piled nearby. "Got a moment?"

Acacia shrugged. "Just waiting for a message from the shipping network. Our lawyers, to be exact. I need a status on a request I put in before we left Port of Skye."

Drew leaned against the door and crossed his arms. "Oh? Can I ask what sort of request?"

"Information. On Lindsey. I want to know everything about him." Acacia tucked a tantalizing bundle of female linens and silks away in her trunk. She straightened and cocked her head at him, seeming to soften just a little bit. "So I'll know how to beat him."

"Probably wise." He cleared his throat. "So I thought you might like to take your supper the same place Captain Carlisle did when he was in town." It sounded weak, even to him. "Seeing as we'll only be in Skyhaven for a day or so. It seemed the best way to see it while we can."

"See Skyhaven? At a restaurant?" Her eyebrows lifted. "Must be some view."

"Unparalleled, Ladyship. Trust me."

Weapons were not permitted on the streets of Skyhaven, so Drew and Acacia were forced to leave their little ornaments of security behind on the Icarus II. Drew assured her, however, that it would be well worth it. And, as far as sky ports went, Skyhaven was probably the safest.

Their boots clanged slightly on the metal catwalks that rimmed the airship docks, with just enough room for two people across. As they continued on the top level, Acacia looked down on the lower eaves with great interest. In addition to bridges that shifted from one direction to another and staircases that stretched and retracted on timers, there was also the occasional zip line chord for those who wanted to reach a lower level in a hurry. Acacia hoped she would have the opportunity to try one, as it looked like tremendous fun.

"We should get some for our aviators," she mused.

"And encourage them to greater lunacy?" But his rejoinder was lacking his usual put-upon rancor.

"Aren't we going to the dining district?" she asked, as they continued along their current path.

Drew shook his head. "We're headed for that berth there. The Polaris."

"A ship?" Then she saw it, and her eyes widened. The ship was decked out with colored lights and lanterns, but the deck was almost completely encased in glass. She hadn't seen anything like it before. Instead of the usual balloon, it was carried by a massive zeppelin.

Her breath caught. It was magnificent.

People dressed in their best were giving their names to a man in uniform at the dock end of the gangplank. "I'm feeling a bit under dressed, Captain."

"Don't worry about it." Drew tucked her gloved hand in his elbow and escorted her to the maître'd as though they were headed for a private box at the opera. "Captain Drew McCallan," he said, with great superiority as the little man in the neat cap looked them over dubiously. "And Miss Acacia Carlisle."

Doubt changed to shock, and he checked his book. "How could I have missed—Carlisle, did you say? As in Captain Carlisle?"

"My father," Acacia answered, repressing a smile. "I understand he favored this particular establishment."

"But of course! He is greatly missed, madam, I assure you!" He clapped his hands smartly, and another man came jogging down the ramp. "Take over, Emile. I'm taking our guests up to meet the captain."

What Acacia experienced for the next several hours bordered on the surreal. Everyone, it seemed, knew her father. They seated her and Drew at Robert's favorite table and proceeded to inundate her with his favorite dishes, his favorite wines, and bombarded her with their favorite stories of his custom. It was a whirlwind of memories, and even a few of the guests got in on the act. In the end, she felt as though she had come home to her family dinner table after a long absence.

And all the while, Drew just sat back and smirked at her like he'd pulled off a great coup. Which, of course, he had.

During the intervals when they left her alone to eat (all watching closely from the door to gauge her reactions), Acacia was able to savor the full experience that was the Polaris. The ship coasted over Skyhaven at a leisurely, even clip, allowing diners to enjoy the constantly changing view from their tables. The high glass allowed them to do so without casualty to their attire or meals.

"This is amazing," she said, looking down over the city. "I've never imagined anything like it."

"Word is they tried something similar in Paris a few years ago, but it never got off the ground—literally." He grinned, clearly pleased with himself. "I'm glad you like it, Ladyship."

Acacia polished off the lobster before her enthusiastically. She adored seafood. "I keep telling you I'm no Lady," she told him. "What made you think of this place?"

"I got to thinking when you asked me about working with your father," Drew answered in such a way that made Acacia think he was choosing his words with great care. "It occurred to me you're a lot like him, in a lot of ways. Prettier, though."

"I don't know, my beard isn't nearly as luxurious," she said, grinning back. Then she sobered. "You're about to tell me something I'm not going to like, aren't you?"

"You caught me." He uncorked the whiskey bottle and poured them both a post-dinner dram. "Hear me out before you throw me over the side, will you?"

Acacia eyed him narrowly. "All right, but only because you haven't paid the bill yet."

"Too kind." He crossed his arms on the table and leaned forward. "There's a lot of people who will tell you what a crazy son of a bitch Captain Carlisle was, me included. But he wasn't just crazy—he was crafty. Like when you annihilated Hamish that day in Port of Skye. And I know there's a lot he taught you."

"But?" Acacia prompted, arching a challenging brow.

"But," he conceded, smiling, "and forgive me for saying it, but you're young. The Captain had a lot of experience behind him, and I know there was a whole passel more he intended to teach you when he was planning to take you to Africa."

A veil of regret settled over her. She'd been so excited when her father had come home in time for her birthday, and told her he was taking her with him on his greatest adventure yet. "There's so much I want to see, and learn, out in the world," she said wistfully, gazing out through the glass to the city spread before her. Then she looked back at him as a thought occurred to her. "So that's why krakens, and Paris, and the waterfalls of Cevennes?"

"The kraken was a complete accident, I assure you." His eyes crinkled in that particular way she liked. "But partially, yes. I suppose I wanted you to see the good in the world, before we land in a Godawful place like Sky City."

She put her utensils aside. "That bad, is it?"

"Worse." He searched her eyes. "What do you know about the Indian Rebellion back '57?"

She blinked, not sure what he was getting at. "There was a mutiny of Indian soldiers of the East India Company—they were expanding pretty rapidly at that point, stomping a lot of toes and annexing whole cities or something."

"The thing that got it all going was the pig fat. A lot of the soldiers were issued new rifles, and new bullets to go with them. The bullets came in paper cartridges that were pre-greased, but the fit was so tight you had to bite down on them to release the powder." His lopsided smile held no humor. "Turns out when you insist on a bunch of devout Muslims and Hindus put pork fat in their mouths you end up with quite the lively rebellion."

"That can't have gone well with the Trade Company," she said.

"Pretty much ruined them, though it took a while and you had to be in the know. They got desperate, and some of their people decided getting involved in the slave trade was a mighty fine idea."

So that's where he was going. "And Sky City?"

"It's a haven for slavers." He reached over in an uncharacteristic show of emotion and covered her hand with his. "Not a day goes by I don't think that maybe, just maybe, if I'd been with the captain when he got taken things might have turned out different. We had two leads, equally promising, and we couldn't waste time, you see. But I made him a promise to never give up the search for your brother when we parted ways that last time. I know you won't give up, either."

"No," she agreed, voice quiet. "I won't."

"Then I'm going to ask you to follow my lead when we get there. Not because I don't think you're not capable, but because the last thing your brother needs right now is for you to go barreling to shore with your guns a-blazin' the moment we berth. No offense, but you don't go off half-cocked so much as fully-cocked."

She gave him a wry smile of acknowledgment. "Jock has told me much the same thing."

He tilted his head to one side, considering her reaction. "So you'll trust me to make the decisions when we get there?"

She nodded. "I trust you."

CHAPTER SEVEN

In Which There Is An Untimely Wrench

They were both quiet on the way back to the Icarus, each lost in their own thoughts, their path meandering along the route that would take them to the local Carlisle Shipping office. Drew waited while Acacia went in to collect the ship's correspondence and speak with the night manager.

She hardly heard a word the woman said, though she left with a vague impression that she'd shown an unprecedented interest in Drew that Acacia didn't particularly care for. Not that Cass could blame her. He was, when all was said and done, quite the dashing figure.

But her mind was also working at a rapid rate, mulling all that he had told her over dinner. If Sky City was the gateway to the slave trade, then no wonder her father's ship had gone down in the Straits. She may be reckless, but she was also intelligent enough to realize when she was out of her league.

Somehow, between one step and the next, her arm reached out to curve around Drew's. He looked down at her in surprise, but seemed pleased with this turn of events. She really just wanted to drink in his strength, though. Because without him she would be lost.

That's when the world exploded.

Acacia went flying, the decorative iron of their walkway rising up to collide with her. A moment later a dead weight slammed over her back, knocking the breath from her lungs. Screams and the pounding of running feet surrounded her.

She lifted her head to get her bearings and check for Drew when a large hand pressed her back down. "Head down," his commanded roughly, almost snarling.

Smoke billowed over them in waves, the local fire brigade shouting as they pushed through the chaos. Acacia's heart beat a painful tattoo on the inside of her chest, thudding against the walkway until she could nearly discern the clang. She carefully shifted her head until she was face to face with her captain. "You don't think...

His mouth pressed into a grim line. "Don't," he said harshly.

But the longer they waited, the more she thought about it. After a while the smoke began to clear, and Drew helped her up. His hand clenched her arm as though afraid she'd be thrown from him again.

When they reached the Icarus, their worst fears were confirmed. A gaping hole had been ripped through the hull, its ragged edges still smoking. Drew gazed at it a few scary moments, a muscle in his jaw working, and then he hauled Acacia up the gangplank.

Ash was the first to greet them, her face and hair grimier than usual, as though she'd been in the heart of the explosion. Her arm was in a sling, but her good hand gripped a pipe for dear life.

"Someone tried to take the converter," she said breathlessly. "They couldn't get it loose from the engine so they tried to blow it apart."

Drew's expression went from scary to the very definition of Hell freezing over. "Security get him?"

"They...helped."

"Helped?"

"I met him coming the other way from the engine room. We surprised each other. I hit him." She waved her pipe in a vague sort of way. "I sort of...went on hitting him. Until security came. Doc's got him locked up in the infirmary now."

Drew made to leave, but hesitated.

"Go," Acacia said, as the picture of Ash going full-out Punch to the intruder's Judy threatened to send her into hysterical laughter. The wrong kind of hysterical laughter. She shoved Drew in the opposite direction. "I'll deal with the rest."

When he was gone, she turned to Ash. "How bad is it?"

The engineer visibly swallowed. "Bad."

Toby was in the infirmary with a concussion. Martin Cordova had been in the blast radius outside the ship when the homemade explosives went off, and had not woken up. Deep burns covered his back from neck to knees.

Fully alf of Ash's engineers didn't make it. The girl was devastated when the report came in from an exhausted Mirren, her sweet face crumpling at the news. Cass held her while she cried.

Jock was all right, thank the Skies, the old man suffering only a few bumps and bruises. "Collect our things," she told him dully. "Find another ship. We're leaving first thing in the morning."

He squinted at her. "Sure that's wise, missy?"

"No," she said. "But it's right. This was Lindsey, and he's after me. I can't let him put Drew and the rest of them in anymore danger. Best we end this now."

He snorted, and crossed his arms. "Your captain won't like it."

"He doesn't have to," she said, fighting back the anger rising inside her. "This is a Carlisle fight, and no one else's. It's my job to end it."

"And how do you plan to do that?" he wanted to know.

"You keep telling me a good hunter figures out where his prey is going to be, rather than where it is." She slapped a stack of papers she'd collected from the Carlisle Shipping office into his chest, so he was forced to press them there lest they fall. "Lindsey's broke. His father lost it all in the fall of the East India Trade Company, and Lindsey's been trying to recoup it since. Mainly by running investment scams and an abiding interest in the slave trade."

"So?"

"So, Sky City is not only where the Sweet Cass went down, it's the center of the slave trade. My money's on Archie being kept there. As bait, while Lindsey waits for the rest of the Carlisles to ransom him." She indicated the papers in his hands. "The letter's there, telling us to come to Morocco. But we'll head to Sky City instead, and take his leverage."

Jock's face cleared. "Sound plan," he said. "Two of us will get in fast, get out faster with the young master in tow, and Bob's your Uncle."

Now if only there were only a snowball's chance in the African desert it would work.

She found Drew in his office, hunched over his table as though he was in physical pain. He looked up when she came in, but then switched his wretched gaze back down to his papers. "Toby might not make it," he said, as though reciting something he'd memorized. "Martin definitely won't. A couple of aviators disappeared, dead or missing, I don't know. It seems some of the converter plans went missing, so there was more than one intruder. They didn't get the most recent plans, but still...some scientist might be able to get it working from what was stolen."

"I'm sorry," she said.

He went on as though he didn't hear her. "Our thief talked. Turns out he—they, I guess--work for Hamish Vaughn."

She hadn't expected that. "Really?"

"He was on the crew that repaired the ship back in Skye. Must have gotten a look at the engine, for Vaughn or Lindsey. Maybe both. I don't know anymore."

She drew near to him, placed her hand on his shoulder, and told him her own news, confirming the state of Lindsey's finances and business dealings. "I'm leaving in the morning," she concluded. "Changing ships."

That got his attention. He blinked up at her blearily. "What? Why?"

"Because we've lost so much, and this isn't your fight. I'll leave you plenty of funding to get the ship air worthy again, and after that you can do what you like. Work for the Carlisles or don't, it's your decision. But I won't drag any more innocent people into this. This is between me and Lindsey."

They remained there, in a strained tableau, for a seeming eternity. When he didn't respond, she gave his shoulder an awkward pat, and left him to his work.

Acacia lay in bed later than she intended the next morning, on her stomach as the bright mountain sunlight poured in through her windows to warm her sheets and skin. It was unlike her to linger abed, but she didn't want to leave the Icarus II. The airship had become a home to her in the past weeks.

She adored this ship, almost as much as the Sweet Cass. She loved its idiosyncrasies; she loved its crew and the creak of its hull and its Capt—

Bloody, bloody Hell.

Maybe she could come back, after. If Drew would have her. If she came back at all.

Acacia rolled out of bed with a deep sigh. No more wistful thinking about her dashing captain. It was time to get down to business.

In little more than half an hour she was washed, dressed, and ready. She found herself dressing carefully that morning, checking the fit of her harness and breeches from the side in the mirror, pinning her hair more than once before she was satisfied, making certain her coat lapels were straight and the hem swayed just so when she walked.

Of course she was only delaying the inevitable.

As soon as Acacia exited into the air, soured by the tang of fire, that air was belted from her lungs when Ash launched herself at her in a bear hug. "I don't want you to go, Ladyship," the engineer said tearfully.

Acacia patted her back awkwardly. Despite requests and downright orders to the contrary, the crew had taken up Drew's habit of addressing her by the inaccurate moniker. "I'd like to stay, Ash." She really, really would. "But I've got business. We'll see other again, I promise."

She disentangled herself from Ash, and went to exchange farewells with everyone else. She accepted a group salute from the twins' mercenaries, and a group hug from the remaining aviators. She nodded to Simeon, who'd surprised everyone by coming out of his office, and let the good Doctor envelop her in a fatherly embrace that almost persuaded her to change her mind. Then she made her way down the gangplank as she pulled on her gloves. Jock had apparently been up before the sun, working on finding them a new ship.

Drew was down on the dock, seeing to the latest cargo deliveries. He turned at her approach, his eyes roving over her. "So this is it, then, is it?" His tone was almost cool.

Acacia ignored the pang of hurt that pierced her, and nodded. Two could play at that little game. "It's been an experience, Captain. Krakens notwithstanding."

He visibly fought a smile. "You'll wire us, let us know how you get on?" He cleared his throat. "For Ash's sake, I mean. Girl will drive me plumb crazy if you don't, and we'll end up flying in circles."

"Of course. And I meant it—you're to have anything you need go get you on your way."

Something flashed in his eyes, and he looked away to consult his manifest. "Mighty kind of you, Miss Carlisle."

"As soon as we find a ship, Jock will come get my things," she said, stalling for time while she tried to navigate her way through this awkward farewell. Would he really be that sorry to see her go?

"At your convenience, I'm sure." He stuck his hand out for her to shake.

She shook it. "Thank you. For everything."

He went on shaking her hand, to the point of ridiculousness. Acacia felt several dozen eyes on them, at least. "Well," he said, "goodbye."

Acacia released a frustrated breath that could have filled the ship's balloon. "Bloody Hell," she muttered, in a grand show of eloquence. Then she stepped purposefully forward, went up on her tip toes, and kissed him.

He went still with shock. Then, his strong arm curled around her waist, and he kissed her back.

Cat calls sounded from the ship. Without breaking away, Drew reached into his holster with his free hand, pointed his gun in the direction of the whoops, and cocked it. Silence descended like a lead weight, and he deepened the kiss until Acacia's toes curled—interesting development, that—and she thought she might be seeing stars. His gun hand lowered to the small of her back, pressing her against him in the sweetest, most lovely way possible.

It was with real regret she pulled her mouth from his seeking one, and she smiled up at him. "Well," she said, "goodbye."

Then she slipped from his arms and walked away.xc

"See you in the Skies, Ladyship," she heard him murmur behind her, just before she was out of hearing.

Acacia's blood was still buzzing with Drew's kiss as she explored the ships and their flight plans in her search for Jock. She had to read some of them more than once as a consequence, because she wasn't registering words suddenly jumbling and running together in her mind. Every so often she looked back at the Icarus, just for a glimpse of him. She considered going back every time, but the sight of that blasted hull stopped her.

She didn't want him hurt if something went wrong. And there was no doubt in her mind his sense of honor would lead him into danger on her behalf in Sky City. And she couldn't live with herself if something happened to him. To any of them.

"Miss Acacia? Is that you?"

Acacia turned from the slate she had been staring at a full ten minutes. Her gaze skimmed the ships in the area, and caught sight of a figure waving to her from the next ship over. Curious, she moved along the rail and hopped on to a moving section of walkway just as it detached and swiveled toward the next level. The ship was larger than the Icarus II, a frigate size rather than the faster, more maneuverable sloop. It was a beautiful ship, looking as though it had been freshly painted and appointed. Even the zeppelin was polished to a high shine, sunlight reflecting off the side.

The waving figure met her on the other side of the gap, which she hopped over as the bridge moved again. "Master Quincy?" She recognized one of her father's former First Mates. She recalled him leaving on good terms, rather than just disappearing like a lot of them. He'd received an inheritance of some kind, she remembered, and had gone off to buy his own ship and go into business for himself.

He shook her hand vigorously. "It's been years, Miss! How are you holding up? I was that devastated when I heard about the Captain."

Acacia offered up a polite smile. "Coping, Master Quincy. I am coping. What brings you to Skyhaven?"

"The usual, Miss. Dropping off cargo, picking more up. We're ahead of schedule for once, and that's a blessing. Our Captain's granted us a few days leave in Tangiers, and I could use it, let me tell you."

She perked up. Tangiers was in Morocco, and within spitting distance of Sky City. "You're not taking on passengers, are you?"

He grinned. "The Captain's never adverse to picking up a little extra coin. And we've plenty of room."

"Then take me to your Captain. I'm certain we can come to an agreement."

Drew felt himself at something of a loss, and he feared he knew why. With Miss Carlisle no longer a fixture on his ship, the place felt a little emptier, a little less than it should have been.

After she'd taken her leave—and left him a whole pile of miserable confusion in her wake—he'd been unable to form a single complete, coherent thought. He'd watched her walk off among the crowds and ships, telling himself he had no right to the inexplicable jealously bubbling up within him, just because she'd chosen another ship over his. That she would be addressing another man as "Captain".

And of course there was still the matter of his unfulfilled promises, both to Acacia and to her father. He'd promised he'd look after her, and that he'd never give up looking for her brother. And now he was supposed to just turn around like an injured animal with his tail between his legs and go home? Just like that?

He strode up the gangplank to the main deck, to the rail where he'd spent so many pleasant hours in her company. He struggled with himself a moment, then lifted his spyglass to his eye.

It wasn't long before he caught sight of the hem of her coat flapping at her ankles in the mountain wind. She seemed completely at ease as she stopped at this ship or that to read the berth plaques, as though she hadn't spared him another thought. Yet he could still feel her soft heat pressed against him, still feel her mouth on his, need and regret in every kiss. And that made his teeth grind, until his jaw ached.

Someone flagged her down, and by the looks of things it was someone she knew. The man shook her hand, and engaged her in conversation. Then he escorted her aboard a beautiful vessel that made the Icarus II look like a dinghy in comparison. Despite Drew's best efforts, envy took root.

Therefore it was something of a mercy when the sound of something hitting his deck turned his attention elsewhere. It was Jock, bringing Acacia's things from her quarters in readiness for her orders. "Looks like you'll be leaving us sooner rather than later," he said, beckoning his former First Mate over. "Miss Carlisle seems to have found passage."

Jock's eyebrows went up. "What? I told her I'd take care of hiring a ship." He took the spyglass Drew offered and took a look. After a moment he frowned. "If I'm not mistaken, that's Master Quincy. He was one of Captain Carlisle's First Mates years ago, before he hied off for greener pastures."

Dread settled in Drew's gut like an old friend with a fresh bottle of whiskey. He tried to remind himself that beautiful ship Acacia had just boarded wasn't a slaver. It didn't work.

He cleared his throat. Carefully, in case he started shouting orders before it was strictly necessary. After all, there was no point in panicking. Yet. "Trustworthy is he, this Master Quincy?"

Sam scowled, and handed back the spyglass. "I would have said so, even after he left the Captain's employ. Except..."

"Except?"

Jock shook his head. "Something doesn't feel right. I'd best go see how she's getting on."

Drew leaned on the railing, and waited. And waited.

And waited.

The tension in him vibrated like a fiddle string strung too tight, on the point of breaking. He was about to go after Jock when activity along the row of berths caught his eye. He'd lost the older man in the crowd at some point, but surely he should have seen the man board the frigate by now? It was difficult to tell, what with passersby gathering to admire the vessel. And no wonder. Its gleaming zeppelin was a sight to behold, and unusual among the usual array of airships, which tended to sport either large balloons like the Icarus, or, less common but not unusual, smaller zeppelins to hold the more expensive hydrogen. The frigate's fuel container, however, was nearly as long as the ship itself. A man could sail around the world without stopping, in a ship that magnificent. No wonder Acacia had been drawn to it.

There was that jealousy again. Dammit, he'd given the woman the lights of Paris, the waterfalls of Cevennes, the wonders of Skyhaven. He'd given her a kraken, for Skies' sake. How many other captains could say that? What more did he have to do?

And since when did he care?

That's when he realized why so many people had come to admire the frigate, pointing and shouting to their neighbors in delight: it was leaving its berth, a graceful ascent that put every ship around it to shame.

Drew turned to stare at Acacia's trunk, still waiting patiently for its owner on his deck. Resentment gave way to panic.

He stormed over to the quarterdeck, and snatched up the communication line with the engine room. "Get those engines pumping, now! We're balloon up in less than half an hour or you're fired!"

"Captain—"

"No questions, Ash, just do it!" He slammed the horn back into its cradle. He turned to find a variety of mercenaries and off duty aviators and engineers staring at him. He sought and found Mirren Cordova among them, her beauty faded with her brother slipping away on a laudanum haze in the infirmary. "Take some of your men and find Jock. He was on his way to that frigate that's taking off now. And find out where it's headed while you're at it."

Mirren saluted and started shouting orders of her own.

"And someone get that damned hole boarded up!" Drew roared.

"Captain? What's going on?" Toby had poked his head out of the helm, eyes round beneath his bandaged head.

"Lindsey has Aca—Miss Carlisle." They were all still staring at him, as if he'd grown a kraken out the back of his head. "What are you all standing around for?" he shouted. "Our girl's in trouble."

Acacia was in trouble. Being old friends, she knew it when she met it, and this had to be the granddaddy of all predicaments.

She supposed she had only herself to blame, really. If she hadn't been so enamored of the ship she was now prisoner on, she might have questioned Master Quincy's all too convenient presence and unquestioning acceptance of her destination. Anyone who was her friend questioned the wisdom of her plans, but Quincy had been all too happy to take her aboard.

For Quincy was the Captain of this fine vessel, his reward for loyal service to Baron Lindsey. Service that had included using his contacts to feed information about the Carlisles to Baron Bloody Lindsey, and dealing with the less than desirable elements of his business interests.

Now she was locked in the brig, without a scrap of furniture or a single item that might help her escape or defend herself. To make matters worse, she'd felt the ship lift off and knew they were now underway. All that was left to wonder was if Baron Lindsey was on board now, or if they were sailing for his location.

Jock was free at least, and that was something. And Drew was still in berth. Jock would go to him, and together they would find a way to come for her. She simply had to be patient.

She hated having to be patient. Patience, she reflected, was all too often a waste of time.

She also hated to be rescued, but she really had no choice in the matter.

The hatch from the deck creaked open, letting in a stream of bright light and a gust of chill mountain air. A moment later, men came down the stairs into the hold, empty of cargo except for her. Acacia sat back against the bars and lowered the brim of her hat to shield her expression as she listened to the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Ah," a familiar voice said, ringing with triumph. "So we have managed to cage a raven after all."

"Hello, Lindsey," she drawled, endeavoring to appear at ease despite the longing to launch herself at him through the bars. "I was just wondering when you'd be along." She lifted her head and regarded him from beneath her hat.

He was still handsome as ever—more so, if she were being honest, with his windswept hair and sublime satisfaction limning every line of him. Here was a man perfectly pleased with himself and all the world, because he owned it. Nothing lay beyond his grasp, including her.

But he was no Drew McCallan, she could see that plain as day. And she could really, really do with her Captain right about now.

"You may as well tell me where Archie is," she added. "Couldn't hurt anything now, could it?"

He cocked his head at her, his dark eyes gleaming at her strangely in the dim light. "You were supposed to have continued on to Sky City in the company of your charming American Captain, Miss Carlisle. That is where I was to have taken you to your brother."

"And been rewarded generously in ransom money, no doubt," Acacia endeavoring to sound bored. "How's the East India Trade Company paying these days? I've heard rumors their return on investment isn't as lucrative as it once was."

"Certainly not as lucrative as going into to business with the Carlisles," he said easily, but his expression had turned to stone. "Since you've ruined my plans, I'll have to make adjustments." He smiled a devil's smile. "You're going to get your dearest wish, Miss Carlisle. I'm going to take you to see your brother." He pretended to think about that for a moment. "But not, I'm afraid, before we're married. Courtesy of Captain Quincy, of course."

Acacia smiled. "Just so you know," she said, "that was the moment when I decided to kick your arse. And I won't even scuff my boots doing it."

CHAPTER EIGHT

In Which There Are Thrilling Heroics

Acacia had no way of knowing how long she'd been locked away in the frigate's hold, a prisoner of her family's worst enemy. Though time seemed to pass interminably, she figured it had only been a matter of hours since she'd been taken. Forced into uncharacteristic patience, she leaned against the brig's bars until her back ached, and calculated how long it might take the Icarus II to catch her up.

The problem lay in the frigate's modern features. Though the Bounty was a larger, less maneuverable vessel in theory, that gleaming egg of expensive hydrogen made up for the ship's lack in spades. It could move faster than a balloon-carrying vessel like the Icarus, and travel longer distances besides. Nor would it be subject to air currents or temperature changes. Every time the Icarus had to adjust course during its pursuit, or replenish its fuel supplies, was precious time lost. For her, and for Archie.

There was also the matter of cargo weight, of course. The Bounty contained only her; the Icarus had been loading shipments when she'd bid her farewells to Drew.

Acacia wasn't very good at patience, but she was excellent at maths. And every time she calculated estimates in her head, the numbers were more demoralizing. Her only solace was that her Captain was crafty, and he employed one of the finest engineers around.

And when had Drew become her Captain, she wondered?

Perhaps she shouldn't have kissed him.

By the time the cargo hold hatch opened again, Acacia's head throbbed under the onslaught of too many numbers. But with light came sound, and the first thing she heard was a great deal of shouting. Angry shouting. In fact, if she weren't mistaken, it sounded downright panicked.

Acacia grinned. Then she stood, and brushed herself off in preparation for being rescued.

It wasn't Drew who stomped his way down the steps into the hold, however. It was Master—rather, Captain—Quincy. And he looked worried.

"My apologies, Miss Carlisle," he said, unlocking her cage. And he really did sound apologetic. "The Baron has requested your presence on deck."

Her grin stretched to crocodile-like proportions. "I'll just bet he has."

He drew his pistol and cocked it. Then he pointed it at her, which was really quite rude, and took her arm to usher her up into the fray. She instinctively ducked as gunfire sailed over her head in both directions, and then she was unceremoniously handed over to Lindsey. Who, she was thrilled to see, was on the verge of apoplexy.

It occurred to her that he could just about do with a nudge. But first, there was the small matter of the Icarus II, incredibly keeping pace with the Bounty, a feat she would not have believed possible. Unless...

Realization burst within her. Ash, she thought. You brilliant, magnificent engineer.

Ash's engine worked. Acacia didn't know how, and she didn't particularly care at this moment. She just knew she was eternally grateful to be able to call the girl "friend". And she would spend a fortune to ensure Ash had absolutely everything she needed to pursue her inventions.

"Enough!" Lindsey screamed, sounding almost petulant. He wrenched Acacia in front of him, snatched the hat from her head, and pressed the hot barrel of his pistol against her temple. "Cease fire! I warn you, Captain, I only need one Carlisle to get what I want. I think we'll all agree that one Carlisle in general is quite enough trouble as it is. Two, however, is more trouble than is necessary."

"Oh, I agree," Drew's voice called over in drawling, American tones. "And that's why it's only fair I take my Carlisle back."

Acacia sought and found him, up in the rigging of all places. He was balanced on one of the crossbeams below the bulbous sack of the balloon, strapped into an aviator's harness rather than deck harness. What on Earth was he doing up there?

She thought fast. There could only be one reason. He had a plan.

As she tried to work out what he wanted, what he needed from her, his cool gaze shifted from Lindsey to her. His grip visibly tightened on the girder he gripped, as he tried to bore some idea into her brain with his eyes alone.

"Back off, McCallan!" Lindsey shouted back, with a mad laugh. "Or she's dead."

"Easy, Ladyship," Drew told her, though she hadn't budged an inch. "This is no time for any of your thrilling heroics."

That was it. "Lindsey..."

"What?"

"Remember what I said about deciding to kick your arse? I'm afraid the time has come."

Acacia jammed her elbow as hard as she could into Lindsey's stomach. As he staggered back with the air whooshing from his lungs and his eyes bulging, she turned and slammed her fist directly into his face, now that it was at a convenient height to do so.

Then she ran for it.

Her mind calculated speed, height, and trajectory with ferocious agility. Then she increased her pace and vaulted from the Bounty's gunwale with bullets zipping around her, and launched herself into open space. And, all the while, she hoped like all Hell she'd calculated correctly.

There followed a terrifying, exhilarating, space of time in which the wind whistled in her ears, her coat whipping and snapping like a sail in her wake. There was utterly no feeling like it in the world, and she wished with all her heart she could bottle it.

A heart stopping moment later, she smacked into a solid object. A warm, living, breathing object whose arm wrapped tightly around her as they swung wildly through the air.

"Hello, Miss Carlisle," Drew said. "Fancy meeting you here."

Acacia looked up into his smiling face, his impossibly blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "Indeed, Captain," she answered, as they dipped to their lowest apex and began to rise once more back toward the Icarus II. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you planned this entire encounter just to impress me."

"Is it working?" Drew unlatched his harness, and they tumbled across the main deck, rolling over and over. They finally stopped with Drew splayed in a Dead Man's Sprawl, with Acacia still hooked firmly in one arm.

She grinned down at him. "Beautifully. But didn't I hear something from you about this being no time for thrilling heroics?"

He grunted painfully as he sat up. "Yes, I said there was no need for your thrilling heroics. I made no mention of mine." He glared at her. "You were supposed to wait for me, Ladyship."

She blinked, slightly taken aback. "Oh. Sorry."

Drew snorted, and helped her to her feet.

Acacia slapped the top her head in consternation. "Damn. I forgot my hat."

"I'll get you another one."

"I don't want another one. I want mine." Acacia turned as Jock jogged up to her. "Hullo, Jock."

"Miss." The First Mate ducked as more shots were fired from the Bounty, and Drew's mercenaries returned the favor. Jock proffered her rifle. "I figured you might need this."

"You figured right." She made a high-pitched sound of surprise as she was abruptly reeled back a step or two. She twisted at the waist as Drew latched a deck harness on her.

"Now," he said, "you can play with the other children." He whistled sharply, and Mirren Cardova ran over, ducking low.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Her Ladyship has misplaced her favorite hat," Drew told her. "She requires its immediate recovery."

She whipped off a salute. "Aye, Captain!" She motioned to two of her mercenaries.

Acacia repressed a smile, albeit with difficulty. "Escort me to the gunwale, Captain?"

Drew offered his arm. "With pleasure, Miss Carlisle."

They made their way over to the starboard side rail, whereupon they ducked beneath its rim. Drew whistled again, and this time one of the mercenaries slid over his own shotgun, which he checked over with great care. Then he met Acacia's amused gaze and gave her a solemn nod.

She nodded back.

Together they stood, and fired in tandem. Acacia had never had so much fun in her life, up to and including the kraken. They emptied their rounds, and ducked once more to reload.

"Marry me, Ladyship?" Drew shouted over the exchange of gunfire, digging into the ammo pack at his belt.

"Never gonna happen, Cowboy," she yelled back.

"Never say never," he responded. They popped back up to fire again. In the meantime, Mirren's mercenaries had climbed up into the rigging.

"Whatever are they up to?" she wondered, aiming and firing with great alacrity.

Drew looked up and around. "Heroics of the thrilling variety, it seems. I do believe you're a bad influence on my crew, Miss Carlisle."

"Me? Swooping from the rigging was your brilliant idea, not mine. Very piratical of you, I might add. Right out of Artemis Hawke."

They reloaded. They fired.

The mercenaries swung from the rigging, straight for Baron Lindsey who, indeed, still had hold of Acacia's hat, though she had no idea why. Perhaps it was the shock of someone cleaning his clock. Followed by people actually shooting at him. In the meantime, shooters from the Bounty tried to take the Cordova mercenaries out of midair like they were a more flamboyant breed of grouse. Bullets ricocheted among the flies, scattering aviators. If any of the bullets hit the balloon...

"Hey!" Drew roared, firing at the shooters as the mercenaries landed on the Bounty's deck. "Stop shooting holes in my ship!" He staggered back with a curse, holding his suddenly bleeding shoulder.

Acacia finished reloading and yanked him down out of the line of fire. Then she popped right back up again. "Never mind the ship!" she added. "Stop shooting holes in my Captain!"

And, with that, she shot Lindsey in the shoulder in retaliation, who had rushed to the Bounty's rail without thinking, evidently to gauge the damage for himself. He flew back when her bullet struck home.

"'Your' Captain?" Drew inquired, wincing as he pulled his coat back to assess how bad it was.

Acacia crouched and laid her rifle aside. She slapped his hands away with a frown. "Just a figure of speech, McCallan." She tore his shirt away, checking for an exit wound. She sagged with relief. "Through and through," she declared. "Someone get the Doctor!" she shouted to no one in particular.

A few moments later, Doc Garrett appeared with his field kit. "Someone request a house call? Ah, a nice, clean shot. Precisely what I like to see."

"You'll forgive me if I don't share your enthusiasm," Drew gritted out.

"I'll do my best, Captain. Now, hold still." They all ducked as a bullet passed a bit too close overhead. "Miss Carlisle, if you would be so kind..."

Acacia had reloaded and was about to fire once more when a strangled cry, followed by a litany of terrified swearing, described an arc overhead. It concluded with a heavy thud as Baron Lindsey quite literally hit the deck.

Acacia strolled over to the prone slave trader and bent down to pluck her hat from his outstretched hand, replacing it on her head with great dignity. Then she pointed her rifle directly in the Baron Bloody Lindsey's face. "Now, then. Where in Hell is my brother?"

Lindsey lifted his head, and had the temerity to sneer at her. "You'll never find out if you kill me," he spat, trying to sit up.

"At least you didn't insult my character by implying that I wouldn't kill you, given half a chance." She turned to Drew, his hand pressed to his bandaged shoulder as he joined her. "Captain, I could use a hand over here."

"Certainly, Miss Carlisle." He addressed Mirren. "Shall we?"

They each took one of Lindsey's arms, latched a safety belt on the erstwhile Baron, and frog marched him rail. Then, they tossed him head-first over the side. Whereupon he shrieked at anyone and everyone who would listen to stop shooting.

Acacia joined Drew at the rail to peer over at the dangling Baron with exaggerated unconcern. The shooting drew to a ragged halt.

"They've stopped attacking!" he continued to shriek as he thrashed and bumped against the hull. "Now pull me up!"

Acacia cradled her chin in her hand and enjoyed the view. "Was there shooting? I didn't notice any shooting. Captain?"

"None that I recall," Drew said. He poked his thumb through the bullet hole in his coat with a look of disgust. "Try again, Lindsey."

Acacia had to hand it to him, he was more persistent than she gave him credit for. "What would happen, do you think, if we flew all the way to Sky City with him hanging over the side?"

"Couldn't say." Drew cocked his head in an assessing sort of way. "Tell me, do you think he'd look like bait from a kraken's point of view?"

"One way to find out."

"All right! All right!" Lindsey tried to grab hold of his harness, but he was twisting around too much in his struggles. "Pull me up, blast it!"

Drew looked to Acacia. "What do you think?"

Her smile was feral. "Not until I hear the magic words."

He poked his head back over the side. "You heard the lady."

"Departed Sky City as soon as I confirmed we had Miss Carlisle aboard the Bounty!" he screamed, apparently no longer able to form complete sentences. "Bound for Arrecife! Rendezvous there!" His kicked in wild desperation. "Meant for Ivory Coast! Hurry!"

Acacia didn't know whether by 'hurry' he meant 'hurry to the rendezvous' or 'pull me the Hell up'. "Coordinates? Time line?"

"On the Bounty!"

She nodded to Drew. "That's enough to be getting on with for now, I think. We can search the ship for the rest."

The mercenaries hauled Lindsey up and dragged him off to the brig, where he could gibber to his heart's content out of earshot. "Jock, would you be so good as to take command of the Bounty?" Drew asked. "I have a feeling an extra ship will come in handy."

"Right you are, Captain." Jock left them to it, yelling for Toby to pull the Icarus in close enough to cross over.

"Well, Cowboy," Acacia said, suddenly weary as adrenaline rushed out of her like hot air from a leaky balloon. "I could just about do with a drink."

"You and me both, Ladyship," Drew agreed, sounding as tired as she. "And we have unfinished business besides. Step into my office."

A few minutes later, they settled in Drew's office with a bottle and a pair of glasses. Drew poured the first round, wincing as he did so. "So," he said, "Morocco then, was it? To negotiate a ransom on your own?"

Uh-oh. Acacia cleared her throat. "Afraid so."

"And you didn't think it was a trap?"

"Of course I did." She shrugged, and leaned back to kick her feet up. "That's why I was going to go to Sky City. To free Archie and take off before Lindsey was aware what hit him."

"You should have stuck to our plan, Ladyship." He gave her a stern look that was most amusing.

Acacia choked back a smile. "Probably."

He toasted her. "If there's one thing I've learned during our acquaintance is that you're a force to be reckoned with. Your father's cunning, an aviator's lunacy, and a crack shot—not to mention a fierce right hook. My money's on you, Miss Carlisle."

Pride welled within her. He truly did understand. To cover the inexplicable flush in her cheeks she gulped down her whiskey and set her glass on the table. "I'll remember that for next time," she said meekly.

"Which brings us around to the fact," he continued, "that you kissed me." He arched a brow at her.

"And?" she challenged, matching him brow for brow. "You kissed you me back. What of it?"

He finished his drink, and stood. "Well, by my reckoning, it would seem I owe you one."

And, with that, he used his good arm to pull her from her seat. Then he laid a kiss on her worthy of an Artemis Hawke adventure.

Three days later, they caught up to the slave frigate Maelstrom as it was leaving the small island of Arrecife, off the coast of southern Morocco. At the combined urging of the Icarus II and the H.M.S. Bounty—not to mention the extra mercenaries recruited in Sky City in route—the Maelstrom was persuaded to return the way it came and land with a minimum of fuss.

The Icarus and the Bounty landed on either side, like sentinels.

"Stay here," Drew said to Acacia, looking grim. He frowned at her expression—he knew her too well. "I'm serious, Ladyship."

"So am I, Cowboy," Acacia returned. "I'm within a few hundred yards of my brother after months of searching, and you expect me to stay here?"

He grasped her shoulders. "Sky City is one thing. But there are things on a slave ship you don't need to see. The conditions alone..."

Acacia looked him in the eye. "And it's my brother down there, Drew."

A muscle worked in his jaw as he ground his teeth. "All right," he finally relented. "But you do as I say. And we're taking the Doc with us."

She nodded, and relaxed. "Anything you say."

He smiled. "I'll believe it when I see it." He started shouting orders. He not only brought Doctor Garrett, but also a contingent of their mercenaries and the defeated Baron Lindsey as well. They proceeded down the gangplank, all but the doctor and Lindsey armed to the teeth, just in case.

Acacia gripped her rifle to stop the shaking in her hands.

Over at the Maelstrom, the slave traders filed off their ship looking most out of sorts.

"Doc," Drew said, "Take Mirren and a few mercenaries over to check out the hold. Wait," he said to Acacia.

She scowled at him. "We've had this discussion once already."

"And we'll have it again." He turned to glare at her. "The Doc goes first to take in the situation. Then we pull everyone out, including Archie. Don't forget you made me a promise."

With that he strolled forward, hailing the Captain of the Maelstrom. Within moments there was a chorus of guns cocking all around, including Acacia's.

"Stand down!" the other captain demanded.

"You first!" Drew shouted back.

Acacia sighted along her barrel and gave a sharp whistle. "My name," she told their glaring faces, "is Acacia Carlisle. I believe you have my brother on that ship."

The Captain blinked. "Carlisle, did you say?"

"Yes, that's right. I'm a Carlisle, and he," she indicated Drew with her rifle, "is my Captain."

The smile Drew gave the man was priceless. "Well, now," he said in good show of modesty. "A Carlisle's Captain. Ain't that somethin'."

Acacia grinned. She loved it when he came over all cowboy. "Now we've got that straightened out, let's talk about my brother, shall we?"

Drew won her heart forever when, as the Maelstrom's Captain continued to stare at her, he cleaned the other man's clock with a hay maker that would go down in the history of hay makers, and kept the man down at gunpoint. "The lady asked you a question," he growled.

"Captain!" Doc Garrett left the hold of the Maelstrom, looking as though he'd been hit instead.

Acacia lowered her weapon as the bottom dropped out of her world. "Archie?"

Drew stopped her from rushing over. "Wait."

Once again, she was forced to be patient as he went over to confer with the doctor. But she watched his expression carefully, trying to interpret every shift of muscles, every flash in his eyes. His gaze found her, and his mouth compressed into a thin line. She swallowed, fearing the worst.

"What?" she asked as he returned to her. "What is it?"

"He's alive," he told her. "But he's ill. We're gonna have to pull him out on a stretcher."

She nodded, suddenly at a loss. "All right."

He turned to Mirren Cordova. "Get your people to help. We'll move everyone onto the Bounty and take them back to where they came from. Pull the supplies you need from the Icarus if you have to string Simeon up in his own sheets to do it."

"Yessir."

Drew pulled Acacia away, back to the Icarus. "Are you sure you don't want to wait on the ship? It ain't gonna pretty."

She shook her head. "He's still my brother."

He nodded. "Your call, Ladyship."

Drew was right: it wasn't pretty. But Archie was alive, if not well, and that was all that mattered. Never mind that he looked like a skeleton of his former self, and could not keep down even fluids for more than a few minutes. Doc Garrett opted to go with the Bounty, though he gave Acacia strict instructions for Archie's care, and Drew stricter instructions to get back to Sky Haven sooner rather than later, and the nearest hospital.

As for Lindsey, Drew handed the Baron over to the slave traders for safekeeping. It had been a moment to remember.

Archie finally came around when they were a day or so from their destination. Acacia hadn't slept a wink since they'd left Arrecife, but nor would she allow anyone else to attend her brother. They had come this far; surely they would make it the rest of the way.

"Cass?" Archie blinked at her blearily. "What are you doing in Africa?"

"Coming for you, silly." Acacia put a cool cloth on his forehead. "You went and got into trouble again, and who else is going to pull you out of it?"

"Thank God. I thought I was imagining it."

"Just rest. You're safe now." She rinsed the cloth and placed it on his forehead.

"No, you don't understand. The Sweet Cass..."

She swallowed. "I know. She went down in the Straits."

"Yes, but not before they took Father."

Acacia stared at him. "What are you saying, Archie?"

Drew looked up as Acacia staggered into his office, looking a little like Lindsey after he'd been dangled over the side of the Icarus II. "Acacia, what's wrong?" She didn't answer. "Cass?"

She leaned against the door. "He's alive."

"Who? Your brother?"

"My father." Her smile spread across her face, incandescent enough to light up the room. "My father is alive."

"Well," he said, "I suppose we'd better go find him, hadn't we?"

THANK YOU FOR READING

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WONDERING WHAT TO READ NEXT?

Check out Becca's story in THE MYSTERIOUS ADVENTURES OF BECCA CARLISLE (Blood & Steam #2)!

Becca's missing brother Archie has been found. And it seems her father, presumed lost at sea in the Straits of Gibraltar, may not be quite as dead as all that after all.

So one might be tempted think everything would be coming up Carlisle. Instead, the Baron Bloody Lindsey is at it again, this time with the help of his much craftier sister.

Now it's up to Becca, the dashing and brilliant lawyer Jonathan Avery, and the intrepid members of the Ladies' Adventurers Club to save Archie from the hangman's noose on charges of mutiny and treason.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Cate Morgan hails from a long line of Irish storytellers and musicians, so it came as no surprise to her mother when she taught herself to read from the back of cereal boxes at the ripe age of three. Now she's fulfilling her familial obligations by foisting her stories on an unsuspecting public.

She resides in Florida with her long-suffering, supportive husband, gators in the backyard, and two resident Ninja Katz underfoot.

FOLLOW MY SHENANIGANS

WONDERING WHAT TO READ NEXT?

Check out Lucia's story in THE INNOVATIVE ADVENTURES OF LUCIA CARLISLE (Blood & Steam #3).

As the youngest of the Carlisle sisters, Lucia has a lot to live up to. And with Baron Lindsey finally out of the way, one would think she'd at least have a fair chance.

It's North America in 1889, and the Golden Age of the railway is in peril as airship travel begins to capture the imagination of the entire world--with the help of investigative journalist Nellie Bly and her trip 'round the globe. Lucia is in the middle of it all, helping to build the first airship port city in the States.

But that's not all she's doing. Her missing father is rumored to be bound for San Francisco, and needs to the help of gifted, troubled railway heir turned inventor Henry Wentworth to find him, and free him.

The problem is, the railway magnates are determined to see Nellie Bly's historic journey not only fail, but end in tragedy.
