“I don’t know exactly what happened to us, Hal.” I held my sister in my arms, more to keep her from running amok and possibly hurting herself than to comfort her. She was too distraught to gain comfort from anything but a serious dose of Valium.

“I know what it is.” Hallie pushed back from me, her face tight with suspicion. “You’re having me on, aren’t you? This is some great big elaborate joke you’ve concocted to pay me back for selling you at an auction. Well, it isn’t going to work, Jack. You and your skinny little buddy there aren’t going to make me believe we’re in some sort of weirdo fantasy world. I don’t know how you got me onto this blimp, or whatever it is, but I want down now. I have a lunch date with a really fabulous personal trainer, and I’m not going to miss it because you’ve dreamt up some grandiose practical joke!”

“It’s not a joke,” I said. “It’s real. This ship is real. This guy is real. Er . . . what was your name again?”

The tall, skinny kid who looked like he was about twenty, with slicked-back red hair and the vaguest hint of a mustache, straightened up and cleared his throat. “I am Aldous Christian, the chief officer on His Imperial Majesty’s Airship Tesla.”

“Nice to meet you, Al. I know Octavia told you to keep an eye on us, but is there somewhere else we can go other than this cabin? I think my sister needs to see a bit more of the ship.”

He frowned. “The captain didn’t say anything about you leaving the cabin.”

“Then she can’t mind if we do,” I pointed out, taking Hallie by the arm. “Come on, Hal. This is something you have to see.”

“I think the captain meant for you to stay here—,” Al started to say, but I had other plans. I pulled a lead-footed Hallie out into the corridor, and up a curved flight of stairs, stopping at a landing that was open to the main part of the airship. “There. See?”

She looked around, her expression bored. “It’s a movie set.”

“Not even close.”

She shook her head. “It has to be. Where did you get the sort of money to rent a whole movie set, Jack? That has to run to thousands, especially with the actors you had to hire to go with it.”

“Such a skeptic,” I sighed. “Hey, Al, is there a window somewhere that Hallie can look out? There’s no way she can say we’re on a movie set if we’re a thousand feet in the air.”

“There’s the observation platform, but we’ve landed in Marseilles to fill the boilers,” he said.

“Maybe that’ll convince you,” I told Hallie, taking her by the hand and pulling her back down the stairs. There had to be an exit somewhere on the lower level of the ship.

“What, more sets? Not even close. And stop pulling me around. I want to go to lunch with Luis and admire his abs.”

“Sir! Mr. Fletcher! You can’t do that!” Al the officer said, running after us. “The captain wouldn’t like it at all. No one is allowed off the ship while we’re taking on water.”

“There has to be some sort of an entrance down here,” I said, dragging Hallie down another flight of stairs with me to the area where we’d woken up. “If this is a cargo bay . . . ah, daylight!”

“I’ll give it to you, it’s quite an elaborate set,” Hallie commented as she looked around curiously. “Hi. You must be one of the actors my brother hired.”

A boy of about fifteen whirled around from where he was peering out of a door, staring at us in surprise. “Er ...”

“Pardon us,” I told the kid, pulling Hallie after me as I jumped down into hard-packed dirt. “There. Now tell me this is a movie set.”

“What’s he doing?” the kid asked Al.

“Get the captain,” he answered, his narrow face worried as he jumped down after us. “Sir, I must insist that you return to the Tesla. The captain will be very angry indeed if you violate the ship’s rules.”

Hallie was silent as she looked around us. I had to admit that the sight was somewhat awe inspiring, at least to our eyes. The small wooden building in front of us was nothing out of the ordinary, nor were the two huge water towers behind it, one of which was currently pouring water into an opening in the airship, assumably loading up the steam boilers. But it was the scene that lay beyond that had Hallie’s eyes opening wide.

“It’s . . . a city,” she said, blinking a couple of times.

“Yeah. A hell of a city,” I said, shaking off the hand that Al had placed on my arm. I walked past the wooden building, my gaze following the dirt road that snaked away from us, down a gentle slope to the town below. “Holy shit, that’s amazing. Look, Hal—carriages and horses and ladies in long skirts.”

“I’m not seeing this,” she said, moving to stand next to me. She shook her head. “It’s not possible. Tell me it’s all a joke, Jack.”

“Sir! Madam! You must return to the ship now,” Al said, almost dancing with agitation behind us.

“You said this was Marseilles?” I asked him, not taking my eyes off the town. It was a busy seaport, the streets clogged with horses and carriages, big open wagons hauling cargo, a couple of traditional sailing ships in the harbor, and people everywhere—women in long skirts like the one Octavia wore, men in frock coats and hats, or shirtsleeves, vests, and derbies. Most of the activity was centered around the piers, where men loaded cargo onto a seemingly endless line of empty wagons.

Beyond the busy port area, the streets stretched out in a fan shape, the buildings just a few stories tall, but beautifully built with cream stone, tall arched windows, and all those fiddly, fancy bits stuck around the front that tourists oohed and aahed over.

A Klaxon sounded from above. We turned just in time to see the long metal chute that spouted from a water tower withdrawing from the airship.

“No,” Hallie repeated, her face set in a shocked, disbelieving expression. “I am dreaming. I will wake up and go to lunch with Luis, and the after- lunch sex will be really fabulous, and then I will call you and tell you about this amazing dream I had. That’s all. It’s a dream.”

“I wish it was that easy,” a woman’s voice said. Hallie turned toward Octavia, standing in the doorway of the ship, the kid behind her. “Mr. Fletcher, would you please escort your sister back to the ship? Our schedule is very tight, and we need to leave immediately if we are to not fall behind.”

“I tried to tell them, Captain,” Al said, scurrying over to her, his hands wringing and gesturing wildly as he pointed to us. “I told them you don’t allow anyone to disembark during refilling stops.”

“Wake up, wake up, wake up,” Hallie said, scrunching her eyes tight and pinching her arms. “It’s not real. Time to get up and get dressed.”

“Hallie—”

“What’s goin’ on here?” The man named Piper with the odd hitch in his walk pushed past Octavia, the teenage kid right behind him. “What’s the thuggees doin’ out here, Captain?”

“Thuggees?” I asked, distracted for a moment.

“They’re escaping!” the kid shouted, fumbling with something in his pocket.

“We’re not doing anything,” I said, turning around to help Hallie back into the airship. She sidestepped me when I tried to take her arm.

“Escapin’, are they?” Piper grimly hobbled toward us. “That they’ll not do.”

“We’re just standing here taking a look around,” I protested. “And since Octavia asked us to return to the ship, that’s what we’re going to do, isn’t it, Hal?”

“I don’t care what you do,” Hallie said, her eyes wild. “I’m getting the hell out of here so I can wake up and have a rendezvous with Luis.”

“Take her!” Al said as he flung himself at me.

A chunk of dirt flew up at Hallie’s feet as I was knocked to the ground.

She stared for a moment at the kid holding the same sort of odd gun that Octavia had pointed at me, then turned and ran screaming down the hill.

“You idiot,” I yelled, rolling over to shake the skinny first officer at the same time Octavia shouted something at the kid with the gun. “Get off of me! She’s in no shape to be running around on her own.”

“Ye’re not goin’ anywhere, ye murdering canker,” Piper yelled as he, too, threw himself on me.

“I haven’t murdered anyone, although I’m sure as hell thinking about it right now,” I snarled, trying not to hurt the old man too much as I shoved him off me. I was a bit less careful with Al, getting a good right hook in that sent him flying backward with a dazed look on his face.

“Mr. Piper! Restrain yourself! Dooley, for the love of God, if you fire that Disruptor one more time, I will remove it from your person!” Octavia stormed down off the ship and helped Piper to his feet. “Mr. Fletcher, are you injured?”

“A visit to the chiropractor might be in order later, but right now I have to get my sister.” I got to my feet and rubbed at a spot on my back where it felt like an anvil had hit me.

“I shall accompany you,” she said, turning to glare at her crew. “You will remain here, all of you. Do I make myself clear?”

“Aye, Captain, but—”

“All of you!” she said firmly, then, picking up her skirts, ran past me down the hill. I didn’t wait to add my two cents; I just took off, my eyes on the rapidly shrinking figure of Hallie as she entered the town proper.

“Please, Mr. Fletcher, I can’t run as fast as you,” Octavia said from behind me a few minutes later.

I slowed up and waited for her, scanning the outer fringes of the town. There was no sign of Hallie at all. “Great. We’ve lost her.”

“She shouldn’t be too hard to find in that ensemble,” Octavia murmured, breathing heavily.

“You should take up jogging,” I told her, turning to scan the opposite direction. “Does wonders for your cardio.”

“I have no idea what that is, but if you are referring to the fact that I can’t breathe, I would remind you that I’m wearing a corset you found so intriguing a short while ago. There—people are staring after something. It is probably your sister garnering undue attention. Thank God the emperor doesn’t have men in this region of France.”

We took off at a fast walk in the direction she pointed. “Sorry. I forgot about the corset.” I couldn’t help but slip a little look over to her chest, where her lacy white top framed the tops of her boobs so nicely. They heaved now as she tried to catch her breath, plump little mounds that had my mouth watering.

“I would appreciate it if you could refrain from ogling my chest in public,” she murmured, pointing to a side street. “There’s nothing extraordinary there, and I’m sure your attention would be better spent watching for signs of Miss Norris.”

“A man would have to be dead six months to not want to ogle your breasts, but I am sorry if I’ve embarrassed you. Over here. She went this way.”

She paused as I stopped in front of a dark alley that seemed to lead into a less bustling area of town. “I highly doubt if she’s gone into the refugees’ quarter. She must be north of us, toward the market.”

I looked again at the alley. In its entrance, a man was bent over, picking up a basket of apples that had been dumped out onto the ground, his glare over his shoulder down the darkened alley very telling.

“You don’t know my sister. Causes are like magnets to her. If there are refugees to champion, she’ll find them.” I plunged into the darkness of the narrow alley, its coolness and stale smell hitting me at the same time. The air itself was close and dank, earthy with an overtone of too many unwashed bodies packed into too small a space. But it was the despair that seemed to hang heavy overhead and seep downward, like rain on crumbled stone ruins.

“Mr. Fletcher, I’m quite sure she’s not—oh, bloody hell!” Octavia muttered a few things to herself, but followed after me. I emerged from the alley to what probably once was a courtyard, but now appeared to be a tent city.

“What the . . .” I stared at the small dwellings crammed together in the courtyard. The smell and sense of despair was even greater here than it was in the dark alley. “What is this?”

“Refugees,” Octavia said, her voice emotionless.

I was startled by her callousness, but one look at her face told me she was struggling to keep her voice neutral. A deep sadness filled her eyes, her face reflecting the suffering shown by the people crouching over a small fire, a ratty cook pot hanging from a makeshift spit.

“Refugees from what?” I asked.

“War. You were quite correct—there is Miss Norris.”

A flash of blue told me she was right. Octavia wove her way through the clusters of people to the far side of the courtyard, where Hallie perched on a partially crumbled stone bench that sat beneath a half-dead olive tree. The people clustered here were strangely silent; only a few snuffles and coughs were punctuated with the occasional groan of pain. Men, women, and children all alike were clothed in what amounted to rags, an ever-present miasma of hopelessness combining with dirt, lack of hygiene, and probably lack of edible food to make them indistinguishable from one another. Lank, stringy hair hung down over faces that would haunt me at night.

Some of the refugees had missing limbs, or bore dirty bandages. Others just sat in boneless heaps, leaning against rickety wooden shelters curtained with torn, colorless blankets. As we passed by them, one or two reached out dirty hands toward Octavia. She stopped at each one for a moment, speaking too softly for me to hear, but at last we arrived at Hallie.

“Hal? You OK?”

She sat hunched on the bench, her hands around her knees, rocking slightly, her eyes glazed as if she couldn’t process what was happening to her. Carefully, in case the bench was going to crumble away entirely, I sat down next to her and put my arm around her. “It’s OK, Hallie. Octavia and I are here.”

“It’s real,” she said to her knees, her eyes unfocused. “Those people are real. I touched one of them, Jack.” She held up her hand. Her fingers were stained with drying blood.

“We had better get her out of here,” Octavia said in a low voice, casting a glance over her shoulder. A few of the refugees had risen and were watching us with numb indifference. “Can you walk, Miss Norris?”

“Is there nothing that can be done for them?” I asked, nodding toward the people as I pulled Hallie to her feet.

“Where there is war, there will always be victims,” was all she said, taking Hallie’s other arm.

“I was actually asking if there wasn’t something that could be done for these people, rather than a discourse on philosophy,” I said somewhat acidly.

She glanced at me as we piloted a silent Hallie through the gathered people. “Why do you care?”

I frowned. Octavia didn’t seem like the sort of woman who would be so unfeeling about those less fortunate. She was so intriguing, so attractive and sexy, I forgot for a moment that sometimes the inner package didn’t match the outer. And what a damned shame that was. She was just about perfect in every other way. “Hallie and I were raised to help others when possible. I realize my money probably isn’t going to be good here, but I have a few bucks on me if you thought it would help them. Or I could give one of them my watch—it’s nothing fancy, but it’s worth a couple of hundred.”

Octavia stopped at the alleyway, shooting me a look full of disbelief. “You’d give them your possessions?”

I shrugged, mentally striking her off my interest list. Just looking at her might make me want to lick every inch of that lovely freckly skin, but I’d been around enough shallow, self-centered women to know there was no way we’d mesh. “If it would help them, yes. I prefer working with folks who need a helping hand rather than doling out charity, but you said you had to be on your way, so that’s the best I can do.”

A little blush came to her cheeks as she touched my hand, apparently forgetting about Hallie for a few seconds. “That’s very kind of you, but not necessary. I left some provisions for them at the way station. They will be brought down later, at night, when the townspeople won’t be able to confiscate them.”

It was my turn to stare at her. “You left provisions?”

“Yes. It’s against the rules of the Corps, naturally, but I, too, was raised to believe it is my duty to help those less fortunate. My father always laid by extra provisions to be distributed at the way station stops, and I have continued his tradition.”

She moved to the top of my mental Women I Want list again, with a couple of bullets and big arrows pointing to her name. “Has anyone told you that you’re just about perfect, Octavia?”

Her eyebrows rose slightly. “What a very odd question. I am in no way perfect, I assure you, Mr. Fletcher. Especially when I am in danger of being so delayed that my schedule is irreparably harmed.”

“I think we’re going to get along well.” I smiled and took Hallie’s unresisting arm again, gently tugging her down the alleyway. “Really, really well.”

She looked disconcerted at that thought.

I straightened up from where I had been leaning against the wall outside my cabin. “Indeed. I—”

A woman’s scream interrupted me.

We both turned to look at the door. The scream was one of fury, and died off into a loudly shouted stream of profanity that made my eyebrows rise.

Jack’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “Or not.” He winced at a particularly profane reference coming from the cabin. “I think she’s finally accepted that this isn’t all a dream. She’s . . . upset,” he added, as if that explanation needed to be made.

“It’s understandable. I find myself having somewhat the same sort of difficulty believing your tale. You realize, of course, that you are asking us to believe something quite outrageous.”

The door to the cabin was jerked open, and the passive, glassy-eyed woman whom we had brought back to the Tesla a short while before now stood staring out at us, her hair as wild as her eyes, her breath somewhat ragged as if she’d been under an extreme exertion.

“Quite outrageous!” she yelled, the strained note in her voice giving proof that she was perilously close to hysteria. “Quite outrageous?”

“Hallie, calm down, or the steward will be forced to sedate you.”

“Go ahead,” she said, marching out of the room, glaring at her brother. Her clothes, the lovely silk tunic and trousers, were dirty and wrinkled from the visit to the refugee quarters. “Sedate me! Knock me out! Maybe that way I’ll get out of this nightmare and back in the real world!”

“I don’t think you’ve been properly introduced. This is my sister, Hallelujah Norris, better known as Hallie,” Jack said, giving me a wry smile. “She doesn’t normally swear like a sailor.”

“The hell I don’t!”

“Hal, this is Octavia Pye. She’s the captain of this . . . er . . .”

“Say it,” Hallie snarled at her brother, her eyes narrowing. “Go on, say it. Drive me over the edge! Drive me over the goddamned fuc—”

“Hal!” Her brother interrupted her with a worried look my way. “I don’t think Octavia appreciates swearing.”

I gave the distraught woman a quelling look. “Indeed.”

“Fine!” Hallie yelled, tossing her hands in the air. “I won’t swear, because it will offend this pretend woman’s delicate sensibilities! Have it your way! I’ll just go quietly insane on my own, then, shall I? Without swearing?”

“Pretend woman?” I asked, eyeing her lest she should try to escape again. We were once again under way, but I worried that in her distraught state she hadn’t taken that fact in.

“Now she thinks this is a delusion,” Jack said quietly to me as his sister paced back and forth across the narrow hallway, her hands gesturing as she mumbled to herself. “She thinks that we somehow ingested some sort of hallucinogenic, and that we’re imagining all of this.”

“I must admit that I find your story just as unlikely as she finds us,” I said, relieved to see Hallie stop muttering as she stopped before one of the portholes that lined the corridor.

Jack gave me an odd look. “You say unlikely, but not impossible.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Does that matter?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s telling. I would think that anyone else would tell me I was out-and-out lying, or delusional. But you just say it’s unlikely.”

“I did say that your story is outrageous,” I pointed out. “And so it is.”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Let’s look at the facts,” he answered, holding up his hand to tick items off his fingers.

“Yes, let’s look at the facts. Facts are good. Facts are solid. Facts never, ever spirit one away from one’s normal world and into something of make-believe,” Hallie said quickly, her knuckles white as she gripped the brass porthole frame. “I like facts. Give me facts, Jack.”

“One: earlier today we were in my lab at work. The year was 2010, and I was a nanoelectrical engineer working on a quantum computer project.”

I considered him carefully. His eyes were steady on mine, nothing in them but a slight look of worry. Either he was telling the truth, or he believed that what he said was the truth.

“Indeed,” I said a third time.

“What year is it here?” he asked me.

“It’s 2010.”

“No, I mean what year is it for you? I’m no expert on Victorian fashion, but you appear to be wearing a bustle, and I thought those went out of style before the turn of the century, so I’m assuming that your present is something in the late eighteen hundreds?”

“Today is February 15, 2010, Mr. Fletcher,” I answered.

“But . . .” His gaze dropped to my chest. I had unbuttoned my jacket earlier, in an attempt to keep from sweating profusely. “But you’re wearing that corset you keep mentioning.”

“On the contrary, you are the one who repeatedly brings it up,” I corrected him.

“And long skirts. And a bustle. You can’t deny you have a bustle.”

“Why would I wish to?” I asked, frowning at him. “Truly, Mr. Fletcher, you seem to have an extremely bizarre preoccupation with my undergarments.”

“And button boots,” he said, pointing at my feet. “The kind you have to use a button-hook thing on.”

“Granny boots,” Hallie said suddenly, having turned to stare at my feet. “Mom had a pair of those. My God, Jack, you’re right. She does have granny boots on!”

“I do not have a grandmother, so these boots could hardly have belonged to her,” I corrected Hallie. “And once again I must say that I do not see what my clothing has to do with you both being here on my ship.”

“How come your skirt is so short?” Hallie asked, frowning at my ankles. “I was in a production of Hello, Dolly! and all the dresses we wore swept the floor. It was a pain in the ass always having to hoist the skirts to walk up and down the stairs. But your skirt is at your ankles.”

“The uniform of the female members of the Southampton Aerocorps includes skirts that are ankle-length for safety reasons, Miss Norris. It would be impractical to attempt to climb around in the ship’s rigging with skirts that touched the floor.”

“Hrmph.” She went back to looking out of the porthole.

“Point two . . . damn. I forgot what point two was,” Jack said, frowning.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Perhaps instead, I might have a word with you?”

“You’re going to talk about me, aren’t you?” Hallie asked, her hands on her hips. “I know you’re going to talk about me.”

“Yes,” I said simply.

“I think I’m going to lie down,” she said in a sudden reversal of attitude, her hand to her forehead. “Maybe if I go back to sleep, the drug will work its way out of my system and I can see normal things again. Er . . . this room looks like someone is living in it.”

“That is my cabin. Since it is unsuitable for you to remain with Mr. Fletcher in his cabin, you will share mine.”

“Unsuitable?” Jack asked, looking as if he wanted to laugh. “She’s my sister.”

“She is an unmarried woman, sir,” I pointed out. “The Aerocorps has standards of conduct upon their ships, and I would be in violation of several of them were I to allow your sister and you to share a cabin.”

“I’m divorced, not unmarried,” Hallie said, sounding somewhat forlorn as she stood in the doorway of my cabin.

“That makes little difference to the Aerocorps. You will share my cabin. The window seat converts into a bunk; you are welcome to use that. We’ll worry about finding you some clothing at a later time.”

She nodded, but said nothing until she entered the cabin, pausing to look over her shoulder at us. “We didn’t eat magic mushrooms, did we, Jack?”

“No, Hal, we didn’t.”

“Those people we saw, they were real?”

“Yes. Octavia is having some food and stuff sent to them. I added my watch and the money I had, in case they could be used, too.”

Her face grew pinched. “It was the explosion in your lab?”

“I think so,” he said, his voice calm, but I sensed an underlying unease. “I think when the liquid helium that you spilled hit the quantum circuits . . . well, I don’t know exactly what happened except it knocked us unconscious, and out of our reality and into this one.”

“Why don’t you look more disturbed by all this?” she suddenly wailed, her hands wringing themselves before she gestured toward Jack Fletcher. “Why aren’t you upset about her? About all of this? Why aren’t you insane with anxiety over this whole thing?”

Oddly enough, I was wondering much the same thing. After his initial confusion and disbelief, he’d settled down into a sort of excited anticipation that I had a hard time explaining.

He took one of his sister’s hands in his. “This is the chance of a lifetime, Hal. Don’t you see it? We’ve done something remarkable, something miraculous. We’re not in our world anymore—somehow, something changed on an atomic level. I don’t know how or why, but I do know this—we’re explorers in a strange new territory. The ramifications of what happened to us are mind-boggling. Just think of the research we can do! Just think of the knowledge we can gain from our experiences. I really wish I had my laptop to take notes on.”

Hallie was silent for a moment, her expression unchanged. “Can we get back?”

The excitement in Jack’s face faded as he stared at her, the question hanging heavily in the air.

She nodded again, just as if his silence had answered her question, and went into the cabin, closing the door softly behind her.

I was a bit taken aback by her sudden acceptance of, or at least resignation to, her presence on the airship. “She will not do herself any harm, will she?” I asked Jack.

“Hallie? No,” he said, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t believe it from her little freak-out, but she’s really a very levelheaded person. Feet on the ground and all that. It’s just that . . . well, you have to admit, this whole thing is really bizarre.”

“It is very trying for everyone. I feel in the need for a strong cup of tea,” I answered. “Just as soon as you’ve changed your garments, we will indulge ourselves, and have a discussion about the situation.”

“Why do I need to change my clothes?” he asked, looking down at himself.

I stopped outside of the storage cabin that Mr. Piper had emptied in order to convert it to what was either a brig or a passenger cabin, depending on your point of view. “Mr. Fletcher, you may not be bothered by the sign on your back proclaiming you to be an airship pirate, but I assure you that the Aerocorps takes a very hard view of such people. Mr. Piper has found some suitable clothing for you to wear. I trust they will fit well enough for you to don them.”

He chuckled, outright chuckled, as if what I said was too amusing. “You know, I’d be tempted to freak out right along with Hallie, except for one thing.”

“What is that?” I asked as he opened the door and stepped inside.

“You,” he said, a twinkle in his mismatched eyes as he closed the door.

My heart did an odd sort of flip-flop in my chest.

“I am not going to be charmed by that rogue,” I muttered to myself as I stalked down the hallway toward the galley. “He could be deranged. He could be lying. Or he could be up to something nefarious. And besides, three rogues in my life were quite enough! There is not room for one more!”

“Captain!”

“Mr. Llama?” I winced when I spoke. Addressing the second engineer always left me with the regrettable feeling I was speaking to a child’s toy. I had a suspicion that the man in question wasn’t born with the dubious name he had given the Aerocorps, but it was not for me to insist he adopt something less eccentric.

“There is a rumor floating around that spies have come on board,” the slight, dark-haired man said as he closed the door of the mess. Mr. Llama—I sighed to myself as I even thought of his absurd name—often entered a room in such a manner, or so I had noticed during my four days on the Tesla. He had a long face, black eyes, and a manner of keeping himself to himself. He also had an uncanny knack of popping up behind me without me being aware, startling me to the extreme.

“We have some unexpected guests, yes, but I have no cause to believe they are spies,” I said carefully, watching him closely. I had yet to actually catch Mr. Llama in the process of entering or leaving a room; he just seemed to appear or disappear as if he were made of smoke.

“If you would like a hand at . . . interrogation . . . I am at your assistance,” he said, making a little bow. “I have some knowledge of methods of ascertaining if someone is speaking the truth or not.”

“Really?” I asked, setting down the pen I had been using to write in the ship’s log. “That’s a rather odd skill for an engineer, isn’t it?”

“I haven’t always been an engineer,” he said, sliding a glance to the side, his body stiffening as if something he saw shocked him. I looked to see what it was, but there was nothing else in the mess but Dooley, at the far end of the table, whistling to himself as he performed his chores.

“I’m sure you haven’t, but—” The words stopped when I looked back to find that Mr. Llama had disappeared. “Damnation. He did it again.”

“Who did what?” Dooley asked, looking up from a boot he was blacking.

“Mr. Llama. Did you see him leave the room?” Dooley scratched his head, leaving a smear of boot blacking on his forehead. “I didn’t know he was here.”

“He was. How very odd.”

“Aye, that he is. Mr. Francisco says he doesn’t sleep at night.”

“He doesn’t?” I asked, confused. “Who doesn’t?”

“Mr. Llama.” Dooley leaned toward me with the air of one sharing a confidence. “Mr. Francisco says that Mr. Llama slips out of their cabin at night, and never sleeps in his bunk. Never! Not once has he seen him there! Isn’t that strange? Mr. Francisco says that Mr. Llama learned strange Oriental skills when he was fighting the Moghuls, and that he knows thirty-seven ways to kill a man with naught but a bit of string and a pair of tweezers.”

I looked at the door with speculation, wondering what the mysterious Mr. Llama did at night, and made a resolution to keep a closer eye on the crew.

When the door opened again, my heart jumped into my throat.

“Better?” Jack stopped in front of me and pirouetted, his arms held out at his sides.

“Quite suitable,” I said, my fingers tightening around the pen. That’s what I said—what I thought was entirely different.

He wore the standard Aerocorps uniform jacket, but there was nothing standard about the way it fit his body. He was handsome in his black undershirt, but in the knee-length scarlet jacket, he was downright devastating. The snowy white wing tips of his shirt sat over the silk cross tie, below which an embroidered double-breasted gold waistcoat hugged his torso. The fact that Mr. Piper had given Jack the waistcoat of an officer was neither here nor there—it suited him very well, the twin rows of black enameled buttons with the gold leaf Aerocorps logo glinting in the light streaming in through the viewing-platform window. Black trousers and boots completed the outfit, and left me, I was distressed to note, with an overwhelming urge to run my hands over his body.

With an effort, I pulled my mind back from unwelcome desires and gestured toward the teapot. “Would you take tea?”

“Sure.”

“Cream or lemon?” I asked, pouring him a cup as he took the seat opposite me.

He glanced around the mess, empty except for Dooley. “Lemon is fine. So, where do I pick up my goggles?”

“I beg your pardon?” I asked, adding a bit of sugar to his tea before handing it to him.

“Goggles, you know?” He made circles with his fingers and held them to his eyes. “Every good steamer has goggles. Don’t you?”

“Certainly not,” I said, wondering if I would ever really understand him. “I have safety spectacles for when I examine the boilers, naturally, but goggles? No.”

“Oh.” He looked disappointed for a moment, then took a sip of his tea. “So, we’re here to get down to brass tacks, right?”

I set down the pen and put the cap on the bottle of ink, lest it spill on my logbook. “Dooley, if you have finished with the boots, you may take your tea with Mr. Francisco in the galley.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” he said, reluctantly gathering up the boots and shuffling out of the far door, his gaze never leaving that of Jack. “Mayhap Mr. Llama will be there, and he can tell me how to kill a man with tweezers.”

“Bloodthirsty little devil,” Jack said, watching him leave. “Cabin boy? Wait—did he say Mr. Llama?”

“Dooley is the bosun’s mate. He is young, but enthusiastic, and yes, one of my crew is named Mr. Llama. He is the second engineer, and is rather . . . well . . . different.”

“With that name, I don’t doubt it.”

“Mr. Fletcher, I take it from the somewhat confusing discussion that you had with your sister both in and outside of my cabin that you and she were involved in some sort of an industrial accident. Is it your supposition that you were both knocked unconscious and placed on board my ship without being aware of that fact?”

“Not quite,” he said, touching the side of his head briefly. “It took Hallie to prod the memory forward, but after your Mr. Ho brought Hal around, she reminded me that we’d been in my lab when the accident occurred. That’s the only possible thing I can think of that would have made this happen.”

“I see. I will tell you now that I am not scientifically trained, and thus am not prepared to say whether or not what you say is possible, but I will warn you that I do have a friend who is an amateur inventor, and he will offer me such advice as I find necessary.”

“Do you always talk like that?” he asked.

“Talk how?” I asked warily.

“So formal, like you’re straight from the pages of a Victorian novel.”

I looked at him for a moment, not sure how to take such a comment. “I’m sorry if my method of speech distresses you, but I’m afraid it is something I would be unable to change without great difficulty.”

“It doesn’t distress me,” he said with an engaging smile.

I refused to give in to the smile.

“I like it, as a matter of fact,” he continued. “It’s kind of charming. You don’t talk like any of the women I know.”

“And have you known many women?” The words were out of my mouth before I could consider the wisdom of speaking them. Blushing with embarrassment, I clapped a hand over my mouth for a few seconds before saying, “My apologies, Mr. Fletcher.”

“Jack.”

“That was rude of me. You will not, of course, answer such an impertinent question.”

“You look even more charming when you blush,” he said, grinning. “I don’t mind telling you. I’ve had four official girlfriends, the last one about two years ago. If you’re asking how many women I’ve known—” The emphasis he put on the word was unmistakable. My cheeks grew even hotter. “That would be seven. I wasn’t much for girls until I got to college. Then I had a few wild years before settling down to study.”

“I see.” I busied myself with pouring a dollop more tea.

“How about you?” he asked over the rim of his cup.

I looked up, startled at the insinuation.

“How many men have you known?”

That question was almost as impertinent as what I thought he had been suggesting. “That, sir, is none of your business.”

“Oh?” His eyebrows rose. “I told you how many women I’ve been with. Fair play would demand you do the same.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to retort that I hadn’t wanted to know, but honesty wouldn’t allow me to lie to save my self-pride. “Three,” I said finally, after a brief inner struggle. I watched him closely to see if he would display any signs of repugnance at the number, not that I cared one way or another. I was a captain, I told myself. I just wanted to make sure he didn’t lose any respect for me in order to avoid undermining my authority. “Not that it’s any of your business whatsoever, I have had three lovers.”

I lifted my chin, throwing out that last word as almost a challenge.

“Ah. You’re not hooked up with someone right now, are you?” he said without blinking so much as one eyelash.

“No,” I said, startled enough to answer without thinking. I set down my teacup and gave him a firm look. “Mr. Fletcher, we have strayed from the purpose of this conversation. What I wish to know is—”

“Oh, dear God,” I moaned softly.

The door leading to the small galley was flung open, the figure of a man silhouetted in the doorway. He stalked toward us slowly, his head tipped forward as he pinned me back with what I was coming to think of as the Francisco Smolder. “El capitán, mi capitán, Dooley, he says that you are here alone with a man. I will tear his heart out and cook it with his kidneys if he has laid so much as a finger on you, my sweet, delicious capitán.”

Francisco García Ramón de Cardona, better known to the crew as Mr. Francisco, rushed forward and flung himself onto his knees at my feet, grasping my hand and pressing wet kisses onto it.

“Mr. Francisco, I have asked you not to do that,” I said sternly, trying to pull my hand back.

His grip tightened as he made cow eyes at me. “Mi capitán,” he said, his voice simmering with sensuality and sexual promise. “My luscious, delectable capitán.”

Jack snorted, turning his laughter into an awkward cough.

I ground my teeth and, with an effort, jerked my hand from that of the steward. “And I’ve asked you not to address me with such familiarity.”

“You do not love your Francisco anymore?” he asked, adopting a suddenly coy look as he batted his eyelashes at me. “My heart, he is yours, all yours. And the rest of me, as well,” he added, standing up.

I averted my gaze from his bulging pelvis, which unfortunately was right at eye level. “In addition, I believe I have addressed you on the subject of those wholly inappropriate breeches that you insist on wearing rather than the standard Aerocorps trousers.”

He waggled his hips at me. “You do not like my breeches, oh, glorious one of the flaming sunset hair?”

Jack made another bark of choked laughter that I did my best to ignore as I gave the steward a very stern look, indeed. “Given that your breeches leave little, if anything, to the imagination, I am quite confident that everyone in the crew would be happier if you were to don the regulation trousers.”

Francisco pursed his lips in what I’m sure he thought was a seductive pout. “It is impossible that you could resist my breeches. You are having your time of the monthlies, no? That is why you do not crave poor Francisco’s body, which is so hot and hard for you.”

“Really, Mr. Francisco—,” I started to say when Jack interrupted.

“It doesn’t seem to me that the lady is overly interested in what you’re offering,” he said, his smile fading.

“Maybe you should just do as she asks and put on a pair of pants that don’t let everyone see the outline of every vein and ridge.”

Francisco drew himself up to his full height, which was no more than mine. He was small but sturdily built, and, like many Spaniards, held his pride dearly. He puffed out his chest as his eyes narrowed into obsidian slits focused on Jack. “You dare speak to me, you son of a she-dog?”

“Yeah, I do,” Jack answered, getting to his feet. “It’s clear that Octavia isn’t interested in you, so why don’t you just take yourself off and leave us in peace.”

I sighed, drooping for a moment at the explosion that I knew, even after only a short acquaintance with Francisco, would be forthcoming. “Sometimes men are so pigheaded,” I said to the teapot.

“You address the flaming capitán by her so-precious name?” Francisco snarled, storming around the table to where Jack stood. His hands danced wildly in the air as he spoke. “She is not to you belonging that you can speak so! The capitán, she is mine! I claimed her the moment I saw her shining, glorious hair of the hottest flames!”

“That’s for her to say, not you,” Jack said, his hands fisting as Francisco snarled a word that I suspected was not suitable for polite company. “Look, I have a rule about not fighting people, but if you continue to bother the captain, I will rethink it.”

“You do not frighten me, you pirate of the most scabulous ancestors!” Francisco yelled.

“Scabulous?” Jack asked.

“I think he means scurrilous,” I suggested.

“Sí, scurrilous. You are scurrilous of the most great level!” Francisco said, still waving his hands around. “I will enjoy cutting out your liver and frying it with tomatoes and capers and un poco basil!”

“I think that’s about enough.” I gave in and stood up, as well, giving my errant steward a look that by rights should have had him cowering. “You will cease threatening Mr. Fletcher. You will also cease making absurd statements regarding me. I am not yours. I will never be yours, as I told you the very first night when you burst into my cabin and threw your naked person upon my hair. I am not interested in you in any capacity but that of a steward. Now, please, stop making these embarrassing scenes and return to your duties.”

“Now!” I said, pointing to the door to the galley.

Francisco looked like he wanted to spit on Jack, but thought better of insulting the larger man, contenting himself with a stream of Spanish that left a profane tint to the air as he stomped dramatically back into the galley.

“You really do have some characters on this ship, don’t you?” Jack asked as I slumped down into my chair.

I was unable to deny that. “They are good people nonetheless. And I would have been able to control Mr. Francisco if you hadn’t enraged him.”

“You didn’t look like you appreciated him hitting on you.”

“I would never tolerate any man striking me, let alone a crew member,” I said primly.

“That’s not what . . . never mind. It’s not important. What were we talking about before the Spanish drama queen entered?”

“I don’t quite remember.” I rubbed my forehead. “Oh, yes, the situation with you, and—”

“—how we got on board an airship in what is evidently a steampunk world, that’s right. I’d like a definitive answer to that, too, but I think the best we’re going to get at this point is conjecture.”

“What is this steampunk you keep mentioning?” I asked, distracted by the word.

An indescribable look came over his face as he retook his seat. “It’s . . . well, it’s all this,” he said, waving his hands. “At least I think it is. Let me ask you—what is the source of power of this airship?”

“The boilers,” I answered promptly. “They turn the propellers, and heat the air that fills the envelopes.”

“Steam engines, in other words,” he said, nodding. “I noticed that there are gas jets on the wall. Is there any sort of electricity on board?”

“Of course not. Electricity is highly dangerous. I wouldn’t have it in my home, let alone on an airship.”

“Right,” he said, as if he expected that answer. “And if I said ‘nuclear power’ to you . . . ?”

“I would suggest you define that term.”

“Got it. So in other words, it’s present-day, at least so far as the year is. You’re dressed in a late Victorian outfit, steam engines run your airship, and you have a gun that shoots heated aether, which is an archaic term that has no real meaning.”

“I assure you that should you be struck by it, you would change your point of view,” I said with complaisance.

“Ah, but that’s because in your world it has a definition that doesn’t apply to the real world.”

“The world is only as real as you make it.”

“True, true, but in this case, it’s hard to define just what real is. My real is different from your real.”

“Is that so?” I said politely.

“Yes. Somehow, Hal and I were popped from our real world, into yours. I’m not going to speculate how that could happen, except to say that when you deal with things on a quantum level, as I was with my research project, things aren’t necessarily what you expect them to be.”

“So you hold to the statement that you were not placed on board the ship by persons unknown, but that you were . . .” I struggled to find a word for the action he was suggesting.

“Zapped. We were zapped here, yes. That’s what I think happened. How the hell we’re going to get back is another question, but right now, I think I’ll just settle for coping with the fact that we’re not where we should be. You have to admit that this offers a tremendous opportunity to learn about you.”

“Me?” I asked, my eyebrows once again rising. I told them to stop being so dramatic.

His gaze dropped to my chest for a moment. “Your world. Although I don’t mind saying I’d enjoy knowing you better, too.”

There was a slight emphasis on the word “knowing” that didn’t escape me.

The question was, why did my pulse race at the thought of it?

I pulled my mind back from thoughts that were highly improper, most of which concerned him lying naked on my bed, and said slowly, “I am more concerned with what I’m going to do with you now that you’re here, regardless of how you came to be on my ship. The Aerocorps takes a narrow view of unauthorized personnel on board their ships, and frankly, I have no idea what explanation I can give the emperor’s officials when we land in Rome.”

“Emperor?” he asked. “There’s an emperor?”

“Emperor William VI, yes. The empire consists of the United Kingdom, and the duchy of Prussia.”

He was silent for the count of five, then nodded. “OK. You guys have an empire, and Prussia is part of that. Gotcha. So the emperor will have guys waiting for you in Rome? Is Italy part of the empire?”

“No. The king of Italy is a cousin to the Duchess of Prussia, who is marrying the emperor in about a week. Relations between Italy and England have been strained for several decades due to the Moghuls reclaiming Constantinople.”

“Moghuls,” he said, blinking.

“Italy liberated Constantinople from the Moghuls three decades past,” I explained. “But seven years ago, the imperator—he’s really an emperor, but for some reason they call him imperator—Imperator Aurangzeb III retook the city. The king of Italy was distraught at this, and asked for aid from Emperor William, but he was busy fighting the war with the Americas, and could not help.”

“You guys had a war with us?” he asked, his eyes narrowing. “Another one?”

“There have been several,” I said, shrugging. “An empire is neither won nor held without casualty. The war with the Americas ended four years ago. However, I should warn you that there are still hard feelings about citizens of the countries who fought against the empire. If it was possible to modify your accent, I would urge you to do so, lest you encounter trouble because of it.”

He straightened up, an indignant look on his face. “I’m not ashamed that I’m American, and I’ll be damned if I pretend otherwise.”

“I’m not suggesting you pretend anything; I’m simply warning you that your accent may cause trouble. If you do not wish to modify it, fine. But don’t be surprised if you find a hostile reaction to it.”

“I’m used to getting flak for a lot of things,” he said with a wry smile that made me want to kiss him.

I ground my teeth against the unruly thought, and poured myself more tea.

“So, back to your problem. You say that unauthorized people on your ship are going to get you into trouble. Is there anything that says you can’t tell this emperor’s dudes that Hallie and I are part of your crew?”

“Unfortunately, yes. The Aerocorps offices have a list of personnel on all ships, and they check all arrivals closely. It’s not just the emperor’s officials who pose a danger—Akbar has been making raids upon Italy in retaliation for the battle over Constantinople, and he has been hitting Rome particularly hard.”

“Akbar is . . . ?”

“Aurangzeb’s son and heir, a ruthless warlord who lets nothing stand in his path,” I said, clearing my throat when I noted how singsong that came out, almost as if I was reciting it. “Of late, he has attacked several Aerocorps ships in the name of the Moghuls.”

“Well, of course he has,” Jack said, nodding, his smile fading. “What else would a ruthless heir do? And you think these Moghuls may attack you?”

“Attack by one’s enemies is always a possibility,” I said, tracing the pattern of flowers on the china teapot.

“That’s a very odd answer,” he said, his eyes thoughtful on me.

“Is it? I hadn’t intended it to be. There is one other threat,” I said quickly. “The revolutionaries who oppose William have, in the past, focused their attentions on matters in England and Prussia. For the last two years, however, they have spread their attacks to include imperial forces in other countries; most notably they have made a number of strikes against ships bearing imperial cargoes. Their raids have targeted the Rome aerodrome three times in the last few months, which is why there are bound to be imperial officials present when we land.”

He looked at me askance. “You have two emperors, a bloodthirsty prince, and revolutionaries? Have you ever thought of writing all of this down? It would make a hell of a story.”

“I am trying to have a serious discussion, Mr. Fletcher. Under the circumstances, flippancy is neither desired or appreciated.”

“Go with the flow, Jack, go with the flow,” he murmured before taking a deep breath and saying, “All right. So there are three threats to you landing safely at Rome.”

“Only two—the Moghuls and the Black Hand.”

“The latter being the revolutionaries?”

“Yes.” I tightened my lips. I didn’t want to go into details about the Hand, but I had a suspicion that a man of his curiosity wouldn’t leave it alone. “They are opposed to the empire.”

“That’s it? They’re just opposed to it?” he asked after a few seconds of silence passed.

I watched my fingers trace out the rim of my cup. “They are opposed to Prussia being under the power of William. There is a lengthy history of Prussia attempting to gain its freedom from the empire, but with no success.”

“And yet the duchess is going to marry this emperor of yours?” Jack asked, his gaze shrewd.

“He’s not my emperor,” I said stiffly.

He watched me for a moment, leaving me with the uncomfortable sensation that he could see my thoughts. “That was a little too much, you know.”

I sighed, allowing my shoulders to slump for a few seconds. “I know. It was stupid of me.”

“So you know the emperor?”

My fingers ran around the rim of the cup again as I wondered how much to tell him. I decided to be prudent rather than garrulous. “When I was very young, I was separated from my parents. William found me wandering around the garden of one of the imperial palaces. He took me to his father, the old emperor, who made me a ward of a friend of his, a man by the name of Robert Anstruther. Because we were of an age, and because William had few playfellows, I was allowed to visit him periodically. We had some wonderful times together, William a brave knight to my fairy princess as we fought dragons and trolls and all sorts of wicked beings.” I smiled at the sweet memories. “We more or less grew up together, although once the old emperor died, my visits to play with William were at an end.”

The other visits, the ones made later in my life, were not so sweet, although filled with a wonder of their own.

“Sounds like you had a good childhood,” he said, still watching me closely.

“My childhood is not of importance at this moment,” I said, firmly closing the door to any further introspection. “I have quite enough on my plate with your arrival.”

“It seems that way, doesn’t it?” he said thoughtfully. “Let me make sure I have all this straight—there’s an emperor of England who also rules Prussia, who was at war with the US until a few years ago.”

“The Americas—the United States, Canada, and Mexico.”

“All three together?” he asked, looking surprised.

“Yes.”

“What exactly comprises your empire? Britain and Prussia? No Australia or Canada?”

“No, just the British Isles and Prussia.”

“Got it. And this friend of yours, William the emperor, is going to marry a duchess.”

“Constanza, yes.”

“Right, and she’s the cousin of the Italian king?”

“That is correct. King Iago.”

“How Shakespearean of him,” Jack said absently, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Iago is at war with some guy whose name I can’t pronounce, dad of a bloodthirsty heir.”

“Aurangzeb III. His son is Akbar, but it’s not Iago who is at war with Aurangzeb—he doesn’t have the force to battle the Moghuls on his own. It is our empire that is at war with the Moghuls. We have fought for almost a century, checking their attempt to take over Europe. Countries such as Italy lend aid as they can, but our people bear most of the responsibility. The empire’s men and women have paid the highest price for freedom from the Moghuls.”

“You guys were fighting two wars at once?” Jack looked astonished.

“Yes. It was a very grim time,” I said, refusing to remember the long, dark years. “You must understand that William wants nothing more than a cessation of the war with the Moghuls, but Aurangzeb is reputed to be working on a siege machine that is impervious to any known weapons, one that will crush our forces and allow him to reign free over all of Europe. With that threat hanging over our respective heads, you will understand why William feels obliged to continue his attempt to end the Moghul empire.”

He made a wry face. “I think there’s probably more to it than that.”

“What do you mean?” I asked quickly.

“Just that there are usually two sides to every story, and I like to hear them both before making an opinion.” His eyes, so oddly mismatched, and yet able to stir me right down to my soul, watched me with mild curiosity.

I was silent for a few minutes, not wanting to dwell on the direction my thoughts were headed. “I will have to smuggle you off the Tesla somehow. I see no other answer to this situation.”

“What will happen if your buddy’s men find out?”

I examined my fingertips. “The emperor has been beleaguered of late by spies sent by the Black Hand. He has decreed that anyone found guilty of a charge of espionage be executed with all due haste.”

“Good God,” Jack exclaimed. “You don’t mean to say he’d kill you if they found out Hallie and I were on board?”

“I have no doubt I would be charged as a spy,” I answered, rubbing a slight spot on one of my fingernails.

“But the emperor is a friend of yours. A . . . er . . . former boyfriend?”

He was fishing for that bit of information, but I let it go. Enough people knew that particular truth to keep me from spending an undue amount of energy to hide it.

“The laws are quite clear. My relationship with William was long in the past, and would have no bearing on any action taken in the present. If I was found guilty of being a spy, I would be executed.”

“I’m sorry,” he said after a minute of silence.

I glanced up to find his expression earnest.

“I’m sorry that I’ve put you in such a bind. You seem like a nice woman, Octavia. I don’t regret at all having the opportunity to meet you, but I regret that our being here has messed things up for you.”

Several responses ran through my mind at that moment: I could tell him that it was all right (but it wasn’t); I could say that he wasn’t to worry or be concerned (but he should do both); I could simply say that we would cope (how?), but what came out of my mouth was something completely different. “I refuse to be attracted to you,” I said, leaning forward toward him. “You can be just as charming as you like, but it will mean nothing to me. Nothing.”

His eyes widened with mirth as I realized what I had said. I fought the simultaneous urge to cover my mouth in horror and run away in embarrassment.

“I find myself in the position of apologizing to you a second time,” I said stiffly, wishing for a moment that I was a thousand miles away. “I assure you that I do not normally speak so unguardedly or rudely, even to strangers.”

“I’m glad you did. It takes a lot of strain off of me. You have no idea how daunting it is to try to determine if a woman is interested in you without stepping into sexual harassment territory. I was wondering how I was going to do it with you all buttoned up and repressed.”

“I am not repressed,” I said, standing. “Not that I intend to discuss the subject with you any further. I apologize for my unwarranted comments, but let that be the end of it. If you will excuse me, I must consult with Mr. Mowen about possible ways we might hide your sister and you from the authorities when we land.”

He followed me as I went to the door. I gave him a stern look that he met with an insouciant grin. “You’re not going to just let me wander around alone, are you? Not a notorious airship pirate like me? I could do any number of dangerous things if I wasn’t under your eye.”

“You are not in the least bit subtle,” I said, my hand on the doorknob.

“I always thought subtle was boring,” he said, moving closer. “I may get slapped for this, but what the hell. You only live once, right?”

Before I could ask him what he was talking about, he put his hands on my hips and pulled me into a loose embrace.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I asked, then damned myself for such an inane question. It was patently obvious what he was doing.

“I’m going to kiss you, Octavia Emmaline Pye.”

“You may refer to me as Captain Pye, and I decline your offer,” I said, a bit breathless, to be true. I wasn’t normally aware of my corset, it being as much a part of me as my shoes were, but just being so close to Jack seemed to not only strip the air from my lungs but leave me with the sensation that my corset was laced several times too tight.

“Your mind says no, but your body says yes,” he said, gently, persistently tugging me closer to him. I swayed into him, my fingers curling into fists as I fought the damnable attraction.

“My body is confused. Pay it no mind,” I said, my gaze focused on his mouth, a few inches from mine. Somehow, my hands had moved from where they were trying to shove him away, to sliding around his ribs, outrageously pulling him closer to me.

“Your mouth says yes, too,” he said, his lips brushing mine as he spoke.

I stared deep into those mismatched eyes, searching for a sign he was trying to deceive me, but there was nothing there but honest desire.

“My mouth, as you have witnessed twice, frequently does things without my explicit permission.” My breath caught in my throat as my lips brushed his again, the sensation sending a kernel of heat to glow in my belly, spreading outward in a rush of warmth. “Mr. Fletcher, I am captain of this ship. I cannot indulge in untoward behav—”

His mouth closing over mine cut off the rest of my declaration. I stood passive for a second, just long enough for my desire to completely override my common sense. My fingers slid up his back as he grasped my hips, pulling me tighter against him, his lips caressing mine in a kiss that I felt down to my toenails.

It’s been too long since I’ve had a lover, I thought to myself, but I knew that wasn’t the cause of my reaction to this strange man. There was something about him, some sense that he was lost as I had once been lost, that called to me, but even that wasn’t all of it. It was the way his eyes regarded me, with humor and intelligence and frank approval, that warmed me in a way I hadn’t experienced in a very long time. Not since my days with Alan had any man approved of me such as I was, but our lives had just been too disparate for a relationship to be anything but fleeting.

Jack would not abandon me, no matter how great the cause. That thought flitted through my mind, startling me out of the kiss that was threatening to consume me.

“Damn,” he said, his eyes crossing slightly as he tried to peer down at me. I pulled back, touching my fingers briefly to lips that felt swollen and hot. “That was one hell of a kiss, lady.”

“Yes,” I said, regaining my composure. “It was, but that does not change the situation, Mr. Fletcher.”

“Doesn’t it?” he asked with another one of his engaging grins. “I think it makes everything a lot more interesting.”

I looked at him for a minute, weighing my need to get away from the temptation he posed against the growing desire to be in his presence. I knew I should lock him into the cabin set aside for him, but that thought didn’t sit well with me. “Very well, you may accompany me, but what happened here will not be repeated. I am a woman, Mr. Fletcher, a normal woman who is not immune to desire, but I will not allow that to dictate my behavior or actions.”

“Dignity at all costs?” he asked, one sandy eyebrow rising.

“Not entirely, no,” I answered as I turned on my heel and left the mess.

“This is amazing. I can’t believe I’m in a real airship,” he said, his voice filled with awe as our footsteps sounded sharply on the metal staircase. “How big is it? It seems to be several stories tall.”

“The Tesla is seven hundred and fifty feet long, one hundred feet high, and about eighty feet wide. The gondola, which we will leave to access the engineering deck located aft, is ninety-eight feet long. The bulk of that is made up of the cargo holds, two fore and two aft of the crew’s living quarters. There are seven envelopes that keep the airship aloft, run by three boilers, two aft, and one forward. Be careful here—the gangways are only wide enough for one person to pass.”

We climbed a second, smaller spiral staircase to the engineering platform that sat at the rear of the airship. I pointed out girders that ran parallel to us, but high overhead. “Those provide access to the envelopes, should they become damaged and need repair.”

“Amazing,” he said, his head tipped all the way back to take in the white silk envelopes that rippled above us. I entered the first room, where I had seen Mr. Mowen just a few hours before, but it was empty. “All this with steam power. Ah, the boilers, I assume?”

“Yes.” I eyed the gauges as I passed by the machinery, the loud hiss and thumping of the boilers as they provided energy to the ship a familiar sound. “Mr. Mowen must be in the back. This way. Watch your step.”

“You said there was a crew of eight? Wouldn’t a ship this big need a lot more people to run it?”

“The Tesla is a simple cargo transport, Mr. Fletcher.”

“Jack.”

“We are not a warship that needs a significant crew to handle the weapons. Barring any disaster, my crew is able to take care of any challenge we should face on our run between Southampton and Rome.”

“And pirates?” he asked.

I cast a glance over my shoulder at him.

“You were the one who got so bent out of shape over the mention of them,” he said in response to my piercing look.

“The Tesla is small and fast, and can outrun all but the fastest of pirate airships, and none of those would be foolish enough to tackle us,” I answered, moving around the second boiler to access the small room behind it. “I assure you that we are well able to avoid bringing trouble down onto ourselves. Ah, there you are, Mr. Mowen. This is Mr. Fletcher. You have no doubt heard about his presence, and that of his sister, on board the ship.”

“Hi,” Jack said, holding out his hand.

Mr. Mowen rose slowly from where he had been sitting at a small desk covered in technical drawings. “Welcome,” he said, throwing a curious glance my way.

“I’m an engineer, as well,” Jack said, looking around the tiny room. “Although steam engines are a bit out of my depths. I work on . . . er . . . if I was to say ‘computer’ to you both, what would you think?”

The expression on Mr. Mowen’s face was interesting to behold. “Eh . . . Captain?” he said, politely gesturing for me to go first.

“It’s not a word I have heard before,” I said, frowning just a little. “But I would assume that a computor refers to someone who computes things. A mathematician?”

“A man who operates a steam abacus?” Mr. Mowen offered. “Although I’ve heard them called calculators, not computers. There was one back in the academy when I was a young lad. Great huge machine it was, and the calculator could add up the longest row of numbers just as fast as you can imagine.”

“They are indeed miraculous machines,” I agreed, turning my attention back to Jack. “Is that part of your profession, Mr. Fletcher? You manipulate a steam abacus?”

“Not quite,” he said, his lips twitching. “Although I work on something similar. Just . . . different.”

“Similar but different,” Mr. Mowen repeated, pursing his lips.

“OK, a lot different. You see, I came here from another—”

“Perhaps that tale would best be left for another time,” I interrupted, sending him a meaningful look. “Mr. Mowen, as you know, the emperor takes a dim view of undocumented passengers on international ships, a sentiment the Corps echoes. We have ascertained that Mr. Fletcher and his sister were placed on the ship while they were unconscious. They are, in effect, here against their wills, and I have Mr. Fletcher’s word that they mean no harm either to the ship, the cargo, the crew, or indeed any member of the empire.”

It wasn’t strictly true that Jack had given me his word on that, which is why I waited for him to confirm my statement.

“Absolutely.” He smiled, his laugh lines crinkling in that wholly delightful manner they had. “Actually, I’m a Quaker, so I don’t hold with using violence to settle anything.”

“You are?” I asked, startled by his statement. “But Quakers are profoundly religious people, and you . . .”

“Swear like a sailor? Enjoy women?” His eyes practically twinkled with amusement. I ground my teeth for a few seconds. “Am highly irreverent?”

“That and much more,” I said finally, well aware we had an audience. “It seems greatly at odds with such a severe religion.”

“Oh, we’re not severe at all. We’re actually quite reasonable. Quakers believe in the goodness in all people, and don’t fuss with too many ceremonies or dogma. They simply try to live good lives and treat others well. I won’t say that my father hasn’t lectured me about profanity a few times, but I believe it’s a person’s intent that matters, not the words they use.”

“Yes,” I said, exchanging a glance with Mr. Mowen. “We are familiar with that particular view.”

Jack laughed. “Your salty Mr. Piper? I’m going to have to have a long talk with him. I bet I could pick up a few choice phrases from him.”

“A frightening thought if ever I heard one.” I turned back to the engineer. “Mr. Mowen, what I am going to ask you is extremely unusual, and would be frowned on by the Corps. I do not want you thinking I condone any action that would be against Corps policy, but this circumstance is of a special nature, and I am willing, this once, to go against what might be viewed as the better interests of the Corps.”

“You want somewhere to hide Mr. Fletcher and his sister,” Mr. Mowen said calmly.

“Yes.” I searched his face. “You don’t seem at all taken aback by that request.”

One side of his mouth quirked up. “Your reputation is sterling, Captain. If you have a reason for breaking the Corps rules by trying to smuggle a couple of unauthorized persons across international borders, then I am willing to accept that you have due cause to do so.”

“Thank you, Mr. Mowen,” I said, greatly relieved that I wouldn’t have to try to persuade him against his will.

“I very much appreciate such support. There is the question of the crew, however—”

“They won’t give you any trouble, should you explain the situation to them,” he said. “They’re a good crew, and will do as you ask.”

“I will certainly take the first opportunity to make everything clear to them,” I said, feeling a little tension go out of my shoulders.

And so I did. That night when everyone had gathered in the mess for dinner, I stood at the head of the table and looked down the length of it at the people gathered. Jack and his sister were there, on my right and left, respectively. I averted my eyes from the desirous person of Jack. I’d spent the better part of the day avoiding any further time alone with him, lest the incident in the mess be repeated, asking Mr. Mowen to keep an eye on him as the pair selected a suitable hiding spot.

That hadn’t stopped Mr. Mowen from taking me aside for a few minutes while Jack was checking on his sister. “You believe his story, then?” Mowen asked as soon as Jack was out of earshot. “That he was put in the hold without his knowledge?”

“I do.”

Mr. Mowen’s gaze assessed me. “Seems to me there must be more to his story than what you’re telling.”

I allowed myself a little smile. “Of course. But the rest of the facts aren’t pertinent to the situation of our landing in Rome, nor are they particularly enlightening. Suffice it to say that both Mr. Fletcher and Miss Norris were put on the ship without their agreement or approval, and since I wish to avoid any harsh repercussions to either them or this ship and its crew, I have opted for this plan of action.”

“As you wish, Captain,” he said, nodding before going back to his task at hand.

Mr. Ho moved around the table, bringing laden plates in from the galley, placing them before everyone—everyone but Jack.

I glanced to the end of the table where Mr. Francisco had emerged from the galley, his arms crossed. “You appear to have miscounted, Mr. Francisco.”

“I did not,” the Spaniard said, his eyes spitting black looks at Jack. “I will not to him give the food most extraordinary. He is the dirt beneath your feet. He is not worthy of sitting there, close enough to your divine body that he could reach out and touch your most glorious shining hair, the hair of the purest sunset, hair as bright as the fire that burns in my loins.”

Jack gave him a long look. “I may have to rethink my attitude toward violence.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I said, picking up my plate and placing it before Jack. “Mr. Francisco, I find myself without dinner. Would you please prepare a plate for me?”

Dooley sniggered as the volatile cook swore, tossed up his hands in a dramatic gesture, then stomped off to the galley, returning shortly with a plate for me. He managed to whack Jack on the back of his head while presenting me with the dinner, but after a few harsh looks, he returned to his seat.

“Before we enjoy this delicious meal that Mr. Francisco has made for us, I would like to introduce you all to our two unexpected passengers. Mr. Fletcher and his sister, Miss Norris, will be traveling with us to Rome. Without going into lengthy details, I will simply say that they did not anticipate being with us for this journey, and in order to protect them from bureaucratic difficulties, we will not be listing them on the ship’s manifest. I realize that such a procedure is highly unusual, but I assure you that it is quite necessary. I trust that no one here will have an objection to my decision?”

The seven crew members exchanged glances, but all of them shook their heads or murmured agreements with my plans.

“So they’re not stowaways, then?” Dooley asked from his spot at the end of the table.

“Not in so many words, no. Please, begin,” I said, gesturing toward the dinner awaiting us. I sat down and picked up my fork. “They were, for lack of a better description, placed on the ship without their consent.”

Hallie Norris snorted. I slid a worried glance her way. She’d been very subdued since her brother had brought her in for the evening meal, her eyes somewhat dulled, as if she’d been beaten into submission. A quick word with Mr. Ho relieved my mind as to Hallie’s mental health.

“It’s all right, Captain,” Mr. Ho had said shortly before the evening meal. “Miss Norris became agitated again, and I felt it appropriate to give her a tiny drop of laudanum. She’ll be a bit subdued for a few more hours, but will soon be herself again.”

Now Hallie stared glumly at her plate, making no move to eat.

“Eat, Hal,” Jack said, shoving a piece of bread her way. “This is pretty good, even if I don’t normally eat mammals. What is it?”

“Mammals!” Mr. Francisco leaped to his feet at the opposite end of the table. “You dare call my beauteous pie of the shepherd mammals?”

“Sit down, Mr. Francisco. A mammal is a warm-blooded animal, such as the cow that provided the beef you used to make the shepherd’s pie,” I said wearily.

“Hrmph.” He sat down with muttered Spanish invectives.

Dooley sniggered again.

“Mr. Francisco is quite a talented cook,” I said, both to smooth his ruffled feathers and to try to get Hallie talking. “Although I should warn you that we prefer simple fare on Aerocorps ships. I hope you do not mind that.”

“Eh? Oh. No. I’m not one for haute cuisine,” she replied, finally picking up her fork and poking it into the mound of food on her plate. She gingerly tasted a morsel. A look of surprise flickered in her eyes. “This is really good.”

Mr. Francisco eyed her critically, saying, “The lady, she does not have the hair of the blazing set of the sun, but she is smart, she is much smart. She may have the flan I have so carefully made for the sweet.”

“Whereas I am to go flanless?” Jack said, winking at me. “Perhaps the captain will take pity on me and share her sweet?”

I was a bit aghast at his flirtatious comment, but luckily, other than Mr. Mowen (who choked on his ale), no one seemed to understand the double entendre.

“You may have mine if there is not enough,” Mr. Ho said generously. “I don’t have much of a sweet tooth.”

I gave Jack a stern look that was completely wasted upon such a rogue, and settled back to let the conversation move along general lines, memorable meals claiming the discussion for some time. Although I was extremely aware of Jack sitting next to me, so close I could almost feel the heat of his body, I kept my mind firmly focused elsewhere.

I did not notice the fine blond hairs that grew along his forearms, which were visible since he’d rolled back his sleeves.

I did not dwell on that little lock of hair that kept falling over his forehead, driving me almost to distraction with the need to push it back.

I refused to notice it when his knee brushed mine as he leaned forward to answer one of Mr. Mowen’s questions about where in California he was from.

I didn’t care one hoot about the fact that his eyes, so different in color, and yet so intriguing, had an uncanny attraction for me.

“Captain?”

“Hmm?” With a start, I realized that I was being addressed. I cleared my throat and looked attentive. “Yes, Mr. Ho?”

“I asked if there was anything in particular you wished us to do with respect to the ground crew and emperor’s officials in Rome.”

“No. When we are close to arrival at the aerodrome, we will land for a few minutes in a remote location to allow Mr. Fletcher and his sister to disembark.” I told that lie without batting so much as an eyelash. “They won’t be on the ship when we land in Rome; thus, there will be no need for you to conceal anything other than the fact that they were on board the ship for a few days.”

She nodded and continued passing around cups of after-dinner coffee. Mr. Llama dropped his spoon under the table, and leaned down to pick it up.

“I know it goes against everyone’s standards to conceal even that, but I think that it’s for the best if—”

The sound of the door behind me gently closing had me whirling around in the chair.

“What’s wrong?” Jack asked, looking up from the flan that Francisco reluctantly produced for him.

“The door . . . where’s Mr. Llama?” I asked, looking suspiciously around the table. His place was empty. “Ratsbane! He’s done it again. Did any of you see him leave?”

The crew all shared an unreadable look, six heads shaking in unison.

“Do you have a rule or something about people not being able to leave the table without your permission?” Jack asked as I pushed back my chair, hoisted up the edge of the tablecloth, and got on my knees to peer under the table.

“No, of course not. It’s just that the blighter . . . er . . . gentleman has the habit of disappearing without anyone seeing.”

“It wouldn’t be a disappearance if you were watching, now, would it?” Jack said with infuriating reason.

I glared over the top of the table at him. “You don’t understand—the man is positively uncanny. One moment he’s here, the next he’s gone. And no one ever sees him leave!”

Jack glanced over at Mr. Mowen. “Have you seen him leave a room?”

Mowen shook his head, watching me curiously as I dusted off my knees and retook my seat. “No, but then, I don’t watch for folks to leave rooms.”

“There you go, then,” Jack said, just as if that explained everything.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” I argued. “The fact remains that no one has seen Mr. Llama actually in the process of leaving a room.”

“I haven’t seen Dooley leave the room, and yet he’s gone,” Mr. Christian said from farther down the table, waving his sticky spoon toward Dooley’s chair.

“That’s different. He probably went to use the convenience,” I said, aware I was sounding grumpy. “Dooley can’t sit still for more than ten minutes. And we are not discussing him—we’re discussing the mystery that is Mr. Llama.”

Jack pursed his lips slightly. “Does anyone else feel that this Llama person is mysterious?”

The crew, blight them all, shook their heads.

“That is misleading!” I told them before focusing my attention on Mr. Francisco. “Didn’t you tell Dooley that Mr. Llama doesn’t sleep in his bed at night?”

“Sí, but I wouldn’t be in my bed if there was another for me to lie in,” he said with a lecherous waggle of his eyebrows.

“Oh. You mean he spends the night—” I stopped, not wanting to put it into words.

Mr. Francisco had no such sense of propriety. “He has the mistress of love he visits.”

They all looked at me.

“You can’t possibly think that I would—I’m the captain!” I said, outraged.

“Aye, but ye’re a right looker when ye want to be,” Mr. Piper said, subjecting me to a thorough once-over. “Ye’ve a nice plump arse, and a pair o’ ripe titties that fair make a man’s cods tighten.”

“That’s my bustle, and you will please refrain from commenting on my chest,” I said, grabbing the front edges of my jacket and jerking them closed over my blouse.

Jack grinned at me.

“You aren’t helping matters,” I told him.

“I’m sorry, but he’s absolutely right. You do have a nice ass. And your breasts—”

“Don’t say it,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Aye, it could be your bustle,” Mr. Piper said meditatively as he casually picked his teeth, making wet sucking noises as he did so. “But I’m of a mind that there’s a fair bit o’ paddin’ beneath the bustle, else it wouldn’t be so round.”

I sent the glare down to him, then spread it amongst the other crew members as they continued to eye me speculatively. “We have left the subject of Mr. Llama and his nighttime perambulations. I assure you all that he is not visiting me. So where is he going?”

Mr. Ho calmly sipped her coffee, seemingly unaware of everyone’s sudden scrutiny of her person.

I cleared my throat. Crew fraternization wasn’t encouraged, but neither was it prohibited. “Oh. I . . . indeed. Well, then.”

“Are there any other mysteries you’d like me to clear up for you?” Jack offered as I rose to my feet. “How the ship stays aloft? Why the sky is blue? What the meaning of life is?”

“No, thank you,” I said, thinning my lips at him as he grinned at me, his eyes glittering with enjoyment.

Damnation, I would not fall for him. He was no better than any of the other rogues in my life, and if I hadn’t learned by now just how bad for me such a man was, I might as well pack up my things and retire to a convent.