Wind Dancer: Secret War Steampunk Series - Adventure, Mystery + Mad Science (13 page)

“Well,” Abigail said putting down her mug. She braced for
some strange sort of fortune teller claptrap. “What do you wish to ask?”

A shadow came between them at the table. Abigail looked up to
see a brown-skinned woman with many braids standing at the table end. She was
dressed much as they were in pants and a tunic with vest, a pair of goggles
perched on top of her unruly braids.

“Arms-Master,” the woman said, to Saira, very deliberately
not looking at Abigail. “I understand that you wish me to undertake the Tigers’
morning trainings.” Saira nodded.

“That is correct Tikku,” she smiled up at the younger woman.
“I think that you are ready for this. It will only be for a few days while I
tend to our guest here,” she nodded towards Abigail. “Let me introduce you.”
She held her palm up towards Abigail, “This is the Lady Abigail Hadley a member
of the British Royal Order of Scholars.” She held up her other palm towards
Tikku.

“Lady Hadley,” she said. “You may remember Tikku from the
boarding of Hu Fan’s ship. This is Tikku Talaton, one of the best fighters in
my Tigers.” Tikku bobbed her head towards Abigail.

“Thank you for your action in my rescue, Tikku,” Abigail said
with a smile.

“Lady Hadley,” Tikku said shortly. She then looked at Saira
again silently. As the silence stretched out, Abigail opened her mouth simply
in an attempt to fill the silence. Saira abruptly picked up her mug and
addressed the standing woman with narrowed eyes.

“Simply have them all practice leap-frogging under cover
after first exercises,” She said crisply. “I was not satisfied with how they
did on our last boarding. We could be faster. Is there anything else?” The
braids shook in negation.

“No Arms-Master,” Tikku replied. She bobbed her head coolly
towards Abigail. “A pleasure to see you again Lady Hadley.” Abigail leaned
towards Saira as the other woman walked out the mess doors.

“I am sorry,” she said to the Arms-Master. “Is there
something that I should have done? I do not intent any insult.” Saira’s gaze
had followed Tikku as she left the mess. She turned towards the Scholar.

“Do not let her attitude bother you,” the Hindi woman said to
her. “I believe that it is simply because you are British that she had
difficulty with the British.” Abigail frowned at this.

“I see,” she said slowly, looking at the Arms-Master
directly. “Is there likely to be much difficulty with this?” Saira opened her
mouth to speak, and then frowned as she looked over Abigail’s shoulder.

“Ah,” she exhaled softly. “And now here would come our Mr. Rogers
to pay his respects, I imagine.” She reached out and touched Abigail’s hand.
“Please, we will speak more of this later if that is alright with you.”
Touched, Abigail took her hand and squeezed it.

“Of course, Saira,” she assured her. Abigail was about to say
more when a polite cough forced her to turn. She saw a tall thin man dressed
all in black with graying blonde hair that came to his shoulders. His face
seemed to be set in a permanent frown.

“Arms-Master,” the man said to Saira with short nod. He faced
Abigail and gave her a short but more formal bow. “Lady Hadley, I am First
Officer Rogers. If I would not be interrupting, I would like a moment of your
time.”

“Of course, Mr. Rogers,” Abigail said cordially. “Please,”
she indicated with her hand, “do be seated, sir.” Saira scooped up both their
bowls quickly.

“I will turn these in then.” She said briefly. Looking at
her, Saira asked Abigail, “more tea?”

“No thank you,” Abigail smiled at her. “Would you care for
tea, Mr. Rogers?” Rogers looked startled at this.

“No thank you,” he said with a glance that went between Saira
and herself. “I am on duty, and would only stay for a moment.” Saira wordlessly
picked up the bowls and glided off.

Abigail had caught the by-play or rather lack of it,
wondering it what was it with the crew of this ship that they were so
emotional.

“Is there some problem, Mr. Rogers?” She asked him.

“No, not at all,” he said in a tone that indicated that there
was. “I simply wanted to see how you were getting on, Milady. I understand that
you have been working in the engine rooms. I must tell you that that isn’t
really required of you. I promise. Certainly not after all you’ve been
through.”

Oh dear, Abigail thought. The last thing she expected to find
on a ship of bloodthirsty killers was an officer concerned for her station. She
fervently prayed that wasn’t the case here. She smiled.

“I assure you Mr. Rogers that it was quite at my
insistence
,”
she emphasized the word, “that I have been aiding in your engine room. As you
may know I am a Scholar in Energetics, and find the opportunity to practice
very rewarding. Your engineer, Devi Neelam, runs a wonderful operation. I’ve
been very grateful for her indulgence.” Rogers harrumphed at that and then
glanced quickly at her clothes. It was only a glance, but Abigail could see
what was on his mind.

“I’m sure Milady that we can find you −something more
suitable to wear if you wish.” He smiled at her as if in pain. Oh my, Abigail
thought, in despair, he really was so Old School. Perhaps it would be best to
confront him directly.

“Mr. Rogers,” she said gently, “are you concerned for my
modesty
?”
He harrumphed again, not looking at her.

“Well, Milady, these are hardly conditions that you’re used
to I’m sure,” he said earnestly, then looked her in the eye. “I wouldn’t want
you to get the idea that we’re all like Arms-Master Brighton, or that
tolerating such behavior is required of someone of your station, I promise you
it isn’t.”

“I see,” Abigail replied, now feeling rather nettled by his attitude.
While it was all very well to have concern for her feelings, she had dealt
before with other’s expectations of how she should conduct herself according to
her station. That he impugned her new friend the Arms-Master did not incline
her to be tolerant of him. She straightened up and stared at him across the
table.

“I notice that you have several women aboard this ship Mr.
Rogers,” she said coolly. “I notice none of them in skirts fanning themselves,
but rather carrying out their duties in practical garments such as what I am
wearing. I am hardly the fanning sort myself. My honor demands that I give aid
to my rescuers both as I am able, and as
I
choose. As for Saira, Arms-Master
Brighton that is, I can assure you that I find her both eminently satisfactory
as a companion, and as an example of your crew.” Rogers smiled thinly at that.

“Frankly Milady,” he said dryly, “Saira
Brighton is an undisciplined harlot and a heathen.” He continued, undeterred as
Abigail visibly bristled at his statement. “She’s also one of the best fighters
that I’ve ever seen, a natural leader, and a true asset to this ship, not
including her hocus pocus.” His shoulders twitched slightly, “Which I will
leave you to decide the merits of.” He leaned forward with a thin smile, “And if
you tell her I said that I will deny it loudly.” Abigail shook her head in
wonder at this pronouncement,
and opened her mouth to speak, only to
have Rogers hold up a hand which prevented her from doing so.

“I meant no disrespect to you, Milady,” he said dryly. “I
only wished to assure myself that you felt that you are being well treated and
are comfortable.” He smiled thinly again. “I believe that you have put my
concerns to rest.” He stood up, and bowed to her again. “Should you have any
concerns or needs, you have only to ask, Milady. Now if you will excuse me, I
must return to my duties.” Abigail watched as he walked out of the mess. Saira
came over to her and raised an eyebrow in silent question.

“That is a very unique man,” Abigail said in reply. Saira
grinned at her.

“That he is,” she agreed. “The Captain is perhaps the soul of
the ship, Devi the heart.” She flexed a muscle. “I may be perhaps the hands,
but that man is the sinew which makes the ship run.” Saira leaned close to her,
“and if you ever tell the British prig with the stick up his arse I said this,
I shall deny it,” Saira said seriously. Abigail laughed at this, and shook her
head again at Saira’s look.

“You are all rather…unique I think.” Abigail stood up, “Still
I’m glad to have met you all. Thank you for a wonderful breakfast.” Saira stood
with her and inclined her head.

“You are most welcome. I have a
feeling that we will all be saying the same,” Saira returned. “Now, can you
find your way to the engine room on your own? I have things that I need to do
that do not require that I stand around the engine room naked all day.
Not of course, that I am not inspiring doing so.” She mimed primping her short
dark hair.

“Not to mention modest!” Abigail smiled. “I am sure that I
can find my way. But what will your Captain Will say if I am without my
guardian?”

“I have never found much use for what you English call
modesty,” Saira allowed. “Both Cap’n Will and I think that you are ready to be
on your own. We have talked about this. You do not put on airs, the crew knows
who you are by now, and Devi says that you’re a miracle worker that the engines
need.” She cocked her head to one side to regard the British Scholar. “Besides,
we figure that if you were going to blow up the ship, or try to assassinate one
of us, you would have given yourself away by now.”

Abigail blinked at this rather stark answer. She had been at
first busy trying to determine if
they
meant her harm, then so absorbed
by the problem of the engines, that she hadn’t considered that they might have
concerns about
her
.

“I see,” Abigail said slowly. “Thank you for your trust.”

“No worries,” Saira said turning to go. She whipped her head
back just before the mess doors. “Just do not prove us wrong,” she smiled and
was gone. Abigail wasn’t sure how to interpret the smile that accompanied those
words.

Chapter Nine

Main Mess Hall, Wind Dancer

Tikku walked into the mess, weary from a long day. First she
had to direct the Tiger exercises, because the Arms-Master was babysitting some
British toff they had picked up from the battle, then she spent the rest of her
day looking to rigging duties under Chief Bobby. The Chief Rigger had made no
bones about him wanting every inch of
Wind Dancer
inspected for battle
damage. Which meant that Tikku had squatted for hours inspecting the hull while
secured by only the safety ropes. It was hard, dangerous work which left you
tired down to your bones. She was startled to see the English ‘Scholar’ sitting
alone at one end of a long mess table. She was wearing airdevil togs clearly in
an attempt to ape her betters, Tikku thought. Well it wasn’t going to work with
her, she vowed. Coming from Jakarta as she did, she knew all about British
trickery and snobbery. Her people had been taken twice over, first by the Dutch
and then by the English. The English were a tricky lot, and none more so than
the upper classes like Lady Whats−her−name.

Tikku stalked over to the tea station and grabbed a hot mug.
She saw a group she knew sitting at the other end of Miss Fancypants’ table and
called out a greeting to them, then walked back as they cleared a spot for her
on the long bench that served as mess hall seating.

“Here now Tikku,” Greeted Roger a fellow rigger, hosting his
tea mug. “Friggin’ hard day checking out for battle damage eh?” Tikku shrugged
at this. She gave a sidelong glance at the British woman as she sat down.

“I do not know about that Rog,” she replied loudly. “At least
it’s honest work. Not like some folks who just loll around, living off the
sweat of others.” She sipped her tea, turning back towards Roger. Roger’s
current bedmate, a young man who worked up in engineering, leaned towards her
with a hiss.

“Lay off, Tikku,” he said in a low voice. “I heard from Chief
Neelam herself that Lady Hadley worked all yesterday to keep the ship from
having a cascade failure. She’s earned her berth.” Tikku looked down her nose
at him.

“Likely an English trick,” she announced in the same loud
voice. “It’s common knowledge that they trick anyone who’s not them when you’re
not looking. Aye, and steals from them too!” This last pronouncement was met by
an uncomfortable silence among her mates. Tikku slammed her mug on the table.

“What?” She demanded of her fellow airdevils, “You know what
I say is true!” A voice came from the far end of the table.

“Would that also apply to your own First Officer as well?”
Abagail inquired mildly. Tikku jumped up, stalking down the tables’ length
towards her.

“You leave the FO out of this,” she yelled stabbing with her
finger. “You are just trying to trick me into violatin’ the Articles!” She
raised both her arms in appeal to the room.

“Can no one see how dangerous it is letting a toff around run
loose on the ship?” she asked them. Abagail looked up at her coolly, her mug
still half way to her lips.

“There is a scientific answer to your question you know,” she
said calmly to the angry airdevil. Tikku lowered her arms, and sneered at her,
while placing her hands on her hips.

“Oh?” she said, “And what would that be?” The Scholar
carefully lowered her mug to the table.

“Get stuffed,” Lady Hadley said in a loud clear voice. The
silence in the mess hall that followed this calm obscenity was absolute. Tikku
simply stared at her, her mouth hanging open. Then Roger whooped at this,
laughing and pounding the table in front of him.

“She had you there, Tikku!” He announced gleefully. “Too bad
you don’t like the fillies so you can’t take her up on it!” This earned him a
general round of laughter which caused the Indonesian woman to freeze in place.

“I will see to you,” Tikku said to Abigail with a hiss. She
turned about and stalked from the mess, laughter following her. Roger stood up
and offered Abigail Tikku’s spot on the bench. After a moment’s hesitation, she
rose to accept. Roger smiled at her as she settled down.