“You’ve come to tell me that Wolfram is dead,” she said.
“Yes.” Yasmeen studied the other woman’s expression. She saw resignation. Sadness. But no sudden grief. “You don’t seem surprised.”
“I was supposed to receive word from him six weeks ago. When I didn’t, I gave him another week. And then another. By the third week, I had to accept that a letter wasn’t coming. So I have had three weeks to adjust myself to the idea.” She sipped from her tea before leveling a direct stare at Yasmeen. “Wolfram isn’t part of your crew. So why have you really come?”
“He was on my ship. He wasn’t my crew, but he was my responsibility,” she said, marveling at the other woman’s composure. How was it that Yasmeen didn’t feel as steady as his sister looked? She slipped her fingers into her pocket, produced her cigarillo case and lighter. “Do you mind if I . . . ?”
“Yes,” Zenobia said bluntly. “It reeks.”
“If you smoke one, too, you won’t notice it as much.” Yasmeen smiled when the other woman only fixed a baleful look on the proffered cigarillo. She slid it back into the silver case. “I have his belongings and his purse—minus the five livre he owed to me for his passage.”
Five livre was a large sum of money, but Zenobia didn’t blink. “I’ll take them. And the da Vinci sketch?”
“You’d be a fool to keep it in your possession.”
“As aptly demonstrated today.”
Though dryly stated, Yasmeen could see that the other woman knew it was the truth. “Mills will only be the first.”
“Yes.” Zenobia took another sip before coming to a decision. “Sell it, then.”
Exultation burst through Yasmeen’s veins. She contained it, and merely nodded. “I will.”
A tiny smile flirted with the woman’s mouth. “I understand that on dangerous flights, the airship captain receives twenty-five percent of the salvage.”
Yasmeen met Zenobia’s steady gaze. “For this job, I’ll take fifty percent.”
Her tone said there’d be no negotiation. Her face must have conveyed the same. Zenobia studied her, as if weighing the chances of coming to a different agreement.
Finally, she took another sip and said, “I suppose fifty percent of an absurd fortune is still a ridiculous amount of money.”
Clever woman. This was the Zenobia that Yasmeen had expected to find. She wasn’t disappointed. “I’ll see that you receive your half when the sale is finalized.”
“Thank you.” She hesitated, and some of the hardness of negotiation dropped from her expression, revealing a hint of vulnerability. “I heard a little bit of what you said about the zombies, captain. Is it true that you deliberately threw him into a canal?”
So three weeks had given her time to adjust to the idea? Obviously not completely. Yasmeen shook her head. “It was the middle of the night. I couldn’t know where he landed.”
Lies. Her eyes saw well enough in the dark. She’d watched him splash into the canal. She’d known that with luck and brains, he’d survive—and her crew wouldn’t think she’d gone soft or weak.
But even for Archimedes Fox, his chances of survival were slim. She wouldn’t give this woman any more false hope than she offered herself.
“I see.” Zenobia’s fingers tightened on her cup. “If, on your travels, you see him with the others . . .”
“I’ll shoot him,” Yasmeen promised.
“Thank you.” The vulnerability left her face, replaced by sudden amusement. “Speaking of your travels, captain . . . you’ve tossed the source of my stories overboard.”
Yasmeen looked pointedly at the ink staining her fingers. “You’re writing.”
“Only letters.”
“You won’t need the income when I’ve sold the sketch.”
“You misunderstand me.” Zenobia set her cup on the table and leaned forward. “I don’t need the income now. I write because I enjoy it. Will you leave your airship when you’ve received your portion of the money?”
“No.” When she left her lady for the last time, it would only be because her dead body had been dragged away.
“It is the same with me for writing. I won’t stop, not voluntarily. But I do need inspiration for the stories. With the basis for Archimedes gone, I’ll have to create another character. Perhaps a woman this time.” She sat back, her gaze narrowed on Yasmeen’s face. “What about . . . The Adventures of Lady Lynx?”
Yasmeen laughed. Zenobia didn’t.
“You’re not joking?”
The other woman shook her head. “You’ve killed my research source and taken an extra twenty-five percent from his spoils. You live a life of adventure.”
“Yes, but—”
“I’ll write them. You receive twenty-five percent of royalties.”
The sudden need for a cigarillo almost overwhelmed her. A drink, a hit of opium. Anything to calm her jumping nerves. Was she going to agree to this?
Yes. Of course she was. Even without royalties, she would have.
But still, no need to be stupid about it.
“Fifty percent of royalties,” Yasmeen countered.
“Twenty-five. You send me reports of where you go, who you see, what you eat. I need to know how long it takes you to fly to each location. I want your impressions of your crew, your passengers, and everyone you meet.”
Impossible. “I won’t share everything.”
“I won’t name them. I only seek authenticity, not a reproduction of the truth.”
“I won’t share everything,” Yasmeen repeated.
For a moment, Zenobia looked as if she’d try to negotiate that, too. Then she shrugged. “Of course you can’t. But let us begin with your background. Thirteen years ago, you joined my father’s crew. After you killed him—well done, by the way—you sold Lady Corsair’s services as a mercenary in the French-Liberé war, where you worked both sides, depending upon who paid the most. You earned the reputation of being willing to do anything for money. But what happened before that? Where were you before my father’s ship?”
In a very pretty cage. But did she want to share that? Yasmeen shook her head.
“As far as I’m concerned, my life started when I boarded Lady Corsair. Make up what you like about what came before.”
“All right. A mysterious past will only make Lady Lynx more fascinating,” she mused. “I could deliver the background in bits, like crumbs.”
“Whatever you like.” Yasmeen stood. “The other reports, I’ll send to you regularly.”
Zenobia’s expression sharpened as she rose. “Where are you heading after you leave Fladstrand? Do you have a job now?”