He strode past her to a chest constructed of steel. Ivy recognized that design—it was the Blacksmith’s. Like her bank in Fool’s Cove, it expanded and reconfigured when given the right combination. This one unfolded into a solid worktable. Long rolls of paper that had been hidden inside now lay on the surface.
Curious, Ivy smoothed out the paper, and stared at the first sketch. Not just a submersible—it was shaped like a kraken, with mechanical arms and maneuverable tentacles. This had to be a joke. “Someone built this?”
“Yes.”
She tilted her head, struggling with her disbelief. It could be done, she supposed. A small, one-man craft that—
Her gaze skimmed over the dimensions. She choked. “This is longer than your ship!”
“Only the tentacles.”
With a body as big as his cabin. “It can’t be done. This is of metal, not . . . not”—she wiggled her fingers at the squid—“what they have. The weight of the tentacles alone would destabilize the entire structure. There’s no counterweight.”
“And you know that just from looking at the plans. My people had to build it first.” Mad Machen studied her face, his gaze dark and unwavering. “Fix it, Ivy. You’ll have mechanical flesh to work with. Yasmeen is traveling to London now to collect it from the Blacksmith.”
She frowned at the plans, then at the aquarium. Using mechanical flesh could offset some of the weight, but the locomotion couldn’t function like a squid’s. The material simply wasn’t that fluid. “It can’t be done.”
“It has to be.”
“Why?” She couldn’t imagine any use a kraken might have. “What do you plan to do? Frighten sailors? Tear apart ships?”
“Yes.”
His implacable expression and the conviction in his voice stopped her. That was what he planned to do. Her chest tight, she looked down at the plans. “I won’t build a monster for you.”
His face darkened. He moved in suddenly, solid behind her, pushing her hips against the table. Her fingers clenched, crumpling paper. Trembling with shock and anger, she waited, but he only stood behind her, chest heaving. She felt his ragged breath against her ear, then her neck. Her stomach tightened as calloused fingers slid her hair aside. Warm lips caressed her nape. Oh, blue. A shudder wracked her bones, and she didn’t know if it was anger or fear . . . or something else.
Tension hardened the body pressing into hers, and he pulled away. Wary, she turned to look at him.
His eyes were closed, his jaw clenched, his scars starkly white against his skin. Then he was striding for the door, pausing at the threshold. “Fix it and I’ll take you back to Fool’s Cove. If you refuse, you’ll never leave this ship.”
He issued the rough threat without looking back. A moment later, he was gone.
Ivy stared at the empty doorway. He was absolutely and utterly mad. Her heart pounding, she looked to the tank, then at the plans. She picked up a pencil.
To return home, she needed to begin thinking like a madman.
FIVE
The ship’s bell woke her. Silently, Ivy opened her eyes to the dark. Mad Machen’s heart beat steadily beneath her cheek, his arm a solid brace of heat between her back and cheek, his arm a solid brace of heat between her back and the cold bulkhead, his hand lightly resting at her waist. She’d curled into him during the night until she almost lay completely on top of him, all but straddling his left thigh.
She didn’t move. The hard length against her hip told her that even if he hadn’t roused yet, his body had. She closed her eyes again, pretending to sleep.
The previous day, she’d taken her meals in the smithy and worked until he’d come for her. Without a word, he’d taken her hand and led her to his cabin. She’d watched the stars while he washed and undressed, and he’d accepted her coin without comment. Their silence had been a swelling pressure that had grown as he followed her into the bed, but one she’d been unwilling to break, for reasons she couldn’t define.
Ivy didn’t want to break it now, either, but this time she could identify the reason: her body wanted his.
She’d felt this before—the hollow ache between her legs, the tightening of her nipples, the urge to crawl on top of another human and feed the hunger. It wasn’t a memory she liked to revisit. Only a few months before the end of the Horde occupation, she’d been cleaning a factory’s chimney when a rare Frenzy had struck. The two members of her sweeper team who were supposed to haul her out of the chimney had fallen on each other. For hours, she’d listened to their grunts and moans, compelled to join them—but trapped within the narrow pipe.
As terrifying as that had been, the alternative could have been worse. A good number of the women she’d known had gotten with child during the Frenzy. And although her hunger for Mad Machen originated from within her instead of from a radio signal, succumbing to it carried the same risk. She barely scraped by in Fool’s Cove. How would she support a child? Netta would undoubtedly help, just as Ivy would her if their situations were reversed . . . but if Ivy had any choice in the matter, she wouldn’t put that burden on her friend. Two years ago, when she’d offered Mad Machen her virginity, her desperation had outweighed any other fear. She couldn’t take a similar risk now simply because her body wanted.
And she couldn’t let Mad Machen take her simply because he wanted, too.
His chest rose and fell on a great sigh. So he was awake. Perhaps staring up into the dark, thinking whatever mad thoughts occupied his brain.
Or thinking of her. Ivy remained limp as he lifted his hand from her waist. His fingers stroked softly through her hair, and a light touch against her crown might have been a kiss. Turning onto his side, he began to ease away from her, his thigh moving deeper between hers as he rolled her gently onto her back. His erection brushed her hip and he froze, his breath hissing between his teeth.
Unable to continue pretending, she lifted her head from the pillow. A short groan escaped him, and she stilled when his big hand cupped her cheek.
“Ivy.” Her name sounded low and rough.
What could she say? Ivy wet her lips. “Captain Machen.”
“Eben.”
Her stomach turned over, a frightening little flip. “I prefer ‘Mad.’ ”
Judging by his voice, she thought he might have grinned. “Go back to sleep. There’s nothing to do on a ship when it’s dark.” He paused, and amended, “That’s not true. There is something, but you paid me not to do it.”
Mad Machen must have felt her smile against his hand. He answered with a deep laugh.
After a moment, he said, “Before you head into the smithy, come topside. Your arms are strong enough to keep you safe climbing into the rigging. You’ll enjoy the view from the crow’s nest.”
This, after threatening that she’d never leave his ship? She couldn’t make sense of him—but she didn’t want to pass up his offer.
When she nodded, his hand dropped from her cheek and he swung over the bed rail. His right foot clanked heavily against the deck. She still needed to adjust his pneumatic valve . . . but perhaps she’d wait until she had no more money to bargain with.
Only six coins left.
She rolled onto his part of the mattress, into the warmth left by his body. The memory of his hard thigh between hers wouldn’t let her be. Clutching the blanket to her sensitive breasts, she squeezed her legs together until she shook.
Ivy didn’t just enjoy the crow’s nest—she loved it. She remained on the small platform for as long as she could stomach the swaying, using Teppers’s biperspic lenses that brought the horizon to within an arm’s length. She watched pods of whales, searched for icebergs and Megs. She held the lenses for so long that her sunburn formed white goggles around her eyes, and only left after she extracted a promise from Teppers that he’d show her how to skylark.