If it did get away, Vivian hoped the women aboard would accept their victory over Prince Timgad and stop killing. She wouldn’t put it past Tesla to hunt them down again if they didn’t.
She wasn’t up to hunting anything right now. She was exhausted, and her arm hurt like hell. Marshall had put a splint on her damaged cast, but she’d bashed that around enough that she was pretty sure the arm would need to be reset, and she’d have to start all over with her healing. Maybe she’d have to miss Marina’s party. That wouldn’t be so bad.
Mostly, she wanted to lie down and sleep for a long time. But she couldn’t because her cabin, in fact, all the cabins were full of wounded. There wasn’t a spare bed on the ship. About fifty people had survived from the Roc, forty-five men and five women. A broken arm, a few gunshot wounds, concussions. The Shining Pearl had heard the Mayday and come to help. The Pearl had taken the king, who had survived unscathed, and most of the remaining royal family.
The Voyager had the leftovers — prostitutes and crew members. Marshall had run between them all like an ER doctor with Vivian awkwardly assisting him one-handed. But for now she was done.
Maybe she could find a place to lie down on the deck. Even a bench would do. But when she got to the deck, the benches were occupied.
She headed for one of Tesla’s tents positioned near the railing. Maybe it had a chair inside that no one had claimed. She could prop her feet up on the railing and sack out. Not a bed, not a bench, but better than nothing. When she got there, Tesla and his dog were in the tent.
Tesla gestured to an empty chair. “Have a seat.”
She flopped into it.
“Marshall’s broken into the ship’s liquor cabinet,” Tesla said. “We got the short straw.”
He held up a bottle of Old Crow Reserve. “Bottom shelf whiskey.”
“But all ours.” Tesla looked as if he’d had a few sips before she got there.
“I haven’t seen that stuff since college,” she said.
Tesla took a sip straight from the bottle and coughed. “Tastes like paint thinner.”
He handed her the bottle, and she took a long swallow. “I’ve had worse.”
He shook his head.
“I hear you shot Captain Glascoe. With an arrow.” She couldn’t even picture it.
“He wasn’t following orders.” Tesla didn’t elaborate on those orders, but Marshall had told her.
“He’s captain,” she said. “You’re supposed to follow his orders. Otherwise, it’s mutiny.”
Tesla shrugged. “I’m not good with chain of command issues.”
Neither was she.
The ocean, dark now, tossed far below. From her position in the tent, she saw a few stars near the horizon. Nothing major, but she knew they were the first stars Tesla had seen without panicking in a long time. Mesmerized, he stared at them.
A snoring Edison was curled up at his master’s feet. Like everyone else, he’d had a long day. His service-dog capabilities had been well used. He’d licked panicky people, accepted a lot of hugs and pets, and worked hard to bring everyone’s anxiety level down. He’d earned a good night’s sleep.
Waves slapped against the side of the boat, and they passed the bottle back and forth. A few more sips and she was going to fall asleep in her chair.
Tesla turned his chair to face hers. He looked serious, so she waited him out.
“I guess I see your point about the full-time job,” he said. “No amount of pay is worth the things I’ve dragged you through.”
“Submarines. Poison gas. Buildings falling down around me.” She was pretty sure she’d missed a few disasters.
Tesla winced. “All that.”
She handed him the bottle. “It could have been worse.”
He took a long drink and gave the bottle back. “How?”
“It could have been boring.” Tesla was never boring.
“Right now, boring seems like the best thing in the world.” He smiled tiredly.
“That’s not what you were saying when you were holed up in your house with your nice predictable routine. You didn’t stay home and binge-watch Netflix. You hired a boat and you went out after a rogue submarine.”
Even though his eyes were tired, he smiled. “Not my best idea.”
“I don’t know.” She handed him the bottle, and he set it on the deck between them. “You know I used to be in the service, right?”
“I read your records. I wouldn’t do that now that I know you, but when you first started working for me and I was worried about who had poisoned me and—”
“Right,” she said. “My turn to talk.”
He shut up.
“I went into the service to break out of my everyday life. To aim for something bigger than myself. I didn’t join to travel the world and shoot my enemies, nothing like that. I wanted to help. I wanted to move in a sphere that was larger than my own. I wanted to make a difference in the wider world.”
Edison snorted in his sleep, and they both laughed.
“Since I met you, I’ve been shot at, poisoned, broken my arm, been trapped in and escaped from a submarine — twice!”
Tesla sighed. “Sorry. It’s not really my—”
She talked over him. “But I’ve also saved lives. Lives of servicemen. Lives of office workers. Lives of innocent women. Today, we might even have actually stopped a war. An entire war. You and me. And the dog and this rusty old tub.”
He gestured to the debris and the discarded life jackets scattered across the deck. “It wasn’t easy.”
“It’s not supposed to be easy.” The tent shifted away from the railing, and moonlight shone against the deck and the waves. “It’s supposed to be important.”
She drank some more Old Crow. Her arm felt better now. Tesla didn’t say anything. He was probably waiting her out.
She continued. “Working with you — I’ve been able to make a difference. I don’t know why you’re the target for all these crazy events, but you are. And so long as you are, I want to help. To keep you alive, of course, but also to really make a difference. So, if you’re still interested, I’ll take that offer.”
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. She looked out at the moonlight on the water, the stars, the deep velvet blackness of the night. She smelled the salt air, still tinged with smoke, and listened to the slap of waves against the side of the boat.
“I’m still interested,” he said. “Very much so.”
He shook her hand, and together they looked at the faraway horizon.
Acknowledgments
As usual, I had a lot of help. Taking Joe Tesla out of New York and into the ocean required research and questions and a certain amount of making things up. I’d like to thank SJ Rozan for helping me with questions about the New York Harbor Patrol, and Christina Higgins for answering diplomatic questions diplomatically, as always. When I wanted to hijack a submarine, I knew Anderson Harp would have the details I needed, and he didn’t let me down. Lieutenant Commander John C. Groves of the US Navy answered approximately a million questions about life on board submarines. He is probably now sorry his mother helped me to track him down after a few decades away. Eric Boyce had a very ready answer for my question about bringing down a helicopter with a bow and arrow on a fishing line, including a story about a helicopter destroyed by someone carrying a radio with the antenna up. Professor Milton Garces explained torpedoes and sound waves to me over coffee — he even drew diagrams. When it felt like the book was going down for the last time, James Rollins and Joshua Corin provided valuable plot advice and literary support. Cherei McCarter sent me many fascinating snippets about submarines and the underwater world, and I’m grateful for each one. My writing posse helped me whip the book into shape, again: Thank you, Kathryn Wadsworth, David Deardorff, Ben Haggard, Karen Hollinger, Judith Heath, Joyce Lamb, Kit Foster (cover artist extraordinaire), and Andrew Peterson. Finally, my Ironman husband and writer son provided unending support and love.