Burning Up

fingers loosening a bolt. “How did this happen?”
    “Shark.”
    She gave a snort of disbelief. “What did you do—go swimming with one?”
    “Yes.”
    She yanked out the pneumatic, wrenching his leg backward. Struggling to keep upright, he braced his hand on the worktable.
    Cheeks flushed, she stood in front of him, the cylinder pointed at his face. “You’re not that foolish. And I hope you don’t think I’m foolish enough to believe that.”
    “No,” he said. “I don’t think that. But it’s the truth.”
    She stared at him, as if waiting for him to explain, and finally turned away. He watched her rigid shoulders as she worked over the cylinder. A moment later, she was crouching next to him again, screwing the pneumatic back into place. Eben retrieved his boot, hauled it on. When he turned back to her, she was standing with her jaw set and her hand out.
    “I’m not a member of your crew, Captain. And every man from this ship who has come to me for repairs has walked away without paying. No more.”
    The men Yasmeen had sent to Fool’s Cove with their damned embellished stories. “Ivy, if I’d have known where you were, I’d have come to you myself.”
    Her lashes flickered, but other than that, she didn’t move. Just held out her hand, waiting.
    He wouldn’t pay her in coin. Not when she’d use it to keep him away. But he only had one other thing that she’d want. Reluctantly, he dipped his fingers into his watch pocket and withdrew the bent iron disk he’d carried with him for two years. He placed it in her palm.
    Her lips parted as she stared down at the ruined flange that had once been her elbow. A bullet had smashed into the center, filling in the hole and protruding like a mushroom cap through the other side.
    “I was wearing it on a cord around my neck. The bullet still knocked me overboard.” He tapped his hand against the side of his leg. “That’s when the shark took it.”
    Her fingers closed over the iron piece. Her shining gaze lifted to his. “Thank you.”
    For the explanation or for returning the flange, he wasn’t sure. He only knew that if he stayed any longer, nothing would stop him from kissing her. He left—and was amidships before he realized his right foot was moving as smoothly as his left, and he hadn’t thought to thank her in return.
     
    I vy didn’t know how long she sat holding the flange, staring at the plans on her worktable. Her mind was filled with stories: of a ruthless pirate who attacked passenger ships and made slaves of the crew . . . of a ship’s surgeon hung over the side of a boat.
    He’d asked her not to speak of that, and she’d assumed he wanted to hide the madness of defying his captain—perhaps to keep his crew from doing the same. But how could that be? Everyone knew that part. Now she wondered if he didn’t want them to know he’d done it trying to save members of the crew, because that would make him seem soft.
    Or perhaps he didn’t want her to speak of it, because she might learn that he’d lied.
    Of only one thing, she was certain: Lady Corsair had known she was in Fool’s Cove, but Mad Machen hadn’t. Ivy absolutely believed that he’d have come after her, just as he’d threatened in London.
    Every other story, however . . . she simply didn’t know what to believe.
    With a sigh, she rubbed her forehead, trying to push away the ache. She turned her head to study the squid’s tank. Its movements were a thing of beauty, but no matter how hard Mad Machen wished it, she couldn’t simply do the same with metal. If she had something to counter the weight, perhaps, and give it buoyancy—and the buoyancy would have to vary, depending upon the depth needed. She’d never seen such a device, but it would be necessary for the right effect. It couldn’t just be something that floated. A kraken always forced to float on its side wouldn’t be terrifying; it would simply look dead.
    Of course, that begged the question: how many sailors had actually seen a kraken, and knew whether it looked right or not? Surely the nightmare of one was worse than the reality.
    Shaking her head, she glanced at the other fish in the tank. The small herring seemed to have no trouble remaining at one depth while still. A few weren’t moving, yet they didn’t sink or float to the surface. How?
    And if she discovered how, could she replicate it?
    Her heart gave a wild thump. She returned to the worktable . . . and gave the plans a quarter turn.