Demon Marked

bawdyrooms; the large residences between the first and second canals, where the established “families” of Port Fallow made their homes; and beyond the second and third canals, the small flats and shacks where everyone else lived. Kessler’s home lay in the second, wealthy ring of residences, and he sometimes ventured into the first ring—but he’d never run toward the shacks, and only an idiot would try to climb the wall. Few zombies stumbled up to Fladstrand, but not so here. The plains beyond the town teemed with the ravenous creatures, and gunmen continually monitored the city’s high walls.
    The harbor offered a better possibility for escape, but Yasmeen wasn’t concerned. Though dozens of boats and airships were anchored at Port Fallow, not a single one could outrun Lady Corsair .
    And though she could identify most of them, only one made her glad to see it: Vesuvius . Mad Machen’s blackwood pirate ship had been anchored apart from the others, near the south dock. Yasmeen ordered Lady Corsair to be tethered at the same dock. She leaned over the airship’s railing, hoping to see Mad Machen on his decks. A giant of a man, he was always easy to spot—but he wasn’t in sight. She caught the attention of his quartermaster, instead, which suited her just as well. Yasmeen liked Barker almost as she much as his captain. With a few signals, she arranged to meet with him.
    Quickly, she descended into the madness of Port Fallow’s busy dockside. Men loaded lorries that waited with idling engines and rattling frames. Small carts puttered by, the drivers ceaselessly honking a warning to get out of their way, and rickshaws weaved between the foot traffic. A messenger on an autogyro landed lightly beside a stack of crates, huffing from the exertion of spinning the rotor pedals. Travelers waiting for their boarding calls huddled together around their baggage, while sailors and urchins watched them for a drop in their guard and an opportunity to snatch a purse or a trunk. Food peddlers rolled squeaky wagons, shouting their prices and wares.
    In Port Fallow, Yasmeen’s presence didn’t make anyone run for their homes, but most recognized her and knew enough to be wary. She lit a cigarillo to combat the ever-present stink of fish and oil, and waited for Barker to row in from Vesuvius . His launch cut through the yellow scum that foamed on the water and clung to the dock posts.
    Disgusting, but at least the scum kept the sharks away. In many harbors in the North Sea, a man couldn’t risk manning such a small boat.
    His black hair hidden beneath a woolen cap, Barker tied off the launch and leapt onto the dock, approaching her with a wide grin. “Captain Corsair! Just the woman I’d hoped to see. You owe me a drink.”
    Possibly. Yasmeen made so many bets with him, she couldn’t keep track. “Why?”
    “You said that if I ever lost a finger, I’d cry like a baby. But I didn’t. I cried like a man .”
    Yasmeen frowned and glanced at his hands. Obligingly, he pulled off his left glove, revealing a shining, mechanical pinky finger. The brown skin around the prosthetic had a reddish hue to it. Still healing.
    She met his eyes again. “How?”
    “Slavers, two days out. I caught a bullet.” He paused, and his quick smile appeared. “Literally.”
    “And the slavers?”
    “Dead.”
    Of course they were. Mad Machen wouldn’t have returned to port otherwise. He’d have chased them down.
    She looked at the prosthetic again. Embedded in his flesh, the shape of it was all but indistinguishable from a real pinky, the knuckle joints smooth—and, as Barker demonstrated by wiggling his fingers—perfectly functional. Incredible work.
    “Your ship’s blacksmith is skilled.” So skilled that Yasmeen would have lured her away from Vesuvius if the idiot girl hadn’t gone soft on Mad Machen.
    “She’s brilliant,” Barker said. He replaced the glove and glanced up at Lady Corsair . “None of your men have come down. Is this just a quick stopover?”
    “Yes.” Even if it hadn’t been, she wouldn’t leave the airship unmanned while the sketch was aboard. “I’m only here long enough to have a word with someone. We’ll fly out in the morning.”
    “A word with someone?” Barker had known her long enough to guess exactly what that meant. “Would you like me to come along?”
    She didn’t need the help, but she wouldn’t mind the company. “If you like.”
    “I would. Which circle? I’ll fetch a