Iron Seas 03 - Riveted

been: the ports at Smoke Cove and Höfn, and a village on the southern rim. But I have heard of people tumbling into the mud and unable to pull themselves out while they are cooked alive—and of others torn apart by the damned stinking dogs. What purpose does your survey serve?”
    “Primarily, to measure the current volcanic activity and todetermine the effects of the fissure eruptions on the soil and plant growth. We’re only there to record our observations.”
    “Then you’ll leave?”
    “We will,” he said, but her relief was short-lived. “The society that funded us always has another goal in mind beyond scientific pursuit, however—and it isn’t difficult to imagine what they hope to find now. The Dutch had claims on the island before it was transformed into the northern defense against a Horde naval fleet. They probably hope to settle there again.”
    Annika pressed a hand to her roiling stomach. Her supper was genuinely disagreeing with her now. “Unless your survey shows that the island can’t support a population?”
    “Yes.”
    It could. Perhaps the land wasn’t as rich as in Johannesland, but with effort, a living could be scraped out of the soil and drawn from the ocean.
    How horrible that a relative of the murdered prince would determine the fate of Hannasvik—and that killing him to prevent it would do no good. The society would likely just send another expedition. Even more horrible, he was a scientist . Superstition and fear had long protected Annika’s people, but those stories would not stand up to rigorous observation.
    She would have to warn her village. If the women knew these three men were coming, perhaps they would have time to hide. Or perhaps something could be done to persuade the men that Iceland still wasn’t habitable.
    Perhaps if her people were very lucky, there would soon be another terrible eruption.
    “Now our survey makes you smile?” Kentewess asked, watching her face.
    Annika shook her head. “I just had a ridiculous thought. Too ridiculous to share. You were telling me about your companion?”
    “I don’t have much more to say. I haven’t known him long.”
    “You’re very bad at this.”
    At gossiping about Goltzius, that was. He’d shared much more important information about the expedition, however, so Annika didn’t mind at all.
    “I am,” he agreed easily. “It is your turn again—and the crew in this room outnumbers our group. You should tell me about two of them for every one of mine.”
    “All right.” She looked to the game table. “The older man with the gray hair and the jacket that won’t buckle over his stomach is Monsieur Collin, the purser. He likes to read French poetry aloud, and is convinced that Josephine Ayres is a man, because no woman could have such subtlety of mind and rhyme.”
    “Do you argue with him?”
    “Oh, no. His opinion is too obviously stupid, and I become too frustrated. Your aunt often engages him, though, and she is better equipped to use other poets as evidence. But I think he wants to believe it, and nothing would persuade him otherwise, even if Ayres appeared in front of him.”
    “He sounds similar to many scientists I know.”
    “Truly?” Annika laughed when he nodded.
    “When we decide to bore each other with stories about ourselves, I’ll tell you of the time an astronomer once challenged me to a duel.”
    “A duel? Why?”
    Smiling, he shook his head.
    “Oh, you are cruel. All right, then.” She glanced at Collin again. “He cheats when he plays patolli—but only if he knows you well, and only in ways that will get him caught. For example, he’ll hide a piece in his trousers and when he stands up, it will fall onto the floor. Half the fun of playing with him is trying to guess when he will take the piece and where he’ll hide it. Once, I found it on my lap. I didn’t feel a thing when he put it there.”
    His brows rose. “And this is the ship’s purser?”
    “Yes. Despite his opinions of poetry, however, I don’t think he’s foolish enough to do the same with Captain Vashon’s money.”
    “Not when he’d hang for it.”
    “And not when so many would be eager to see it.” On her first visit beyond a city’s port gates, she’d seen men hanged for much, much less—with the spectators just as willing to watch. But that memory made her stomach churn, so she pushed it away and carried on. “The woman talking to your aunt is the steward, and married to Collin. She couldn’t