Iron Seas 03 - Riveted

seemed a weary response to an old jest. This appeared to burst through him as if he knew laughter was the only reply he could give.
    Annika had to smile in return, and then laugh when he asked, “I trust you were not hired to kill a Castilian noble?”
    “Perhaps I was,” she said. “If I were a clever assassin, I’d carry fraudulent papers that claim I was born in Norway, not Lusitania.”
    “Are they fraudulent, then?”
    Yes. Not for the purpose of assassination, however, but for the purpose of mobility. This exchange had become unexpectedly fun, however, and so she played along. “Oh, of course.”
    “And what is your true origin?”
    A hidden village on Iceland’s western shore. But even as a joke,she could not risk exposing her people, and chose the farthest location away from them. “A smuggler’s haven in Australia.”
    That seemed to disappoint him. His grin had already faded to a pleasant, amused expression, but now she detected a hint of frustration in the tightness of his mouth and the intensity of his gaze. He was truly looking for an answer, Annika realized. This was not simply polite conversation to pass the time; he wanted to know where she was from.
    Or was that just her imagination? She had guarded the truth of her origin for four years. Perhaps the constant vigilance made her suspect everyone of trying to discern it.
    When he didn’t respond to that lie, she covered her unease with a dramatic sigh. “In truth,” she said, “Australia would be far more exciting, but alas, Norway it was—and is where I am bound again.”
    “You fly out immediately?”
    Perhaps Annika imagined the sudden tension in his voice, but she couldn’t mistake the way his gaze moved over her face, as if searching for the answer—or hoping for a specific reply. “The airship departs later tonight,” she confirmed.
    The stranger’s lips tightened before resolve seemed to firm his expression. He nodded. “En route to Bergen?”
    Eventually. Phatéon was scheduled to fly to the Norwegian port within a month, but it would not be a direct flight.
    “Yes,” she said, her unease deepening. Why did he ask so specifically? Perhaps he was only making small talk, but she wasn’t comfortable with the direction he’d taken. Best to change the subject.
    And if this truly was conversation, it was time that she held up her part and made intrusive inquiries of her own. “Will you also be departing soon? Or do you make a habit of waiting near port gates and running to a stranger’s aid?”
    “No. Typically, I run after erupting volcanoes.”
    “To study them?” Annika guessed. She couldn’t think of anyother reason to do such a thing—and only if it paid well. “That is your profession?”
    When he nodded, she studied him more closely. What sort of person made a living from such a thing? She had witnessed eruptions in Iceland before, and would have said that only a reckless fool would go chasing after one. This man didn’t appear foolish, however, and his manner seemed too contained to be reckless. Something else must be driving him to pursue such a dangerous occupation, something that he didn’t readily show.
    Asking him to reveal that reason, however, would require Annika to venture beyond the boundaries of intrusive and into unforgivably rude. Even she couldn’t cross that line. She settled for, “I didn’t realize volcanoes were so fast that one had to run after them.”
    His amusement returned. “In truth, I more often run away from them.”
    She arched her brows and glanced at his mechanical hand, still clasped behind his back. “Not always fast enough?”
    “No, that was another sort of explosion.” His gaze narrowed. “You’ve spent time in England.”
    “In England? Well—Yes?” Confusion tripped her up. What an odd response. She had spent a little time in that country when Phatéon ’s route took her there. But why would such a statement follow hers… Oh.
    Fierce heat bloomed in her cheeks. Prosthetics and mechanical apparatuses were so common in England as to be unremarkable. But in the New World, such topics were handled with delicacy, if not outright avoided. Her insensitive comment must have distressed him, though he hid it well. Perhaps that was an indication of his fine manners; he didn’t point out her lack of them, though he had every reason to.
    She had long come to terms with her failings, but Annika hated knowing that she might have hurt someone with them. “I am sosorry.