The Odin Inheritance (The Pessarine Chronicles Book 1) Read online

“We can’t tell anyone what we know, of course—that was part of the agreement—but otherwise we can’t complain about the contract terms.” Max beamed. “The Pessarines have been very generous. If it hadn’t been for the time crunch to get us here in time to pick you and the others up, we’d have made even more changes to the Bosch… expand the frame for the hydrogen ballonets, maybe add another engine…”

  I couldn’t keep the alarm from my voice. “Max—it’s a generous contract because it has to be dangerous work. I’m still not sure what all this is about or even how I’m involved. I don’t want you or the others to get hurt.”

  He chuffed my chin. “We know. Andrew explained what happened on the road and how the Obscurati are after you. We don’t want you to get hurt, either.”

  I opened my mouth to ask a question, but Max put a hand up to stop me. “Yes, before you ask, he restored Lizzie’s memories of the attack and apologized for having to mess about with her memories in the first place. What you did with the cobblestones made quite an impression on her once she remembered everything again. I always knew there was something magical about you.” He smiled, enjoying his little joke. “I’m dying to know how you did it, if I’m honest.”

  So am I, I thought. “But—“

  “Ari, the way we see it, working for the Pessarines is a way to go professional and keep you safe at the same time. We’re the first of the Icarus Squadron to manage the transition. The existence of this new airship station is proof that moving people and cargo by airship is the wave of the future in England.” He smiled broadly. “We’re getting in on the ground floor, and if things go as I think they will, we’re going to be very successful. As to the danger, well… it makes life all the sweeter, don’t you think?”

  Griff ran in, kitted out in a tan pair of canvas coveralls with smears of grease, paint and oil on them. His moustache was impeccably waxed to curve up at the ends and his eyes twinkled when he saw me. He swept me a courtly bow.

  “Your Ladyship,” he intoned, “a pleasure to see you. Can I get you to look over Needle’s navigational equations quick-like before we leave? I’m sure they’re fine, but another pair of eyes checking them over would be most appreciated.”

  “Of course, Griff,” I said, my spirits lifted by the request. At least checking navigational equations was something normal and familiar.

  He reached down to snag Gregor’s clothes before he straightened. “You’ll find the course papers at your station on the bridge.”

  “Thank you. I’ll look them over right away.”

  “My thanks.” He turned to face Gregor. “Come on, you Cossack,” he said as he walked over to stand in front of the horse. He indicated they needed to head to the right and out of sight. “We can’t have you fluttering the dovecote with your naked nether regions.” Gregor snorted but followed Griff out into the night, taking his nether regions with him.

  “How much of the refit did you get done?” I asked Max. “You said something about being ready for the end of the week, but we’re not there yet.”

  “True enough. We did the best we could, but there’s a great deal more to be done. We re-arranged the storage areas and put a couple walls up in the cleared space with some rudimentary furnishings and plumbing to make places for passengers to sleep. Bridge and crew quarters are unchanged, except I’m sharing my room with Andrew until we can get the refit completely finished.” He motioned at the dark expanse outside the shelter. “Come on. Let’s head to the bridge. We’ll be able to see your mother and Lady Sato arrive from there.”

  We made our way out into the darkness, Max’s hand on my left arm guiding me toward the Bosch’s gangplank. I felt the effects of my bareback ride through York, so I walked stiffly, but we made it up the gangplank and onto the ship without incident. We went to the bridge, lit by its usual hanging phosphorite globes. Lizzie greeted me with a hug and tried not to look alarmed by my appearance. I hugged her back quickly.

  “Where are Needle and Mr. Michaelson?” I asked, looking around.

  “Engines,” Lizzie told me. “Griff is handling the boarding—“ she looked out the front windows, “and he’s helping Mr. Datsik up the gangplank now,” she said, lifting her chin at the two human figures moving below us. “The Russian will be in one of the guest rooms while Lady Sato and your mother will occupy the other one.” She indicated the navigational instruments at my usual bridge station. “Your bit’s exactly as you left it.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  I moved to my station to grab the papers with the course calculations to check the headings. I looked over the instruments and familiarized myself with the current conditions of the weather and the ship while Max and Lizzie went over the standard pre-flight protocols. Hugo remained perched on my shoulder and scanned the instruments in front of us silently. I worked and snuck glances out the window, waiting for Mother and worrying that it seemed to be taking too long for her and Lady Sato to arrive. How can someone who controls time be late for anything? I wondered.

  Then I saw a carriage roll up in front of the building where Gregor had dropped me off. It was a relief to see Lady Sato and Mother step out of the cab. Mother, with hat and hair somewhat askew, paid the driver while Lady Sato watched, wearing her gold gown and looking cool as a cucumber. Before the cab driver could turn the carriage around, Griff bowed to the women and led them toward the gangplank. Mother moved quickly, speaking to Griff urgently. He responded as he looked up at the bridge windows and motioned that we should prepare to leave. Then he helped the women onto the gangplank and out of sight.

  Max pulled up the speaking tube from the console in front of him that connected the bridge to the engine room. “All right, lads,” he said, “Griff’s releasing us from the mooring buoy. Be ready to start the engines on my mark.”

  Muffled affirmative noises surfaced on the bridge end of the speaking tube, and Max grinned. “This’ll be our first professional job, ladies. How about that?”

  Lizzie beamed and I smiled too, but more because Mother appeared to be well despite the rapid hotel departure and the precarious state of her fascinator and coiffure. I wondered if she’d like traveling by airship.

  We felt the ship lurch as Griff released the mooring bolt so the Bosch floated free and started a slow rise into the night sky. I watched Griff run from the bow back to the gangplank, now a couple feet off the ground, and leap up to land on it with a solid thump that jostled us. Then he disappeared from view, running up the gangplank and working the winch to pull it up into a folded position under the ship. He closed the hatch with a thud, followed by a crunch as he slid the latch on it home.

  That was the cue for Needle and Andrew to start the engines. Max moved the chadburn dial to ‘ahead slow’ and suddenly our silent hovering had a mechanical thrum and vibration to it. Lizzie and Max worked the throttle and propellers to aim the Bosch up into the air so we’d gain altitude while I monitored the pressure of the eight rubber hydrogen ballonets within the silk-covered rigid aluminum frame. The higher we went, the more the pressure changed, and I spent time regulating the ballonets accordingly. My instruments showed the wind blowing south-southeast and I made notes to the side of Needle’s calculations accordingly. No doubt we’d have to make some minor course corrections when we reached our cruising altitude and then again once the sun came up, since its rays would warm the air, making the ballonets expand. I figured we were five or so hours from sunrise. I hoped I’d have a chance to catch a little sleep before morning, but I’d wait to be relieved before I left the bridge.

  The Bosch continued to rise. York spread out below us, lights twinkling in the streets and windows. Max moved the chadburn dial to ‘ahead half full’ and steered while Lizzie monitored the engines and propellers. I felt the increase in our forward acceleration but continued to watch the instruments in front of me for signs of trouble.

  Needle stepped onto the bridge. “Captain,” he said, “Griff is at his station in the engine room. Permission to take my station?”

&
nbsp; “Aye, Needle, and thank you,” Max said.

  Needle stepped over to me. “I suggested Lady Sato and your mother take the air on the deck. The Duchess looked concerned, but well when she boarded.” He indicated the sheets in front of me. “How was my math?”

  “I made some notes,” I said and indicated where I’d written. “I think you did well. Once the sun rises – “

  He nodded. “I’ll watch for changes. Now—away with you, Ari,” he said, hiking a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the hallway. “You look knackered. See if you can get some rest.”

  I nodded. “Max, do you mind if I—?”

  “Go. We’ll make do. I’m sure you want to make sure your mother is all right.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Hugo and I headed up to the storage area above the bridge that now functioned as the guest rooms which Gregor, my mother and Lady Sato occupied. I crested the top step only to see Lady Sato clutching Mother’s upper right arm as she hustled her into the room on the right. Mother had her left hand clasped over her mouth while her complexion wavered between ash grey and nauseous green. Her throat moved convulsively though she tried to control it. She noticed me and nodded briefly to indicate she’d seen me, but another nauseous convulsion took her, and she dashed into her room, leaving Lady Sato to sketch me a small wave and follow her, shutting the door behind them. I heard wretching sounds from behind the door and decided right then was not the best time to visit Mother. Obviously, she wasn’t well suited to air travel.

  Though I worried about Mother’s being ill, it was a relief to know any conversation with her about what I’d done in the hotel room clearly had to wait. I took a moment to thank my lucky stars that I had no tendencies for nausea while on airships.

  I turned to head downstairs to my own cabin and nearly walked into Andrew, who was behind me on the stairs. Like Griff, he wore tan coveralls with the collar of a white shirt poking out near his neck. I hadn’t heard him come up the stairs behind me, but since I knew he was now a member of the crew, it wasn’t really a surprise to see him again.

  Hugo squawked briefly at Andrew in reaction to his sudden appearance and flapped his wings a little to help him resettle on my shoulder.

  I gave the blonde American a cursory inspection. Andrew smelled of the engines and there was a small smear of grease on one of his cheeks. He wiped his hands on a rag, then tucked it into a side pocket of the coveralls. He looked as delighted to be on the Bosch in flight as I would have been, if I hadn’t been so tired and sore. His blue eyes twinkled with delight to see me, until he looked me over. The twinkle faded.

  I exhaled slowly, resigned to the disaster I knew I appeared to be. I was dirty, partially blood spattered, very much mud and street-grime spattered and wrinkled beyond hope of recovery, and that was just my clothes. I’d not ridden a horse in a couple years, and never astride or bareback. As a result, I had muscle aches in places both mentioned and not mentioned in polite society. It was all I could do to keep myself upright. Being on the Bosch, my home away from home, helped, but I found I wished to be left to myself to sort through my emotions and figure out what I needed to do next. Seeing Andrew was both a relief and a source of consternation. I felt awkward standing there in silence and rubbed Father’s watch chain on my wrist absently. He’d know what to say in this situation. I didn’t.

  Andrew recovered from the shocking nature of my appearance and spoke first. “Miss Trevelyan,” he said, concerned, “are you all right?” Then he noticed the blood on my skirt. “My God—have you been hurt?”

  “No. The blood isn’t mine.”

  He furrowed his brow. “Whose is it, then?”

  “Molly Silver’s,” I said, shooting the cuffs of my shirt and trying to seem nonchalant though I was anything but. “She paid me a visit in York. It didn’t end well.”

  Andrew looked from my face to the raven on my shoulder. His eyes widened, and it was obvious Hugo was communicating the days’ events to Andrew. His face showed amazement, concern, anger, pride, and concern again in quick succession. Though I was glad Hugo told him the story so I wouldn’t have to, I did wonder how it was Andrew could mentally hear Hugo when I couldn’t.

  Andrew returned his attention to me. “I’m sorry—“

  I put up a hand to stop him. “You promised me an explanation. I’d like it now.”

  He paused, trying to interpret my flat tone. “We need privacy,” he said, indicating I should precede him down the stairs to where the crew quarters and bridge were.

  I moved past him. “We’ll use my room,” I said, heading down the stairs.

  “Is it appropriate for the two of us to be alone in your cabin?” he asked, following me down the stairs. “It can’t be good for your reputation. Maybe we should—“

  I stopped on the stair and Andrew halted behind me abruptly so he didn’t knock me down. “I killed a woman in my hotel room two hours ago,” I said, not bothering to look over my shoulder as I spoke, grimly determined to keep my voice from breaking. “I hardly think being alone in my cabin with you could do more harm to my reputation than that.”

  “No,” he said, his voice sad. “No, I don’t suppose it would.”

  I made my way down the rest of the stairs without comment and turned left to go into the small cabin I shared with Lizzie. Andrew entered as I reached up to touch the globe and light it. That done, I put down the lower bunk and sat. Hugo hopped off my shoulder to perch on the tiny sink as Andrew shut the cabin door. He sat down with me on the bed.

  Andrew ran a hand over his face, obviously trying to decide what to say. “Miss Trevelyan… I’m sorry… are you all right? You seem very much out of sorts. Hugo filled me in on what happened to you at the doctor’s office and in York. I must say you look awful. You’re sure you aren’t hurt?”

  “Yes,” I said, looking at my hands. “Today’s exertions haven’t treated my outfit well, but other than being sore from the ride on Gregor, I am physically unharmed.”

  “You must understand,” he said earnestly, “had we known the attacks would escalate like this, we’d have gotten you out of Cambridge much more quickly.”

  His apology seemed a bit late, but I inclined my head in acceptance of it. After all, I’d refused to leave Cambridge when he suggested I do so. I stood up from the bunk and walked the three paces that brought me to the left-hand wall of the cabin, covered with a poster advertising a production of Pirates of Penzance. I ran a finger over the words on the poster. I’d never seen the show, but Lizzie had. She thought the poster a romantic reflection of what we did on the Bosch.

  “You arranged to employ Max and the Bosch specifically to get me out of Cambridge?” I asked.

  “Not precisely, but it seemed a wise thing to do, particularly when you refused to leave. I thought a vehicle primed for a getaway was a good investment of the Consortium’s funds, with the handy side effect of getting you to safety with great rapidity.”

  I turned back to face Andrew. “Who is Odin? Other than being a Norse god, I mean.”

  He could see I had no patience for anything but the absolute truth, so he obliged my curiosity. “He’s the Norse god of wisdom, war, the hunt, magic, poetry, and the dead. His chosen daughters are the Valkyrie, who decide which warriors get to spend their afterlife in Valhalla.”

  “Valhalla?”

  “The Norse heaven.”

  “Ah.” That explains my deadly accuracy with darts and knives, I thought. The god of war and death needs those skills in abundance, and I’ve clearly inherited them. I felt a shiver run down my spine. “The other members of the Consortium, and their god counterparts, if you please?”

  “Ari—“

  “Please,” I insisted.

  “You have yet to meet Harith Otieno, a tall, dark fellow who hails from Masailand in West Africa. He’s the heir of Inari Okami, a Japanese god of agriculture, and he’s bringing your father to Brentwood Close. He’s a good man with an excellent sense of humor. As to the other member, you’ve met your
Great Aunt Miranda, of course.”

  “Of whom is Aunt Miranda an heir?”

  “Odin,” Andrew replied.

  I froze. “Can there be two heirs of Odin?”

  He looked decidedly uncomfortable. “Yes and no.”

  “Yes and no? What sort of an answer is that?”

  Andrew unbuttoned his coveralls to reveal the white shirt he wore underneath. He then unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it aside to reveal the gold swirls embedded in his skin and the gold pendant he wore hanging from a heavy gold box chain. I could see the pendant was a figure of a kneeling man with a hawk head, complete with hooked beak. The gold was old, and the face and details of the kneeling figure were nearly worn away.

  “Every heir has artifacts from the god they agree to work for. Usually, it’s a pendant and another piece of jewelry that’s bound into our flesh. It’s these artifacts, passed down from one heir to the next, which gives us the connection to the ancient god, and by extension, the super-human abilities we possess. For the Facti, the swirls are gold. The Obscurati wear silver.”

  “Aunt Miranda never gave me anything like that,” I pointed out.

  “Right. You’re a consecrated heir. You didn’t receive artifacts. Odin sort of… adopted you on your own merits.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “I’m the adopted child of a death god? Bloody hell. What sorts of merits made me attractive to a god of that sort? I couldn’t be adopted by a god of something benign? How did this happen?”

  Hugo snorted and flapped his wings, a movement that seemed to indicate amusement. “Oh, yes,” I said, throwing up my hands. “Let’s have the bloody raven laughing at me on top of everything else. Damn and blast!”

  Hugo snorted again. I resisted the urge to utter significantly inappropriate oaths, but not by much.

  Andrew pulled his shirt together and began buttoning it back up, looking down at his hands as he did so. My questions and overall alarm didn’t seem to affect him at all. “Language, your ladyship,” he admonished. An inappropriate oath slipped past my lips.