Arabella of Mars(20)
“The king’s health!” chorused all those in earshot, and Arabella chimed in, slamming her tankard down on the bar afterward along with the rest. Ale sloshed out, disguising the fact that she had not swallowed any. She felt she should keep her wits about her.
“So, tell me why you wish to become one of His Majesty’s airmen.”
“Mars, sir. I am filled with a great desire to visit the red planet. And such a fine fast ship as Athena is said to be, well, I figure she will get me there sooner than any other.”
“That she will, lad, that she will. She’s a fine ship.” He took another drink. “Now, before you accept the king’s shilling and appear before the magistrate to take your oath, I have a few questions I must ask you. Are you a loyal subject of His Majesty the King?”
Arabella straightened. “Absolutely, sir!”
“Are you at least sixteen years of age?”
“Indeed I am, sir! Seventeen in March.”
He did not appear convinced, but seemed to decide not to press the matter. “Are you rated able airman?”
“No, sir.” On this point she felt sure that lying would get her in endless trouble, by raising expectations about her capabilities that she could not fulfill.
“Ordinary airman?”
“No.”
“Well then, can you reef, hand, and steer? Do you know the ropes, at least? There’s plenty of use for a sailor’s skills on an aerial ship.”
Arabella ducked her head sheepishly. “I am afraid I have no idea what those even mean, sir.”
The lieutenant did not seem surprised, nor even particularly disappointed. “Right. Landsman, then. But we’ve a place for you, have no fear.” He reached into a pocket and produced a freshly minted shilling. It gleamed in the lamplight. “D’ye know what this is, and whose face is on it?”
Was this some kind of test? “It is a shilling, sir. And that is the king, George the Third.” She did not mention his madness, or the fact that his duties were currently being performed by his son the regent. The king was still the king, and his face was still on the money.
“Exactly.” The lieutenant’s expression grew serious. “Now, a shilling ain’t much.” That might be so, though Arabella reflected that it was far more money than she owned at the moment, and more than she had any other prospect of obtaining any time soon. She felt as though her purse were salivating for it. “But for many years, English soldiers were paid a shilling a day. The pay’s quite a bit more today, I assure you! But for tradition’s sake, we still do place a great ceremonial value upon the acceptance of, as we say, the king’s shilling. Now, by taking this shilling, with the king’s picture on it, you pledge yourself to serve His Majesty, in whatsoever capacity he may choose to use you, for whatsoever period he may choose to employ you. In exchange you will be fed, housed, equipped, transported, and provided many fine opportunities for enrichment and advancement.” He held the shining coin up between them. “Do you accept this shilling?”
Arabella swallowed. It was a terrific commitment. Not only was war ongoing with both Bonaparte and the Americans, but French privateers swarmed the airlanes between Earth and Mars—joining a warship could put her into the thick of the fighting.
But she had to do it. It was her foolish tongue that had put the notion of Mars into Simon’s head, and now she was the only one who could stop him from carrying out his fiendish plan, save Michael’s life, and preserve her family fortune.
She closed her eyes, took in a breath. “I do, sir.”
At that the lieutenant broke into a broad smile. “Then welcome to the Aerial Service of His Majesty’s Navy.” And with his thumb he flipped the coin toward her.
But though Arabella reached for it, she did not catch it. For a stranger’s hand—lean, dark, and swift—darted from the dimness behind her and snatched the spinning coin in midair.
6
CAPTAIN SINGH
“What the d—l!” shouted the lieutenant at the interloper, raising a fist in anger. “This is the king’s business!”
Arabella turned. The coin had been snatched by a tall, lean foreigner in a buff coat. “I have been chasing this man for over an hour,” he declared in a clipped, precise accent. Though he was breathing hard, and his face shone with perspiration, somehow he managed nonetheless to give an impression of imperturbable calm. “I desire him for my crew, and wish to present my case to him before he makes his final decision.”
Arabella gaped at the stranger in astonishment.
“You’re too late,” the lieutenant sneered. “He’s already taken the king’s shilling.”
“This shilling?” The stranger held it up and grinned, his teeth showing very clean and white against the dark brown of his skin, and Arabella realized that she had seen the man before: He had been the customer at the automaton shop. “It seems that it is I who has taken it. But, sadly, I am disqualified for your service, so I must return it to you.” He handed the shilling back to the lieutenant.
The lieutenant refused to take the proffered coin. “He accepted the conditions of service,” he growled.
“Such acceptance is not final until he takes his oath before a magistrate.” The stranger turned his attention to Arabella. “Are you aware that you could be earning two or three times as much aboard a Marsman as you could in the navy?”