Talis took a deep breath. Dug was a fighter, not a trader. And now he was slipping into one of his moods. She didn’t appreciate the comment, but knew he’d eventually lapse into silence. It was easier to argue with him while he was still talking.
“I’m not so quick to abandon the ring,” she said. “He might not be planning to pay, but it’s clear Hankirk still wants it. Likelier than not, someone else will buy it. If not at Subrosa, then in other undercities.”
Across the table, Sophie tucked one arm under the other, and used her knife to trace a pattern in the sauce remaining on her plate. “We can’t get much farther than Subrosa, Captain. That worn bi-clutch is going to leave us stranded if we push it more than that. Might not even get us that far. You promised me we’d replace it next stop.”
“We’ve gotta sell the ring, Soph, if we’re going to buy any new—”
“Then we’d better hope it sells at Subrosa.” Sophie’s chin went up, defiant. Her look was rebellious, made even more so by the angry purple bruise across the arch of her cheek. The imp didn’t back down when it came to the airship’s two steam-powered engines and their needs. “You put off this repair too long already.”
“To buy that descent gear, which opened up all kinds of new business for us.” Talis had already had this argument once with Sophie, and that had been back when the salvage job seemed like it would be a clean break. She hadn’t forgotten what she promised. There were, in fact, a number of promises riding on this job. She didn’t welcome having it shoved back in her face paired with a ‘told you so.’
“Not if we can’t sell what we dredge up.” Sophie still leaned back in her chair, but what had been a relaxed gesture before was now stiff and sullen. “Captain.”
Talis looked at her, hard. Her lips pressed into a thin line. She appreciated the care Sophie gave to her duties, but there had always been those moments that made it clear Sophie’s respect for Talis’s commands came in second, behind what the young girl thought was best for the ship. That was a good thing, most days. Didn’t have to worry if the engines might need a new gasket or a viscfluid change because, sure as salt, Sophie would tell her. Not something Talis was in the mood to deal with now, though. Not when she knew she was already on unsteady standing with the crew for the failure of the ‘sure thing’ contract that had nearly gotten them blown out of the skies.
That was another thing prickling her skull. Dug had gotten them deep in the blood of Hankirk’s men, but The Serpent Rose hadn’t perforated their lift envelope when they had the chance. Nothing about the day felt right. She took a sip from her coffee but kept her eyes on Sophie.
“We’ll sell it,” Tisker said with a confident smile, trying to cut the tension.
Sophie dropped the knife on her plate, letting it clatter, and re-crossed her arms. She glared back at Talis. Tisker’s charm wasn’t wearing down her arguments. She gave no indication that she had even heard him.
Talis turned to Dug, wanting to say something about the interaction with Hankirk. The prickle overrode her concerns about Sophie’s tired objections. The situation was upside-down, or at least sideways. She was missing something, something that should be obvious, like a familiar word that fails to come to the tongue when summoned.
But Dug thought she was still looking for an answer on whether to pursue the ring’s sale. “They hired a ship outfitted with the descent gear for the job. The number on that contract could have been anything, so long as it was high enough to tempt the risk on the salvage. They intended to capture us the moment the ring was pulled up on deck.”
Talis felt a pressure behind her brow as her temper flared. They had a treasure on the table in front of them. Nothing that ugly got so much attention for being worthless.
Before she measured the words, she said, “Like you intended to kill imperial officers as soon as you saw their bow point our way?”
Dug stared at her now, too. His defiant gaze joined Sophie’s on the opposite side of the table from Talis and Tisker. Like a wall going up in the middle of her cabin.
The cylinder ran out of music and everything went quiet, save for the rhythmic thrumming of Wind Sabre’s engines, and the creak of the lines tethering them to the lift balloon above. Those were the heartbeats of the ship, omnipresent when underway. Talis stopped herself from saying anything else. Tisker sensed the quiet power struggle and had the sense to keep his mouth shut. The silence formed into something solid enough that she felt it press in on her eardrums and her temples. Before her first mate stopped arguing, she could usually figure a way to placate him, soothe his anger and restore peace. Not this time.
He wasn’t getting away with ignoring her orders, whether stated or implied. Sure, she may have twitched as Hankirk provoked her, and the reckless part of her mind had been glad of the chance to smash his self-righteous smirk into the deck. But it was Dug who’d dropped his decorum and plunged them into a bloody fricassee with the gods-rotted Imperial service. He was her best friend, but he still called her Captain often as not, and she’d make him mark that title.
If she could browbeat Dug, Sophie might back down, too. Talis let her vision tunnel on him, watching the muscles move at the side of his jaw. Clenched, like he was clamping down on his own temper. A vein pulsed on
