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“WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU, Mr. Bennet? You can't fire a gun to save your life!” Wickham heckled her new student. When Kier Bennet failed to land a shot after his third reload, leaving every bottle intact, she tried to motivate him with insults.
“This is the first time I've ever held a gun, Captain. How good did you expect me to be?” Kier defended himself. He was in his shirtsleeves with his hair slicked back—Georgette herself had styled it for him. She was trying to make him look tough. To her surprise, a change of Kier's hair and attire made a significant improvement.
“I expected you to be a bit better than awful, mate.” Georgette, who was smoking a pipe, circled her student as he aimed his gun.
“You're making me nervous,” he tried to blame her. “I can't concentrate.”
“Why? Because I'm too lovely, and I'm destroying your focus?”
“No.” Fearing he might have offended her, Kier stuttered, “I-I-I-I mean... you are lovely, but your face is not the cause for my distraction. When you keep pacing around me, I feel pressured to fire quickly.”
“I have to check your posture at every angle, Mr. Bennet... to make sure you're not slouching.” Georgette suddenly removed her pistol, aimed at the bottles, and fired three shots. Each bullet shattered glass, but she didn't look impressed. The pirate captain expected no less from herself.
Kier squared his shoulders. “I'm not slouching!”
“You are. A bit.” She drove a knuckle into his back, encouraging him to straighten up. “Oh, and can we dispense with the Mr. Bennet nonsense? If you're going to be a member of my crew, I need to start calling you Kier.”
“That would be fine.” Kier closed an eye, pursed his lips, and aimed his gun. When he fired, it didn't come close to shattering a bottle. His impatient teacher chortled at his lack of skill.
“You were even worse with a sword... and that's sayin' a lot,” Georgette noted. Earlier, when she put a cutlass in his hand, he was the definition of dire. Every time he tried to shuffle away from an attack, the young man tripped. “You're so clumsy, it's a miracle you can even walk!”
“You're so cruel,” Kier grumbled.
“I'm not being cruel. I'm being honest. And I'm hoping my honesty will inspire you to try even harder.”
When Kier paused to reload, he couldn't open his gun's chamber. With a sigh, Georgette snatched it from his hand and refreshed the bullets. As she handed it back to him, he caught a glimpse of the dragon tattoo on her arm.
“What's that?” he asked, pointing at the ink. Georgette rolled up her sleeves, giving him a better look at the coiled serpent on her forearm.
“It's my favorite tattoo. I got it when I was traveling in the Far East.”
“Your favorite,” Kier repeated the word with a raising eyebrow. “How many do you have, Captain?”
“Sixteen. Some are in places you'll never see,” Georgette said. “Or... maybe you will see them. Who knows? You can never predict the future, eh?”
Scarlet flooded his cheeks at her remark. When he aimed and fired his gun, his concentration was worse than ever.
“You should get a tattoo, Kier. One right here. On your neck.” Her gloved fingers lightly poked the plot of skin where she imagined a tattoo.
“On my neck?” Kier's throat squeaked at the suggestion. “But everyone would see it!”
“I know. That's the point. It'd make you look ten times tougher.” She took a hit from her pipe and added with a grin, “You still wouldn't be able to shoot a gun for shit, but no one would know that until you misfired a few times.”
Flinching at her foul language, Kier replied, “I don't want a tattoo on my neck, Captain Wickham! I cannot imagine anything more hideous!”
“Of course you can. Lady Catherine de Bourgh is twice as hideous. Imagine her in her undergarments, and you'll see something even worse!” Wickham challenged him. “Will you at least consider getting the tattoo? One of my crewwomen gave me a few of my own. She's very talented. If you get a bit of ink on your neck, I might even give you a promotion.”
“Really?” A sneer twitched his nose as he considered it.
“Aye. A big promotion,” she promised him. “No more swabbing decks. That has to be worth it, right?”
* * *
“I AM NOT A VERY GOOD liar, Miss McCracken,” Kier warned the engineer as they waited in front of Wilhelmina's cottage. Despite having knocked over a minute ago, his cousin had yet to answer her door. “I don't sell lies very well, and I... I stutter.”
Kier was standing between Shar and Gladys. The latter was dressed to the nines, in a royal blue greatcoat with polished silver buttons and ebony tassels. They were stuck with the unfortunate task of convincing Wilhelmina Collins to board The Dashing Lady. Lies were necessary, as was Georgette's absence. Because Miss Collins was a staunch supporter of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Wickham's involvement had to remain a mystery until they were airborne.
“Worry not, Mr. Bennet,” Gladys replied. “We can let Shar do the talking.”
“Me?” Shar snorted at the thought. “Why me? If anything, I should not speak at all. Won't she wonder why the Bennets' stable boy is standing at her door?”
“Stable boy and carriage driver!” Gladys added with a grin. “Like me, you're a man of many talents.”
Shar gave her a dubious glance. “You are a man of many talents?”
“No!” The red-haired engineer lightly boxed Shar's arm. “I meant, of course, I'm a woman of many talents. I cook, I clean, I invent, I service engines, I—”
The door opened, ending Gladys' fanfaronade. When Wilhelmina appeared in the doorway, her face was covered in smudges, and there were a pair of pink goggles on her head.
“Ah! Cousin Kier!” Collins exclaimed. “I did not expect to see you! Were you not sent back to Longbourn?”
“I was.” Perspiration covered Kier's palms as a profusion of falsehoods poured from his tongue. “But... did you not know why I was sent away? I left to meet the family of my lovely fiance, Captain Larabee Lareaux.” His speech was a bit stilted, at least to his ear, but he was pleased with himself for spilling the lie without a single stutter.
Collins' eyes swelled to twice their usual size. “Who?”
“Captain Larabee Lareaux,” Kier repeated, sliding an arm around Gladys' shoulders. “She's a captain in the Queen's Royal Navy.”
“Is she?” Wilhelmina wrinkled her nose. “But her name sounds French!”
“Oui. I am from zee France.” Gladys' attempt at a French accent was nothing less than preposterous, but Wilhelmina looked convinced. “But I now work for vous. Zee English. Zee good guys.”
“I like your attitude, Captain Lareaux!” Wilhelmina stepped out of the doorway and motioned for the trio to enter her cottage. “I hope you will make my cousin very happy!”
“Oui. He is... how do you say it...” Gladys pretended a pause was necessary. “He is over zee moon.”
“I am,” Kier played along. “Captain Lareaux makes me extremely, exceptionally happy.”
“Well, I'm glad to hear it!” Wilhelmina led them into a sitting room, where she finally asked, “Why is Shar Lucas here?”
“He is... my manservant,” Gladys blurted. In truth, Shar was there to carry Wilhelmina away if she refused to come.
Wilhelmina's dark eyes bulged. “Really?”
“Oui.”
“He doesn't work for the Bennets anymore?”
“Non.”
“Are you quite certain of that?”
“Oui.”
“Fascinating!” Wilhelmina exclaimed. She turned her attention to the nearby table, where Robo-Oracle was stirring her soup. The robot's hands, which were shaped like tiny horseshoes, could barely grip the spoon. “As you can see, I made more modifications to my Robo-Oracle. She is now equipped with many other functions.”
“Like stirring soup?” asked a snorting Gladys, who accidentally reverted to her Scottish accent.
“Indeed. One day, robots will perform nearly all menial tasks on our behalf.” As soon as Collins made the claim, Robo-Oracle dropped the spoon, fell on her back, and flailed. Her robotic legs whirred as she struggled to sit up. “Oh dear! As you can see, that day is a long way off.”
“I bet I could make a better robot...” Gladys murmured to herself.
“Pardon? Did you say something?” Collins asked, turning her robot upright.
Gladys returned to her French accent. “Oh... do not mind me, mon ami. I sometimes... how do you say it... run off at zee mouth?”
“Would you care to see another invention?” Wilhelmina asked her guests. She never missed an opportunity to showcase her creations. Before anyone could reply, she pulled a copper box from the pocket of her coat. “I call it a walk-a-talk. Through it, you can speak to someone over long distances.”
“How long of a distance?” asked a sneering Gladys.
“Quite long. I believe you could be halfway across my garden, and you could still hear my voice.”
Gladys' tapped her own pocket, where her teletalk was kept. “That doesn't seem like that long of a distance,” she criticized her secret rival.
“Perhaps not. But I am always working on it, and it is always improving and I... oh!” Wilhelmina suddenly gasped so sharply, she made Kier jolt. “I am so sorry, Kier Bennet! You came all this way for a visit, and I have yet to ask if you had a purpose. Did you need something from me?”
“I do, actually...” Kier exchanged glances with his deceptive friends. “I... I-I actually, um... m-my fiance would like you to build a new weapon for her. A supercannon of sorts.”
“Hmm.” Collins' eyelashes fluttered as she considered the offer. “I would have to ask Lady Catherine if I could—”
“No!” Kier exclaimed. “Don't ask. You need not tether yourself to Lady Catherine, Wilhelmina! Can you not perform a job as a favor for your cousin? You'll be paid handsomely, of course.”
“I would like to help you, Kier. Believe me, I would,” Collins said. “Even so, I must insist on asking Lady Catherine! She is my one and only patron, and I would hate to disappoi—”
Wilhelmina was silenced by Shar's clicking hammer. When she faced his direction, he brought his pistol's barrel to her forehead.
“I'm tired of this,” Shar grumbled. “You're coming with us, Miss Collins... and I'm afraid you have no choice in the matter.”