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“This is ridiculous. I can’t fit into any of that, even if I wanted to. I refuse to wear a corset!”
Octavia frowned at me. “I understand that you do not wish to wear the clothing traditional to ladies in your normal day-to-day life, and I have always been supportive of your desire to march to a different drummer, so to speak. But, Hallie, this is your wedding.”
“Pfft,” I said, waving away that subject. “I did the big wedding once. It was meaningless. I’d be happy if we just had a registry-office wedding.”
“Registry office?” Safie, who was roughly the same size as Octavia, cooed when she pulled out a black-and-white striped skirt and bodice. She was a pretty woman, with big brown eyes, and short-cropped curly hair. I was a bit surprised to see the latter, since most women in this world had long hair, but it suited her elfin looks. “Are you sure you won’t mind me borrowing your gown? Unlike Hallie, I have clothing on the Falcon, all uniforms, of course, and not anything nearly as elegant as this. Most of my clothing is at Alan’s house.”
“By all means, help yourself.” Octavia returned to considering me. “I see your point of not fitting into the garments, Hallie, but I couldn’t be happy knowing you were wed to a dear friend wearing something so ... er ...”
I looked down at myself. My once pretty blue-and-green tunic and pants were now showing the strain of solid wear for the last week. “Maybe Alan brought my things—oh.”
Octavia opened her cabin door at a knock, which turned out to be the two wooden trunks I’d inherited from Alan’s sister Leila.
“Talk about timely,” I said, diving into the first trunk. Safie and Octavia clustered around me, murmuring approval when I showed them the outfits I’d had created in Tozeur. “The question is which to wear.”
“I like the red one,” Octavia said. She fingered the scarlet material heavily embroidered in gold. “It must look lovely with your hair.”
“I’m quite envious of the blue,” Safie said, holding it up in front of her.
“You’re more than welcome to wear that if you would prefer,” I said, diving back into the chest to pull out the gold tunic and leggings, and leather armor. I ran my fingers across the engraving on the breastplate, my mind filled with memories of Alan teaching me how to fight.
“I wish I could, but you are much taller than me,” she said, reluctantly putting the tunic back. “But I am going to have something similar made for me, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” I chewed my lower lip for a moment, wondering if I dared do what I wanted to do.
Octavia and Safie chatted while the latter got out of her Company of Thieves wool coat and skirt, and into Octavia’s pretty dress.
Would Alan be offended? My fingers stroked the leather, knowing I shouldn’t even think about it. “But dammit, it’s my wedding,” I said, getting to my feet. “And after all, you only live once.”
Octavia glanced over from where she was helping Safie hook up all the buttons on the back of the dress. “Yes, of course it’s your wedding. What did you pick out to wear? One of those pretty trouser suits? I’m sure Alan would have no complaint with you wearing something so elegant, even if it’s not a gown suitable for such an occasion.”
“Something like that. Er ... I think I’ll go dress around the scattered parts of Jack’s new navigator,” I said, hauling one of the trunks to the door.
Octavia looked up, a frown between her brows. “Are you sure? I’m happy to help you dress for the wedding, since you were so kind to me when Jack and I were married.”
I smiled and gestured toward Safie, who looked a little worried. “I appreciate that, but I’m happier getting ready on my own. Besides, you know I don’t like all the fussy bits that the women here go in for, and Safie appears to enjoy them. I won’t feel slighted in the least if you help her get ready.”
“Very well,” Octavia said, clearly hesitant. I managed to escape, and was almost to my cabin when Jack came down the stairs, frowning when he saw me.
“Hallie, what are you doing?” He took the wooden chest that I was dragging. “You shouldn’t be moving things in your condition.”
“You sound like something out of a nineteen fifties sitcom,” I told him, but opened the door to my old cabin. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to touch your project. I just wanted somewhere quiet to get ready.”
He set down the trunk and studied me for a good minute before saying, “Are you sure about this, Hallie? Really sure? Akbar ... Alan hasn’t manipulated you into thinking you have to do this, has he?”
“No, no, no,” I said, giving him a kiss on his cheek. “Really, Jack, you need to give up this ridiculous idea of brainwashing you have. I love Alan. He loves me. We’re having a miracle together. I couldn’t be happier.”
He was silent a moment, then gave a heavy sigh. “You always did do things your own way. I’ll admit to being worried that you’re happy about this, though.”
“The wedding?” I shrugged. “It’ll be all right. You know how I feel about that sort of thing.”
He grinned. “That weddings are a ceremony wrapped around signing a piece of paper? Yeah, we’re alike in that.”
“Which is why it was nice you let Octavia have the wedding she wanted last year.” I kissed him on the cheek. “But I’m not her, and so long as I get to do this my way, then that’s what I’m going to do.”
He looked a little confused by the admittedly incomprehensible sentence. “So long as you’re happy,” he said, patting my arm. “I’m going to go check on that bast—er—the groom, to make sure he’s not trying to slip out without anyone noticing.”
“Right, it’s time for you to get over yourself,” I said, shaking a leather gauntlet at him. “Alan isn’t a bastard, or a heartless monster, or a violent murderer. He’s loving and sweet and funny and patient, and you need to embrace having him as a brother-in-law, because he’s all-around awesome, and will help the Company of Thieves immensely.”
“Hrmph,” my brother said, stomping off. I smiled to myself. I knew Jack, and he liked to grouse about any sort of change, but in the end, he’d learn to see Alan for what he was.
An hour later, I thought the crew were going to choke when I trotted down the stairs to the cargo area where the others were gathered.
“Bleedin’ hell,” Mr. Piper said, squinting at me with a grizzled face that had seen so much. “Ye look like ye’r goin’ in t’battle.”
I adjusted the falchion, flipped the tail of the lay over my shoulder, and once again tugged the breastplate down a smidgen. I’d still had to stuff the breast area with a soft pair of leggings in order to fill it out, but all in all, I was pleased with my appearance. “Why, thank you, Mr. Piper. I thought it was only fitting that a man of Alan’s reputation be honored thusly.”
Mr. Ho, who, like the rest of the crew, had donned civilian clothes, studied the armor, murmuring little comments of approval. “It really is quite unique. And is it comfortable to wear?”
“Very,” I told her, feeling proud of the dashing figure I made in my borrowed armor. “It’s not hindering at all, and whoever made this for Alan’s sister was a master craftsperson.”
“Indeed,” she said, then stepped back, casting a glance to Mr. Llama.
“I’ve brought the carriages,” Mr. Christian, the red-haired young man who served as navigator, said, bursting into the cargo area carrying with him a sense of excitement. “Where’s the captain?”
“I’m here, with Captain Safie,” Octavia said, tripping merrily down the spiral stairs with Safie in tow. She caught sight of me, and stumbled to a stop. “Oh. I ... er ... Hallie ...”
“Ooh, is that Leila’s armor?” Safie said, coming forward in her elegant black-and-white gown, a sparkly comb pulling her curls back from her face in a way that made her look even more ethereal. “It looks very good on you.”
“Do you think she’d mind me wearing it?” I asked, suddenly feeling like I was encroaching on a family heirloom.
“Lord, no. She was with us for a bit, but then she married a Turkish prince and is quite happy in Anatolia. I’m sure she will wish you nothing but the best with the armor. I always did like it, but it was far too big for me.”
Octavia had been opening and closing her a mouth a couple of times while Safie cooed over the armor, but eventually she gave a little shake of her head and let it go. “Well, if we are ready, I believe we can continue to the carriages. Mr. Piper, Mr. Mowen, you are both certain you do not wish to accompany us? We can ask some of Captain Dubain’s men to watch the Enterprise while we are in town.”
“So long as I may kiss the bride”—Matt Mowen, ship’s engineer extraordinaire, gave me a big smile and kissed me on the cheek, his grizzled mustache tickling my cheek in a way that Alan’s never did—“then I’m content to guard the ship.”
“Aye, ’tis the same as me,” Mr. Piper said, hobbling over in his odd gait, giving me a wet peck on the cheek before doing the same for Safie. “Dooley’ll go for us old bachelors. Ye mind yer manners, now, lad.”
Dooley rolled his eyes, but grinned and dashed out to the carriage.
“Mon capitaine,” Mr. Francisco said, sidling up behind Octavia. “You shall allow me, your most devoted and faithful Francisco of your heartstrings, to accompany you to the weddings of the sister of the evil one?”
“Jack will escort me, thank you, Mr. Francisco,” Octavia said firmly, disentangling herself from the hold he had on her hand.
Safie looked startled. I leaned in and said, “He’s got a crush on her hair.”
“Her ... hair?”
“Yes. Evidently he wants to roll around naked on it. Drives Jack nuts, as you can imagine.”
She giggled, and put an arm through mine. “I’m so glad you’re marrying Alan. You’re going to be very good for him.”
“I hope so. I have been around Zand long enough to know he’s a very nice man, and a devoted friend to Alan, and I hope you both will be very happy. I take it you’ve been engaged for a while?”
“Many years,” she said, sighing. We followed the others to the two waiting carriages. I was a bit surprised to see that they were the fashionable steam carriages that larger towns like Rome and London sported, but evidently technology—of a form—had come to Marseilles since the last time I’d been there.
Mr. Llama, Mr. Ho, Dooley, and Mr. Christian rode in the first carriage, while Octavia and Safie and I climbed into the second, waiting for Jack, who came at a run from Alan’s airship.
“Just made sure the groom got off to the church, and wasn’t going to do a runner—” Jack stopped when he sat down opposite me, his brow furrowed. “Er. Hal. You’re wearing Moghul armor.”
“I’m glad to see your eyesight isn’t going,” I said placidly, scooting over when Mr. Francisco, with a glare toward Jack (who was sitting with his arm around Octavia), pushed in between Safie and me. “Is everything all right with Alan?”
“Yes.” Jack returned Mr. Francisco’s glare. “He said he sent over your clothes. Was there nothing else you could wear?”
“You wore what you wanted to your wedding,” I said complacently, looking out of the window as the steam carriage lurched forward. I’d always been amused by the steam technology that people in this world embraced. “I’m doing the same. Oh, hey, who is that?”
“Who is ... bloody hell,” Octavia said, peering out of the window. Overhead, moving with the grace peculiar to airships, a long shape drifted toward the east. “That’s an imperial ship.”
Jack craned his head to see, whistling softly. “Not transport. It’s too small for that.”
“There are two others,” Safie said, pointing out of the other window.
We all looked, even as the steam carriages bumped from the farmyard onto the main road leading into town. Two other airships, both done in navy blue with a large stylized W on the front envelope, flew over our heads.
“Three ships?” I glanced at Jack. “Traveling together? I didn’t think they did that.”
“They don’t normally,” Jack said, rubbing his jaw. “Not unless ...”
Octavia sucked in her breath, and took his hand. “Not unless they bear contingents of guards.”
“The emperor’s guards,” Jack said, nodding.
“Which means that’s William on the first ship?” I asked, my gaze on my brother. “The same emperor who Octavia—”
“Yes, yes, we all know about her relationship with him,” Jack said, then quickly corrected himself. “Her former relationship.”
Octavia clicked her tongue and elbowed him.
“What does that mean to us?” I asked, worrying that Alan would have to don the disguise of a diplomat immediately. And just what was I to do while he was dancing attendance on William?
“I don’t know yet,” Octavia answered, but her gaze was troubled. “I suspect we’ll have to wait and see.”
“I can tell you one thing,” Jack said, his voice hard. “It’s going to be lively with the Black Hand, William, and us in town at the same time.”
I said nothing during the rest of the ride, being busy with my own thoughts and worries. I had just decided that if Alan had a diplomat’s disguise, I’d have to arrange for the same, which meant I’d have to wear the long skirts and corsets favored by ladies of society. I was grimacing over that idea when we arrived at a small church made of dark gray stone, one with a slight air of being abandoned, which suited me just fine. Dusk was falling, and a lamplighter moved slowly lighting the gas lamps that cast warm puddles of light onto the cobblestone street.
“Do you see them?” Octavia asked, looking toward the north.
“There,” Jack said from where he had climbed onto the rear driver’s seat, pointing to the east. I peered, seeing just the top of a dark, oblong shape over the rooftops of Marseilles. “What’s he doing over there? The airstrip is just north of us.”
“I wish I knew,” she answered, looking decidedly worried.
“Maybe we should put off the wedding—” I suggested, knowing that a visit by the emperor himself meant we might be in danger.
“No,” Safie and Jack said at the same time.
“It’s not like William is going to start bombing the town,” Jack said, taking my arm. “I want you settled before that blaggard—sorry, Safie—that rogue Alan has a change of heart.”
“Oh ye of little faith,” I told my brother when he led me into the church, blithely ignoring the fact that just earlier that day my own faith in Alan had been on less than solid ground.
We entered the church, Jack’s crew and Safie ahead of us, with Jack and me following.
“This is kind of awkward,” Jack whispered as we walked down the center aisle of the church. “I feel like I should be talking to you about the glory of womanhood and offering advice, and all I can think of is that bastard touching my baby sister in ways that raise the hairs on the back of my neck.”
I couldn’t help a little laugh. “If it makes it any better, tell yourself that I receive the same pleasure from Alan’s touch as Octavia does when you molest her.”
“I don’t molest,” Jack objected. “I woo. I seduce. I make sweet, sweet love.”
“Yeah, you know how you don’t like thinking of Alan touching me with his assorted body parts that I really, really enjoy? Well, the same applies to you talking about what you and Octavia get up to together.”
He snorted, but by then we’d reached the altar of the dimly lit church, and I paused when I saw Alan standing in his gold tunic and leggings, a brace of disruptors strapped to his hips, and his beautiful leather armor glinting in the candlelight.
I grinned at him. “I see we had the same idea.”
He smiled in return, his voice full of promise when he took my hand, kissing it before saying, “This is why we are so perfect together.”
“Er ...” A small man emerged from the vestry, his eyes first on Alan, then on me. “This is highly irregular. Highly irregular.”
“We wish to be married,” Alan told the man. “I see nothing irregular in that.”
“But you are ... and she is wearing ... yes. Well. Highly irregular.”
“Maybe we should go somewhere else,” I said, starting to turn away, but evidently the old priest took umbrage at that, for he shot me a sour look and said quickly, “No, no, I will not have it said that the parish of Saint Dalrymple the Pierced turned away supplicants. You will please stand before me, and we will—”
A distant boom rattled the grungy windows. We all turned to the east.
“Was that—” I asked, but before I could continue, three more booms sounded.
“That’s William,” Octavia said, her hand on Jack’s arm. “He’s opening fire on something.”
“Or someone,” Alan said, turning and snapping an order in Kazakh to his men, who had filled the first three pews.
They all got to their feet.
“Hold on—” Jack yelled, stopping them when they would have filed out. He pointed at the priest. “Continue.”
“Jack,” Octavia said, tugging at his arm. “William is firing on the town. We need to leave.”
“Not until he marries Hallie,” Jack said, nodding at Alan.
“For the love of all that’s good in this world,” I said, exasperated. “If William is beating up Etienne, I want to be there to see it. Come on, Alan.”
“Don’t you move a single foot from this church!” Jack roared, scowling furiously at the priest. “Get on with it!”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” I made an apologetic gesture at Alan. “I’m so sorry about this. He’s incredibly stubborn at times.”
“Perhaps the monseigneur will be willing to give us the condensed marriage ceremony?” Alan suggested, gesturing to his men. With the exception of Zand, who stood behind us with Safie, they ran off, no doubt to get the Nightwing ready.
Another two booms sounded, followed by several whistles of the police force, and a roaring explosion. The old priest gave a little gulp and hurriedly said, “Yes, of course, it shall be as Monsieur desires. Do you ... er ... Hallelujah Norris take this Moghul?”
“I sure do,” I said, smiling at Alan.
“And do you, Akbar Basir Alan dit Aurangzeb take this ... er ... also Moghul?”
“Yes,” Alan said, turning around when one of the men appeared at the entrance of the church, yelling something to him. “Yes, I do. Can we hurry, please?”
“You are now married,” the old man said, sketching a cross in the air before turning to a small table beside him. “Please sign both copies.”
“Hey, don’t I even get a kiss?” I asked when Alan hurriedly signed two copies of what I assumed was the marriage certificate.
“Later,” he promised. “Wait here.”
“Alan!” Zand yelled when Alan started down the aisle at a run.
He paused.
Zand tipped his head toward Safie.
“Marry her,” he said, and would have continued, but Zand yelled, “And the Falcon?”
“Can Zand be captain, please?” Safie asked. “I’m really tired of the responsibility. I just want to live in a house and raise horses.”
“Yes, yes, you’re captain now.” Alan didn’t wait for any other distractions—he just bolted.
I picked up the nib pen he’d dropped, and signed my name on the two forms, sighing to myself as I did so.
“What should we do?” Safie asked, obviously worried.
The priest shoved one of the copies of the certificate into my hands, clearly happy to be done with the whole thing.
“Marry us,” Zand told the priest, moving into the spot where, a few seconds before, Alan and I had stood.
“Congratulations,” Jack said, kissing me on both cheeks. “I hope you’ll be as happy as we are.” And then he, too, was off. Octavia would have followed, most of her crew already at the door, but Mr. Ho stopped her, saying in a low voice, “Captain, since we’re here ... would you mind if we ...” She nodded toward the priest, who was asking Safie if she would take Zand.
Octavia looked from Beatrice Ho to Mr. Llama, who stood smiling behind her. “Oh! I had no idea that you—well, of course, if you think that’s a good—yes, yes, you have my blessings. Just join us when you can.” She ran off, calling for Jack to wait for her.
“I guess we can be each other’s witnesses,” I said, feeling a little lonely while I watched Safie and Zand get married.
Zand kissed Safie, grinned at me, and, taking her by the hand, raced down the aisle with her in tow.
Another boom shook the rafters of the old church, dust and fine particles of debris wafting softly to the ground around us.
Mr. Ho looked at Mr. Llama. He smiled at her. They stepped up to the priest.
“Another one? Very well, but this will have to be quick. I do not intend to stand around waiting for the walls to come down upon me. Do you take him?” he asked Mr. Ho.
“Yes, I do.”
“Do you take her?” he asked, pointing the pen that he still held in his hand at Mr. Ho.
Mr. Llama nodded, and said in a soft voice that he most assuredly did.
“I declare you married. Sign both copies.”
They signed. The priest grabbed up the three marriage certificates, and ran for it, calling for us to get to safety.
I stood outside the church, looking to the east. Night had fallen while we were inside, but the sky over Marseilles was glowing red, smoke filling the air.
“Come with us,” Mr. Ho yelled from where she and Mr. Llama had commandeered a dray driver.
“You go,” I said, waving them on. “Alan knows I’m here.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, but Mr. Llama was already turning the crank on the steam boiler, sending the dray roaring forward down the road.
I waved and looked around for the likeliest spot, running down toward the water a couple of blocks until the buildings dropped away to the docks. I turned and looked to the west, and waited, hoping I had guessed correctly.
“He’s not going to just run off and leave me,” I told myself, covering my ears when the three imperial airships to the east of town unloaded another volley of cannon fire. “Jack may not have any faith in him, but I do.”
