Part 18 (1/2)
”Ye may get yer wish.” Nate handed her a spoon.
”Where did you get this horrible stuff?”
”Th' galley cook made it fer me.”
”As a remedy or a punishment?”
”Eat.”
”I can't!” she wailed. ”The shrimps still have their heads! Their little eyeb.a.l.l.s are staring at me!”
Nate put his face very close to hers. He smelled of leather and pipe tobacco, dark rum and soap from the Turkish Bath. ”Eat it, afore I pry yer mouth open an' pour it down yer ungrateful gullet.” He straightened, slapped his hand twice against his thigh, and strode away in high dudgeon.
”Start with the broth,” Peaseblossom advised.
”I'm sorry about this afternoon. I shouldn't have run away.” Bertie poked at the fouler things swimming in the soup and managed to isolate a spoonful of broth. When she looked up, Peaseblossom was hovering very close.
”It's all right,” the fairy said.
”It's not. It's a mess.” Bertie let the liquid dribble off the spoon.
Peaseblossom got close enough to tuck a stray piece of Bertie's hair behind her ear. The touch was like a kiss. ”It's not as bad as it seems.”
That went for more than the soup, Bertie hoped. She licked the spoon, didn't die, and tried it again.
The stomping of boots preceded a profoundly p.i.s.sed-off swashbuckler. Nate shoved the bottle under her nose. ”Is that what ye drank?”
She recoiled from the cloying, sickly-sweet smell. ”Yes.”
”Why ever would ye do somethin' that stupid?”
”I was hoping it would change me into a proper Director.” Aware he watched her every move, Bertie took another sip of broth. ”Instead it filled my head with useless nonsense.”
”Did Ariel drink wi' ye?”
”Yes, and quite a lot more of it than I did, I'd like to point out.”
”He'd have more of a head fer it than you. An' he should have known better than t' let ye do yerself such a mischief.” Nate sat down on the chaise but left a careful s.p.a.ce between them. ”Are ye feelin' any better yet?”
”Yes, thank you.” Bertie chewed a morsel of chicken and swallowed with caution. It stayed put, so she added a bit of rice and ignored the rest of the questionable mess. ”I'm not eating the cabbage even if you threaten to cleave me in twain.” She set the container down.
”I can live wi' that,” Nate said. ”But I can't live wi' th' idea o' ye gettin' hurt. Ariel's dangerous.”
”I wish you'd stop fretting about Ariel.” Bertie wondered how the air elemental's head was faring. If there were any justice in this world, he'd have the mother of all hangovers, too.
”I want ye t' stay away from him.”
”That's nice,” said Bertie, closing her eyes. ”I'm hoping for world peace, myself.”
” 'Tisn't a joke, la.s.s.”
”My head is about to split open, Nate, so please do us both a favor and shut up.”
The pirate jumped up. ”What will it take for ye t' listen t' reason?” Grabbing her by the arms, he hauled Bertie several feet in the air.
Startled by the sudden movement as much as the change in alt.i.tude, it took her a moment to locate her ire at being treated in such a fas.h.i.+on. ”Put me down!”
”I can't stand aside an' watch ye drown yerself in him!” Nate held her there for a moment, maybe just to prove that he could.
”I'm going to be sick-” Part of Bertie wanted to make good on the threat and puke down his front, but if she started throwing up, she wouldn't be able to stop.
Slowly, by inches, Nate lowered her to the floor. ”One o' these days, la.s.s, I'm goin' t' still that mouth o' yers.” He gently traced her upper lip with his thumb.
Before Bertie could think of a response to his threat, he turned on his heel and made his exit.
”Oh, my,” said Peaseblossom.
”Gross!” yelled Moth. ”Nate likes Bertie.”
”Nasty!” That was Cobweb, who turned to Mustardseed. ”Darling!”
”Sweetie!” returned Mustardseed. They tackled each other midair and made loud, slurping kissing noises.
Bertie sat hard on the chaise and put her hands over her knees to stop them from shaking.
Peaseblossom patted her shoulder. ”He wouldn't ever hurt you, you know. There's more brains there than brawn.”
”Pity he seems to have misplaced his brains.” Bertie scrubbed her hands over her face. ”That's it. I need coffee and a cigarette, and I don't care if getting them kills me.”
She was halfway to the door before Peaseblossom called, ”What did you do with The Book?”
When Bertie spun around, it took the room a full three seconds to catch up. She put her hands over her stomach. ”I stuck it under the chaise.” Peaseblossom looked horrified, so Bertie added, ”For safekeeping!”
”Wouldn't a safe be safer?” Moth asked.
”You'd think,” Mustardseed said.
”I need to take it to the Theater Manager.” Bertie lowered herself carefully to the floor and stuck her hand under the chaise, her fingers expecting to meet gilt-edged paper. When they didn't, she flattened out against the ground. It was too dark to see much, but it shouldn't have been dark at all. The absence of golden, glowing light stabbed at her already aching guts. ”Where is it?”
”Oh, no,” moaned Peaseblossom.
”I put it right here.” Bertie swept her arm back and forth through the dust, hoping against hope that she'd shoved it farther back than she'd remembered, that it was still there.
Because if The Book isn't there, someone took it.
Bertie heaved the chaise over. Wood splintered through velvet brocade, and she stared at the empty s.p.a.ce.
”Mr. Hastings is going to be furious!” Peaseblossom said, gaping at such wanton destruction.
Bertie sat back on her heels, breathing hard. ”We have bigger problems than Mr. Hastings if we don't find The Book.”