A Hellion of the Skies

Lady Sarah Worthington had been missing for over five years, all clues to her
whereabouts completely unknown. Inquiries had been made, investigations had been
carried out, but it seemed she’d vanished without a trace. Why then was she standing
there, holding an Aether disruptor, pointing it at his face and demanding he give up his
cargo?
But he knew it was Sarah. No other woman he had ever met in his life had a
birthmark near her eye that resembled a crescent moon, and no one had eyes as stormy
and sublime as the blue violet depths he was presently staring into again.
What the hell happened that she had turned to a life of airship piracy?
“Sarah?” He said as he blinked several times. She was the same, but more. More
woman, more beautiful, sexier. Women of the aristocracy had been throwing off the
staunch and uptight morae’s of previous decades recently, their liberation making the
time they lived in one of personal growth and exploration for women. Roles they weren’t
meant for in the past were embraced, and while some ladies held tight to the acceptable
fashions of the time, new ideas were emerging from there as well. Sarah was a testament
to it.
Her long hair was up in what looked like sticks and barrettes, the tendrils all
haphazard coming from the central nest, held back by a pair of silver and leather
goggles. She wore a short-sleeved high collar shirt of lace, with the throat open, and a
harness rig of leather that held her disruptor holster and a smaller bag on the other side.
He was almost certain he saw several cogstars, a favored throwing weapon fancied by
the Aether set, tucked into the holster itself.
The shirt was lace and linen further down, and was tucked into short knickers pants,
gathered at the knee with a long black lace. She also had a leg holster on the pants,
holding what looked like an Aetheomographer, a snare weapon to quit the workings of
any passing by airship. She wore boots just to her knees, and striped stockings that
disappeared under her pants. She was a far cry from the proper lady he was betrothed to
seven years earlier. She wasn’t even wearing a proper corset.
She looked him over curiously, and cocked her head. “How do you know my name?”
“It’s me, Andrew.” His admission was met with more confusion. He pressed on.
“Andrew Rawdon? Your fiancée?”
Sarah laughed and shook her head. “Now I know your taking the piss. Fiancée? Sir I
don’t know who you are but I have never had a fiancée, ask my lover, Captain Went…”
The name made his blood go cold. How the hell did she end up as a hellion of the
skies, and the lover of the most notorious Airship pirate in the Empire?! It bore looking
into.
“Sarah I’m far from daft, and I assure you, you are in fact my fiancée, promised to
me seven years ago, two years before you went missing.”
She lowered her pistol and frowned. “Poppycock!” she cursed and shook her head.
“Why would I agree to that? My life has always been about the Aether, and the freedom
of the skies. So tell me sir, why should I believe you?”
His answer was cut off by a short man coming up to her with a metographer, a small
hand held machine that listed inventory, in his meaty hands.
~6~
“Mistress, it’s not here. I think we have been routed.” He said with a hacked accent,
close to the one those of the outer territories possessed. He gave a suspicious glare at
Andrew and then put his attention back on Sarah. She looked at Andrew and gave a
cruel smirk.
“Where is the Chronosphere?” she asked Andrew, the malice in her voice hitching.
Andrew schooled his face, hiding his surprise. The Perpetual Aether and Cargo
Company had been contracted to transport the Chronosphere from Halifax to London,
but that wasn’t common knowledge. The Chronosphere was a marvel of the civilized
world, a leap in scientific advancement, and one of two machines to exist in the world.
Its purpose was known to him, but not to the majority of the waking world. Because
he was the owner of PACC and its chief magister, he was aware of many things most of
his captains and crews weren’t. It was to be expected, how could someone take pains to
protect precious cargo if one didn’t know what the risks were?
Most in the world were told that the Chronosphere was being transported by
Antillus shipping, but really it was just dummy information. The governments of Halifax
and the United Kingdom thought it pertinent to leak false information, for just this
situation. It seemed, however, that there was a mole in his outfit, and that just wouldn’t
do.
“Answer me Mr. Rawdon, and be quick about it, I don’t have the time nor the
inclination to listen to your frippery, and I do have a job to do.”
Andrew frowned. “It’s not here, obviously. Whoever tipped you off to its
whereabouts obviously lied to you. Antillus shipping is taking the machine, not PACC.”
“I thought I told you to can the frippery.” She said and turned to her stout little
friend. “Mr. Conlon here tells me it’s not on your manifest, yet we know it was in fact to
leave on this ship.”
Andrew shook his head. He did have a mole, but not one of his higher ups. If it were,
they would have known that this was a dummy test run, and that the Chronosphere
would be transported in two days. Now, because of this little mishap, something they
were trying to avoid, well it bared changing tactics.
“Then your information is dead wrong. This ship, as with all the PACC ships doesn’t
have any smuggling compartments, and I would think that even if we did, the
Chronosphere would be too large to hide under floorboards.” He bluffed and then gave a
casual lean against the hull she had him pinned against.
“He’s right. Crew can’t find anything out of the ordinary.”
Sarah growled in frustration, a most unladylike thing to do and rounded on Mr.
Conlon. “Get our boys to retreat. Five ticks, no more, leave the cargo as is.”
Mr. Conlon glared and Sarah stopped him. “I will not take food and medical
supplies from the outlying territories, not when people need them.”
“But Captain Went said…”
“You’re on my ship, you listen to me, is that clear?”
Mr. Conlon grumbled but left to carry out her word and she turned back to Andrew.
“Sir, I apologize for the inconvenience, and while you think you know me, I assure
you, you do not.”
“I’m quite sure I do.” He said and took a chance lunging forward and pulled her into
his arms. He kissed her, kissed her like he did the night they were betrothed and she was
eighteen, a needy, hungry and passionate kiss.