Josh Roseman - The Clockwork Russian and Other Stories

“But are we safe?” his wife asked.

“Of course,” I told her. “You have nothing to worry about. The Great American Airship Company prides itself on being the safest there is.”

The conversation was repeated, with minor changes, as I made my rounds. I eventually ended up on the open foredeck, jacket buttoned tightly, hands deep in my pockets. We were moving at speed, and with the sun gone the wind sliced through me as efficiently as the killer’s knife had slashed the throat of the late Mr. Robins. Not many passengers chose to spend their evenings out here, though one young couple was at the very prow, her red hair streaming out behind her as he held her round the waist so she could lean up against the railing. I smiled ruefully; once upon a time, I’d had a husband and we’d had our own moments of closeness, but now, if anyone saw me holding my lover like that I’d probably be thrown over the side, and her soon after.

Someone tapped my shoulder. I spun quickly, stepping back, but it was only Mr. Peters, the chief steward. “Dining cabin closed?” I asked.

“Yes.” He breathed deeply, then inclined his head at the couple. “Sweet, isn’t it?”

“If you like that sort of thing.” I shivered. “Did you need something, Mr. Peters?”

He shook his head. “Please: call me Tony.”

“Tony, then.” I felt the wind trying to pry my hair out of its long braid. “Is something on your mind?”

“You have to ask?”

I hitched one shoulder, a half-shrug. “I’m no psychologist,” I said. “The medic can give you something to calm your nerves, if you like.”

“It didn’t bother you? At all?” Tony had his hands tucked under his folded arms; instead of a coat, he wore a dark-blue cape fastened in front with three silver buckles.

“That’s not it.” I felt the airship bank slightly; the wind ceased to blow quite so fiercely into our faces. The couple at the prow was kissing now, her back pressed into the metal railing. “I’ve seen worse.” I swallowed. “There’s just a lot on my mind.”

“Why? Was there something strange about the killing?”

I turned to him. “You seem awfully interested.”

“It did happen in my dining cabin.”

Ah. “I suppose you’re right. But I interviewed your staff already.” I’d done it before my rounds; no one had seen the actual killing, but two waiters confirmed that Iyarina and Robins were together all through the dinner hour. I very much wanted to know why she’d lied to me, but interrupting Iyarina while she was entertaining would just draw the captain’s attention, and that wouldn’t be helpful at all. I’d have to wait until tomorrow morning. “The only possible suspect is one of the dancing girls. I don’t think she could’ve done it, though.”

“Why not?”

Now I gave him a sharp look. “I think you know enough about the entertainers on this airship to know the answer to that. If she killed him, how could he pay her?”

He smiled, apologetic. “So what will you do?”

“The murder weapon was probably tossed over the side,” I said. “But that doesn’t matter. I’ll find who did it, and he — or she — will pay for the crime.”

Tony nodded, apparently in approval, then left the foredeck via the port-side door. The couple departed the same way. But I stayed out in the open a while longer, despite the wind and the cold.

I was going to figure out who killed Ignatius Robins. Somehow.

“I thought I left all this behind two years ago,” I said softly, my breath ruffling Marianne’s hair. “I thought I was just a constable on an airship now.”

Marianne and I were pressed tightly together, huddled under my too-small, too-thin blanket. She’d slipped into the bed after I’d fallen asleep, but her warmth and the scent of soap and skin had woken me. “You’re more than just a constable, Rebecca.” My arm was over her body; she pressed my hand between hers. “You’re my constable.”

“I know.” I kissed the top of her head — she was even shorter than the first mate, and fit very nicely against me in this position. “I just wish everything wasn’t a damned competition.”

She nodded. We both knew that if I went to the captain or Commander Markel, they’d find a way to use it against me, to say I wasn’t competent. They already didn’t like me — well, that wasn’t quite true; they liked that I was a woman, and that I was pleasant to look at. No wonder Marianne tried to do all the dirty jobs: why dig through layers of grime and soot and cleaning fluid?

More fool they.

“I’m going to have to talk to the crew tomorrow,” I said. “The entertainers, the engineers, everyone. And if it’s not one of them…”

“Then we’ll see.” She brought my hand to her mouth again, kissed my fingers slowly before running her lips over the pad of my thumb. I suddenly felt very warm inside. “What about that dancer?”

“What about her?” I struggled to think. “Robins would have paid her.”

“Would he?” Marianne turned to face me, cupped my cheek with one hand. “Look at how they treat you. What if Robins wasn’t any better?”

“Iyarina said he was a gentleman,” I said. Marianne’s eyes were silver in the moonlight coming through the tiny porthole. “I’m sure he paid, and paid well.”

Marianne kissed me, then said, “you think too well of people for someone who used to be a police detective.”

“Well, she did lie to me. Should I go wake her up? Question her again?”

“Yes.” Another kiss. “But not just now.”

Iyarina wasn’t in the cabin she shared with the other dancers. None of them were very pleased to be woken up at half-past-seven, but I didn’t care. “Where’s Katya Iyarina?”

The red-haired one peered across the room; Iyarina’s bunk was one of six crammed into this space. “Out.”

“She’ll be back at lunchtime.” This was the brunette in the bunk just below; she had a sleeping mask over her face and hadn’t bothered to remove her makeup; lipstick was smeared on her pillow. “I’ll tell her you stopped by.” The last was barely intelligible around a yawn.

“You do that.”

I left the cabin and stalked through the narrow corridor to the crew staircase, making my way down to the lowest level. Robins’s cabin door was open; I reached for my baton, but when I heard the captain’s voice, I knew I didn’t have to bother.

And that I wasn’t going to like what was about to happen.

“There you are, Mrs. McDonald.” He sounded both satisfied and angry, and he stressed the “missus” once again. “Looks like we’ve found your killer!”

Behind the captain, Katya Iyarina stood, arms held by the junior navigator and the meteorologist. “Captain—”

“It’s over, Mrs. McDonald,” he said. “People were talking more about a dead passenger than the food, or the shows, or, God help me, the girls! I can’t have that on my ship! That’s not keeping the peace, and you know it.”

I took a closer look at the dancer; one side of her face was angry and red, and she was crying. “What were you doing here, Katya?” I tried to sound kind; she needed someone on her side.

“She said she left something here,” said the meteorologist. He didn’t sound happy about being conscripted to take a passenger into custody, and I didn’t blame him. “The captain…” He bit his lip; the captain glared at him. “Captain Saint-Pierre questioned Miss Iyarina, and she said Robins refused to pay her that first night.”

“So she caught him after dinner,” the captain said. “He wouldn’t pay, and she killed him.”

I was watching Iyarina, though. Her jaw was set, her face hard, even though she was crying. Her green eyes met mine and I knew. “Captain, it doesn’t add up,” I said, turning to him. “Robins had $300 in his wallet.” And thousands more in his cabin, but I definitely wasn’t telling the captain about that now. “He could afford to pay her six times what she’d charge!”