Pavel Dubnikov had been a sailor aboard the Pobedonosnyj for nearly five years now. His contract would be up next month, and he looked forward to seeing his family again, showing them the pictures he'd taken and tell them, in person, the stories he had for them.

So when the pirate queen in the tight black leather strode determinedly aboard, all he could think was, This'll be the best story ever.

She couldn't be more than 168cm but looked easily half again that height, and all in her legs. She had long hair, dark like a starless night, that flowed down to the center of her back. Her eyes were golden, with pupils like a cat's, and the high-altitude breathing mask she wore looked like the muzzle of a lion. Even a simple man from Shestakovka had heard the stories of the Black Lioness. She had only ever attacked her own countrymen's ships before now, but clearly they no longer had enough to entice her.

Naturally, she wasn't alone; a small army of men and women in black masks and dark clothes followed after her. There were two men in particular who stuck close to the Lioness's side; when Captain Kamensky told the piratess in no uncertain terms precisely what level of Hell she would spend her well-deserved eternal torment in, the bulkier one with the longer hair reminded him in a smooth Muscovian accent that he should watch his manners. The other one was too busy hacking into their computer systems to say much of anything, fingertips a-flurry across the keys.

Interestingly enough, though she had a gun strapped to her thigh, she was wielding a short sword. She looked like she knew how to use it too, but even if she didn't, Pavel had no intention of testing her. The assumed Muscovite had moved behind the captain and was holding him captive by the wrists.

The Lioness was speaking in English, voice like a deep purr. He didn't know enough English to understand, but the Muscovite was translating. His mouth wasn't visible under his mask, but it was obvious from his eyes and the tone in his voice that he was smiling.

"What are you carrying?" he asked on the Lioness's behalf.

The captain drew himself up as much as his height and captivity would allow. "None of your business, you English sow."

The bulky Muscovite tightened his grip on the captain's wrists, pulling out a sharp cry of pain. The captain of the Pobedonosnyj was not a small man, nor a weak one. Pavel stayed against the wall and did his best imitation of a statue. "That isn't the way one talks to a lady, now is it, comrade?" admonished the pirate. "Now answer."

"Mostly factory parts for the new German plant in Peenemunde and for the shipyards in Rostock. Nothing that valuable."

Given the translation, the Lioness replied, then turned to her hacker as the Muscovite responded for her, "Value is in the eye of the beholder." She and the hacker conversed quietly; Pavel watched the pirate's eyes dip from his leader's face to her chest, and then choked back a laugh as she shot him a kick in his shin for it. The man cleared his throat and returned his eyes to their proper place; perhaps he was new to this crew, but he'd learn quick or wouldn't be around long. This was turning into quite a story; his nephew's eyes would be like saucers. So long as she left him alive to tell it, that is.

There was a jolt through the ship, harder than the first few that had brought them to a halt. The Muscovite inquired of Kamensky, "Are you intending to behave or do I have to knock you unconscious while we take your cargo?" The captain, red-faced, didn't answer right away, and was clipped hard upside the back of the head for it. The tall, muscular pirate brushed his hands off as if he'd just thrown out some trash, as Kamensky crumpled to the floor. The Black Lioness spun to the door, but stopped when she saw Pavel staring at her. She winked at him and strode out again, boot heels clicking against the metal floor.

Excellent story indeed.

 

"Loaded up and ready to go?" Delia asked, pulling off her mask. Hirota nodded and tossed off a brisk salute. She smiled at him in thanks and started to tug the wig off, until heavy hands came down on hers.

"The wig looks good on you, Cap'n; you should wear it." The Romany lilt gave him away even if she hadn't already guessed.

"I might, but I don't want to get Mr. Everhart any more riled," she smirked back, tossing the bosun a dark look. He was, of course, right next to Lucius.

The werewolf laughed. "Well, what man's not going to enjoy the sight of a pretty young woman in skin-tight black leather? At least, if he likes women, which I assume Ryker does. In fact, I don't have to assume, I've seen..."

Ryker cut him off. "Won't happen again, ma'am."

She dipped her head by way of acknowledgement and shrugged out from under Lucius's grasp so she could get the wig off. Forbearing to scratch at her scalp in front of her officers, she instead complimented her bosun. "The system you rigged up to steal straight from the hold seems to have worked wonderfully. No one on either ship lost to decompression - and no cargo lost either. No tedious carting up and over."

"Thank you, ma'am. Truth be told, Freeman worked out most of it, and we started with that commercial passenger transport tube system you sprang for. After that, it was just tweaking."

"Good tools, yes, but you're still a master with them. Lucius, see Cleo wakes me up when she's up and about tonight."

"Sure thing," he replied. He'd never been much of one for "ma'am" and "sir", but as useful as he was to have around, no one said much.

"Mr. Everhart, get our new payload stored; let Mr. Freeman and the other engineers have first crack at the parts, see if there's anything there they can use before we sell it off."

"Sell it? I thought you'd give it to the Crown, now that we're working for them."

She smiled at him, feeling tired and unwilling to show it. She hated wearing this costume, even if she did think she looked marvelously fetching in it. Ryker's little attention problem on the Russian ship was flattering and all, but the suit was tight, hot, and designed more for show than comfort. She'd been planning a nap when they'd first sighted their prey, and now she wanted to peel this thing off of her and drop into sleep.

"Mr. Everhart, if the British government were to suddenly come into possession of stolen Russian parts, then it would be known that either I was working with them or that they were, at best, buying them off the black market. And they'd have to have known that these were stolen parts when they bought them. It does not profit England at all for them to have these parts."

"And it profits us a great deal to sell them. Okay, I get it."

"Good. Now stop questioning me in public and get on about your proper work." Ryker saluted and headed for the hold. She continued, "Thank you for your translating, Lucius. Mother only insisted on French and Latin, I'm afraid."

"Glad to be of service. I could teach you, if you like. Smart woman like you would pick it up in no time."

"Perhaps, but not today. Teach Mr. Everhart if you're to teach anyone." She headed for her quarters until Lucius stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

"Cap'n, perhaps it's not my place, but...you never call him by his first name." He didn't have to specify to whom he was referring.

She stifled a sigh, barely. All she wanted to do was take a nap. "It's improper. I make exceptions for you and Lt. Massri: Cleo, because I grew up with her and it's just natural to call her by her first name, and for you because you're irreverent anyway." She gave him a slight smile over her shoulder. "Besides, I much prefer saying 'Lucius' to 'Comaneci'." She wrinkled her nose deliberately, for cuteness. "I'm always sure I'm saying it wrong, and I'd hate to insult you."

He let his hand rest there a moment longer then dropped both it and the subject. "Just curious; you know me. And you say my name fine...for a Brit."

She laughed as she set off down the hallway, napbound at last. Lucius, for his part, bounded off the other way, to catch up with the closest thing he had to a best mate on this ship. "She says it's improper to call you by your first name," he announced upon reaching human earshot distance to Ryker.

"She's right. You don't see me calling her by her first name, do you?" The bosun, along with a few crewmen, was busy shoving crates into corners of the hold. He'd shed the black pressure shirt and was already starting to sweat.

"That's different." Lucius went over and picked up a box two of the crewmen were struggling with. He stowed it away easily, as if it were an origami box filled with feathers. "Besides, you have called her by her first name. Even called her...what was it? 'Delia darling'?" He grinned ear to ear as Ryker shot him a glare.

"THAT was for her damn reconnoitering parties, and thankfully I'll never have to spend another evening fawning over her and pretending to be rich and bored again. Never, ever again, by order of Her Royal Majesty."

"You didn't like seeing her all dolled up, wearing her fancy dresses? I've seen the pictures: they show off quite a bit."

Ryker rolled his eyes and pushed Lucius away from the other crewmen. Lucius, in turn, allowed himself to be pushed. Ryker wasn't weak, for a human, but he wasn't even half as strong as a healthy, red-blooded werewolf. He pitched his voice low and tried to sound menacing. "Yes, okay, the captain is a hot little piece of ass. Happy? She's also completely off-limits, mostly because she IS the captain, and even if she weren't, she's landed gentry AND a witch. I, on the other hand, am a low-bred American, fully human, a fugitive, and an officer under her command. Not going to happen."

"I'm not talking about happily ever after; I'm talking about you getting laid with someone you didn't meet 20 minutes ago in a bar. Maybe even getting some on a regular basis, more often than once every few months."

Ryker growled under his breath, which Lucius always found amusing. Humans couldn't do it right. "Not with her. Not like that. I am not going to be the captain's little bedwarmer for cold nights over the Russian skies or anything stupid like that." He pushed on Lucius's chest again as if it'd have some effect and spun back to the cargo, saying, "If you're going to stick around, help us stow cargo. Otherwise, find something useful to do."

Lucius considered his options. On one hand, he hated physical labor. On the other, he liked showing off. "I came here to help," he put forth gallantly and picked up another box. "Honestly."

Ryker shot back, "The day you do something honest is the day the FBI throws me a 'Get Out of Jail' party." Suddenly there was a loud BOOM! outside, and the Desdemona listed violently. Lucius dropped the box he was holding just in time to catch Ryker; the two of them hit the wall hard. One crewman hit his head against the wall, left a red smear on point of impact and was already out like a light.

"What was that?!" someone exclaimed.

"Listen," Ryker said.

"I don't hear anything," the crewmember, Franco, replied.

"Exactly." Ryker pushed off of Lucius and started running for engineering.

 

"What the HELL is going on with MY ship?" The captain strode onto the bridge, still refastening her suit closed, and took her seat at her console.

"EMP, ma'am!" Mr. Lawrence reported. His instrument panel - in fact, everyone's panels - were completely dark.

"From Where?"

"Unidentified ship off the..." His explanation was cut off by a broadcast from the other ship. It was muffled.

"I'm going up," Delia announced, and, amid the protestations from the crew, she strode out. She wanted to run, to find out what was going on with her ship, her family's ship. But that would not inspire confidence in her crew. She knew what was expected of her, always.

She hopped onto the lift, shut the doors, and punched the button to go up, buckling herself into the work harness as it went. It was on a completely mechanical system of weights and releases; a fallback for situations exactly like this. The upper hatch opened, letting in bitterly icy, thin air. At least they were low enough for there to be air. She pulled her wig on quickly and fastened her mask on over it as she came up onto the top deck. There was no wind up here, and the ship was slowing down. It wouldn't crash - the envelope would keep them aloft - but it would soon be at a standstill. Easy pickings for another pirate.

Instead, what she saw was an official vessel, complete with lights and sirens. It was hard to hear, but they were broadcasting from speakers. "...Message Repeats. This is INTERPOL. You are under arrest for robbery, piracy, possession of stolen goods, and other crimes. We have issued an EMP; you cannot escape. Surrender now and your cooperation will be taken into account. Message Repeats."

She punched the button to go back down, scowling. She left the mask on until the lift came to a halt and the upper hatch closed. Then she pulled the doors open and yanked her mask off. INTERPOL? Of all the cursed luck... She yelled as loud as she could, "ALL CREWMEN TO THEIR STATIONS!" as she stormed back to the bridge.

"Captain?"

"Bloody INTERPOL." She threw herself into her chair.

"They're signaling us with mirrors and Morse code, ma'am. They want us to surrender."

"I know what they want, and they're not getting it. Not under any circumstances. We're not giving up. We just got started, and I'm not letting the Queen herself down."

"What are we going to do? We can't outrun them."

"Cap'n!" Lucius burst onto the bridge. "Ryker's in Engineering, trying to get our backup going. Anything we can do to buy time would be good, he says."

She thought a moment, and then grinned. "I'm going back up. Lucius, get this bloody crew to their stations; PA's out so I can't order them about myself. Then tell Mr. Everhart he has five minutes max - that's five minutes starting from the time you get there, mind. Should be plenty."

"Aye aye!" and he dropped into wolf form as he ran back out.

"Mr. Lawrence, you have the bridge. The second our backup's online, you gun that throttle hard. Do NOT communicate. Head for secondary fallback position in this area and don't stop until I give the order to or we explode."

"Aye aye, captain."

She ran, heels clicking on the floor. No time for striding now. She threw herself back into the lift, adjusted her wig and pulled on her mask with one hand as she pulled the doors shut with the other. There was a part of her that her crew was unused to; she was going to fix THAT little problem right now. She summoned up all her strength and tried to calm her mind. The icy air enveloped her again. She knew what had to be done, and by George, she was going to do it.

Or else.

 

Down in the engine room, Rory Freeman was half buried in the engine. This was not, in itself, unusual. But the speed with which he worked was manic. Ryker was pacing, tossing him tools as he asked for them. "Hurry, damnit!"

"I AM, SIR!" Freeman tossed back, replacing the sweat on his brow with grease from his sleeve.

Lucius bounded in on four feet then slammed into the engine sideways before changing back. "You got five minutes max, starting now!"

Ryker nodded. "Lucius, help me with this. Freeman!"

Rory hopped out. "Clear, sir! Good to go!"

"Backup's a lost cause," the bosun explained. "We're going to have to give the engine a manual push to turn over. Maybe a few of them. If the ship were going, it'd be easier, but that's kind of the problem."

"Got it." Lucius grabbed hold of one of the many handles, placed around the outside of the engine case in a circle. He pulled with all his might towards him, straining. Ryker was on the other side, pushing up on the handles that came near him.

"Should get easier as we get 'er going..." Ryker grunted, shoving on the handles as hard as he could.

The werewolf groaned as he pulled, cords coming to attention in his neck and shoulders. "Heavy...beastie..." He grabbed another handle and kept pulling, but it was like trying to get a team of mules to move through waist high mud. Freeman was helping Ryker push on the other side, and the engine was starting to turn, slowly.

Then suddenly, on the next pull, it felt easier to Lucius. Like the mules wanted to get out of the mud. "Keep at it!" Ryker yelled. Each subsequent grasp at the handles seemed to be a little easier to pull or to push, and then, all at once, the ship leaped forward like it had sat on a tack.

Freeman and Ryker were thrown off as the engine roared once; Lucius could barely hang on. The sound dimmed - but the engine was going. "Keep going, Lucius!" Ryker scrambled to his feet to help again, but between the sudden movement of the ship and Lucius's pulling both feeding power into the ship, it was already moving too fast for him to be of use.

Lucius kept pulling and the engine noise built back up. Freeman whooped and patted the side casing as the werewolf let go. The main engine kept rotating and Ryker smiled. "Good job, guys. Not quite sure what caused that sudden jerk though."

"Don't look at me, sir," Freeman admitted. "She's never done that before."

"Might check with the captain. She said something about going back up?" Lucius supplied. Ryker's brow furrowed a moment before the realization struck.

"She went outside? My god, is she still up there?" He ran for the stairs, Lucius on his heels. Freeman, of course, stayed with his beloved engine.

Why the hell would she go topside? They could shoot her. My god, what if she fell off when the ship lurched? I mean, I assume she belted in, but... He was taking the stairs two at a time.

"It's INTERPOL up there, Ryker. You sure you want to go up?"

"The captain did." He was at the lift; it was still raised. He pounded on the safety glass of the doors, sealed to prevent decompression of the whole ship. The controls were inside. "Damnit. How do we...?" His question was answered as the lift started back down. The captain, in her complete Black Lioness getup -save for her catseye contacts- was coming back into the ship. Her wig was windtangled, and she was unbuckling her harness. Lucius was grinning, but Ryker was worried. Her skin was pale, her stare a little glassy. She looked like she'd been doing drugs up there.

She waited for the hatch to close, then released the seal on the safety doors. In trying to push them open, she unbalanced herself and fell forward. Ryker caught her as she tumbled out and pulled her mask off of her. "Captain!" She was out cold. "Lucius," he said as he lifted her up, "go get Cleo. I'll have the curtains shut by the time she gets to the captain's quarters."

Lucius was off like a shot. Ryker ran as fast as the captain's weight would allow him to her quarters at the stern of the ship. He glanced around quickly for her bed. Her quarters were part office, part bedroom, all spartan elegance. Very much the sort of room one would expect of her. Spying the bed just past the desk, he strode over quickly and laid her down carefully; the curtains had already been drawn. He pressed two fingers to her throat as he held his other hand over her mouth and nose. Pulse and breath, but the air came soft and shallowly.

There was a rocking - not an EMP this time, but a more conventional hit. They were still being chased then. INTERPOL didn't like giving up its prey.

And in one blink, Cleopatra Massri was standing next to him. Her long black dreads were down, she was in a long red silk nightshirt, and her black eyes were narrowed despite the darkness. "Get to the bridge. There needs to be an officer up there. I'll look after her." These were orders, but the vampire's eyes never left Delia. He just nodded and cleared out. He wasn't sure how much of an officer he looked at the moment: shirtless, raggedy hair still sweat-damp, occasional splotches of grease and dirt from working around the engine on him. But she was right: someone had to be in charge, and they were still being chased. Saving her would be no good if it sent her straight to the hangman.

Cleo sat on the edge of the bed; she slid an arm under Delia and lifted her, the better to get her wig off. She threw it aside for now and worked the catsuit open to let her breathe better. She didn't need to feel for a pulse - she could scent it and it screamed in her nostrils of danger, of a witch. The scent was always lingering around Delia, but now she was bathed in it, as if it oozed from her pores.

"Daft girl; up there in the cold, working magic when you've hardly any control over it." She pulled off Delia's boots and tucked her into bed, warm and sound. She overcame her instinctive revulsion to lean down and kiss her patient's forehead. "I'll make sure Toby has something good for you when you wake up. But my, you did give your young man a scare." The ship rocked again. She frowned and risked a glance outside. The burn from the sunlight was diminished by the clouds around them; they were hiding while running, but it wasn't enough for whoever was after them. The werewolf hadn't said anything except "Wake up, she's hurt" and that had been enough for her.

She closed the curtains when her face started to ache. The ship lurched a little, but kept going. The intercom on Del's desk crackled into life, and Ryker's voice came out. "Lieutenant, we're going to ground for a bit until we can get INTERPOL off our tails. Thought you'd want a heads up."

She got up and crossed to the desk, leaning down to push the talk button and respond. "Thank you. And I should let you, and the crew, know that your captain will be fine. She just needs to sleep it off."

"Thank you, Lt. Massri, but...if I can ask, ma'am, sleep what off?"

Cleo smiled. "Oh, I can't be 100% certain, but knowing Del, she just called up the winds to help give us a little push."

There was nothing for a long moment and then his voice came back, stunned. "She...she can DO that?"

Cleo made sure to push the button in time so they could hear her laugh. "Dear boy, she's a WITCH. What do you THINK they do: eat small children?"

"No! No, but I just..."

"She's simply unused to using magic, that's all. It's got her worn out, poor thing. Now get back to the business of getting us safe, and let her sleep."

"Ah, right. Uh...over and out." And the intercom went quiet.

 

Delia awoke feeling like something had kicked her in the head. Repeatedly. Wearing steel toed boots. She sat up groggily, and threw the covers off. She was in her soft cotton night shirt and pajama pants. Her robe was draped over the end of her bed, and her slippers were on the floor next to her. She put them on without really thinking. She was in her room, everything was nor...

No, no she wasn't in her room. She was in her Quarters - as in, on the ship. She couldn't quite remember why she was here though, and not at Northstead Hall. Or even on the Isle. She peered out the curtains; the ship was anchored at a lighthouse tower. Looked old, but sturdy. She could hardly see the ground below.

"What in blue blazes...?" she wondered aloud, until her door slid open. She whirled to see who it was.

"Oh, you're awake now!" Cleo chirped. She was carrying a covered tray and it suddenly occurred to Delia that she was ravenously hungry. "Come, come, sit and eat. You need your strength." She was happy to obey.

"Where are we?" she asked, taking her set at her desk.

Cleo set the tray down. "Haubjerre Hill. Voila!" She pulled the cover off with a flourish: beef barley soup, a couple of crusty rolls, and a mug of tea, already steeping. "Eat up."

"Haubje....in Ruhnu?" It was starting to come back to her.

"Yes. I'll catch you up while you eat, and not before." So she tucked into her food and looked up at Cleo expectantly. The vampire grinned and set the cover down before settling herself on the front edge of the desk. "Your little stunt bought the Desdemona a sizable -and rather sudden- lead on the INTERPOL ship chasing us. Ryker says you barely made it back down before you passed out though. You pushed yourself far too hard, and scared the hell out of him and Lucius in the process. INTERPOL got a few more hits on us, but nothing significant. We went to ground in Ruhnu, as I am given to understand you ordered, and the crew is patching up now."

She ate while she listened and pieced together returning memories. It started to come back to her. I called up the winds to get us moving again. It was her one area of anything approaching expertise in magic, and even that was stretching it. She was ham-handed, as the clan's teachers had repeatedly told her, wielding wind inelegantly, like a club. She had next to no ability with any of the other elements, mostly because she'd never bothered with them. Her eyes and ears and mind had been full of being an airship pirate one day, and magic, next to that, had seemed stupid, boring, and unnecessary.

But sometimes it was necessary. And sometimes a club worked just as well as anything else.

 

Becca watched her brother spar, twirling a lock of her blonde hair in consternation. She thought it a bit odd that he'd take up fencing all of a sudden. And it wasn't the only sport he'd suddenly developed an interest in this last month: rugby, rowing, bicycling. He claimed to be training for triathalons, but this was her very own brother, whom she'd known all her life. Freddie didn't do things like this. He hated sports, except for betting on them.

She bit her lip as her brother savagely tagged his instructor - likely hard enough to bruise - then whipped the poor man's mask off triumphantly. She couldn't understand what would make him change like this. More and more, he was turning into a stranger. Delia had gone off to that rehab clinic in Switzerland on her parents' orders, and Becca, for the first time in her life, felt exactly how keenly alone she was. "Freddie, let's get some lunch now, hm?" she asked. Without replying to her, he handed the instructor's mask back.

"Again," he demanded. Becca sighed and headed for the door, casting a last look back at Lord Frederick Hervey, the man who used to be her friend, her tormentor, her partner in crimes against cookie jars. He readied his blade. She'd been here for 15 minutes and he hadn't so much as looked at her, let alone said a word in her direction.

 

"So how the hell did INTERPOL find us?" Delia asked her assembled officers. They were taking the night air, as much for her own health as for an excuse to talk privately. "If they saw us rob the ship, why not stop us then?"

"Perhaps the Pobedonosnyj called for them?" Lucius suggested. Ryker immediately shook his head.

"We were jamming their radar and communications before we attacked; I disabled their radio entirely while I was getting the manifest and hacking their door systems to let us get at the cargo. They couldn't call their Aunt Martha. Sure, they can bring the systems back up, but not that fast."

"So they were already on their way to us," Cleo finished.

Delia objected, "They might have been headed somewhere else and just came across us. The Desdemona's name is...not unknown." Cleo and Lucius chuckled; Ryker didn't seem so amused.

"I don't know. It's possible," Cleo conceded, "but something just...feels off about it."

"My head feels off about it," Delia complained, rubbing her temple. "Mine and most of my crew's. Emily in Infirmary's been swamped with broken arms and ribs; Sanderson has a concussion, she said. But I won't say you're wrong, Cleo. INTERPOL and the various nations' police forces are going to be a problem for us; we don't just have NSY to worry about any longer."

"You could always seduce the INTERPOL officer assigned to the case," Ryker commented. She threw him the dark look he so richly deserved for that crack.

"Yes, well as soon as I find out who it is, I'll put on my laciest underthings; in the meantime, we'll worry about what we can fix. How's my ship, Mr. Everhart?"

He cleared his throat, glad of the darkness. Ruhnu was a very rural sort of island, so there was little artificial light about to show off the resultant blush from his picturing the captain in nothing but her underwear. "85% and climbing, ma'am. We're working as fast as we can; she should be ready to sail soon after dawn. Been making good use of that cargo; a lot of systems got fried by the EMP."

She nodded. "Glad to hear it. Make sure they get some rest though; we should be safe here, and I want everyone alert for more unwanted guests at our soirees." Something occurred to her. "I'll let Hastings know about it, actually. I know NSY can't call off INTERPOL, even if they could admit to my working with them, but he should be aware. And make sure the whole crew knows: we're not out to take down law enforcement. We might fire warning or disabling shots, but we are not going to take deadly force against INTERPOL, NSY or any other lawful agency that comes after us if we don't have to."

Lucius piped up, "I'm not sure that's the best response, Captain. They'll certainly be glad to shoot us out of the air."

"They'll want to arrest us, haul us in for trial, unless we kill some of them. Then they howl for blood. Remember that the Black Lioness began as a force for good in England, and she's never yet killed a soul. I'd like to keep the family record untarnished with blood, if you don't mind."

The con-man didn't seem happy with this response, so Cleo stepped up. "She's your captain, and if you have trouble obeying her..."

"I'll obey. I never said I wouldn't. Have I given any reason for distrust? I just don't like being muzzled."

Delia laid a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, but it's necessary." She stopped walking and turned to look at her officers. "We got a bit more knocked about than we wanted on our first trip to international waters, but this is something we need to expect. The Queen may be happy with our hassling Russian merchant ships, but that doesn't mean the rest of the world will be. We've always had to dodge the law, just now we have more of it to dodge. And hey, the whole sky to dodge around in." She smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. "We'll get the hang of it. In the meantime, I want us airborne again as soon as the crew can manage it without falling over dead."

Lucius dashed off a sloppy salute, Cleo nodded, and Ryker said, "Aye, ma'am," before he turned back to the ship. Lucius caught up with him easily, leaving the two senior officers alone.

"He won't be a problem, Cleo. It's just his background."

"That's not it."

"Then what is it? Don't tell me you don't have something on your mind." Del put her hands on her hips and waited.

"Have Ryker or Freeman or any of our computer nerds do some snooping. Find out if there really was a reason for them to be around there. We were in Russian airspace - close to the Polish border, it's true, but still we weren't in INTERPOL patrolled airways. They shouldn't have been there."

She sighed. "But how would they even know where to look for us? Unless..." She looked over at Cleo. "No. No, I won't believe that." She started walking back to the ship.

Cleo caught up and kept stride effortlessly. "Not everyone is happy about being taken away from their families for months at a time."

"And they're so much better off being hanged?" she shot back.

"They could claim they were pressed into service...what's the term? Shanghaied?"

"No one on my ship would do that, Cleo. Absolutely not. I know some of the crew didn't sign on for the sort of thing we're doing now; it's more dangerous and it's more time in the air, and some of them aren't happy, I know, I get it. But I cannot believe a single one of them would entertain the notion of calling INTERPOL on us."

Cleo wasn't dissuaded. "Besides, INTERPOL doesn't hang pirates. Individual nations do, certainly, but not all of them, and INTERPOL works too closely with the UN to abide such nasty business. INTERPOL will throw us all in prison, not hang us."

"So your supposed turncoat calls INTERPOL, has us all arrested, claims they were shanghaied, cooperates with the investigation and earns him- or herself a lighter sentence in exchange for taking the Black Lioness down? Do I have the story you're giving me correct?"

"Yes, precisely."

"I still don't believe it."

"Oh, Delia, really..."

"No!" she snapped, loud enough to cause a dog to start barking. She stopped dead in her tracks and looked at her oldest friend, dropping her volume. "No. My crew doesn't do that, and the day I stop trusting them is the day I die. I'll ask Mr. Everhart to look into why INTERPOL was there, but until I have hard proof, I Will Not Believe That, Cleo."

She straightened up to look at her charge. "Very well, Captain, as you will."

"Damn straight 'As I Will.'" She resumed her quick, determined stride towards the boat. "Not another word to me or anyone about this until you have proof."

"Aye aye," Cleo responded quietly.

 

John Hastings clicked his cellphone shut and leaned back in his chair to think about the call he'd just had. So they hadn't managed to catch her. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.

On the one hand, she hadn't yet found the ship they'd asked her to go after, just a random merchant to hassle en route. So her official, Crown-approved work was still unfinished. He had to admit, it was a neat trick to turn a criminal's illegal talents to decent labour that benefitted England. If it were anyone else, he'd think it quite a romantic notion, this resurrection of the privateers of bygone days.

But it wasn't anyone else: it was Delia. Lady Cordelia Abney. It was the Black Lioness. And the woman to whom he had been so ready to give his heart and the pirate he had been assigned to send to the gallows had been the same woman all along. She had strung him along to keep tabs on his investigation and try to throw him off course. And, as insult to injury, there was something going on with her and that Everhart fellow. Maybe nothing serious yet, but he could feel it, like a drunken punch to the face.

He had spent the first week of the Lioness's Royally-Mandated Vacation finding out just what his scotch tolerance was precisely, and then had come out of his loathing and self-pity to the hard facts: he was a Detective Inspector of New Scotland Yard. His job was to send criminals to the courts and thence, hopefully, to prison.

She was a criminal, in every conceivable sense of the word. And so he had dutifully - but anonymously - tipped off his law enforcement colleagues at INTERPOL as to the Black Lioness's whereabouts. He was still working on Everhart's background, so it wasn't out of his way at all.

The Queen would get some use out of Lady Abney yet, and then she would be brought to proper justice: a lifetime in a prison cell to repent for her sins. The very idea made him smile.

 

"Any luck yet?" came Cleo's sharp query as she strode onto the bridge. Ryker sat up and stretched. She watched the cords in his neck come into relief for a moment, and couldn't help wondering what he'd taste like. But she'd fed already tonight and, even if she hadn't, Del would never, ever forgive her.

"No, ma'am. No sign of the Dj...uh...Damnitall, where's Lucius where I need him?"

"The Djuzhij?" she supplied helpfully. She hadn't traveled much in Eastern Europe and Russia, so she'd never learned those languages, but she had a good ear and could replicate sounds fairly well...though, admittedly, Russian wasn't easy. "Call it the Stalwart; it's what Comaneci says the translation is."

The bosun shot her a grateful look and nodded. "No sign of the Stalwart then, nor of any Russian merchant ships. We're in a dead zone, I think."

"Well enough." She made a brisk shooing motion with her hand. "I have the bridge."

"Is it that late already?" He stood and saluted her as the evening crewmembers came in to relieve their comrades. She noticed somewhat sloppy salutes tossed her way and frowned. It'd been two days since their departure from Ruhnu, and still no sign of their prey. It was wearing on a crew used to knowing where their targets were. Ryker was impeccable by comparison, despite giving American salutes; he'd first shipped out of his homeland with the more traditional sort of pirate vessels. Even he was starting to wear though.

"It is. Get some sleep. Briefing at 0800."

He groaned and opened his mouth to say something, then remembered where they were. He shut his trap again, and Cleo stifled a rewarding smile. He was a good officer, and wasn't going to criticize his captain in front of the men. She wanted to pat him condescendingly and trundle him off to Del's room and then lock them both in together until they sorted out whatever was going on with them. Instead she jerked her head at the door. "On with you."

He nodded, saluted again, gave his perfunctory, "You have the bridge, Lieutenant," and left, yawning. She watched him go, then swept up to the command chair with immortal grace. As she sat, she started giving orders to the night crew on where to scan next, and leaned back into the leather.

She didn't have to wait for the morning briefing to know that Ryker and Freeman hadn't found anything about INTERPOL's sudden appearance at their last attack; he'd have said something before now. And she knew that the disappearance of the Djuzhij was irritating her charge; she'd brought Del a tumbler of warm milk before reporting for her bridge shift this evening. Delia wouldn't let her crew see her fret, but she couldn't hide anything from Cleo.

"I don't understand! It can't just have vanished!" Delia had fumed, ignoring the proffered warm milk. "I know it had the head start on us, but either MI6 is staffed by imbeciles or it just disappeared!"

"We'll find it. Drink your milk," she'd commanded. Delia had looked at the tumbler as if it might be poisonous, but took it with both hands and sat on the edge of her bed.

"Great. Where?"

And that, of course, was the problem. Hastings had given them their orders, straight from MI6, the British foreign intelligence office, that had wanted them to find and ransack the Djuzhij as soon as possible: supposedly belonging to a Russian travel agency that specialized in guided tours, it had been in Ipswich Air Dock on numerous occasions, timed with some of Frederick Hervey's sudden spikes in income. In fact, it had just recently left British airspace. Del's eyes had lit up; after a month of being grounded, she'd been itching for some fun.

Between INTERPOL crashing their party and their prey going to ground, she hadn't been having much fun after all. Cleo stifled a sigh; such a child she can be still, she thought. She's working for the Crown now, yet she expects things to be just as normal. And she still would not hear a word of any possible traitors aboard the ship.

The vampire studied the two crewmembers currently on shift with her: Johnson and Hirota. The Japanese man had little reason to betray them that she knew of, but he was the quiet type who kept to himself, which meant she really knew very little about him. Johnson had a lover and adopted child back in Abingdon, but was that enough to make the helmswoman turn on them? Cleo couldn't be sure, but she kept Johnson's name on the ever-growing list in her head.

One of these days, Delia'd see she'd been right, and when that time came, she wanted a list of likely suspects. By that point, they'd have very little time left to act, after all.

In front of her, the large Plexiglas windows opened out onto clear dark skies - empty skies. The feed from the radar station was silent and still. Nothing out there for now. It was going to be a very, very long night.