Maxwell’s Story
Maxwell held his breath as Lucinda considered his proposal. It would have been far simpler to clear out Marco’s safe and leave him to his fate with no one the wiser, but Maxwell hated seeing people die. Sure, Marco was a cad with the morals of a magpie, but that didn’t mean he deserved to die. After all, every passenger on this ship was a cad — scratch that, he’d seen Geraldine Mayfield board, and she truly was a gem, thus why she’d moved out of Gearhaven years ago. The point was, if all the cads were killed for their crimes, Maxwell would be out of a job. He couldn’t very well fleece good and honest people. They tended to have far less money, for one. Plus it was far more fun to outwit a fellow scheming reprobate.
“Deal,” Lucinda finally said, shoving Marco to the side as Maxwell breathed an internal sigh of relief. “But you get off this ship with him. I know you have a second parachute, and I don’t want you skulking around. And I get the picture of the daughter so I know who to look for if Marco ever decides to come back from the grave.” She gave Marco one of her death stares. “Clear?”
Marco gulped. “Clear.”
“Good,” Lucinda said. “Now open the safe while Maxwell hands me my cut.”
Maxwell allowed Marco to pass as he slipped off the bed and pulled a thick stack of bills from his breast pocket to count out Lucinda’s share. He hated standing this close to her. Lucinda’s perfume was far too intoxicating, her dress too becoming, and her fingers far too swift. Maxwell stepped back as Lucinda counted the money.
“This is all you blackmailed him for?” Lucinda teased with that sultry grin of hers. “You’ve gone cheap, Maxwell.”
“He took most of what I embezzled!” Marco hissed, shooting a glare at Maxwell. “I would have stopped long before if that bastard hadn’t been blackmailing me!”
Lucinda’s delightful laugh filled the berth. “I’m sure that’s exactly what you told yourself, Marco. As if you’d ever stop.”
“And really,” Maxwell added, raising his eyebrows, “if you’re going to attempt to insult me, do it properly. I assure you, my lineage is well established. Shall we go?”
“Gladly,” Lucinda replied.
Maxwell led the way to the airship’s exit near where he had his equipment stashed. He grabbed the first parachute he saw, strapped Marco into it, and shoved him out the door with a quick instruction to pull his cord in five seconds. No sense in going to all this trouble just to let the man die. Before Maxwell could see if Marco had done as directed, Lucinda spoke, knife pointed at Maxwell.
“Now you. Where’s your chute?”
Maxwell gave a broad grin as he pulled out his flight pack, pretending it weighed no more than a few pounds. The thing was blasted heavy, but there was no reason to let Lucinda know that.
“A parachute? How pedestrian, my dear Lucinda,” Maxwell said as he strapped the device to his back. “Those will be out of style within the year.”
Actually, this would be the first time Maxwell attempted a flight without a backup chute, but Lucinda didn’t need to know that, either.
She favored Maxwell with one of her unimpressed glares. “Let me guess, one of your silly little inventions?”
Part of him hoping he wouldn’t look the fool, Maxwell pasted on a confident smile as he put on the rest of his gear and stood at the edge of the doorway, back facing the open sky.
“Wait for iiiiiiit!” he drawled as Lucinda watched him fall out the door. Maxwell savored the moment of adrenaline-fueled terror that always came with such a leap before turning over and flicking on his flight pack. It started up beautifully, thank the gods, and Maxwell headed into the clouds before Lucinda could see the awkward sputtering that always happened 30 seconds into each flight. Once that cleared, Maxwell turned west toward a city on the edge of Lake Anstett. The ivorite-fueled flight pack flew admirably, but it required further refinement before it functioned as elegantly as Maxwell preferred.
Using the setting sun as cover, Maxwell landed in a wooded area at the edge of town. This place had been Marco’s original final destination. Pulling off the flight pack, Maxwell opened up the cylindrical tubes on the side of the pack to pull out leather pieces that interlocked to create a false valise around the flight pack.
Annoyed at his shirt cuffs flailing while he worked, Maxwell went to adjust his cufflinks, only to discover they were missing. He stood and patted all his pockets, chuckling. He had yet to meet Lucinda’s match at pick-pocketing. She’d even gotten to the secret pocket he’d had sewn into his jacket!
As he untucked his shirt to get to his waist belt — hardly fashionable, but the only truly safe location from someone like Lucinda — Maxwell enjoyed imagining what other talents those deft fingers might hold. Now there was a woman. As witty as she was beautiful, and supremely difficult to impress. On more than one occasion Maxwell had reminded himself that when the Duke of Sciurinshire had courted Lucinda, he’d woken up at Hotel Rosen without a single possession beyond his silk necktie. Rather awkward for the chambermaids.
Maxwell finally managed to access his waist belt and pulled out his cufflinks – thank goodness he’d switched these out for some of Marco’s. His fingers ticked past the banknotes tucked into the belt, and pulled out today’s grand prize: a document certifying the change in ownership of an ivorite refining factory to one Charles Gerunchild, as well as identification papers for Charles featuring a photogram of Marco. One quick photogram swap and Maxwell would be the proud new owner of Anstatt Refiners, no middle-man needed. Marco had been highly profitable indeed.
Maxwell picked up his “valise” and grinned as he walked into town. A cup of tea, some forgery, and a surprise visit to his new factory that was worth a fortune seemed like a perfect way for a gentleman of leisure to end his week.
