The Art of Piracy

Chapter 1-3

"And then he yelled, 'Go, you fools!' and shot at the pirates and kept them from capturing us." Veronica illustrated the scene with broad gestures, and Léonard grinned. Well, at least he found the situation amusing.

"And obviously, you did 'go,' fools that you were," he prompted.

Veronica took a deep breath to calm the thrumming of her heart at the memory of the close call. Her eyes still stung when she thought about the wind and dust in them, and her fingers ached from clutching the side of the wagon, and then the reins, so tightly.

"It was harrowing," she admitted and took a sip of wine. "Utterly ha-arrowing." She didn't care if a slight Southern accent had crept into her words in spite of her effort to use overly proper English, as she'd been taught in London. It happened when she'd drunk too much wine or had become overly exhausted. Or when upset, like now.

How could her mentor just sit there and laugh and shake his head?

"So you made it to the forest, then? And back to Paris?" He sounded utterly delighted.

"With my eyes on the sky the entire time once we came out of the trees," she snapped. Finally, the pressure built in her chest to the point she had to exclaim, "At least you find this amusing! Do you know what it's like to have a ship full of pirates on your heels? In a rickety wagon with a barely competent driver? I had to take the reins from him or he'd've knocked us into a tree or overturned the stupid thing."

Gaston hadn't been pleased, and they'd spent the ride back to Paris in uncomfortable silence. None of the men would share their impressions with her in spite of her desire to give Léonard a complete accounting of the incident, so she had to fill in as many of the details as she remembered.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do." Léonard's expression snapped back to its customary somber demeanor when discussing serious matters, which for him typically consisted of alcohol or art. He ran the fingers of his right hand along his fashionably trimmed gray beard. "But the situation you describe is unusual."

"What do you make of it?" she asked. She'd often wondered about his past and how he, a man of upper years, had ended up teaching at King's College and collecting art in London. She knew it had something to do with the political unrest in France and him not being favored by the Emperor Napoleon III, hence why Léonard had finally been able to return. Napoleon III had been killed in the battle that ended the Prussian siege, and then the new government, after some turmoil, had taken over. But she'd never found out what Léonard had done to attract the emperor's dislike. Not that it mattered now. She'd come to find that the French nobles were easily insulted.

"It's rare for pirates to attack a house, but perhaps they were there for the same reason you were."

Veronica couldn't help a slight grin. "To requisition pieces of art to set up a new gallery in a city in the former Confederate States?"

"No, silly girl, and you know better. To loot the house. Perhaps they saw you and your crates and decided they wanted whatever you had."

Veronica sighed. "It seemed to be more than that. I can't tell you how I know…"

"You just do," he finished for her. During their five years of her working for him, he'd come to respect her intuition and her artistic eye, as he called it. It was why she'd moved from secretary to assistant to protégé. He leaned forward and put a hand on hers. "You know that if my old bones had been able to take the rough roads out to the estate, I would've been there."

She patted his hand with her free one, then brought both hands back to her lap. "I know, Léonard. It's just that…" She shrugged, unable to put all her feelings into words, so she settled on, "I thought this would be an easy assignment. Go to the disgraced, dead, and heirless noble's house, grab some art, and bring it back to Terminus."

She couldn't add, 'And show my family, especially my uncle, that I'm a capable, intelligent person who can make it on my own.' She'd never spoken of her family or her own disgrace to Léonard. She supposed they each had their own secrets.

"You know this may not be the last of it," Léonard said, and she looked up from her sole meunière.

"What? Why not?"

"Airship pirates roam all the oceans, including the Atlantic. You'll never see them—they're much too clever and good at using color, light, and shadow to their advantage. If there was something at the Monceau place they wanted, they won't stop until they get it."

Her intuition tickled the back of her brain. "What are you not telling me, Léonard?"

"Nothing, dear girl, nothing. I've given you all the information I have. It's up to you to do the rest. You proved yourself admirably today, especially after your driver was shot."

A sensation akin to electric shock made Veronica still. She hadn't mentioned that was why Gaston had been unable to control the horses—his left arm had been made immobile by a bullet to the shoulder, which he had only realized after the excitement and terror of the situation had passed. Thankfully the rest of the crew had all been veterans of the recent fighting and knew basic battlefield wound dressing and care, so he hadn't bled out. Or on the crates, and there was no danger of damage to their contents from seepage.

"More wine?" Léonard asked. "It sounds like you could use some to calm your nerves."

"Please," Veronica said and held out her glass. She forced herself to smile and pretend everything was all right, but she knew with certainty that Léonard held something back. And if it put her life in danger, that was one thing. If it imperiled her future triumph, well, she'd make sure that wouldn't happen.

At least he hadn't asked her to marry him again.