Someone was looting the Dawnhawk.
Mordecai ran, drawing his saber as he went. Where was Konrad? Or the crewmen set to watch? Were they dead? The idea was preposterous. The navigator was a powerful aetherite, and Mordecai had personally trained the crewmen in swordplay. Who could lay them low? Certainly not a lone thief.
He ascended to the pier where the Dawnhawk was moored. It was empty, the cargo missing, stolen or loaded aboard. A chemical stink wafted down from the deck to stain the air. The damned cargo. There was something wrong with it. He ran up the gangplank with a growl, heedless of the caustic stink, then stopped abruptly at the scene before him.
The thief was alone. He wore a leather greatcoat and thick leather gloves, a belt at his waist dangling a sword and brace of pistols. A leather-and-brass miner's mask covered his features, allowing him to breathe safely. Several heavy glass bottles lay cracked and broken about the deck at his feet, the source of the thick chemical fog. The missing crew lay all about, either dead or unconscious. Half of the barrels and crates were stacked neatly near the open cargo hatch, the rest presumably below. Two were open, and the lone figure was busily stuffing the contents into satchels to drop onto the guide-rope leading off the edge of the airship.
Mordecai rapped the gunwale with the pommel of his saber. The sound echoed out across the deck, startling the figure. "I don't know who you are," said Mordecai, "but by dawn all of Haventown will know who you were. And they will know that you died screaming."
The thief peered up at Mordecai from across the deck. He held a short pry bar. Turning, he jammed it into the top of the nearest crate and leaned on it. The crate cracked and the lid sprung up, half-opened. Then he turned back to Mordecai, reaching up to pull away his mask. It came away to reveal a smiling, sandy-haired man with bright blue eyes.
"When I go," said Lucian Thorne, "I plan to die laughing."
"Thorne," hissed Mordecai.
"Hello, Mordie. How are you?"
"This is beyond belief," said Mordecai. "You, all alone, are trying to steal from the Dawnhawk."
"You leap to conclusions. Always have."
"And yet," continued Mordecai. "You almost succeeded. Killed off my watch crew and the ship's aetherite. I'll have to replace them. That's slightly vexing."
Lucian kicked Konrad, the nearest of Natasha's Reavers at hand. He studied the aetherite with a frown. "Oh, not dead. Just unconscious. Should be waking up any minute now, if my apothecary knows his numbers."
Mordecai took a step forward, raising his blade. "That can't have been cheap. And I happen to know for a fact that your 'captain' is more impoverished than a poxied whore."
Lucian grimaced. "Yes. Had to pay out of my own pocket for this. I'm not exactly pleased about that, I'll admit." He brightened. "Still though, it let me pull one over on the ol' bitch, so I can't complain."
"You act as if you're going to get away." Mordecai smiled wickedly. He took another step, savoring the moment. I was content to let you be, you little shit. Now I'll have your heart. "I truly wonder. You've always been foolish. But stupid? Whatever you could have gotten for my ship's supplies wouldn't be nearly worth the risk. Look at you now. Fengel, he might have had a chance. He's good, I'll admit. But you? You're barely a competent swordsman."
Mordecai took up a guard position and approached. Lucian darted back to the far gunwale where the guide rope was tied to a cleat. He drew a pistol at his belt and leveled it at Mordecai's chest, cocking it with a thumb.
"Again, you leap to conclusions." Lucian smiled even wider, as if he were trying not to laugh. "I am not going to be selling off your hardtack and stale cheese. We appear to have need of that."
Mordecai smiled wryly. "Really. How did you plan to go after the Albatross without a ship?" Lucian started, surprised for the first time. "Oh yes," continued Mordecai. "I've heard about your little task for Grey."
"That's not your concern," snapped Lucian. He squared his shoulders. "In any case, I've places to be. Time to be off."
"You still have to go through me."
"Mordie, I know full well how deadly you are with a blade. And I've got no intention of fighting you."
"No?"
"No."
Lucian fired. The pistol in his hand roared like thunder. Mordecai was only a dozen paces away. He felt a moment's internal, reflexive panic. Then the earring in his left ear warmed briefly and there was pressure over his chest, right above his heart. The pistol ball whistled past, deflected. Careful not to show, Mordecai breathed out in relief, then smiled up at Lucian.