The Lady Machinist (Curiosity Chronicles Book 1) by Ava Morgan Page A

hold. His shouts carried.
    “One at a time. Those cable wenches canna support the weight of two automatons at once. Finley, Smythe, have care not to drag them. I swear, you’ll send this ship up in flames before the anchor’s raised.”
    Lydia shook her head. Before the crew began loading the cargo, she told Malcolm how a simple command would enable the automatons to walk to the cargo hold on their own.
    He had flat refused her suggestion. “There’ll be no machines roaming freely about the vessel on my watch.”
    She continued to stand by as the crew loaded the remaining automatons on board. She sensed Rhys’ stare wash over her.
    Not too long after, he called. “Come see how the crew placed the automatons in the cargo hold. We don’t want them falling over when we reach open waters.”
    A stout, grizzle-haired crewman by the name of Thomas rowed her to the ship. She climbed the rope ladder. Rhys took her hand and helped her as she swung over the rail. Her skin tingled where he touched the tender flesh of her still healing hand.
    Three crewmen made way for her to walk across the deck, their faces wary. She passed Finley, the sailor who intruded upon the Guild six days ago. He steeled his jaw and strode to the navigation room on the quarterdeck.
    “I thought most ships of this size need a full crew,” Lydia remarked to Rhys.
    “Because the engine handles most of the operations, a large crew is unnecessary.” He led her down to the lower levels, where it was dark, cool, and confined.
    She appraised the ship’s interior. The wooden floor was reinforced with metal rivets running along the sides and reinforcing the middle. The walls were lined with metal. She ran a finger down the section of the wall. Cannonry on the outside. Bessemer steel lining on the inside. Would the fate of the Donna Dulce been different if it was outfitted like this vessel?
    Lydia abandoned her speculation as Rhys ushered her down to a third deck level and through a wide door to the cargo hold. Lydia ducked her head under the low ceiling beams, straightening again when they gave way to an arched middle. She crossed the floor, much of it piled with crates labeled as containing silks, china, and spices from Aspasia’s marketplace. The sweet smell of licorice competed with earthy saffron.
    “The automatons are against the wall to the right.” Rhys directed to a row of canvas-covered objects. “Malcolm thought it best to store them where the extra weight would be evenly distributed.”
    “They should do well so long as they don’t shift. One of my trunks is open.” Lydia pointed to a small steamer case, where two texts and a notebook had fallen out. “I must not have latched it properly.”
    Rhys picked up the binder. “Who is G. Dimosthenis?”
    Lydia paused in placing a text atop a pile of mechanical engineering tomes. “Galen Dismothenis. My husband.”
    His gaze came to rest on the bare fourth finger of her left hand. “You never said you were married.”
    “He is deceased.” She watched Rhys carefully as she divulged additional facts. “He helped me become a Guild member. We collaborated on the automatons initially.”
    A note of compassion shown in his eyes. He held the binder out to her. “I’m sorry.”
    “You didn’t know.” What would he think of her now that he knew she was a widow? Lydia closed the trunk and made sure the latch was secure. She then reached in her pocket and produced his handkerchief, washed and neatly folded into a square. “I need to return this to you.”
    He accepted it without a word.
    “I should go home and finish packing.” Why did it always sound as though she needed to make excuses to leave his presence?
    “We leave at first light.” Rhys moved the trunk into a corner where it couldn’t tip over. “Get plenty of rest.”
    Knowing sleep would not come easily on her last night in Aspasia, she bent her head to exit the low door of the cargo hold.
     
    #
     
    Rhys remembered what Lydia told