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Archimedes Fox sees when he describes a dull arrow like me.”
    Yasmeen had to admire her balls. She’d confessed to terror without revealing a bit of it in her demeanor, yet Yasmeen didn’t doubt its truth. She suspected that Vashon admitted to the fear only to prove—to her new captain or to herself—that she could overcome it. “You’re quite safe. My husband doesn’t write those stories.”
    And he only faintly resembled the Archimedes Fox that Vashon probably thought she knew. Even Yasmeen had long been fascinated by the fictional version of her husband—yetthat adventurer was nothing compared to the reality of the man.
    “I thought he did, ma’am. But if you say otherwise, then I’m obviously mistaken.”
    Despite Vashon’s words, she clearly didn’t believe it. Behind her, Archimedes heaved a dramatic sigh and shook his head.
    Amused, Yasmeen leaned back again. She still had a few more questions—though she already knew the answer to this one. “Your last assignment aboard a merchant vessel ended six months ago. What have you done since then?”
    “I spent time aboard my mother’s airship.”
    That was the truth, but not all of it. “Smuggling rebels into Castile, as I’ve heard it. Do you make a habit of bucking authority?”
    “Not my captain’s authority, ma’am.”
    She hadn’t even hesitated. Perhaps she ought to. Yasmeen pressed, “Even if that captain once took jobs that helped the Liberé during their war with your king? You’ve already stated your loyalty to him.”
    “As I recall, you also took jobs that helped the French. I understand that a mercenary ship is loyal to no one, Captain, except for when it serves your interests.”
    “And what if my interests conflict with yours? If I ordered you to board a Vashon ship, would you comply?”
    Yasmeen was pleased to see the quartermaster take more time considering that. After a moment, Vashon replied, “In all honesty, ma’am, I don’t know. If I can’t fulfill my duty, however, I won’t take a coward’s way out of it and work against you behind your back. I’ll tell you if I’ve turned.”
    “Good. I’d kill you for going against me, but only toss you off my ship for refusing an order.” When the other woman nodded, acknowledging those consequences, Yasmeen continued. “Is there any order you categorically refuse to carry out? If so, you’d best tell me now.”
    “I won’t kill a child, ma’am, or murder an innocent. But I wouldn’t be here if I thought you’d ask me to do either.”
    Fair enough. Yasmeen would have thrown Vashon off
Lady Nergüi
immediately if the quartermaster had been willing to do either. “Are you infected?”
    For the first time, Vashon seemed taken aback. She hesitated. Deciding whether to lie?
    Yasmeen couldn’t blame her. In the New World, most people feared the Horde’s nanoagents. Though the tiny machines strengthened anyone infected by them, the Horde had also used radio signals broadcast from enormous towers to control occupied populations. The signals dampened emotions such as fear, love, and hate—anything that might provide a motivation to rebel—while increasing obedience, pliancy. The nanoagents and radio towers created the perfect workforce.
    The perfect hell, for many. Now so many New Worlders feared the nanoagents that no infected person was allowed past their port gates, and they were convinced that the infected became zombies after their deaths. The infected themselves were often treated like lepers, as if the nanoagents spread with a touch rather than a transfusion of blood.
    If the woman was infected, that might serve as another reason for her joining Yasmeen’s crew. Though the Vashon family likely had enough money and pull to bribe port officials and let her enter the New World countries, Yasmeen doubted that the quartermaster wanted to rely on that.
    “If you are infected,” Yasmeen said, “you will be in good company. I am. My husband is. Many of the crew