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Trying to get home during a holiday storm, Maya Pierce learns she wants for adventure.

It's Christmas! Yes, that means a Christmas story! Yes, that means, uh... well, you know what it means, in the main. The mode of transportation in this one is an airship, the main character is a dhole, and where last year was a ghost story, this is kind of a mystery? I will not spoil how it ends.

Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute--as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.

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"A Dash of the Unexpected," by Rob Baird

“Well, now," the man had drawled. “If you want to get there on time, you'll want the Shogun."

He was an ancient cougar with half his ear shot off, and he looked—and talked—like it might've happened at the OK Corral itself. Maya had been in a dingy bar at the Port Stapleton aerodrome, and everyone looked like caricatures from one of the pulp westerns that had become so popular.

She'd seen the covers everywhere. The author had some ridiculous name—Blake Baron, or something like that. There'd be a man in a fringed vest, ears poking through a ten-gallon hat, and in the background would be a saloon just like that one. She would never have read a book like that, and discouraged her students if they got the idea.

And yet, there she'd found herself. Maya Pierce and the Shogun: a Blake Baron Adventure.

On the other hand, he'd sounded authoritative, and some of the others in the bar had nodded. She had no choice, in any case. Maya had a ticket on a proper liner, but that ticket had been unceremoniously canceled. According to the wireless, eastbound trains from Denver were making it only as far as central Kansas before the weather shut them down.

And so, what remained of her cash in hand, she'd left the port and followed his directions towards a second field, ten miles away. At least it is a field, the dhole thought to herself—there were a half-dozen machines parked there, and some of them even looked like they still worked.

Some of the figures milling around looked like they still worked, too. Maya picked out the closest, a dark-furred feline who was packing up some toolboxes and placing them on a cart. “Excuse me—"

“Yeah?"

Maya had been about to say sir, but the panther's voice suggested otherwise. “Miss," she quickly amended. “Do you work here?"

“No."

Several seconds of silence followed. “Er… do you know the Shogun? Is that a ship?"

The panther snorted, and slammed her last toolbox shut. “No. You got money?"

“Yes. Sixty dollars. Cash."

“Going to?"

“New York."

“And that's all your luggage?" She pointed.

Maya was toting a duffel bag, which carried all of what she considered to be her relevant possessions. The rest had already been mailed—God knew when they'd arrive. “Yes."

“Well…" The other woman stalked towards her, eyeing the dhole up. “Maybe that's mostly fluff. Alright, you're in luck. Come on."

She followed the panther, and the cart she was pushing. “In luck?"

“We're right on the edge, but the captain's a generous sort. If you want my advice, don't call anyone 'the Shogun' unless you want us to definitely be underweight. Juno!" She shouted in the direction of one of the machines—the only one, now that Maya saw it, with its ramp down.

A new figure made its way down the ramp in three heavy bounds. “Chris?"

“New passenger, cap'. Her name is… some vixen who has sixty bucks; what do you care?"

The ship's hull looked as if it had been decorated by having rocks thrown at it, oil stained the engines, and what she could see of the gasbags consisted entirely of different patches—the kind of ship she might've expected, from what-do-you-care?

Then its captain stepped out into the light. Juno was more of the same. His jacket had been repaired with a sailor's workmanly touch; and a scar broke the fur from his cheek down to his neck. He might've been a husky, if a husky had worked in coal mines long enough for the black to have permanently stained their fur.

“New York?" he asked.

She considered lying, but the taxi that had brought her to the field was already gone, and the cougar at the bar seemed to believe what he said about the Shogun. “Yes, sir. I'm trying to get to New York."

“What's in New York?"

“Family. I'm trying to get back home."

“Well… maybe she's mostly fluff," Juno said—speaking to the panther, and echoing her own words. “I guess we could take her. She looks like good company."

“Maybe you can see if one of Lady Astor's trunks can be left behind…"

The dog grinned; that, at least, seemed friendly enough. “Unlikely. Go get our paperwork, Chris. We're behind as it is. You—what's your name? I'll show you aboard."

“Maya Pierce, sir. And… yourself?"

“Captain Sagara. Juno. Not a real captain, military-like or whatever, but I really own the Miss Mitsuko here. You shake?" He held out his paw. She shook it. “Ordinarily it'd be a hundred. But you'll be sharing a room, and—what the hell, it's Christmas, ain't it? Call it fifty. What do you say?"

He could've offered a discount for the state of the ship, too. “I guess… I'm fine with that, sir. Thank you."

“Great." Juno paused at the top of the ramp, patting the ship's metal skin. “Take care of us, okay?"

Maya blinked. “Is that in doubt?"

“Probably not. Mitsy treats me good." The interior was dark, but clean. “They don't build 'em like they used to. German engineering—say what you want about Brazil or France or what have you—hell, or the Wrights… Nobody knows airships like the Germans."

“I see."

“Never been on one before, have you?"

“No," she admitted. She'd taken trains from New York to Los Angeles, where her sister lived; the return liner from Denver was intended to be something of a capstone to the experience.

“Well, then I'm glad I could be your first. Here's your room. You can stay here or come forward to watch the takeoff. Either's fine by me."

He pushed the door open to a small stateroom, which was clearly already occupied: a dress had been carefully hung, cutting the light from the room's window, and a few boxes were stacked on what was to be—she presumed—her bed. Maya set her duffel alongside the existing luggage, and followed Juno.

The ship's bridge was mostly glazed, offering a striking view of the stubby grass beneath them, giving way to prairie that stretched all the way to the eastern horizon. There were three seats; Juno took one, and busied himself with checking the dials and gauges.

“Are you a passenger?"

Maya had been so taken with the panorama that she failed to notice the speaker. He was a fox: scruffy like Juno, and perhaps a bit older, wearing a leather jacket and coarse denim jeans. “Yes," she told him. He did not offer to shake.

“Me, too." After a moment—Juno was still occupied, and not up for conversation—he introduced himself as Kevin Carter. Maya found him suspicious at once. He had narrow eyes, sharp behind thin glasses, and seemed to be looking around the bridge as if wondering what could be pried loose.

Chris shouldered between the two of them, and settled into one of the other seats on the bridge. “I closed the ramp. You might want to know that the rumor over wireless is they're about to order a hold on departing ships."

Juno paused, with his paw resting on one of the ship's levers, and looked over at her. “Wind or snow?"

“Neither. Police."

Next to Maya, Kevin cocked his head inquisitively. “Police?"

“Nothing, I'm sure. They probably just want to make sure my paperwork is in order. Are we ready to go, Chris?"

“Ready as ever."

“Are they about to hold traffic, or have they already?"

“Strong rumor, cap. Like I said."

“Well. Whatever, then. Can't fly on rumors, can you? Starting the lifting motors now." He finished turning the lever. Chris fiddled with her own controls, and the four engines that helped to keep the airship aloft coughed to life, one at a time. “Figured I'd say that?"

“What else would you say, boss?"

The coughing settled into a healthier rumble; a moment later, the ground began to move beneath them, and then to recede. “I don't suppose you happened to ask about the weather?"

“If I went to the control shack and asked about the weather, I might've heard more than rumors," she pointed out. Neither of them seemed terribly fazed by the prospect of becoming fugitives.

“Good thinking. We should be fine. Trim us neutral, why don't you?" He looked at Kevin and Maya. “We're on our way. Should be three days to New York, if we don't run into trouble. And we won't."

Maya assumed this was a joke. The fox, however, nodded seriously. “They did tell me you'd be the sort to avoid that."

“Full days?" Maya asked. “My ticket said it was two."

“Yeah, but your ticket ain't never getting you there, is it? 'Cause that liner decided not to make the attempt."

“That's… true. I suppose it's fine."

“Mr. Carter?"

“Three trouble-free days will suffice." He had a notebook, too, which he pulled from his jacket. She couldn't tell what he was writing, but as the Miss Mitsuko climbed higher over the eastern plains of Colorado he continued writing—peering at the dials and gauges, and lifting his ear at the odd technical jargon Chris and Juno shared.

Eventually, Maya returned to her cabin, whose second occupant was now in evidence: a coyote woman, clad in an expensive looking dress—“Lady Astor," Maya assumed. She did have a rather delicate bearing; the dhole thought she was probably in her late 20s, at the oldest. “Hello," Maya ventured. “I'm Maya Pierce. I believe we're sharing this stateroom?"

The coyote stood, and nodded politely. “Dana Harrow, at your service. I apologize for appearing to occupy the bed… it was not my intent. I didn't exactly have a valet…"

“And I was a late arrival."

“Indeed! Captain Sagara told me, but he wasn't able to help move my bags… getting ready to depart, I suppose. It's not a problem, of course. He even tried to refund part of my ticket! As if I needed his charity."

“I'll keep out of your way as best I can. I only brought my duffel bag."

“Oh, that's not a problem either," the coyote said—laughing and giving a dismissive wave of her paw. “It's a small ship; I've no doubt we'll be constantly in one another's way. Part of the adventure, I suppose. One long adventure, all of this… more than I expected from Colorado."

“Oh? What brought you to the state?"

“My family has interests in steel manufacturing." At once, her demeanor fell into place—she hadn't seemed all that aristocratic, despite her clothing and abundant luggage. New money, though. Maya felt that also explained why she was so friendly to the dhole, otherwise outside of her social strata. “I am to join the business, and what better way to do that than a tour of the foundry in Commerce City? And you, dear?"

“I was in Los Angeles, helping to take care of my sister's twins. Now I'm going back to New York. I was supposed to be on the Roswell, but they canceled my ticket. Due to the weather, I suppose."

“Oh! I was, too. Look at us, two refugees together," Dana said, with a smile and a polite laugh, as raucous as society would afford—that seemed like a finishing-school touch. “I love the Roswell. The tea service is always fantastic. I highly recommend the line's regular service from New York to Detroit—hopefully still running when we get there..."

“Hopefully. I thought they had a reputation for punctuality."

“And safety! Are you a regular, as well?"

“No. I've never been on any kind of airship," she admitted. “At Port Stapleton, they suggested I look for… well, Juno, I guess."

“'The Shogun'?" She giggled softly again. “His family is said to have been samurais—those are Japanese knights, I believe, or something similar."

“He's Japanese?"

“No. His parents or grandparents, it must be. There aren't many Akitas in Colorado, so they're somewhat famous. Juno's father bought this ship and ran it for years."

“You know an awful lot. I hadn't heard of him before. Or his father." She was genuinely impressed.

And, if that had been a faux pas, Dana didn't show it. “I try to learn what I can about people. Particularly when they are so often the talk of society."

“What about Mr. Carter? The fox?"

“Him, I don't know," the coyote admitted, brow furrowing. “I suspect it might be an assumed name."

“When we were leaving, the first mate said the police were going to stop ships headed from Denver. Mr. Carter did seem rather interested in that."

“Hum!" Dana said. “Then we have ourselves a mystery, don't we?"

She liked the coyote woman at once. It was easy enough to spend the rest of the afternoon talking to her, and learning about the Miss Mitsuko itself: formerly a coastal liner taking people between Seattle and San Francisco, and then Seattle and the Alaskan islands.

Never been there, Dana said, shivering theatrically. Seems a frightful place.

Dinner brought the five of them together, alongside the last person aboard the ship: a middle-aged buck named Tom Vandehay. He was a rancher in the southern part of the state, with “a few" head of cattle.

“He's being modest," Dana told them; Tom was the last person to have introduced himself. “Mr. Vandehay owns nearly five thousand acres."

“A little over." After this admission, a second thought seemed to occur to him. “I didn't realize I was so notorious, Miss Harrow."

“You thought that was my job?" she asked.

“A little," he admitted.

“Only the more unreadable papers, sir! What I mean is: you're the talk of the railmen. They say you're keeping the Pueblo line in business... which is good for steel, of course."

“Ah. Yes, it would be..."

Maya listened to the conversation quietly. So did Kevin Carter, although she had the sense that he would be writing it all down in his little notebook the instant he was alone again. She didn't have much to add, herself. Juno, at length, appeared to notice this. She caught him eyeing her.

And then, after a few more minutes, he spoke up at the end of a lull in the conversation. “Mrs. Pierce. You're joining us from New York, aren't you?"

“Miss Pierce," she said, and continued before letting anyone dwell on the correction. “I live on Long Island. I was in Los Angeles, before that. My sister Kelly had twins six months ago, and as you can imagine…"

“Quite a challenge," Dana interjected, though the coyote didn't have much of the air of motherhood about her. “Are they healthy, at least?"

Maya smiled. “Yes, they're healthy. By now, they're even sleeping a little. I thought I could take my leave and return home."

“What occupies you on Long Island?" Juno wanted to know.

“Ah. Not much, now. I'm a schoolteacher. I'll return to that, I suppose. For now, it's simply the holidays. My brother-in-law's family lives in California—I'd only be imposing there."

“Your family is in New York?"

“Yes," she said, without volunteering the further detail that she had occupied a basement room in her parents' house for the past year. Juno didn't ask; just nodded at her answer, and let the conversation wander again. Half an hour later, when they'd finished catching up on the unseasonably heavy storms that had fallen upon eastern Colorado and Vandehay's ranch, the captain informed them that it was time for tea.

Dana appeared delighted at the chance to continue talking. Chris, on the other hand, cleared her throat. “I'd love to stick around, but I should take a sight."

“Why don't you take Miss Pierce with you?"

“Are you a navigator?" Maya shook her head when the panther looked in her direction. “Why don't I leave her to have tea with you all?"

“Just an idea," Juno said.

But it did not seem to have been a suggestion, because when Chris rose, she waited for Maya to do the same before walking forward from the galley to a door that she'd assumed led to a closet.

Instead, on the other side, she found a ladder. Chris flipped a switch that brought up a series of electric lights and promptly began clambering skyward. Maya followed her sinuously waving tail for what felt like five or six stories.

Tall stories; her arms burned by the time she reached the wooden platform at its top. “What—are—what are we doing?" she managed at last, when she'd hauled herself ungracefully onto the platform.

“Catching your breath." Chris was sitting cross-legged. Maya did the same; the panther closed the open hatch, plunging them into complete darkness. “And waiting for our eyes to adjust."

“Oh. Why… why did Captain Sagara suggest I come?"

“Same reason he took you aboard. He likes you."

“He has to like someone for that?"

Maya could see well enough now to perceive the whiteness of the panther's fangs, when she smiled. “No. But sometimes he has an eye for people."

“For? Or 'on'?" She'd wondered if, perhaps, he'd been looking her over. Appraising her, the way a cat-caller might and think of it as a compliment. Chris didn't answer. “How long have you been with him?"

“The beginning. I was navigator for the last two years his father Kenta still operated this ship out of Seattle—never with the same captain. Junichi wanted to move to Colorado. His father gave him the ship, but only if I went with it to supervise."

“Supervise?" Maya wondered if the Miss Mitsuko had looked quite as haggard back then.

“He takes dangerous jobs. Into the mountains, sometimes, when nobody else will. Juno tends to think of himself as… hmm."

“A hero?"

The snicker was instructive. “God, no. He's an inveterate scoundrel. He thinks of himself as the only man willing to fly into a storm because the other pilots aren't good enough. That's what he's proving—nothing about his own kindness."

“You stick with him, though?"

“Where'd he be without me? I don't mind indulging those whims. Or the ones where he's decided he knows what someone needs and wants to… help. Passengers, generally."

“Like myself?"

“Like yourself."

Maya Pierce, the Shogun's Concubine: A Blake Baron Adventure. If Juno thought she needed something more than to warm his bed, though—in any case she couldn't very well accomplish that where she was now—she wasn't certain what that might be. “And what, precisely, does he think I need?"

“The excitement, probably."

“The climb?"

“The view."

Maya followed the panther's broad gesture, and gasped. The moon was a few lengths over the horizon, brighter than any of the lamps glowing beneath them, off to either side. If she stared, she could see the way it cast shadows on the featureless, snowy landscape.

High above, a million stars were crystalline in the night air. Chris kept glancing up at them, and then down to a book she'd retrieved from somewhere else on the platform.

Maya had no idea how the other woman was even capable of reading the fine printed text. Or, for that matter, why she was looking at it instead of the stars. “It's beautiful…"

“The stars?"

“Yes—would you look at them? Goodness. It's never like that in New York…"

“Hate to take a fix out there." She scribbled briefly, then shook her head and scratched out whatever she'd written. “Don't normally have to do this, either."

“Do what? What are you looking for?"

“Guide stars. This book"—she hefted it for Maya's benefit, although not long enough to let her read anything—“lists the ones we should be able to see at this time. Otherwise, we could follow rivers and landmarks, but…"

But those were hidden beneath fresh snow. “How accurate is it?"

“Accurate enough to know Juno shouldn't have taken you." The dhole's expression must've been visible, even by starlight; Chris snickered. The sound had a much harder edge than when Dana did it. “Kidding. You done up here?"

“I… I can be."

“You don't have to. Whenever you want, just open the hatch and climb back down. I've got an Akita to yell at, though. Close your eyes."

Maya did so. She heard the hatch open, and saw the dull flare of electric light. The hatch closed again. She was back in darkness. By herself, there was enough room to lay on her back, staring up through the immaculately polished glass.

The stars were beautiful. She did not think of jewels; they were too small and cold for that. But she understood why a writer might've chosen that word to describe them. The Milky Way no longer seemed metaphorical—it was a tangible thing, a mottled ribbon whose striking arc was immediately undeniable.

She thought of other lights, glittering in the boughs of a pine tree. Her parents might have set one up, probably, though she was keenly aware that, if so, it was only for her benefit. She'd mentioned its absence, the previous winter. Marco had been the one to take a special pride in picking out a tree.

Kelly's husband had, too—though he'd also laughed, and pointed out the twins would be too young to remember it. The next day had been when Maya was supposed to return; she and Kelly had talked about extending her stay for another few weeks, through the New Year…

You're so good with them, and—

Maya had said something about their parents, and—vaguely—unfinished business. Forty-eight hours later she was in Denver. Now she watched the stars. After the Milky Way, and the inapt image of jewels, and the smell of pine, she thought of what it might be like to be someone. To look at the constellations, and some impenetrable atlas, and know where a ship belonged.

Or a person.

She did not need excitement, no matter what Juno thought. What she needed was for Marco Lightfoot to have been a different man. He could've dealt with her betrayal better… or at all. Even though she hadn't herself.

Not really.

Someone knocked at the hatch; it opened, and though she closed her eyes it stayed that way. “Something the matter?" That was Juno's voice.

“No. I was… stargazing," she said; the first time in her life she ever could've said that. “And—er—with you? Everything is well?"

“Ah, more or less. Gettin' on time you should turn in, that's all."

She finally opened her eyes, and rolled to a sitting position. “I suppose it's late. Nothing's wrong? Chris said… well, I don't know what she said."

“We're not where we should be, but it's no big deal. C'mon down. I'll explain."

He started back down first. Maya waited until he had a head start, then awkwardly swung herself back onto the ladder, dreading the returning ache in her arms. Holding Kelly's twins had been tiring, yes, but not in the same way.

“Normally"—he didn't even sound winded. “We'd be a little bit higher, and catch a better tailwind. We're a bit heavier than usual, so we can't get as high. And I have to use more of our engine power for the lift screws than the ones that move us forward."

“That's not bad, though?" She heard him drop to the bottom of the ladder, and made the mistake of glancing downward. It was another thirty feet.

“No, no. We'll stop in Kearney to refuel and check the ballast."

Her dress was not truly meant for ladders. And… would her bloomers prevent any spying? She thought so, but perhaps it was best to hurry up. She took a few more steps—slipped—almost caught herself—

Then, before she could even make a sound, she was in the Akita's arms. “Careful, now," he told her. Maya's breathing was rapid, and for a good spell her legs wouldn't support her. Juno's paws kept her upright until she could stand again, and then all he said was: “Hm. Was mostly fluff, after all."

Dana, who was already asleep, had finished clearing off the other bed. The blankets were not particularly comfortable, but as soon as she was under them Maya no longer cared. Her arms hurt—they would hurt in the morning, too. She could almost feel the warmth of the captain's paws supporting her.

Holding her, perhaps, more tightly than necessary. Or was she imagining that?

When she woke, from half-remembered dreams of lights drifting over soft cotton, Dana was sitting primly at the edge of her bed. Steam curled from the cup she held in her dainty fingers. “Did you have a long night?"

“A long day," Maya corrected. When she sat up, her arms reminded the dhole of their presence; she grimaced. “What time is it?"

“Half-nine. We just started moving again. Some tea, dear? Not like the Roswell—we do have to get you aboard one day, truly a missed opportunity—and I'm afraid it's in Captain Sagara's fashion. But it's not so bad."

“His fashion?"

Dana held out a saucer, with a second cup on it. The liquid inside was yellowish, with little green flecks. Her attention was drawn instead to the ceramic: ornately decorated, with a floral motif that seemed almost to be of fine lacquer work.

“Is it…"

“It's good enough. Green tea, apparently."

It had a mild, faintly nutty taste. But it was hot, and the dhole appreciated that more than anything. “A new experience. You… you said we were stopped?"

The coyote nodded. “South of Kearney, Nebraska. We were going to take on fuel, but they didn't have enough—or the right kind, or something? So we left quickly. And you want to know something else?"

“Yes, I suppose so."

She leaned forward, glancing sideways as though someone might overhear, before her muzzle turned in a girlish grin. “I found out what the police wanted."

“You did?"

“I left the ship to take a walk and found it in the papers. Someone robbed an armored car coming from the Superstition Mine. More than a ton of silver!"

“Oh!" Mostly, she was reacting to Dana's enthusiasm; she had no innate idea what that meant. “That sounds like a lot of money."

“Oh, it was. The papers quoted the mine president—saying it was also for their payroll. If they don't make that, they might have to shut down. The Pinkertons are involved, supposedly."

“Those are detectives, right?"

“And more!"

Maya nodded slowly, and read the paper Dana pushed in her direction as she sipped slowly at her tea. Yes, it was as Dana had described it. BRAZEN ATTACK ON SUPERSTITION, according to the headline. There was nothing about a suspect, who was believed to have escaped Colorado already.

The story itself, barely four lines, had precious few additional details. The Pinkertons were hastening on their way from Denver to a city called 'Golden,' where the attack had taken place. The mine president promised that the outlaw would be swiftly brought to “Western" justice, and lamented the hard-working miners, who could not now be expected to continue laboring into the new year.

“I wonder if the captain knows," Maya wondered aloud. “Did you ask him?"

“Captain Sagara already thinks I talk too much." The coyote shrugged. “You could, though."

That was true. And, although she did not think of herself as a person much given to such intrigue, the dhole found Kevin suspicious enough that she wanted to probe a little further. When they gathered for a brief lunch of sandwiches and coffee, somewhere over northern Kansas, she made her move.

“According to the newspaper, there was a silver robbery yesterday in Colorado. Do you suppose that is what the police wanted, captain?"

“Huh," Juno said indifferently. “Maybe."

The Akita had known, she concluded, although the slightest sliver of rumor from their brief stop might've given him that. He didn't say anything further, in any case. Tom Vandehay looked over with some interest, though. And Kevin, Maya saw from the corner of her eye, perked his ears and canted his head. “Silver? The Denver mint?"

“No, sir. Some ingots, and some ore, from the Superstition Mine."

“Southwestern Colorado, isn't it? Durango, or something like that. I thought that was almost worked," Tom mused. “It seems like they were going to move on to a new claim."

Maya didn't know anything about the mine—nor who, what, or where Durango was. That would not be a useful line of musing. She tried another: “maybe. Perhaps the police don't care about us? When Chris said that yesterday, I'll admit I was a little surprised we left Nebraska so quickly." Kevin gave Maya the curious look she'd half expected. “Well… because I thought there might be police waiting for us."

“We didn't file an explicit plan," Juno said. “Normally, they want that when you're leaving the state. But sometimes, what they don't know won't hurt them."

“They won't suspect us, anyway. You can't hide a ton of silver on an airship this size, right? Stands to reason." From Kevin's tone, she couldn't tell if he knew what he was talking about or was whistling past the graveyard.

Maya tended to avoid confrontation, in general. “What about a fugitive, though? Maybe they buried the treasure. A fugitive with a map wouldn't take up much space." The kind of map you might have tucked in that notebook, she did not say aloud.

“I suppose." Kevin's ear flicked. “Well, if they do want your ship, Captain Sagara, they definitely know you've left the border now."

“True, and I'd rather not spend my Christmas being impounded. I wonder if they've guessed our route…" The Akita had become more pensive. “What about the Dakotas, Chris?"

She looked up from her sandwich. “You want to reverse course? We might be able to make that."

Now it was Dana's turn to seem perplexed. “Pardon me, but wouldn't that definitely arouse suspicion, sir?"

“Not necessarily. We don't have wireless. I might not be reading the news."

“Weather," Kevin suggested. “If there are storms in your way… aren't those the bane of an airship?"

“Bigger ones, with more surface area to catch the wind. We'd be fine. And we're most of the way to Abilene, anyhow. I know somebody there who can refuel us." He sounded like he was talking himself into the course of action. Is he actually running from the police?

“It would be nice if the rest of our journey was flat," the first mate said. “East from Abilene is our best shot."

“I don't know. In this case it won't matter, I don't think." The passengers—Maya included—looked over, and the Akita pointed towards the open door of the bridge, and the grey sky beyond. “I don't like to run at night in weather like this. We have to take it slow."

“In case you get lost, or in case you crash?" Kevin asked.

“You got it."

Juno gave a short, sharp sigh at his first mate's curt answer. “She ain't wrong. We can't get above the clouds, and if we lose sight of the ground, too, it's all on Chris and her dead reckoning. Easier to stay on the metaphorical side of dead if we aren't going too fast, and there aren't any mountains for us to find."

Given the alternatives, Maya was willing to accept the answer—which, she imagined, also explained their current position. “That's why we only made it to Nebraska last night?"

“That's right."

And why they'd reached Abilene in only a few hours. When the Miss Mitsuko landed, Chris and Juno immediately set to work: filling the ship with the right kind of fuel, according to Dana Harrow. The passengers hadn't been told how long it would take, but after Tom Vandehay allowed himself a walk the others reconvened in the galley.

“I wonder if there's anything new from the police," Harrow mused.

Kevin Carter shrugged: “Who knows? Weren't any cops waiting to meet us."

“No. I wasn't worried about that. I was just wondering what the news might be saying."

“You could get a paper," the fox suggested.

“So could you."

The fox shrugged. “You seem to be more interested in this case. Me, I'm not built for the weather."

“You think my dress counts as winter gear, Mr. Carter?"

“I think it means you can suit yourself."

Maya was curious, now, too, and offered to settle the discussion. Really, it wasn't much colder outside than it would be when they arrived in New York. She left the ship and purchased a copy of the paper and some gingerbread from inside the station. Dana Harrow would want to read it alongside her, but—if a bit guiltily—the dhole skimmed the front page herself on the walk back.

Honestly, she'd half expected the story to mention a tattered-looking fox, may-be-using-the-alias and armed-and-dangerous and wanted-in-connection-with and all. There was little more than speculation. Had it been a scheduled train, or did there have to be some kind of inside knowledge? Was their target the mine itself, or its parent company? Had anyone recorded the serial numbers of the payroll banknotes?

“Only one of the guards was face-to-face with the robber," Dana summarized the article aloud, once they'd departed again and conversation became the main distraction from the featureless landscape. “Didn't get a good look at him, 'staring down six barrels like the mouths of Hell itself.' Probably canine, maybe red fur."

“That's half of us," Maya said. “No—four out of six. You might describe Captain Sagara's fur that way. Really it only rules out Mr. Vandehay and First Mate Gibbs."

“I'm more grey than anything," Dana said.

“Your muzzle?"

“Oh. True," the coyote said, touching it. “Four of us, then, you're right."

“Well. I'm certainly not a train robber, in any case. Are you, Miss Harrow?"

“Not that I recall. Mr. Carter?"

“No," he said firmly. Is he more relaxed now? Or just more interested? “But that guard is lying, anyway. Or the reporter is. Who is the reporter?"

“Doesn't say—why do you know they're lying?"

“Is it from a wire service? UPI? Associated Press?"

Dana's muzzle swept the page as she scanned it. “UPI."

“Just some added color to spice it up, then. What?" he asked—Maya was not bothering to hide her skepticism. “You really think someone rode up with a six-shooter and a bandanna like it was still the wild west? They'd like as not have a machine pistol or something."

“A tommy gun," Tom suggested mildly.

“Doubtful. Those aren't as easy to conceal as they make it look."

Dana perked her ears. “How would you know? You've used one?"

“I'm an avid reader of detective serials."

He said it so dryly that Maya assumed he intended it to be taken the opposite way. That evening, catching up with Dana Harrow, the coyote nodded her agreement. “He knows perfectly well how they work. Which means…"

“I suppose that was a threat, wasn't it?"

She nodded again. “And this would be a very good place for such a threat. The gasbags… I don't suppose they're hydrogen, but they'd leak just the same."

“Perhaps we don't provoke him, then. My parents would never forgive me if I was murdered on their way home for Christmas. Or… you don't think he might take you or Mr. Vandehay hostage, do you?"

Her eyes widened. “I hadn't thought of that."

Despite the suggestion, neither seemed to think it was a real possibility—either he was too smart to draw more attention to himself, or not that bloody-minded despite his familiarity with machine guns. That meant it was just another opportunity for exciting, idle speculation.

The journey, in any case, had progressed without incident, and continued to do so through the night. It was an hour after breakfast, and she was reading through the rest of the paper, when her ears caught the sound of a bell. Dana had heard it, too. “What's that?"

“I'm not sure. I'll go find out," she said, and got to her feet.

“That was Captain Juno. He just said 'stay in your cabins.' I think?" Maya hadn't quite made it out, but she did hear him order them to find something to hold on to. “You're leaving anyway?"

Nothing seemed to be the matter. She went forward: Juno and Chris were both seated, and intently focused, although not so intently that Chris didn't notice her presence. “Don't listen?" Chris asked. Her teeth were gritted.

“Told you. Excitement," Juno said, voice clipped. “Can you hold us steady?"

“Not much longer. She really wants to list, boss."

“I know. Miss Pierce—sit down. Clip the harness."

“I can return to my—"

“Sit down," Chris snarled. Maya leapt into the seat—the 'harness' was a strap with a spring-loaded clip and a matching eyehole on the far side. No sooner had they clicked it into place than her stomach started to rise—they were falling, like some ride on Coney Island. Chris had both paws on the ship's steering wheel. “How long?"

Juno's arm was over his head, tightly squeezing a lever. His fingers quivered with the tension. “Little bit—pull!—more."

“I am pulling!"

He let go of the lever, grabbed two others at the same time, and swung them hard to one side. Maya had no idea what had happened—only that the falling sensation had stopped, and the Akita was now bent forward. “Almost?"

“No," Chris said. She had begun to relax, too. “We're still losing altitude."

“But almost. You don't think there are any frozen lakes around here, do you?"

The panther, rather pointedly, did not return the grin he gave her. “We've been very lucky so far," was her curt response. “Let's aim for something that looks like a road. Or trees with a regular pattern."

“Agreed." Juno turned around to look at Maya. “You still with us?"

“Yes…"

“Good."

“What happened?"

“Nothing too terrible," he reassured her, and kept talking while he turned back to the instrument panel. “One of the lift engines went out. We can run either pair of screws off only one engine, though! Just had to get the speed synced up."

“And we don't have enough power to stay up like this," Chris added. “We're supposed to. But we don't."

“Regulations never helped us before, did they? Anyway, we're sinking very slowly. You won't even notice, Miss Pierce. We're going to find a place to land and fix the motor. Simple as that."

“Unless it's the propeller, too."

He patted Chris's forearm. “It's not. I'm sure it's just frayed wiring—like I've been saying. Hold us on course, and I'll go talk to the others. You're comfortable where you are, miss?"

“Yes. I am." Despite her lack of familiarity with flying machines of any sort, Maya felt she was better off staying on the bridge, where she could at least see the ground coming up to meet them. “What was that about regulations, Miss Gibbs?"

“Ugh." Maya heard, in the panther's growl, echoes of an argument that must've played out a hundred times before she boarded the airship. “Airships that need lifting engines to stay aloft are supposed to be able to fly with one out. But there's no way to inspect that."

“Why not?"

“Depends on how fast you're flying, and the weather, and the temperature, and… most of the time, we're probably on the safe side of the regulations. What did I say in the navigation room? Juno likes to take chances."

“With his passengers?"

“Not usually."

As far as the dhole could tell, this was not an exception. As Juno promised, there was no particular fuss; the landing, after he'd returned and taken control again, wasn't noticeably rougher than any of their previous ones. She unfastened the harness strap, and joined the other passengers.

Dana and Kevin were fairly unperturbed—although, she thought, it had been nearly half an hour: plenty of time to calm down, and to have listened to whatever explanation Juno gave them. The Akita had gone outside to make repairs.

Tom Vandehay had gone outside, too. His paws were jammed into the pockets of his trousers, and he was staring eastward. The sky over the trees was a soft, even grey. “Good sky to stay indoors for," he said, when she joined him. “It must be snowing, closer than the horizon."

“Maybe, yes. Definitely better to stay indoors."

“The roads are still passable, for now. You've just missed First Mate Gibbs. She hailed a car. Stopping to check for more information in the nearest town. And to see where I can get off."

“You're leaving?"

“I told Gibbs, yeah. She said she didn't think the captain will mind. I reckon he'll let me ask him to land at the next big town, if I pay him to make a special stop… I'll just get a train, I suppose."

“Even with the weather?" she asked.

He seemed, despite what had happened, to consider the objection placidly. “It might stop the train. But the train won't fall from a mile up."

She nodded. “It is quite a lot of excitement, for a simple journey."

“There was plenty already, if you ask me. More excitement than I need, that's for sure."

Vandehay, unlike the dhole, had enough money for an impulsive train ticket—probably he could've bought a whole automobile on the spot, if he wanted. She was committed, both to the trip and to the complications it entailed. “Will you take your ill-gotten silver with you?"

Tom smiled, and shook his head. “If only, Miss Pierce. If there's any truth to the rumors at all, though, I'm quite certain you'll find Captain Sagara involved. It wouldn't be the first time."

“Robbery?"

“Smuggling. He was quite the famous rum-runner, as I hear it. These days, I'd expected it was in his past, but y'never know. Not my kind of—excitement, that's the word you used? S'pose I don't hold that against him—not too much, anyhow."

“You don't?"

“Folks gotta make a living, don't they? I'm sure it wasn't his idea, though. Not him or the first mate. She may not be the picture of a well-heeled woman, but I doubt that's in her blood."

“One of the passengers?"

He leaned his head further back, searching the featureless sky. “I've been wondering that. It's you and that coyote woman's doing, tell you the truth," he said finally, and laughed. “Now I know why the Harrows have that reputation. It did keep my mind busy, though. I'll admit it was… suspicious, you coming on at the last minute the way you did."

“Oh! No, I'm not that interesting."

“Neither am I. Besides, your story seems reasonable. Personally, I think it's just a bit of fun. Don't see anyone here as the outlaw type. If it ain't… well, if it ain't, it beats me."

“What about Mr. Carter?"

“Oh, he's just a well-traveled soul, I think. Though…"

She looked to him expectantly. “Yes?"

“There is something. I can't remember what I saw—a pocket-watch, or a pen, maybe. It was monogrammed, and not with those initials. But—now, you see?" He pointed warningly at the dhole. “You're talking yourself into some kind of wild yarn. Just as likely he bought it second-hand."

Maya forced herself to take the required step back and consider what he'd said. “I suppose that's true. We are all just… bored."

“You and Miss Harrow and Miss Gibbs, if you ask me. Don't know why you ladies can't just take up knitting."

She couldn't quite tell how serious Vandehay was being. She sensed, though, that he was done talking about her theories. Next to the airship, Juno looked to be hard at work; he had the nacelle removed from an engine. As she approached, she found him staring at it warily, a wrench clasped in his paw.

“Is everything… well?"

“I guess. Trying to take care of some repairs before we fly into that storm. Don't suppose you might lend some help, miss?"

Even if she'd wanted to heed Vandehay's advice, she didn't have any knitting with her. “Help with what?"

“Checking out the engine that failed. Inside the hull," he said, and gestured with his head instead of his occupied paws.

“I don't know the first thing about engines..."

“How about climbing? It's a ladder, just like the one to get to the observation platform, only it's shorter."

She did not know quite why she was volunteering herself, but: “I… I can climb, sir, yes."

“It'd save me a bit of work. If you could…" He set aside the wrench, and stared upwards, as though he could see through the skin of the ship. “What you're gonna see is a bundle of wires. Braided cloth wires. I'm betting one of them has frayed and snapped… probably a blue one? Or… no—yellow."

“And you want me to… fix it?"

“Nah. Just tell me which one it is. That way I know what I might have to check on the engine."

“Just see which wire broke?"

“That's it, yep."

The airship's hull was long, and shaped like a kayak: flat on the top, with four recessed holes for the airscrews that gave it additional lift. The engines themselves were at the bottom of the inner hull.

It was eerily quiet on the inside. Daylight, filtering through the cloth envelope, silhouetted the massive gasbags; the catwalk to the engine lay in shadow. As Juno promised, the ladder was short, at least.

The dhole had wondered if she'd be able to make sense of his explanation, but she found the wires easily enough. There were four: blue, yellow, and two of a dingy off-brown that had once been white. And, also as promised, three of them were connected to the engine. The fourth had separated.

Maya cocked her head, and felt her ears pin. I'm not an engineer, she told herself. Not an engine mechanic. A schoolteacher—not even that, really; she'd taken a leave of absence to visit her sister. But it didn't really require a mechanic's eye to understand what she was looking at.

She clambered back down the ladder. Despite the chill, which her overcoat did little to cut, she was grateful to be back outside. Juno waved, and smiled. “Well?" he called over. “Was I right?"

The dhole nodded, but waited to speak until she was close enough to lower her voice. “You were right. It was the yellow wire."

Her change in demeanor must've been obvious. He set down the tool in his paw. “But?"

“It was cut. Someone cut it."

“Cut it?" The Akita frowned, his brow furrowing before his muzzle turned in a scowl. “You're sure?"

She could picture the shiny copper surface, and the clean edge of the severed cloth braid around it. “I'm sure. About… two spans away from the… metal thing they go into." Maya held out her paw to indicate the width of such a span. “The other wires looked fine, though."

“Suddenly it's not the other wires I'm worried about. I suppose I'll see for myself when I go to patch things up, though. Maybe you… no, I'm sure you saw what you thought you did," he concluded, arguing himself out of the easiest answer. “Thank you. Damned nice to know I can trust someone, even without Chris around."

“You're welcome, sir," she said. He was already speaking again when she processed his words and her tail started to wag. Something about the way he'd said it, or the admission itself, or both. She believed him.

“…Only question now," he finished. “Is who the hell might've snipped that wire."

“I don't think there was anybody up there when the engine failed—was there? Dana and I were in our cabin."

“Overnight," he said. “If it's the yellow wire, that goes to the dynamo. Charges the battery that charges the magneto that… well. Point is, working backwards, they probably did it overnight when we were all out cold."

Maya had been sleeping soundly, which meant she couldn't conclusively rule out Dana. Tom Vandehay and Kevin Carter had their own staterooms, though—either of them could've done it, if they had the tools. And the knowledge, which she supposed either of them might reasonably have had.

Juno finished up with the outside engine as Chris Gibbs returned, alighting from a carriage drawn by two draft horses, puffing like steam locomotives in the winter morning. The Akita set his tools down and waited for her to make her way over. “Well? Good news?"

“Sure. Vandehay told you he wanted to change his stop? I found someone who can take him to the next town right now. It's… Columbia, apparently. Train stop." She gestured with her thumb to the waiting carriage before tugging some folded papers from inside her overcoat. “Weather—check the barometric readings. How's the engine, boss?"

“What'd I tell you? Shoulda checked the wires before we left. I'll splice it, and then we'll be good to leave."

“Snapped?"

He nodded. “Probably the vibration. Never was designed for those big pistons. Let Tom know we'll be headed to Saint Louis and he can catch the train from there, if he wants, or…"

“He'll want to leave now. Columbia should have decent service."

Juno sighed. “It was worth a try. Do you trust your driver over there? Pass on a message to see if we can have some braided engine wire in stock when we land in Saint Louis, at least."

Maya excused herself after Chris went to help Tom Vandehay bring his luggage over to the carriage. What did it mean that Juno had kept the truth from his first mate? Did he suspect her? Did he want to wait until Tom—who knew of Sagara's smuggling past—had left?

Dana was in their stateroom; the coyote started at the sound of the door. “Oh—I'm sorry," Maya said quickly. “Did I—"

The other woman shook her head and, a moment later, perked her ears back up. “No. I must've just been daydreaming."

“What's that?"

'That' was a small carving—some kind of animal. Maya thought it was made of stone, but the coyote had tucked it away too quickly to see clearly. “Nothing. A trinket I bought in southern Colorado," she clarified. “For a friend. Some Indian thing or another."

“Oh. Oh, alright. There's nothing strange about that."

“Maybe not for you. Some people think it's odd… I've been accused of idol worship—just for a little statue! I wanted to make sure nothing was damaged, earlier…" This explained, she turned to the dhole, smiling warmly. “You've been keeping busy, haven't you?"

“The captain wanted me to take a look at the engine."

“You?"

“I was available, I believe."

“And braver than me. Wasn't it scary, climbing out in the open like that?"

“No, no. I didn't have to." The four motors that drove the airship forward were mounted on struts, giving the propellers clearance from the hull. Now that Dana mentioned it, she supposed Juno would've had to crawl out by himself, in order to take the engine he was working on apart.

But that was the sort of thing that an airship captain would have to be used to doing. And she was not that. What had possessed her to volunteer escaped the dhole, for the moment. It escaped Dana, as well: “you didn't?"

“No. It was one of the engines on the inside. He wanted to know if I could tell him which of the wires had snapped." She was trying to decide how much to tell the coyote. And, then, she was trying to decide why she should hold anything back at all. “I found it easily enough. It had been cut."

“Cut? We were—that's sabotage, isn't it? We were sabotaged? That's what it means?"

“I think so."

“That's a pretty sharp turn of events, now, isn't it?"

Maya Pierce in 'Airship Down': a Blake Baron Adventure. The cover would show it in flames, no doubt; a masked bandit riding away on horseback. It was absurd to think about, let alone say aloud. “I think so."

The coyote sat back heavily. “Is it… are we safe now?"

“Juno didn't appear to be worried. Only… shocked at the act having been done in the first place."

It was obvious enough to see that she was watching the coyote walk through the same thoughts Maya herself had had, and coming to the same conclusions. “If he's not that worried, then… that means it must've been Mr. Vandehay, doesn't it?"

“I'm not sure I see another option."

“But why would he do that?" Lost in thought, Dana lay back on her bed.

Maya did the same, and despite the topic had to suppress a giggle. There was something rather childish about it: the two of them indulging their idle speculation, as if they were sharing elementary school gossip. Childish—but refreshing. “What if he wanted us to be caught?"

“Why?"

“Because he's a businessman, isn't he? Those are respectable. He has his reputation to think about."

“I'm a businesswoman," the coyote pointed out. “And I'm not too worried. Nobody would blame us just for being passengers."

“Didn't you say he was more of a public figure, though? Maybe that would be good publicity, if he helped catch a thief. I mean—a train robbery, for God's sake! Like it was the Wild West again. And you yourself said he was, um, well-known to the railmen?"

“Oh! That's a good point!"

And it was as good of an explanation as any else. The Miss Mitsuko lifted off; Maya watched the buildings shrink, and then begin to slide beneath them, faster and faster. It was now early afternoon. She pictured a map of the United States in her mind. If they made Saint Louis by nightfall, they could be in Pittsburgh the following morning, and then New York City, the evening of the 23rd.

For an hour, as the light waned, she could still pick out lights on the ground beneath them. Then the lights became gauzy and shrouded; then altogether invisible. There was only the steady thrum of the airship's engines to tell her that they were still moving at all.

Dinner—biscuits, with thick gravy heated over an electric stove—was quiet, too. “Slight change of plans, I'm afraid," Juno finally said. “We'll be going by way of Cedar Rapids, and maybe Madison. It's going to add some time, but we'll get to New York by Christmas Eve."

“Madison?" Kevin asked. “Hell of a detour, ain't it?"

“Weather. We thought we could beat the storm—"

Chris grunted. “You."

“—That's closing in to the east of us. Yes, fine. I thought we could beat the storm," Juno admitted. The ship still trembled with intermittent gusts of wind. “Chris talked me out of it. We're too heavy to risk ice building up on the hull. Can't take this ship through that kind of snow."

They were meant to have made repairs in Saint Louis, though. Maya waited for him to mention that; he did not. “Are you worried about the engine?"

“Nah. Our repairs will hold, and I don't think it's likely to happen again."

So he does think Tom sabotaged the engine. She was sure of that now, although not why he would've done so. Her only guess was that he had meant to have them arrested. Juno and Chris made repairs too fast for that, though; the airship had managed to escape before anyone closed in on their location.

Kevin frowned. He flipped quickly through his notebook. “Christmas Eve, though… you're sure? I have another ship to catch." Seated next to him, Maya caught a glimpse of the notebook's contents—not long, but enough to see they were written in what looked like English letters, but unintelligible. “They won't wait for me."

“We'll get you there, Mr. Carter. Don't worry."

As he started to put the notebook back in his pocket, the ship jolted again, and it slipped from his paw. Maya caught it; handed it back. This glimpse was more productive, for a check half-slid out from between the pages. Pay to the order of; a bank in Denver. Bro—but she didn't have a chance to see the rest of the name.

So Tom had been right, and—his protests notwithstanding—he had suspected Carter. Thus, sabotaging the engine. And Juno was sure to make him think we'd be headed to Saint Louis. But now that he was no longer aboard, Captain Sagara didn't have to worry about any further interference.

“I've never been to Wisconsin," she told Dana Harrow that evening. “Or Minnesota? Madison is in Wisconsin, isn't it?"

“It is! Beautiful country in the winter, too. Maybe we'll be able to see it. You don't mind, do you? We both have places to be…"

It was going to add another twelve hours to their journey. Maya couldn't say that she really did mind; it was more interesting than Long Island was sure to be. And the territory was new. “No. I'm sure it's worth it."

“Think of it as a story you can tell your students. That might be nice, wouldn't it?"

“You think I need more excitement in my life, too?"

Dana gave her a gentle smile. “No, I didn't mean that. I don't know what you need, Miss Pierce. I imagine it is not excitement."

“Or running a steel empire."

The smile deepened. “Please. Helping to run. Minor affairs. I'm not yet ready to settle down and raise a family, though there's no shame in…" Her head tilted, and her expression became concerned. “Miss Pierce? Maya?"

“I… am not certain," the dhole said, in answer to an unasked question.

The coyote took both of Maya's paws, and squeezed. “I see," she said. “Your husband. There was a husband."

“Yes."

“And another woman."

“No." She pulled free, and sat on the edge of her bed, looking towards the fringe of the coyote's sky-blue dress. Expensive. Intricate lacework, made to seem simple. Months of a schoolteacher's salary. “It was me. My fault. I… was not a good wife."

“You were the other woman? No, that seems unlikely." She paused, and her eyes narrowed. “You were seeing another woman! You have secrets, Miss Pierce."

It had been the perfect thing to say; Maya's mood lifted, her brief melancholy shattered by the thought. “No! I'm terribly boring. My husband wanted children. I…" But, though she might've left it at that, talking had become easier. “I wanted children. I can't. Apparently."

“Well—but that's not your fault," Dana protested. She left her cot, and settled next to the dhole. “How could you say that was your fault?"

“He couldn't very well have them on his own, could he?"

“And neither could you. Did you—was there a doctor?"

Maya shook her head softly. “No. We couldn't afford it. And… well, I was getting older. It seemed better to spare him the indignity of a mistress."

“You mean: to spare yourself the indignity of becoming wrathful at a mistress."

It was hard to imagine Dana becoming wrathful, herself, but the coyote's eyes had a definite glint to them. Maya played along—or told herself she was playing along. “Yes. I'm not sure he's remarried, but… oh—you'd know I was lying if I said I wished him well."

“I wouldn't wish him well," the coyote declared. “That's your right. And what about you? You'll marry again?"

“I don't know. I don't know what I want."

“You don't know what you want, or you don't know what you think you're entitled to?"

“What I want."

She liked Dana, but they were not close enough for her to try and articulate her increasingly complex feelings to the coyote. Maya was thinking again about hearing Juno say damned nice to know I can trust someone. Dana could not give her permission to accept that, already, she trusted him back.

And she was thinking about the coyote's own teasing lilt: you were seeing another woman? She'd looked like, with another answer, she might've pounced the dhole then and there. Maya flushed, hidden by her ruddy fur, because Dana also could not give her permission to accept wishing that she'd known what that other answer might have been.

“Or," the coyote finally suggested: “you know, but don't want to say. 'Don't have secrets'…"

“I don't think I do. Not really."

“Well. It's bedtime now, but if that's true… we have to get you some. There's still a day left on this ship…"

The light switch was closer to Maya's bunk than to Dana's. As she made her way back from it, in the darkness, Maya could've sworn her waving tail brushed against the dhole's legs. Still a day left on this ship. She was thankful it was impossible to see her reaction.

When she woke, the first thing she noticed was that it was still dark outside. The second thing was that she was alone—and the stateroom was empty. Dana Harrow had gone. She felt a soft thump, and looked out the window to see the ground receding again. They must've landed while she slept.

It was a little past 6 in the morning, by the ship's clock. Captain Sagara and Kevin Carter were in the galley; it was not her usual habit, but when Juno indicated the coffee pot she took a mug gladly. “Is Miss Harrow… did she ask to leave?"

“I asked her to," Juno said. “She wanted to get to Detroit. There was no point in taking her all the way to New York City just to backtrack when we could stop along the way as it was."

“Are we in Detroit?" Kevin asked. “I didn't see lights when we took off."

“We are. Well, a little ways to the east, but—basically Detroit, yes."

Carter had a coffee cup of his own; he was about to take a sip and paused, raising an eyebrow at the Akita. “East?"

“Yes. Why?"

“Nothing. We've been skirting most of the big cities, I've noticed."

“I try to do that when I can, if I'm not making a stop there. Cities are just complications. The updrafts are bad, and the traffic is worse. You get stuck behind one of those big corporate liners, and that might add another six hours of delay while they wait for a pilot."

“Mm." He finally took the drink he'd been putting off. “Not complaining, mind you. Just an observation."

“You don't like cities, Mr. Carter?"

He turned to her. “I think you're the only city girl now. And I'm not sure Miss Harrow counts—but who knows about them?"

Tom Vandehay had obliquely mentioned their reputation, too. “What do you mean?"

“Did you not know? They're old money, out in Detroit. Reclusive, the way old money is these days. The current generation of Harrows is… odd."

“Marion, at least," Juno said, and Kevin rolled his eyes. “Marion Harrow tries to go over Niagara Falls every few years. Last time he hired some poor sap to do it for him in a boat he made out of rubber and spruce. It was going to bounce off the bottom."

Maya hadn't heard of that, although it might've taken place while she was in California. “Did it not?"

“Some of the pieces probably did. The boat's skipper wasn't one of them. Harrow bounced, though—bounced all the way to Detroit before anybody could catch him. Few months back, now."

So that was, indeed, why she was unfamiliar with the story. “Is Dana like that? She seemed quite pleasant."

“There was something in Europe, I believe," Kevin said. “But I don't recall the details. The Harrows refuse to speak to the press. It's their privilege, as aristocrats, which means we get to make up whatever we want."

“As we're doing now." Juno finished his coffee, and wiped the mug dry. “She's off the ship, anyway."

“Right. And then there were four."

“Yes. But that has its advantages, Mr. Carter," the Akita explained. “We're light, now, and the weather's good. We can make up some time crossing Pennsylvania, for sure."

“How much time?"

“At least a couple hours." He patted the outside wall of the ship. “She'll do a hundred knots, flat out. More than that, I don't know—the airspeed gauge doesn't go any higher. But she can, if I have to."

“Something tells me you're speaking from experience," Maya murmured.

“Experience getting my passengers in on time? Let's find out, eh?" With a grin, the Akita slapped the ship again, and went to join Chris Gibbs at the controls. She heard him say something; Chris replied, and he laughed. “And don't spare the horses!"

There were police waiting for them, at last, when the airship touched down at Idlewild—three cars, one of them with its lights on. Kevin Carter sighed, and muttered an oath under his breath. Chris spared him a glance over her shoulder while they descended the last few feet and the ground crew secured their mooring ropes. “Sorry," the panther said.

Two officers came aboard, and spoke cursorily to Maya. Did she know anything of silver mining? Might she have any details about an armored truck being hijacked? How long had she lived in Colorado? After she gave them an address on Long Island, and described herself as a schoolteacher, they lost interest. They did, as she'd expected, spend plenty of time with Kevin Carter—in his stateroom, with the door closed; she heard no raised voices. Then, finally, there was quiet. Footsteps. Motors being started; the police cars drove off.

The Miss Mitsuko was empty. Maya peered curiously into the bridge, to confirm that. Then she put her jacket on, and made her way down the ramp. There was no sign of Captain Juno there. But, a short ways further off, she saw Carter standing just inside the open door of a shed filled with spools of rope and other equipment for tying ships down.

She walked over to him, trying not to let her surprise show. “You're… still here?"

“Yeah." He had been packing a pipe; he resumed his work when she joined him in the sheltered building. “I have a ship to catch. Said that, right?"

“You did. I thought perhaps the police would've wanted to… speak to you more. I guess," she said; there was no polite way to say haul you off in cuffs.

“Probably. They always do."

“Where's the captain?"

“With them at the station downtown. Explaining his role in the great Superstition Mine heist, I'm sure. I'm afraid it's a bit too late. The police told me the damage has already been done."

“To the mine?"

“A troubled enterprise. They used to be quite powerful, I know… back in the old days, when they made good villains. They intended to exercise a claim on Black Mesa. Not their territory—proper Indian country—but they'd acquired it somehow. Underhandedly, I'm sure… you don't suppose Captain Sagara is secretly an anarchist, do you? He has a touch of the anarchist about him."

“No? I don't follow you. Black Mesa?"

“It's an area southwest of the Four Corners, in Arizona. I'm sure their plan was to begin work before anyone could stop them… but even villains need capital, these days. They're not optimistic about recovering the silver—and it was, alas, not insured."

“'Alas.' You don't sound that upset."

“They can go to hell." Satisfied, he lit the pipe and leaned back against the wall. “I love the West, you know? And they ruined it—the miners, and the oilmen, and the barbed wire. Wasn't theirs to ruin, either. So I'll take this as a Christmas present, if you don't mind."

“I… suppose. I don't have strong feelings about it."

“It's beautiful country. Maybe the good captain's feelings are stronger than yours."

“Well, I doubt that he's an anarchist, exactly. I was told a rumor that Juno used to be a rum runner," she allowed. “But I'm not sure if even that's true."

“Might've been. If it were up to me, though, I wouldn't keep that. I don't reckon I will. Would you?"

Maya tilted her head. Now that they were off the ship, and now that the police were gone, his mood had changed, and and the dhole couldn't quite get the things he said to add up properly in her head. “What do you mean? It's not up to you or me."

“Well, that's to say—if it were a story." He bit the stem of his pipe, reached into his overcoat, and fished out his notebook. His fingerpads, she realized, were not dirty—they were stained with graphite. Kevin leafed through the book. “I'd have made Miss Harrow and Mr. Vandehay accomplices. Partners in the heist. That's the kind of thing an erratic rich girl might do, isn't it?"

Her muzzle hung open briefly, then worked silently through a series of half-words. “Mm. Hrm—what… who are you?"

“Eh?"

“What's your name?"

“Mr. Kevin Carter." he asked, then put his notebook away and took another puff on his pipe. There was a new gleam in his eyes. “But you know that."

“Blake… Brown, isn't it? It's 'Brown.'"

The gleam brightened. “I'm not, actually. I'm Kevin Carter. Blake Brown is a… hmm… an alias, I think you call it?"

“A pen name," she muttered. “I've seen your books everywhere. Those cheap Westerns."

“Too tawdry for a refined woman such as yourself," he teased.

“That's why you knew about the six-shooter…"

“Mm."

Curiosity once more got the better of her. “Did you make notes about everyone?"

“You want to know what I thought of you," he guessed.

Now that she'd asked it, the question did seem rather vain. With her home only a short taxi ride away, though, and the weather promising a proper white Christmas, she was in better spirits. “I'm only curious if you thought I needed 'excitement.'"

“Excitement? Oh, God, no. Anyone who wants excitement should stick to the cinema. Or my books—which should be bought new, not used. A fine Christmas present, for example." Mr. Carter grinned. “Perhaps you needed some romance, though."

“That's what you got from me? I should get married?"

“Not that kind of romance. A bit of… spice. A dash of the unexpected and unfamiliar. The weather, f'r instance. That bit with the engine, tumbling like a leaf: you'll remember that."

“I will. I didn't expect it when we left. I wonder if it would've been like that on the Roswell."

“No. Terribly boring, those huge liners. The only interesting thing used to be seeing how many macarons you could eat at afternoon tea before they cut you off, and they stopped those years ago. Now they're dreadfully tedious. And you're much more likely to be recognized. I never take them."

“Well, but you're a celebrity…" It was ever so slightly awkward that the recognition had taken so long, and the dhole's brain chose to focus on something else. “What was that about tea? They stopped?"

“I don't think it was because I made a scene." He snickered, smoke roiling from his grin. “It used to be the thing on the liner. A chance to pretend to be high society—dress up and all…"

“Dana mentioned it, yes."

“She would've, I'm sure. It's in most of their advertisements. The full-color ones in the magazines, I mean."

“No. Attending. She said we should go."

“Indeed," Kevin said. He seemed to be smirking at her now, and the way he held his pipe made him look like an inspector of sorts—some sort of Sherlock Holmes type.

“What? What does 'indeed' mean?"

“Dana Harrow—like her brother, and her parents—is a fox."

“So? Well—no she's not. She's a coyote, I think. Or a wolf? Her paws were sort of red. You have black ones."

“Yes, so I do."

“Are you implying that Dana is not… Dana? She seemed familiar with 'high society,' as you put it."

“I imply nothing. I only say that she brought a lot of luggage aboard, and wore the same dress for three days."

“And? You wore the same coat for three days. I thought you were some kind of… outlaw," Maya finished weakly. “Instead of a writer. I see. Perhaps her other clothes were less presentable. She was inspecting steel foundries, or something, after all."

As she said it, it occurred to her that none of their conversations had been especially detailed, on that front. She'd evinced no particular knowledge of steel. Nor of Detroit and the Great Lakes, except that it was beautiful in the winter. She had said nothing of her family, either. Her attention had been on the robbery, and following whatever scraps of information they could glean. And—

And on keeping our suspicion focused elsewhere.

“Oh, my God. She did it. It was her all along…"

“That's a bit of a leap. She's just a con artist, I expect. Maybe running up a tab—people know the Harrows won't comment one way or the other."

“No." For the first time, she had Kevin's interest, and she no longer cared. She was searching in her purse for the money left over from the ticket. The advantage of landing at Idlewild was that there were plenty of taxis available, and she knew where Juno must logically have been taken.

As it happened, she didn't even have to ask around: the Akita was walking down the street, his curled tail wagging affably. When she called out to him, he stopped, and looked at her in surprise. “Miss Pierce! I didn't expect to see you here. A coincidence?"

“When did you find out about Dana? Do you know who she is?"

“Not a coincidence," he said, and indicated that they should continue walking. “What do you mean by 'find out?'"

“The silver. You were carrying that silver."

“Was I? I never looked in the hold. You know, the police didn't think to ask me about the ballast. They just wanted to know about my passenger list."

“I don't care about the police. I'm asking."

“Why do you want to know?"

“Because…"

Because it's the mystery I've been chasing for the last three days, she thought at first, although even as she started to say it, it sounded unsatisfying. Because I don't want this to be over. That was more true, at least. She allowed herself to close the rest of the distance towards the answer.

“Because I want to know who you are."

“A simple airship captain, Miss Pierce."

“Maya. No, you're not."

“A simple criminal?"

“I don't think you're that, either. First Mate Gibbs told me you were an inveterate scoundrel. Mr. Vandehay said you were a rum-runner. Mr. Carter said you had a touch of the anarchist about you. I… I don't think any of that's true. Or—or it all is? And…"

“Let's sit," Juno said. They had reached the edge of a park, and there was a bench free. “If we keep walking, I'll forget where my hotel is."

She joined him on the bench, and wondered what might ever have followed and… “Everything I've thought over the last few days seems… wrong. I know three things are true. One: you told me you'd get me here before Christmas—safely—and you did."

The Akita nodded. “Always managed it so far."

“Two: whatever Chris Gibbs believes about you, she's flown with you for years."

“An inveterate scoundrel can still be a decent pilot. And good money."

She shook her head, and finished. “Three: Dana Harrow knew to ask you for passage."

“So?"

“She… played the part of a rich heiress—the gossip and all. But she was trying to figure out what we knew, I guess, and how far ahead of the authorities we were. If she talked about it, we'd talk about it, and she could control the conversation."

“It kept y'all busier than cards would've, for sure."

“Mr. Carter realized that the paper we got in Abilene was making up details in the story. Also: they said it was a train robbery. We kept talking about it like that. But it was an armored car."

“Yeah?"

“And Dana already knew that. She told me. That first morning, in Nebraska. She'd found a story—she gave it to me! I read it! I just didn't notice that she said an armored car had been hijacked, and that detail wasn't in the story."

Juno nodded. She couldn't read his expression. “Do you know who she is?"

“No. Indian," she realized, belatedly, her voice momentarily quiet. “She had a—I don't know what it was! A thing—a figurine. I should've asked Mr. Carter. The… Black Hills? Black Mesa, that's it. The Black Mesa, in Arizona. I don't know who that would be."

“No. I don't, either. Someone, I assume, who can make better use of that silver."

“She didn't tell you?"

“I didn't ask."

“But you knew. When—from the beginning? Did you try to figure that out from the beginning?"

“The only thing that matters at 'the beginning' is whether you can pay. Are you cold?"

She shook her head. “Not with the sun still up. Do I look cold?"

“Maybe."

Maya didn't know, from his tone, if the original question had been meant rhetorically or as a suggestion. She made a quick wish, steeled herself, and leaned against the Akita's side. He chuckled, and adjusted his position to let her rest more comfortably. His coat smelled, familiarly, of the airship.

Then his arm was around her. They watched the traffic pass by, as evening crept in and the lights glittering in the store windows became bright and alluring. A few snowflakes, fat and tentative, had begun to drift downwards. “Don't you have somewhere to be?" he finally asked.

“Probably. No. I don't know."

“How about something to eat, then?"

That definitely had not truly been intended as a question. And besides, she was getting colder. Some of the flakes lasted long enough to be joined by a partner before they melted. She got to her feet, and, guided by the pleasant aroma of roast chestnuts, walked with the Akita towards the nearest vendor.

He cracked a shell deftly, between thumb and index finger, rolling it open and tugging the nutmeat free. “You do have to know, on a ship as small as mine. It changes the balance. She had very heavy trunks. Chris made sure I was informed about that part when we took her aboard."

“Does that mean… hmm." She took a chestnut, savoring the heat, and delicately extracted the contents. “Did Miss Gibbs know what was in them, too?"

“Before I did, probably! She's very smart. My father should've given her the ship, instead of me."

“She told you about the weather, too. She must've planned that—with you?" Maya helped herself to another chestnut while she pondered the exact shape of the conspiracy she proposed. “You were all working together?"

“No."

“You told Chris to make sure there were parts waiting for you in Saint Louis." She walked through those steps again in her mind. “You didn't tell her about the wire—not in front of me. At all?"

“I'm the engineer. Not her."

It was a cryptic answer. “Well, then…"

“Let's be clear, Miss Pierce—Maya: I don't know anything. We had a… fraught journey, in typical winter storms. Two of my passengers requested that I put them off early. That's all."

“One. Mr. Vandehay asked. You said you told Miss Harrow."

“Fair enough."

“East of Detroit—where she said she was from, so that made sense, but… Mr. Carter thought that was strange. Why? Is that water? It's on an ocean?"

“No."

“A lake, I mean. It's on a lake?"

“East of Detroit is Canada."

“Then… then you knew something about her."

“I had an idea."

That answer, if anything, told her even less than I'm the engineer. They finished the bag of chestnuts by the time the Akita's easy walk took them to the door of a cozy hotel. Then again, the snowfall had begun in earnest; lit from within, any building seemed cozy—surely? “This is where you're staying?"

“Aye. I'll have them ring you a taxi. Tell me an address, and I'll send your duffel bag there, too. It was a pleasure having you as a passenger, Maya." The gruffness ebbed, and she wondered how much it had ever really been there. They were facing each other. He thinks he's going to hug me.

And then he did, and perhaps—later, she wouldn't be able to decide—he'd known she wouldn't pull away. “Don't…"

“Don't?"

“Don't call the taxi." She wouldn't be able to decide where the uncertainty in her voice came from, either. “Later."

He shrugged.

His room was decidedly cozy. Small, and warm, and rather too delicately decorated for his workman's garb. Juno hung his coat on the rack, and held the door open for her. She paused, catching his scent again, and found that the uncertainty had melted.

“So?" he asked. There was a single chair in the room, meant for the writing desk. He pulled it out for her, and sat on the edge of the bed, watching her movements.

Maya took the chair, and tried to look at the Akita as Blake Brown might've. “You didn't tell Miss Gibbs about the wire because you didn't want her to know. In case the police asked. And you sent me to check because you thought someone else might've told her."

“Did I?"

That would only have made sense if Tom had cut the wire. Wouldn't it? Kevin wouldn't have done it. Dana wouldn't have risked her escape, but… if Tom wasn't an informant—but then—wait. “No."

“No?"

“You cut the wire. Because… you knew how you could sabotage your ship without risking any of our lives. You sent me because I'd be distracted, thinking about it. I'd tell Dana. She'd realize… the police would be waiting for us in New York… and…"

“There's an and?" Juno asked.

“By the time you fixed the ship, the storm would block us from flying east. That would be a plausible excuse. Miss Gibbs wouldn't have to know you were in on the plot. Dana… didn't pay you off, though," she realized; her head cocked. “She was as surprised as anyone that we were heading north. You helped her escape for… no reason. No money, in any case. Why?"

He laughed. “How many of my secrets do you think you're entitled to? What if you went and talked to the cops?"

“What if I did?"

She knew nothing.

After all: they'd landed while she drowsed. She could picture it well enough, even so. He'd woken Dana Harrow—not her real name, of course. An alias, I think you call it?—silently, and helped her remove her cargo. Given her a map. Directions to a train station. Maya could see him wishing her luck.

“Did you know her?"

“No." I had an idea, that's what he'd said.

Facing him seemed like too much of an interrogation. “Do you mind?" she asked, and pointed towards the bed. Juno shook his head. It yielded far too heavily when she sat down—she fell against him, and awkwardly tried to adjust her position. “Sorry."

“Well," he said. “That's one of us."

She'd thought there would be a way to sit like they had on the bench, which proved impossible. But she did not want to get up, either. “You're not a criminal," she began—though he was undeniably so, after a fashion. She turned to look up at him. “Just a…"

Close as she was, there was no way for him to make eye contact without their muzzles being very close together indeed. He kept his prompt short. “Yes?"

“Someone who…"

If she'd said 'does what he wants' or 'thinks only of himself,' Maya would've known the kiss was an inevitable consequence of the position she'd put herself in. As it was—when she trailed off, and the question faltered…

As it was, when he closed the rest of the distance to press his lips to hers, it was an inevitable consequence of her judgment. She had not been trying to convince herself that he was not a criminal, as she might've done. She already knew the answer. And God, but she'd missed—

What? Intimacy? Being desired? Being told I'm someone who needs a bit of excitement, she thought. She tried to suppress her giggle, which turned it into a hitching gasp, and then there was warmth around her back, and a strong grip pulling her close.

“Well?" he asked, in the spell between breaking the kiss and her realizing it was over. “Someone who?"

“Has their own sense of what's right?"

The question made it a suggestion to be acted on, and she had not protested; by the end, this time, his fingers were tangled in the dhole's hair, and she'd caught the briefest hint of his taste when he opened his mouth to say something, and all she heard instead was how husky his voice had become.

If it lasted long enough to remind herself of her station, and the need for propriety—the kind of thing any reasonable woman, not just a high-society lady like Dana Harrow, would understand—Maya would extricate herself before one of the Akita's claws snagged her dress, and did the rest of the job in a rush of rent fabric.

Dana Harrow, delicate fingers holding a teacup. A lie. An impolite fiction.

Juno paused, his fingers between her shoulder blades, where the dress was fastened. He opened the top strap with the same skill he'd used on the chestnuts. Then the next, and the garment began to part too obviously for it to have been an accident.

She slipped her arms from it. The Akita brushed now-bare fur. The last occasion she had to think of her husband—certainly the last in that sort of context—it was to recall how perfunctory he'd been; how she disrobed at his order because it was, after a fashion, her duty.

Juno paced himself, although by the time he was pulling upwards on her slip there was more than academic curiosity involved. Her bra fell away, and before she had a chance to feel exposed she found herself on her back, with the Akita's body was over hers.

Another kiss. By that point, Maya felt breathless. Then the dog arched his back, nosing from her collarbone further down with his blunt muzzle, and tingling warmth dragged over her nipple, and she found her lungs were still full enough for an unbidden moan.

She closed her eyes. Heat built in the darkness, smoldering, like coals before a bellows. He lapped her, suckling pert flesh until she started to whimper. She felt shuffling; heard rustling, and soft thuds. When she reached for the Akita, her fingers parted dense fur.

He nudged her, she thought, and scooted further into the bed, pulling from her dress—it, too, fell untidily away. Strong paws, blessedly sure of themselves, caressed her—he'd shifted too, kissing her again. Deeply, this time. His tongue sought hers. He felt so solid, such an undeniable presence there, over her, their muzzles locked together.

That was the moment she realized what Kevin Carter meant by 'romance': the moment she knew she was not picturing Juno taking her paw between his, offering a ring, or a candlelit dinner while he tried to keep his voice soft, or—more directly—the way he might make love to her, his stocky body bucking powerfully, his growls rising…

She imagined, specifically, the moments after. Pinned under him, their bodies tangled, his breath ragged. The two of them, slowly, realizing they were all but strangers, caught in the aftermath of something impulsive and illicit. The sound of tinkling bells, outside, softening beneath deeper snowfall as the city's respectable citizens gathered for a holiday dinner.

His trousers were still on, though she thought the belt might have been open, and the trousers could not keep her from feeling him: hot, straining against the fabric, stiff even through his clothes and her fur. She opened her eyes and was immediately caught in his own.

“Why did you help her?"

Juno stopped. “You're asking me now?"

Did his answer matter? “Maybe."

“The miners, I suppose. Or their owners. The Superstition Mine's pretty old. Did a lot of…" He stopped again, at the point where Maya also realized her fingers were at his waist, doing the rest of the job on his pants. “Did a lot of damage. Scars. Not always the kind's like you can see from the bridge of my ship."

“That's a lot of words."

As she pushed his trousers downwards, the dog shrugged. “They're no friend of mine. Or yours. Leave it at that."

“You did it—"

“Because I had to."

In its own way, that should've been cryptic, too. But it was, she realized, what Gibbs had been trying to get her to understand, telling the dhole about Juno's tendency to fly into the mountains when nobody else would. And that answer had mattered, because it told her that she'd guessed correctly at who he was when he was in command of his ship.

Now he was no longer on the Miss Mitsuko, though—now the rest of their clothes were off, and he had guided her further onto the bed. Or else she'd done it without guidance. They were acting on the same instinct, after all; her legs parted even as his paw caressed the inside of her thigh, and he settled between them.

She didn't know quite what to expect when he entered: a hard buck; a brief period to adjust. Maybe not even that. An inveterate scoundrel, Chris called him. She gasped when he found her, and pushed gently. Perhaps an inch of him was inside her: hard and assertive, exquisite with living heat. But the sound brought him up short. He held still.

Their eyes met. She saw him, caught between his own desire and a search for some hesitation from the dhole beneath him. Maya felt that was dealt with best by a kiss, which drew a soft grunt from the Akita before he returned it. Then he moved again, and this time he didn't stop until he was all the way inside her. Filled—achingly, breathtakingly filled—she could only pant, shallowly, while his soft groan melted against her whiskers.

He pulled from her slowly. Too slowly, even; by the time he was thrusting back into the dhole she was all but squirming in anticipation. His movements after that were steady and smooth, but once he felt certain of himself—and of her, and of the mattress—the energy built swiftly. He rocked forward, shoving hard between her spread legs, and the sensation of it went beyond thrilling into something deeper and more primal.

Whatever Tom Vandehay thought about her unladylike behavior, Maya retained enough sense of propriety that she intended to remain quiet. At first. She intended to lay pliant beneath him, letting him take his pleasure without seeming too eager or desperate. But as he sank into her, spreading the dhole around its pulsing girth, the Akita's malehood—his shaft—

His cock, she amended, biting back a moan at the thrill of that transgression. The way he buried his cock in her so forcefully, plunging to the hilt in her ready cunt until their bodies were flush to one another and she felt the fullness of his weight pinning her down, had her rapidly losing the battle not to cry out. She needed it. Needed him.

She was raising her hips up to meet his own, now, and her legs were around him, guiding the Akita's steady bucking. And Juno was grunting hoarsely into the side of her neck, a sloppy kiss giving way to rough nuzzles and nips. And his length kept stroking in and out of her—more in than out, truthfully, he was keeping her almost constantly full. And…

And, as she yelped aloud for the first time, Maya sensed her surrender to more than the debauched impulse to give voice to her pleasure. He pushed in heavily and then kept going, grinding against her, and she begged him to do it again. By name, even—the words running together, desperate and unbecoming.

But he did it again. She was trembling, by the third time. By the fourth the tension had built beyond her ability to dam it, and then she felt his coarse fur bunch between her suddenly clutching fingers, and his cock, firm and hot as she clenched down around him. She couldn't stop it; her body reacted of its own accord, as climax rolled through her.

Juno stayed deep in her gripping folds, and even through the rhythmic tumult of her peak she could feel how he was swelling, growing bigger as she squeezed him. When she was no longer shuddering, he pulled his knot free, and while that was not uncomfortable—yet—Maya was taken by the certainty that she not allow even the faintest possibility of any other outcome.

He groaned, because he'd pumped all the way into her again, knot slipping into place, and her legs gripped him tight enough that he didn't even try pulling back. Instead he confined himself to shallow, forceful thrusts—each shallower than the one before as he throbbed thicker and thicker, tugging at her insides rather than sliding through them.

The Akita felt massive, now, like she didn't know how he'd even fit himself in her. Every movement sent a jolt of borderline electric stimulation, centered on where she was reflexively gripping his knot. If she moved just right—oh, God!—it took only a few seconds of experimentation before moving dissolved into squirming that worked just as well.

As she squealed, unmuffled, and her muscles contracted around him again—around every part of him, drawing the big dog close and snug—she heard him huff, and then a short, wordless grunt. Juno started to buck, rapid and newly urgent. He went still, legs quivering, and his cock flexed and twitched. He was quieter than she'd managed, but his low groan, right at her ear, was deafening.

After a moment, even while Maya trembled and twisted through the waves of her release, the Akita resumed thrusting. Different, now: slower, and gentler, and timed to the rhythm of his pulsing. There was a building, unmistakeable slipperiness in the way he slid over her inner walls. His upper body stayed tense above the dhole as she reveled in the sensation of warmth, spreading inexorably out in her most intimate places.

She knew he'd finished emptying himself when the dog sagged, collapsing with a final, exhausted groan in her arms. He didn't speak. She stroked his fur; buried her nose in his shoulder and inhaled the scent of engine grease, and gasoline, and exertion. When he gathered enough strength to try and roll off her, she cut the attempt off with a hug.

With the Akita a solid, heavy blanket over her, she tried to summon some feeling of regret. When she saw her parents—the following day, by that point, she imagined—she wouldn't tell them what had happened, of course. I don't have secrets, she thought, and smiled. And laughed, without realizing it: Juno made a quiet, questioning sound. “Hmm?"

“Just thinking," she murmured.

Maya regretted that, in the moment, the feelings had been too intense to truly appreciate. She thought she had probably cried out, although she had no idea what words had been on her lips, or how guttural they might've been. Someone who could keep a secret from the police, she thought, was exactly the kind of person who might beg their lover to fuck them.

And they might listen. That gave way to a second regret, which was that she wanted the Akita to have lost control of himself the same way she had. All that energy in his big, stocky form… even at the end, he'd held himself back. And—this she thought with a wryer, guiltier smile—he had not held back in other ways, judging by the obscene wetness she perceived inside her when either of them moved even the slightest.

“Thinking about what?" Juno asked.

“How I've known you for all of three days." And she'd let him rut himself to that messy, unguarded finish without even the pretense of an objection. When he pulled from her, she'd feel him running down her legs like some reckless teenager, caught in the throes of youthful passion and suddenly confronted with the notion of consequence.

The idea did not bother her. It did not seem to bother Juno, either. “I've known you for all of three days," he pointed out. He pushed himself up on his elbows, and looked at her with a warm grin. “Maybe I would like to know you better."

“We know one another pretty well, by this point." Maya wiggled her hips—they were still firmly tied. And, by the way the Akita's breath suddenly hissed, he was more sensitive to that than even she.

He pushed against her until her hips stilled. “Nah. More than that."

And then he kissed her.

The realization that he meant it, in some fashion, came with a brief pang. After everything—the mystery, and the climbed ladders, and the cold, and the crash—she had allowed herself to become open to the romance of their tawdry, impulsive coupling.

It seemed like something he'd do, after all, and something she wouldn't. This, on the other hand, was different. “Why did you take me? In Denver, I mean. Your ship was overweight."

“I've done worse. A little, though, perhaps."

“Then… why?" She was not as wealthy as Tom Vandehay, nor as intriguing as Mr. Carter. Nor as in need of his help as Miss Harrow. “You didn't know who I was."

“I had an idea. Never needed anything more than that. Don't intend to start."

“I don't know what I want," she admitted. “From this. From you."

“Do you have to?"

His lips were still close. Outside, if she strained her ears—there, yes, was the sound of bells. Her arms circled his upper back, and she pulled him once more into the kiss he'd abandoned, until all she could hear was their panting breath.

Maya had not answered him. She did not know the answer, or if there was one to be had. But—

She had an idea.