Free Dawn's Early Light by Pip Ballantine

it?”
    Eliza was making no sense whatsoever. “Whatever are you on about?”
    Her head jerked away, and her tone became very cold. “Never mind. You think I am being foolish.”
    â€œThat is not what I said,” Wellington insisted. “I am merely trying to understand why you are taking such umbrage. I did not ask you to attend, as I am well aware you are about as interested in the works of Thomas Edison as you are in those of Verdi.”
    â€œMight I remind you, Welly, that we are on a mission? That means sightseeing and local entertainment is considered a distrac—” Eliza’s words caught in her throat. She was now looking him over head to toe. “Just a moment, we are on a mission.”
    â€œYes,” Wellington agreed. “And you are stating the obvious because—”
    â€œBecause I am looking at your suit, Welly, and I can tell you are not armed.”
    Bugger. She noticed.
    â€œI am armed,” Wellington insisted.
    Her brow knotted. “With what? A Derringer ’81? We need something with a bit more stopping—it’s not the Derringer, is it?”
    â€œNot . . . exactly.”
    Eliza screwed her eyes shut. He could see muscles twitching in her jaw. “Please, Welly,” she began, “
please
tell me it’s not one of Axelrod and Blackwell’s experimentals.”
    Wellington felt his throat go dry. “She calls it the Nipper.”
    â€œThe Nipper?!”
Eliza screamed. “This is your first field mission and you are armed with an experimental called the Nipper?
What were you thinking?!
”
    â€œI was thinking”—and Wellington couldn’t stop himself from saying it—“baby steps. Yes, I am skilled with sidearms—”
    â€œYou’re a bloody marksman of most lethal abilities, you are!”
    Perhaps it was the trip. Perhaps it was the presence of that bombast Wheatley, but now Wellington could feel his own dander start to get up. “I am not going to discuss this with you any further! You can have the master bedroom. I am a man of simple means, as you know, and I will manage just fine in the guest bedroom.”
    â€œThe guest bedroom?” Eliza folded her arms in front of her chest.
    â€œYes. I think that would be best. Besides, as you have said, we are on a mission, so the fewer distractions the better, yes?” When her shoulders fell, Wellington’s exhaustion took the place of his anger. This was growing tiresome, and just a bit silly. “So what have I cocked up this time, Eliza?”
    Eliza went to open her mouth, immediately closed it with a snap, then whirling about, picked up her skirts, stormed into the master bedroom, and slammed the door behind her.
    The archivist-now-field-agent stood there, staring at the door, waiting for it to open again. However, the door didn’t budge. Wellington couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard a muffled, aggravated scream over the omnipresent sound of the waves of the Atlantic.
    â€œHysteria,” he muttered to himself as he picked up his suitcase. “Has to be.”

I NTERLUDE

In Which the Sands of Kitty Hawk Shift in Dangerous Directions
    D unes shift. Coastlines, under the elements, change. The sky is full of fleeting moods. So too the usually pretty face of Sophia del Morte, which was currently marred by a frown. She now stood on the sandbank, looking out to sea, her dark eyes underneath an equally dark hat scanning the horizon with eagle-like determination. This looked like the right place.
    From the inside of her corset she withdrew the detailed map of the Outer Banks that the Maestro had given her. These details included coordinates, something Sophia trusted. If she were off her mark by the smallest distance, things could go disastrously wrong. That he should place his own fate so securely in her hands made even this seasoned assassin quiver with delight.
    She had travelled by an exceedingly