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war machines. Archimedes had been the reason Temür Agha sent assassins after them. Bilson’s life had been threatened and a fortune lost, and it was all due to Archimedes’ impulsive action.
    But Archimedes didn’t suffer any guilt for that, either—and that was another emotion he’d have wallowed in, givenhalf a chance. Instead, he only felt a faint curiosity, wondering why the man sought him now.
    Strange, that. Archimedes rarely felt anything “faintly.” Yet even with Bilson’s card in his hand, he had no real desire to visit his old friend. As far as he was concerned, his accounts with Bilson had been settled long ago. It was possible that Bilson didn’t feel the same, and Zenobia had reason to be worried—but if that was the case, there was no reason to go looking for the man.
    Shaking his head, Archimedes tucked the card into his sack and locked the door behind him. If trouble was coming, it would find him soon enough. It always did.
    And he always enjoyed the hell out of it.
    *   *   *
    His visit to the silversmith’s shop had been even more fruitful than Archimedes had hoped. He returned to the south dock with a light step—no, a light step wasn’t enough. This sort of success called for dancing.
    Fortunately, the crowded walk was filled with partners. As he passed a tinker’s cart, Archimedes caught the eye of the attending blacksmith—difficult to do, as she was staring at his lime green breeches. Then her gaze rose to his face and he saw recognition fill her eyes when the pieces fell into place: his loud clothing, his astonishingly handsome features, his dashing grin. Yes, she knew who he was.
    Archimedes Fox, Fearless Adventurer.
    With great formality, he bowed—and caught the blacksmith around her aproned waist, swinging her about. Her shriek of surprise became a laugh. Her strong hands tightened on his shoulders, her feet quickly finding the step. Heads turned.
    He dropped a kiss to her flushed cheek and spun away. Nearby, a stout washerwoman with red hands and sleeves rolled to her elbows was watching, smiling. Archimedes started for her. She winked and met him with a saucy toss of her hips. God love bold women. Laughing, he promenaded with her past a group of hooting sailors. He left the washerwoman with a flourish, then picked a little girl in threadbare skirts, her eyes wide and fingers sticky, dancing a wide circlebefore returning her to a beaming mother. A burly stevedore was next, gamely allowing Archimedes to twirl him around a huffing steamcoach, though with his steel prosthetic arms and hydraulic shoulders, he could have tossed Archimedes over it. As it was, when the stevedore saw a pretty partner more to his liking, Archimedes found himself spun directly into the path of a matriarch wearing velvet gloves and a fashionable lace ruff, and whose protest only lasted until the shouts of encouragement around them spurred her into Archimedes’ arms. Light and quick, her first step was a challenge that he almost failed to meet. The haughty lift of her brow delighted him, and he attempted to lead her on a merry chase, only to find she outstepped him on every turn. His deep bow conceded defeat; she nodded, her mouth disapproving, her eyes sparkling. He winked and turned, spotting a gray-haired woman in traveling clothes sitting atop a trunk, her face lined and weary. With only a bit of encouragement, he pulled her up on top of the trunk and into a jig. She hiked her skirts, exposing a brilliant pair of red stockings. The laughter and the clapping began in earnest then, boots pounding a rhythm on the boards. A jaunty accordion started up somewhere—a street musician would likely be earning a few more coins that day. Exhilarated, Archimedes led them into faster clapping, louder stomping. The docks were always noisy, but this sort of commotion wouldn’t go unnoticed above.
    Nor did it. Archimedes looked up toward
Lady Nergüi
as he leapt off the trunk, and caught a glimpse of Yasmeen’s