Enter Mister Pump

His name was Mister Pump and the very first thing you learned was not to laugh at him being called Mister Pump.

Mister Pump was a big man. Actually, he was beyond a big man. He was the sort of man who looked like he’d been hewn from the side of a mountain. He had muscles on top of muscles on top of muscles on top of muscles.

In short, he had the sort of body that would make you think he paid for his living by beating up drunks outside of bars. And maybe, just maybe, he’d started that way.

But that was a long time ago and Mister Pump had gone up in the world. He was dressed in a fine suit, trailing coat-tails swished in the breeze of his movements. His undershirt was of the finest silk, and his collar was buttoned with a fine gem. He was wearing a hat. A long-brimmed hat which cast shade over his face. He had handkerchiefs engraved with his initials and a golden stringed watch trailed from his breast pocket. His massive, coiling fingers were covered by fine, black gloves.

The gloves glinted red and wet with the blood of his latest victim.

The man who had been - formally - the chief engineer of the Pentecost sagged in his chains. The rattling of metal slowed in tune with his laboured breathing. He was strung up in the underbelly of the ship. Chained between two boilers.

There was another person in the darkness with him. She was sleek like a blade. Subtle where he was obvious. Her body was slender. Her hair was dark. She wore a deep, red dress, cut open to expose her long, slim legs. Her eyes were blue, and her face was refined. Aristocratic.

But above all, they were cold, and she regarded the scene with a cruel interest.

“So we have a description now,” she said. “Thanks to our friend here. We know the man who paid for the signet ring. We know he’s on the ship. Which means the girl is on the ship too. Our delivery. We’ll narrow it down and-”

“Gearheart, Richard.”

“You’re sure?”

Mister Pump turned to regard her. Another man might have launched into an explanation. Shown how they had come to that conclusion. Might have gone on a monologue or even been tempted to brag or show off in front of a woman who was, frankly, beyond merely beautiful.

“Yes.”

That was the other thing about Mister Pump. He looked like a thug with delusions of grandeur, and he acted like it too. But he was always watching. Always thinking. Always putting bits and pieces together. Like the world was some giant jigsaw.

“I’ll find out where he’s quartered and pay him a visit.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Not yet. Not like that. He could be hiding the girl. No guarantee of finding her if we raid his room.”

“We can make him talk. You did to the engineer.”

Mister Pump regarded the sagging sack of flesh that had once been a person.

“He was weak. Richard will not be.”

“You’re sure?”

“Ex-soldier.”

“We’ve dealt with those before.”

“No. Different. Ex-marine. Steam navy. Graduated with honours, performed in multiple operations. Boarding actions, defences. Tough man. No give. He won’t speak. Not quickly enough to matter.”

“You’ve done your research,” the woman said.

“Always.”

“Then what do we do? You’re the boss.”

For a few seconds, Mister Pump did not speak. But the woman -Isabell - knew enough of him to know he was merely considering his options. And when Mister Pump considered his options, he did so extensively.

“We will catch him with the girl,” Mister Pump said at last. “No need to find her if he brings her out himself.”

“You think that’s likely?”

“Oh yes,” Mister Pump gave a wide smile, and it was a most unpleasant smile. The kind of smile that was born of anticipation. “I think it’s very likely. The girl?”

“Yes?”

“Expensive?”

“Very. We have an extremely wealthy client who wants her badly enough to pay anything.”

“Good. Double the price.”

She blanched.

“Really? But we’ve already agreed to the contract. I-”

“It’s more trouble now. Double the price. You said that they want her badly? Let them pay for it. We’ll hold her ourselves until they fork over the money.”

“And if they don’t?”

“We’ll find somewhere else to sell her. I am sure that there are many people who would want a fine whore like her.”

Isebell shivered, a look of appreciation washed across her face.

“You have absolutely no mercy at all, do you, Mister Pump?”

“No. None at all. Not even a little. Remember that.”

A secret smile played about Isebell’s face.

“I always do.”