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He ignores her, turning to me.
“How did you get in without it landing on top of you?”
“I meant to check on you,” I defend, “quietly. I barely opened the door and slipped inside.”
“Good thing, or you would have been wearing a cobra headpiece,” Lady E. points out. I rather wished she hadn’t. The image will give me nightmares for years.
Fingers shaky, I put my hand to my chest, as if this could still the racket of my heart.
“Where is this guard of yours? Where is Zenji?”
Bentwood looks guilty. Damn him!
“Good question,” Lady E. says. “Where is he?”
Bentwood has helped Lady E. down and is now engrossed in untying the basket, ignoring the question.
“Well?” I demand.
He looks over his shoulder, as if he hasn’t heard. He is a terrible liar.
“Zenji is in another part of the ship. Steves is sending him back here.”
“Fine lot of good he does if he’s not with us.”
“I am here now.” The man steps over the threshold, taking in the basket. “A cobra?”
The word is deep and sinewy, reflective of the creature.
“Flared neck and all,” Bentwood tells him. “My wife snatched him up before it could strike me.”
Eyebrow raised, the man studies me, unblinking. I meet him stare for stare.
“What of your quarry?” Bentwood asks Zenji.
Before they reveal who that is, a cabin boy bustles in, searching for space to serve tea in a small, crowded cabin.
“There’s no room here,” Lady E. says. “Take it back to the salon, we’ll have it there.”
“No,” I counter, not at all certain I can walk without it, “I will have a cup now, if you will.”
“You, my dear,” — Bentwood leans over and swoops me up off the chair and into his arms — “need something stronger than tea. We’ll find it in the salon.”
He nods to the boy, and we all file out.
At least they file out. I have my arms around my husband’s neck, my face inches from his.
“Did you know your room had a trap?” I whisper. He shakes his head. “But you expected company.” He nods. “Unpleasant company?”
His bark of laughter reverberates, touching me like the rough purr of a large feline.
“You don’t think it was unpleasant enough?”
“Me or the snake?” I toss at him.
Looking me straight in the eyes, serious now, he agrees then nudges me with his chin.
“Put your head on my shoulder. Rest.” He would have to learn not to order me around. A fight for another day. I do as he asks, ludicrous as it is. We are nearly to the salon, where he will put me down. His whisper brushes my ear. “Thank you, Kat, for saving my life.”
