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to the Dutchman that you were incapable of speaking to a female for more than three minutes.”
    Unlikely to speak to a woman, yes. But
unable
to? “I’m capable.”
    “Not that I’ve ever seen.” The scowl cracked for a moment, revealing the amusement beneath. “You’re incapable—or too terrified. The answer is yours to pick.”
    Christ.
How would he get out of this one? Dooley always turned every opinion based on observation into fact, and only hard evidence could counter it. Problem was, David couldn’t easily recall
any
conversation of late that had lasted more than a few minutes, unless it was with a member of a recent expedition or a colleague.
    Ah.
There was his answer. “Inoue Nanami.”
    “The madwoman who floated a jellyfish balloon over Krakatoa?” Dooley swept his hat off and knocked it against his leg, shaking free a shower of raindrops. More drizzled onto his head. “You listened as she gave a lecture to the Society. That’s no conversation.”
    “I spoke with her.”
    “You tossed questions at her when she’d finished—and every one of them was relayed through her translator. As I see it, you were only speaking to
him
.”
    Damn it. With a laugh, David shook his head. “But now you’ve seen me with this woman for twice that length of time. So did I prove you wrong or make a liar out of you?”
    No reason to let Dooley know that although he’d walked with the woman for more than three minutes, the noise of the docks had prevented them from speaking for a good portion of it. Their conversationhad been long enough to make David certain that she had answers, and brief enough to make him frustrated that he couldn’t solicit them from her.
    Dooley took the less offensive choice. “I’ll admit I’ve been proved wrong.”
    “Good man,” David said. “When I’ve reached your great age, I hope I’ll admit defeat as gracefully as you do.”
    The older man snorted. “If you’ve brains enough to survive as long.”
    “So it was your brains that saved you after the earthquake on Tzapotépetl? I’d say it was my hand that pulled you out of that crevice.”
    “It was me with the sense to reach for your hand, wasn’t it?”
    David conceded with a grin. The man could talk his way around almost anything. Bolstered by his victory, Dooley lifted his hat back into place and winked at Goltzius when the young botanist joined them.
    “As Kentewess was so quick to abandon us while the steamcoach was loaded, I say we ride up top to share a bottle and leave him to watch the unloading.”
    Goltzius’s only response was an open, good-natured smile—a diplomatic response, to David’s mind. As the newest member of their team, joining David and Dooley after only a week’s acquaintance, Goltzius hadn’t yet known them long enough to participate in the back-and-forth of a friendly ragging, let alone take sides. David thought that camaraderie would come, eventually. Goltzius had been a good fit so far, bright and determined, and weathering without complaint the delays in securing supplies and the cramped accommodations aboard the airship from Johannesland to Castile.
    If such trivialities had frustrated the botanist, no doubt this expedition would have been hell for him—for
all
of them. David had once spent six months in the company of a linguist who’dwhined over every insect bite. By the end of it, he could have cheerfully strangled the man—and he’d have strangled him with his right hand, just to prolong the pleasure of it.
    He hoped Goltzius wouldn’t arouse the same murderous compulsions. As it was, his addition to the team had already aroused a few, though Goltzius wasn’t to blame for them. Politics were.
    When David and Dooley had proposed this nine-month survey to the Scientific Society of New Leiden, they’d picked botanist Mary Longcreek to accompany them. Experienced, dedicated, and familiar with plant growth recovery following volcanic eruptions, she’d been the ideal choice for