The Steam Spy (Steam World Book 2), page 9
“Oh, it can be defeated!” Danielle said. “A torch, even, thrown at the right height is more than enough.”
“Easily defeated, then,” I said. “And —” I gave her a calculating look. “What would I find in that long shed out there, the one you wouldn’t let me see?”
“Not walkers, certainly,” she declared.
“But not more of that marvelous steam plough, either, I’d wager.”
“Really, and how much would you wager?” She pointed to my neck and the leather locket. “That locket, perhaps?”
“It’s worthless,” I told her quickly, failing to keep my hand from groping spasmodically towards it.
She made a grab at my chest. When I jerked back she cried, “Then why is it that you won’t let anyone near it?”
“I can’t tell you,” I said.
“Well, girl of mystery, you may keep your secrets as long as you let me keep mine,” Danielle said with a wave of her hand. “So you’ll travel with me and I’ll get Samuel to travel with Thomas —”
“Does he not know Thomas MacArdle?”
“Aye but he didna ken Thomas Farmer,” she replied in a thick Scots accent.
“Why didn’t you introduce him to me that way?”
Danielle smiled at me and it was like the sun peering out from a cloud. “Why, Miss Evans, it was a test. A test you failed, if you would know.”
“I do not recall reacting to his name,” I said in protest.
“Which is why you failed,” she said, smiling more broadly. “Because here in England, everyone would have heard of him.”
I shook my head. “His name is a secret to most, miss,” I replied. “I mean, sir.”
“Apparently, though, not to everyone,” she said. “And your reaction. Well, I’m no spy, but it was clear that you reacted to the name.”
“So why did you go with me after Captain Morton?”
“Say, rather, why did I take two pistols with me?”
“Yes, I had noticed that,” I said. “And, you might recall, you gave me one of them later.”
“Because I decided to trust you, Miss Evans.”
“Claire,” I said. “My friends call me Claire.”
“Claire,” she said. “So, do you approve my plan? Mrs. Norris and Marie will keep a sound eye on our Bessie, you can be sure.”
“And a midwife?” I asked. “She’s due any day.”
“All the better,” Danielle said. “If the king’s men are looking for a woman with child, they’ll not blink at a woman and a babe.”
“True.”
#
We took the cart and two horses again. My nag was well rested but she’d not been trained to such tackle and we agreed — ‘Mr. Fletcher’ and I — that it would be wise to keep her in reserve. Thomas and Samuel took horses, riding as a pair.
We — rather, Mr. Fletcher — decided that we would retrace our course down to where we’d found the dead horse. Thomas and Samuel would head north and east, coming the long way around the branch in the road. It led toward Derby which might be where the German was headed.
We were an hour on the road when I pulled the horses up. Danielle had been dozing and looked up at me. “What?”
“What if they went to Fletcher Manor?” I asked, my eyes wide.
“Well, they’ll meet Mrs. Norris,” Danielle said.
“And Mrs. Cattan?” I asked.
“Mrs. Norris will be enough,” she patted the spot where she kept her guns. “She’s got two pistols and two loaded guns of a more persuasive kind.”
“Those strange Puckle guns? Are they real?”
“Not any more,” Danielle said, pulling the reins from me and urging the horses on. Once we were moving again, she handed the reins back to me, adding softly, “Not any more.”
She sounded sad. And angry. And… devious. All at the same time. I recalled, then, that I was riding with the girl who killed a king and gave his crown away. I glanced at her, her hair black, her black hat pulled low, her green eyes closed.
We rode on.
#
It took us the same three hours to reach the crossroads. I spied birds hovering and diving half an hour before we arrived. Crows. Carrion crows. I pulled the horses to a stop. Danielle opened her eyes again.
“The carrion have found the horse,” I told her.
“Not our quarry,” she said. She glance at me. “Unless there’s more you might learn from it?”
I shook my head and jumped down. I raised a hand to forestall her from following me. Instead, she sat back and pulled out her pistols. I heard them cocking again. Instead of fear, I felt protected.
I walked the ground carefully, noting the hoofprints, checking them off against my memory of my nag and the captain’s horse. There were three sets of hoofprints I didn’t recognize. All three of them turned east, following the fork.
Why hadn’t they gone west, toward Fletcher Manor? The captain, I decided. And what had he told them? Was he leading them or was he prisoner? I couldn’t tell.
“They took the other fork,” I said, pointing. “The two horses, one with a double load. A while later, a third followed them.”
“How do you know? It could just be another traveler,” she challenged.
“Well, if it was, why did the rider dismount, scan the ground and take off at a gallop when he remounted?” I said.
Danielle smiled at me. “Indeed, why?” She motioned me back to the cart. Once I was back on, she took the reins and started the horses eastwards. “There’s an inn about three miles further on,” she said. “We’ll take lunch there.”
“Lunch?” I protested. “But —”
“We’ve got to eat,” she cut in, “the horses need to be changed, I’m known there as Mr. Fletcher, and the innkeeper has eyes like a hawk.”
I smiled at her. “I must admit that I am hungry.”
She patted me and laughed. “You rest, I’ll drive.”
#
I woke when she pulled the horses off the road and halted them. I looked up at her.
“Sleep well?” she asked. I nodded, still somewhat dazed. She kicked the brake lever to lock it. “Unhitch the horses and lead them around to the barn while I see about lunch and a new pair.”
I jumped down from my side, happily avoiding a pile of manure and started to unhitch the two horses. I’d done it before, thousands of miles and an ocean away. The principles were all the same. I led the horses off, still in harness to the barn in the back.
An old man looked up when he heard us approaching. He spotted me and stopped in his tracks.
“Mr. Fletcher’s compliments, and we’re to switch these for another pair,” I said.
“You from the colonies?” he asked. It took me a moment to sort his words out, his accent was thick. I nodded. He moved forward to help me with the tack. “Don’t see too many of your kind up here.”
I had no answer for him. We worked together in silence. He put halters on the two horses and sent me off to cool them down. Horses need to walk off any sweat or they’ll catch their death of cold stuck in a stable. It only took about ten minutes. The two were well-behaved, gentle horses. When I brought them back, he’d already started tacking up their replacements.
“There’s two stalls back there, put ‘em in,” he said, not looking at me.
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Sir!” He shook his head in wonder. “I have never been called sir!”
When I got the two horses put away, seeing to their water and some hay, I made my way back around. He waved me on. “Your Mr. Fletcher says to go right in, they’re expecting you.”
Inside, Mr. Fletcher called me over when he spotted me. We chatted as he pushed a plate of steaming beef and vegetables — some sort of stew — in front of me. There was a glass, too, of beer.
‘Mr. Fletcher’ watched me with interest as I tested the beer. In too many places, the water was so foul that no one drank it. My master’s farm was not one of those places. But the beer was good and cool.
“Well?” Mr. Fletcher asked, nodding to my pint. “Is that to your liking?”
“The flavor’s good, sir,” I agreed. “But I’m more used to plain water, truth be told.”
“So I guessed,” Mr. Fletcher replied. “The horses?”
“Yours are stabled and the hostler’s bringing out the new ones.”
‘Mr. Fletcher’ nodded, draining his glass and wiping his mouth. He turned back to the stew in front of him. He finished off the plate and wiped it with a hunk of bread, slowing to chew it.
“More beer, sir?” a cheery voice called. I looked and took the man for the innkeeper. He wore an apron and a hearty expression. His eyes jerked when they first saw me but he said nothing, nodding to include me in the offer.
“A half, only, John,” Mr. Fletcher said. “And nothing for this one. She’s in from the colonies where they only drink water.”
“Water!” John said, chuckling. He glanced toward me once more. “Do they not worry about the pox, the ague, or the fever?”
“Sir, we’re lucky, our water comes down from the hills as clear and fresh as can be,” I told him.
“Well, then!” John said. “Although I still say you can’t go far wrong with a decent pint.”
“Your drink is very refreshing, sir,” I told him. “And your food… I am much taken with it.”
That seemed to make innkeeper John much happier.
Mr. Fletcher pulled some coins from his pocket. “Is this enough?”
John the innkeeper took the coins and nodded, happy. “Wait a moment and I’ll get your half.”
Mr. Fletcher turned to me. “We’ve got miles to go, best travel on a full stomach.”
I nodded, finishing off the stew and soaking up the gravy with the marvelous fresh bread. I could tell that it had been baked that very morning, the insides were still warm and steamy.
Ten minutes later and we were on our way. Again, ‘Mr. Fletcher’ had me drive. The road was fair, nothing more. I waited until we were out sight of the inn, the village, and any other ears that might hear us.
“Did you not build your machines so they wouldn’t have to be concerned with potholes, sir?” I asked.
Miss Walker touched a finger to her nose and shook her head. “It is dangerous to talk that way. Save our conversations for the manor or the workshop.”
“And be careful even then,” I guessed. I peered up ahead on the road. “You said miles to go. How many, do you think?”
“It’s seventy miles and more to Derby from here,” ‘Mr. Fletcher’ said. Actually, from the pitch of the voice, it seemed more like Miss Walker was talking. “We’ll not make more than a third of that, given these horses.”
“They seem steady enough,” I allowed. Twenty miles was a good estimate of their endurance, though. “Can we trade them further on?”
‘Mr. Fletcher’ nodded. “There’s another inn just about there.” She pursed her lips in a frown.
“What is it, may I ask?”
“I worry for your captain,” she replied, not disguising her voice. “And I worry for the consequences either way.”
“If he’s tortured, I don’t think he’ll hold out long,” I said. She looked at me. “He’s a good man but I don’t think his constitution is all that strong.”
“And he’s no reason to keep silent, particularly at the expense of his life,” she agreed. “So… then what?”
“What was your plan, sir?” I said, recalling ‘Mr. Fletcher’ to my mind. “Everything I’ve learned about you tells me that you have some plan.”
“Oh, really?” Miss Walker asked, cackling gaily. “And what do you imagine my plan to be?”
I realized that I was being tested. I thought about it, flicking the reins to get the horses moving faster. “If your friend is right and Sir MacAllister is no more, doesn’t that change your position?”
“I am a woman in a man’s world,” she told me, shaking her head. “My property belongs either to my father or my husband.”
“So, be a man!” I said. She looked at me. “That’s what you’re doing already. And did before, I do believe.”
She snorted. “And, once discovered, what then?”
“Well, you have a plan,” I said, firm in my belief in this strange but marvelous person.
“I do,” she agreed. “So, as I said, tell me what it is.”
“Miss, you have the advantage of me,” I said. “I don’t know what you’ve done in the past two years.” I paused. “If you’d wanted to remain incognito, you would not have built that steam plough. You would have maybe taken a ship abroad, to the colonies at least. Or perhaps to other parts.”
“And why didn’t I?”
“Because you were worried about your friends,” I guessed. “And you had work to do and needed to be in England — Great Britain — or, perhaps, Scotland though I note you’re not there.”
“Too close, I’d be found out,” she told me. “And, yes, the materials and the tools I need are hard to find elsewhere.” She nodded to herself. “Hard to find even here.”
“And yet you’re making so much steel that word has got out,” I said. “Everyone knows steel is hard to make — did you find a new way, miss?”
“I did,” she allowed, giving me a look of approval. “Now guess what else I found?”
“I’d imagine you’d find a way to work better with steam,” I ventured. She snorted a laugh. “Maybe a better way to heat it or a method to allow for higher pressures.”
“Only that, do you think?” she teased.
I frowned. The horses were slowing again, so I flicked the reins again, urging them on. I waited until they’d picked up their pace, thinking.
“The king is in peril,” I said. “Without your machines, he’s in danger of losing his kingdom.”
“And why should I care if he does?” she asked me in a deceptively idle tone.
“Because if he does, there’ll be blood shed everywhere,” I said. “Here, Scotland, Ireland, Wales. Even the colonies. The French will want revenge for the way he brushed them off. The Elector and his people want the throne back. His life will be forfeit if he’s caught. And there are many, here, now, who would be happy to see the end of him.”
“But he’s no king of mine,” she said. “Since he took the throne, he’s done nothing for me and mine.”
“He thought you were dead, how could he do anything?” I asked. She gave me a sharp look and I lowered my eyes. “Sorry, sir. Didn’t mean to talk above my station.”
“Keep talking,” she told me. “I was not irritated with you, I was considering your revelation.”
“He gave Sir MacAllister a royal monopoly because he had no other choice,” I said.
“He betrothed me to him, don’t forget,” she added. “Never asked me, just did it.”
“And your father, miss? What did he have to say?”
“My father was dead by then,” she said in a tight voice. I saw her hands clench at her sides. “So was my brother. And I was not where I was left.”
“You were Lieutenant Clarke,” I said. “You led the trotters to victory.”
“I led them to slaughter,” she said, her voice bitter. “They all died and King George with them.” She met my eyes. “Never let anyone try to tell you that war is anything but blood and slaughter.”
The horses nickered and sniffed nervously.
“Miss, there’s something up ahead,” I said, pulling the horses to slow them down.
The girl beside me stiffened and drew herself up more. She cocked her pistols and passed one to me. She mouthed, ‘Mr. Fletcher.’ I nodded in comprehension.
“Pull up here, I want to stretch my legs,” ‘Mr. Fletcher’ allowed.
“As you wish, sir,” I said, reining the horses in. I locked the brake and laid the reins on the bench, following ‘him’ down to the side.
Flies were buzzing loudly about. It wasn’t hard to spot them and to follow them. ‘Mr. Fletcher’ reached the destination before I did. ‘He’ knelt down, pulled back away and turned to fresh air.
“May I, sir?”
“I’m afraid I must insist,” ‘he’ said in his hoarse voice.
I moved around him. The stench that had attracted flies was something I’d smelt before. Decay, fresh, and loose stool.
A dead person loses control of their functions.
I moved forward. Someone had covered the body with bits of grass, just like the dead horse. I found a stick and used it to wipe away enough that I could make out the face. It was bloated and purple, even though a line marked where the throat had been cut. Blood had dried on the body. It had been dragged or dropped here, I could see because of the way the body fell and the smears on the bloodstains.
“Is that your man?” ‘Mr. Fletcher’ asked softly.
I nodded. And then I found my voice. “That’s Captain Morton, sir.” His eyes were wide, unseeing, staring up to the sun and clouds above. I knelt forward and gently moved the eyelids, closing them.
“These men are desperate, then,” ‘Mr. Fletcher’ said.
“Without you, sir, England has no future,” I said. I could see the way the words struck ‘him’ but honesty compelled me.
Mr. Fletcher took one last look at Captain Morton’s lifeless body and stood up, moving away from the buzzing flies and the stench. He turned to me. “If you’re right, then we are all in grave peril.”
“Worse if the spy has learned anything, sir,” I said.
“Which is why we must find him and bring him to justice,” Mr. Fletcher agreed. “When I said that war is blood and slaughter, that does not mean that there aren’t times when it’s the only course of action.”
“Or, at least, it’s the best of bad choices,” I agreed. I looked around. The ground was soft enough. “Is there a shovel in the cart, sir? It seems a… it just seems wrong to leave him for the crows and such like.”
“If we take the time now to dig him a proper grave, we may lose our chance at capturing his murderers,” he told me.
