The Twisting

by Laurel Wanrow

  They stood deep within the orchard grove, Annmar huddled up against the trunk of a tree. The breeze picked at her loose hair as Patrice kissed each of her cheeks. “I will leave you to their watch.” She backed away.

  “Thank you,” Annmar whispered. Patrice dissolved into a weave of branches, and Annmar turned to the pounding feet.

  Rivley spotted her and dashed up. “I ran to help before Gunther completely got out what was happening,” he said. “Daeryn and the machinery man…fought?”

  “Not exactly, but Daeryn is escorting him into town.”

  “Congenially?”

  “Uh, with the stunner.”

  Rivley’s face paled under his freckles. “No. Mistress Gere—the fool!”

  He pivoted to go, but Annmar lunged and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. “Rivley, no, he’s not. It’s because Mr. Shearing made unwelcome advances to me…and tried to make me leave with him.”

  “Mr.—you mean Mr. Shining?” He stared down at her, his amber eyes the only feature that remained steady—to her—while his face twitched between feathers and skin. “Are you saying you’ve been attacked again? By this Shining fellow?” He waved his hand. “What does he want with you? Who is he?”

  A laugh hiccupped from her. So Mr. Shearing had a different name to go with his different clothing in Blighted Basin.

  He tentatively reached a hand to her shoulder. “Do you need to sit down?”

  No. She was strong, like Patrice had said, and no longer confused about her place. She knew what she wanted—for her work, for her home and for her person, right down to the detail of whose chest she’d rather seek consolation against.

  She drew a breath and smiled at Rivley. “He was a client I did advertising work for in Derby. In fact, I believe he hired the ropens to kidnap me.” She pointed to the back of her own hand. “Mr. Shearing has a scar like the man in the carriage that night. Today, he was most reluctant to leave without me, but I didn’t want to go, so Mistress Gere’s barrier protected me. Then Daeryn arrived to escort Mr. Shearing away.”

  Rivley cocked a brow. “Yesss,” he said with a hint of deep-throated hissing.

  Oh, no. Had he sensed there was more? Annmar met his gaze with purposefulness. Rivley dropped his hand from her arm and moved it to rub his left shoulder in a contemplative way. After a moment, he nodded. He took her elbow and guided her among the low tree limbs. Once in the farmyard, she couldn’t help peering back beyond the gate pillars, willing Daeryn to reappear on the road to town.

  Rivley said, “Daeryn might be hatching a nest of trouble, running Mistress Gere’s supplier off before the machines are delivered.”

  Annmar’s hand flew to her mouth. “She bought machines from Shearing Enterprises?”

  Rivley frowned. “You mean Shining Farm Implements.”

  Chapter THIRTEEN

  Annmar’s stomach roiled. Was what Rivley said true? Wellspring was buying from Mr. Shearing? No matter what name he was using, the news hit her worse than when the man himself had touched her.

  “You know him as someone different?” asked Rivley.

  “Mr. Shearing is an agricultural magnate. Shearing Enterprises is the largest manufacturer of farm machinery in Derbyshire. He’s taken over managing operations on all the small farms around Derby and has his sights on every acre of land north to the Peaks District.” And now Mr. Shearing was in Blighted Basin. She hoped Mistress Gere hadn’t taken a loan. A shiver coursed Annmar’s spine. “Where is Mistress Gere?”

  Rivley jerked his head toward Wellspring’s lower storage sheds, down a gentle slope. “She interrupted some machinery oiling Master Brightwell and I were doing to tell about her meeting with Mister Whatever He Calls Himself.”

  Annmar started down the hill.

  Rivley fell into step beside her, saying, “I think she should hear everything you know about this man and how he tried to make you leave with him.”

  Oh, no, not everything. Annmar stopped, looking back at the house. Mistress Gere had to know the truth before she became entangled in the Shearing Enterprises net, but Annmar didn’t want to reveal her personal problems to her new employer or co-workers. Hopefully, Daeryn would keep what he’d seen secret until she talked to him. “Can you tell her I’d like to speak with her? I’ll wait in the kitchen with Mary Clare.”

  “Mary Clare is in town.” Rivley averted his gaze and in a flat tone said, “Her day off. She didn’t tell you?”

  Mary Clare must have gone home with her mother. Annmar started to ask Rivley why, but something about the set of his jaw made her change her mind.

  “Dae would kill me if I let you out of my sight. Come along. He’ll find you soon enough.” Rivley gestured her forward, but she didn’t move.

  “Mistress Gere needs to know about Shearing Enterprises’ business practices, but I should like to tell her about my…issues with Mr. Shearing in my own time. Now that I understand how to remain protected inside Wellspring’s barriers, I’ll be fine.” Dash it all. Staying within the property boundaries meant Mr. Shearing had made her a prisoner here.

  No, he wouldn’t. She’d find some other way to—

  “Are you all right?” Rivley asked.

  All this could be managed—even going about the Basin—with a little thought and time. She would do this. “Yes,” she said firmly.

  “Very well. Keep the personal parts for later,” Rivley said, “as long as Wellspring stays out of trouble.”

  If Mistress Gere had signed with Mr. Shearing’s Shining Farm Implements, Wellspring might be lost already. They walked to the far side of the last whitewashed building, where Rivley took her elbow again. He steadied her while they skirted some discarded engine parts and rounded the corner of a shed.

  “Back here is where we store the—”

  “Harvester,” they said simultaneously. Their gazes met, Rivley’s every bit as surprised as hers probably was.

  Annmar nodded to the enormous machine parked between the buildings. “Don’t tell me Master Brightwell is the inventor of the Hopeless Harvester.”

  With a frown, Rivley glanced toward the elderly man, who was deep in conversation not ten yards away with a group including Mistress Gere, Mr. Hortens and a handful of growers. Rivley stopped and in an undertone hissed, “The All-Sorts Harvester works just fine. Won last year’s Innovator Guild’s Mastermind Award. Those Outsiders don’t know machinery.”

  A nervous laugh erupted from her, half from what she’d just weathered with one of those inventors, half from Rivley’s uncharacteristic shortness. “And Derbyshire mechanics say the same about engines over the rest of England. The breakdown of those Harvesters was the talk of the borough last fall.”

  “It was bad luck all three sold to incompetent operators.”

  Annmar crossed her arms. “Those farmers were trying to support a business besides Shearing Enterprises. It failed. A pity, because come spring Mr. Manning and the other farmers had to go over to Shearing’s model farm method.”

  “Not because of Master Brightwell.” Hair rising in feathered tufts, Rivley jabbed a finger toward the man. “He refunded their monies. Unfortunately, after that he could only afford to transport back one of the machines.”

  Rivley was far more worked up than she’d ever seen him. Annmar wanted to get things back to neutral ground again, positive if she could. “And it works?”

  “It will as soon as the tank is filled.” He nodded to two grower boys maneuvering the end of a long pipe from a water tank on wheels to the Harvester. A coal cart sat nearby, and the boiler had been started.

  “But the recognition by the eyes?” Annmar asked.

  “We reset the optics to recognize the pests and adjusted the pincers early this morning—say?” Rivley peered down at her, again in a not-so-friendly way. “How do you know about the optics?”

  She checked to make sure no one was near enough to hear. “I worked for Rennet’s Renditions, the advertising business hired by Shearing Enterprises. I executed the drawings for their
counter press campaign against H. B. Machine Works, which must be Master Brightwell’s business. Did the bad press hurt him?”

  Rivley stared for a moment, then, to her surprise, he laughed. “Bad press? To put Master Brightwell out of business? They didn’t understand he isn’t in business. Not in the traditional sense. He refunded the money so as not to waste time away from the next invention he’d gone on to.”

  “And left two repairable machines to rust on Manning’s fallow fields?”

  Rivley shrugged. “Master Brightwell has a unique view of business compared to most of us. Like none. Besides, they’re oiled well enough one or two seasons outdoors won’t hurt.” He eyed her. “Can you keep this quiet? No one else knows those machines’ Outside history, and we need to keep up the morale at this point.”

  “I can, if you keep my part in discrediting the machine quiet.”

  The hair crowning his head fluffed, pushed by the tips of feathers. “Does that mean you’ll be keeping information about this Shining or Shearing bloke from Mistress Gere?”

  She shook her head. “I want to see us beat these pests with as little, or no, involvement from Mr. Shearing as possible.”

  “Deal.” They shook on it, and Rivley escorted her up to the Harvester. The telescoping legs angled out in six directions from the two-story machine that could straddle four crop rows. Several younger boys climbed over it like acrobats, wiping away dirt and applying oil to the joints, directed, surprise of surprises, by Henry, who a week ago had forgotten to oil his assigned machine.

  The head grower, Mr. Hortens, was the skinny man in the straw hat, but the other people… She touched her collarbone as Patrice had shown her and drew up her Knack.

  The other half dozen shimmered in and out of their bodies so fast she couldn’t get a good view, just a sense. They were plants of various types, leafy ones and berry bushes.

  By the time she’d finished her inspection, Rivley was escorting Mistress Gere, Master Brightwell and Mr. Hortens over to her side. “You need to hear Annmar’s information on the equipment supplier,” he said.

  All eyes turned to her, and Mistress Gere nodded for her to speak.

  Annmar began carefully. “I know the man selling the equipment. Outside, he goes by the name Mr. Shearing. His business, Shearing Enterprises, retained my employer, Mrs. Rennet.” Master Brightwell’s frown deepened. When she’d first arrived, he’d said he didn’t want the competition to know about his inventions, so surely he felt the same about others’ secrets. She’d like to keep his respect, but this was important. “Did he offer you a loan?”

  Mistress Gere put up a hand. “I purchased three machines, all I could afford without taking his generous offer of a loan. He’s filling orders from other farms. I didn’t want to miss out.”

  The knot in Annmar’s stomach loosened. “Saying he has a limited supply is a sales technique, but it might also be true in the current circumstances.”

  Master Brightwell put up a finger. “And the loans he’s able to make? This is a standard practice by a large establishment, but you don’t like it in this case?”

  “A loan guarantees he’ll service the machines, since he maintains partial ownership, but the waits are long. However, if you are one of his model farms, your service is prioritized.” Annmar stuffed her hands into her trouser pockets. “I spent hours at the factory drawing various machines and watched both the loan farmers and the model farm clients come through. The loan farmers claimed their machines ran into problems more often than they should. The model clients didn’t, but they have no control over their land. Shearing Enterprises determines their crops and schedules.”

  Mr. Hortens whipped off his hat. “That’s plain daft. What might be right for one piece of land isn’t good for another. Then there’s the rain and keeping ahead of pests—”

  Mistress Gere put a hand on his arm. “We’ll not be giving up our choices. I see how this works now. Of course he’s putting their service first. To keep his operations running smoothly. He reviewed joining the model option, but in a more positive light. Fewer burdens for the owner, fewer decisions.”

  Annmar nodded. “He’d like you to take a loan, then decide that joining the model plan is best.”

  Mistress Gere nodded slowly, casting her gaze around the gathered group. “During his sales pitch, I was sorely tempted. However, it goes against my business practices to go into debt, so I didn’t allow him to persuade me. I only purchased non-refundable machinery, all he offered, citing demand in the Basin.”

  To persuade her? Annmar glanced at her hand. Is that what Mr. Shearing tried? But before Annmar could ask more, Master Brightwell swung to her again.

  “Is his non-refundable policy also common?” he asked.

  “It’s not,” she said. “Shearing’s stands by their product. In all our advertising, they claim if you don’t like it, they’ll take it back, for a limited time. I have no idea if Mr. Shining’s policies in the Basin are different.”

  Mistress Gere tapped a finger to her chin. “He’s relatively new to offering machinery here, just the past few years. But from what you say, he’s well established Outside.”

  “He is Derby’s most successful tradesman, considered a magnate in our borough. His model farms are taking over agriculture in Derbyshire.”

  “It’s unusual for Basin dwellers to leave,” Mistress Gere said slowly, “and even more so for them to do it under an alias. I shall make inquiries.”

  Annmar had seen no sign of a plant or animal shifter on him. “Are you sure he’s from Blighted Basin and not an Outsider?”

  She gave a firm nod. “He couldn’t get in otherwise.”

  Master Brightwell leaned toward Annmar. “How did you know he’d just made an arrangement with Constance?”

  “I…ran into him. In the farmyard as he was leaving.”

  Mistress Gere put a hand on the inventor’s shoulder. “Horatio, clearly the girl’s not spying for him. She’s come to us.” The lady shifted her gaze to Annmar. “Though you worked for him, it doesn’t sound like this meeting was congenial.”

  Annmar threw a glance at Rivley. “It wasn’t. Mr. Shearing is rather upset I left Mrs. Rennet’s employ. He had wished to retain me exclusively for his advertising. He told me his talent is narrower and he’d like to expand beyond people who grow their own food.”

  “Ah, more than inventing farm implements, then?” Mistress Gere nodded. “He recognizes your Knack can help him. But you came here instead?”

  Annmar wasn’t quite sure Mr. Shearing had meant just equipment, but was unsure how to explain it. “Believe me, your position was the better choice. Mr. Shearing’s conditions for employment were less than ideal.”

  Mistress Gere’s eyes narrowed. “This is the gentleman whom Mary Clare told me of? A situation you’d rather not accept?”

  No, Mary Clare had not… If that got out, Annmar could never work with society clients… Mercy. She should be upset with Mary Clare and her social misstep. But it didn’t matter anymore.

  Annmar nodded.

  Mistress Gere frowned. “The machines are to arrive on this afternoon’s train. Guaranteed delivery. Will he follow through?”

  “You’ve paid his price,” Annmar said, “and you’re on the schedule. Mr. Shearing wouldn’t default on a written agreement—he never did with Rennet’s Renditions, just bent them as far as he could. Although…”

  “What?” Mistress Gere asked.

  Would he dare? Annmar clutched her rib cage to quell the sinking of her stomach. “Now that he knows I’m working here… He was rather angry when he left.”

  “What could he do?” Rivley asked. “Sabotage the machines?”

  Master Brightwell smiled. “Not a problem for us, is it, Mr. Slipwing?”

  “Will these machines truly rid us of our pests in three days?” Mr. Hortens asked.

  “If Mr. Shearing promised three days,” Annmar said, “it will be three days. I can say that in his favor.”

  Mistress Gere si
ghed. “He promised three days with six Eradicator machines. Wellspring only had the funds to purchase three.”

  “It may be six days, then,” said Mr. Hortens. “We’ll hold out, if the guard teams are able to keep the gobblers in check as they have the past few days.” He waved to the Harvester and then Mr. Brightwell. “And with what Horatio thinks is possible, harvesting the beasts. But if they fail…” He shrugged. “Any longer and I cannot make promises for the fall crop.”

  And if they did fail, what would happen to Wellspring? Annmar bit her inner lip.

  Mistress Gere nodded to the head grower. “As soon as Master Brightwell is done with their help, the growers are yours again to prepare for tomorrow’s Market Day.”

  “Such as it will be,” muttered Mr. Hortens.

  “We’ll present our best. It’s no more or less than others in the community are doing.” She gave him a wry smile.

  “Though perhaps I can keep Henry here?” Master Brightwell asked. “He’s seen enough of our workshop operation to assist Rivley while I’m gone tomorrow. I’d like to switch over the optics and pincers on those two other Harvesters we sold here in the Basin. Scarpel’s Farm and Great Harvest also might have a chance to clear their pests without becoming indebted to Shining.”

  Mistress Gere and Mr. Hortens nodded simultaneously, then the lady turned an eye toward Annmar. “A word, please?”

  What could it be? From the serious look on Mistress Gere’s face, nothing good. Annmar followed her out of the others’ hearing. Their paces up the hill to the farmyard seemed to take ages longer than they should have.

  Mistress Gere cleared her throat. “I did not take Mr. Shining’s loan, but in order to not be indebted to him, I have spent all the Collective’s available funds.”

  Dread filled Annmar’s gut even before Mistress Gere put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Your drawings are beyond the quality I dared dream, but now I cannot afford to continue with the advertising campaign. It pains me, but once you recover and your trial is complete, I can no longer keep you on.”