Secrets (The Steamship Chronicles Book 1)

by Margaret McGaffey Fisk

  Phil sounded as though he smothered a laugh. “The only one as has trouble with Nat is you, Mister Garth. Never been a bother up on the rigging.”

  “Not much room for it,” the engineer answered as he sat back far enough to give Sam a glimpse of his satisfied expression. “There. Just as I said. Even accounting for the pieces currently in the engine, there are seven gears of various sizes missing, three in the larger range, and…” He tapped the list as though checking. “…two springs. Is that proof enough?”

  A squeak slipped out before Sam could muffle her cry.

  They hadn’t found them. After her attempt to make things right, the boy would still suffer.

  The engineer sneered. “And you won’t convince me it’s the rats, not even by making their sounds. The porridge maybe, though not with a flour trap—just proves the boy is clever—but rats have no need for gears. There’s no good protecting him. It’ll only go against you in the end. He doesn’t consider himself as one of you, no matter how much he pretends.”

  Sam leaned her head on the warm metal pipe.

  Once again the engineer had come up with an explanation for her foolish noises. Even if the sailor denied the charge, it wouldn’t be great enough to investigate. She was safe, at the cost of the boy. At least if they looked for rats, they might chance upon the gears she’d returned.

  The light shifted as the engineer moved his lamp, but Sam didn’t bother to look. They were going away. She’d failed once again.

  “Wait. What’s that?”

  Movement sounded much too close to Sam for comfort, and she chanced shifting a little deeper as she peeked at the sailor.

  Whether he’d been testing the engineer, or the shift of light revealed the missing pieces with a glint of metal, the one called Phil now pulled them out one after the other.

  “Not possible. That boy did this somehow. I tell you he’s not to be trusted. All that book learning he had before coming here has rotted his brain.”

  Phil’s voice dropped lower even as the engineer’s rose. “How do you figure he did? Way I’ve seen it, he’s been locked up in the bilge all this time because you didn’t notice kicking some under one of these many pipes. Seems to me you owe the boy an apology.”

  Sam hadn’t realized how much taller the lanky sailor stood than the engineer until then.

  The engineer sputtered. “An apology? He planted the gears here. He must have. I swear they weren’t there before.”

  Phil shook his head back and forth slowly. “What is it Mister Trupt always says about giving your word so light?”

  Sam could feel the air in the room heat as the engineer’s eyes narrowed. “You. You put them there just to make a fool of me. You like the boy. You always have. And now you think saving him from the consequences of his actions is doing him a good turn. It’s not. It never is. You do them good and all they learn is how to grow up even more trouble.”

  The moment he got his last word out, the sailor attacked. Sam barely saw him move, but Phil had the engineer by the scruff of the neck like a misbehaving pup.

  “First you accuse Nat. Now you accuse me. Shut that mouth, or I’ll think you kicked the pieces aside on purpose and will tell the captain exactly that. As it is, we’re taking the results to him right now.”

  For the first time since he’d come down, the sailor did not shorten the captain’s title, nor was his tone as laid back as it had been.

  A flash of sympathy for the engineer startled her, but not enough to regret the sailor’s quick thinking. Only she knew the true cause for the missing gears, but as quick as the engineer had been to cast blame, she knew who the real troublemaker was.

  “You can’t do this. I’m the engineer. You’re nothing but a rope rat. Let me go.”

  The protests faded only by distance and the thud of the hatch closing. Sam didn’t think it likely the engineer would meekly submit once they’d achieved open air, though perhaps the sailor loosened his hold to dim the man’s arguments.

  All pleasure at the engineer’s condition faded as she realized two lamps remained in the space, shedding light where she’d only seen glimpses before. She could pick one up and explore every facet of the room without chancing the danger of calling aether to this already rich area as a way to highlight the metal.

  As tempting as the thought of exploring might be, what else the two men had left captured her attention more fiercely.

  The sailor’s lamp set her gears and springs agleam with an enticing sheen of metal cut or stamped into function. They’d already done the count. After being made a fool of before the crew, dragged about like a child, the engineer would hesitate to claim missing parts a second time.

  Her whole body cried to move forward, to sweep up pieces her hands already knew the shape and feel of, but Sam pulled back instead. She couldn’t free her gaze, but with distance, the demand lessened and she could breathe a little easier.

  Sam huddled in her corner, trying to understand what had happened. She’d never found such a pull from simple parts. They could not draw enough aether to trigger her bouts, or so she’d always thought. Either she’d grown stronger away from Lily’s calming influence, or the engine enlivened everything about it.

  30

  Nat scratched a dirty finger against the pitted wood, unable to see the black under his nail, or even the wood making the walls of his cell.

  Down here where the bells did not penetrate over the hum and hiss of the engine, where sunlight had not touched since the ribs of this hull stood bare as the one in the shipyard, every minute seemed like an hour, or every hour like a minute.

  He had no idea how long he’d been locked below. They might not bother to feed him. Why waste supplies when the charge held a penalty of hanging? From the stench, he could only guess at the privy though that could just be the bilge.

  Nat tried playing games in his head, going over the math tables his tutor had tried to drum into him despite the slim odds that he’d ever be in a place to use them.

  He tried telling himself they’d figure out he hadn’t stolen the parts. That they’d set him free and toss the engineer in here in his place, but the pitch dark of his cell mocked any such hopes.

  The captain had his word alone against that of the engineer—a valuable member of the crew, especially with such a faulty engine. And he had snuck into the engine room, with the best of intentions, but he didn’t need the first mate’s caution to know he should have left well enough alone. If only he’d listened to Mister Trupt. Better he’d been cast overboard in the last storm they’d weathered than this.

  “Ware your eyes.”

  The door swung open so close on the warning Nat barely managed to throw an arm in front of his face before bright light filled the tiny room, illuminating every encrusted inch.

  Nat blinked hard to wash away tears he pretended were caused by the flash of light instead of what would come next.

  His vision cleared to reveal Phil rather than Mister Trupt who he’d been expecting. Nat cried out a greeting, clinging to the sailor’s unexpected presence, but Phil stepped to one side to reveal not just Mister Trupt, but the captain and engineer as well.

  His shoulders slumped as he understood what had happened. They’d tried one more search and failed to find the pieces. Since he could not do as Mister Trupt commanded and tell them where they could find what they believed he’d taken, they must have decided he’d cast the gears overboard. At least they did not plan to leave him to starve while they returned to port.

  He pushed to his feet, determined to have these last moments speak well of him. His eyes watered a second time, with no handy excuse, at the thought of his poor mother receiving the news, but he refused to acknowledge the chill trails they left down his cheeks.

  Mister Trupt pushed forward and took hold of Nat’s upper arm with a surprisingly gentle touch. He must have seen the defeat in Nat’s posture, because he left off more questions Nat could not answer. He just marched Nat from the cell and up the steps into sunlig
ht many times more brilliant than the lamp had been.

  Though the silent procession unnerved him, Nat felt grateful at the same time not to be forced to keep his composure as men he’d thought of as friends now walked him to the hangman’s noose. He could hear the others coming up behind them and drove himself forward though he could barely see. He didn’t want them to run into his back or be left to stand on the steps as Mister Trupt had to drag Nat onward.

  At least the light kept him from seeing their destination. As long as the noose remained hidden from view, he would be able to maintain his firm countenance. He had nothing else left to him and could not change the outcome either. In this slight measure, though, he would do his mother proud.

  “That’s far enough, Mister Trupt.”

  The captain’s voice sounded sterner than Nat had ever heard it, but never had he been scolded for something so serious. Swallowing down a final, worthless plea, Nat glanced around for the rope he would wear. He needed this over with before he made a fool of himself.

  “Mister Garth, while it seemed appropriate for you to deliver your words in the filth and darkness, Mister Bowden deserved better. Speak your piece in full where all can hear.”

  Nat straightened his back and opened his eyes as wide as he could so the wind dried them. Whatever the engineer’s latest charge, it made no difference. Nothing could be worse than what he already faced.

  Where Nat expected a gloating expression, the engineer looked quite grim. Maybe he had not thought his accusations would go this far.

  “Mister Garth?”

  The warning in the captain’s tone confused Nat, as did the sharp shove Phil gave to one who should have been considered his superior.

  The engineer coughed hard enough to seem as though he were choking, an impression solidified by the first words from his mouth. “I apologize.”

  “Mister Garth.” Again Captain Paderwatch wasted no words but let his ominous tone carry the meaning.

  Nat glanced at the captain, confusion now clear on his face, he felt sure, for all to see.

  The slam of a boot against the deck as the engineer stumbled forward jerked Nat’s attention back to the man who had been his undoing but now seemed undone.

  Mister Garth glared over his shoulder at Phil, but did not protest. Instead, he faced forward and straightened his back much as Nat had done, his gaze over Nat’s left shoulder. “I apologize for my accusations regarding the engine parts. When I did an inventory—”

  “When we did,” interjected Phil.

  “When I did an inventory assisted by this sailor, we found the missing pieces. They had fallen beneath one of the pipes and out of sight, most likely dropped by that clumsy carry boy.”

  The first mate growled wordlessly, and Mister Garth raised both hands in surrender. “It matters not. You didn’t take critical parts. You did go where you should not have, and the question of the porridge remains unresolved, but—”

  Again he jerked forward, shoved so hard Nat had to catch him or the engineer would have fallen to the deck.

  Mister Garth pulled away without a word of thanks and took two steps toward the nearby engine room hatch.

  “And…”

  The engineer jerked up like one of those marionettes at the market, as though his strings were pulled taut.

  “Must I?” he appealed to the captain.

  Captain Paderwatch lowered his chin in a slow nod, and all the strength went out of the engineer, leaving Mister Garth much smaller than before.

  “And to make it up to you for this error, you will be allowed full access to the engine room.” The words came out sharp and slow, dragged against the man’s will.

  A cough from the first mate made Mister Garth sink even lower, though Nat wouldn’t have thought it possible.

  The engineer gave a long sigh before adding, “And you’ll be working with me.”

  Nat didn’t understand at first.

  His mind still reeled over the thought that, instead of hanging, he’d won access to the engine room, something no one else on the ship had besides the officers and Garth.

  Then those last words sank in.

  He didn’t know whether to cheer or pass out from the unexpected nature, but before he could do either, the captain closed a firm hand on his shoulder and caught the engineer with the other.

  “This isn’t a gift for anyone. It’s a responsibility. This is my ship, and I won’t have petty fights aboard it. I’d hate to see either of you left on the dock at our next landing. This is your opportunity to see beyond your differences and learn to work together.”

  Nat took the captain’s words to heart, hearing more than just what he said. Any gloating or pressure on his part would cost him more almost than the engineer’s accusations. Innocence could only be lost once, and he’d just regained his.

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” Mister Garth said, the effort to keep his tone level obvious. “Can we get back to work now? There’s much to do.”

  The even sounds from the engine, smoother than Nat had ever heard them before, made the statement into a lie. Still, no one questioned it, especially not Nat. He followed quietly behind the engineer, determined to win this man over.

  And with legitimate access, he felt sure he could put an end to any last doubts and solve the mystery of the porridge. Though Mister Trupt said it would be forgotten, Mister Garth clearly had not done so any more than Nat had.

  31

  “I’ve finished greasing the gears, Mister Garth. What would you like me to do next?”

  Sam watched from the shadows as she had for two days now. She thought she saw the beginnings of respect growing in the engineer’s expression and heard it in his voice. Though he continued to be grumpy about sharing the space, Nat’s willingness to do even the most grueling of tasks would win over anyone. Twice the man had seemed on the verge of giving a gruff word of encouragement before he stifled the urge.

  She half feared Nat would be sent among the pipes to dust them, but if the engineer had plans for that task, he must be waiting for them to get to shore, because neither ventured into the maze of metal tubes she’d made her home.

  “Did you see any rat droppings down there?”

  What might have been teasing in another tone came out as a rough growl. The engineer made sure to remind Nat of his attempt to trap her several times every day, perhaps not warming to the boy as much as she’d believed.

  The reminder had an effect on her as well, making her stomach ache with renewed force at the absence of sustenance.

  She leaned forward, half hoping he’d say he had so she could seek them out, the idea of gnawing on raw rat meat no longer so unappealing.

  The engineer stared at Nat for a moment as though expecting the boy to explode into anger.

  Nat gave a weak laugh though his shoulders curled. “There’s been no food. They must have moved on to richer pastures.”

  When he got no more reaction than that, Mister Garth scowled. “They better have. If a storm comes in, and I have to work the day and night through, there better be no reduction of my food.”

  Nat turned away, his face clear to Sam as he muttered, “I hope not,” low enough she could only make out the meaning from the shape of his lips.

  If she had half his patience and ability to endure, she would never need to worry about her gift again. She could keep her hands still and away from all the mechanisms that called to her.

  As though awake to any shift in her thoughts, the engine sent out feelers, ready for its next transformation and having gathered enough aether from the atmosphere to call out again.

  This time, she had little difficulty ignoring its cries. Not only did the engineer rarely leave his space unwatched, even taking to sleeping at the base of the steps, but many days on little food followed by these last few with none had left her too weak to do more than observe.

  The aether tried to pull her in, but she had no energy for it to claim. This control came out of weakness, one she would gladly dispense with
given any opportunity even though gaining command of her gift could win her safe passage to the haven.

  Where she’d expected Nat to keep trying to catch her, instead he made sure no food stuffs lay unattended in the engine room, even carrying the engineer’s meal to him on the one occasion where Mister Garth kept working. Sam didn’t know what he did back there, the engine itself not visible from any of the safe paths she’d discovered, but at least he did not undo her repairs.

  Her only hope now lay in them reaching the Continent before they discovered her refuge, or before starvation drove her from hiding. She’d milked brackish water from the pipes using a steam release valve, most of the salt left behind in the process, so she stood no danger of dying from thirst, but the layer of fat Cook had cultivated with every meal had melted away until her thick bones lay close against her skin.

  Even had food been plentiful, the effort she’d put into the engine would have stripped her form. As it was, she could not renew what she needed, and each attempt by the aether to capture her took a little more of what she could ill afford to lose.

  “Have you found any that could be spares?”

  She forced her attention back to Nat and Mister Garth, their interactions all that kept her from curling into a corner and losing herself in the pangs of hunger.

  “They all seem pretty worn. And some of the teeth are bent. Maybe the shipyard back in Dover could repair them?”

  “Not even your friends there can do much once the teeth are gone. It’s melting and recasting for these. It’s a wonder the steam engine held together at all. At least now it’s keeping on.”

  That was the closest Sam ever heard the engineer come to recognizing Nat’s involvement in getting the better parts, something she’d learned from overhearing earlier discussions. She had much to thank the boy for beyond just food. The engineer might not be the best at maintaining his engine, but he’d spoken the truth about the gears he’d identified as too flawed to continue. She’d seen the state of them in the pile he’d left by the engine. Those gears had lost what value they must once have had and had been destroying the very engine they were supposed to enable.