by C. K. Brooke
At long last, the brush thinned, and he came to the clearing. He saw the log cabin with tufts of smoke chuffing up through the chimney. Rob furrowed his wet brow, wishing he had a free hand with which to blot it. But why had the old man lit the hearth in this heat?
Maverick recognized their location at once, and tumbled ahead into the yard. He barked cheerily, but even so, the sound had no effect whatsoever upon the sleeping girl.
“What the—Maverick?”
Rob grinned as his weary feet brought him closer to the familiar voice. It’d been some time since he was last home.
A portly shape bustled out to the front porch. Patchy brown trousers held up by a pair of worn suspenders, his curly hair wild as ever, Dr. Thaddeus Watkins squinted into the lawn from behind half-moon spectacles. “That you, son?”
“Good morrow,” Rob greeted his father, his voice strained.
The old man blinked. “What on earth are you carrying?”
“A heavy burden,” the man grunted. “And my rucksack.”
His father gaped. “Good gods, Rob. Is that a woman?”
“A very unconscious woman,” his son answered, climbing up the threshold, “who also happens to be quite allergic to ciqédo.”
“Heavens, has it been seventeen years already?” Thaddeus ran a hand through his graying hair. “Well, get her inside.” He held the front door wide, beckoning them through. “I’m sure I’ve some needles around here somewhere.”
Rob nearly cried with relief to step into the cabin at last, although ludicrously, a fire crackled in the hearth. He was about to ask why but, taking in the number of pots and cauldrons bubbling over it, thought better. He’d no desire to get sucked into a three-hour explanation of his father’s latest bogus experiment.
Still carrying Antonia, he sidestepped a pile of old tins and almost tripped over a sort of insulated tube running across the length of the kitchen floor. “The place is a mess, Thad,” he remarked.
His father looked down. “Yes, well. Since your mother…” He cleared his throat, forcing a smile. “She set a rather high standard of cleanliness, did she not? One to which, I’m afraid, I’ve been unable to live up.”
Rob regretted his comment. His mother had passed away a few years prior, and he and his father seldom spoke of her.
They hurried into the guest bedroom, where Thad brushed off a mess of newspapers, woodblocks and diagrams from the mattress. Rob lay Antonia down, while his father fetched an antihistamine.
The young man slid off his rucksack and lowered himself onto the bed beside her. Her hair was sprawled out over the pillowcase, arms limp at her sides. A thought occurred to him, and he reached into his pack. After a minute of fishing, he extracted a little jar of aloe balm. Carefully, he rolled up her sleeve, exposing her left forearm, where she’d been bitten.
Rob inhaled. Her scratchy robes seemed to have irritated the skin even more. He dipped his fingers into the gooey paste and, gingerly as he could, blotted it over her bites. At least it would help relieve the itching, once she came to.
His father reentered the room with a syringe, and Rob rolled her sleeve up to her shoulder. He was surprised to find a jagged scar there. He wondered what had happened to her. “Perhaps we ought to do the other arm,” he suggested quietly. He was unable to gauge how recently the scar had been obtained, and did not wish to harm her, should the tissue still be tender.
At last, Thad injected the solution into her right arm.
“Do we have anything else she can wear?” Rob asked him. “Perhaps something of Mum’s…?”
The old man winced. “I’ll see what I can find. Meanwhile, Rob, you look like you could use a bath.”
Rob didn’t doubt it.
“And a shave,” his father hinted. “Since when do you wear a beard?”
“It was never intentional.” Rob shrugged. “I’ve been on the road and haven’t bothered with my razor, is all.”
“Well, bother with mine,” Thad muttered, cocking a bushy eyebrow. “No offense, but you look terrible.” He exited the room, and Rob frowned. He didn’t look that bad, did he?
Antonia stirred, and Rob hastened to his feet. He didn’t want her to awaken and find him sitting in bed with her; that would certainly give the wrong impression. But she made no more movements, and did not open her eyes.
Eventually, his father returned with an armful of summer dresses.
“Heavens, Thad, she doesn’t need all of those.”
“Let her have her pick.” Thad dumped them unceremoniously onto the dresser. “And go get cleaned up. Afterward,” he dropped his voice, betraying a small grin, “there’s something I must show you. Truly, you arrived at the perfect time.”
Rob sighed. He had enough to deal with, between the sleeping girl he’d endangered and the fact that his map was stolen; he hadn’t time for more of his father’s zany projects. But for now, his beard was seriously scratchy and sweaty, and he knew he must’ve smelled awful.
“Suppose I’d better hit the washroom,” he admitted, heading for the door. “Will you stay and keep watch over her?”
“Of course,” replied his father. “But, Rob…?”
He stalled in the doorway.
“Who is she?”
“Just some kid I met on the road,” Rob mumbled, making his way from the room.
SOMETHING WET MOVED IN HER hand. Wet and wiggly. Groggy, Antonia opened her eyes. She shuddered to find a rubbery black nose, its long meaty tongue licking her palm. With a gasp, she yanked her hand away and wiped it on the bedsheets. “Maverick, get away from me!”
The dog only wagged its tail as though she’d praised it, amber eyes beaming at her.
“Ah,” said a strange voice, and Antonia yelped. She’d thought she was alone. She looked up to see an older man standing by the foot of the bed in which she lay, sporting a curly mane of graying red hair. How did she get there?
“Who are you?” she demanded shakily, sitting up. “Where am I?”
“There, there,” he said gently, raising his hands aloft. “It’s all right. My name is Dr. Thaddeus Watkins, and this is my home.”
Her breaths were short, as if she couldn’t quite collect them. But the name struck a chord in her memory, and her pulse relaxed. “Dr. Watkins? You are Robin’s father, then?”
He nodded kindly.
Antonia blotted her forehead. It was warm in this place. “I don’t understand. I can’t recall getting here…”
“My son says you were bitten by ciqédo. When he arrived, you were unconscious in his arms.”
Antonia stared at him. She’d been in Robin’s arms? Why, the man had carried her through the rest of the forest?
“I’ve some clothing here that you might find more comfortable,” said Dr. Watkins uncertainly, although his eyes were friendly behind his spectacles. “They were my late wife’s. Please, help yourself.” He turned and departed, closing the door to grant her privacy.
Antonia arose from the bed and glanced around. The chamber was a pigsty, all sorts of charts and papers and what looked like unassembled parts scattered about the floor. Her eyes rested upon a stack of gowns atop the dresser. These had belonged to Robin’s mother?
She sifted through them. Mrs. Watkins had apparently been fond of blue, each garment possessing some shade of the color. She selected a soft cotton number, a white top sewn with azure skirts. Pulling off her salmon robes, Antonia examined her forearm. She was surprised to discover a series of hives sprouting there, though they’d been coated in a soothing paste. She wondered how it got there.
Mrs. Watkins’s dress fit her well. It was just a bit baggy at the waist, but that was easily corrected with an adjustable sash. With her fingers, she combed out her hair, desiring a mirror in which to examine herself. Exiting the room in search of one, she instead found Dr. Watkins reclining in an armchair with a stack of new
spapers.
He peeked above the pages, and his expression grew sentimental. “Ah.” He grinned sadly. “That was one of her favorites.”
Antonia looked down, feeling guilty for evoking the widower’s sorrow.
But he only set the paper aside. “And for that matter, you may keep it, child.”
She was touched. “How kind of you.”
The doctor was about to respond when they were interrupted by noisy footfalls, accompanied by petulant grumbling. “You need a new razor, Thad. That dull blade of yours only sliced me half-a-dozen times…”
A young man entered the room, his auburn hair damp and combed neatly back, his face—but for a few squares of gauze at his throat and lip—cleanly shaven. Antonia’s eyes widened. Why, it was Robin.
All at once, the room became stifling. Antonia felt oddly uncomfortable, yet could not peel her gaze away. The man looked almost a decade younger without a beard. And…well, he was handsome. Remarkably so.
She never would have guessed.
Robin cleared his throat, looking just as surprised by her appearance. For a moment, neither spoke.
“Well,” Dr. Watkins folded his hands together, “now that your friend is awake, Rob, care to introduce us?”
Robin blinked, and Antonia looked away, begging her pulse to steady. Why was she so nervous all of a sudden? He’d only shaved, for heaven’s sake. It wasn’t as though a smooth face would change that impossible personality of his, or the fact that he was forcing her on his map hunt against her will.
“Erm. Thad, this is my…” Robin seemed to be struggling with what to call her. At last, he settled with, “This is Annie. I mean, Antonia Korelli.”
She inclined her head.
“Annie, this is my father, Thad…”
“We’ve met,” she informed Robin, for some reason unable to look him in the eye. “But why do you call your father by his first name?”
Robin shrugged. “I always have.”
Dr. Watkins gave an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid we’re not the most conventional family.”
“Nor the most conventional people.” Robin made his way to the kitchen. “Which is probably why there’s no food here.” He opened an empty cabinet, and looked pointedly at his father. “What’ve you been living off of? Old cigars?”
His father waved him off. “There’s a loaf in the breadbox.”
“Oh, a loaf.” Robin crossed his arms. “Thank goodness, I thought we were all going to starve.”
“And I’ve some potatoes,” his father added sternly. “Why do you think only of food? You are like a teenaged boy.” He rose to his feet. “Now, come. There’s something I’d like to show you in the shed.”
Robin groaned dramatically.
“Miss Korelli can join us.” Hopeful, Dr. Watkins beckoned her, and Antonia stepped forward.
“Look, whatever it is, I’m sure it’s fascinating,” said Robin. “But I could really use a hot meal and a nap more than anything right now.”
Antonia, however, was curious. Robin had said his father was an inventor, after all. “I’ll have a look, Dr. Watkins,” she offered.
The old man beamed, and Robin huffed. Resigned, he followed them out the front door and down a wide wooden porch. Birdcalls floated amidst the humid air, and Antonia glanced around. But for the disorganized mess inside the cabin, their home was rather charming.
An old shed was nestled at the edge of the property, and in her new attire, she had no trouble wading through the heat to reach it. Mrs. Watkins’s dress was much more breathable in this climate than the Azean robes had been.
Dr. Watkins unlatched the shed’s double doors and swung them open. Antonia squinted, coughing, as a cloud of dust rose in her face. The shed’s interior was illuminated by the brilliant evening sunset, revealing all manner of contraptions and trinkets, wheels and gears, and what appeared to be dozens of half-finished projects. It looked like the lair of a madman.
The fine hair on Antonia’s arms prickled. Were either of these people entirely sane?
“Pardon the mess,” chuckled the amiable doctor, winding through the maze of junk. “But truly, you two are the first to witness my latest opus.” He brought them to what resembled an open carriage.
Antonia peered up. A wheel was attached inside the carriage, beneath which rested a pair of pedals on its floor. Robin came beside her, his brow wrinkled.
“It’s a horseless carriage!” cried Dr. Watkins, opening the half-door and climbing in. “Of course, I haven’t worked out all the kinks just yet…”
Robin’s shift in attitude was drastic. “My gods.” His voice was a whisper, but Antonia perceived it, as well as his slow, triumphant smile.
“She runs on a motor,” the doctor explained, and launched into a detailed description of engine-building. All the while, Robin surveyed the vehicle, eyes gleaming. Antonia stared between them. She still did not quite understand. What, exactly, did a horseless carriage entail?
Dr. Watkins was in the middle of an intricate explanation about wiring when Robin excitedly interrupted him. “Can we see how it works?”
His father halted, caught off-guard. “Well, sure.” He dug into his pocket and extracted a key ring. He then stuck a copper key into the wheel’s base. Antonia jumped as noisy rumbling filled the shed.
Cheerfully, Dr. Watkins waved them aside. “Move over,” he commanded, slamming his foot onto one of the pedals. Robin and Antonia leapt from the way as the carriage shot out of the shed, great wheels rotating beneath it. The old man drove it up the lawn and down a narrow dirt path, curly hair flying in the breeze. “It’s a joy! You must give her a try, Rob.”
Antonia watched in awe as Dr. Watkins drove the carriage back to them and slid to the opposite end of the bench. Robin eagerly jumped inside and took his place at the wheel.
“The right pedal is go, left is stop,” his father briefed him. “Now, grip the steering wheel with both hands, there’s a good lad.”
Robin’s grin faltered as the motor only continued to chug. “Why won’t it go?”
“Oh.” Dr. Watkins pushed back a lever. “Sorry. Had it in park.”
His son extended a leg again when, to Antonia’s astonishment, the carriage zoomed backwards. “What the—?”
“Whoops!” The old man laughed. “That’s reverse.” He adjusted the lever again.
Robin gaped at him. “It reverses?”
His father smiled with pride, and Robin hit the pedal once more. This time, the carriage sped forward. Antonia applauded, laughing. What innovation! Why, Dr. Watkins was no madman at all—but clearly, a genius!
“It’s perfect,” declared Robin, bringing the vehicle to a stop and slipping the lever up to park it. He turned to his father, brimming with enthusiasm. “May we borrow it?”
THAD BLINKED. “BORROW IT?”
Rob’s heart palpitated. Somehow, deep down, he must’ve known his father would have the answer. He’d been more than right to go home. “I’d like to use it to get to Axacola.”
His father’s face fell. “Oh, I don’t know, Rob…”
“Come on.”
“She’s my only prototype.”
“We’ll take excellent care of her.” Rob looked over at the girl standing by the shed. “Won’t we, Annie?”
She merely glanced at him with those gray-blue eyes, and his heart gave another strange palpitation. Boy, did she wear Mum’s dress quite differently than Mum had…
In her heavy pink robes, Antonia Korelli had been a fair-enough looking girl. Not that Rob was interested in her, or anything. But now, swathed in thinner, lighter material, he was surprised to discover the feminine shape he’d missed beneath all of that unflattering temple garb. Why, she was more of a woman than he’d realized, with an ample curve to her bust, a petite waist, and long, strong-looking legs…
“You reall
y want her?” Thad sighed.
“Beg pardon?” demanded Rob, removing his sweaty palms from the steering wheel.
“My prototype.” Thad scratched his neck. “You want to borrow her?”
“Oh.” Rob opened the half-door. “For a time, yes.”
His father stepped down from the vehicle alongside him. “May I ask why?”
Rob bit the inside of his cheek. He’d no desire to relay the humiliating details of his closest friends’ betrayal. “My horse was stolen,” he muttered.
Thad looked surprised. “By whom?”
Unexpectedly, Antonia piped up. “It was my fault…sort of.”
Rob rubbed his brow. No, none of it was her fault, really. Perhaps it had, until then, satisfied him to blame her. But she’d only been trying to help. In fact, what she’d done that day—stepping before a loaded gun to defend a complete stranger—was unbelievably brave. Braver than anything he’d ever done.
Thad looked between them, confused.
“I was betrayed,” Rob confessed, “by Adams.” He flushed. “And Rowena.”
His father’s face shadowed over. “Well. If it’s any consolation, I never liked that girlfriend of yours.” His bushy eyebrows narrowed. “As for Jules Adams, all I can say is: like father, like son.”
Rob kicked at the dirt. After all of these years, he should’ve known better. “They took the map,” he added.
The old man stiffened. “They what?”
“Wen aimed her pistol at me. I had to let it go. But…” Awkwardly, Rob indicated the blonde-haired girl standing before them. “Annie here saved me. In fact, were it not for her, I’d have probably been shot.”
Antonia appeared taken aback. But her expression softened, until Rob could almost swear she concealed a tender smile. He turned away, his neck burning for some reason. It was too damn hot outside; that was it.
Thad’s features, however, hardened. “Robin Sturgis Watkins.” He slipped the key to the horseless carriage from its ring. “You take my prototype, and get your map back.”
Rob received the copper key, exhaling with relief. “Thank you. Truly.”
