by Beth Cato
Emotions flickered across his face. Longing. Sadness. Frustration. “I considered that, but no. Holding that piece of history, it was easy to think that it was found because of me. That it fit in with the qilin and the Chinese’s desperate hope for our own kind of savior. The fact is, you found the Green Dragon Crescent Blade, Ing. Not me. If I don’t come back, carry the guandao onward. I hope it will help someone else.”
He grabbed her hand and squeezed, and she pulled him into a hug. “We’ll procrastinate until it’s midnight and that won’t make it any easier for us to say good-bye. Just go, Lee. And please try to come back soon.”
“I’ll try to get word to you in a way that won’t endanger you, just so you know I’m not . . .”
No, no, Ingrid wouldn’t fill in that blank. “Please. Some word would be better than none at all.” She released him and wiped a tear from her cheek. “Damn it, I hate crying. Go, Lee, or I’ll kick you out.”
“I’m going. See you soon, Ing.” He lingered at the door then pushed himself away. A minute later, she heard the door clang on the far side of the building.
“Goddamn it.” Ingrid paced the confines of the small room. She wanted to feel more hopeful at this point. She and Cy had been reunited with Fenris and Lee. Maybe, maybe, Ojisan was here in the city. Roosevelt had helped them and promised more help, limited as it was. Blum hadn’t caught up to them yet.
But now Lee was off to do something dangerous by himself. Ingrid was left as custodian of an ancient Chinese artifact. The Bug wasn’t functional.
Images of San Francisco flashed through her brain. That destruction could happen all over again. And there was the very real danger Mount Rainier presented—that it might decide to erupt if Ingrid were in significant pain.
She thought of the smoke. The fire. The boiling blue miasma. The bodies. Humans. Horses. The screaming cattle. She inhaled, as if she could smell the awfulness anew.
Ingrid wanted to hit something. Actually, no—she wanted to shatter something. Mr. Sakaguchi used to claim that she engaged in warfare on dishes because of the many pitchers and cups she cracked when she was holding power and peeved at one thing or another. She had hated the added expense for him and the auxiliary, but at the same time she had relished those small displays of power.
Now she dared not expend any energy like that. She plunged her fists into the slicker’s pockets, as if the cloth could hold her frustration in check. Jagged objects grated against her right hand. Frowning, she pulled forth Papa’s marred kermanite. She scooted a chair close to the lantern and bowed her head to study the rocks.
The darkness inside the kermanite indicated that power had been fully withdrawn, but how? The cracks in each stone were significant. Kermanite fragmented easily, but it was also more durable once it held earth energy.
If a mechanic wasn’t paying attention to the color of the kermanite and left it installed in a device too long, the attempted power draw might make the stone crack. When that happened, the kermanite simply became a dead battery, and the mechanical device stopped working. That tended to be a bad thing if the device in question was an airship that was under way.
That kind of power draw didn’t cause kermanite to melt, though. Ingrid had never seen the like, and she’d handled a lot of kermanite as secretary at the auxiliary. Heard plenty of stories, too. Old earth wardens and adepts gossiped worse than any women she’d ever met.
Ingrid pressed her thumb over a crystal and tilted it toward the light. The blemish actually resembled a fingerprint a bit larger than her own, as if a hand was clenching the crystal.
All of her life she’d heard the boys in training at the auxiliary repeat their lessons. Hyperthermia, hypothermia, the dangers of energy sickness. The necessity of always carrying kermanite in case of an earthquake. The fact that kermanite took in energy to capacity, and that was it. A geomancer filled stones, and only machines could draw the energy away.
Papa’d had dozens of stones like this. Had he been able to pull out the stored power? Could Ingrid do the same? In truth, she’d never tried because in her head it was impossible. Just like how she’d never formed a shielding bubble until the previous Sunday when she instinctively knew she had to protect herself and Mr. Sakaguchi as the auxiliary exploded.
Ingrid had already-filled kermanite on board the Palmetto Bug. She would need to fetch the stones later, or ask Cy to grab them for her. Climbing that precarious ladder was too much for her right now.
Carrying the lantern, she returned to the main floor to where Fenris was working. “What are you doing now?” she asked.
Fenris squatted beneath the airship as he sorted through metal parts. “Plotting where I can find a remote cave so that I can build things without constant interruptions.”
“That would make it difficult to get parts and supplies.”
He waved away the logic. “I could make occasional trips to a town to stock up. Now let me guess. You want to help me work on the Bug even though you know nothing about airships or machinery. Right?”
“No, I planned to randomly throw bolts at you to make sure you’re awake and alert.” Ingrid set down the lantern and crossed her arms over her chest. “Of course I want to help! I’m sorry if I’m a nuisance, but if I’m idle I start thinking about San Francisco and . . .” She shook her head. She hadn’t wanted to mention that. “If the thieves happened to leave any books on board, I’ll read, but I would prefer to be useful in some way.”
“I don’t think our thieves were of an erudite nature. I liberated them of any other useful belongings, but they didn’t have—”
“You stole from them, Fenris? Really? You didn’t mention that in front of Cy.”
“Of course I didn’t. That’s because I’m not an idiot. He probably would hunt them down in jail so he could return a few coins and pocket lint.”
“Speaking of pockets.” Ingrid pulled out a few pieces of Papa’s blemished kermanite. “Have you ever seen stones melted like this?”
“Huh. I think you know more about kermanite than me.” Fenris frowned and lowered a magnifying lens on his goggles. He tilted the kermanite toward the nearest lamp and stared down his nose at it.
“Geomancers are like any other consumer when it comes to the actual usage of the rocks, though we might hear more news and gossip on the subject.”
“This is odd, the way it’s cracked and melted. And that swirl . . . it actually looks like a fingerprint.”
“I thought so, but . . .”
“Yeah, it’s pretty clear when the rocks are magnified. None of these show signs of being fastened into any kind of machine either. There should be tiny scratches where the clasps and cap fit on. Those sorts of marks might be invisible to the eye, especially on chunks this small, but I’d see them if they existed. Where’d you get this?”
“They belonged to my father. We forgot to mention that along with everything else that happened in the past day. I went with Cy to the boardinghouse where Papa lived in Portland, and found out he had a wife, more children, and a drawerful of kermanite like this.” She accepted the crystals from Fenris and dropped them into her pocket again.
The thought of her siblings still hurt. She wanted to help those girls. She wished there could be justice for her murdered brothers, too, but Papa was dead. What more could be done?
“Damn.” Fenris’s brow furrowed. He was quiet for a moment. “The kermanite is interesting. I’d suggest an experiment, but you’re not holding any power right now, are you?”
“No. I used up what I had, and more, to talk to the thunderbird yesterday.”
“Ah. And more. Yes, I’ve read about that, how geomancers who see earth’s miasma also have the knack to drop their own life energy into kermanite. Jesus. I thought I stressed Cy. If he starts losing his hair, at least I know it’s not my fault.”
“Oh, shush.” Ingrid rolled her eyes, even as she cringed in guilt over the danger and strain she’d brought on Cy. “Tell me, what can I do to help?”
Fenri
s sat up, hands on his hips. “Well, since you’re so eager to volunteer, the tatami from the hallway needs a vinegar wash. It’s already pulled out over there. There should be enough vinegar left to get it done. If you don’t mind, of course, I—”
“I’m a housekeeper’s daughter and a housekeeper in my own right. I know what to do.” Ingrid pulled off her coat and tossed it over a crate. She noticed the spare Tesla rod on the ground nearby, and took a second look at the box she had sat on. Fenris had scorched identifying marks into the wood. “I didn’t know a Tesla rod could be used as a brand like that.”
“It’s all in how the power inside is channeled, but I don’t think I have to explain that sort of thing to you.”
“I’m sorry if I’m being too much of a distraction. I can stay quiet, if you like.”
Fenris shot her a haughty glare as he returned to his mechanical odds and ends. “I’ll have you know, I’m capable of working and talking at the same time.”
Ingrid smiled to herself and gathered her supplies to start work.
Chapter 12
When Cy returned a short time later, he found Ingrid kneeling on rags as she used another scrap cloth to work the stench out of the tatami. She stiffly rose, leaning on a crate for balance.
“Do you need help bringing in supplies?” she asked. “I’m just about done with the floor mat, though it needs to hang up to dry.”
“Did you get my parts?” called Fenris from inside the Bug.
Cy leaned to shout into the hatch above. “Yes! Every one of them, by some miracle. Seems folks decided that if their airships couldn’t make the flight to Baranov, there was money to be made in busting them down for scrap. I grabbed food stocks, too, and new bedding for that rack.” He nodded to Ingrid. “I’d be much obliged for your help, too. I have a borrowed cart at the side door.”
Ingrid spent the next few minutes hauling parcels indoors. Cy had bought a veritable tower of goods, and at a glance, she wondered at how everything could fit inside the airship. She trusted Cy and Fenris to find a way. With much of the scotch gone, there was certainly more space in the pantry.
Panting slightly, she wiped her hands on her skirts. “Since you bought everything Fenris needs, how long do you think the repairs will take?”
Cy readjusted his glasses on his nose. “The stub wing is on again, but there are still numerous minor repairs and matters of cleanliness. Might take a day, maybe two, if Fenris works at his usual rate.”
“Which he shouldn’t be, really, considering how he was injured last week. Didn’t that Pasteurian say that Fenris should take it easy for a month?”
Cy snorted. “If you can find a way to convince Fenris to take it easy, without complete sedation, do let me know. Fussing over him just makes him more obstinate. He’s worse than a mule.”
“I can hear you,” called Fenris, singsong. “I should add, you’ve made very similar comments about Ingrid there, though I don’t think you mentioned a mule.”
“I’m flattered,” she said, grinning as Cy flushed.
“Don’t try to get me in trouble, Fenris.”
“If I wanted to get you in real trouble, I’d rig up a whirly-fly to record and play back your exact words, but I’m rather busy right now.” Metal clanged and echoed from inside the craft.
Cy shook his head in exasperation. “Something to look forward to later, I suppose.”
Ingrid stared at her wrinkled, vinegar-fragrant hands. “Cy, you mentioned before about a hotel across the street . . . ?”
“Of course. I should’ve told you about that first thing. I booked us a room. A two-room suite, actually. I hope you don’t mind . . . I mean, I didn’t wish to imply—”
“That’s the wisest thing for security’s sake. I’m not keen on being alone. We slept in chairs a few feet apart last night, you might recall.”
Oh, she loved how he blushed. “There’s a different sort of intimacy implied in sleeping fully clothed in chairs in a shared space aboard a small airship, and in booking a private suite at an inn.”
“Indeed there is,” she said, low enough that Fenris couldn’t hear. “I will have you know, it’s been two days since we first landed in Portland.”
His brows scrunched together. “Meaning?”
“Your honor may very well be at stake.”
“Oh. Yes. The besmirching.” Cy’s cheeks turned pinker as he laughed, but then his expression sobered. “I have given the matter some thought.”
“Have you, now?”
“I have. And being with you, experiencing that special sort of closeness . . . I only see honor in that.” His voice was soft, his gaze averted. “I don’t wish to pressure you in any such way, though. Too many other men . . .” He shook his head.
“You’re not like most men, Cy, and I’m glad for it.” His respect for her had been apparent from the moment they first met, and now that she thought about it, that trait was what made him so appealing from that instant, too.
The intelligent spark in his eye and his luscious drawl hadn’t hurt either.
While Ingrid grabbed her few extra clothes and toiletries, Cy rigged up his alarm system for the doors. He completed the installation as they exited.
“There. That’ll belt out a loud noise if anyone other than us tries to enter. That should give Fenris time to grab a Tesla rod, and we can scamper over from across the street. The noise won’t make us any new friends in the neighborhood, but it’ll keep us alive.”
Ingrid studied the door. Only a smidgen of wire was visible around the doorway. “Maybe we’ll find Lee lurking around here when we return.” She had to say it. She had to hope.
“Yes. It troubles me mightily to think of him going into Chinatown under such circumstances. Roosevelt’s advice had merit.”
“It does, but there was no easy choice here.” She couldn’t say aloud that Lee had already chosen a distinct course of action.
Ingrid pulled up her hood even though the rain had stopped. The prospect of a hot bath awaited, and if the inn staff refused to let her inside because of her complexion . . . well, she might be inclined to break things even though she wasn’t holding any power.
Her concern didn’t come to fruition. The establishment consisted of several narrow Victorian town houses painted in cheery blue and connected by covered walkways. Cy brought her up back stairs that seemed all too convenient for clandestine hotel shenanigans.
“I’m glad you booked a room on an upper floor,” she said. It would take a significant quake to transmit power to an upper level.
Ingrid couldn’t see Mount Rainier in the dark with so many buildings around, but she couldn’t forget its presence. She wondered if that was entirely paranoia on her part, or if she could really sense the mountain’s power even with a fully staffed auxiliary nearby. Or maybe the truth was a mix of both.
“Not just a room, but the whole floor. That’s how the suites are set up here,” he said, and opened the door.
The heady perfume of roses met her as she took in the appearance of the small sitting room. It was frippery and feminine in a gaudy English way, with boldly patterned floral wallpaper, excessive amounts of lace, and heavy furniture that would do well to block a door. The getabako by the door looked out of place, but she was happy to pause and take off her boots.
Cy was more hesitant to change to slippers.
“You never did take off your shoes last night, did you?” she asked.
Cy shrugged. “Old habits. It’s best to be ready to run. I did take a brief bath earlier.”
The hotel slippers for women were too small for Ingrid’s broad feet, and the men’s slippers too long, so she continued her investigation of the suite in her stockings.
The bedrooms were decorated in the same garish style with heavy four-poster beds and pillow piles that surely had come straight from heaven. Her aching muscles begged to burrow into those layers of feather-stuffed goodness. Maybe she could sleep well here, truly sleep, and for a while forget about San Francisco and Blum a
nd Lee and all the dangers around them.
Her immediate plans, however, didn’t involve much relaxation. They had privacy. They weren’t in imminent peril for once. If Cy was waiting for her to make the first move . . . well, she wouldn’t let him wait long.
The windows of both bedrooms overlooked the street and the former skating rink beyond. She drew the curtains closed. Cy shrugged off a new yet worn leather coat he’d acquired in the past few hours. It suited him.
She noted his gun was now holstered near his waist, not far from the Tesla rod he had taken from their would-be attacker in Portland. The sight caused a lurch of sadness in her chest. He abhorred violence, but now he knew to anticipate it.
“Bath?” she asked, imbuing the word with days’ worth of longing.
He motioned to an unopened door. “I’ll be right out here.”
“Try to relax, Cy.” The man had been so reluctant even to take off his shoes; she’d need to provide extra incentives for him to shed the rest of his gear.
She closed the door behind her, a giddy smile lighting her face. The space was small, the tub only a step away. She propped a foot on the porcelain edge and began to work off her stockings.
“Truth be told, I’m not sure I remember how to relax after this past week,” Cy said through the door. “I figure if we stayed in the Bug, I’d be worked up about Lee and everything else. Plus, sleep would be impossible. A big advantage of being in a private space is that Fenris can work all night long.”
“I suppose sleeping with our ears plugged wouldn’t help our alertness.”
Ingrid turned on the water to let it heat and continued to undress. Her discarded stockings curled on the tile floor like an old snakeskin. What a mercy, to feel air directly on her legs! A moment later, her dress, camisole, and brassiere joined the heap on the floor. A small part of her mind nagged her to fold everything properly, but the wiser portion noted the delightful steam that quickly filled the chamber. To hell with proper folding!
She left her hair coiled up in a bun as she stepped into the water. Hair washing would come later. She removed the bandage from her arm, too. The Reiki in her system had certainly sped the healing; the cut was a sealed pink welt, only sensitive if she applied pressure.
