The one guard Drake sent with them this time sat up with the driver. It was a bit insulting that he appeared to trust Wells more than he did her, but then, she had stolen his airship. The silence in the coach was deafening as they headed into the city. Macak stood on Maeko’s thighs, staring at Wells expectantly while rising on his toes to push his back into her affectionate scratches. Every wobble made him dig his claws in, but she merely clenched her teeth and wondered how Wells had gained immunity to the power of cat eyes. It was a good twenty minutes before either of them spoke and she would have been happy enough to continue that way.
“You know what Drake’s planning?”
Maeko met the officer’s eyes for a second then focused on Macak who turned around suddenly and half-climbed her chest to push his head into her chin. She grinned and scratched his cheeks with both hands.
Wells tried again. “I’m sure he isn’t telling the detective everything.”
“What does it matter?”
The ex-officer’s jaw tightened briefly. “He isn’t telling me much either. I gave up everything to help you and the Pirates. I think I deserve a little honesty.”
Maeko kissed the cat on the head, then lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug as he curled back down in her lap.
“You helped me do something I didn’t have their approval to do. Then you took sanctuary with them,” Maeko reminded him. “I don’t know why you would expect Drake to tell you everything right away. You were a Lit officer. I think he’s showing considerable trust letting you go to meet with Em like this.”
He blew out and deflated visibly. “You’re right. Blast if I don’t hate needing a street rat to point out the obvious.”
“A street rat and a twist at that,” she added with a teasing smirk that almost sparked a little pleasure in the hollow inside her.
Wells shook his head at her comment. “You’re more than you let on. There’s a clever head on your shoulders. A rather fine looking one too, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“Don’t start that,” she growled, annoyed by the flush she felt rising in her cheeks.
Wells just chuckled, clearly enjoying her discomfort, but he was polite enough not to press it further, letting the ride lapse back into silence.
#
Though they hadn’t discussed the need for prudence, Em was surprisingly discreet and crafty about getting information from Wells about the prison facility while still making it seem that her primary interest was in the doubt cast upon Mr. Folesworth’s true identity. The woman was something of an artist.
Maeko sat back, holding her silence through the meeting and admiring the skill with which Em moved Wells from subject to subject and dug facts out that even he appeared surprised to discover he knew. That was, Maeko suspected, one of the critical skills that made a detective good at their job. A skill she would have to study if she wanted to work with this woman, though she still wasn’t sure how involved she wanted to get in the detective business.
Wells looked like a wrung-out linen when the detective was done with him, though there was grim satisfaction in the set of his jaw and the calm in his eyes. He appeared to be a man who had found peace with his new role. As they wrapped up, Maeko tapped her shoulder when Wells wasn’t watching and Macak promptly climbed up. She watched Em leave the coach, watched the door shut. With one hand stroking Macak’s head and the other held calmly in her lap, she counted to 30 then, just as Wells reached up to knock on the roof, she reached for the door.
“Hold on. I forgot to ask her something.”
Wells paused, his hand stopping a mere inch from the roof. “I don’t think—”
“It’ll only take a second,” she added as she tossed open the door and climbed out. She trotted after the detective, Macak digging in painfully to secure his position.
Em must have heard her coming. Her hand sank to her hip, brushing the long coat out of the way of her gun as she spun around to face her pursuer. Their eyes met and the detective’s hand relaxed away from the gun. She gave Maeko a chastising look.
“You shouldn’t run up—”
A loud crack rang through the air. Time froze for an instant in the wake of the noise. Em’s eyes went wide. She staggered forward and into Maeko whose momentum made it impossible to avoid the falling woman. Macak leapt clear before they hit the ground, the weight of the other woman pressing down on her. Another crack rang out. She craned her head around in time to see the guard fall like a sack of flour from the coach seat, his gun dropping from a limp hand.
Macak crouched by her head, his fur standing up and his ears flat back.
Maeko jerked an arm free and jabbed the cat with a finger. “Get!”
The prod sent him sprinting back to the nearest hiding place, the coach, a streak of black and white that disappeared into the dark interior between the legs of the ex-Lit now peering warily out with a gun in hand.
The next shot came from a dark alley. There was a sound of shattering glass and someone fell out of a second story window to the street, someone in a Literati uniform. Maeko shook Em. The woman made a worrisome choking sound. Not dead then. Not yet. She didn’t seem capable of moving herself though, so Maeko shoved her off and rose to a crouch. The next gunshot brought a cry of pain from the dark alley and a tall man in a wide-brimmed hat staggered out, falling in the street after a few struggling steps.
Rueben.
She leaned down to check Em. Blood soaked her coat, spreading from a bullet hole just inside of her left shoulder blade. Another shot rang out. Something whizzed past Maeko where her head had been seconds before. A cold sweat broke out on her neck and her mouth went dry. Em needed help, but she couldn’t stay in the open like this or she’d end up no better off.
When she bolted toward the coach, two more shots rang out. One hit the side of the coach next to the open door, sending up splinters of wood around the impact site. Wells ducked back in, and Maeko skidded to a halt. She met the cowering coachman’s eyes and mouthed Go. He didn’t need to be told twice. He slapped the traces hard and the horses, already bunched and dancing with fear, were more than happy to bolt away, jerking the coach so hard that Wells fell inside and the door swung shut on his startled expression.
She twisted around. Her eyes touched on Em and on Rueben in quick succession. Both lay still. Dead, unconscious, or playing dead? She hoped for the latter.
She broke into a run, putting all her energy into getting out of there before she joined the body count. This was her city. The short time living in comfort wasn’t enough to make her forget the secrets of survival on the streets. Another three shots rang out before she sprinted down a dark alley and left the open street behind. The last shots had come from two different directions. Perhaps Amos was there somewhere, fighting back. If so, she hoped he got to Em before it was too late, if that time hadn’t already passed.
She ran as fast as she could, navigating dark, but familiar streets made menacing by creeping fog and fear. Cold air burned her throat raw. She kept her legs pumping, refusing to slow until she was sure no one followed. The Lits clearly weren’t looking to make arrests this time. They’d gone straight to shooting without even letting anyone know they were there first. No warnings. No negotiation. Just killing.
Once she got away from the fog coming off the river, the moon was nearly full in a partly overcast sky, giving enough light to the evening streets to help her along her way while providing plenty of shadow for her to stay hidden in. She worked an indirect route toward Cheapside where the Pirate-friendly taverns should be entertaining a lively enough crowd for one small street rat to get lost in. Maybe Barman would be game for letting her hide away in his pub, though his charity might have been worn out with Heldie’s murder, not that he had any way of knowing she’d been present on that unfortunate occasion.
She sprinted down another narrow street, her breath now coming in labored gasps, and burst out onto Cheapside, only to skid to an abrupt halt.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A t
ense, shifting crowd packed the street and several Literati officers had the road blocked just a few yards east of where she emerged. Angry shouts bounced back and forth between the Lits and the crowd, many of whom stood armed with guns and a diverse array of knives or makeshift clubs. Without warning, a brick hurtled across her path from somewhere in the crowd, busting noisily through the glass of the shop window next to her. Her breath caught in her throat and she ducked down in case more projectiles were on the way.
With the crash of the glass, the street went wild and the first third of the crowd charged the barricade shouting something about Pirates and freedom while more people began hurling projectiles at the shop windows. Maeko threw her hands over her head and scurried to the opposite corner to hunker down and assess the situation.
A series of rapid gunshots ripped through the air. Screams of pain and fear joined the terrifying cacophony and the front of the charge broke apart, people there falling to injuries or turning back to flee only to run into the rest of the crowd that hadn’t quite caught on yet to the abrupt change of plan.
Maeko looked past the barricade to where the shots had originated from and instant terror froze her in place.
Behind the barricade amidst the Literati were several rugged looking bludgers, each sporting a mechanical arm much like Chaff’s and equipped with guns that could be concealed within the arms, which they were now firing on the crowd. At the front of the group, the duck shaped scar on his forehead not visible from this distance, but etched in place by her memory all the same, was Hatchet-face, the murderer who had left her with a substantial scar from the knife wound on her shoulder. The sour stench of him filled her nose though she knew there was no way she could smell him from that distance. It was a pungent recollection. As vivid as the feel of his rough hands grabbing at her and his panting breath in her face.
Her hand went to her stomach as if she could ward off the sudden sick feeling.
The slender weapon that rose out of Hatchet-face’s new false arm fired faster than any of the others and had substantial recoil judging from the way his torso jerked with each shot. A feral grin curled his lips and his dead eyes shone with feverish light, getting brighter as his victims fell before the onslaught. Full panic gripped the crowd now.
Someone plowed into Maeko, driving her to the ground and falling over her in their haste to get away. The bloke flailed, kicking her several times as he scampered to his feet, not giving her so much as a glance when he pounded a boot down on her gut as he took off again. The air burst from her and she fought the need to curl around the pain, forcing herself to her hands and knees in order to scurry back down the side street. A few feet back from the corner, she pushed up against a wall to avoid further trampling by the people now fleeing down that way and pulled her knees in tight to her chest. She closed her eyes, trying to get back the air that her long run and the blow to the gut had taken from her. She couldn’t run again, not quite yet, but she had to get away before the Lits found her. Before he found her.
A shudder passed through her.
They gave a built-in weapon to a convicted murderer? Have they gone mad?
An explosion like the one that blew her mother’s house to rubble shook the air, turning the world to silence. Hot air blasted her from the street, rocking her head to the side, and the people just starting down her way were flung through the air. One landed in front of her, the back of his clothing and the flesh beneath scalded and torn. Hazel eyes stared blankly at her from his youthful dirt smudged face and a pocket watch lay on the ground, its chain wound in his still fingers.
Just a street rat taking advantage of a distracted crowd. She would likely have done the same only a short time ago.
I could have been you.
Her stomach threatened to revolt and she swallowed hard. Another explosion split the air, this one going off further down, in the direction of the Literati barricade. The Pirates fighting back perhaps?
Time to go.
She pushed to her feet and ran back the way she had come, turning off down a familiar street that would take her to the big Cheapside lurk where she’d stayed with Chaff. By now, if anyone other than Em had followed her there when she fled after Lucian’s death, they would have searched the place and lost interest in it again. It should be a safe enough place to hole up and try to come up with a new plan now that her idea to run off and work with Em had been violently altered.
#
Maeko walked through the burned out husk of the old lurk, scratching at dried blood on her right arm. Something had cut a shallow gash there. Shrapnel from the explosion perhaps. It stung now. A distant pain that couldn’t quite cut through the numbness that dulled her thoughts. She wouldn’t have believed the hollow inside could grow any vaster, but this proved that it could. One of the places she’d made a home of sorts growing up now lay in ruins beneath her feet. One more place she could never go back to.
With each slow step through the charred pile of timber and stone, she could see the building as it had been, a broken down, scarred old husk of a building teeming with hidden life. Kids of all ages sought sanctuary within those walls, sharing the tales of their latest exploits in the only place they felt like they belonged. Memory recreated each room in sharp relief, moments from her past jumping up to rebuild countless hours of her life spent within those walls. Many of those moments came accompanied by Chaff’s bright blue eyes and easy mischievous grin.
She stopped walking and gazed around. This was the spot. This was where the room Chaff made his own had been, where he had nursed her back to health after saving her from the big dog-torturing bludger who’d tried to kill her. She remembered his kiss as a soft warmth on her now cold and dry lips. She pressed her cheek into her hand, recalling the feel of his strong bare chest against her face.
She closed her eyes and Ash’s pale green eyes rose up in her mind. She chewed at her lower lip.
I’m sorry Ash. I didn’t know I loved him. Not that it matters now.
Now she had no one. Not Ash. Not Chaff. Not Em. Not even the one companion she’d hoped to keep with her through all of this.
Macak.
She sank to her knees, bits of debris biting into them as her scant weight rested down. There wasn’t much hope. Without Em to convince them, the Bobbies wouldn’t intervene and with the weapons the Lits already had operational, there was no way an attack on the prison would be anything less than disastrous for both sides.
The bright night had turned overcast and rain began to fall. Fat, grimy drops of wet pattered around her. She watched the way it made the black of charred wood turn blacker in the dim light. The fat drops slid through her hair, one running cold down the back of her neck and eliciting a small shiver.
Footsteps crunched through the debris behind her. Her heartbeat barely quickened, too weighted down with defeat to care of what danger the sound might foretell. Besides, if the person wanted to shoot her, they would have done so already. If they wanted to capture her, they wouldn’t approach with a weary trudge that timed well to the slow thud of her beaten down heart.
A shadow fell over her, a darker patch in the night. After a moment, she noticed that the rain stopped hitting her head. An umbrella? Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the toes of heavy black boots peeking out from under creased brown slacks that were rolled up twice.
Amos?
“How’d you find me?”
The booted feet shifted on the rubble with soft crunching sounds. When she glanced up at his face, Amos was staring into the night, not at anything in particular that she could see. The pain of the debris poking into her knees was beginning to break through the daze. She stared at the ground again and let it hurt.
“Em told me to find you,” he muttered, just barely loud enough for her to make out his words. “This was one of the first places she thought you might come.”
“She’s a good detective.”
“Was.”
The hollow in her chest grew, expanding to the point that h
er ribs and throat and gut all ached with it. She would explode with the pressure of that growing despair, that miserable nothing that bellowed within her.
Em is dead. “Em is dead?”
Amos made a small affirmative sound that twisted in her gut and at the base of her skull like a needle pushing into the nerves there.
This was all the provocation Drake needed. He would charge the moment his battleship was ready and blast his vengeance upon the Literati and Thaddeus. They deserved it. Some of them did. Not all though. How many were like Captain Garrett, forced to work for the enemy. How many were as Wells had been, blindly hoping that they’d chosen the right side. Unwilling to see the foul deeds being done because they so desperately needed to be one of the good guys. How many were like her, merely committing their crimes because they needed to get by, blaming society for making it necessary.
She swallowed around the knife blade lodged in her throat. “Rueben?”
His silence was the only answer she needed.
“Did the coach get away?”
“I don’t know.”
Macak.
“This little guy did though.” He opened his jacket and pulled a familiar black and white feline out, placing him on the ground. “Jumped out the coach window when he realized you weren’t going with him.”
She picked Macak up and held him tight, her tears sliding warm down her cheeks and into his fur. She swallowed again. It didn’t help the pain. “What now?”
“It’s over.”
Was it? Was that it? Were they helpless now? Stuck sitting back and watching as things played out? Was there nothing they could do?
She chewed at her lip for a few seconds, feeling Macak’s heartbeat fast and strong under one hand, then looked up at the stocky man.
“Amos, why can’t you go to the Bobbies? I can tell you everything that Wells told Em.”
He looked down at her now, measuring her with his gaze. “I suppose I could try it. Better yet, why don’t you just come with me? You can tell them yourself.”
The Girl and the Clockwork Crossfire Page 12
