Captain Gravenor’s Airship Equinox (Steampunk Smugglers)

by Hiestand, Heather

  “That’s good. Hold back some of the bread, will you? We’ll want it, tonight.”

  “It’s scarcely enough to stave off hunger as it is.”

  “Look at it this way. It’s at least a third more quantity than what they used to give us. They have treated us better these last couple of days.”

  She nodded and tucked half the bread under her blanket.

  The twins came down as the sky darkened.

  “The captain wants the brass hand,” One announced.

  “Why?” asked Brecon.

  “To have it fitted to George Park.”

  “It won’t work on him. Amputation is on the wrong side.”

  One blinked at him. “Well, he’s the only one-handed crewman we have. Do you want the captain to make another?”

  Brecon and Philadelphia shared a glance. She went to the bench and retrieved the hand, with its sweat and bloodstained arm band. Thankfully she hadn’t reattached the engine.

  “Leave the lantern, will you?” Brecon asked. It was by way of being a challenge, to see how in favor they were. But they could definitely use the light. The moon would not be enough to see the keyhole clearly.

  One shrugged and pulled a newspaper wrapped bundle from his pocket. “It will be a big day tomorrow, what with setting up the airship with the wiring. I’d suggest you rest.”

  Two placed the lantern just out of arm’s reach on the other side of the cage while One handed his package to Philadelphia. One looked at him in disgust and picked up the lantern and gave it to Brecon.

  “You are friendly all of a sudden,” Two said.

  “Brecon’s going to be fine. The woman’s done as the captain asked.”

  “That doesn’t mean she won’t kill them.”

  Philadelphia breathed in sharply. Brecon touched her arm, willing her to calm down. They were leaving. None of this mattered.

  One clouted Two on the side of the head, a gesture that often passed for affection between them. “Until morning.” He dragged his brother away, seeming to pause for a moment by the door alcove.

  When they were gone, Philadelphia turned to Brecon, holding out the package.

  “If we don’t leave tonight, we’re going to have to give the Red Kites the full secret to enslaving men tomorrow.”

  “We’re gone,” he said simply.

  ~*~

  CHAPTER SIX

  It was another hour before Brecon deemed the night dark and quiet enough for them to begin work. Philadelphia had packed a bundle for them in one of the buckets, the bread they’d saved from dinner and the additional rolls and cheese One had inexplicably left for them. She’d insisted they wear their leather aprons over every bit of clothing they possessed, since it was the closest to armor that they had.

  He didn’t know what she imagined. Heaters could cut through leather just like anything else. “Open the shutters on that lantern. I need all the light we can supply.”

  As she complied, he reached his arms around the bars and began to fiddle with the hairpin and the knife in the lock. He had the knife locked securely in his brass hand, but the absence of fine sensation slowed down the process.

  She stayed silent as he worked, leaning against the bars so she could be his eyes as much as it was possible from the inside of the cage.

  Ten minutes later, he reported, “I have all but one, I think. Could you take the knife?”

  She came to him, her body brushing his back. As she reached between his brass fingers, he twisted his wrist to release the knife.

  “You have it?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  Just as he let go, she fumbled. The knife slid behind his fingers. Brecon closed his eyes, curses stilling on his lips.

  She whispered an apology and knelt to retrieve the knife from just outside the bars. “We will succeed this time.”

  “I still have my position. Can you insert the knife at the base of the lock, then slowly move back each pin?”

  She did it. “I can feel the first one moving.”

  “Angle the knife so you can keep the first position while moving the second.”

  His palm began to sweat, but he kept her pin in the lock, knowing they needed as much of the night free as possible. Could she walk to Cardiff in the three hours? No, neither of them could do it, not on the back lanes. And the longer it took the more they’d need to rest, cursed as they were by lack of activity and proper food.

  Then the real hiding would begin.

  “I’ve got it.” The door squeaked open. She gasped. “Oh! I wasn’t expecting the noise.”

  “We were leaning on it.” He turned and fumbled in the blankets, coming up with the engine she had half-built in anticipation of making a shovel.

  “Why are you taking that? It is heavy.”

  “So I can hit someone if I need to. Take the bucket. When we are safely out of the camp I’ll carry it.”

  “We aren’t bringing any water,” she said, worried.

  “This is Wales. We’re sure to find a rain barrel, or puddle, or trough, or pond.”

  She made a face. “The lantern?”

  “We need it to see the lock on the other door. Just make sure to shutter it before we open the cage.”

  “I’m glad we’ll be able to see the lock this next time.”

  He agreed. “Let’s be quiet now.”

  They padded softly through the room, the lantern throwing up strange, ghostly versions of their bodies on the walls. He was grateful for once that the floor was dirt. They could have missed the alcove in the wall again, hidden by dull sandstone that looked just like the far wall, but the lantern caught the brown drops of the blood trail and he turned in time.

  The door was thick oak, banded by iron, but there was only one lock. He turned the latch slightly to test the weight of the bolt and heard a metallic squeak. Gently, he turned it a bit more.

  “Blast me, but the door is open,” he reported in a low voice. “Blow out the lantern.”

  “I could close the shutters.”

  “No, blow it out. Safer.”

  Behind him, she complied. The room went pitch black and he blinked rapidly until his pupils adjusted to the dark.

  “Stay along the wall,” he told her. “Any sign of trouble, run back for the cage and huddle on a cot.”

  “You must be joking!”

  “I’m not. You can claim complete innocence of the escape attempt if I am caught.”

  “I would rather die.”

  He glanced in her direction. “No dying, Philadelphia. Promise me that.”

  She must have seen the sentiment in his eyes, because she lifted herself on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “You called me by my first name.”

  “I am sorry to be so impertinent.”

  “No.” She smiled. “I like it. May I do the same?”

  “Of course. It has been an honor to be imprisoned with you.” He inclined his head. “Now it is time to improve our circumstances.”

  “I do agree, Brecon. Now, no more nonsense. Open the door.”

  He lifted the stout metal engine as if it were a weapon, concerned that One would be standing outside the door to see if they had failed his test of obedience, cudgel in hand. But no, he saw nothing beyond the door. A tentative step outside led to another. The full force of crisp autumn air hit him and he took a huge gulp of it, holding it in his lungs. A taste of freedom. Then forcing himself back to the task at hand, he calculated the run across the open yard to the first outbuilding, a chicken coop that would not offer much protection. After that came a barn, then a short pasture, and the fence.

  No one manned the wooden search towers at each corner of the fence, though they were maintained in case of future trouble, but—

  He heard a scuttle of boots against dirt and ducked back into the door, pulling it closed. Thankful that the door didn’t creak, he muttered, “Saint David, give me clear vision.”

  A warm body pressed against him and breathed into his ear. “Back to the cage?”

 
; He held up a hand for silence, hearing footsteps come closer. They slowed near the door. Surely the ground had been dry and he hadn’t left footprints. An age later, the steps moved off again. Brecon turned and saw a flash of light as a lantern passed by the window of the cage.

  “The guard will be turning the corner now,” he said a few seconds later. “It is time.”

  Philadelphia put a hand to his back as he reopened the door, his ears primed for any sound. But other than a creaking of thatch, a rustling of leaves, he heard nothing, saw no light other than a lantern over the door of the dormitory to their far left.

  “Move to the chicken coop,” he whispered.

  She walked quickly, head down, as he closed the door achingly slowly. When it was done he realized there was no outer handle. They could not return if something went wrong. With a quick glance around that noted nothing but a sleeping dog under a patch of lavender, he trotted to the chicken coop. He grabbed Philadelphia’s hand, wrinkling his nose at the smell of the chickens, and headed for the back of the barn.

  They were halfway there when a bright glow caught his right eye. Another guard so soon? He tugged his companion’s hand, breaking into the quietest run he could imagine. They moved silently and he was grateful she didn’t have the vanity for taffeta in her skirts to make them rustle.

  She was breathing hard as they made it to the back of the barn. “Does the guard come by here?”

  He put his finger to her mouth. Silence was their best friend, but he dearly wished old Saint David would come back to life and grow them a nice hill so he could get them over the fence. His plan had been to push a hale bale up to it but if the guard was doubled, they wouldn’t have time.

  “Take my shirt off,” he ordered.

  Without comment, she took off the filthy item that had protected her ripped clothing all these weeks.

  “Now pull up your skirts and tie them around your waist, using the shirt as a belt.”

  “It’s indecent,” she whispered.

  He touched her hair. “I hope to be the only man who sees your bloomers, but you’ve got to get over the fence.”

  He heard her comply and was suddenly sorry it was dark. “We’re going to stay in the sightline of the barn and run to the fence. Then I’m going to pick you up. If you climb on my shoulders you’ll probably be high enough to hoist yourself over.”

  “What about you?”

  He grabbed her hand and started her moving, noting she moved more easily with her skirts tucked up. “One problem at a time.”

  “At least you will not have to worry about me if I am over. And you have excellent upper body strength, but I do wish you could use both hands. You know you cannot use the brass hand to climb with the present way it is attached, correct?”

  He shushed her. She was right, of course, but he also noticed her breathing had increased. They were both going to suffer for their lack of exercise this long night. “I will think of something. I survived losing my hand, after all. I can do this.”

  They reached the wood and stone wall. Brecon judged it to be about eight feet tall where there was wood and a bit higher for stone. The stone was pebbled but didn’t offer a climbing surface and the wood was smooth. “Now would have been a good time to use your steam shovel.”

  “We only have the engine.”

  “So,” he said. “Let’s get you over.” He tucked their bundle of food into her makeshift belt, then knelt in the sparse grass in front of a wood section of the wall. “Use the wall for balance. Climb up my knee, then onto my shoulder. Then get one leg over the fence and then the other. Lower yourself down as far as you can before you let go. You should be fine.”

  There was enough moonlight for him to see the worry on her face, but she complied, knowing like he did that a guard could come by at any moment. The dust on her skirt hem made him sneeze. She jerked against him. He lifted her into the air, feeling the pressure in his back, and hoped her hands were reaching for the top of the fence.

  “Keep going!” he said. He wanted her gone even if he was caught. “Run for the vicar’s house next to the church closest to the docks in town if you need refuge. He’s a good man.”

  Some of her weight left him as one of her legs crossed over the fence. She squeaked when a splinter caught a tender part of her anatomy.

  “Be safe, Brecon,” she whispered. “I care what happens to you, very much.”

  At that moment, he valued her life over his. “Stay alive, Philadelphia. I want to see you again.”

  “You’d better see me in a couple of minutes,” she whispered fiercely.

  “Back away from the fence when you’re down. Start moving. I’m going to make noise.”

  “God bless.” She twisted her body so that her gaze met his for a moment, just a flash of overly bright eyes in the night air, then she was sliding down the wall.

  He heard her jump, then a gasp as she stumbled. He put his hand flat against the wood, wishing desperately for a knothole to see through. “Okay?”

  “Yes. Come soon, Brecon. I need you.”

  “Start walking.” Even as he spoke, he was taking off his leather apron and strapping it around his good arm and hand, protecting it as much as possible. The fence was made of stout boards, almost posts, squared off in military precision, in between the stone pillars. He could see no weakness or shorter spots in the smooth line of defense.

  Making a quick calculation, he placed their food bucket a couple of feet from the fence, hoping it would give him a lift.

  An aderyn corff hooted from somewhere in a tree, probably planning an attack on the voles and field mice that were an owl’s supper, but the tree was too far away to do him any good. He focused on the sounds of his own breaths. Then, he stepped back about twenty paces and ran straight for the fence, using the bucket to gain extra height. When he reached the posts, he threw his arm up as he attempted to climb the fence. Crash! The wood almost swallowed the sounds of his knee and his head colliding with it.

  He fell on his arse, his vision spotty, and grabbed at his head. Slow down, man. Were there any new noises? Rustling in the trees. He looked around. No sign of lanterns. Philadelphia had been smart enough not to react on the other side.

  His idea had failed. He couldn’t get up the smooth wood, but he couldn’t stop now. The noise might still bring unwelcome company. He’d have to go up the taller stone posts.

  Recalculating, he moved the bucket to a new spot.

  Making sure to keep his head up this time, he went back his twenty paces then began to run again. His feet hit pebbles as he jumped, his arms outstretched to hug the wall. One step, two. Then his hand felt air, just the tiniest bit at the top of his fingers. One more step, his boots scrabbling against the pebbled stone.

  Then, saints be praised, his elbow was locked over the edge of a wooden post. He used his other arm to steady himself against the stone and flung a leg over.

  Far back toward the farmhouse headquarters of the Red Kites, he saw three lanterns flare to life. He didn’t have time for finesse. He lifted his other leg and dropped down the outer side, wishing the bucket hadn’t made their escape so obvious.

  This side wasn’t as smooth as the inner wall had been. Splinters caught at the sleeves of his jacket as he slid. He fought to keep his feet down but found himself tumbling, head first toward the dirt. Pain shot from the crown of head and radiated into his neck and shoulders.

  Then, something was tugging at his sleeve, urging him on.

  “What?” he said groggily.

  “You hit your head,” said a female voice. “Come quickly.”

  With her help, he staggered to his feet. “That’s my shirt,” he said thickly, recognizing the faint smell of his mother’s starch in the collar.

  “You must have hit your head very hard,” the voice fretted.

  He blinked. “Philly?”

  “If you must shorten my name, I prefer Delphie. It’s what my mother called me.” She tugged his arm.

  He took a step with her
, as order began to return to his thoughts. “Did I fall on my head?”

  “I think so. It’s quite dark. But there was a terrible thud.”

  He inhaled sharply, trying to clarify his thinking. When he moved his bad arm and felt the pressure of the cuff around his wrist, everything came back to him. “I saw lanterns at the house. They are probably coming for us.”

  “Where is the gate? They probably won’t climb the fence like we did.”

  He stood, leaning against the back of the fence, and unwrapped the leather apron from his arm, retying it around his neck and waist.

  “We cannot stay here,” she fretted, taking his arm and leading him across a field.

  “Head east,” he instructed, touching the motor he’d placed in the apron pocket. It was still there, along with a motor-sized contusion on his chest. He must have fallen on it.

  “Toward Cardiff, I know. You said you saw lanterns?” she prompted.

  “There are a couple of gates, but they are all on the south side. If they take an airship it doesn’t matter.”

  “How long does it take to get one in the air?”

  “We can’t possibly escape far enough on foot, but we can hide.”

  “What will they do to us? Kill us or return us to the cage to work on the airship?”

  He thrust out his chest, painfully because of the contusion, and found bravado. “It doesn’t matter because they won’t find us.”

  She didn’t seem to respond to his feigned confidence. “Should we find the vicar in Barry?”

  “No, let’s head for Cardiff,” he decided after a moment. “We might not get out of town tomorrow night.”

  “I suspect you are right.” She brushed splinters from his clothing and straightened her skirts.

  He transferred their bundle of food to his brass hand and took his first step away from the fence. “At least we’ve caught them off guard tonight. We don’t want them planning.”

  Her voice was tremulous as she walked alongside him. “I’m glad your sense has returned. I don’t want to do this alone.”

  He took her hand in his good one and squeezed it. “You aren’t alone. But you know about the vicar, and you know where my family lives, correct?”