Captain Gravenor’s Airship Equinox (Steampunk Smugglers)

by Hiestand, Heather

  “Both houses. I have it all memorized. And the shipyard too.”

  He noted she still held his hand. Considering where they had been, and what they might have to look forward to, he hoped she’d allow him to continue in this entirely improper manner. “Excellent. We’ll stay off the road, ready to drop into a ditch at a moment’s notice if we see movement in the skies.”

  She shuddered at the idea, even after weeks of sharing a tiny cell with only a pot for private purposes.

  They couldn’t become squeamish now. “Cover yourself with the apron if we have to hide. It won’t be so noticeable since it is darker than your hair.”

  “It’s not very clean after all this time,” she said, poking at a pin.

  “It will be beautiful again when you’ve washed it.”

  “You think my hair is beautiful?”

  “I still remember how you looked to me that first day, a valkyrie on the cliff.”

  “That is funny. A valkyrie decides who lives and dies in battle, and I was deciding my own life at that moment.”

  “You only had to survive a few minutes longer for me to come along.”

  She squeezed his hand in response. They trudged along in silence after that, angling toward the main road then walking parallel to it. Philadelphia, tall for a woman, ate up the grass in confident strides that gave Brecon hope. They had never been close enough to the front of the farmhouse to hear gates squeaking, and were soon too far away to hear engines starting either. Could he have imagined the lanterns? Or perhaps they signified nothing. He’d always been asleep when the guard changed before.

  Two hours into their walk he was feeling quite confident of their escape. He thought they had walked nearly five miles despite the uncertain terrain. He was about to share this with her when a dark shape leapt in front of them and hissed.

  His heart thudded as he dropped Philadelphia’s hand, ripped the engine from his apron pocket and angled himself in front of her.

  Clouds uncovered the moon just in time for him to see a heater in the dark shape’s grip.

  His brass hand shot to Philadelphia, pushing her back. She grabbed their bundle and stumbled. He stepped directly in front of her, twisting his ankle on a divot of mud. Had the other man seen her?

  The shape loomed tall, bulky, but the heater waved uncertainly. Then, with a curse, the man, for that is what Brecon had discerned, shoved the heater into his belt.

  “I thought you had feelings for the woman. Me and Two was waiting for a show, if you know what I mean, but you’re both much too prissy.”

  One. Brecon heard a squeak behind him as Philadelphia realized the same thing. “We aren’t going back to the cage.”

  “If I wanted you back in the cage, I’d have stopped you five miles ago. I’ve been walking on the road below. Easier than this grass and brush you’re mincing through like some kind of explorers.”

  “It’s safer to stay off the road. You know that.” Figuring the man wouldn’t attack, he resumed walking, hearing Philadelphia step behind him.

  One shrugged and moved alongside him. “It’s a quiet night. The Blockaders haven’t been out. The captain has kept us out of the skies too. She’s planning something bad, and I don’t like it.”

  “She’s your sister.”

  “Doesn’t mean she isn’t a nutter. Oh, it was quite perfect at first, picking away at the Blockader yards and government warehouses, feeding our families like proper folk even when we didn’t have any goods to smuggle in. They couldn’t touch our airships. But we had a spy in our midst and the Blockaders learned our secrets.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Well,” One said, scratching at his chin. “Just before you came on, I expect. Drove the captain a bit mad, I think. Since then it’s been all about revenge, though she hid it from the crew.”

  “But you are privy to her plans,” Philadelphia suggested.

  “So are you,” One said with a snort. “You are her plan. Using your tools to enslave crewmen. Attack the Blockader airships and steal those crew for the Red Kites.”

  “Instead of freeing the enslaved men,” Philadelphia said.

  “Attacking Blockader airships directly?” Brecon said.

  “Yes. I’d rather keep our men alive. We know many of them. They are local. I don’t mind being a local militia of sorts, protecting our folks around here from the Blockaders, but I don’t want to be an army taking the war to the government. I want a quiet life, like.”

  “So why stop us from escaping?”

  “I’m not trying to stop you, man, but join you. What is your plan?”

  Brecon held back a laugh. “We don’t have a plan, other than getting to Cardiff where my family is.”

  “Why didn’t you just go back there after you lost your hand?”

  “I didn’t want to burden them with my loss or my likely wanted status. But now I don’t have much of an option. Even the little money I have is locked into my chest in the dormitory back at the farm.”

  One reached into the shadows of his jacket and pulled out a small purse. “Yours. I picked the lock.”

  “So no one is on to us but you? I saw lanterns just as we escaped.”

  “Only me. I drugged Two’s beer, and we share a room, so no one saw me leave.”

  “Thank you for showing us the door in the cellar,” Philadelphia said.

  One shrugged modestly. “I knew it was time for you to go.”

  “Are you on the BAE capture or kill list?” Brecon asked.

  “To the best of my knowledge, the Blockaders have no idea what any of us look like. I want to keep it that way. I’m a free man.”

  “So I’m the only one who is trouble,” Brecon said. “Miss Hardcastle, perhaps you should travel with One on the main road. It will be easier for you. I’ll stay in the brush.”

  “I do not trust him,” she said.

  Brecon considered. “I understand that, but I do.”

  “He could be leading us into a trap.”

  “For what purpose? Without his help, we might still be in our original trap.”

  One looked quite proud of himself at that. Brecon hoped he’d have picked both locks successfully without the lantern, but he was grateful not to have had the experience.

  “Come. We’re more than halfway to our destination. One, does your sister have any hidey holes in Cardiff that we might make use of?”

  “If she does, she hasn’t shared them with me.”

  “She isn’t at the farm all the time. Where does she go? I spent weeks there full time, working on my airship, and rarely saw her.”

  One chuckled. “There was a time she was the dollymop of a Blockader petty officer. She used his pillow talk to plan our raids. But that time was over before you came, I think.”

  “My goodness,” said Philadelphia. She stumbled and caught Brecon’s arm.

  He squeezed her hand and was pleased to note she kept her grip on him. But he decided to let her go, so as not to focus One’s attention on their relationship. “Perhaps she has found a new lover.”

  “We never claimed to be anything but what we are, you know,” One said, his chin lifted high. “We aren’t high and mighty gentry folk or the like.”

  “No, no. Mr. Gravenor was simply admiring the captain’s ingenuity. I have not lived a traditional life myself.” Philadelphia caught Brecon’s expression and squeezed his arm. “Though my form of rebellion was not in the captain’s style, of course.”

  “Your inventions,” he murmured.

  “Quite.”

  His pulse slowed to normal.

  “Be quiet now. There are a cluster of farmhouses up ahead,” One said, after another half mile. “Almost a little town, since there is a public house as well, and I know lots of the families have men enlisted with the Blockaders.”

  The other two took his advice and remained silent. They had followed One and moved to the main road as it was the dead of night, sometime after midnight. Brecon thought they had at least three hours, pr
obably more, before the sky began to brighten.

  None of the farmhouses had lights in the windows, but Brecon was displeased to see lighted windows at the public house. He could kill for a glass of ale right now, but it wasn’t worth his own life.

  Just as they crept by the door, One grabbed his arm and pulled him into the doorway of the public house. Philadelphia stopped in the road.

  “Keep going!” Brecon said, but she stood on the road, gaping at them both.

  One put his beefy forearm across Brecon’s throat. “This is for believing my sister to be a whore.”

  ~*~

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  One pushed his arm against Brecon’s windpipe, sneering. Brecon grabbed at the free trader’s steely arm with both hands, fighting for air. His human hand was no match for the enormous lout, and he began to see spots. One laughed at him, pouring a miasma of onion breath into his tearing eyes. Fighting for oxygen, Brecon tried to remember how to move his wrist to get a pincer grasp with his brass hand. His head scraped against the splintered wood of the door as he fought, his boots thumping repeatedly against the surface as he tried to gain some advantage. Just as the spots were widening behind his eyelids, he felt the jarring sensation bolt up to his elbow as the brass hand locked on One’s arm, tiny motors whirring. He twisted his wrist with his last bit of strength, attempting to tighten the grip without the feedback of touch he would have received from his amputated hand.

  One howled and let go, grabbing his injured arm with his fingers. Blood welled between the sausage-like digits. Brecon fell hard against the door, not the least bit sorry he’d drawn blood from the traitorous swine. The door opened behind him and he fell in as someone attempted to step out.

  “What’s this?” asked a man in a clerical collar, frowning down at him. “A Brass Hand?”

  Philadelphia rushed forward. “Oh, Vicar, a little compassion, please!”

  “Excuse me?” The man frowned, his handlebar moustache twitching. “You are not from this area.”

  Brecon clutched his throat, trying to get his breathing back to normal so he could conquer the dizziness.

  Philadelphia twisted her hands together. “His watch officer, such a fine man, offered my man leave so we could be married.”

  The vicar raised an eyebrow. Brecon got to his feet in an inelegant manner, using the fist of his good hand to push himself upright.

  She clutched her belly. “I’m a wicked girl, I know, but our child shouldn’t suffer. Please, will you marry us so he can return to his airship before the captain notices he’s gone?”

  The vicar frowned disapprovingly. “This is highly irregular. The marriage won’t even be legal. Why didn’t you take care of this in Cardiff? A church there, or the civil registry?”

  “I would not bore such an important man as yourself with our petty problems. If we are married in the eyes of the Lord, it is good enough for me for now. And my parents,” she added for good measure. “When he gets a proper leave we’ll call the banns and everything.”

  “You do not look like you are carrying a babe.”

  “I’ve been ever so sick,” she said pitifully. “That is why. I must marry before my shame is evident to my grandmother.”

  The vicar sighed. Brecon glanced at One, who stood in the road, and wondered why he wasn’t protesting. Instead, the man had a look of high amusement on his face, as if the entire thing had been a play written and directed by him. But his actions had been no shade of humorous. Was he acting alone or under the captain’s orders?

  “I take it that this is the woman’s family?” the vicar asked, pointing at One.

  Brecon tried to speak, but nothing came out. He swished saliva around his mouth, trying to moisten it enough to speak. “A cousin. He fetched me.”

  The vicar sniffed. “It appears you are a reluctant bridegroom.”

  He touched his aching throat. “Cousin Obadiah likes to play rough.”

  The vicar glanced at One’s bloody arm but didn’t comment. “Very well. The church is on the next street behind us. Follow me and make it quick. I wish to be in my bed soon.”

  If he wanted sleep, he shouldn’t be hanging about a public house in the wee hours. “We are grateful, vicar,” Brecon whispered.

  They followed the vicar into an alleyway and onto the street beyond. The sandstone church appeared unkempt. Brecon supposed this vicar did not inspire the local church ladies to go to any great effort. But, the man was efficient. It was not five minutes later that they were in front of the altar.

  “You’ll need a ring,” the vicar said brusquely.

  He was right. That was an absolute requirement. Brecon fiddled with the engine still in his apron pocket. One ignored him, busy tying a handkerchief around his bleeding forearm.

  “Just a moment, please.” He pulled off the apron and put it in a pew, then bent over the engine until he had a brass cog removed from it. He hated to disassemble such an elegant piece of machinery, but going through with the marriage was the only way to save them from One’s games.

  Leaving the mess on the apron in the pew, he polished the oil from the cog and stepped forward with his brass ring. “Here we go.”

  The vicar sniffed, but with only candlelight to guide him, he couldn’t see what Brecon had been doing. “Very well.” He took the ring.

  Brecon turned to Philadelphia, a bit light-headed at the idea of a wedding, or perhaps he was still suffering from the effects of being three-quarters strangled. She had a wide-eyed expression on her face as if she couldn’t believe where she was, but when her gaze met his inquiring one, she smiled. This expression of such purity of hope made him wish they were marrying legally. She needed someone and so did he. He couldn’t harbor the hope that he could return to his shipbuilding family and go on like these past eight months had never happened. Also, he wasn’t sure he’d want to, anyway. He wasn’t the same man. Nor was he the man who had saved Philadelphia at the cliff edge. He’d been broken then, but these weeks working alongside her had mended his spirit and given him strength.

  The vicar cleared his throat, a phlegmatic sound borne of too much tobacco and ale. “I will let you sign the parish register as proof to the lady’s family that you married under the eyes of God, but you will have to do all this again. I’d suggest a civil marriage.”

  “Thank you,” Philadelphia said.

  Brecon wasn’t sure he wanted them to have a record of their true names in a book, pinpointing their whereabouts to anyone who cared to look. But since the marriage wasn’t legal, it wouldn’t matter if they used false names.

  The vicar whipped through the marriage ceremony, but to Brecon it seemed to unfold in slow motion, his responses making his palms sweat and his legs feel like they were swaying in a stout wind. Philadelphia’s voice sounded calm enough, though she was quieter than usual.

  When they were done, Brecon glanced around and saw One staring fixedly behind the altar.

  “Kiss,” said the vicar in an exasperated tone.

  Brecon turned to Philadelphia, realizing she was nearly as tall as he was. She looked lovely in candlelight, though dirty and tired. Her eyes shone blue and her skin looked golden. He closed his eyes and leaned in, just touching her with his mouth. She pressed her lips to his, in a sweet nothing of a kiss, then moved back.

  The vicar sighed. “I do wish we’d had time to call the banns. I’d almost believe you cared for each other, despite your wicked ways. We’ll go into the hall. The register is in a room there.”

  Before any of them could move, One pulled his heater from his pocket and pointed it at the vicar. Philadelphia squeaked and grabbed for Brecon. The brass ring caught candlelight and glowed against her finger on his arm. But One was focused on the vicar.

  “Open that safe,” he snarled, lifting his chin toward the safe behind the altar. “I want the contents of your collection plate, fast.”

  The vicar stared at him in horror, then checked the others. Brecon shrugged slightly, as if to indicate he hadn’t expected
this. Philadelphia took a step back and he moved with her. Maybe they could leave while One was stealing.

  “You aren’t going anywhere,” One said, waving the heater. “No games, Gravenor.”

  “It–it isn’t much,” stuttered the vicar.

  “Get it,” One ordered.

  The vicar fled behind the altar and fumbled with the metal safe on a table behind. Not the best hiding place, but then maybe the people of this tiny town were honest. The vicar pulled out a small sack that clinked.

  One stepped to him and grabbed the sack, rifling through it with a finger. He snorted. “Where is the rest of it?”

  “This is a poor community. We have nothing else. I take the money to the bank once a month, whatever is left over from expenses.”

  One grimaced. He stuffed his heater into his belt and removed the vicar’s belt, then used it to tie the man’s hands behind his back. “This was hardly worth the effort. Lie down on the floor here and count to one thousand. If you move before that, I will shoot you.”

  Philadelphia took a step backward again, but Brecon grabbed her hand and stopped her. They were by no means out of range of that heater and One was an experienced free trader. Or perhaps, he was more of a pirate, though free traders generally took umbrage at the word.

  Until Brecon could figure out how to disarm the man, they were stuck with him.

  One moved to the pew where the engine was, and folded the whole mess into a packet that he tucked into his waistcoat.

  “Come,” One ordered.

  “Could we at least sign our names in the registry?” Philadelphia asked.

  One gave her a look of disgust. “This wasn’t real, lady.”

  With a sigh, Brecon pulled Philadelphia along with him as they left the church. He wondered if an airship would be outside, waiting to return them to the Red Kites, but apparently One had a different idea. He returned to the main road and continued east to Cardiff, offering no explanation for his actions.

  The three of them said nothing as they continued their journey, but this time, Brecon kept Philadelphia’s hand in his, tapping the new ring occasionally, hoping she’d understand. He’d lost his weapon, since the engine was still on the church bench.