by Beth Cato
At that, the woman’s face shifted to a grimace as she deftly folded the crusty rolls into a sheet of old newspaper. “No more’n most. Lost too many boys at the passes, my man included, but the village? It’s a good one. If any Wasters dared to show ’ere . . .” She nodded to a rolling pin close by.
Octavia didn’t doubt that she’d use it either. “My thanks, and my condolences.” She pressed a fist to her chest.
The baker shrugged. “We get by.” She handed over the makeshift bag of rolls and a hard cut of cheese.
Octavia walked away, burdened only by bread. The cheese fit in the wide pocket of the overcoat.
“You appear strangely happy,” Alonzo said as she emerged from the brush. His horse grazed at the foot of a cottonwood.
“I suppose I am strangely happy. There’s no sickness here. It was all a lie.” She opened the parcel enough to pull out a few rolls of bread. Alonzo tucked the food into his coat as Octavia packed the rest away.
He studied her as he mounted. “I am glad. I was worried about your leaving this place behind, walking away from those in need. ’Tis green and beautiful here. Everything you hoped for.”
“Not everything.” She swung herself into the saddle.
He arched an eyebrow. “What is missing?”
“Well, it is green here, but I’ve seen many green places. What I wanted most of all was to belong, to be needed.” She reined away as she flashed a grin at him. “Lady knows, you need someone to keep you alive and upright.”
His chestnut stallion trotted alongside her. Alonzo’s black plume of hair bounced on his shoulder. “I am delighted to oblige you, though ’tis my hope that your services are not often called upon in the future.” They wound their way through the brush, forming their own trail. “I should also observe that the terrain will be much the same as this as we ride south.”
“That’s good. If we must ride for our lives, at least it will be beautiful.”
“Yes. ’Tis ideal for wooing as well. Or so I hear.”
They reached an open rise. His horse broke into a lope and surged past.
Octavia burst out in laughter as she rode in quick pursuit, ready to outpace—for a time—her guilt, her assassins, her concerns for tomorrow. Alonzo’s resonant song kept perfect time with their hoofbeats.
Acknowledgments
At age four, I announced that I wanted to write books when I grew up. I also said I wanted to become Popeye. I think I made the right choice between those goals.
A lot of folks have helped me along the way. My gratitude to:
The gang at Codex Writers for the contests, camaraderie, and woots galore. Thanks to Luc Reid for creating a safe haven to keep me (mostly) sane. I’m grateful to early draft readers of The Clockwork Dagger: Pete Aldin, Rebecca Roland, Gary Kloster, Kenneth Kao, Vylar Kaftan, Rachael Marks, Steven R. Stewart, Jeff Lyman, Randy Henderson, and Michael R. Underwood. Special thanks to Elle Van Hensbergen and Anaea Lay for the full draft critiques!
Rachel Thompson, for coming up with the title and letting me rant and rave on occasion. Our friendship grew beneath the photograph of the Little Boy with the Big Loaf; let it forever live in infamy.
Rhonda Parrish, my dear friend, pen pal, and editor. You “get it.” I’m honored to share my journey with you.
My super agent, Rebecca Strauss, for her ruthless revisions and constant support, and to everyone at DeFiore & Company.
The publishing team at Harper Voyager. I don’t know all of your names, but I know you’re all awesome. In particular, my thanks to my editor, Diana Gill, assistant editor Kelly O’Connor, and PR mastermind Caroline Perny.
Last but not least, my family. My parents, Larry and Lona Beth Davis, for unabashedly raising geeks. My grandma, Bonnie Nichols, to whom I dedicate Octavia’s strategic use of undergarments. My brother, Scott, for reluctantly sharing the Nintendo and Super Nintendo. My husband, Jason, for his absolute support. And Nicholas, for being Nicholas.
About the Author
BETH CATO lives near Phoenix, Arizona. Her husband Jason, son Nicholas, and crazy cat keep her busy, but she still manages to squeeze in time for writing and other activities that help preserve her sanity. She is originally from Hanford, California, a lovely city often pungent with cow manure.
Author website: www.BethCato.com and Twitter: @BethCato
Facebook: facebook.com/beth.cato
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Credits
Cover design by Richard L. Aquan
Cover illustration by Gene Mollica
Author photograph © by Corey Ralston
Copyright
THE CLOCKWORK DAGGER. Copyright © 2014 by Beth Cato. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST EDITION
Designed by Paula Szafranski
ISBN 978-0-06-231384-3
EPub Edition September 2014 ISBN 9780062313850
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