“Just because the smallest birds haven’t developed intelligible speech yet doesn’t mean I have to get out of bed.”
“Actually, that’s exactly what it means.” Clara stopped her bicycle, grabbed Min with both hands, and threw her into the air. “Lazy beyond belief, Min. Get on it. We can’t lead a pack of crows back to Hildy’s. Get rid of them! You too, Top.” She grabbed the second pigeon and threw him after his mate. “Catch up with us when you can.”
Ignoring Min’s vituperative protests, Clara hastily set her bicycle in motion again and caught up with Til’s. The two of them made their way back to Hildy’s workshop in precarious convoy, Til cycling as slowly and carefully as he could and Clara wearing out her eyes with watching in case Cas began to slide.
And from overhead and behind them, for at least half of the way there, came the sounds of violently quarrelling birds.
Hildy took one look at Cas and left the room. Clara was a little surprised until Hildy returned carrying the medical box.
“I’m fine,” Cas protested, but Til made him sit down and Hildy opened up the box without heeding him at all.
“Ribs is it, and belly?” she said crisply.
“Also the head,” Til said.
Now that they’d got Caspar under some proper light, Clara saw that his face was bruised and he had blood in his hair. It took her a couple of attempts to force words past the lump in her throat. “Oh, Cas,” she said faintly. “What happened to you?”
Cas said nothing, and the next moment Clara found herself gently shepherded out of the way by Til. She stayed clear as Hild cleaned away the blood and tended to the wound at the back of Cas’s head. Injuries weren’t uncommon in Hildy’s line of work. Granted, they were usually inflicted by a certain carelessness around large machinery rather than through the active agency of another human being; but still, she’d developed some reasonable skill as a first-aid nurse over the years. Cas submitted patiently to her efforts, though Clara wondered if he wasn’t just too woozy to object. Or too depressed. He sat with bowed head and slumped shoulders, looking at the floor.
“Shirt off,” Hildy ordered when she’d finished.
Cas froze. “Um, I’m really fine.”
Hildy shook her head, took up a kneeling posture before his chair, and forcibly opened his shirt herself, surveying the damage with clinical professionalism.
Clara couldn’t feel so detached. Cas’s torso was a mess of purpling bruises, evidence of his having endured multiple blows.
“I’m thinking,” said Min, strutting at Hildy’s feet, “that isn’t what he’s meant to look like.”
“Hush, Min,” said Hildy softly.
Cas glanced at Clara, blushed fiercely, and quickly regained control of his shirt. Ignoring Hildy’s attempts to test the damage, he wrapped it back around himself until every inch of skin was hidden.
Hildy sighed. “Clarry dear, would you be willing to make us some tea?”
Clara turned and left without a word. She made tea rather blindly, blinking moisture out of her eyes, and when she returned to Hildy ten minutes later she managed to spill a fair bit of it on the floor. Til took the tray off her with a kind smile and nodded his head at Cas. “All patched up.”
“Thanks,” she said gratefully. Cas was still seated where she’d left him, properly attired once more, but still looking utterly unlike the Caspar she knew. Once she was certain her usual composure was restored, she went over and sat down beside him.
“So what happened?” she asked.
“Are you going to be angry?” Cas kept his gaze fastened on his shoes.
“Should I be?”
Caspar didn’t respond to that. After a moment, Hildy said, “He had an encounter with a Shadow.”
Clara stared, but Cas still wouldn’t look up. “A real Shadow? Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” he snapped. “Do you think me delusional as well as stupid, immature and a liability?” He stood up and stalked off, leaving Clara too shocked to speak.
“I don’t think you those things,” she muttered, too late for him to hear her. “At least… not all the time.”
Hildy’s lips twitched. “From what he said, Clarry, I think he’s right: he did meet a Shadow. And it explains the crows.”
Clara nodded. “All right. I believe you. But that’s worse than ever.”
“Oh, certainly,” Hildy replied. “He won’t get far with the Shadows after him.”
“Min said she and Top and the sparrows kept the crows off us, but I don’t know if any might have got past them. If so, they know he’s here.” Which meant it wouldn’t be long before Hildy’s workshop was discovered.
Hildy herself didn’t seem too worried about this, however. She shrugged, muttered something inaudible and turned away.
“What was that?” Clara prompted.
“I said,” Hildy repeated, “that the crows already know where we are.”
“What? How?”
“It’s not just Cas attracting the wrong sort of interest—especially now that the media’s picked up word of the black mercury. We’ve been rumbled before, and it’ll happen again.” She stood up, took in a deep breath. “I’ve been talking with Til, Clarry. We’re agreed that we need to move out of here. One more day, that’s all we can reasonably risk; we’ll finish a couple more gyros in that time, then close it up.”
“But have you done enough? Have you got the capital to set up your own manufactory?”
Hildy chewed her lip. “I’m not sure, to be honest, but if not then I’m much closer than ever before.”
Clara opened her mouth to object, but Hildy cut her off. “For once it’s me talking sense. More’s happened than you know, Clarry dear; it’s too dangerous to carry on. We’re getting Cas out of this mess, then we’re closing up shop and hiding out until the craze has blown over.”
“And after that?”
Hildy shrugged. “We’ll see about that later.”
Clara just nodded, hiding her dismay. Hildy driven out again, and it wasn’t even Max’s fault this time! Well, she thought privately, she’d just have to help her mentor to come up with a new plan.
In the meantime, she didn’t want to see another scrap of harm come to Caspar, or Hildy, or anyone else she cared about.
“Get some sleep,” Hildy said kindly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “You’re emotional because you’re worn out. So am I. We’ve got time to snatch a few hours before we go back to work.”
Clara sniffed. “We’ve got a bare hour, by my watch.”
“Max and his fancy contract can wait an hour or two.”
Hildy’s dismissive tone prompted a watery smile, despite Clara’s dejection. “And Cas?”
“We’ll take him with us. Don’t worry. Now sleep.”
Hildy and Til often camped on the floor of their workshop at their busiest times, and they’d made room for Clara more than once as well. Til had managed to stretch their equipment into four simple but sufficient beds; Clara noticed that Cas had dragged his to the wall and was already wrapped up in it, hopefully asleep. An empty one awaited her on the other side of the room.
Impulsively, she gave Hildy a peck on the cheek. “You’re a good sort, mentor mine. I sometimes wonder whether you’re secretly the more sensible of the two of us.”
Hildy chuckled. “I can manage to be rational, once in a while.”
“And I can be anything but,” said Clara ruefully. “This crazy gyro scheme was my idea, after all.” She gave Hildy a quick hug and retreated, glad to seek her bed. Her last thought was a futile wish that she could sleep the rest of the week away.
She was woken sometime later by the sound of Hildy calling her name.
“Hmm? What?” She sat up, noting with distaste that her entire body felt heavy and sluggish. Hildy was crouched before her, already fully dressed.
“Have you seen Cas?” Hildy asked.
“What? I’ve been asleep since we last spoke.” Clara looked over to where Cas had been s
leeping. His rumpled camp bed was empty. “He isn’t here?”
Hildy shook her head. “Til woke me half an hour ago, said Cas was missing. We’ve searched everywhere.”
Clara felt panic rising. “Did he leave, or…?”
“Was he taken? I don’t know. There’s no sign of a break-in so we don’t think that he was forcibly removed. And surely one of us would have woken.”
“Cas wouldn’t just walk out, would he? Alone? Not now when he’s made such a target of himself?”
Hildy just lifted her brows.
“You’re right,” Clara groaned. “Of course he would.” She struggled out of her tangled blankets, trying to comb out her hair with her fingers. “Min!” she yelled.
A startled squawk was her answer, and then Min appeared. Something about her manner suggested guilt.
“I wasn’t eating bread,” the pigeon said immediately.
“For once, I don’t care,” Clara sighed. “Where did you say Cas was meeting those people today?”
“Some eating place. Near the university.”
“Can you find it again?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“What time is it?” she said to Hildy.
“Nearly eleven.”
“And the meeting was at noon? We’d better go. Right away, Min.”
Min bounced. “That’s Agent Min to you! Hop to it! We’re leaving in five!”
Chapter Twelve
Cas sat at a table with Miss Matilda Bernat, a forgotten and rapidly cooling cup of tea sitting before him. The clock had sounded the noon hour five minutes ago, and Miss Bernat’s promised “connection” wasn’t here.
She’d made her excuses for him, smoothly and without hint of embarrassment. Then she’d gone back to trying to charm Caspar.
Cas hadn’t bothered to listen. He was feeling… irritable, that was the only word he could put to it. It was an unusual state of being for him; usually he ran from cheerful insouciance to brief flashes of anger that soon cooled. This rolling boil of a temper was unheard of; but then, so were his present circumstances.
He hadn’t slept much last night. He had been too busy thinking his way through this maddening set of problems, looking for the quickest and least harmful way out. For a while he’d been tempted to hand off the black mercury to Hildy; what she was doing in that workshop was obvious enough and she could certainly use a new supply of the fuel. But eventually he’d discarded the idea. That would only be to offload his problems—and probably his pursuers—onto his aunt, which would be unforgiveable.
At this point he was so tired of the situation, he would gladly hand it over to the Shadow if he had some way of locating that person. Then the house break-ins, the pursuit and the beatings would stop. He would have to miss the Eisenstadt Cup after all, but that sacrifice didn’t trouble him as much as it had a few days ago.
But that wasn’t an option. He had no idea who the Shadow was or how to find him or her. Nor did he feel inclined to wait for the Shadow’s next appearance. He wanted it over with, now.
So he’d come back to Miss Bernat. He got the impression that her dealer friend was the sort who’d be used to handling difficult, questionable, or even dangerous objects. Suitably warned, a man like that would be well able to deal with the consequences. He’d pay Cas; Cas would be rid of the burden of the black mercury and with the means to go ahead with Miss Bernat’s plan; and Miss Bernat would get the commission she was obviously hoping for and, he hoped, leave him alone.
It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was the neatest, quickest and least dangerous one he had.
The last thing he wanted was to drag his friends into an unquestionably shady deal, however; and if he was honest, he didn’t want to disappoint Clara any more than he already had. That she wouldn’t approve was blatantly obvious. So he had crept out of Hildy’s workshop while the rest were asleep, and made his way here alone.
If Miss Bernat’s wretched friend would just arrive, he might even be able to get the deal over with before they came looking for him. Despite her promises, he knew better than to rely on Min to keep her beak shut.
Cas had just ascertained from his wristwatch that the man was now ten minutes late when Miss Bernat said, very softly, “Here he is.” Cas looked up quickly.
In the doorway stood a man of only medium height, but his presence was no less imposing for that. He was broad-shouldered and muscular, probably aged somewhere in his late thirties. His brown hair was cut very short, and his clothes were ordered and undistinguished. His eyes—a weird shade of pale green—swept over the few inhabitants of the eatery before settling on Miss Bernat.
He strode over to their table, greeted Miss Bernat briefly and without any apparent emotion, then turned his eyes on Cas.
“Hello,” Cas said. A week ago he might have made more of an effort to please, but he couldn’t be bothered anymore.
The newcomer nodded coolly at him.
Miss Bernat introduced Caspar, then said: “This is Wrede Faulkner.”
Cas nodded too. “Pleasure. If it’s all right with you, Mr. Faulkner, I’d like to get this done as quickly as possible.”
Those pale green eyes gazed at him expressionlessly.
“I’ll be translating for Mr. Faulkner,” Miss Bernat interjected.
Caspar raised an eyebrow. If the man needed a translator, that implied that his origins were far from Eisenstadt, but his appearance didn’t reflect that. His clothes, colouring and the pattern of his features were not at all incompatible with the majority of Eisenstadters.
Faulkner sat down and said something to Matilda. He spoke a fluid sort of language, quite pleasant to listen to for all that it made not a scrap of sense to Cas.
Matilda turned to Cas. “What is it that you’re selling?” she interpreted.
Cas eyed him doubtfully. “Are you much up on recent city news, Mr. Faulkner?”
Matilda translated that, and Faulkner nodded.
“Right.” Cas lowered his voice. “Then you’ll know that a new… er, commodity has emerged lately that’s proving very desirable. And very rare. I’ve got some of it.”
Faulkner’s eyebrows lifted as Matilda relayed this comment. He said something else.
“How did you get it?” said Matilda.
“Family connections.” Conscious of time ticking away, Cas didn’t want to get into a long recounting of how his predicament had come about. Fortunately, Faulkner appeared to accept this brief explanation, and another string of incomprehensible syllables fell from his lips.
“He’ll pay a little less for it on account of the risk,” Miss Bernat said to Cas in an undertone, casting her pretty, wry little smile in Faulkner’s direction. Faulkner just gazed impassively back, unmoved.
“A little?” Cas repeated, suspicious. Was he going to get shafted with a pathetic offer?
“How much have you got?” Matilda asked.
“A couple of gallons, or thereabouts,” Cas replied.
Matilda spoke again and Faulkner smiled faintly, thought for a moment, then whispered something to Matilda. In turn she named a sum that banished Cas’s fears in an instant. Risk or not, the figure was far more than Miss Bernat had quoted him for resolving his Racing Association problem. He’d have enough left to set himself up in a decent house again, at least for a few months while he looked for work.
“Done,” Cas said instantly.
That apparently needed no translation. Faulkner’s smile broadened as he spoke.
“He’ll want it by nightfall,” Matilda said.
Cas nodded readily enough;that suited him perfectly too. He was about to ask where to send it when the door flew open and a small crowd of people spilled into the little shop.
“Ah, Cas,” came Clara’s voice. “There you are.” Within seconds he was surrounded: Clara at his left elbow, Hildy at his right, Til looming ominously behind him and Min all over the vestiges of Miss Bernat’s lunch that still lay on the table.
Cas sighed. “I’m a little busy. Perhaps yo
u wouldn’t mind waiting outside for a few minutes?”
“But we do mind,” said Clara coolly. He could almost feel her disapproval as she took in Matilda Bernat and Wrede Faulkner. He shivered. He knew the chilly stare she’d be giving them. “I can see we’re just about in time to put a stop to this farce.”
Faulkner’s brows went up, but he didn’t say anything. It was Matilda Bernat who stood up, smiling and radiating charm. She extended her hand to Clara, who ignored it. “I can assure you,” said Miss Bernat, “this is a small business deal, and nothing untoward.”
Nobody graced that with any sort of response.
“It is also quite a private matter,” added Miss Bernat, with an edge creeping into her tone.
“I’m sure it is,” Clara said coldly. “Unfortunately, Caspar’s needed elsewhere.”
Cas shook his head. “I’m needed here. I’m almost finished, Clara.”
“You are finished,” she corrected him. “Or you will be if you continue with this. Off we go.”
To Cas’s utter amazement, she took hold of one of his arms and his aunt grabbed the other. Between them they hauled him to his feet, and Til removed his chair. Protests and struggles were useless: the two women held him in a grip of iron, and Til’s bulk behind him kept him marching forward. In less than a minute they had him out of the eatery and were marching him down the street.
“Min!” yelled Clara, without stopping.
The pigeon caught up with them a moment later. “There was cake, Clarry.”
“And this is a bit more important.”
“Clara, this is too much!” Cas raged, twisting in the grip of his merciless captors. “To march me off like some kind of prisoner! Or a child!”
“Quiet,” said Hildy coldly. “You’d better behave like a grown man if you want to be treated like one.” Her grip on his arm didn’t let up for a second. Her fingernails were digging into his skin and it hurt.
“Til!” he begged. “You aren’t siding with them too, are you?”
“I think you’re in a fair way to get yourself killed,” Til said bluntly.
Black Mercury (The Drifting Isle Chronicles) Page 15
