Fields of Iron: A steampunk adventure novel

by Adina, Shelley

  Gloria’s corset was beginning to feel altogether too tight. This storeroom was too small, its walls closing in on her. But she could not bolt and lose the witch’s respect. She must stand her ground.

  “You sound as though you have been thinking about this for as long as I.”

  “Fact is, I have. I know your options as well as you, though I for sure and certain don’t like them any better.”

  “I cannot ask this of Ella. She is your daughter. What if she—what if we were—”

  “If she stays, she risks the flooding. And the battle. At least if she’s with Stan she has some hope of survival. The Californios in these parts know him, and you two won’t be painted dead, so they won’t know she’s had a hand in putting paid to any number of ’em.” Mother Mary’s eyes turned bleak. “I won’t ask you to promise to bring her back to me, but I will ask you to treat her as your own sister. To value her life as much as your own.”

  Hot tears flooded Gloria’s eyes. “How can you ask that of me?”

  “She ain’t no servant,” Mother Mary said with a dangerous quiet. “She’s a woman with smarts and skill and she deserves respect.”

  “That is not what I meant.” Gloria’s voice cracked. “I owe Ella my life. I value her as much and more as any of my dearest friends—because believe me, I do not have so many that I can treat them lightly. Every one matters to me.” She dragged in a breath so that she would not weep. “If indeed this is the path that I must take, there will be no one more grateful for Ella’s company than I. And no one who will care more for her safety.”

  After a moment, Mother Mary nodded, and lowered the rake to an angle more suited to work than assault. “Can’t ask for more than that.”

  “But this may all be moot, if I can find another way.” She struggled to master her emotions, leaning on her own rake and pressing a fist to her heart.

  “I can’t see another way, to be honest. If you’re certain and he’s willing, best not to waste too much time. The river rises a little more every day.”

  “We must stop it, then.”

  “You leave that to us. Fixing that problem is all very well for us folks here, but it won’t fix the bigger problem of the war and the invasion. That’s between you and the Viceroy.”

  “If I can get to San Francisco de Asis and make him see sense.”

  “Stan will get you there. I got no worries on that score. And you’re a fetching little thing. You’ve got as good a chance as anyone of talking a prince out of something he’s set on, I suppose. Much as I love my Ella, I don’t know as she could pull it off, if the two of you traded places.”

  “I would not put Ella in that position.” Gloria shook her head. “My father got us all into this—it is I who must get us out. As long as the Ambassador stays away. It seems quite clear to me that he is the moving force behind all this. It would not surprise me if he means the Viceroy to be merely a figurehead, rubber-stamping all his wretched plans without a thought for what it is doing to his people.”

  “Even a figurehead can be useful if you throw it in the road at the right time.”

  Gloria smiled at the picture this painted in her imagination.

  They finished spreading the corn in a companionable silence, and when Mother Mary went on to her next task, Gloria went in search of Ella.

  “Meredith! I wondered where you’d gone.” The girl’s brown eyes were warm with welcome.

  “I was helping your mother with the corn. She mentioned—that is—Ella, would you mind showing me which of the rooms might have a trunk or two with bodices and skirts in them? Not that I need a dress immediately, or at all, really, but—”

  Ella clapped her hands in delight. “Dresses! Shall we play dress-up? Oh, what fun!” She danced along the terrace and sprang up on the first rung of one of the stout ladders that did duty as stairs between levels. “Come with me—I know just the one.”

  Ella must have an inventory in her head of every trunk in the village, for she led Gloria straight to a storeroom set deeply in the cliff. She dragged one of the old trunks away from the wall and flung open its lid. “Here we are. We’ve had these for some time, but they’re so awfully pretty that none of us has the heart to tear them up for rags or make them over into more practical skirts.”

  She held up a dark blue silk trimmed in black velvet ribbon that Gloria recognized instantly as the height of fashion from ten years before. Ella pulled on the strings within and the rear half of the dress pulled itself up into a poufy bustle.

  “Isn’t it clever? Though what a girl would want with all that fabric behind I never could fathom.”

  “That’s called a bustle, and they were madly fashionable for years,” Gloria told her. “I never could fathom it, either, though some women carry them off beautifully. Is there a bodice as well?”

  There was, and even a black shawl made of taffeta with black crocheted lace all around the edges.

  “These are awfully dark,” Ella said doubtfully. “What do you want with them?”

  “You must promise me you won’t laugh,” Gloria said.

  “I promise.” Ella’s eyes were wide and questioning. “Is it for a party?”

  “No, darling, though I suppose a form of one might follow.” Gloria folded the silk skirt over one arm. “I’m very much afraid it is for a wedding.”

  Ella gasped. “A wedding! A real one? Who is getting married?”

  Gloria gulped. If she had been standing at the top of a cliff preparing to dive into the river far below, she could not have felt more ill and afraid. For once she told Ella, she must forthwith seek out Captain Stan and tell him that his proposal was accepted.

  “I—I believe I am.”

  To her surprise, instead of another gasp or some expression of disbelief, Ella laughed, the sound bouncing off the sandstone walls to cause a merry echo in the passage. “Oh goodness, I thought you were being serious. I think we can find something more cheerful to play brides in than this dull old blue,” she said. “There is a yellow cotton buried in here somewhere—or is it in the other trunk?”

  “I am perfectly serious,” Gloria said, laying a gentle hand on her arm to stop her fruitless digging in the welter of clothes. “Captain Stan proposed to me last night, and I fear I have no choice but to accept him.”

  Still kneeling, the girl searched her face as though looking for confirmation of anything but this news. “Actually proposed, not playing?”

  “While I doubt that Captain Stan is serious about very much, he appears to be so about this. Your mother agrees with him that it is the only way that I will reach San Francisco de Asis safely. If I am to have any chance at all of stopping this war, I must become Mrs. Captain Stan and travel there as his wife.” She paused. “You don’t happen to know his surname, do you?”

  Ella did not seem to hear. She was staring at Gloria as though she had just been informed she was about to be executed. “No,” she said softly. “No, you can’t.”

  “My sentiments exactly. But it seems I must.”

  “No, please don’t. Don’t go.” Tears welled in Ella’s eyes and her lips trembled as she got to her feet. “Abandon this mad plan and go back to Philadelphia. Please, Meredith.” She took Gloria’s hand in both of her own, and Gloria could actually feel them trembling.

  “I confess that I gave it all the consideration you could wish, last night when I couldn’t sleep,” she said softly. “I do not want to be married yet—and certainly not to a stranger.”

  “Then don’t! Let’s take food and one of the smaller boats and go to Denver,” Ella said eagerly. “You can find passage from there to Philadelphia, can’t you?”

  “I’m sure I could.” The gold pieces in her corset would see to that. “But what would happen to your mother? To Clara, and all your friends and sisters here? Would you stay in Denver and leave them to the Californios?”

  At this, Ella released her hand and turned away, her fingers pressed to her lips.

  And watching her, a crazy thought darte
d through Gloria’s brain, wheeled like a swallow, and came to rest in a conviction. Ella was not encouraging her to abandon everyone because she feared for her safety. She wanted Gloria to go so that she would not marry the captain.

  Ella was in love with Stan herself.

  Oh, dear. It was clear that Mother Mary had no idea, otherwise she would never have broached the plan best guaranteed to break her daughter’s heart and make her miserable. But Gloria had no choice but to tell her. Perhaps between them, they could convince Mother Mary that another young woman should go as Gloria’s maid. There was no compelling reason for Ella to place herself in such an untenable position.

  “You see how convincing are the arguments I made to myself last night. But there is more.”

  “How much more could there be?”

  “Your mother suggests that the illusion would be complete if you were to go with us as my maid. And presumably one or more of the captain’s crew would act in a similar capacity for him. At the very least, I suppose we must have bodyguards.”

  “I go with you?” Blindly, Ella reached out and fumbled the lid of the trunk closed, with skirts and sleeves still half in and half out. Then she sat on it as suddenly as if her knees had buckled. “Oh, no. I couldn’t.”

  “I wouldn’t blame you in the least.” Gloria’s heart ached for the poor girl. Could there be any form of torture more dreadful than to be forced to watch the man you loved begin his life with someone else, with no ability to leave, no space in which to learn to forget? “Surely there must be some other capable young lady here who would do as well—who can speak the language, and read and write?”

  “You do not want me to come?” Ella’s face crumpled, and the pain in her eyes as the tears brimmed over was more than Gloria—the author and finisher of that pain—could stand.

  Coward that she was, she flung down the blue dress and fled.

  Chapter 4

  “You there!” Evan’s stomach plunged as a guard banged the stock of his rifle on the iron bars of the aperture in the door of their cell. “Stop talking unless you want a few extra hours added to your work detail.”

  Evan and Barney exchanged glances and settled onto their pallets for the night. It was all idle talk they’d been indulging in anyway, the far-fetched plans of imprisoned men. No one in his right mind would fling a train car at a dam and hope to accomplish anything greater than the construction of a pile of bent iron and broken planks.

  Still, he could not sleep despite the exhaustion of both body and brain. His mind toyed with the idea despite himself. Toyed, then tussled, then gave it up as a bad job.

  He was no engineer, though he had acquitted himself pretty well following Dutch’s instructions in adapting the behemoth’s arm. His training was not in the mechanical, but in the mental. The human mind was an even more difficult and convoluted conundrum than the destruction of a dam. What a pity his own mind was so tired and useless in his present situation.

  Evan fell into an uneasy sleep as the moon rose over the razor-edged mountains to the east. It had passed its meridian when he was startled out of sleep by a terrible cry that echoed across the parade ground.

  “What’s that?” Dutch mumbled, struggling to his elbows. “Are we under attack?”

  Evan pushed himself to his feet and looked out the window. The guards patrolling outside had set off at a run for the low adobe buildings that housed the officers’ quarters on the far side of the square, guns at the ready even as they formed an attack phalanx. They spoke in agitated tones as a lamp was lit within.

  In a moment, a male shape appeared in the loggia and conferred with them. Voices rose. What was going on? Had someone been assassinated? Perhaps even the Ambassador? Aside from the young Viceroy, de Aragon was the person whose death would best bring the war to a grinding halt, if not stop it altogether.

  Now the guards reformed and set off back toward the prison block. Evan sighed and turned away from the window. “It’s nothing. It seems to be over.”

  But oddly, the beat of marching boots came closer, and two men detached themselves from the main body of guards. Tramping steps came down the stone corridor. As if they had signaled one another, all four men in Evan’s cell rolled over and pretended to be asleep.

  Once more, a rifle barrel crashed against the bars of the door. “Douglas!” When Evan did not move, the guard shouted again. “Douglas! Get up! Your services are wanted.”

  Evan pushed himself to his feet. “What is it?” He sounded as bemused as he felt. They could not want him for a work detail, for it was the middle of the night. Perhaps the four of them had been overheard. Perhaps he was about to be tossed into the pit below. Cold fear seeped into his stomach as he prepared to take the first opportunity to flee.

  The keys clinked against one another as one guard unlocked the door and the other grabbed Evan by the elbow.

  “Where are we—”

  “Silence!”

  The man twisted up his arm behind his back and frog-marched him across the parade ground to the officers’ quarters. Evan did not know whether to be relieved or to say his final prayers. Perhaps he was about to be executed. The adobe building felt cool inside, and smelled of lemon and dust. A candle burned in a niche below an icon of the Madonna. He was marched down the corridor to a richly carved door at the end, where they were met by what appeared to be a butler or majordomo.

  Thanks to Joe’s slightly unwilling tutelage during their imprisonment, Evan now knew enough of the Californio tongue to understand him when he said, “Is this the man?” When the guard nodded, he peered into Evan’s face, evidently seeking something beneath the grime. “You are a doctor?”

  Evan nodded.

  “You have some ability to interpret dreams?”

  Another nod. Best to keep things simple.

  “Our esteemed Commander de Sola is plagued with nightmares. You will interpret his dream to his satisfaction, so that he may sleep.”

  “It is not that precise a science,” Evan managed. “Dreams can mean many things, and can even be specific to a single person.”

  “You will interpret this dream, or you will be removed from your privileged position and thrown in the pit. See that you use your abilities well.”

  His belly quaking and the tips of his fingers going cold with fright, Evan followed the majordomo into the room. The commander of the fort sat on the edge of his bed in his nightshirt and dressing gown, rolling a snifter of brandy between his fingers. A lamp burned on the dresser under a portrait of a young man Evan could only assume was the new Viceroy.

  “Here is the man, sir.”

  De Sola eyed him, his own face drawn and exhausted. “You do not look much like a medical man.”

  Evan straightened his spine. “I am a medical doctor, with a degree from the University of Edinburgh, and a specialty in the unconscious and dreams. I have written eight monographs on the subject, and my research has been well regarded in academic circles in England.”

  “Then I am fortunate indeed,” the commander said. “Please. Sit. I will tell you … in a moment.” He gulped the remainder of the brandy and appeared to be lost in thought.

  Gingerly, Evan settled on the edge of a chair while the two guards took up their posts outside. The majordomo stood inside, his back to the door, watching. Should Evan wish to flee, he would have to fly through the window, and with his luck, he would only land in a walled garden or back on the parade ground.

  The commander took a breath. “In my dream, I was walking down a deserted road. It was night, but the moon was bright, and the desert stretched away on every side as far as I could see.”

  “Where had you come from?” Evan asked. It was the same question he had asked Dutch. He could only pray the results would be as positive.

  “Do not speak without permission!” the majordomo snapped.

  “I am requested to interpret the dream. I rather thought I had permission,” Evan said mildly. “Do you want my assistance or not?”

  The majordomo
flushed, and his hand jerked toward a ceremonial sword buckled to his waist, though it was clear he had pulled it on over his black breeches and his nightshirt without much thought. Perhaps it was the badge of his office, and he could not respond to terrified cries in the night without it.

  “Peace, Carlos,” the commander said. “We will make an exception on this uneasy night.”

  “As you wish, sir.”

  De Sola’s gaze returned to Evan. “I do not know where I had come from. Nor do I know where I was going. I was merely walking.”

  “How were you dressed?”

  “In my uniform.” His brow creased. “I must have been, for I remember looking down and thinking that Carlos would have to polish my boots again when I returned, for the white dust of the road had quite covered them.”

  “Go on.”

  He paused. “I was looking for something.”

  “Something you had lost?”

  “No, something I needed to find. That is why I was scanning the sides of the road. I was looking for it—behind rocks, the sage, the ocotillo.”

  “So you were not here, in this valley of the water meadows?”

  “No. Farther east, toward the dam. Yet I could not see it. It was miles away. And then I saw someone ahead of me, on the road. I could not imagine how they came there, for we were both on foot, and neither of us carried water, as we would have if we had come a long distance.”

  “Perhaps you were looking for water?”

  “No, it was something tangible.” He frowned. “Something for His Serene Highness the Viceroy. Something he had lost.” The commander looked up as though surprised. “That was it. I had to find something His Highness had lost.”