Fields of Iron: A steampunk adventure novel

by Adina, Shelley

  “The mysterious ‘they’ must not be very good at it,” was all he said.

  “But Stanford—”

  “Gloria. Please. I beg of you. Captain will do nicely while we are out in public.”

  “But—”

  But he had finally had enough. He leaped to his feet and slid open the door of their compartment, and before she could complete one sensible sentence, he had vanished down the corridor.

  Ella ducked inside and closed the door behind her. “He didn’t look very happy. Have you had a quarrel?”

  Gloria had gone so deeply into memory, ferreting out bits of information, that it took her a moment to journey back and realize she was no longer alone. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Captain Stan. Have you had a quarrel? He left just now looking like a thundercloud.”

  “A quarrel? No indeed.” What had they been talking about? Trains. Silver Wind. The Viceroy. Ah, politics was a much safer subject. She dropped her voice. “One of the bandits gave him a message. The Viceroy is on his way south.”

  Ella nodded. “Riley told me. That’s good news for us. Riley thinks he’ll break his journey at San Luis Obispo de Tolosa, too. It is a pleasant place, from all accounts … and with the Viceroy’s retinue the size of a town, it’s one of the few ranchos that can handle a royal progress.”

  Gloria touched her forehead and dabbed at her upper lip with the ruffle on her sleeve. “Ella, I’m feeling a little faint. I think it was the shock of the bandits, and the motion of the train. Would you be so kind as to find me some water?”

  “Of course.” Ella sprang up, as if happy to have something useful to do. “There is a barrel and tin cup a few cars back. I’ll get you some.”

  She vanished in the direction opposite of the one the captain had taken, and Gloria sagged against the horrid slat back of the bench.

  It had been all over the papers ten years ago, when she had been a schoolgirl still in London. When her most pressing concern had been convincing Lady Julia Wellesley that her wealth made her a friend worth having, and that her wit and elegance would prove Julia’s excellent taste in including her in her circle.

  The lurid headline in the Evening Standard had shouted, Railroad Baron’s Son Kidnapped! For of course the boy, fresh out of school and on the first leg of the obligatory European tour, must have been kidnapped. A young man simply didn’t walk away from a fortune that vast, disavow his father’s name, and disappear. However, unless he had been kidnapped and had managed to escape his captors, that appeared to be exactly what he’d done.

  She had followed the newspaper reports for some time, with a schoolgirl’s crush on a daguerreotype of a young man only a few years older than she. But as time went on and no ransom demands were made, and save for the first and only withdrawal of funds from his bank, no money was ever requested, the reports became less frequent. Finally, in the absence of any clues, they faded away altogether, to be revived five years ago when Stanford Fremont II had been killed in a locomotive explosion that had also taken the lives of Garrison Polk and Lord James Selwyn, Lady Claire Trevelyan’s then fiancé.

  How strange life was. Claire had met the father. Then she and Gloria had become fast friends. And now Gloria had met the son, out here in a vast desert that people called the Wild West for good reason.

  She was married to the missing heir of the Fremont fortune.

  With a laugh that sounded more like a disbelieving exhalation of breath, she gazed out of the isinglass at the rolling green hills through which they passed. Say rather that he had married the missing heiress to the Meriwether-Astor fortune. After all her slippery maneuvering to scotch her father’s plans and avoid the stuffy, stiff-collared scions of politics and industry in Philadelphia, here she’d gone and married the most sought-after scion of all!

  It would be funny if it hadn’t been so ironic, and so dreadfully, maddeningly real.

  When Ella came in with the tin cup full of cold water, Gloria had recovered sufficiently to smile at her in thanks, and drink it with gratitude. “I hope you had some for yourself?”

  “Oh, yes. We should be stopping soon, to visit the next rancho and buy food. We’ve eaten everything that Mother Mary sent with us. And they say we shall be able to see the sea! I have never seen it. I wonder what it is like.”

  “It is vast, and cold, and full of creatures,” Gloria said absently. “I must say, I take food much more seriously now than I once did.”

  “Food is serious,” Ella agreed. “Would you like me to keep you company?”

  “Certainly.” Gloria shook herself and made room for her friend on the bench. “I trust the seating is equally as comfortable in your compartment with the men?”

  “It’s awful, isn’t it?” Ella wriggled a little. “I’ll never complain about the stone benches at home again.”

  Home. Gloria stifled a sigh.

  “Tell me, what do you know of Captain Stan? How many years has he been on the river?”

  Ella shrugged and clasped one knee, her serviceable cotton skirts riding up a little. “A couple, I guess. The Queen used to be captained by a terrible old goat with a beard as long and white as snow. He was so proud of that beard—I heard he washed it more frequently than he bathed the rest of him. I believe Stan was among his crew then, but I don’t know what he did. All I know is that one night the captain fell overboard—or was pushed—and the next thing you know, Stan was at the tiller.”

  “Goodness. He didn’t do the pushing, did he?” A scion of industry was one thing. But Gloria was quite sure she did not want to be married to a murderer.

  “Oh, no, that was Riley.”

  “Riley. The very Riley who is in our party?”

  “The very one.” Ella glanced at her. “Don’t be afraid, Mere—er, Gloria. Nobody knows for sure that he was pushed. And he was awful—a cruel master. No one regrets his passing, including Mother. Goodness, the fights they used to have! He never bothered her after she shot him, though.”

  “Good for her,” Gloria said faintly.

  “Anyhow, that was quite a while back. Everyone likes Captain Stan—or if they don’t, they’re smart enough not to show it.”

  “And you?” Gloria hardly dared ask, fearing to tread on sensitive ground. “Do you like him, too?”

  “Sure, as well as I like any man. But then, we don’t see many outside his riverboat crews. There are three other boats besides the Queen, you know. The captain owns them all.”

  “Does he?” Any fears she might have had about having to fish one of her gold guineas out of her corset to buy food faded away. “He has done well for himself.”

  “He’s educated,” Ella said simply. “Not too many folks out here can say that. And he’s the kind of man the rivermen are willing to crew for.” She glanced at Gloria sidelong. “You could’ve done worse.”

  “I still feel badly, though.”

  “About what?”

  “About—” Dear me, this was very awkward. “Well, about any hopes you might have cherished in that direction.”

  “Hopes?” The color drained from Ella’s face.

  Her foot was in it now. There was nothing for it but to wade on through the morass she had embarked upon, as treacherous as the muskeg up at the Firstwater Mine. “Yes. For Captain Stan. Believe me, if there had been any other way, I would not have—”

  “Hopes for Captain Stan?” The color flooded back into Ella’s tanned cheeks. “Is that what you think? That I—that we—”

  The door slid open and the object of their discussion stepped into the compartment. He looked from Ella’s scarlet face and wide eyes to Gloria’s distress and the trembling of her lips. “Seems we’ve gone from bad to worse. Shall I go away?”

  Ella jumped up and was out into the corridor before he even finished the question. He gazed after her, then shook his head and slid the door shut. “I must remember to knock next time.”

  “It is not that.” Gloria tucked in her skirts so that he could take his seat beside her. “I d
o not know what I said to distress her so. Well, yes, I do. I pried where I had no business doing so, and I upset her.” With a sigh, she added, “That makes two in a row. Please forgive me for prying into your life, too. It was clearly a subject that pains you. I will not do it again.”

  But he shook his head, and to her surprise, took her hand, folding it between both of his, which were warm, but not sweaty. She resisted the instinctive urge to snatch it back, and did her best to relax.

  He is your husband. He has every right to take your hand, and more besides. It is to his credit that he is willing to give you time.

  “No, I am the one who overreacted. You of all people have the right to know my story.”

  “Not if you do not wish to tell me.”

  “But I do.” Again that green glance, alive now with the first hint of humor. “I may not meet with honesty very often, but I have observed that in my own household I may count upon it.”

  In spite of herself, she smiled. “If you mean that I am blunt and need to think more often before I speak, then you had better say so straight out.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. So, you know who I am. May I ask how?”

  “The newspapers in London had a field day, believing that you had been kidnapped by the Famiglia Rosa or a band of slavers or the royal family of some impoverished nation. I was young, but I still followed the story. There was a very flattering daguerreotype of you in the Evening Standard, you know. I was not the only one of my set who sighed over it before she blew out her candle.”

  “Heavens.” He made a rueful mouth, as though this idea were distasteful to him. “The truth is not nearly so romantic or exciting. I simply took the opportunity that presented itself in Paris, and boarded Persephone for New York instead of Hera for St. Petersburg. Once I reached this side of the pond, it was simple enough to disappear. Went to the Louisiana Territory first, where I worked on the riverboats on the mighty Mississip. I was good at cards—not as good as you, mind, but good enough to make a living once the money ran out.”

  “But the trust—you could have drawn upon it at any time.”

  “Not my father’s money.” His tone was flat, and Gloria took the message as it was intended. “I knew where he got it. Running track through non-treaty Navapai lands, opening up the West to every cheat and well-dressed criminal who cared to come. He even had his fingers in the Klondike, making a fortune off the dreams of miners. I couldn’t bear it, Gloria, and knowing that he wanted me in the business with him, learning how to steal and trick with all the skill he had … well, I simply walked away.”

  “Cheer up,” she said with a half-smile. “At least he wasn’t an arms dealer, starting wars all over the world simply to create markets for his weapons.”

  After a moment, he tilted his head toward her in acknowledgment. “There is that.”

  “After my father died saving my life—one of the few times he actually paid attention to me, I might add—I took over the business. I was voted president by the board of directors just before I came out west.”

  “I think you will make an admirable president. What are you going to do once you talk the Viceroy out of this war?”

  “Well, I must go back. I have undersea dirigibles to manage, and factories to instruct to make ploughshares instead of swords. But after that, I do not know.” She cocked an eyebrow at him. “What about you? Are the trains still running despite your absence?”

  “They seem to be, if Silver Wind is out here. She was my father’s flagship—his dream. It is quite astonishing to know she was actually built. I remember seeing the drawings for her on his desk, years ago.”

  “Apparently the late Viceroy had a hand in her design. I was told the double wheels were his idea.”

  “Do not think I have not noticed your use of singular pronouns, Mrs. Fremont. Nor have I forgotten your use of the word divorce in earlier conversations. But at some time or another, may we not consider whether our futures might be brought into parallel, like a railroad track? Or if they might meet and become one track altogether?”

  She did not know how to answer. How could she, when any given day might see her—and him—dead or imprisoned or who knew what? What was the point of building castles in the air when one did not know if one were ever going to live there? And she had merely brought up the subject of divorce in the mission garden because it had never occurred to her he would want anything else.

  But in her efforts to put such thoughts into words, she hesitated too long.

  “Never mind.” He rose and took her empty tin cup. “How foolish. We must concentrate on saving the world, mustn’t we? Excuse me.”

  And for the second time in an hour, he left her alone.

  She liked it even less than the first.

  Chapter 13

  Next to being the Viceroy, or a commander in the militia, Evan thought, the way to make a living in this strange and backward country was to own a railroad. The lines ran down the eastern and western borders, roughly north to south, with a station at each mission and its attached rancho. Since there were well over twenty missions along the rocky length of the coastline, the ranchos extending for miles into the fertile lands to the east, many of them were less than an hour apart. Lines ran from east to west, as well, but only three of them crossed the mountain range, one running through the water meadows known as Las Vegas, one through a mountain pass to Reno, and one farther north where, the post commander said with some regret, “I have never been.”

  They occupied a private car—Commander Joaquin de Sola, Evan, Joe, and four soldiers whose sole duty it was to make sure the two of them didn’t try to escape. Evan thought that was rather overdoing it—he and Joe, fit though they might have become from their labors at the dam, were unlikely to succeed in overpowering three men, let alone five.

  Commander de Sola was a pleasant fellow, however, especially given the secret that lay between them. Since the night Evan had interpreted the man’s dream and subsequently discovered that he was not quite as supportive of the Ambassador’s ambition as might be supposed of a good servant of the Crown, the commander had not treated Evan as a prisoner. And now, his conversation was not only civil, but downright informative.

  “Rancho San Luis Obispo de Tolosa is the largest between Nuestra Señora la Reyna de los Ángeles and the capital, San Francisco de Asis,” he explained as the train chuffed through one of the smaller stations without stopping, people’s faces turning to gape at the ornate private car that brought up the rear. They were flying the Viceroy’s own flag of the crowned sun, its benevolent rays extending over stripes meant to represent the green of earth and the blue of sea. On the occasions when they had stopped, the soldiers had disembarked to stand on the platform, one at each door, warding off the unwary who might try to board. And, of course, making it impossible for anyone to leave the car.

  “I have had a message by express that we are to stop there and await His Serene Highness.”

  “How long will it take him and his party to reach it?” Evan asked, his gut rolling uneasily at the thought of Alice and Swan, crippled under some red cliff, possibly injured, and the great black desert birds slowly circling.

  “One does not ask such questions of royalty,” the commander told him with a smile. “One simply puts oneself at the prince’s disposal.”

  Evan gritted his teeth and tried not to show his unease.

  “However, the correspondence seems to indicate a degree of urgency, so I do not think we will be waiting long. The earliest he could arrive is tomorrow night, so our task now is to anticipate him by the widest margin possible.”

  “I did not thank you for the suit of clothes in which to attend him,” Evan said. “I appreciate your forethought.”

  “One does not appear before a prince in rags, smelling of urine and sweat, Senor Douglas.”

  “Certainly not. But one is no less a prisoner, despite a bath, fine wool, and a clean shirt.” He plucked at the sleeve of the short black jacket he had been given, and th
e chains between the buttons at his wrists jingled. Chains of a decorative sort ran down the outside of the pant legs, and the belt buckle was silver, embossed with the insignia of the commander’s company. His boots, however, were his own and told the tale of his hard journey. He had attempted to clean them, but some of the gouges from the battle of Resolution and the many scratches from his labors on the dam could not be eradicated.

  At least they were comfortable. Should he find an opportunity to run, he would not be crippled by blisters, at any rate.

  “And what of you?” he asked Evan’s translator. “Does your suit fit?”

  Actually, it suited him much better than Evan imagined his own borrowed feathers did. His tanned skin and fine bones lent it an elegance that Evan had not seen in his own reflection when he had been permitted to use the water closet and the mirror over the sink.

  “It does,” Joe said with his usual brevity. “Sleeves are a bit long.”

  “Alas, we had no tailor to hand,” the commander said. “But you both look presentable. Perhaps, Senor José, you have a little Californio blood?”

  “I might.” Joe sat stiffly on a settee bolted to the floor, his hands on his knees. “My father, best I can tell, was a San Gregorio man.”

  “Is that so?” The commander leaned forward, and replaced his dram of port on the table by his elbow. “That makes you a citizen, then.”

  “I don’t see how. I was born on the river, and my mother is from back East somewhere. Or the Canadas. Can’t rightly say.”

  “Do you know your father’s name?”

  “It was the same as the rancho.”

  “Ah.” The commander looked thoughtful. “Then he was likely illegitimate. It is the custom for baseborn boys to take the name of the rancho on which they were born rather than of a father who may not wish to acknowledge them. Still, that does not have any bearing on your citizenship. Though you are a half-breed, you are entitled to some rights, at any event.”