Tools of the Trade (The Suntosun Chronicles)

by G. L. Francis

  “There’s blood in the levels?” Sophie asked, indicating the armillary.

  Poppa Tom nodded. “There may be other trace metals or minerals in blood involved. Kazimir is from an aleksei family whose blood usually reveals water demons to them.” Eyebrows raised, he looked at Kazimir. “Did I get some it right?”

  “Da. That is most correct.”

  Frowning, Sophie studied the armillary, then shifted her gaze to Kazimir. “I wish to speak with my father privately.” The Russian bowed, then left the room. As soon as she heard the door close, she said, “You and Bruce are in danger. But, Poppa, what can I do?”

  When Poppa Tom faced her, he took her hands in both of his. “Sophie, Sugar . . .” He paused but when he spoke again, his voice had roughened as though he'd choked back tears. “When Abby and I learned her health was too fragile for childbearing, we went to New York. We chose you and Bruce at the Sisters of Mercy Asylum but couldn’t bring you home right away.”

  Sophie nodded, uncertain why he would be thinking of these old times now. She’d been only two years old. She had no memory of the orphanage but Bruce told her they’d been there less than a week before the Ashers’ arrival. One of the first Orphan Trains passing through Kansas City had delivered her and Bruce a few months later.

  Poppa Tom took a deep breath. “Abby saw you first. Curly brown hair, big blue eyes, petite little thing. And Bruce, a serious nine year old, already strapping big for his age. Twenty years ago, we went to the depot and one of the sisters handed you to me. We walked back two cars to where Bruce was.” He gave her hands a light squeeze. “We raised you as if you truly were our own. We never wanted, never dreamed anything like this for you and Bruce.”

  Sophie felt a tear slide down her own cheek. “Bruce and I never felt anything but love from you and Momma Abby.” She returned the squeeze to his hands and grinned. “Besides, how many children get to play in their own toy shop? Design their own toys?”

  Poppa Tom shrugged. “Not many, I suppose.” He sniffed, then cleared his throat. “I always see that little girl when I look at you. But now . . .”

  “But now . . . what?” Sophie prompted, gently withdrawing her hands from his grasp.

  Poppa Tom met her gaze. “But now, I have to ask you to help us fight demons. Bruce encountered one of these rusalka things. Nearly drowned him. Kazimir helped him, but it almost got Kazimir, too.”

  Sophie frowned. Her brother hadn’t mentioned this to her. She suddenly recalled Kazimir’s somber nod last night when she’d said But you’re also afraid of them. “When?”

  “Couple of days ago.” A muscle jumped in Poppa Tom’s jaw as he clenched his teeth. “It tried to kill my boy.” Smoldering anger replaced the regret in his gaze. “Bruce and I are willing to help. But Kazimir says we need a woman who’s willing to fight. Rusalkas target men and children. Women aren’t as vulnerable to their enticement.” Then he smiled at her, hard resolve as well as fierce pride shining in his eyes. “You’ve grown to be a much stronger woman than Abby ever was. We need you alongside us. We need you to help when we’re overcome by these rusalkas.”

  She stood. “Of course, Poppa. What did Bruce say about all this?”

  Poppa Tom chuckled. “That if you agree, he wasn’t sure whether to be more scared of the rusalkas or you.”

  “Good.” Aware of the smugness in her own tone and doing nothing to hide it.

  “And, Sugar, I’m so sorry about Clayton. But that’s his loss. Not yours.”

  Her smile fading, Sophie drew a slow breath. Yes, the rejection stung, but they’d never discussed a wedding date. Perhaps Clayton had as many reservations as she’d begun to have. Especially when he’d asked her to give up her drafting set and machine tools. “I don’t think I would’ve made a proper wife like he wanted.”

  “True enough.” Poppa Tom smirked at her fondly. “No man yearns for a lifetime of scorched coffee and biscuits hard enough to replace bricks.”

  Sophie laughed, delighted at the absolute truth in her father's words, then returned her attention to the business at hand. “Kazimir said something about building a weapon.”

  “Ah, yes.” Poppa Tom went to the door, called Kazimir back into the office, and gave him a quick nod. “She wants to know about the weapon.”

  Sophie couldn’t detect any emotion on Kazimir’s face as he crossed the room toward her. He stopped in front of her, his turquoise eyes regarding her solemnly. He took her hand and kissed it. “You are brave woman, Sophie Asher.” He released her hand and took a step back, although Sophie thought he was a bit slow about doing so.

  Poppa Tom detoured to his desk before returning to the bench and setting a tool from the other shop on it. Although she’d never handled one, she’d seen the blow-lamps for soldering often enough in the boiler shop. “What we’re working on is a way to make a larger one of these that can throw a hotter flame at a greater distance.”

  “It must be light to carry,” Kazimir added, “but make flame for enough time to burn away water rusalka uses for body.”

  Now unrolling a drawing on the bench-top, Poppa Tom said, “We’ve worked out a tank for the petrol but haven’t been able to pressurize it enough for a stronger flame.”

  Sophie studied the paper. Drawn atop the tank was what seemed to be a flexible hose attached. At the end of the hose was a pistol-grip with a trigger. Rather than a barrel, it showed a long nozzle flaring slightly toward the open end. Notes to one side of the drawing listed possible ignition methods but only two were circled: pilot light and magnesium. Other notes asked What about check valve? and kerosene? coal oil? petrol? In the upper left corner, a hasty sketch showed a framework with straps that presumably allowed the tank to be carried on a person’s back. “Have you made any models of it yet?”

  Poppa Tom grunted in disgust. “First one wasn’t any stronger than the blow lamp. The second one couldn’t take high pressure. The tank split.”

  “Your father works hard for right design,” Kazimir said. “You will be one to carry weapon.”

  She glanced at him, then returned her gaze to the drawing. The dimensions of the tank were marginally smaller than a 10-gallon milk can, but it would be too unwieldy for her. “You men might be able to heft this.” With a mildly annoyed snort, she tapped a finger on the paper. “But I couldn’t wear it for long and still move. Please, let's make it a size I can handle.” She sighed. “Is anyone in the shop working on it?”

  “No,” Poppa Tom answered. “Given Kazimir’s serious lack of popularity, I felt it was better not to involve anyone else.” He rolled up the drawing. “Bruce and I will continue on it later today. But business goes on. I need you to make a delivery for me.”

  “Where?” Sophie asked, following him to his desk.

  “Excelsior Springs. Regent Springs Boarding House. Mr. and Mrs. Thorson from St. Louis.” He indicated the shipping crate on the filing cabinet. “They ordered a clockwork kitten for their daughter’s upcoming birthday.” He sat down and thumbed through a stack of invoices. “You’ll be taking the train. The tickets are at the station.”

  “Tickets?” Sophie echoed.

  “Tickets. Kazimir will be escorting you.” Poppa Tom raised a hand against her anticipated protest. “I know you can handle deliveries by yourself. Under the circumstances, however, I don’t feel it’s prudent for any of us to travel about the area alone. Kazimir agrees.”

  Sophie looked back at Kazimir who was shrugging on a suit jacket. No wonder he’d come here so well groomed. “But Poppa—”

  “No but, Poppa, Sugar. My decision stands.” He eyed the elf critically, then picked up his own bowler hat from the shelf behind him and skimmed it across the room to Kazimir. “No offense, Kazimir, but I think it best to hide your ears.”

  Chapter 3

  ~*~

  The train rumbled like iron thunder. Sophie glanced at Kazimir next to her on the bench seat. He still wore Poppa Tom’s bowler jammed on his head, the tips of his ears tucked out of sight. Slouched as t
hough dozing, his face was turned toward the window. She unfolded a theater schedule she’d picked up at the boarding house’s front lobby after making the delivery.

  The sound of the train’s wheels changed as it came to the rail bridge over the river. She felt Kazimir shift beside her and glanced at him. He sat upright, no longer dozing, his face still turned to the window. She looked out, glimpsed her reflection in the glass, and then returned her attention to the brochure.

  A feeling of dread crept over her. The brochure tumbled from her hands. Reluctantly, she raised her gaze back to the window. Not her reflection. A woman was clinging to the outside of the train. A woman with wet reddish-brown hair, large pale brown eyes without pupils, and a gown rippling like water. A woman, dear Lord, a woman that looked like much her.

  Sophie drew a breath to scream but only a small wheeze escaped.

  In her peripheral vision, she noticed the man in the seat ahead of her lift his young son up to see the river. Farther forward, the car’s attendant pointed toward something on the river, possibly a steamboat or barge, for the benefit of an elderly couple. Everywhere in the train’s car, conversations continued. Which meant, she realized with abrupt clarity, no one else saw the woman.

  She placed a hand on Kazimir’s arm. “Kazimir?” she whispered. He made no response.

  Sophie darling, how I’ve missed you. The wet hair moved as though caught in a current flowing toward the front of the train. Another ripple of hair partly obscured the smiling face outside the window.

  “Kazimir,” Sophie said more firmly. The thing staring through the glass at her wasn’t a woman. It was one of those rusalka creatures. Talking to her. Calling her by name.

  O, you don’t recognize me, do you? I drowned, darling. You were so young, but Bruce remembers. Ask him. My darling boy remembers.

  Sophie scooted forward on the seat and gave Kazimir’s arm a hard shake. “Kazimir!”

  He partly turned his head toward her, but the movement was sluggish. “Da?” His gaze passed over her as though she’d distracted him, then returned to the phantasm outside the window.

  Why don’t you and the elf come out on the platform? I so desire to hear your voice, my darling Sophie. Let me see what a fine woman my little girl grew to be. Come out, darling.

  To Sophie’s dismay, Kazimir shook off her hand and stood. She shot to her feet in alarm.

  He took a step forward, his boot coming down on her toe. He glanced down at her yelp. “Yzvinityeh, pajalsta,” he murmured distantly as he tried to edge past her into the aisle.

  She had to do something. He would die if he left the car. She grabbed his face with both hands and pulled it down to hers in a kiss. Wake up, prince, she thought desperately, almost hysterically.

  Kazimir relaxed into the kiss, then surprised Sophie with fervent response. He froze. His eyelids fluttered, then widened in confusion. He drew back sharply as a blush colored his face. His turquoise eyes stared wildly into hers.

  Passengers in the car erupted in applause.

  “Please, oh, please to forgive…Miss Asher…I did not—”

  “Nothing to forgive, Kazimir.” Sophie felt her galloping heartbeat begin to slow. Surely her lingering breathlessness was from fear. Certainly not from kissing an elf. “I owed you for saving me last night. A debt repaid.” Did she see a flicker of disappointment in his face? She regarded him with curious fascination. Had Clayton ever blushed like that? Ever kissed her like that?

  Perhaps another time, Sophie darling. Laughter fading to the chuckle of the river. Then only the sound of clapping hands and the train’s iron wheels.

  Sophie looked around at the other passengers and gave them an embarrassed smile as she made a quick curtsey. “Let’s sit back down, Kazimir.” Without a murmur, he took his place on the bench seat, turning enough to put his back to the window. When she was sure they were no longer the center of attention, she said in a low voice, “It was one of them, wasn’t it? A rusalka.”

  “Da.” He shivered, eyes still wide. “I give thanks, Miss Asher. I beg please to forgive my failure.”

  She shook her head. “Never mind. What I want to know is why it looked like me.” She paused, thinking about the rusalka’s hair and eyes. “Kind of like me,” she amended.

  “Is not possible.” Kazimir frowned. “Human woman cannot see face of rusalka.”

  “I most certainly did see that thing.” Now the threat was over, irritation edged out her fear. “Hair and eye color different from mine. No pupils. But same facial features. Almost like looking in a mirror.” She rolled her eyes. “Except it was soaking wet and flying alongside the train. Probably had no clothes on, either. Besides, if I’m not supposed to see them, how can I help fight them?”

  He started to raise a hand toward her, then hesitated. “May I?”

  Sophie nodded uncertainly, then held still as he reached his hand to the side of her head and burrowed it in her hair. His trembling fingers explored the top of her ear.

  “I do not understand,” he murmured, lowering his hand. “You are human but you saw rusalka.”

  “What did you expect me to see?”

  “Woman who knows rusalka to exist can only see shape made of . . . mmm, like cloud. Fog.” Kazimir shrugged. “Maybe mist. Elf woman . . . aleksei woman . . . can see all of rusalka. Maybe perhaps you have aleksei ancestor?”

  Sophie considered briefly, then set the thought aside. She didn’t know her ancestry and doubted that her brother knew very much despite being older. “It wanted me to think it was my mother,” she said. “It said to ask Bruce.”

  “You did not speak to it!”

  “No. Not a word.” She was keenly aware she didn’t know enough to try bidding a demon begone. Moreover, she’d simply been too shocked by the rusalka’s appearance. She eyed him curiously. “What did you see? What did it say to you? You looked like you’d been pole-axed and didn’t have enough sense to fall down.”

  Crimson suffused his cheeks again. He ducked his head. “I do not wish to say.” He met her gaze but glanced quickly away. “Is not proper to say in front of lady.”

  The sound of the great wheels changed and slowed as the train left the bridge. The blast of its whistle announced the approach to a crossing.

  Not proper, Sophie reflected. Poppa Tom had said something about women not being as vulnerable to the rusalka’s enticement. And moments ago, Kazimir had been aroused by more than her own kiss. Understanding dawned on her. The rusalka tempted with sensual promises. Kazimir’s propriety overrode his passion even on the verge of yielding to it.

  Sophie's face flushed with too much warmth. “Ah. Well. Never mind about that.” A series of whistle blasts gave her enough time to compose herself. “Kazimir, are you fairly new at fighting these things?”

  The high color had faded from his face. “Nyet. I fought in Russia.” Then, frowning, he shook his head. “Not exactly correct. Pyotr and Ilyana gave to me most training. I help in hunting of rusalki. When they left country, I go to help with them. To learn. Like person who helps knight in old stories. But I am not so new.”

  “You were an apprentice?”

  His lips twitched in a partial grin. “Da. Apprentice is good word.”

  “And now,” Sophie said quietly, “you’re an apprentice without a master. You’re an apprentice who has three apprentices to train. God help you, Kazimir.”

  Chapter 4

  ~*~

  There was no sign of Bruce waiting at the train station for them, but Sophie wasn’t entirely surprised. Poppa Tom had said they would be working on the weapon. Time often got away from him when he was designing.

  “Do you wish for cab, Miss Asher?” Kazimir asked. He nodded toward a line of waiting carriages and buggies beyond the station platform. “I am most certain there are some for hire.”

  Sophie shook her head. “No, thanks. I’d rather walk.” She allowed him to fold her arm into the crook of his, and they left the station.

  The traffic was lighter than durin
g the day although it would become busy later. Along streets not yet converted to automatic gaslights, lamplighters strolled with small flames flickering on the poles they carried. Sophie noticed a patrolman stop by one of the lamplighters. As she and Kazimir drew closer, the lamplighter adjusted the flame, then touched it to the patrolman’s cigar. Each man went his separate way.

  Sophie slowed her pace, thinking about the lamplighter’s flame. And something else as well. “Kazimir, do you remember the spigot near the Siloam Spring pavilion?”

  “Spigot?”

  “Where the hot and cold water came out of the same place.”

  “Da, I saw.” Kazimir sounded distracted.

  “That meant there had to be two places the water came from. Two sources, one spigot.” She looked up at him. “Could we do it with the flame weapon? Have the fuel in one tank and pressurized air in a separate tank?”

  Kazimir halted, his head tilted as he stared intently at her. “Please to say again.”

  She repeated it, then added, “And maybe a fitting to siphon and atomize the fuel and air. Maybe a manifold between the tanks and the nozzle.” She paused as she imagined the layout as though it were a shop blueprint. “Located before the mix arrives at the ignition point.”

  His eyes momentarily took on the unfocused appearance Poppa Tom often had when visualizing a design. Kazimir slowly nodded his head, then grinned. “I think your father will have proud of you.”

  Arm in arm, they walked and discussed the idea for the flame weapon until they reached the stable-yard gates of Asher Metal Works. Sophie fell silent, hearing the rumble of voices coming from nearby.

  Many voices. Angry voices.

  They hurried around the stable. Sophie stopped and stared in dismay at the scene. A mob of machinists surrounded the entrance of the boiler and engine shop. Poppa Tom stood on the front step of the building trying to talk to the men. Beside him, Bruce glowered in warning at the mob. Her brother had a bandage on his head, and his normally tan face was pasty.