Tools of the Trade (The Suntosun Chronicles)
Page 5
One-handed, Bruce was re-stoking the firebox. He pressed his burned hand on his thigh. Wordlessly, Sophie reached under the side seat and pulled out the extra container of distilled water. She removed the cover and dipped in a finger to test the liquid's coolness. Gently, she took her brother’s injured hand and lowered it into the water.
Bruce met her gaze and nodded thanks. His jaws clenched against the pain. He ducked his head again, and a different anguish flickered in his expression. What still disturbed her brother now that the struggle was over?
Sophie thought it might be embarrassment, might be shame. Or “maybe perhaps” something else. She rested her hand on his arm and gave a gentle squeeze meant to be comforting. He didn't respond, simply stared at the deck a moment longer, then shifted his attention back to his tasks: stoking the firebox and monitoring the steam gages.
Troubled for his sake, Sophie bit her lower lip. Guess he'll tell me when he's ready. She ruffled his wavy hair—lighter brown than hers—then moved around the engine and went forward. Kazimir sat with his head against the theodolite.
As she settled on the bow seat next to him, he put his eye to the instrument, but not before she glimpsed tears running down his face. She slipped an arm around his trembling shoulders. “Who was she?”
His breath hitching, Kazimir remained silent for so long Sophie began to think he wouldn’t answer. At last, he spoke in a choked voice. “Rusalka used shape of woman I knew in Russia. But not aleksei.” He raised his head but did not look at her. “Illusion. Nothing more.”
She looked at the wash alongside the bow while her brother turned the launch to return upriver. Kazimir’s shoulders shuddered under her arm. He buried his face in his hands, sobbing mutely. She remained by his side, giving the simple comfort of her presence. She watched for the beacon on the shore.
Chapter 7
~*~
“That’s a pretty thing,” Mrs. Carlton shouted as she set steaming mugs of coffee on the kitchen table.
Sophie thanked her loudly. She turned her attention back to Kazimir’s armillary to see the glass globe spin within its moving bands.
Kazimir moved his hand away from the button for setting the instrument in motion. He picked up his mug and sipped. “Where is your brother?” His gaze remained on the globe.
“Visiting a friend in Olathe.” Sophie took a drink. The coffee’s bitter heat soothed her throat. “He’s still confused, upset. He doesn’t understand why he fell under the rusalki’s charm while you and Poppa were able to resist.” She set her cup down. “He just needs some time to think.”
“But you know why, da?”
Sophie shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “I . . . I’m not sure.”
Kazimir frowned but kept his attention on the armillary. “Sometimes truth is more frightening to face than rusalka.”
The globe’s spin decreased steadily.
“Poppa’s doing better. The doctor said he would’ve bled to death if you hadn’t cauterized the leg.”
Kazimir glanced at her and nodded. The globe stopped. He studied one of the pointers, then the levels on the armillary’s base. His eyes moved, scrutinizing other indicators on the metal bands and planes.
“Well?” Sophie asked.
Kazimir shook his head. “Nyet,” he said softly. “My work in Kansas City is not done. Instrument shows more for me here.”
Sophie leaned back in her chair. She felt oddly pleased rather than relieved, but she set that emotion aside. She would examine it later. She looked at the elf—aleksei—across the table from her. “Then we all have more work to do.” She met Kazimir’s turquoise eyes and grinned. “Da?”
G.L. Francis
GL Francis is an author who’s lived all over the country but eventually returned to her Midwest beginnings.
In addition to writing, she’s an artist, tinker, machinist, and jane-of-many-trades living in Missouri, USA, with her husband and best friend (same person). Many close to her claim she’s an alien, but she’s reasonably certain she is not. (Sort of certain.) (Maybe.) She enjoys caring for her special needs turtles and annoying training her dogs and cat.
A word alchemist and explorer at heart, GL’s first love is speculative fiction, but she enjoys essays and poetry as well. Appearing in collections, journals, and anthologies, her works run the stylistic gamut from traditional to literary to experimental. Her stories tend toward hope amid darkness, sometimes with flashes of humor. Whether writing dark or light, she loves pushing the boundaries of what story can be.