Captain Gravenor’s Airship Equinox (Steampunk Smugglers) (10 page)

“Do you think the captain will lose us with any more resignation
if it is simply our thoughts we take, versus chattel?”

He stopped smoothing a bundle of wires he was making into an
approximation of a lockpicking tool. “Perhaps not.”

“She is so full of hate, that woman.”

“I never saw it until you came. But then, I never knew why
she hated the Blockaders.”

“I am sorry to bring out the worst in her, as I was sorry I
ignited the worst impulses of my relatives.”

“I am sorry for all of your troubles. As an inventor myself,
or at least a craftsman, I do not see that you deserved any of it.”

“You are an inventor yourself, Mr. Gravenor.”

He pressed his lips together. Long since, he had abandoned
his own sketches to work on her designs. “What will be our story on the road?”

“Where do you resolve we go?”

“To Cardiff. It is the only place to get money, from my
family.”

“We could go to my cousin’s house and pick up my things. I
had a few pounds, not much.”

“I wish we knew if she’d left your possessions in your room,
or if she’s already dispersed them.”

“You make a good point. But won’t the Red Kites look for you
in Cardiff first?”

“It is a risk we shall have to take, I think.”

“I wish I had friends we could go to. I can see the high
cost of isolation, now.”

“Allies are very important in a crisis,” he agreed. “But we
have each other. It will be enough for now.”

She nodded, offered him a nervous smile, then picked at a
gob of wax on the leather apron she wore over the black dress. The rest of her
outer clothing was hanging over cage bars to dry, as were his original
trousers, jacket and ripped up shirt.

The children brought supper to them just as the late began
to lower in the sky. Brecon realized that it had to be well into September by
now. They had been in the cage for weeks. He resolved they would not spend
another night there.

He ladled out the stew while Philadelphia tore the bread
into chunks. “When we leave, we’ll have about ten miles to walk.”

“We can do that. In our present condition we had better
arrive at the shipyard before first light.”

“Looking like vagrants may be a good disguise, really. At
least from the Blockaders. How recognizable are you to them?”

“Not very. I mostly saw Cousin Everard.”

“That’s good. Hold back some of the bread, will you? We’ll
want it, tonight.”

“It’s scarcely enough to stave off hunger as it is.”

“Look at it this way. It’s at least a third more quantity
than what they used to give us. They have treated us better these last couple
of days.”

She nodded and tucked half the bread under her blanket.

The twins came down as the sky darkened.

“The captain wants the brass hand,” One announced.

“Why?” asked Brecon.

“To have it fitted to George Park.”

“It won’t work on him. Amputation is on the wrong side.”

One blinked at him. “Well, he’s the only one-handed crewman
we have. Do you want the captain to make another?”

Brecon and Philadelphia shared a glance. She went to the
bench and retrieved the hand, with its sweat and bloodstained arm band.
Thankfully she hadn’t reattached the engine.

“Leave the lantern, will you?” Brecon asked. It was by way
of being a challenge, to see how in favor they were. But they could definitely
use the light. The moon would not be enough to see the keyhole clearly.

One shrugged and pulled a newspaper wrapped bundle from his
pocket. “It will be a big day tomorrow, what with setting up the airship with
the wiring. I’d suggest you rest.”

Two placed the lantern just out of arm’s reach on the other
side of the cage while One handed his package to Philadelphia. One looked at
him in disgust and picked up the lantern and gave it to Brecon.

“You are friendly all of a sudden,” Two said.

“Brecon’s going to be fine. The woman’s done as the captain asked.”

“That doesn’t mean she won’t kill them.”

Philadelphia breathed in sharply. Brecon touched her arm,
willing her to calm down. They were leaving. None of this mattered.

One clouted Two on the side of the head, a gesture that
often passed for affection between them. “Until morning.” He dragged his
brother away, seeming to pause for a moment by the door alcove.

When they were gone, Philadelphia turned to Brecon, holding
out the package.

“If we don’t leave tonight, we’re going to have to give the
Red Kites the full secret to enslaving men tomorrow.”

“We’re gone,” he said simply.

~
*~

CHAPTER SIX

It was another hour before Brecon deemed the night dark and
quiet enough for them to begin work. Philadelphia had packed a bundle for them
in one of the buckets, the bread they’d saved from dinner and the additional
rolls and cheese One had inexplicably left for them. She’d insisted they wear
their leather aprons over every bit of clothing they possessed, since it was
the closest to armor that they had.

He didn’t know what she imagined. Heaters could cut through
leather just like anything else. “Open the shutters on that lantern. I need all
the light we can supply.”

As she complied, he reached his arms around the bars and
began to fiddle with the hairpin and the knife in the lock. He had the knife
locked securely in his brass hand, but the absence of fine sensation slowed
down the process.

She stayed silent as he worked, leaning against the bars so
she could be his eyes as much as it was possible from the inside of the cage.

Ten minutes later, he reported, “I have all but one, I
think. Could you take the knife?”

She came to him, her body brushing his back. As she reached
between his brass fingers, he twisted his wrist to release the knife.

“You have it?”

“Yes,” she said.

Just as he let go, she fumbled. The knife slid behind his
fingers. Brecon closed his eyes, curses stilling on his lips.

She whispered an apology and knelt to retrieve the knife
from just outside the bars. “We will succeed this time.”

“I still have my position. Can you insert the knife at the
base of the lock, then slowly move back each pin?”

She did it. “I can feel the first one moving.”

“Angle the knife so you can keep the first position while
moving the second.”

His palm began to sweat, but he kept her pin in the lock,
knowing they needed as much of the night free as possible. Could she walk to
Cardiff in the three hours? No, neither of them could do it, not on the back
lanes. And the longer it took the more they’d need to rest, cursed as they were
by lack of activity and proper food.

Then the real hiding would begin.

“I’ve got it.” The door squeaked open. She gasped. “Oh! I
wasn’t expecting the noise.”

“We were leaning on it.” He turned and fumbled in the
blankets, coming up with the engine she had half-built in anticipation of
making a shovel.

“Why are you taking that? It is heavy.”

“So I can hit someone if I need to. Take the bucket. When we
are safely out of the camp I’ll carry it.”

“We aren’t bringing any water,” she said, worried.

“This is Wales. We’re sure to find a rain barrel, or puddle,
or trough, or pond.”

She made a face. “The lantern?”

“We need it to see the lock on the other door. Just make
sure to shutter it before we open the cage.”

“I’m glad we’ll be able to see the lock this next time.”

He agreed. “Let’s be quiet now.”

They padded softly through the room, the lantern throwing up
strange, ghostly versions of their bodies on the walls. He was grateful for
once that the floor was dirt. They could have missed the alcove in the wall
again, hidden by dull sandstone that looked just like the far wall, but the
lantern caught the brown drops of the blood trail and he turned in time.

The door was thick oak, banded by iron, but there was only
one lock. He turned the latch slightly to test the weight of the bolt and heard
a metallic squeak. Gently, he turned it a bit more.

“Blast me, but the door is open,” he reported in a low
voice. “Blow out the lantern.”

“I could close the shutters.”

“No, blow it out. Safer.”

Behind him, she complied. The room went pitch black and he
blinked rapidly until his pupils adjusted to the dark.

“Stay along the wall,” he told her. “Any sign of trouble,
run back for the cage and huddle on a cot.”

“You must be joking!”

“I’m not. You can claim complete innocence of the escape
attempt if I am caught.”

“I would rather die.”

He glanced in her direction. “No dying, Philadelphia.
Promise me that.”

She must have seen the sentiment in his eyes, because she
lifted herself on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “You called me by my first
name.”

“I am sorry to be so impertinent.”

“No.” She smiled. “I like it. May I do the same?”

“Of course. It has been an honor to be imprisoned with you.”
He inclined his head. “Now it is time to improve our circumstances.”

“I do agree, Brecon. Now, no more nonsense. Open the door.”

He lifted the stout metal engine as if it were a weapon,
concerned that One would be standing outside the door to see if they had failed
his test of obedience, cudgel in hand. But no, he saw nothing beyond the door.
A tentative step outside led to another. The full force of crisp autumn air hit
him and he took a huge gulp of it, holding it in his lungs. A taste of freedom.
Then forcing himself back to the task at hand, he calculated the run across the
open yard to the first outbuilding, a chicken coop that would not offer much
protection. After that came a barn, then a short pasture, and the fence.

No one manned the wooden search towers at each corner of the
fence, though they were maintained in case of future trouble, but—

He heard a scuttle of boots against dirt and ducked back
into the door, pulling it closed. Thankful that the door didn’t creak, he
muttered, “Saint David, give me clear vision.”

A warm body pressed against him and breathed into his ear.
“Back to the cage?”

He held up a hand for silence, hearing footsteps come
closer. They slowed near the door. Surely the ground had been dry and he hadn’t
left footprints. An age later, the steps moved off again. Brecon turned and saw
a flash of light as a lantern passed by the window of the cage.

“The guard will be turning the corner now,” he said a few
seconds later. “It is time.”

Philadelphia put a hand to his back as he reopened the door,
his ears primed for any sound. But other than a creaking of thatch, a rustling
of leaves, he heard nothing, saw no light other than a lantern over the door of
the dormitory to their far left.

“Move to the chicken coop,” he whispered.

She walked quickly, head down, as he closed the door
achingly slowly. When it was done he realized there was no outer handle. They
could not return if something went wrong. With a quick glance around that noted
nothing but a sleeping dog under a patch of lavender, he trotted to the chicken
coop. He grabbed Philadelphia’s hand, wrinkling his nose at the smell of the
chickens, and headed for the back of the barn.

They were halfway there when a bright glow caught his right
eye. Another guard so soon? He tugged his companion’s hand, breaking into the
quietest run he could imagine. They moved silently and he was grateful she
didn’t have the vanity for taffeta in her skirts to make them rustle.

She was breathing hard as they made it to the back of the
barn. “Does the guard come by here?”

He put his finger to her mouth. Silence was their best
friend, but he dearly wished old Saint David would come back to life and grow
them a nice hill so he could get them over the fence. His plan had been to push
a hale bale up to it but if the guard was doubled, they wouldn’t have time.

“Take my shirt off,” he ordered.

Without comment, she took off the filthy item that had
protected her ripped clothing all these weeks.

“Now pull up your skirts and tie them around your waist,
using the shirt as a belt.”

“It’s indecent,” she whispered.

He touched her hair. “I hope to be the only man who sees
your bloomers, but you’ve got to get over the fence.”

He heard her comply and was suddenly sorry it was dark.
“We’re going to stay in the sightline of the barn and run to the fence. Then
I’m going to pick you up. If you climb on my shoulders you’ll probably be high
enough to hoist yourself over.”

“What about you?”

He grabbed her hand and started her moving, noting she moved
more easily with her skirts tucked up. “One problem at a time.”

“At least you will not have to worry about me if I am over.
And you have excellent upper body strength, but I do wish you could use both
hands. You know you cannot use the brass hand to climb with the present way it
is attached, correct?”

He shushed her. She was right, of course, but he also
noticed her breathing had increased. They were both going to suffer for their
lack of exercise this long night. “I will think of something. I survived losing
my hand, after all. I can do this.”

They reached the wood and stone wall. Brecon judged it to be
about eight feet tall where there was wood and a bit higher for stone. The
stone was pebbled but didn’t offer a climbing surface and the wood was smooth. “Now
would have been a good time to use your steam shovel.”

“We only have the engine.”

“So,” he said. “Let’s get you over.” He tucked their bundle
of food into her makeshift belt, then knelt in the sparse grass in front of a
wood section of the wall. “Use the wall for balance. Climb up my knee, then
onto my shoulder. Then get one leg over the fence and then the other. Lower
yourself down as far as you can before you let go. You should be fine.”