Steamborn (11 page)

Charles shook his head. “No, my boy, I think it’s a gift. Now, I’ll tell you, when you first give it to the injured child, he may not know how to react. Don’t think that’s a judgment on you or your work. It’s going to take time for him to understand his injury. It always does.”

“You’ve known people like him?”

“Yes, I knew many soldiers in the war. A lot of them died, but some survived without legs to carry them or arms to hug their families.”

“Did you ever build them new arms?”

Charles nodded. “In some ways, yes. I never thought to make such a simple design though, Jacob. I built powered limbs with Burners and actuators. They were far more complex, and a great deal of work to maintain. I suppose I felt a need to show off when I was younger.”

“Now you just build steambikes,” Jacob said.

Charles narrowed his eyes and laughed before he slapped Jacob on the shoulder. “That I do. That I do.” He dug through the other saddlebag and pulled out a black glove. “Here, see if this will fit over that hand.”

Jacob held the arm up while Charles pulled the fingers down snugly over the mechanism. Jacob set the hand on the workbench and they both stood back. Jacob couldn’t help but smile. It looked like a real gloved hand, aside from the knob that stuck out to adjust the tension.

Charles put his hand on Jacob’s shoulder. “You’ve done a good thing here. Pack it up and take it down to the hospital. Those people need some good news.”

Jacob tripped and cursed before Charles caught his arm. “Careful now. We don’t want to be in need of the hospital’s services by the time we get there.”

Jacob glanced back at the metal plate in the street he’d tripped on. A simple square seemed an odd shape for a sewer cover.

“You know what those holes in the street are for?” Charles asked.

“The sewers, you mean?” Jacob said. “Everybody knows that.”

“No,” Charles said. “I mean the holes covered with squares of steel.” He pointed out another of the hinged doors in the street as they walked by it. “Like the one you tripped on.”

It looked rusty, and Jacob had serious doubts that anyone could open it. “What are they?”

“There’s a train track under the streets.”

“What?” Jacob asked, and he couldn’t keep the laugh out of his voice. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Before the war, it served the trade routes. Once the fighting began in earnest, we used it to smuggle goods beneath the walls. Not everyone in Dauschen was against us, even if they were allied with the desert cities. That’s when the bridge was built across the mountain pass.”

“Really?” Jacob asked, the laughter gone from his voice. He knew Dauschen had been a powerful enemy in the Deadlands War, but they’d slowly helped build up a trade alliance in the decades after the war. Jacob had seen that track more times than he could count, but he always assumed it wound around the mountain and went somewhere else. If what Charles said was actually true, that meant the tracks didn’t go around the mountain, they ran straight into the cliff face and under the city. “The tracks are still there?”

Charles nodded. “Through doors like those, and down into the catacombs.”

Jacob adjusted the backpack he was carrying that held the mechanical arm. “Can we go down one? After we finish at the hospital?”

“Do you have a key?” Charles asked.

“No,” Jacob said. “You need a key?”

“Yes, most of the catacombs have been locked for the better part of a decade.”

“There has to be some way down,” Jacob said. He stepped around a woman in a fine cream gown, pushing a baby stroller. She spun a lace parasol in her hand and nodded to Jacob. He smiled before Charles grabbed him by the collar. “What?” he asked as he looked up.

“Food,” Charles said, handing a street vendor two coppers. “Two plain.”

“Here you are,” the vendor said. He handed Charles two long, thin pieces of bread.

“What is that?” Jacob asked.

“Saltbread.” Charles stuffed the end of one piece into his mouth and handed Jacob the other.

Jacob hesitated, and then took a bite. He
was
hungry, after all. The bread was slightly chewy with a thin crust all around it, and the salt crunched on the outside. “This is great!” He promptly stuffed half the saltbread into his mouth.

“Can’t get it in the Lowlands,” Charles said. “It’s an old recipe they keep guarded.”

They passed a man in a finely cut suit, perfectly cleaned. He raised the edge of his lip and exhaled in disgust. “Lowland filth. They should have left them outside the wall.”

“What the hell?” Jacob said as he slowed his pace. The man kept walking as though nothing out of the ordinary had been said.

Charles grabbed Jacob’s arm and ushered him along. “Ignore them. You’ll find many Highborns who don’t sympathize with the plight of the Lowlands. For all we know, that man may own one of the inns that are sheltering so many of the Lowlanders, commanded by Parliament to do so. Many people here have influence and power, and sometimes it’s best not to antagonize them.”

It didn’t feel right to Jacob, and the man’s snide words gnawed at him. He finished the saltbread, and once that distraction was no more, he realized he was actually nervous. “Is this a good idea? It just doesn’t seem like enough.”

“Do not doubt yourself,” Charles said.

Jacob took a deep breath as he walked through the front door of the hospital. It was still light outside, but most of the people in the front seemed to be asleep.

“They’ve had a long couple days,” Charles said.

Jacob nodded and led Charles past the thin linen divider. He smiled when he saw Reggie against the left wall beside Bobby’s bed, both snoring. Jacob looked to his right and the boy stared back. His mother slouched at his side, and the heavy bags under her eyes told Jacob how exhausted she was.

“Hi,” Jacob said, sliding off his backpack and setting it on the foot of the bed. “I saw your hand.”

The boy slowly moved his injured arm under the blanket.

“How could you?” his mother said. She started to stand up.

“No, no, no,” Jacob said as he hurried to open his backpack. Charles made a placating gesture to the mother, and Jacob was relieved as she eased herself back into the chair. “Here, look.”

He held up the gloved mechanical arm. The black leather looked slick in the bright lanterns of the hospital.

“What is it?” the boy asked. His arm slipped out of the blanket as he grew more interested in what Jacob was holding up.

“It’s, umm … it’s to help you.” Jacob peeled the edge of the glove back to reveal the brace.

“How far down is your arm cut, son?” Charles asked.

The boy held up his injured arm and pointed to a spot about two inches below his wrist.

Charles eyed the ties of the brace and nodded. “It should be safe to try it on, but I wouldn’t wear it too much until you heal up a bit more.”

Jacob held the brace up. “Want to?”

The boy nodded.

“Slide your arm in and I’ll tie it up.”

The boy winced as he bumped his wrist against the brace. Jacob heard the mother inhale sharply, but she didn’t stop them. Once the boy had his arm all the way in, Jacob pulled the ties and buckled the strap farthest from the injury, close to the boy’s elbow.

“Okay, once you’re healed, there are two more straps you can tighten. It’ll make it more stable. Now turn that knob.”

The boy reached over with his left hand and began twisting it. He smiled when the hand began to open.

Jacob looked around and found a glass on the bedside table. “Here,” he said, holding it out. “Put your hand up next to it and pull that second lever.”

The boy did, and the fingers slowly closed around the glass. Jacob let go.

The glass stayed in the hand.

“Oh my goodness,” the mother said.

Jacob glanced at her to find her hand over her mouth and tears in her eyes. It surprised him.

“It’s amazing,” the boy said. He tugged the glove down to cover everything but the knob. He smiled and took a drink from the glass. “You can’t even tell I don’t have a hand.”

“You don’t have to hide it,” Jacob said.

The boy twisted the knob and gently set the glass on his bedside table. “What’s the other lever do?”

Jacob didn’t press him any more about hiding his hand. “It releases all the tension and makes a fist. Go ahead and … Wait, don’t do that. It may give your arm a jolt.”

“It’s so amazing.” He looked up and smiled. “Thank you. What’s your name?”

“I’m Jacob. The old guy is Charles.”

Charles harrumphed and the boy’s mother laughed.

“My name’s Peter.”

“That’s my dad’s name too,” Jacob said.

“You have any problems with that,” Charles said with a nod to Peter’s arm, “bring it over to the house next door to the sweets shop. We’ll fix you right up. Come on, Jacob. Let’s go.”

Peter’s mom stood up and hugged them both. “Thank you.”

Charles nodded and Jacob gave her an awkward smile while she hugged him again.

They walked out the door and back into the busy street.

Charles looked at Jacob for a moment before he said, “Hold your head up high, kid. You did a good thing in there.”

Jacob thought he might never stop smiling.

A week passed before the terror of the invasion had subsided enough for boredom to set in. Jacob couldn’t get the thought of the old catacombs out of his head. He watched Charles tinkering with an old watch on the makeshift workbench. The old man still had his goggles. Jacob tried not to laugh when one of the lenses got stuck and Charles had both his hands over his head, trying to loosen the hinge.

Charles raised an eyebrow. “You could give an old man a hand instead of laughing at him.”

“How long are you going to work on that watch?” Jacob asked. He untied a leather roll, spread it out, and slid a tiny screwdriver from one of its slots.

“It’s almost done,” Charles said, putting his arms down.

Jacob leaned in and started fiddling with the hinge on Charles’s lenses. “Looks like there’s something stuck in here.” He used the blade of the screwdriver to pick at a small metal object. It finally started rattling around a bit. “Try taking them off and shaking them. I think it’s loose.”

Charles did, and dumped a tiny screw into his hand. “Hmm, that’s odd. I guess it worked its way out.” Charles set the lens to the side. “I’ll put it back together later. Now, as I was saying, the watch is almost done. Then we can get back to making another arm.”

Jacob grinned. Charles obviously knew exactly what he’d been thinking.

Word of Jacob’s mechanical hand had spread. Three tinkers had come by to see the boy who had built the hand. A few people had come asking to buy a hand of their own. One man hoped to have a leg made for his son so he wouldn’t be stuck with a peg leg.

“Are we going to try building that leg tonight?” Jacob asked.

“Oh yes,” Charles said. “I think we’ll get some dinner first, though.”

“Fine,” Jacob said, not wanting to stop for something as trivial as food, but also not wanting to listen to his mom if he skipped dinner. Jacob leaned over the plans Charles had sketched out on the back of an old yellow parchment. He still didn’t understand all the markings and symbols, but he figured he could ask Charles about them while they ate. “Fine, let’s have some dinner.”

Charles smiled and screwed the watchcase back together.

Bat served up another feast, and Jacob couldn’t remember ever having eaten so much food.

“Seconds?” Bat asked, holding a bowl of buttered mashed potatoes out to Jacob.

Jacob groaned and shook his head.

“He means ‘No, thank you,’” Jacob’s father said. His dad’s pale complexion hadn’t changed in the past week.

Jacob’s mom started clearing the dishes. “So, what are the inventors up to tonight?”

“Don’t worry about those, Mags,” Bat said. “I’ll get the dishes.”

“We’re uninvited guests. It’s the least we can do.”

Jacob recognized the tone of his mother’s voice. She was having none of it. It looked like Bat recognized it too, because he eased himself back into his chair and stayed quiet.

“Well?” Jacob’s mom said.

Charles finished chewing his last bite of braised pork and leaned back. “I’m planning to throw your son off one of the towers if the city guard will let us up there.”

“Really?” Jacob said, unable to hide his excitement.

Jacob’s mom rolled her eyes as she picked up Charles’s plate.

“You finished the harness?” Samuel asked. “For the backpack glider?”

Charles nodded as he wiped his glasses on the edge of a tan cloth.

“You’re serious?” Jacob’s mom said, her voice rising in pitch. “I’ll not have you throwing my boy off a tower. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Come on, Mom. Charles has thrown the glider off the observatory like a hundred times.”

Samuel handed his plate to Jacob’s mom and smiled. “It’s true. I’ve seen it. Nothing but sacks of grain to weigh it down, either. No pilot, and it still landed softly.”

Charles leaned forward. “The wind pressure changes with altitude. I added some switches that compensate for any sudden changes. I wouldn’t say it’s self-guiding, but it does a good job of not crashing.” Charles smiled and crossed his legs after scooting his chair back a bit.

Jacob could tell the old man was proud of his invention, and he had a right to be. Jacob looked up at his mom, and she scowled at Charles.

“What do you think, Dad?” Jacob tried not to look like he was pleading for his father to support him, but everyone knew that was exactly what was happening.

His father glanced at his mother. He sighed and adjusted the blanket around his shoulders before looking to Charles. “Is it safe?”

Charles hesitated, giving the question a great deal of thought. “It is one of my safest inventions. I would think it more dangerous for Jacob to be in the mines than piloting the glider.”

Jacob’s dad nodded slowly. “I think that’s fine.” He looked to Jacob’s mom. “Let the boys have their fun. For the sake of your mother, though, why don’t you try it here first? Maybe from the second floor?”