The Peculiars (23 page)

There were footsteps in the hallway outside the door and a voice. “Open up in the name of the law!”

Abel giggled and cocked the hammer.

Lena closed her eyes and sank all the way to the floor.

A shot.

The door flew open. A deputy, black bowler cocked on the side of his head, burst into the room and pointed his revolver at Abel.

“I’m going to kill her unless you put your gun away,” Abel announced. “Maybe I’ll kill her anyway!” Again, he giggled.

Lena opened one eye. Jimson was directly in her line of vision. He was white, both fists clenched.

“Drop your gun, you filthy Peculiar.” The deputy didn’t waver.

“I can kill her now.” Abel sounded way too eager. Lena put her hands over her ears.

The deputy countered. “The marshal won’t care. He said she’s one of them too. It will be one less Peculiar for us to round up for Scree.”

Lena choked.

“You—” The word exploded from Jimson just as the back door burst open. Cold air rushed in.

Milo stood in the doorway with Mrs. Mumbles at his side. “What’s going on here?”

Abel started at the sound of the door, and as he turned, one of the deputies fired. Abel jerked, his arms spread wide as he tumbled backward. The shotgun, still clutched in his hand, fired as it hit the floor.

As the deputy dodged the random shot, Jimson grabbed Lena’s hand and dragged her through the door to the outside.

“Wait, Milo’s still in there!”

But Jimson didn’t wait. Mr. Beasley called from the roof. “Up here! Use the stairs past the garden!”

The snow had stopped falling, but the stairs to the widow’s walk were still covered with a fine powder. Jimson, with Lena in tow, ran through the garden to the base of the wooden stairs. They began to climb two steps at a time toward Mr. Beasley. From the north wing of the house, the other three deputies rounded the corner. Lena’s feet, numb with cold, slithered on the narrow treads. Her breath came in ragged gasps. Jimson supported her by one arm. Three floors to the roof, and there, just a few steps above them, was Mr. Beasley. He was leaning out from the most remarkable contraption Lena had ever seen.

“It’s the aerocopter!” Jimson shouted, but the words made no sense to her.

Mr. Beasley hung out the window of what appeared to be a gleaming red Concord coach detailed with yellow trim. A metal pole like a ship’s mast topped the roof with a circle of
wooden blades. Another, smaller, rotor was attached to one end of the coach. Crates and boxes were stacked inside and tied to the sides.

“Get in. Quickly now.” Mr. Beasley, in top hat and tails, reached for Lena’s arm.

Below, the three deputies had reached the base of the stairs. The laboratory door crashed open. Thomas Saltre appeared behind Leticia Pollet. She pointed toward the roof and raised her voice. “There they are! He’s escaping with the rest o’ the bad ones!”

Jimson hoisted Lena though the door of the coach and scrambled in behind her.

“She’s already fueled and waiting to go!” Mr. Beasley lowered a pair of goggles over his eyes. The blades on the end rotor began to whirl. Lena dropped onto a leather-tufted bench and found that Merilee was already seated, leaning against one wall of the coach. Once inside, Lena realized that what appeared to be the walls of a Concord coach was really painted fabric stretched over an interior frame. The snug interior space was filled by two leather benches that faced each other, with a metal boiler in between. It had been installed in place of the middle bench and radiated delicious heat.

“It’s the same coated fabric used by dirigibles,” Jimson told her proudly. “But Mr. Beasley modified the frame by using titantum.”

The coach rumbled and shook as the rotor blades whirred faster and faster. On one wall a gleaming instrument panel
displayed a variety of brass levers and knobs. “What do those do?” Lena asked.

“Altitude indicator, boiler-temperature dial, fuel gauge, steam-pressure valve.” Jimson pointed from one indicator to another so quickly it made Lena’s head spin.

Mr. Beasley spoke. “If my calculations are correct, when we reach the end of the ramp we will become airborne and experience sustained flight. Of course, there was no time for a practice run.”

Lena stuck her head out the window. A wooden ramp sloped all the way from the widow’s walk down onto the roof of the south wing. Lena had never noticed it before. It must have been installed when she heard the clattering and pounding on the roof.

Then she had a terrible thought. She turned to Mr. Beasley. “What about Mrs. Pollet?”

“The marshal believes she’s nothing more than a housekeeper. And that’s what she is. She’ll be fine until we send for her. That’s been the plan all along. It’s why she’s playing at turning us in.” His voice was pitched to a shout above the whirring blades. As the spinning rotor accelerated, Mr. Beasley used two hands to pull up on a lever.

The aerocopter lurched forward. Lena grabbed on to the window frame. Jimson braced his arms on the window opening as he leaned the entire top half of his body out one window.

“We’re moving. It’s takeoff!” he shouted.

“Get yourself back inside,” Mr. Beasley shouted in return. “They may not be the best shots, but it’s better not to give them a clear target!”

Mr. Beasley’s last words were drowned when, with a sudden lurch, the coach rolled forward and shot down the ramp on rumbling wheels. As they hurtled forward, Lena stuck her head out the window just in time to see the end of the roof approaching. Beyond, the ramp dropped off into nothingness. At Lena’s side, Merilee Pollet worried a wooden rosary as she mumbled prayers. Merilee’s eyes were shut, but Lena couldn’t look away. They were about to shoot straight off the roof!

Mr. Beasley held on to his top hat with one hand. “Don’t worry! The upper blades are spinning as a result of the head wind! That should keep us aloft! But it may be wise to brace for impact just in case.”

A shot rang out from the marshal’s gun below and glanced off the roof of Zephyr House. Lena dropped flat on the bench and peered over the window frame. Freezing air stung her face. Far below, Thomas Saltre threw his head back, the bowler tumbling behind. Above the noise of the wheels, over the faint roar of the sea, Lena could have sworn she heard him laughing.

And then the clattering of the wheels stopped. There was another terrible lurch, and they dropped. Lena’s stomach rose. She pressed her hand to her mouth. Never mind the marshal and his deputies; they would be crushed on the ground like insects.

Merilee screamed.

And then the rotor caught. With a jerk their descent stopped as wind spun the blades. The coach shuddered side to side, and Lena found herself on top of Merilee.

Jimson whooped and hollered.

Mr. Beasley gave a grunt of satisfaction. “I believe that the titantum was the key. It kept the frame and the boiler light enough, but I really didn’t know for sure.”

EVERYONE WAS SILENT. WITHOUT THE CLATTER OF THE WHEELS,
Lena could hardly believe they were moving. But when she gathered her courage and looked down, she discovered that they had gained altitude and were traveling south at a shocking rate of speed. There was nothing supporting them other than air. And that thought made her feel so funny that she pulled her head back inside.

“Aren’t we going the wrong way?” Jimson asked. He had not, Lena noticed, stopped smiling since they took off.

“Not for long!” Mr. Beasley was adjusting a brass-and-wood handle that protruded from the instrument panel. “We steer by a rudder. A nice wide arc and we’ll be heading north. This device”—he gestured to a long brass lever—“is the cyclic control. It lets me adjust the pitch of the blades.”

“But what makes the top rotor spin?” Lena asked. “It looks like the steam pipe only goes to the rotor in the back.”

“Smart girl! This”—he pointed—“is the fuel tank. It’s filled with kerosene. It heats the water in the boiler. The water turns to steam and powers the rotor. The top rotor spins by aerodynamic forces. It doesn’t need a motor, only enough air moving through it. That’s why we needed a running start.”

“It’s amazing!” Jimson eyed Mr. Beasley’s hand on the rudder. “May I fly it?”

“All in good time. You’ll be doing everything from manning the gauges and filling the fuel tank to steering.”

Lena noticed that Merilee hadn’t said a word. The general ebullience seemed to have missed her, and Lena wondered if she feared for her mother. “Merilee, it’s just like Mr. Beasley said, the marshal and his deputies have no idea that your mother is a Peculiar.” She hesitated. “They believe she’s just a housekeeper who was willing to help them.”

Silent tears spilled from Merilee’s hazel eyes, and she shook her head from side to side. “And what about the others?”

Of course Merilee wouldn’t know that Abel had been shot. Lena darted a quick look at Jimson, who was suddenly subdued.

“One of the deputies shot Abel when he was holding Lena hostage. Abel was threatening to shoot Lena.” Jimson’s tone was bald, matter-of-fact, but his eyes, Lena noticed, were clouded with trouble.

Mr. Beasley’s sigh was deep and ponderous. “I’ve been afraid something like that might happen.”

Merilee made a small whimpering sound.

Mr. Beasley continued. “Abel was a bitter man. After his father was killed in the mines, he let his bitterness take hold and it grew until there was little else left. He wasn’t the boy I once knew. I hoped I could help him, but he was never able to contain his impulses, most of which were violent. It’s a terrible tragedy.” He paused and removed his goggles, dabbing at his eyes. “I do believe that he would have been happier in Scree. He always volunteered for the most dangerous jobs, like helping the prisoner on the train escape.”

“Was he a Peculiar?” Lena felt strange saying the word out loud in front of Merilee.

But it was Merilee who answered. “Abel and his brothers are goblins.”

“But—” A cold wave of nausea passed over Lena. She felt Jimson’s eyes on her.

“And what about Milo?” Jimson asked to change the subject. “He came just in time to save us.”

“Milo has been around the world a time or two. He knew all about my business at Zephyr House, but he managed to keep himself apart from it. If anyone can land on his feet, it’s Milo.”

“And what about Mrs. Mumbles?” Jimson continued. “Do you know, I think it was the cat that brought Milo to us at the right time!”

Mr. Beasley laughed. “Never underestimate a feline. They understand much more than we give them credit for. Especially
Mumbles. She’ll be company for Mrs. Pollet. She likes the cat more than she lets on.”

Despite the warmth from the boiler, a cold wind whisked in through the glassless windows. Merilee shivered.

“If we draw the curtains, it will be a little warmer,” Lena offered.

“Not yet. I’ve stashed blankets under the seats.” Mr. Beasley reached under his bench and pulled out a plaid wool blanket. “There should be one for each of us . . . Well, what do we have here? A stowaway!” Along with the blankets Mr. Beasley lifted up Mrs. Mumbles by the scruff of her neck. “I guess she’s more of an adventurer than I thought!”

“Mumbles!” Jimson exclaimed, reaching for the animal. But the cat ignored him and jumped from Mr. Beasley’s arms to Merilee’s lap, where she contented herself by circling once and settling down in a tight coil.

Lena handed a blanket to Merilee and then wrapped herself up as if she were on a familiar carriage ride rather than sailing through the sky.

She covered Merilee’s hand with her own. The tall girl was tentatively looking out the window as the aerocopter banked into the wide turn that would bring them northward. “Where will we be going?” Merilee asked.

“Now, that part of the plan hadn’t quite been finalized.” Mr. Beasley looked abashed. “I did hope we had at least another day. Thomas Saltre will have a watch over all the borders. Crossing the border away from the road is my first plan. Then
we need to proceed deep enough into Scree to be away from search parties. All my mining interests will be watched, so we can’t go there.”

He reached under the seat again. “I do have one more provision for our journey. Miss Mattacascar, your purse!” With a flourish he held aloft Lena’s purse that had been stolen on the trip to Knoster. “Abel gave it to me some days ago. With all the brouhaha, I never had time to give it to you.”

Lena reached for her bag. “I can’t believe it.” She opened the drawstring and looked inside. The money was gone, but she had expected that. She felt for the slit in the silk lining and inserted two fingers. The papers were still there. With a great sigh of relief she pulled them out. Then she removed her shawl. She looked at Jimson and Mr. Beasley. “Please avert your eyes.”

Jimson’s eyebrows rose, but he did as he was asked. And Mr. Beasley followed suit.

Lena unbuttoned her jacket and opened the small jet buttons on her dress. She reached inside and found the folded letter pinned to her chemise. She withdrew it, leaving the money in place, and did up the buttons. “Perhaps this will be of some help.” She extended the letter and then the folded papers from her purse to Mr. Beasley. “For my eighteenth birthday, my father left me a letter, which I’ve kept close to my heart. He also left me a small inheritance, which I kept in the lining of my purse. They are a map and a deed to the Mattacascar family mine.”