The Peculiars (26 page)

Lena heard Merilee rustling as she struggled to find a comfortable position. In the distance the wolf cries rose again. Lena tried to scrape Merilee’s description from her mind.

“And what about you, Lena? Why’d you come north in the first place?”

The boiler ticked as it cooled. Lena drew her legs up to her chest to conserve the warmth. “For an adventure, I guess. To find the mine my father left me.” Even in the dark, she couldn’t be as open as Merilee; there were some things better left unsaid.

“I thought you might mean to find out if you’re like me—half Peculiar.”

“Your father wasn’t a Peculiar, was he?” The word kept
sticking in her throat, left a sour taste in her mouth. “How then were the wings passed on?”

“No, he wasn’t. But he loved us just the same. He didn’t have to go to Scree with us when we were sent, but he did. Did your father get sent away?”

Lena felt like a piece of fruit, each question peeling part of her away, exposing more of the apple-white flesh beneath. “No. He left because he wanted to.” It was the first time she had spoken that truth out loud. “He said that he had no talent for normal life.”

Merilee was silent for some time, but Lena could hear her breathing on the other side of the coach. “I’m sorry for that. Maybe you’ll find him up here. Maybe there’s some reason he left, that he didn’t tell you.”

“I don’t think so. I think he just grew tired of us.”

SOMETHING REELED LENA IN FROM HER DREAMS. SHE SAT UP,
aware of a stiffness in her neck and of moonlight on snow. Merilee had been right. A thin white blanket now stretched across the rocky soil. The world was eerily silent, the drone of the wind gone, and into that silence came a faint noise—a snuffling, a slathering that made Lena’s heart grow cold. She parted the curtain. In the distance the silhouette of a large beast loomed black against the snow. It was the wolf of nightmares or fairy tales, twice as large as any wolf should be. But the snuffling and pawing came from somewhere closer.

“Merilee!” There was no response from the seat across from Lena. She raised her voice. “Merilee, wake up!”

A rustling and murmuring in the darkness.

“The wolves are here!”

“Where?” Merilee’s voice was alert now.

“I can see one in the distance, and I hear one right outside.”

“Right outside?” Merilee’s voice was rising with panic.

As her words hung in the air, a howl rose like a summons.

Through the window Lena saw a great wolf no more than a foot from the Aeolus. The creature’s muzzle was pointed skyward. On the far edge of the clearing, three more wolves trotted into view. And as the howl continued, the wolves began to run, bounding across the vast expanse of white toward the Aeolus and the small tent pitched just yards away. Frozen with fear, Lena watched their progression. The flap of the tent lifted. Jimson’s tousled head protruded, followed by Mr. Beasley’s, a striped stocking cap pulled over his bald head.

“Here, Lena.” Merilee thrust the air rifle at her. “I’m no good with guns. It’s already loaded.”

With shaking hands Lena gripped the long rifle, butting the stock into her shoulder as Mr. Beasley had shown.

She watched as Mr. Beasley stepped out of the tent, a revolver grasped in two hands. At her side, Merilee trembled. The wolves were just yards from the tent now. As Mr. Beasley raised the gun to fire, a streak of orange flew from the tent. Mrs. Mumbles launched herself at the head of the lead beast.

Lena heard the crack of a shot. The second wolf faltered, but the others didn’t slow. Mrs. Mumbles clung to the wolf’s head. Lena sighted down the rifle, knowing she had little chance of hitting the wolf and that if by luck she did, she might hit Mrs. Mumbles as well. Her arms shook. Then she remembered Mr. Beasley’s demonstration. As the lead wolf shook Mrs. Mumbles from his head, jaws snapping, Lena
rammed the lever on the air rifle forward. An earsplitting squeal pierced the night. As if they had hit an invisible wall, the wolves tumbled to a stop, turned, and fled into the distance.

Lena’s own ears felt as if they might bleed. Mrs. Mumbles lay like a cast-off fur coat in the snow. Jimson rushed from the tent to scoop her up. Lena turned to see Merilee’s lips moving, but her ears were not working. Instead of words, Lena heard a strange whining.

With a blanket wrapped around her, she struggled from the coach. Had the cat really tried to defend them? And had she survived? The cold bit at Lena’s cheeks as she ran forward, trying not to stumble over the draped blanket. Jimson cradled the cat. As Mr. Beasley reached his side, Mrs. Mumbles stirred in Jimson’s arms and then leapt nimbly to Mr. Beasley’s shoulder.

“Brilliant! You were brilliant!” Mr. Beasley had to shout before Lena could hear him above the persistent whine. “I never would have thought of that solution!”

“I’ve never shot anything before, and I was afraid of hitting Mrs. Mumbles. This seemed the easiest thing to do!” She didn’t add that there had been something exhilarating about using the gun, even if she hadn’t actually fired it. Nana Crane’s face rose in her mind, nodding smugly. Lena felt her heart sink, but when she looked at Jimson, his face was split by a crooked grin.

“You are the bravest girl I have ever met!” Jimson’s words
spread a rush of warmth through Lena, and she felt her face flush with pleasure.

“And I’ve never seen a cat do anything like that. Aren’t normal cats supposed to be afraid of dogs and wolves?” Jimson asked as he reached to scratch Mrs. Mumbles behind her ears.

“She’s not your ordinary cat,” Mr. Beasley said, a note of fondness creeping into his voice. “She’s a Scree-cat. One of my patients at Zephyr House left her as a parting gift when Mumbles was still a juvenile. I’m not sure I appreciated it at the time.”

Merilee cocked her head and squinted at Mrs. Mumbles, who was pressing her head into Jimson’s scratching fingers. “Scree-cats don’t tame easy. You can’t pick them; they have to pick you. We tried to tame one once when I was little. Wouldn’t have anything to do with us, and then we found it living with a family down the road. They’re fierce, loyal, and not afraid of anything.”

“We’ve always had cats to keep the mice away. Never paid much attention to them,” Jimson confessed. Mrs. Mumbles pulled her head away from his hand and twitched as if she understood everything that had just been said.

“It’s only two a.m.,” said Mr. Beasley. “I suggest a bit more sleep for us all. We’ll need to be well rested for today’s journey.”

Back in the Aeolus, Lena was sure that she was done with sleep. The Girandoni lay on the floor within easy reach. Merilee’s breathing grew easy and regular, but behind Lena’s closed eyes, wolves snarled. She bunched her shawl into a
makeshift pillow under her head. She never felt brave, but Jimson’s words made her smile in the dark.

Overhead a crow clicked from the branches of an Austrian pine. A burst of pounding echoed off the mountains. Lena leaned out the coach window. Scree was silver in the early-morning light. Snow crusted the pine boughs and capped the boulders on the lake shore. Mr. Beasley and Jimson were bent over the loose wheel, whacking it back into place with a large rock.

Lena seemed to be the last one up, even though the sun had barely breached the horizon. As she made her way to the lake shore, she was stopped by the sight of giant paw prints. A surge of adrenaline brought her fully awake as she recalled the wolves’ fearsome howls. But there was nothing to be seen in the distance now, save for the snow-draped mountains of Scree. Running a tortoiseshell comb through snarls of hair, Lena clipped the locks back away from her face. Then she cupped icy water in her bare hands and buried her face in it. A crow landed overhead, dislodging a tumble of snow. It fell in an icy clump on her neck and Lena straightened, shaking it off like a dog rising from the water.

“There’s hot water for tea and some bread and jam. But we need to move quickly. I want us to be on our way before the sun’s completely up. And it will take some work to get the Aeolus into the right positioning for takeoff.” Even though Mr. Beasley had stayed awake the rest of the night
watching over their camp, he now moved with energy and purpose.

“We’ve enough kerosene to get us some miles east by nightfall. One more night and we should be nearing the location on your map, Lena. We’ll stay well away from the outposts.” He dipped a chunk of bread in his tea. Lena noticed that even though their conditions were primitive, his eyebrows were again carefully painted in place.

“What if the mine is being watched?” Jimson tipped the tin cup high to drain the last of his tea.

“That’s a chance I’m prepared to take,” Mr. Beasley replied. “I believe it’s remote enough that even the Pony Express would have a difficult time making it there before us. I seriously doubt anyone knows exactly where we’re headed. They’re more likely to search the outposts.”

“But what about the marshal, Lena? Does he know about your father’s mine?” Merilee’s faced was scrunched with worry.

Lena considered before answering. “I’ve wondered about that too, but I don’t think so. At least, he never let on that he did. He seemed genuinely surprised I was going to Scree. Even my mother and Nana Crane never mentioned a family mine. I don’t think my father ever told anyone about it.” She absently rubbed one hand down the length of her thigh and stared into the distance. “There’s a chance the marshal’s father knew. The marshal said his father tracked mine for years. But there’s no way to know for sure.”

As they finished the makeshift breakfast, Mr. Beasley
described the process they would use to launch the aerocopter. “We have enough open field and slope to build up the necessary speed for launch. If we can reposition the Aeolus near the top of the meadow facing southward, we can take advantage of the natural slope of the land.”

Lena eyed the hill above them and noted how close they were to the edge of the hillside. If the Aeolus didn’t stay on course, they would never be found among the sharp rocks below. Jimson was on his feet in an instant. “If we all help push, we can be off right away, before we have to worry about the Pony Express. We’ll have to push her at least a hundred yards.”

With the four of them pushing and tugging, they managed to move the aerocopter higher up the hillside and then stood panting in the thin meadow grass. Below them the small lake sparkled, reminding Lena of one of Nana Crane’s glittering rings.

“All aboard!” Mr. Beasley called as he donned his top hat and goggles.

Despite a healthy dose of fear, the journey secretly thrilled Lena. Looking at Jimson, she suspected he felt the same way. Of course, no normal woman would relish sleeping in her clothes or flying in a homemade contraption into a land of criminals and opportunists. She tried to smooth the wrinkles in her skirt. Jimson hadn’t once tried to catch her eye that morning. Perhaps being brave was not highly desirable in women. Normal women would have fled, like Pansy. And that,
she was sure, was exactly why Jimson was engaged to Pansy. She was dainty; she was conventional; she would make a fine wife. She was everything Lena was not.

Lena stepped into the coach and dropped onto the bench. Already the boiler pipe was putting out a comfortable amount of heat as water gurgled into steam. She watched from the window as a V of black-throated geese glided onto the lake, sending up a spray of silver. The rotor whirred faster. Mr. Beasley checked the steam-pressure gauge and adjusted the tilt of the top rotor.

Jimson climbed in last, settling next to Mr. Beasley. Mrs. Mumbles sat upright at his side, her long tail switching slowly back and forth.

“On the count of three.” Mr. Beasley looked over at Jimson. “One . . . two . . . three.”

Jimson released the brake lever, and the coach began to move, wheels bumping over the uneven ground.

Lena hung her head outside the coach window. They picked up speed, faster and faster. The air stung her cheeks. Mr. Beasley clenched the steering rudder with two hands as they clattered down the shallow grade.

“There’s someone in the trees!” The words had barely left Merilee’s mouth when the geese lifted from the lake flapping and honking.

“Two someones!” Jimson leaned across Merilee to the window. “And they’ve got—” A shot cracked the air, followed by another.

“Get down!” Mr. Beasley held tightly as the coach shuddered. “We’re almost up. Are they in uniform?”

“No, they’re in buckskin coats and—”

Again the crack of gunshots as the coach wobbled into the air with a great roaring.

“Bounty hunters, most likely,” Mr. Beasley stated.

Crouched down, Lena snuck a look out the window. They were eight or ten feet up; already the lake was yards behind them. The two men were quickly diminishing. But something was pouring from the side of the Aeolus. “We’re leaking!” A smell strong enough to make Lena’s eyes water filled the coach.

“We’re what?” Mr. Beasley leaned over her. “Drat! It’s kerosene. Our fuel barrels have been hit!”

The liquid continued to rain down at an alarming rate.

“Can’t we do something?” Lena’s voice rose to a squeak.

“I’m afraid there is nothing we can do unless we want to land and have the bounty hunters upon us. If they hit the boiler, it would explode, boiling us all like lobsters.”