The Unraveling, Volume One of The Luminated Threads: A Steampunk Fantasy Romance (32 page)

“But they have managed to coordinate the Borderlands Protective Chain, the Gateways and the Proofs. They set up the trade system with Outside and the trains to do it.”

“I’d hazard a guess most Basin dwellers see the Outside protections as only what’s due them. Maybe because of increased trade and jobs a few of the Farmlands’ collectives have the harmony the Creator calls for, but I dare say none exists in the Wildlands. And sometimes even Mistress Gere doesn’t succeed, like expecting a species of wilder beasts like the ropens to conform to her rules.”

Daeryn rubbed his forehead. That was a bad slip on her part. “It’s hard for a human Knack to know ’cambire ways, much as Miz Gere tries. Placing Jac and I into conflict could have ended just as poorly as the ropen brawl. But we were already vested in Wellspring, so vested in upholding Miz Gere’s request.”

Rivley grinned. “So what worked is you each had a stronger desire to help Wellspring than to outdo the other.”

“Maybe that’s also the key to us succeeding.” Daeryn tapped his bloodstone. “We don’t back away from helping each other. Only one way to find out.”

Rivley unfolded his arms and extended his hand. “Even with one lesson completed, I can’t imagine this’ll be easy, but I’m in.”

“Like you say, ‘Nothing else to do.’”

chapter thirty-eight

Annmar startled when
Mary Clare leaned over her and whispered, “The surgeon, Mr. White, is here.”

Her eyes flew open, and the vision of an arm covered in crossed blue fibers dispersed. She’d had to work hard to hold this last image, though a strong limb, muscles bulging and tendons tight, graced the open page of her sketchbook. Who...? She glanced up. Wyatt stood across the room, his bandaged arm resting along the back of Henry’s chair.

Miriam stood by the door, informing a robust bespectacled man in a dark suit about each patient. Daeryn wasn’t mentioned. Annmar tried to find him, but oh, her eyes hurt.

Mary Clare pressed her sketchbook closed. “The vermin are arriving,” she whispered. “Daeryn went with Jac and James to hunt.”

Already? Annmar slid the book off her lap.

The surgeon started with Henry’s elbow and, after a cursory look, moved on to Maraquin. He dropped the sheet back in place and glanced at Miriam. “Cuts, not lacerations, both of them. Tight bandaging will do. A day’s rest to keep things healing. Any worse injuries?”

While Mr. White unwrapped Wyatt’s arm, Miriam pressed her lips together and stared at Annmar.

From nowhere, Rivley appeared. “I think it’s time Annmar left,” he whispered to Mary Clare.

Annmar’s limbs hung heavy in the worst exhaustion she’d ever felt. She couldn’t seem to gather a thought, let alone herself. They picked up her sketchbook and helped her out of the chair. Her head spun into pain after the few steps to the hall, but she didn’t want to sleep in the library. “My room, please,” Annmar whispered to them. Her room, closed and locked, would feel safer after… Every terrible thought she’d held at bay swamped her. Oh, it was like a penny dreadful story come true: A wild animal had tried to carry her off. A cry hiccupped from her throat, setting off more throbbing in her head.

Mary Clare hugged her closer. “Riv? She’ll sleep better there, away from this commotion.”

They practically carried her across the farmyard. “Rest for a moment before climbing,” Mary Clare said at the base of her stairs. “I think you’d best give Rivley permission to enter your room so he can help. You’re already holding on to him, so all you have to do is invite him in.”

She squeezed the arm tucked under hers. “Rivley, please come to my room.” The image formed in her head of the yellow walls and cozy bed. Her room. It had felt like hers from the first night, and safe, as Mistress Gere had promised.

But she hadn’t been able to fulfill her promise to keep Annmar safe outside her room. Annmar shuddered. This wasn’t Mistress Gere’s fault. It was Paet’s fault. Women disappeared in Derby, too. It could have happened on the street outside her boarding house. She just had to increase her precautions, like she’d heard the others say Mistress Gere was doing for Wellspring.

After all, Paet could be anywhere…
Oh, Lord, he could be here.
Though she wanted to search all around into the shadowy corners behind the machinery, her eyes wouldn’t obey. They barely opened. If Rivley and Mary Clare were this blurry, she’d never see Paet coming.
He could be in my room.

“Rivley?” She hated the squeak in her voice. “Would you check my room’s high rafter corners?”

He glanced up her stairs. “Your room is just as you left it.”

“Just check, Riv, please,” Mary Clare said. “We have no idea where that bastard is.”

She shivered, and Mary Clare hugged her even tighter.

“Shh, don’t say that,” said Rivley. “By now the constable is on his tail.”

Yes, because Daeryn, Rivley and the others jumped in to help her. They helped…they must care. She’d known them four days, yet they risked themselves to help, putting up more of a fight than strangers in Derby would. “They were able to go hunt, you said?” she mumbled into Mary Clare’s shoulder.

“I forgot,” Rivley said before she could answer. “Jac said to tell you thank you.”

“There.” Mary Clare held her at arms’ length. “You’ve done good to get that from Jac.”

Yes, so many positive things had happened over these few days. Why did she feel so terrible, as if all her energy had been sucked from her body? The spiraling stairs, or maybe just the effort of climbing, made her head pound more.

“Put something in your stomach before drinking Miriam’s herbal mixture.” Mary Clare handed her a slice of bread with jam.

Annmar ate it, and another. Some of her strength edged back, enough she didn’t protest when Mary Clare filled her tub, helped her in and out, then into a nightdress. Mary Clare had started up the tea warmer, and its engine hummed comfortingly, but its blue lights were missing.

Washed away under the gaslight, Annmar told herself, and stumbled to her bed ready to collapse. Mary Clare made her sit up and placed a mug of not-too-hot tea to her lips.

A minty fragrance steamed from it. When she sipped, her sinuses ignited. The sharp aroma watered her eyes. Annmar wiped her tears. “Where’s Rivley? Did he have a chance to look?”

“He did.” Mary Clare lifted the mug to her lips again. “Even cleaned out a few spiders for you. Riv?” She looked upward.

A faint fluttering sounded, and down from the rafters glided a bird, his wings arched. Over the mug rim, Annmar watched the blurry shape land on the back of a chair. She blinked to clear her vision. It didn’t work.

She couldn’t see. With her eyes or the Knack she’d come to rely on. No, this couldn’t be. She had just been using her Knack to draw. She was tired, that was all. Her head hurt. She’d wake up tomorrow and she’d be fine.

She’d have to be fine to stay at Wellspring. Annmar licked her lips. “It’s secure, right? Even though Mistress Gere is gone, the wards will hold?”

The hawk clicked. It sounded like a yes. Mary Clare said, “They will.”

Annmar closed her eyes and sipped the tea. Peppermint. A strange aftertaste followed, but the drink was warm and soothing. Her room was secure. Safe. Oh, she wanted to believe it, so much, but this…this
attack
. Her eyesight. Her eyes welled with tears. She squeezed them tight and drew a steadying breath. Yes, attacked, but also rescued. Then she helped her rescuers in return. She could be more than an Outsider. She’d never be a part of this kind of team in town. If Mary Clare believed in her against the odds of fitting in, Annmar had to honor that faith. She would do this.

Mary Clare took the mug and pulled her close. “Would you like me to stay with you?”

She sniffed and wiped at her face. “I’m afraid I’m not going to be good company. I’m developing a case of the weeps.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Annmar buried her head in the friendly shoulder. “Then, please? I’m more than used to sharing.”

Mary Clare laughed. “With six sisters, so am I.”

* * *

Her head throbbing,
Annmar tottered to the bathroom. She still couldn’t see right, and the light—morning?—hurt her eyes. Mary Clare had gone. She made it back to the bed, barely, and rolled under the covers. As she faded off, the mattress jostled, and something warm touched her shoulders. She sighed and nestled her head against the water bottle, or whatever Mary Clare had brought to ease her headache.

* * *

She fought to
escape him. A terrible pounding echoed through her head. “Let me go,” she cried. “Help!”

“Annmar?” called Mary Clare. “Wake up.”

She clutched Mary Clare’s hand and safety, shaking off the nightmare— “Oh, it hurts,” she cried.

“Creator, you look awful,” Mary Clare squealed. “Bruises on your cheek and your eyes puffy. Why didn’t you do anything about healing yourself?”

“Me?” Each word throbbed within her. “Can I?”

Mary Clare
tsked
, sounding like Mrs. Betsy. She said something else, but her words weren’t making sense. Annmar tried to focus on her face, but it fuzzed to the side and made her eyes water, so she closed them and sank into black pain.

All too soon, Mary Clare’s words broke through again. “You’ve got to leave.”

Sputtering and hissing erupted. An argument—

“Spit all you like, but you shouldn’t stay,” Mary Clare said. “You have no idea what she’ll do if she finds you here. I wash my hands of the responsibility.”

“Who?” Annmar blinked her eyes and struggled to sit up. Her vision wouldn’t clear, and she succeeded only in rolling over. A blur of brown fell to the floor, and Mary Clare bent over her.

“I have a poultice from Miriam to take down the swelling. First, eat a bite of bread, then drink the herbal she sent.” Mary Clare helped her sit and, after Annmar ate, held the mug to her lips.

Again, she drank the warm, minty tea. The aftertaste still curled her tongue, but the throbbing eased. She wrapped her fingers over Mary Clare’s and took another long drink. And another, doing what she was told until she was let back onto the pillow and a blessed warmth covered her aching face.

* * *

“Annmar?”

Some time later, Mary Clare’s voice came softly and from afar. Annmar turned her head. Pain sliced though her temples, and she cried out.

Mary Clare groaned. And growled?

No, the growl came from the cushion warming her shoulder. Growling cushions. She must be dreaming.

“You poor thing,” Mary Clare said. “I have another of Miriam’s poultices for your bruises.”

The warm cushion disappeared, and Mary Clare eased a warm, damp fabric onto her sore cheek. Strong herbal smells filled Annmar’s nostrils.

“Go back to sleep,” Mary Clare whispered, then settled the other cushion along her side

Annmar nestled into it and must have drowsed off, because the next thing she knew, Mary Clare was talking again.

“This is a fine mess with Miz Gere gone and Miriam not able to get in. She needs to see Annmar. Something else is wrong. I know it. I just don’t know what.”

A rumbling answered Mary Clare, nothing Annmar could make out. She blinked, but the movement set off a stab of pain. And the light…it hurt so much.

Then a man’s deep voice whispered, “He hit her. Slapped her face as I ran up. Did she tell Miriam?”

“She did, and we could still see the red marks. He must have done it more than once.”

More than once. Yes, and worse. Her heart raced as the awful memory of her head rattling was dredged up. “He…” Annmar cleared her dry throat. “He shook me. My head…”

Grr.

“Oh, honey. No wonder you’re having a time of it.” Mary Clare smoothed a hand across her brow. “I’ll tell Miriam. She’ll know what to do.”

Her footsteps across the room sounded as loud as a hammer pounding. Then the door closed with a
thunk.

Mary Clare would get something for the pain. From Miriam. Having a friend to count on, to take care of her, it was all so nice.

A tear seeped from the corner of her eye and trickled into her hair. Something beside her shifted. A rough-edged wetness wiped the next tear away, and a soft body pressed itself to her neck with tender gentleness. Annmar clutched the animal and hugged it as her tears fell.

* * *

Mary Clare returned
and propped her up with pillows. “You have to eat this.” She pushed a spoon to Annmar’s lips.

Annmar blinked, but opening her eyes was too painful.
Oh, Lord. How will I draw if I can’t see?
The lump in her throat made swallowing hard and hurt her head worse. After one bite of the gruel, she turned aside.

Mary Clare
tutted
. “Miz Gere is back from hunting down those ropens and let Miriam in. She’s making up your remedy, but says you need more substantial food in your stomach before taking the stronger herbs. Please eat.”

Keeping her eyes closed, Annmar accepted spoonful after spoonful of the oat porridge.

“You did right by healing everyone else,” Mary Clare said. “They’re all asking about you. Jac even slept the daylight hours in the sickroom to get reports and to catch Miz Gere. Though it’s all kept quiet. They’ve said naught, but they’ve romped around right as rain since that night.”

Her healing had worked for everyone. Thank heavens. And they were asking about her, Jac included? That by itself made Annmar feel better.

“It’s a good thing they can all work. We’re taking a bad hit from those gobblers, as Henry calls the vermin.”

Her innards clenched. The crop-eating vermin, or— “Paet?”

“No, that’s the other news. Miz Gere got the help of a tracker Knack. The constable and the tracker found Paet had taken a horse from the livery and chased him down. He’s torn up so bad he can’t fly, and now he’s locked up for theft, on top of trying to kidnap you. Maxillon gave the constable the slip, and no one in town saw the carriage they supposedly were taking you to.”

“Carriage?”

“Didn’t you know? Oh, dear. It lurked at the end of our road, carrying a man with a scarred hand.”

There had been a carriage…
Mr. Shearing has a scarred hand.
No, he couldn’t… Or
was
it possible for him to be here? Blinking away tears, Annmar clenched Mary Clare’s wrist. “Outsiders cannot get in the Basin, can they?”