Aether Spirit (28 page)

He swallowed the acid back down to his stomach at the thought.

A group of three or four people approached on the path from the fort, and Patrick shaded his eyes. He identified Nanette, Private Derry, and two other soldiers whose names he didn’t know. They carried steam rifles.

“Who is it?” Bryce asked.

“The first of the field teams, I think. That nurse Nanette is with them, so it must be one of the medical ones.” Something told him to head in the opposite direction, and he paused.

“Are you all right?” Bryce asked.

“Let’s go this way,” Patrick said and struck off the path. He wished he’d insisted Bryce go back with the wagon because the lad moved slowly.

Nanette and her group changed their direction as well to intercept them.

“Go on to the base,” he told Bryce. “I’m going to head them off.”

“Why? Aren’t they on our side?”

“I don’t know. Just go!”

Bryce disappeared over a hillock, and Patrick stopped and waited for Nanette to approach him. She had a satchel over her shoulder.

“What can I do for you, Nurse? That wouldn’t happen to be a bag of the missing drugs, would it?”

“You’re too clever, and you’re coming with us, Mister O’Connell.” She raised her rifle and sighted him. “General Lee wants an aether weapon of his own.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Fort Daniels, 3 March 1871

Claire stalked away from Radcliffe. That stupid man. He acted like she couldn’t handle herself, like she hadn’t managed to almost escape from an asylum in Paris and get a medical degree in spite of being an experiment. She needed to go look for Patrick. She owed him that much for taking on the risk of manning the weapon during the battle. Not that anyone would have let her do it, her being a “weak woman”.

And would she have wanted to?

She bumped into Beth on her way out of the hospital and remembered she’d neglected Bryce, she’d been so busy. The few times she’d snuck away to see him, it had been after she knew Radcliffe would be done at the hospital, and Bryce had been asleep.

“How’s Bryce?” Claire asked. “He didn’t overextend himself trying to help, did he?”

“Not as far as I know,” the nurse told her. “I was busy like everyone else.”

“Where is he now? I’ll come back and spend the evening with him, maybe eat with him.”

“Well…” Beth looked around and drew closer to Claire. “He so desperately wanted to do something, Doctor Perkins let him ride out on the wagon that went to retrieve the aether gun.”

The sick sensation in Claire’s middle could only be her heart sinking into her stomach. “The wagon is back. Bryce wasn’t on it.”

Beth’s rosy cheeks paled. “What? Are you sure?”

“Yes. What could have happened to him?”

“I don’t know, but now I’m worried.”

“Me too.” Claire’s horrified expression mirrored Beth’s.

I’m not so helpless I can’t go look for my cousin.

“I’ll find him.”

She walked back to her room at a pace slow enough not to arouse suspicion or interest but fast enough that it didn’t take her long. When she entered, she found Calla turning down the bed.

“Oh, there you are! Are you ready to sleep? You must be exhausted, but the whole base is talking about how successful
La Reine
was.”

Claire almost said no, she wasn’t going to bed, but getting undressed would be quicker if she had help, so she nodded. Calla helped her out of her dress and corset and wrinkled her nose at the blood.

“I’ll just send these to the laundry, but you may need to replace them. Oh, and the recovery teams managed to extract your clothes from the General’s House, what’s left of it. They arrived from the laundry today. And your trunk is here too.”

“Thanks.”

Oh, that’s a relief. Go away, go away, go away.

“Oh, you’re tired. Well, then, good night, Doctor.”

“Good night, Calla. I’ll get the door.”

Claire shut the door behind the girl and stripped off her nightgown. She dug around in her trunk—dented and dusty, but intact—and found what she was looking for. She wondered what Martine would think, her still using his clothing to go someplace a woman had no business being. He’d appreciated her help in the men’s clubs in Vienna. She’d been able to steer him toward the other young men looking for someone like him and away from the government spies who only had ill intent toward those who didn’t conform to traditional relationship standards.

She dressed quickly and tucked her hair up into a hat. She’d find Bryce and Patrick. They could both be exhausted and hysterical from pain by now and wandering about lost. She piled some of her clothing under her blankets so it would look like she slept to anyone who peeked into her room and let herself out through the window.

* * * * *

Chad met his team in the courtyard and noticed Nanette wasn’t with them. Where had she gone?

Or did he have to ask?

He would have given almost anything to be wrong. The betrayal of a colleague, one whom he’d trusted with his patients’ lives, infuriated him, but he was most disappointed in himself for not pursuing his suspicions earlier. He hadn’t wanted to accuse Nanette without proof, but what more had he needed? Her disappearances and determination to ingratiate herself to him fell into place along with the fact that she was the only person Thaddeus Mitchell had been civil to. She’d been trying to run a honeypot scheme on him, get him to join her and spy on the army from the hospital. Not that she’d needed him. Men’s lips loosened with painkillers, so she probably saw and heard enough to report.

He closed his eyes as yet another layer of her duplicity became clear.

She’d used the missing painkillers, both to lower inhibitions at Fort Daniels and help the Confederate soldiers back at Fort Temperance. It was well-known that the Confederacy was strapped for pharmaceuticals with their major ports being blockaded.

He could chastise himself for days about missing the clues about Nanette, but he had a more important mission.

“Our mission tonight is not for us,” he told his team. “It’s for any survivors we find out there. Even though the battle is over, there will still be danger, so stay low, stick together, and stay alert.”

He had each person show him their steam pistols. All the pressure dials showed they were ready to fire. Each had two shots before it had to be repressurized and reloaded, but in his experience, one was usually enough. They didn’t have the range of traditional firearms, but they were quiet and were therefore good for picking off looters.

No one spoke as they walked from the gates. Dampness, mud, and the metallic odor of blood combined with the chill in the air to make Chad wish he could curl up with Claire in front of a fire somewhere with cups of hot cider.

Shadows moved around the field, and Chad guessed the looters were already afoot. His team knew not to shoot unless they were threatened, but others were not so cautious, which made being out at all risky. He motioned for his people to extinguish their lanterns so they wouldn’t be easy targets for bitter Confederate teams who may want revenge for the afternoon’s rout. The moon provided enough illumination for their grisly task.

They moved from body to body, and Chad fell into an unemotional rhythm that allowed him space from the grief of examining the bodies of the boys he’d healed but who hadn’t made it back from this battle. That most of them were victims of shelling made identification more difficult. Pitifully few went back to the fort, the first one with his strongest orderlies, who moved as fast as they could with a stretcher. He hoped Perkins would be able to get the leg off in time.

Chad and his dwindling company came to the top of the bluff that overlooked the border, where a pile of corpses showed how heavily defended
La Reine
had been. If Patrick was anywhere, he would be here.

Chad saw a boy bending over them, looking intently from face to face. Except the person didn’t move like a male, and moonlight glinted off the lenses of glasses.

“Claire!” he hissed. The not-boy looked up, and he caught the full force of her defiant glare. “Get over here!”

“Not until I know he’s safe. And Bryce is out here somewhere too!”

“What?” Chad rubbed his eyes. Why all these wandering McPhees? He’d ream them both out when they got back to the base.

At first he thought the noise was his own furious heartbeat, but it grew louder and resolved into hoofbeats coming up the bluff. For a moment, he was back in the steam cart in the fog and unsure of where the horseman was.

Claire looked behind her, then ran toward Chad and his team. A dark figure on a horse grabbed her, swinging her over the pommel of the saddle, and she screamed.

The glow of steam pistols being swung toward the horseman and Claire made Chad hold up his hand. “No! Don’t shoot—you could hit her!”

The sound of the horse’s hooves retreated into the dark, and he knew where it took her—to Fort Temperance, the Confederate base.

As much as Chad wanted to find a horse and go after her, he knew it was futile. He’d never catch her at this point, and if he was captured, he wouldn’t be able to rescue her. He’d allow his mind to work on a plan while he finished his tour of his part of the field. That was something Allen McPhee had impressed on him long ago—sometimes you needed to let your mind work indirectly on problems, especially if your emotions were involved. His team found a few more soldiers they could save, but his heart was heavy. Plus Patrick wasn’t in the hospital or anywhere on base.

Bryce McPhee came in on another team’s stretcher and was practically delirious from pain and cold. Chad cursed under his breath when he saw him.

“What happened?” he asked. “No, even better, don’t speak. We need to get you warmed up.”

“No, I have to tell you this.” Bryce gasped out a story that chilled Chad’s blood. Patrick had been taken too, which meant that now the Confederates had both inventors of the aether weapon.

The war may not be over so quickly, and now Chad would have to figure out something to save his love and his best friend.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Fort Temperance, 3 March 1871

The horseman clapped a hand over Claire’s mouth when she screamed, and the stench of blood made her gag. Her glasses had hung on valiantly during the first part of the ride, but she lost them when the horse jumped a stream, and the world passed by in a blur. The thud of the horse’s hooves mostly shut out the moans of the wounded, but she could still feel them, their fear and despair in the dark. Where were the Confederate field teams? Would they leave their men to die?

Finally after what seemed like hours, they arrived at their destination. The horseman rode through a set of open doors, which were closed after them with a clang. She was handed down to rough hands in what looked like a courtyard, at least from what she could tell without her glasses. She thought about screaming for help and took a breath to do so, but a low chuckle stopped her.

“Screaming won’t do you any good here, darlin’. Welcome to Fort Temperance. We heard you were right helpful to Mister O’Connell and want you to do the same magic for us.”

“Never.” But it was difficult to sound intimidating when all she could see were people-shaped blobs. “Where is he?”

“He’s dining with General Lee. I’ll bring you to him. The general’s been wanting to meet you. I’m sure he’ll enjoy the sight of you in those trousers. I sure am.”

Claire’s cheeks burned, but she held her head high as they marched her through the dark broken up by glowing blurs. She could just hear Chad scolding her for giving herself up to the Confederates through her stubborn, stupid actions.

But how had they known what she looked like, or picked her out in the dark?

Her captor steered her into some sort of building, and the first thing she noticed was the smell of food. Then, as she approached the table, she saw people-sized blurs.

“Now you be sure to speak to General Lee respectfully, Miss. He doesn’t have much patience for Yankee prisoners who’re too big for their britches.”

Claire could make out that the general had a full head of white hair and a white beard, and his quavering voice confirmed his age. “And who have we here?”

“Claire!”

“Patrick?” The hue of his hair and beard were unmistakable. His hands took hers and guided her to a chair.

“Did they hurt you?” he asked, and she quailed from the quiet fury in his tone even though she knew he was defending her.

“No, but I lost my glasses.” She resisted the urge to giggle at the irony—they wanted her to help build another aether weapon, but she couldn’t see a damn thing.

The general spoke. “Sergeant Beaker, see if you can find some glasses for the young lady. How strong are they, Miss McPhee?”

She thought about telling him she was Doctor—not Miss—McPhee, but she didn’t want to give them any more information than they already had, especially if it would up the ransom amount. “Moderately strong.”

“All right, we’ll see what we can do. Meanwhile, I was just discussing the terms of my proposition with Mister O’Connell.”

“Proposition?” Claire narrowed her eyes at the general. Well, in his direction.

“Yes, you see, in exchange for his and your release back to the Union, you will build us a duplicate of the marvelous weapon you’ve given them, help us even the playing field.”

“You stole the specifications,” Patrick said. “What do you need us for?”

“Our research team couldn’t stabilize the aether at the right frequency for the weapon, and then when they got close, they couldn’t make it work with the lens configuration you specified.”

Claire kept her expression neutral as though she was listening to a patient’s particularly horrific story. She hadn’t told Patrick, but she had communicated with the aether to make it cooperate. She also expected that if there was another battle, the gun wouldn’t work because of the bargain she’d struck with it.

General Morley had been right—the Confederates had gotten desperate—and she swallowed her disgust at how General Lee had sacrificed his own men to draw out the Union weapon…and her and Patrick.

Although old, he was still as ballsy as his reputation painted him.

“Eat something, Miss McPhee. Our fare is humble here, but we have enough to share.”

She hesitated, but the food smelled delicious, simple and homey. Plus, if they were going to poison her, how would she help make the weapon for them? She took a bite and soon finished what was on her plate, at least from what she could see.

A dark-haired shape moved into view beside the general. Even without her glasses, Claire could see the woman’s hourglass shape, and she felt a familiar contempt.

“Nanette,” she said.

“Yes, dear. It’s me. I delivered Mister O’Connell to the general and told them what you looked like. Your charming Irishman tried to convince me the weapon was all him, but I knew better.”

Claire kept her mouth shut over the retort she wanted to make. Let these people keep talking so she could figure out a way out of the situation.

“You see,” Nanette continued, “I found the model when I went through his things, and his plans, but he hadn’t finished the specifications on how the aether would actually be concentrated and discharged from the weapon. But then I found these and recognized your last name. You’re the daughter of the famous tinkerer Allen McPhee. Why didn’t you say you and Doctor Radcliffe had been an item?”

“Here you go, Miss.” Someone handed Claire a pair of glasses, and she put them on. The prescription wasn’t quite right, but she could see if she squinted. Now she looked at the two objects in front of her, a ring and a letter that looked like it had been read a thousand times. She picked up the letter and held it close to her face.

“This is my father’s handwriting.” Now tears of grief joined the stinging eye strain.
Dear Chadwick, Claire’s mother and I are very sorry to have to tell you this
… She rubbed her temple. Her fingers found the ring, and she picked it up.

“Claire, don’t,” Patrick said. Now she could see how his hands were tied together, and whoever held the long end of the rope kept him from reaching for her.

“This is the answer to my question from earlier, isn’t it?” The small ruby winked at her in the candle-light. It sparked red, and Claire imagined that Snow White must have felt the same way she did when gazing at the apple held by the queen witch—it was too tempting.

She studied it more closely, and a roaring sound filled her ears, not so much blank sound as a mixture of noises, of which she could catch fragments.

“Brycie curls, Brycie curls, he’s got hair just like a girl’s.”

“A ruby? Is that it?”

“Hush, it’s beautiful.”

“Claire McPhee, will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?”

“He proposed on my eighteenth birthday. My father made him wait two years from when we fell in love because he wanted me to be an adult and make my own decisions.”

She slid the ring on her finger, and with a white-hot sword that split her head in two, the world went black.

* * * * *

Chad stood in Major Longchamp’s office and did his best to withstand General Morley’s berating. Whatever the man said to him, Chad had been twice as cruel to himself, accepting all the blame for not listening to Claire and allowing her to go into the battle zone and be captured. He nodded while his mind already made plans as to how he was going to get her back.

“Trust me, Doctor Radcliffe, I know how difficult it is to let the women you love do what they need to do, but it’s better to agree and have them do it under your supervision than have them try it themselves.”

Chad nodded. He wasn’t going to bring up the general’s daughter and her forbidden love. Perhaps General Morley wasn’t even thinking of Emma and Thaddeus, who now lay next to each other behind the ruins of his house. Major Longchamp had allowed the burial over the protests of those who didn’t want a Confederate soldier to have a place of honor with the family. Chad had asked for it so the girl would stop bothering Claire. He hoped that she was at peace, although he wasn’t sure if it would be helpful to have a ghost on his side.

Now he rubbed his eyes. If he even believed in such things. Had he really allowed himself to be drawn so far into the delusions of ghosts and spiritual travel to other places, if he recalled what had happened during his nap the day after the attack?

“We’ll have to attack Fort Temperance in the morning,” General Morley said. “Use
La Reine
to destroy it.”

Panic jolted through Chad. “But sir, if you do that, you’ll kill Claire and Patrick.”

“And keep the Confederacy from torturing them or otherwise coercing them into making a weapon that will cause the war to go on or, even worse, force the government to negotiate for peace with the rebels. Think of your people.”

Chad resented the reminder, but he acknowledged his divided loyalties. Of course he wanted slavery to end, but he couldn’t fathom not trying to rescue Patrick and Claire. He had some notion that she’d find happiness somewhere with another man.

“I can see you’re torn,” the general said. “Wouldn’t they make the noble sacrifice of their lives to end the war, free millions of people?”

“I cannot speak for them.” And he couldn’t. If he hadn’t tried to tell Claire what she felt and thought, she would still be here, safely on base, and they’d have more time.

“Think about it for the night, but if I don’t hear from you, I’ll attack at dawn.” That decided, he turned to Major Longchamp. “Dennis, do you want to have a late dinner?”

Longchamp shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t eat on a tragic stomach.”

“Suit yourself.”

General Morley walked out, leaving Chad feeling numb.

No, numb wasn’t the right word. It was more a sense of despair so deep he would stay lost in it. To lose Patrick and Claire? He would mourn them, but he would also mourn his lack of foresight. How could he have possibly prevented this terrible moment?

“I’m sorry,” Major Longchamp said. “I know you’re attached to the girl, and I’ll miss the Irishman. He was always good for a laugh over a pint or two.”

Chad nodded. He didn’t drink much alcohol, but he’d go along with Patrick to town, where they’d stop at the one pub and have a good time flirting and arguing over what exactly had happened in Paris and Rome. Patrick had always maintained there was something supernatural going on. Chad had always argued for science, but now he would have to allow for the possibility of otherworldly interference.

He put his face in his hands. He could admit when he was wrong, but he wanted the chance to tell Patrick he was right. As usual.

“He knew something like this might happen,” Longchamp said after the door closed. “He left you something.”

“He what?”

“He wasn’t stupid. He may not have been a trained soldier, but he knew the risks.” He took a key from his pocket and opened the drawer in front of him. “He made me swear I wouldn’t give this to anyone but you.” He handed Chad a letter.

Chadwick—

If you’re reading this, the worst has happened, and I’ve been captured, hopefully not with
La Reine
. If it’s just me, don’t bother coming for me. But if they’ve taken Claire—and I know they’ll want to, for I couldn’t have fashioned the weapon without her, and her father’s work is well-known—I’ve put together some things to increase your chances of getting her back. Clever girl, she almost caught me at them, but luckily she needed to sleep sometimes. They’ve all got their uses, and Major Longchamp will show you how to work them. Good luck, and I hope to see you again, happy and whole with Claire.

P

“He’s not heavy-handed at all, is he?” Chad asked.

“Sadly, I wouldn’t know,” Longchamp told him. “Now, for the gadgets. You’ll be well-equipped.” He walked around the office and pulled various items from cupboards and drawers, assembling them on the desk. Chad looked at the motley assortment of devices and clothing and couldn’t help but be reminded of how he and the others had come together in Europe. Claire would have made a fine addition to the team.

He wondered how Iris and the others fared in the Ottoman Empire and if all was as he’d dreamt it.

“Focus, Doctor Radcliffe,” Longchamp said. “You need to get to Fort Temperance and back before dawn, or all is lost.”

“I’m paying attention.”

“Good. Let’s start with these.” He handed Chad a pair of goggles attached to a hat. “They’re tinted yellow to help with vision at night.”

“Ah, right. Clever Patrick.”

“Oh, that’s just the beginning. Take the gloves, for example.”

Chad slid them on his hands and noticed they buckled and had some sort of support in them. The fingertips felt hard, and when Chad curled his fingers, metal claws came out of the end.

“They’re to help you climb vertical surfaces if needed. The thing with the rope is a hook and grapple. It’s steam-powered. Go ahead and start it now so the chamber can pressurize.”

“Would you mind?” Chad asked and handed it back to him. “I’m no good with these things.”

Longchamp obliged, and the device made a hissing noise.

“Oh, and don’t forget these.” He handed Chad a fuse and a traditional pistol with an extension on the end.

“Okay, this is a flare, but what’s the extra bit on the gun?”

“Mister O’Connell was working on a silencing mechanism. It’s not perfect, but it will muffle the sound of the shot. The cloak is slightly reflective like the grass in this area, so if you stay low and stick to the shadows, it will reduce your visibility to others. Finally, as I said, the goggles will help you see at night.”

“Why are they attached to a helmet?” Clever Patrick. Chad wondered what sort of special properties the head covering had.

Longchamp cocked an eyebrow. “To keep your head warm. It’s chilly out.”

“Right. Thank you.”

Longchamp helped him to suit up. Chad felt ridiculous, but he knew he’d be happy for all the gear before long.

“You know to head due south. If you go at a good pace, the fort will be about an hour away. Just try not to get lost. Remember what’s at stake.”