Born of Treasure (Treasure Chronicles Book 2) (26 page)

“Did I mention it’s a silver horse?”

“Um, no.” That sounded like a pretty steed. The shed rested by a dried-up bush, desert stretching out beyond. “Poor horse, stuck in that cramped, little building.” What an awful son the woman had, to keep the roof broken and their horse suffering.

Eric chuckled. “Did anyone ever tell you a silver horse is another name for a steamcycle?”

Amethyst stumbled on a rock as she turned to face him. Her lips stretched into a smile that mirrored his. “
That
I can ride much better.”

Captain Greenwood slammed his fist into the closet wall, his nostrils flared. “Look at me, boy!”

“I am.” Clark stretched his arms and hid a grimace to make the soldier think he reclined comfortably on the cot, his wrists still cuffed.

Captain Greenwood punched the wall again, this time denting the wood. “Where is that bitch? How can a girl escape from a fortress?”

“
Is
the senator’s home a fortress?” From Eric’s description of Amethyst’s escape, the mansion didn’t sound that fortified. She’d managed to climb out a window and hop the porch. Safely, Eric had reassured.

Red crept across the soldier’s face into his ears and neck.

“You didn’t help her get away, did you?” Clark purred.

“Of course not. Why would I do that?” Captain Greenwood’s voice squeaked. So, he knew she’d been the one hiding in his trunk. “Tell me where she is!”

“How would I know?” Clark wished he could shrug. That would irritate the man. “I’ve been locked up in here. The only time you unlock me is so I can take care of my bodily functions.” Amethyst would be proud of that phrase.

“I’ll find her,” Captain Greenwood roared, then slammed the closet door.

Amethyst wrote her uncle’s address on the dirt floor of the shed using the wooden handle of a hammer.
Thank you for lending me the steamcycle. Contact him for reimbursement.
She sat back on her heels and wiped her hands on her skirt. Hopefully, the son could read, or knew enough to fetch someone who could.

She glanced out the shed door, but no one headed in their direction. “Coast clear?” Clark had taught her that phrase.

“Yes. You know how to start this?” Eric asked.

“Clark deserves a huge hug.” And a little extra. Laughing, Amethyst crouched beside the front of the steamcycle to fiddle with the wires. He’d told her it was important to know how to start it manually in case she ever lost the key.

The green wire touched the blue wire, and holding them together, when the red wire touched them… The engine revved to life. Amethyst lifted her skirts as she climbed onto the seat and gripped the handle. Overall, the cycle was smaller than Clark’s, with more exposed wires and steam exhaust pipes. His had to be a newer model.

“You better lead me true,” she sang to Eric, who saluted her.

Amethyst balanced the bike upward and kicked the stand into its holder. Good thing the cycle was smaller. Standing, Clark’s had strained her muscles. Still grinning, Amethyst pressed the power button on the handlebar and the cycle jerked forward. She eased off the button to let the steamcycle coast through the shed door, turned it toward the desert, and pressed down hard. It jerked again, and this time, she let the engine take her.

methyst’s teeth dug into her tongue as the steamcycle hit a rock poking up from the dirt; the metallic sharpness of blood invaded her senses.

“Brass glass.” She slowed her speed to spit bloody saliva at the desert landscape. That had to be the fifth time her jaw had snapped, biting her tongue.

Maybe not the fifth. A lot. She hadn’t actually counted.

Riding with Clark had been fun. Zooming across the desert had to be a new form of torture. Clark’s helmet had protected her from that jolted biting and the dust that kept stinging her eyes. She had to drive with them closed when she sped up, which caused the tires to bump against more rocks and gullies. Insects caught in her hair and she could’ve sworn she’d swallowed a fly. She’d also worn gloves when she’d driven Clark’s cycle. Without strong enough protection for her hands, the rough handles had torn up her palms. She actually had calluses. Fine, they were more like hard, white sores, and a few puffy blisters. They’d be calluses soon enough.

More dust caught in her eyes and she blinked to clear them. Sweat beaded across her body despite the wind from the ride. Her face felt tight; brass glass, more sunburn. Proper ladies didn’t abide sun scalding.

She stopped the cycle and leaned to the right to balance on her leg, the muscles sore from the new, prolonged strain. What joy. No wonder Clark cursed so often. Amethyst wiped her face on her sleeve, but the cloth was just as dusty and sweaty as her forehead.

“Eric!”

He flickered into the space in front. “Yes, Mrs. Grisham?”

Amethyst scowled. “How much further? I’ve been riding all day.”

Eric chuckled. “You’ve ridden for six hours.”

“Six hours,” she yelped. “That
is
all day!” Her stomach rumbled as if to prove her point.

The ghost pointed at a hill in the not too far distance. It could be worse—he could want her to travel to those mountains she had to squint at.

“You’ll find Clark’s gang at the top,” he said.

“Because they all live up there.” She still didn’t believe him entirely, but as her father-in-law, he had to feel obliged to help her. Hopefully.

“Do you want me to direct you to the plateau? You have to ride up a curling, narrow ridge to reach the top. Jeremiah barely survived it.”

She almost wiped her face again before remembering that wouldn’t help. “Now you want me to believe
Jeremiah,
the lovely prude, associated with a gang of ruffians?”

“He wanted to save you when Horan kidnapped you.”

“Oh. Clark did mention that.” She tipped her chin forward to shield her face, but it made her head feel hotter. She would have sunburn all over her scalp, glory be. “These outcasts better have something for me, I swear.”

“You mean assistance? They’ll aid you in my son’s honor.”

“I meant a hat.” She revved the engine and lifted her foot as it glided over the ground. No, it didn’t glide. It jolted and jerked, tipped and sputtered, and she wished she knew how to rip it apart.

Someone had thrown rotting logs and larger rocks around the base of the hill. That had to be a good sign. It made it look, a bit, like a fortress. Clark’s gang must’ve struggled to drag the logs from the forest
miles away
. Ah, forest, with sheltering trees.

Amethyst steered the steamcycle around a space between the rubble, but the front tire bumped one of the rocks and another scraped against the metal undercarriage.

“Curses upon you all!” She kicked off the rock and the back tire caught in a crevice, toppling. Her arm hit a log, cracking the wood, and the cycle pinned her down, the engine still struggling and the tires spinning. Amethyst froze, her heartbeat racing. Clark had warned her about tipping a steamcycle: riders lost legs and broke bones. At least she’d been going slow at the time.

She tried to push the handlebars up and the engine sputtered. The front tire hit the ground and spun out dirt and pebbles. A rock hit her shoulder with enough force to cut through her sleeve.

“Eric, help me!” What happened if she couldn’t lift off the cycle? She tried to squirm out, but the body had pinned her left leg down firm. It ached, but nothing felt broken. What
did
broken bones feel like? “
Eric
.”

“I can’t help you.” The ghost hovered over her. “I can’t touch things in your world.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Tears stung her eyes. “I’m stuck!”

“One of the members approaches,” Eric said. “He sees you’re a woman, so he won’t attack you. You’ll be safe for now.”

“Help me!” Amethyst tipped her head up to try to see the outcast. “Is someone there?”

A male coughed from behind her. “What happened to you?” A young voice.

“I’m trapped. I can’t get this off me.”

“Turn off the engine,” the youth said. “Your spinning out so you can’t get a grip on the ground.”

That… made sense. Blushing beneath her sunburn, Amethyst switched off the engine as a boy walked into her vision. He couldn’t be much older than ten, with freckled cheeks beneath red curls. Patches decorated the elbows of his shirt and the knees of his breeches.