Captain Gravenor’s Airship Equinox (Steampunk Smugglers) (7 page)

“It’s probably a good place to hide from the Red Kites, if
they stay so local.”

He stabbed his needle into the cloth. “Soon enough I’ll be
on the run from everyone.”

“If we could get some money we could go to the south, then
find a way to get to Italy.”

“I’d go to Marseille, now that I’ve thought about it some.
Your sister-in-law might have sold the family house in Italy, after all.”

She made an irritated noise. “Do you speak French? I imagine
it is a good place for someone with your skills to find a position.”

“With the shipping trade, I expect they speak all kinds of
languages there.”

“I speak French,” she said, making an adjustment with tweezers
before inserting a wire into a miniature motor. “I had a French governess for
five years. I went to Paris on holiday once, for a month. But my governess met
her husband there. Married him very quickly. Then I had a German governess.”

“And you learned German.”

“Some. Enough to read scientific papers. They have some
strange ideas for war machines there. I expect my brother and his ilk would
have fit in.”

“But not you.”

She tightened her lips. “No. Not me.”

Early the next morning, Brecon woke to the sounds of boot
heels on the metal staircase. One marched in holding a platter. Brecon blinked
and saw that it didn’t hold their morning watery porridge, but a hand. A brass hand.

Philadelphia yawned and rose from the cot. A piece of straw
stuck out from her braid. She rubbed her eyes with her fists. He found it
adorable and noticed her first gesture hadn’t been to rub her neck today. His
pillow had done some good.

“Do you have everything you need now?” Two unlocked the cage
door and One handed Brecon the platter.

He noted it was tin, not strong enough to knock down the
twins if he swung it. But he couldn’t help planning the trajectory of the disk
from his hands to Two’s bulbous nose.

Philadelphia put her hand on his arm, as if guessing his
thoughts and discouraging them. She picked up the hand and flipped it over. “Am
I to do the cutting? I sent up a diagram. I cannot use it like this. Also, I
need a length of silk.”

“You aren’t making a hand for a princess.”

“I know what I need. Will you bring me cutting tools?”

One snatched the hand from her. “I’ll have it cut up
proper-like for you.”

She turned away. “Have him follow the diagram. Please fetch
more water as well.”

Two made a rude noise and clanged back up the steps. Philadelphia’s
back went rigid, but she remained facing the outer wall.

“What was the point of waking us so early?” she asked when
One had left as well.

Brecon peered out the window to see the sun had not risen
more than an hour before. “They do not care that you like to work late. I can’t
imagine the strain your eyes must be under.”

“I am used to electric lighting,” she admitted. “Moonlight
is not so effective.”

He stepped closer and saw her eyes were bloodshot. His
fingers moved into her hair and pulled out the straw.

She wrinkled her nose. “I have never been so filthy.”

“Hazards of the trade, darling.” He grinned.

“You must be looking forward to having a hand. Do you think
the captain will let you keep it?”

“I am not looking forward to being electrocuted,” he
countered.

“Oh. Yes, I see. The testing I shall have to do. Perhaps
once we show a working hand, it will be enough to allow us proper accommodations?”

He wasn’t so eager for that. Proper accommodations meant
separate ones, and he’d already become used to the sound of her soft breathing
at night, the way the space filled with some indefinable feminine scent. All he
needed was a second cot and perhaps a fireplace for perfect comfort. But women
could never go without bathing for long. He understood that, sisterless or not.

Well into the afternoon, the twins appeared with water and
the cut hand pieces, along with a remnant of cherry red silk. They sneered
automatically and departed.

With a mug of water in hand, Philadelphia told him how to
sew an inner lining for the hand while she began to insert motors and wires and
screws to piece the hand back together again.

The next morning, she inserted the battery.

He peered at it. Though the daylight was dim as of yet, it
seemed the brass hand had a special glow. What she had created was elegant,
with a stocky palm and long, tapered fingers. It fascinated him to see his hand
molded in brass, with the knuckles held together by tiny screws. Now he knew
all that went inside, he marveled anew at her creativity.

“You did all this to milk cows?”

One side of her mouth tilted up. “We were losing farmhands
and needed to do something. The mere fact that Rand held a position should tell
you how close to impoverished we were.”

“By the standards of aristocrats.”

“Country gentry,” she said. “I think you’d have to go back
two hundred years to find a title in our family tree, maybe more.”

“I am impressed with your skill, if not your relations.” He
stared at the thing, both what he’d most longed for and dreaded, as he never
thought he’d acquire one without being impressed into BAE service, and they’d
be as likely to hang him as bring him aboard as a sailor if they knew who he
was.

Her smile changed the planes of her face, taking a decade
from her flesh. “I am pleased. You know I’ve never made anything this fancy.
I’ve seen them of course, when Rand or Everard would land an airship on our
property.” She yawned.

“Perhaps we should wait until full light to test it?”

She yawned again. “I should be getting used to these
conditions by now, but I’m holding onto my irritation. I want out of here.”

He wasn’t quite sure he agreed.

*****

Another day later, Brecon found himself staring at the brass
hand from his pallet, wondering if he’d slept at all. But sun rays were already
heating the cage, and he found he didn’t need his blanket any more. He’d lost
track of the days down here, but felt them in the stiffness of his fingers as
he opened and closed his hand. Sometime today he’d get a new hand, one that
would never tire, at least until the battery wore out.

Philadelphia slept on, in the cot across the cage. He didn’t
want to wake her, so he crawled over to the bench and stared at the hand. Could
he put it on himself? Since he still had his arm, it attached by a tightly
laced sleeve that fit over what flesh he had left. She had made the lacing
yesterday, showing him where it was attached inside the hand so he could
replace it when it became worn.

The movement of his wrist would give the hand its
instructions, and his nervous system would receive some feedback so that he’d
be less likely to injure his arm. She had admitted she didn’t know if this was
how the Blockader models worked, but her version of the brass hand would be
controlled by a delicate dance of wrist movements that he’d need to learn.

He found a page containing diagrams of movement and studied
it, trying to memorize the positions. The sooner he mastered the device the
sooner they could leave the cage. She didn’t deserve to be down here in the
dark. He knew they couldn’t stay alone here forever, as much as he had learned
to enjoy her company. Already, she had developed a slight cough.

Surely as soon as she proved herself, the captain would find
them suitable accommodations. Philadelphia enjoyed her work so much, she and
the captain could come to an agreement, just as he had a few months ago, to
continue projects that would benefit the free traders. How could such an
independent life not appeal to her?

Yes, he had quite a rosy future imagined by the time the
clanging of boots on the stairs woke up the inventress.

Philadelphia yawned and stayed against the window wall of
the cage while the twins performed their usual morning duties. When One caught
sight of the brass hand on the bench as he was emptying the chamber pot he did
a double take and nearly spilled the contents.

“You have finished it?”

“It hasn’t been tested,” Brecon said.

“But it will be today?” said One, his eyes bright with avarice.

Brecon realized the hand would be worth an incalculable
amount of money. Without thinking, he took a step toward it just as the twin
did. They stared each other down, One with the odiferous chamber pot in hand,
him with his sharp iron hook poised at chest level.

With a glance at his hook, One sneered and high-stepped out
of the cage. He slammed the door shut and marched off with the chamber pot
sloshing. Two trailed after his brother, leaving their food tray just out of
reach.

Philadelphia knuckled her eyes with an air of utter
confusion.

“Male posturing,” Brecon said by way of apology.

“You mean stupidity,” she said. “Can you pull in the tray?
We have nothing but an inch or two of water. I cannot think and starve at the
same time.”

“The only way it would work is if I could stab the hook into
the tray and it’s too far for that.”

“We’ll get the brass hand working then. With your reach it
may just be doable.”

He nodded, wishing his first act with the hand would be more
noble than fetching a tray of porridge, but it couldn’t be helped. After he’d
unbuttoned the cuff of his wretched, torn shirt and folded it up to his elbow,
he undid the strap and then unlaced the cuff of the attachment. She had seen
his stump before, but something had her swallowing hard when he revealed it.

“Looks a bit sore this morning,” he said. “I shouldn’t sleep
with the hook.”

“You need ointment.”

“I’ll be fine.” He grabbed the silk stump cover he had sewn
himself and placed it on his arm, then she picked up the hand.

“Your fingers are shaking.”

Her chin jutted forward, erasing her slight underbite. “You
are mistaken.”

“I didn’t mean it as an insult.”

“Hold out your wrist, underside up.” He did as instructed
and she placed the open cuff around him. “Hold the hand steady, please.”

Her fingers didn’t shake as she laced him up, using a
braided ribbon she’d created from the silk. With every grommet that tightened,
he felt a prick of pain as she embedded the hand more tightly into his wrist.
At least the sharp connections were not deep, and she promised the blood would
be minimal.

“I made you a list of movements that work the hand.”

“I saw it. I think I know them.”

“Really?”

“I can think of little more important to me than this,” he
told her. “Now let me see what I can do.”

He rocked his wrist back and forth, his skin aching as the
silk rubbed against his tender flesh, the connections poking into his stump, but
the fingers opened and flexed as designed. “I am amazed at your skill. It works
perfectly the first time, and you’d never designed one until now.”

She smiled, a happy curve of her lips he’d never seen
before. “I love this work. I truly do.”

The only reward he could think to offer was her cooling
porridge, so he went to the bars and gingerly inserted his arm. It didn’t work
right away, but when he lay down on the floor and stretched out, he could just
manage with his brass fingers, using his good hand as leverage to press against
the bars to gain that useful extra inch of reach. He pulled the tray forward,
cursing when his fingers suddenly lost their grip.

“Try again,” she suggested.

“I can pull it in now, or you can.”

“Use the hand. You need the practice.”

Focusing so hard he felt sweat beading on his forehead
despite the chill morning air, he flexed the fingers again and grasped the tray.
After a tense moment when they didn’t respond, the fingers bent to the tray and
he was able to pull it to the bars.

“We’ll have to eat through the bars.” She coughed.

“I can do that. It is a strange feeling, to have the
capability without the sensation.”

“I would imagine. But I hope you will gain some feeling in
time.” She frowned, and he could see her mentally making adjustments.

“It is wondrous, nonetheless,” he assured her. The pain was
already subsiding.

“I am glad.” She offered him that truly happy smile again.

He didn’t return it, for now came the less pleasant part of
the operation. First this woman had made him whole again, or as nearly whole as
anyone not the Creator himself could, but now the torture would begin. She
would learn to do the things to him that the Blockaders did to their enslaved
men.

*****

Torture began after breakfast. Or so Philadelphia planned.
She didn’t know quite how the Blockaders created the electric shocks.

“You may think you are risking death, but I assure you we
will avoid that in these experiments.”

“How?” Brecon sat on the bench with his back against the
wall. She hoped it would hold him up if he lost consciousness.

He had wished aloud that they had an armchair.

“I will ensure we only create a shock running up your one arm.
If we don’t create a pathway to your heart, the current should not be lethal.”

“Such a relief,” he murmured.

“Furthermore, we will keep our tests short. That will
protect you as well. And finally, we will do what we can to keep the voltage as
low as possible.”

“Excellent.”

“Frequency is also an issue, but I am not sure how much time
the captain will give us before she becomes impatient.” She rubbed absently at
her chest.

“I do not think that is a factor. She cannot feed us any
more poorly than she does now without risking starvation and she needs your
mind to function. Also, it is August and the temperature in here is unlikely to
lower to the point we will freeze.”

“But it does give us a timetable. We certainly do not want
to still be here in November.”

“Considering how fast you made the hand I doubt that would
be a problem.”