The Clockwork Dagger (35 page)

How did Alonzo catch up so quickly?
She rubbed her arm where the vine had grabbed her, terrified at her active defiance of the Lady, yet resolute.
Where is he?

Her eyes searched the tree line and the ridge of a black hill. Several of the Wasters' horses were tethered there; one thrashed on the ground. Sympathy welled in her chest and she uttered a prayer to the Lady to ease its pain. Thinking of the Lady, she remembered the leaves in her hand.

She counted five of them, each the length of her palm and an inch in width. The color was the vibrant green of spring grass. A deep depression extended upward from the stem. The line and the size reminded her of a human tongue.
“Look to the leaves.”
She sucked in a breath. She had no idea that the Lady's attributes included precognition.

Octavia glanced at the massive tree.
I could be up there, harvesting enough leaves to revive an army.

Instead, she shoved what she had into an apron pocket and looked to where Alonzo must be sheltering.

The space between trees was fully exposed to the Wasters. The glistening white of her garment, already shedding its layer of dust, would leave no doubt as to who she was.

She lay flat on the ground and crawled forward, her focus on another cluster of trees not far from the horses. A shot whistled overhead, another thudding into the dirt not far from her legs.
Aiming to disable me, not kill. Their heartfelt apologies would follow, I'm sure.

She tried to press herself impossibly lower into the hardness of the ground. Dust stung her nostrils and she swallowed down the urge to cough. A dark figure was behind the trees ahead. Octavia crawled faster, the wail of blood beckoning. A cold sensation crept down her spine. Alonzo was hurt—no, not Alonzo. The song wasn't his, but—

“Eh, the medician! Good to see you, miss.”

She proceeded into the shelter of the trees. Vincan sat, massive legs sprawled out, a rifle across his lap, a Gadsden holstered at the waist. In an instant she took in his two bullet wounds, one to the shoulder and one to the thigh. The thigh wound was close to the femoral artery and wept blood into a screaming puddle.

“Vincan! Lie down so I can form a circle.”

He glowered. His pale skin showed deep bruises on his face, complete with a purple halo around an eye. “Bandage it 'n I'll be fine. Gots to keep up fire. Alonzo was circling round, trying to get into that tent. Not sure if he saw you and the Stout woman. By Allendia's ghost, how'd you make a tree like that?”

“You're losing too much blood. Lie down!”

“Medicians. Always bossy,” he muttered. The Wasters opened fire again, some shots aimed toward them, others pinging elsewhere. A man screamed. Vincan turned and raised the rifle to his shoulder.

“There are five infernals,” she said.

“Three. Took out t' first two who showed flame. Infernals.” He spat a viscous wad of spittle into the dirt, then fired. One bullet struck, a man groaning in the distance. Vincan turned and set the gun on the ground. “Getting cold, miss.”

“It's the blood loss. Stretch out here, behind the bushes. Is there anyone else here on our side?”

“Just us. We's all that could squeeze into that courier buzzer. Some woman in Leffen, Alonzo said, she paid the buzzer to play guard all the way to Mercia. Came round, and we asked to borrow it.”

“Asked to borrow it. I can imagine how that went. Pardon me.” She reached into her dress and used her grimy fingernails to rip the hastily done threads of her brassiere. The scent of the mingled herbs welled in her nostrils and renewed her resolve. She pulled out a conservative scoop of honeyflower, wincing at the contamination of pampria leaves and unsure how it would impact the circle.

Well, the Lady has provided thus far, so she must certainly understand.

Unless I have upset her plans by defying that vine.

Vincan was a massive man, and Octavia did her best to encompass him with the thinnest possible of lines, keenly aware that the Wasters would approach if it took too long for him to return fire. “What happened on the ship?”

Vincan's face was pale even by his standards, his clothing drenched by sweat and blood. “They drove us back into the crew berths 'n blockaded the door with tables and chairs. Two of the crew shot, the captain banged about a bit, 'nother man stabbed, boy slit 'cross the neck but well's can be expected.”

She completed the circle. Heat immediately flared below her hand; the circle had been activated, even without her touching the honeyflower on the ground.
The Lady is here.
Tears of relief warmed her eyes. Vincan's readiness to be healed lapped against her skin like warm water.

Another song burbled close by, the notes erratic with injury, but more than that, there was heat.

“Vincan, is the Gadsden loaded?” she whispered, already reaching for his waist.

“Aye. Five bullets.”

She brought up the pistol and pivoted on her heel just in time to see a shadow just on the other side of the bushes.

Octavia fired.

The jolt almost caused her to commit the ultimate beginner's error and drop the gun, but she was no beginner—though it had been years since she'd practiced.
I shot someone. Oh Lady, I shot someone.

Close as she was, she hadn't missed. The infernal had been knocked far enough away that she could scarcely tell he was there.

“Percival!” The voice was bold and commanding.
Taney.
“We have your servant.”

Octavia dove forward and peered through the bushes, anxiety driving her heart. Mr. Drury had Alonzo on the ground, a gun to his head. He still wore the leather jacket, but now the woolly collar was stained with red.

“Vincan, get her out of here!” yelled Alonzo, his words slurred. The shade of his skin almost hid the puffiness of his cheek at this distance.

“Miss Leander! I require your help,” called Mr. Drury. “Lanskay is injured, just feet away from your location. He's my blood brother. Save him.”

She looked between Vincan, still bleeding out and bound in a circle, to the supine body five feet away.
I just shot Lanskay. It'd be more prudent to land another bullet in his skull, Lady forgive me.

She scooted back to within arm's length of Vincan and set down the gun. “I don't have my satchel!” she yelled, delving a hand into her bosom. Her fingers knew the flakes of pampria by touch.

“We are hardly going to hand over your satchel in the midst of this poorly executed escape attempt, Miss Leander. You are an accomplished doctor when the situation requires.” Drury lowered his voice, and exchanged indistinguishable words with Taney.

She flung pampria over Vincan. His body sucked in the herbs like oxygen. His eyes shot wide open. She dug into the other brassiere cup, seeking out a chunk of heskool.

“I do not desire to lose one of my most valuable men either.” Taney's voice rang out, luscious as cream. “Check on him. Try to save him. We'll provide you some additional motivation.”

She found the heskool and dropped it over Vincan's thigh.

Alonzo screamed, the sound of a throat ripping itself raw. Octavia lurched away from Vincan, her fingers dragging to break the circle.

The other young infernal had hold of Alonzo's arm. Even at this distance, she saw the glow of the man's fingers, how they traced Alonzo's forearm to drag out another horrible scream.

Burning. He's burning.

“Stop!” she screamed. She started forward, but a heavy weight on her skirt pulled her back.

“Miss, they's Wasters, y' know it's a trap.”

“I can't leave him with them.” She tugged her skirt free, speaking fast. “If I don't make it back, Mrs. Stout and a gremlin are up in that tree. Please find a way to get them down. The tree . . . should know who you are, that you mean well.”
Or may be too helpful.

Alonzo was no longer screaming, but she could hear his heavy panting, the ragged sobs. The fire may have stopped, but the burning continued.
That's always the way of it.

Octavia stood up, revealing herself above the bushes. She straightened the collar of her dress, making sure everything was covered. Her fingers went to the headband and the embroidered emblem of the tree, and her eyes to the true embodiment of the Lady only a few hundred feet away.

Then she stalked forward to save Lanskay.

C
HAPTER 22

Lanskay was dead.

The terribleness of that fact lodged in her gut like a bag of coal.
Save him. How am I going to save him without my satchel? What will they do to Alonzo when they know Lanskay is gone?

The blood of his shoulder wound sang with freshness, though the music dimmed with each passing second. She stooped over Lanskay's body. A graze to his back was older, quieter. So little blood overall, the exits wounds clear, the locations nonfatal. Both of his hands clutched his throat, his eyes wide.

She didn't need a circle.

Octavia flung herself onto Lanskay, hands pressed together to land on his chest. His body curved at her impact as a wad of tobacco shot from his mouth with an audible smack. He wheezed as his lungs took in air. The Wasters broke out in cheers. Lanskay rolled to one side, gasping.

“Well done!” cried Mr. Drury. “Lanskay, how do you fair?”

“Don't hurt Alonzo any more!” Octavia yelled.

“We won't. Not if you cooperate,” said Taney.

A campfire breathed smoke feet away. A keg of Royal-Tea sat to one side, the top punctured. Nearby, several Wasters lay utterly still and silent.

“Alonzo?” she called.

“It's not . . . that bad,” he managed to croak out.
He'd say that if half his other leg were lopped off.

Lanskay groaned and rolled onto his back, swiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “My thanks,” he said, guttural accent and spittle thickening his words. As his body returned to normal, that extra heat rolled and radiated from him, flickering with every breath. Her lips contorted in disgust.

“Take it as a sign that chew is bad for your health,” she said.

“Another thing bad for your health. Getting too close to infernals.” He grabbed her wrist.

Octavia felt the fire then. Tiny as it was, it evoked a scream of surprise. Her wrist searing with agony, she jerked back, swinging her arm. Her palm caught the side of his face and sent him into the dirt. The Wasters erupted in hoots and cheers as she scooted away from him.

“That's how you people show thanks?” she screamed, half sobbing. She looked to her wrist. The mark was small—the oval of the very tip of his thumb and the indentation of the nail like a crescent.

Vincan bellowed like a bull about to charge. The bushes shivered. “Miss! He branded you, miss. S'what they do. S'what they did to me. Counting coup.” He took in a terrible, rattling breath. “I shoot him, Alonzo dies, but I wants to shoot.” The quaking of his body carried through every syllable.

“Don't,” she said, then lowered her voice. “Not yet.” Iron tainted her tongue; she had bitten her lip.

“It's an honor, medician!” called Taney. “To be so close to an infernal and allowed to live. Only the best of soldiers are granted such a brand.”

Vincan growled.

Ten feet away, Lanskay grinned as he shakily stood.

“I don't understand you people,” she said. “You incinerated one of your own men because he made a single lewd comment, and you hurt me, like that, and everyone cheers.”

“Pain is different from honor,” said Lanskay, “Though honor can come from pain.” He sobered, regarding her. “I am truly thankful to you. That would have been a sorry way to die, tobacco in my throat.”

Her wrist pulsed with heat and she pressed it to her chest.
He needs to die, but his death needs to be painful. He needs to feel what he has caused to so many others.

“Miss Leander,” called Mr. Drury. ”I still have a gun to this steward's head. Do come over here, please. The sooner this is resolved, the sooner we can put salve on your wrist.”

“Miss . . .” began Vincan.

“Remember Mrs. Stout,” Octavia said, then pushed herself upright. She counted the men ahead of her. Two infernals and a third man, and then Lanskay, Mr. Drury, and Taney. Three infernals, three men with guns.

Herself, Vincan, and the Lady.

She looked to the massive tree.
Lady, I know I chose the hard path, but you're still with me. What do I do? I used the branch. I have some leaves. What else is there?

Her gaze lowered to the keg of tea. A drink powered by the Lady. She felt the burn on her wrist, the cut on her thumb, and a myriad of other aches and agonies acquired over the past few days.

My blood fed that tree. That tea is steeped in the Lady's own bark.

She kicked the large Royal-Tea tin. It tipped with a slosh. The brown liquid poured out and flowed across the dirt.

Nothing happened.

“I would expect you to be more kindly disposed to that tea, medician,” said Taney with a guttural drawl.

“My preference is for the source, not the product.” The tea soaked into the ground as would any normal liquid. Octavia gnawed on her lip as she walked forward.
Nothing is happening.
The wind was still, as if nature itself held its breath in anticipation.

Most of the men had been bloodied in the fracas, but of them, Lanskay's flesh wounds and Alonzo's burns screamed the loudest. Alonzo stared straight at her, his expression calm now. Accepting.
He expects to die.

“You are rather fond of this Tamaran, aren't you?” asked Mr. Drury. “You were frequently in his company in the city.”

“Mrs. Stout enlisted him so we wouldn't be women traveling alone, not after that incident with Mr. Grinn.” The lie came easily.