Captain Gravenor’s Airship Equinox (Steampunk Smugglers) (11 page)

There was enough moonlight for him to see the worry on her
face, but she complied, knowing like he did that a guard could come by at any
moment. The dust on her skirt hem made him sneeze. She jerked against him. He
lifted her into the air, feeling the pressure in his back, and hoped her hands
were reaching for the top of the fence.

“Keep going!” he said. He wanted her gone even if he was
caught. “Run for the vicar’s house next to the church closest to the docks in
town if you need refuge. He’s a good man.”

Some of her weight left him as one of her legs crossed over
the fence. She squeaked when a splinter caught a tender part of her anatomy.

“Be safe, Brecon,” she whispered. “I care what happens to
you, very much.”

At that moment, he valued her life over his. “Stay alive,
Philadelphia. I want to see you again.”

“You’d better see me in a couple of minutes,” she whispered
fiercely.

“Back away from the fence when you’re down. Start moving.
I’m going to make noise.”

“God bless.” She twisted her body so that her gaze met his
for a moment, just a flash of overly bright eyes in the night air, then she was
sliding down the wall.

He heard her jump, then a gasp as she stumbled. He put his
hand flat against the wood, wishing desperately for a knothole to see through.
“Okay?”

“Yes. Come soon, Brecon. I need you.”

“Start walking.” Even as he spoke, he was taking off his
leather apron and strapping it around his good arm and hand, protecting it as
much as possible. The fence was made of stout boards, almost posts, squared off
in military precision, in between the stone pillars. He could see no weakness
or shorter spots in the smooth line of defense.

Making a quick calculation, he placed their food bucket a
couple of feet from the fence, hoping it would give him a lift.

An
aderyn corff
hooted from somewhere in a tree, probably planning an attack
on the voles and field mice that were an owl’s supper, but the tree was too far
away to do him any good. He focused on the sounds of his own breaths. Then, he
stepped back about twenty paces and ran straight for the fence, using the
bucket to gain extra height. When he reached the posts, he threw his arm up as
he attempted to climb the fence.
Crash
! The wood almost swallowed the
sounds of his knee and his head colliding with it.

He fell on his arse, his vision spotty, and grabbed at his
head.
Slow down, man.
Were there any new noises? Rustling in the
trees. He looked around. No sign of lanterns. Philadelphia had been smart
enough not to react on the other side.

His idea had failed. He couldn’t get up the smooth wood, but
he couldn’t stop now. The noise might still bring unwelcome company.  He’d have
to go up the taller stone posts.

Recalculating, he moved the bucket to a new spot.

Making sure to keep his head up this time, he went back his
twenty paces then began to run again. His feet hit pebbles as he jumped, his
arms outstretched to hug the wall. One step, two. Then his hand felt air, just
the tiniest bit at the top of his fingers. One more step, his boots scrabbling
against the pebbled stone.

Then, saints be praised, his elbow was locked over the edge
of a wooden post. He used his other arm to steady himself against the stone and
flung a leg over.

Far back toward the farmhouse headquarters of the Red Kites,
he saw three lanterns flare to life. He didn’t have time for finesse. He lifted
his other leg and dropped down the outer side, wishing the bucket hadn’t made
their escape so obvious.

This side wasn’t as smooth as the inner wall had been.
Splinters caught at the sleeves of his jacket as he slid. He fought to keep his
feet down but found himself tumbling, head first toward the dirt. Pain shot
from the crown of head and radiated into his neck and shoulders.

Then, something was tugging at his sleeve, urging him on.

“What?” he said groggily.

“You hit your head,” said a female voice. “Come quickly.”

With her help, he staggered to his feet. “That’s my shirt,”
he said thickly, recognizing the faint smell of his mother’s starch in the
collar.

“You must have hit your head very hard,” the voice fretted.

He blinked. “Philly?”

“If you must shorten my name, I prefer Delphie. It’s what my
mother called me.” She tugged his arm.

He took a step with her, as order began to return to his
thoughts. “Did I fall on my head?”

“I think so. It’s quite dark. But there was a terrible thud.”

He inhaled sharply, trying to clarify his thinking. When he
moved his bad arm and felt the pressure of the cuff around his wrist,
everything came back to him. “I saw lanterns at the house. They are probably
coming for us.”

“Where is the gate? They probably won’t climb the fence like
we did.”

He stood, leaning against the back of the fence, and
unwrapped the leather apron from his arm, retying it around his neck and waist.

“We cannot stay here,” she fretted, taking his arm and
leading him across a field.

“Head east,” he instructed, touching the motor he’d placed
in the apron pocket. It was still there, along with a motor-sized contusion on
his chest. He must have fallen on it.

“Toward Cardiff, I know. You said you saw lanterns?” she
prompted.

“There are a couple of gates, but they are all on the south
side. If they take an airship it doesn’t matter.”

“How long does it take to get one in the air?”

“We can’t possibly escape far enough on foot, but we can
hide.”

“What will they do to us? Kill us or return us to the cage
to work on the airship?”

He thrust out his chest, painfully because of the contusion,
and found bravado. “It doesn’t matter because they won’t find us.”

She didn’t seem to respond to his feigned confidence. “Should
we find the vicar in Barry?”

“No, let’s head for Cardiff,” he decided after a moment. “We
might not get out of town tomorrow night.”

“I suspect you are right.” She brushed splinters from his
clothing and straightened her skirts.

He transferred their bundle of food to his brass hand and
took his first step away from the fence. “At least we’ve caught them off guard
tonight. We don’t want them planning.”

Her voice was tremulous as she walked alongside him. “I’m glad
your sense has returned. I don’t want to do this alone.”

He took her hand in his good one and squeezed it. “You
aren’t alone. But you know about the vicar, and you know where my family lives,
correct?”

“Both houses. I have it all memorized. And the shipyard
too.”

He noted she still held his hand. Considering where they had
been, and what they might have to look forward to, he hoped she’d allow him to
continue in this entirely improper manner. “Excellent. We’ll stay off the road,
ready to drop into a ditch at a moment’s notice if we see movement in the
skies.”

She shuddered at the idea, even after weeks of sharing a
tiny cell with only a pot for private purposes.

They couldn’t become squeamish now. “Cover yourself with the
apron if we have to hide. It won’t be so noticeable since it is darker than
your hair.”

“It’s not very clean after all this time,” she said, poking
at a pin.

“It will be beautiful again when you’ve washed it.”

“You think my hair is beautiful?”

“I still remember how you looked to me that first day, a
valkyrie on the cliff.”

“That is funny. A valkyrie decides who lives and dies in
battle, and I was deciding my own life at that moment.”

“You only had to survive a few minutes longer for me to come
along.”

She squeezed his hand in response. They trudged along in
silence after that, angling toward the main road then walking parallel to it.
Philadelphia, tall for a woman, ate up the grass in confident strides that gave
Brecon hope. They had never been close enough to the front of the farmhouse to
hear gates squeaking, and were soon too far away to hear engines starting
either. Could he have imagined the lanterns? Or perhaps they signified nothing.
He’d always been asleep when the guard changed before.

Two hours into their walk he was feeling quite confident of
their escape. He thought they had walked nearly five miles despite the
uncertain terrain. He was about to share this with her when a dark shape leapt
in front of them and hissed.

His heart thudded as he dropped Philadelphia’s hand, ripped
the engine from his apron pocket and angled himself in front of her.

Clouds uncovered the moon just in time for him to see a
heater in the dark shape’s grip.

His brass hand shot to Philadelphia, pushing her back. She
grabbed their bundle and stumbled. He stepped directly in front of her, twisting
his ankle on a divot of mud. Had the other man seen her?

The shape loomed tall, bulky, but the heater waved
uncertainly. Then, with a curse, the man, for that is what Brecon had
discerned, shoved the heater into his belt.

“I thought you had feelings for the woman. Me and Two was
waiting for a show, if you know what I mean, but you’re both much too prissy.”

One
. Brecon heard a squeak behind him as Philadelphia
realized the same thing. “We aren’t going back to the cage.”

“If I wanted you back in the cage, I’d have stopped you five
miles ago. I’ve been walking on the road below. Easier than this grass and
brush you’re mincing through like some kind of explorers.”

“It’s safer to stay off the road. You know that.” Figuring the
man wouldn’t attack, he resumed walking, hearing Philadelphia step behind him.

One shrugged and moved alongside him. “It’s a quiet night.
The Blockaders haven’t been out. The captain has kept us out of the skies too.
She’s planning something bad, and I don’t like it.”

“She’s your sister.”

“Doesn’t mean she isn’t a nutter. Oh, it was quite perfect
at first, picking away at the Blockader yards and government warehouses,
feeding our families like proper folk even when we didn’t have any goods to
smuggle in. They couldn’t touch our airships. But we had a spy in our midst and
the Blockaders learned our secrets.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Well,” One said, scratching at his chin. “Just before you
came on, I expect. Drove the captain a bit mad, I think. Since then it’s been
all about revenge, though she hid it from the crew.”

“But you are privy to her plans,” Philadelphia suggested.

“So are you,” One said with a snort. “You are her plan.
Using your tools to enslave crewmen. Attack the Blockader airships and steal those
crew for the Red Kites.”

“Instead of freeing the enslaved men,” Philadelphia said.

“Attacking Blockader airships directly?” Brecon said.

“Yes. I’d rather keep our men alive. We know many of them.
They are local. I don’t mind being a local militia of sorts, protecting our
folks around here from the Blockaders, but I don’t want to be an army taking
the war to the government. I want a quiet life, like.”

“So why stop us from escaping?”

“I’m not trying to stop you, man, but join you. What is your
plan?”

Brecon held back a laugh. “We don’t have a plan, other than
getting to Cardiff where my family is.”

“Why didn’t you just go back there after you lost your
hand?”

“I didn’t want to burden them with my loss or my likely wanted
status. But now I don’t have much of an option. Even the little money I have is
locked into my chest in the dormitory back at the farm.”

One reached into the shadows of his jacket and pulled out a
small purse. “Yours. I picked the lock.”

“So no one is on to us but you? I saw lanterns just as we
escaped.”

“Only me. I drugged Two’s beer, and we share a room, so no
one saw me leave.”

“Thank you for showing us the door in the cellar,”
Philadelphia said.

One shrugged modestly. “I knew it was time for you to go.”

“Are you on the BAE capture or kill list?” Brecon asked.

“To the best of my knowledge, the Blockaders have no idea
what any of us look like. I want to keep it that way. I’m a free man.”

“So I’m the only one who is trouble,” Brecon said. “Miss
Hardcastle, perhaps you should travel with One on the main road. It will be
easier for you. I’ll stay in the brush.”

“I do not trust him,” she said.

Brecon considered. “I understand that, but I do.”

“He could be leading us into a trap.”

“For what purpose? Without his help, we might still be in
our original trap.”

One looked quite proud of himself at that. Brecon hoped he’d
have picked both locks successfully without the lantern, but he was grateful
not to have had the experience.

“Come. We’re more than halfway to our destination. One, does
your sister have any hidey holes in Cardiff that we might make use of?”

“If she does, she hasn’t shared them with me.”

“She isn’t at the farm all the time. Where does she go? I
spent weeks there full time, working on my airship, and rarely saw her.”

One chuckled. “There was a time she was the dollymop of a
Blockader petty officer. She used his pillow talk to plan our raids. But that
time was over before you came, I think.”

“My goodness,” said Philadelphia. She stumbled and caught
Brecon’s arm.

He squeezed her hand and was pleased to note she kept her
grip on him. But he decided to let her go, so as not to focus One’s attention
on their relationship. “Perhaps she has found a new lover.”

“We never claimed to be anything but what we are, you know,”
One said, his chin lifted high. “We aren’t high and mighty gentry folk or the
like.”

“No, no. Mr. Gravenor was simply admiring the captain’s
ingenuity. I have not lived a traditional life myself.” Philadelphia caught
Brecon’s expression and squeezed his arm. “Though my form of rebellion was not
in the captain’s style, of course.”