Captain Gravenor’s Airship Equinox (Steampunk Smugglers) (6 page)

She scrunched her forehead. “I believe you are correct. I
think I heard Ethan Everard, my cousin and first officer of the
Defender
,
sniggering about how they made the men dance.”

“How good is your memory?” he asked, only half-joking.

“I won’t hurt you, at least not if you plan to help me get
out of here.”

She was a lady with self-interest in mind, no doubt about
that. Even if he was not quite decided, he’d have to ensure she thought he
would act for her in the end. He nodded calmly, as if offering agreement.

The iron-barred wood door to the cage room slammed against
the stone wall as the twins reappeared, toting a bucket that splashed water, a
bag of plaster, and a sheath of papers. One of them opened the bars and shoved
in the materials, followed by pencils and a pewter plate.

“I’ll need a knife to sharpen the pencils. Also a straight
edge of some sort,” Brecon said.

“The pencils are sharp. Call for us when you break the lead.
Someone will always be outside the door.”

“And the windows,” the other promised. As if on command,
Brecon caught sight of a guard peering through the window, his pimple-covered
snout glistening with the grease of his unwashed skin.

“I’m so glad we’ll have aid whenever we require,” Brecon
allowed.

The twins laughed in nasty harmony.

“What about the plaster? I need a cutting tool to make
alternations to my cast.”

“Why?”

“I’m not going to make Mr. Gravenor two right hands.”

“Just sculpt it,” suggested One, showing surprising knowledge.
“Then make a mold from your sculpture. You have all the time in the world.”

The other twin smirked again then they both walked out,
hands on their heaters as if entering battle.

“What a couple of limp-wristed Mary-Anns,” Brecon muttered.

Philadelphia raised an eyebrow. “It is a good thing I
received an excellent education in art. You can lie down on the cot with your
hand facing me. I shall do my best with the limited tools.”

He complied while she used one of their teacups and a
porridge spoon to mix the plaster into a lump that she dropped onto the pewter
plate. She began to mold a basic hand, using her fingers against his to check
measurements.

“How are you going to make it into a mold?”

“They’ll have to find a different kind of plaster. There is
more than one. This should set in an hour or two. We’ll let the blacksmith
figure out the rest.”

Brecon yawned, his night of rough sleep catching up with
him. He didn’t want to waste daylight, since there were no gas lamps down here
and he doubted they’d be graced with candles. Instead, he forced himself to
think of other ways in which he could have evaded the Blockader airship with
his aircraft. He hadn’t wanted to lead them to the Red Kite stronghold. He
should have thought to touch down somewhere the free traders never used. But,
they were about ten miles from where he’d grown up, and he’d never spent time
around here. He only knew the places the free traders used. When he got out of
the cage, he’d have to learn the area better, assuming he stayed in the
captain’s employ.

After he was done thinking about that, he watched
Philadelphia sculpt. Her long fingers and flat-trimmed nails were the perfect
tool for sculpting. Though her hands quickly became white from plaster, he
enjoyed the economical grace of her movements. There was more beauty to a woman
than just her face. She might not be traditionally lovely, but she had an
attractive form and used it well. He hoped she found a place in the world to
replace the one she’d lost. If they didn’t escape, she’d have to use that
intellect of hers to figure out how to make the captain trust that she’d never
betray them. That would be a difficult task with a cousin in the BAE.

“There,” she said, sitting back on her heels as the sun
climbed in the summer sky. “Does that look like the hand you lost?”

He slipped off the bed and crouched next to her, letting his
good hand hover over it.

“Good idea. Let me make sure I made your wrist correctly.”
She put her hand over his, maneuvering it into place.

He jerked away from her light touch, shocked.

“I do apologize. I didn’t mean to get plaster on you.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. No one has touched me in
a long time.”

“With a face like that? You must have every barmaid for
miles enamored of you.”

He laughed, the sound coming out more harshly than he meant
it to. “It’s been a difficult adjustment, losing my hand. I nearly died from
blood loss and fever. Since then I’ve been desperate to earn my place with the
Red Kites. I’ve worked during every moment of daylight and into the night if I
could.”

“The captain has shown no interest? A strong male like you?”

“I’m not sure she likes men. Or at least, I’ve never seen
the signs.”

“Focused on her work. I can understand that.”

“It’s why you’ve never married?”

“I never met men, you understand. My parents died when I was
young and Rand married soon after. His wife didn’t like me, didn’t want to pay
money for parties or dresses with the limited funds available. I was happy
enough with my work and my sister’s company.”

“Do you think your sister is worried about you?”

She nodded. “But it can’t be helped. Yet.” She poked at the
arm-end, flattening it slightly, then cutting it with the edge of the spoon.
“Can I see your stump?”

He hesitated, then untied the laces holding his hook to his
arm and pulled it free. She took it in her cool, dirty fingers.

“You still have your wrist,” she observed. “I’ll cut down
the base.”

“Do you want to marry?” he asked.

“Why? Are you proposing?”

He pulled his stump from her arm, then jerked around and
clumsily relaced his laces.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“It isn’t funny.”

“I wasn’t poking fun!” she protested. “Why would you want
me? Or is it my virtue that concerns you, with all this time spent in close
quarters? I have no reputation in the world. It doesn’t matter.”

“I wasn’t proposing,” he said through gritted teeth. “Nor
did I offer insult. I was simply curious. I did not realize women of your class
would automatically lend your thoughts to proposal from my simple question.”

“My class.” She laughed sourly. “I have sunk to poverty and
now to imprisonment. Whatever station I once held has quite been lost.”

“That isn’t true of anyone with an education,” he said. “You
can always be a governess or teacher. You’d never have to sink as low as many
women must to survive.”

“Unless I make a mistake of passion that has consequences.”

“Do you intend to do so?”

“In a cage? Certainly not.” Her cheeks were flushed.

He liked the way the rosy glow made her eyes sparkle. “And
if we weren’t in a cage? Are you trying to tell me I am attractive, for a
working class cripple at least?”

“You are attractive by any standard and you know it.”

~*~

CHAPTER FOUR

Brecon’s lips felt dry. He licked them, wondering how he
should approach her, given they were trapped in an open cage. “Why, Miss
Hardcastle, I believe you are flirting.”

“I did not know I had the skill,” she said with a blush,
poking ineffectually at her sculpture.

They grinned shyly at each other, until the clanking of
boots against the iron stairs sounded.

“I must make some notes.” Her hands fluttered to his shirt,
which she still wore. “Oh, I’m filthy. I must wash.”

“There is more water in the bucket.” How did she think
prisoners stayed clean?

“Pour a little in the cup, would you?”

The twins appeared with a midday meal of bread and cheese,
and more water.

“How about some ale?” Brecon suggested, but the twins rolled
their eyes in unison at that suggestion.

“That going to be your new hand, then?” said One, pointing
at the plaster sculpture.

“Once the blacksmith figures out how to make a cast.”

“I need to make notes on the springs and battery compartment
and the rest,” Philadelphia said, wiping her hands with the edge of Brecon’s
blanket.

Brecon saw a drop of water at her throat. Her beautiful,
porcelain skin would take on a gray prison pallor if they were incarcerated
here long.

“Can we take this now?”

“Yes, but be very careful. The blacksmith can cast the mold
and then once he has a bronze made I’ll have the diagram of how to cut it up
and reassemble done for him.”

One unlocked the cage, set down the tray, and picked up the
plate with the hand sculpture. “Should we take the rest of the plaster?”

“No, leave it for now, in case something happens to the
first hand.”

Two nudged One. “She’ll need it to make the Man Management
Automaton, idiot.”

Philadelphia made a face and pushed a fist into her stomach.
Brecon didn’t think she’d ever make that, frankly, and since neither of them
had ever seen the infamous spiders, how could she?

“Don’t loll around, like, this afternoon. Keep yourselves
busy,” said the first twin. “The captain wants results for all this fine grub
she’s feeding you.”

Brecon’s hand balled into a fist and he took a step toward
the man. One jumped back with a smirk and swung the door closed. It clanged
into place and the second twin turned the lock.

“Can I have lead wire then, and a battery?” She made a
rectangle with her fingers. “About that large?”

“What you going to do with it?”

“Make the inner workings of the brass hand. I’ll make some
drawings for items I’ll need for the motors.”

“I’ll see what the captain says,” said One.

“She wants the hand.” Brecon pointed to it. “How can the doctor
make it without these items?”

The twin shrugged. “I don’t know and I don’t care.”

The brothers turned in unison and stomped their way out of
the room.

“Such charming men,” she said.

Brecon sighed. “Work on your drawings. Eventually we’ll get
what we need.”

Twenty-four hours later, the twins arrived with a crate full
of materials. Brecon watched as Philadelphia pawed through the straw, pulling
out bits of wire and metal.

“Could I have some sailcloth, thread, and a needle?” he
asked the twins.

“Why?”

“So I can make a pillow from the straw.” He had seen
Philadelphia rub her neck. He’d insisted she take the cot again, but it was
hardly comfortable. He felt a dozen small bruises from lumps only his flesh
could find when he slept on the bench.

One shook his head and laughed. “Ah, Gravenor, I might
almost feel sorry for you if you weren’t such a bastard.”

“Rhys Thomas took your little airship for a test flight
yesterday,” the other said with a studied casual air. “He enjoyed the ride.”

Brecon found his hand had furled into a fist again. “That’s
my airship.”

“No, lad, it’s the captain’s and that’s the truth. She can
do whatever she wants with it. You’d best get this little hand project moving
along if you want to reclaim it.”

Six months ago, he’d have slammed his fist into the iron
bar. But now, he was too protective of his remaining flesh to do it. Instead,
he gritted his teeth and turned back to Philadelphia. “If you don’t want to
bring me the sewing stuff, bring me a pillow for the lady instead, and another
blanket for me,” he said, no longer looking at the twins. “It’s bitter cold
down here at night, even if it is summer.”

“It’s not meant to be pleasant.”

“We aren’t common prisoners. The lady needs enough rest to
think clearly.”

“I need more water,” she interjected.

One sighed loudly. “I’ll fetch another bucket.”

When the twins stomped out, Brecon turned to the bench,
where she had everything laid out. “Did you get what you need?”

She muttered under her breath, then looked up. “Yes,
perhaps. I think so.”

“I’ve never seen a battery so small.” He examined the tiny zinc
can.

“I’m sure it cost the captain a pretty penny.” She pulled
out a magnifying glass and some pieces of wood, and fashioned a stand for the
glass over a board.

“What are you going to do first?”

“Make the motors for the fingers. The way I planned the cow
milking machine. Human muscles and nerves will start the process, and then the
motors, running on the battery, take over to perform the task.”

While she worked, he sorted parts for her, laying them out
on the bench. When she called for something he handed it over. In between
requests he drew modifications to his two-people airship idea. Somehow he
needed to add firepower without manpower.

Surprisingly, One arrived with his requested sailcloth and
trimmings the next day. Brecon abandoned his sketches for sewing comfort items
for the cage.

“Doesn’t it bother you to sew while I work on an invention?”
Philadelphia asked as she stretched her neck from side to side, late that
afternoon.

He glanced up from his work. “Your invention is the key to us
leaving the cage. I can set my ego aside for now. Besides, I am used to sewing
balloons. That much is simply part of my trade.”

“No women to do the sewing for you?”

“My mother helped as she had time, but I only had brothers.
I am the third of four and my father was successful enough to take us all into
his shipbuilding business.”

“No one had other desires?”

“There are enough challenges to suit us all. I hope to go
back some day, if possible.”

“Why did you stay away?”

“Worry that I’d bring the Blockaders down on their heads. I don’t
know if I was recognized during the Valentine’s Day battle.”

“Couldn’t you send a letter?”

“What if it was intercepted?”

“By hand, then?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know anyone who has gone into Cardiff
recently.”