The Peculiars (35 page)

“We should pray for her.” Mrs. Fortinbras swiped her eyes with the heel of her hand.

Lena felt as if something within her might erupt. “Why bother if she doesn’t have a soul?” The words escaped from her lips like steam from a kettle. “Do you know that’s why we saved you the first time, because Merilee said to? She couldn’t
bear to think of harm coming to anyone. She wasn’t a mistake any more than you are.”

“Lena.” Mr. Beasley’s voice was as hard as stone. “Get the scalpel from the medical bag.”

Lena was glad to have a task. She blinked away tears of frustration. Jimson handed her the bag. She sorted through its contents.

“I think you’ll be in need of this.” Lavina Mattacascar set an earthenware jug on the table. “It’s a hundred and twenty proof.”

Mr. Beasley nodded. “Jimson, I want you to help me turn her over. Lena, clean the scalpel with the alcohol.”

Merilee’s breath was fast and shallow. Lena felt her own hands slippery with sweat. She tried not to think about the pain Merilee must be feeling and tried instead to concentrate on the task. Mr. Beasley kept talking calmly. “Merilee, I want you to swallow some of this drink; it will help with the pain.”

Obediently, she opened her white lips, swallowed, sputtered, and coughed.

“The bullet entered right below the shoulder, through the site of the old wound,” Mr. Beasley said. “I’ll need two people to help me.”

Mrs. Fetiscue stepped forward. “I’ve done some nursing before.”

“Lena?” Mr. Beasley’s voice was more command than question. “Everyone else, please leave. But remain within earshot in case I need you.”

“They could be coming back for us at any time,” Lavina said. “Jimson, I want you and Kroll to be lookouts. Come on. Stop gaping—we’ve got work to do.” She hustled the others from the room. “And bring that cat with you!”

It was eerily quiet all of a sudden. A ring of lanterns had been set on the table, but still the light was spotty. Merilee seemed to be resting more easily. Lena’s mouth was dry. She had never assisted at a real operation before. And it was worse because it was her friend. Mrs. Fetiscue seemed comfortable enough, and Lena tried to draw strength from her calm.

“I will make the incision here,” Mr. Beasley said. “You’ll both need to hold her. When I’ve removed the bullet, I’ll stitch her up just like you did, Lena, with Jimson’s cheek. I’d like you to sterilize the needle for me.”

Despite the alcohol, Merilee screamed and writhed when Mr. Beasley sliced the flesh of her back. Mrs. Fetiscue made no comment when she saw the long scars where the wings had been removed. She worked calmly and competently. Lena concentrated on breathing slowly so that she wouldn’t throw up as Mr. Beasley dug about for the bullet, which he extracted and dropped into a cup.

Mrs. Fetiscue gave Merilee more alcohol while Mr. Beasley turned to Lena. “Your stitching is neater than mine. I’m sure Merilee would appreciate having the smallest scar possible.”

“No, I—” But he was already handing Lena the needle and thread.

“I’ll hold the skin closed while you work.”

On the first prick, Lena felt Merilee flinch, and she almost stopped. Her hands shook so badly that it took all her concentration to steady them, and that was what ultimately let her work. She concentrated on making each stitch small and perfect.

“She’s lost a great deal of blood, but she’ll recover. We need to let her rest now, somewhere comfortable.”

Lavina reappeared and offered a warm bed space near the fire.

Lena walked stiffly toward the mouth of the mine, every muscle screaming its displeasure; she had been clenching them the entire time. Now she was eager for the sting of cold air on her cheeks. But she was exhilarated too. It had felt good being able to help Mr. Beasley and help Merilee. In the end, she had been able to forget about the blood and just do her work the best she could. And she did it well. Mr. Beasley said so.

A shape was hunched against the rock wall: Jimson, with a rifle resting across his knees, his eyes closed, head thrown back. The scar on his cheek was healing. His eyelashes created shadows on his cheeks. Unfair, Lena thought as always, those eyelashes should belong to a girl. “I’m glad you’re protecting us!” she said.

Jimson’s eyes flew open. “I was just resting my eyes. I—”

Lena laughed. “The bullet’s out and she’s sleeping.” She leaned against the entrance to the mine, and let the warmth of the rock seep into her back, then sank slowly down onto a
log next to Jimson. “How soon do you think the marshal will be back?”

“Soon. Even if the dirigible was damaged and he’s slowed down, there will be others looking for us. We need to leave, all of us.”

“But there’s no law about Peculiars working in a mine. What can the marshal do?” She turned and looked into Jimson’s face. Freckles dusted the bridge of his nose; her own face was reflected in the depth of his eyes.

“The law says a Peculiar can’t
own
a mine. I don’t know if the marshal has any jurisdiction over us here,” Jimson answered.

“You mean,” Lena said, “that he may not be able to arrest us just for running away.”

Jimson nodded. “I’m sorry about your father, Lena. I didn’t get a chance to tell you.”

Lena looked away as her throat tightened. She shrugged. “My father killed the marshal’s father. No wonder he hates Peculiars . . . So, I really am part goblin. I’m half Peculiar, just like Merilee.”

“What does it matter if—”

She cut him off. “It matters because I can’t go back.” It was the first time she had spoken aloud what she had been thinking, worrying over in her mind, like a dog with a bone.

“Do you want to?” Jimson’s usually mobile face was very still.

“Do you?” Lena asked. “Pansy won’t want to wait forever.”

“Pansy? Pansy doesn’t want anything to do with me now. Her last letter made that pretty clear.”

“I’m sorry,” Lena mumbled, but she felt surprisingly lighter.

“Don’t be. I feel as if a huge weight has been rolled off my back. I can do what I want now.”

Lena closed her eyes. “It’s strange. Suddenly, you’re freer and I’m not. Even if I wanted to go back to the City, I’d be sent back here to work in the mines. And all the answers I thought I’d get from my father—” She shrugged again, feeling the warmth of the sun on her face. “I’m not who I thought I was. Everything is different now. I don’t know how to be part goblin.”

“It doesn’t change anything, Lena. That’s what I’ve been trying to say. You’re still the same person today that you were a week ago—the most interesting girl I’ve ever met. It doesn’t change the way I feel about you.”

Lena opened her eyes. Jimson was staring at her earnestly. She stood up. “Maybe I’m interesting because I’m half Peculiar, something collectible.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” Jimson was on his feet too, a scowl shading his face.

But Lena couldn’t stop herself. How could Jimson care about her when she didn’t even know who she was anymore? “What did you mean about my ridiculous notions?”

In one stride Jimson was closer. “When you were arrested, I was terrified. Terrified that I might lose the most amazing girl
I’d ever met. And then when you agreed to landing again—” He shrugged.

Lena looked at his familiar face. One eye was still purpled; the black stitches gave him the look of a desperado. She reached up and traced the black threads with one long bare finger.

“Not just the most amazing girl . . . the most dazzling woman.” He cupped Lena’s cheek with a warm hand. Lena eased back against warm rock. There were flecks of green in Jimson’s blue eyes. Why hadn’t she noticed that before?

Jimson traced her lips with a finger, leaned closer until his eyes, framed with thick black lashes and the sprinkling of freckles, were all Lena saw.

“We’re having a meeting in the eating room. Now. Kroll will take over as lookout.”

Jimson pulled back.

Lavina was standing in the mouth of the mine. Turning her stooped back, she clearly indicated that she expected them to follow.

Lena felt a laugh bubble up from somewhere deep inside. Jimson took her hand.

Mr. Beasley, Mrs. Fortinbras, and Mrs. Fetiscue were already seated on the benches. Mr. Beasley looked tired, Lena thought. It was funny how a lack of eyebrows made his expressions so difficult to read. Mrs. Mumbles lay draped across his lap. Meanwhile, the missionary ladies had managed to keep their air of competence. Fortitude, Nana Crane would
have said. Mrs. Fortinbras and Mrs. Fetiscue were both blessed with an unusual amount of fortitude.

“Very soon, I should think, we’ll have visitors,” Mr. Beasley said. “Lawmen, who will want to shut this mine down and take it over. They won’t be interested in the porphyrium—at least, not at first—but they won’t allow a mine to be owned and operated by Peculiars. Lena, your deed gives you ownership, but your genetic heritage may not allow you to
claim
ownership. I don’t know if the law applies to half Peculiars. Lavina and I have discussed a plan that we hope meets with your approval.” Here he paused.

Lena looked at Jimson, then back at Mr. Beasley as he continued.

“Lena could turn the deed over to me, which I would agree to hold and operate in trust for her until a time when these laws have been replaced with more equitable ones. I would continue to employ the entire colony of Peculiars already working the mine. With expanded uses for porphyrium, we would be able to fund decent housing for the employees. And that’s what the Peculiars would be, employees who each receive a salary.”

When Lena started to interrupt, Mr. Beasley held up his hand.

“Let me finish. Merilee needs to return to her mother at Zephyr House. She needs time and a place to recuperate, and the work here will be strenuous. Leticia Pollet has already had enough tragedy in her life. But Merilee can’t travel alone. I’m suggesting that Jimson escort her back and, still in my employ,
care for my library until I can return.” He looked around at the faces of his companions. “Mrs. Fortinbras and Mrs. Fetiscue?”

“But—” Lena interrupted again.

Mrs. Fortinbras cut her off. “My sister has decided to stay here. As I see it, she’s been enchanted, blinded by the devil and his works. But she’s my sister.” Lena noticed that she never met Mrs. Fetiscue’s eyes while she spoke. “I will be leaving as soon as possible to report to the mission agency that our work has been a failure.”

Mrs. Fetiscue pushed away from the table. “Not a failure, Irene Fortinbras. You can’t say we failed. We may have a difference of opinion, but we have helped innocent people.”

“That is the point, isn’t it?” her sister argued. “They are
not
people, no matter what you say, Mrs. Fetiscue. They have no souls.”

Lena’s heart pumped harder. She felt a hand on her shoulder.

“What about the book, Irene? Can you explain that?” Mrs. Fetiscue threw up her hands. “It seems that Peculiars”—here she darted a glance at Lena and then away—“may have the same Creator. Last night Lavina showed us a most unusual book.” And amazingly, she put a broad hand over her mouth and emitted something that sounded like a cross between a strangled sob and a giggle.

Lena looked at Jimson, willing him to think of the book from Cloister buried in his pack.

“A very ancient book with pictures of the creation story.
And there was a creature with hands and feet like hers,” Mrs. Fetiscue added, pointing at Lena. “Right from the start.”

Mr. Beasley smoothed his hand over his strands of hair. “A companion book came into my possession from the sisters of Cloister. I believe it was saved from my library when we left so hurriedly?” He looked at Jimson.

Jimson blushed. “It’s in my pack, sir.”

Mr. Beasley smiled. “I hoped so.”

Mrs. Fortinbras crossed her arms over her ample bosom. “The book is blasphemy.”

“And what if you are wrong, Irene? I would rather err with charity, as we were shown charity.”

But Mrs. Fortinbras pursed her lips and shook her head. The soiled red poppies dangled wildly from her hat.

A deep note interrupted further conversation. It was like the bellowing of a bull elephant.

“It’s Kroll. Alerting us.” Lavina rose.

Mr. Beasley turned to Lena. “Lena, the mine and its people are at your mercy. I have drawn up some papers—”

Voices were at the door—angry, threatening voices—followed by shouts.

THE THREE MEN WHO STOOD IN THE MOUTH OF THE MINE WERE
uniformed marshals. Thomas Saltre was the youngest one of them, even though he was the most senior. “This mine is now under federal protection.” The man who spoke was short and thin, but his bass voice boomed and echoed from the rock walls. He continued. “Under section 17c of the proclamation of
terra nullius
, it states that all unclaimed natural resources are now owned by the government.”

“And I say that this mine is
not
an unclaimed resource.” Mr. Beasley held up the papers in his hand. “These people have owned and worked this mine for generations.”

Thomas Saltre was growing red in the face. Lena wondered how she could have ever found him attractive.