The Twisting (24 page)

Annmar gasped and yanked her arm, but her hand didn’t come free, as if something held it to the shiny rock.

Daeryn leaped forward and grasped her wrist, but it wouldn’t move. The roots flowed across both Annmar’s hands as she tugged one with the other. Polecat traits rushed through his human form, refining his sight, furring his soft skin and sharpening his nails. He clawed at the roots, breaking most, but as fast as he did, more snaked forward and wrapped her arm. “What the hell are you doing?” he shouted at Old Terry. “Riv! Get her away from the wall.”

Rivley shoved his way between them and yanked at the old lady’s arm, but he couldn’t remove it any more than Daeryn could Annmar’s. Attacking the roots was futile—and that wasn’t all that had hold of her. Even with his full nocturnal eyesight, whatever else bound her evaded him. With Rivley sputtering avian nonsense and Mary Clare crying and clinging to Annmar as she twisted this way and that, Daeryn reached the edge of holding his human form—but his polecat senses screamed a ’cambire couldn’t compete with this kind of bewitchment.

Sucking a breath, Daeryn shook off the nails, fur and eyesight. He wrapped one arm around Annmar’s waist and grabbed Old Terry’s shoulder with the other. “Make it let her go.”

She batted at him with one hand. “You overprotective buck, can’t you see I’m fastened just as tight? Pet, repeat, ‘Bound together this day,’ and it will release us.”

Wide-eyed, Annmar gasped out, “Bound together this day.” Her hand flew free from the rock. They stumbled back, and Daeryn caught her.

“Very good, my pet.” Old Terry brushed her hands together, and they were once more in her booth, the sounds of the Market crowd just beyond.

He shot a quick check around. Yes, all four of them returned with her, so crowded into the booth that Mary Clare was wedged between Old Terry and Rivley, who had one completely feathered arm around the redhead. Quickly, he dropped his limb and crossed his arms.

Safety verified, Daeryn pulled Annmar outside. She worried at her wrist, though he could see nothing on it, or the hedge-rider’s. He lifted her arm to inspect it in the daylight. Nothing, not even a red mark.

“Something’s there, isn’t it?” he asked.

Annmar nodded. “A luminated thread. Nothing that hurts, just…it’s glowing fairly bright.”

“A pretty reminder,” Old Terry said. “Call upon me when you are ready to begin our trips. Go now. You have what you came for, and I’m happy with my promised payment.”

Mary Clare wrested Annmar from Daeryn and marched her down the street. He followed with Rivley. It wasn’t until they left town that Daeryn realized Rivley was still shaking, though with his arms crossed he almost had it hidden. With clear blue sky above, his fear of confined spaces should have faded…

Daeryn knocked his arm. “We’re well out of those tunnels. Why are you still bothered?”

“I-I’m tired.” A shiver passed over him. “Delayed reaction. Horrible night and no sleep to top it off. I need some coffee.”

“Or Master Brightwell’s home brew.” After a few more paces, he said, “If you’re having coffee, so will I. Forget going back to sleep. We’ll go out to the Harvester and see to the installation of the doodem first.”

“Good thing none of this troubled you,” Rivley muttered.

“Actually, I hated how Old Terry kept calling Annmar
my pet
.”

Rivley jerked his head, swallowing hard.

Great Creator. Riv had never kept his fear a secret, but they’d never been bespelled underground with no apparent way out before either. There must be normal ways in and out of a passage a person could stand in. The dirt had to go somewhere.

Well, Rivley wouldn’t be going down there again. Daeryn eyed the girls ahead. Most likely Annmar would ask Mary Clare, though the type of protection another human could offer was limited. After the pests were eliminated and the harvest in, Annmar had promised the hedge-rider. That gave him time to offer his services.

Whispering together, the girls strode up the hill to Wellspring faster than he’d thought Knack girls could move, compared to ’cambire ones, of course. Daeryn lifted his chin toward the lengthening distance between them. “We’re failing as guards.”

“I-I’d be no help anyway.” Rivley stopped. “Can you take my clothes?” He peeled off his shirt. “I have to-to pull myself together before starting the Harvester.” He stripped and shifted, stuttering between forms, before shaking his wings and flapping upward. The sparrowhawk cut across the cemetery toward the orchard.

Start the Harvester? Daeryn groaned to himself. Installing a new doodem wouldn’t instantly fix it, would it? True, he didn’t know much about mechanics, but the damned thing had killed Henry. It’d need watching—something Rivley was certainly not capable of now, and Master Brightwell was away for the day.

chapter TWENTY-SIX

Annmar knelt under
Patrice’s tree once more and scooped a shallow hole for the badger. Just as she opened her sketchbook, Rivley dropped to his knees beside her. He looked awful, hair in feathered tufts and arms wrapped around his lean frame. Why, his shirttails were hanging out. She’d never seen him so disheveled.

She glanced to where Daeryn had stood moments ago, but he was striding to the farmhouse. Mary Clare nodded for her to begin, so she turned back and read the blessing with Rivley twitching at her side. At the spot to add her own intentions, she whispered, “For Henry, please fill this fighting badger with the strength of the land he loved.”

“Nice prayer,” Rivley said evenly. “You’re as attuned as the hedge-rider said.”

Yet when she handed him the badger leaping with blue filaments, he moved in and out of his hawk form like an unsteady pendulum. He didn’t improve during the walk to the Harvester, so she pulled Mary Clare aside. “Rivley looks strange—stranger than usual—through my Knack. Like he’s confused or upset.”

Mary Clare bit her lip. “I didn’t know. I’ve kept my Knack closed around him. That’s not like Rivley, but then what happened to Henry has upset everyone. Do you think it’s safe to let him run the Harvester?”

“No,” Annmar whispered as Rivley slid the doodem into the waiting canister. “Shall I stop him, or will you?” But just as the words were spoken, Daeryn appeared on the rise of the farm road with Mistress Gere and James.

Rivley saw them, too, but strode to the Harvester and dropped the cylinder into the oil reservoir. By the time he’d stepped to the control panel, the others had arrived, Mistress Gere in the lead.

Mary Clare muttered, “Uh oh,” and pulled Annmar back.

Rivley threw a steely look their way, but his frown dissolved when Mistress Gere laid a hand on his shoulder.

“How are you?” she asked.

“Fine,” he muttered to the ground and turned aside. James blocked his path to the Harvester. Mistress Gere asked again. This time Rivley tucked his shaking hands into his armpits and glared at Daeryn.

“Rivley?” Mistress Gere waited until he looked up at her. “Can you operate this machine safely?”

He compressed his lips briefly, then shook his head.

“Come up to the house and see Miriam,” she said, her voice softer.

Rivley glanced at Annmar, then, planting his feet in a wide stance, said to Mistress Gere, “After the oil circulates. The engine can run without engaging anything else. One of you start it up and let me listen.”

James opened and closed the valves, firing up the steam engine. At first it sputtered, in the same coarse
brrupt, brrupt, brrupt
of a day ago. Annmar called up her Knack. The machine trembled once, released a cloud of steam and settled into its humming. Yet nothing glowed from inside it.

Should she delay her trip to Derby? Or bring the other two Harvesters back and hope Rivley had gotten this one safely working? She leaned toward Mary Clare’s ear. “To have time at Miss Lacey’s and still make the train, I have to leave.”

“Go,” Mary Clare hissed. “I’ll meet you there.”

Rivley was watching them, one brow raised. She shook her head. His face fell. She turned and began walking. She’d just have to trust the doodem would work. Perhaps when Rivley felt better he’d clean the engine again, adjust it, or…something.

Several steps off, a
pop
erupted from the Harvester. Annmar whirled. The valves continued clicking, but in a more even rhythm. She angled her head to listen and looked through her Knack.

A faint blue light shone from deep between the engine parts. Then one thread slid along the new rod Rivley had replaced. Another joined it, and another, until they luminated the pumping length of metal.

She ran back and clasped Rivley’s slumped shoulder. He looked up, startled. She gestured toward the Harvester and the lines of pulsing light spreading from the joint of the new rod. “It’s working.”

His face broke into a grin, and he grabbed her, hugging her tight for a second. Then, he broke loose and started for the machine.

Daeryn lifted a pail with the end of a rope trailing out of it. “I brought along a few pests to test it. We can wiggle them from a distance using the rope.”

Though he and Mary Clare looked excited, Mistress Gere put up a hand. James stepped into Rivley’s path again.

Rivley pulled the cloth containing the eroded doodem from his pocket and half-turned to Annmar, his brows knit.

This other part of her Knack was still her secret, he was telling her. He wouldn’t give it away if she wanted it kept quiet. Annmar bit her lip. It couldn’t stay a secret, not if she was going to help Wellspring. She returned to Rivley’s side, pivoted him by the elbow to face the small group and laid a hand over the wrapped doodem.

“Mistress Gere? Apparently, my Knack for seeing how to heal people extends to seeing how the machines operate. I have an errand to run, but Rivley has my permission to tell you what I’ve noticed and how we fixed the Harvester. If it sounds reasonable to you, I hope you’ll let him test its operation.”

Mistress Gere glanced between the two of them. “One of my employees died. I cannot risk…”

“That’s why we’re doing this. For Henry.” Rivley unfolded the cloth. Mistress Gere glanced at the whitened blob, then did a double take. She took it from him and brought it to eye level as James also crowded in to look.

Rivley smiled at Annmar. “Thanks. We’ll do this.”

“You may
watch
.” Mistress Gere pulled him back a few steps. “Afterwards, you’re checking into the sickroom bed Mary Beth just vacated. I daresay she might be more steady on her healed foot than you are with your nerves wound tighter than a clock spring.”

Mary Clare’s hug good-bye and admonishment to hurry cut off the remainder of the conversation. The redhead pushed Annmar toward the bunkhouse, and she dashed to her room.

Thank goodness she’d packed her valise earlier. She slammed her door and trotted down the stairs, realizing at the bottom that she’d left the extra Harvester doodems on her bed. If Daeryn came to her room to sleep again, he’d see them. He’d wonder why she had extras, and possibly figure out she was going after the Derby Harvesters before she could board that train. She grasped the metal stair railing. “Locked,” she whispered. “Closed to everyone.”

Then she practically ran down the hill into Chapel Hollow.

The bell rang when she swung open the door of Miss Lacey’s. The dressmaker smiled. “I knew you’d like your new undergarments. Ready to order more?”

Annmar drew a breath. “I have another purchase in mind. Do you have something a man would rather see a woman
in
, than try to get her out of?”

Miss Lacey tipped her head. “Something to enhance the figure? Exciting enough the gentleman may forget he even wants to see what lies underneath?”

Annmar heated easily with her already elevated heart rate. “Yes. If it’ll delay undressing, even better.”

Miss Lacey laughed. “I’m sure I have just the gown.”

When Mary Clare entered the shop a half hour later, Miss Lacey was pinning a hat to Annmar’s swept-up hair.

“Oh, my, look at you.” Mary Clare walked a circle around her. “A city lady, for sure.”

To wear the flattering top, Annmar had to bear the slight mounding of her pushed-up breasts at the neckline’s edge of lace, a restrictive adjustment to her corset. The clenching material left her half-breathless after the freedom of wearing next to nothing underneath, but ten rounded pearl buttons closed the bodice—small and slippery to work through their openings.

The color reminded her of the shimmery greenish-blue markings on the heads of the small teal ducks she and Mother sketched swimming on the River Derwent. Annmar couldn’t help smoothing her hands over the skirt fluffing from her corset-pinched waist, providing more tangling layers with hidden closures. Mr. Shearing would have plenty to cast his gaze on and then work through while she focused her thoughts on him.

Miss Lacey stepped back. “This is a different young lady than the one you first brought into my shop,” she said to Mary Clare. “Today she knows what she wants, and we had no problem finding the right clothing for the gentleman she wishes to impress.”

Annmar rolled her eyes so only Mary Clare could see, hoping she’d understand Miss Lacey would have to be told some story. She handed over a half sovereign as her first payment on the items, a low-cut evening gown, but with a matching neck-high jacket that transformed it to afternoon wear.

Outside stood the carriage Mary Clare had arranged for their ride around Market Day’s congested town square, with Leander driving. No doubt her friend wanted another chance to see him before separating for a day. Her tall, sandy-haired beau held the heads of the matched pair of roan horses. At Mary Clare’s call, he looked up with a boyishly handsome smile. As his gaze fell from her to Annmar, his eyes widened and ran up and down her figure, becoming stuck several times on her round, ribbon-embellished hat, of all things.

Like déjà vu, the fancy clothes instantly transported Annmar back to the proper city norms Mother had drilled into her. Watching Mrs. Rennet and the other fine-bred ladies on The Strand had reinforced the lessons. Annmar drew a breath, released it slowly and gave no sign of recognizing Leander’s interest, which might just lead to Mary Clare hating her after Rivley’s hug. With a side-glance to her and a nod to Miss Lacey, Annmar stepped down the shop stairs. She would do this.

“Ma’am?” Leander held out his hand.

Annmar put hers on top and allowed the young man to help her step into the carriage.

He turned to Mary Clare, his whisper carrying. “Who did you say that is?”

“I told you, one of Miz Gere’s employees. I’m accompanying her on the train. Now pop your eyes back into your head, Leander.”

“Sorry, Mary Delia, er, Clare. You’d look just as pretty, done up like her.” He handed her up into the carriage, then climbed into the driver’s seat.

They couldn’t talk during the ride without being overheard, but Annmar mouthed, “The Harvester?”

With a huge smile, Mary Clare nodded, and they clasped hands so as not to muss Annmar’s clothing.

Surely Mary Clare couldn’t be angry about the way Leander had looked at her, and Annmar knew she was right when the redhead gave Leander one of her usual lengthy good-bye kisses at the train station. Then they boarded, and the conductor took the ticket Mr. Shearing had sent for Annmar and the one Annmar had purchased for Mary Clare.

As they took seats away from the few other travelers in the only passenger car, Annmar ventured, “Leander—”

“I won’t allow thoughts of him—or his slips—to spoil my trip. I’ve waited too long for this.”

So this wasn’t the first time he’d called Mary Clare by her sister’s name. The news pleased Annmar. Rivley was a much better suitor, which she started to tell Mary Clare when the redhead giggled.

“I didn’t think he’d be able to peel his eyes off you, but don’t worry. Leander’s going to love that corset I ordered.” She settled into her seat, flouncing out her wide skirt. “Will seeing you dressed like this raise Mr. Shearing’s suspicions?”

Indeed, Mary Clare did not plan to have her trip ruined, but maybe before they returned, she’d rethink staying with Leander. Annmar ran her gloved fingers over her full skirt’s fine satin weave. “He said to purchase a new wardrobe. He expects it. With any luck, he’ll relax his guard and act like he did when I’d go to his factory to sketch his machine advertisements with Rennet’s Renditions. Then I can focus my Knack on him.” Here was Annmar’s chance to ask Mary Clare about Basin ways and when it was permissible to use her Knack and when it was not. “About that. I won’t be asking Mr. Shearing’s permission.”

“Absolutely not,” Mary Clare said firmly.

“But you told me people who work their Knack on others without permission get a bad reputation.”

Mary Clare snorted. “After the underhanded way he’s coerced you, I wouldn’t give it a second thought. And if I were you, I’d get paid up front. Before you even arrive at the room.”

Annmar frowned. Mary Clare was ignoring her question. She put a hand on her friend’s arm. “Exactly what kind of bad reputation?” she asked again.

Mary Clare looked around the car before dipping her mouth close to Annmar’s ear. “Um, working witchcraft.” She grasped Annmar’s hand. “But that word doesn’t have the same meaning here as it does Outside.”

How could it not? This was still England, where people had been tortured into confessing to witchcraft. No one had been executed in over a hundred and fifty years, but who would risk talking of performing magic? Oh. Annmar leaned toward Mary Clare’s ear. “Is that why Blighted Basin dwellers don’t call it magic?”

The redhead’s brow creased. “Um, maybe? You’d have to ask my granny. I just know she and Ma tell me to keep my Knack to myself and hidden. Around some corners of Market Day, people will pay if they think Knack-bearers can do good, like healing. But if it didn’t work, or, say, if they didn’t like the results, then the stories start. Just be discreet, all right?”

“So whatever it’s called, you can have fingers pointed at you if you’re too…
strange
.”