The Twisting (32 page)

Rivley must have seen her, too, because clicking slipped from his throat.

Daeryn elbowed him, and the telltale ’cambire sounds stopped, but Rivley shoved him a few feet toward the building with a muttered, “Come on.”

“Where are we going? I want to talk to her.”

“I bet on the Harvesters shipping out on the five-thirty train. If these workers see us with Mary Clare and Annmar, they might think we’re cohorts.” The avian ducked around the corner of the station.

“Of all the…fine.” Daeryn managed to catch Mary Clare’s eye and jerked his head toward where Rivley hid, then joined Riv on the deserted side of the station.

Daeryn tucked his hands into his trouser pockets, sure as anything in his life that he better not touch Annmar. Not here in the city, even dressed in his cream shirt, best trousers with the matching waistcoat and borrowed cap that supposedly everyone must wear. It wasn’t Mr. Yates’ warning—enough of the workers and travelers had brown skin for him to mix in—but Annmar just didn’t seem the same here.

He resisted peeking around the corner and listened instead to their advancing footsteps.
Slow down. Think through your words
. And though he’d told himself he would start with a nice greeting—like,
How are you?
—when she rounded the corner, his heart jumped and what came out was, “What are you doing here?”

Annmar swallowed and gave a slight shake of her head.

Her scent wafted to him, her earthiness, the dye of the new clothing and…something else he’d smelled before. But rather than spend time trying to identify the scent, he had to sort if he’d been dismissed.

“Don’t worry,” said Mary Clare. “She’s making me leave. Just as the visit was getting started.” She sounded wistful.

“It can’t be over soon enough for me,” muttered Rivley from beneath his lowered cap.

Mary Clare was leaving, but what about Annmar? Daeryn wanted to demand—
no, ask for
—an explanation from her, but just as he got the wording right, Mary Clare sidled closer to Rivley.

“Riv? How are you? Recovered from the tunnel?” She trailed her fingers down his arm, tender concern written across her brow.

How the hell Riv thought the two of them were done was beyond Daeryn’s understanding.

Rivley nodded…and didn’t brush away Mary Clare’s hand.

“We came to get help for Mistress Gere. We’ve halfway succeeded.” She nodded to the Harvesters. “You can fix them, can’t you, Rivley?”

“If we can manage to ship them back.” Annmar sighed.

“Yes—well, we’ll try. Even if it’s too late for our harvest, someone south can use them.”

Daeryn snorted. “Damned cheerful way to put that,” he said. Annmar must have made some sort of deal, but not necessarily with Shearing. How she’d managed to obtain the money to ship the machines wasn’t as important as getting them on the train. He stepped closer to her and dropped his voice. “We overheard there’s some conflict with loading because of
stock
shipments. That crate”—he nodded to the rubbish, one broken slat showing a black stenciled G. S. G. in a sheep drawing—“wasn’t broken, but
gnawed
. Like our crops. Our pests are coming from here.”

Annmar covered her gaping mouth. “Someone is
purposefully
transporting them?”

“We’ve got to stop them,” whispered Mary Clare. “But how?”

“First, we stop
this
shipment,” Daeryn said. “If we can find it.”

“The warehouses are along the river.” Annmar pointed. “I can’t be sure that’s where the delivery will come from, but it’s as good a guess as any.”

“I’ll find it,” Rivley said from behind them. He whirled and stormed off to where they’d loaded the speeder.

chapter THIRTY-FIVE

Annmar stared after
Rivley. He’d gone the opposite direction from the warehouses she’d pointed to… “He’s going to fly, isn’t he? I’m not sure that’s safe here.” The men carried guns, but she didn’t want to say that aloud.

“Nothing is safe here,” Daeryn muttered. “For us. I can’t tell Riv what to do, but I’ll fetch his clothes, just in case. Meet me in the direction of those warehouses.”

Mary Clare threw up a hand. “Not Annmar. She’ll draw attention walking down those crummy little streets dressed like that. I don’t think we want people to take notice of us.”

“True,” Annmar said. “I’ll wait here.” She gestured to a bench tucked against the station wall.

Daeryn searched her face. He opened his mouth, but then pressed his lips together.

Between them, Mary Clare chewed her lip. “Should I go with Daeryn?”

Annmar waved them off. “I’m fine here. I’ll keep a watch for those crates. If you miss them, I’ll delay them in some way.”

“I think you’ve done all you can with your fancy gown and money.” Mary Clare shrugged. “Nice, but neither impressed the stationmaster.”

Annmar glanced down. Alone, it’d taken her forever to fasten the line of pearl buttons the jacket mostly hid. And for what? “You’re right. Physically stopping that delivery is our only chance now.”

Mary Clare tucked her arm into Daeryn’s as if she’d been doing it all her life. Annmar swallowed. She wished she was the one holding his arm. Daeryn shot a look at her, his mouth opening and closing again, and finally gave her a nod. He pivoted Mary Clare, and they walked off the platform.

Annmar sighed. He wasn’t acting the same toward her as he had in the Basin. Was it the gown, or could he smell she’d been with Mr. Shearing? Her heart ached, but soon she’d know if he was willing to hear her out. And if he was, would the forthright Daeryn accept her reasons for the sneaky exploits?

She watched until they disappeared toward the industrial district. Then Annmar found the ladies’ convenience and began to struggle out of the wretched clothing.

* * *

It’d been harder
than Daeryn believed possible to leave Annmar alone on that platform, but he wasn’t her alpha, or her mate. He had no right to make decisions for this city woman. Besides, Rivley breaking Mr. Yates’ rules was enough worry. But it had to be done to protect Wellspring.

He tightened his arm around Rivley’s shirt and trousers. “We have to hope Riv spots it.”

Just minutes down the street, a sparrowhawk’s repeating call sounded overhead. Mary Clare squealed and waved.

“Less than two blocks,” Daeryn said. “That’s close.”

Rivley swooped before them and landed in a doorway.

Thank the Creator that at this early hour the street was deserted, so only he and Mary Clare witnessed Rivley’s change.

“There’s a steam cart next street over.” Rivley yanked on his trousers, grabbed his shirt and pulled it on while leading them at a run up an alley. At the corner, he took his boots and shoved in his feet while Daeryn peered around the brick edge.

The cart was moving slowly, but almost upon them. “Blast it. We have only minutes to stop it.”

“I can do that,” Mary Clare said. “Missing cat. Works every time. Then will you hit him?”

“What? No. I-I…I’ll fool him like I did with Mr. Shearing. Riv, help me find a stick.”

By the time they had one, Mary Clare had the operator off and peering beneath the undercarriage with her. Daeryn poked the bit of wood to the man’s back and marched him up an alley.

Mary Clare brought a rope that had tied down the crates. “On your knees,” she ordered, and when the man hesitated, she added, “Damn it, now.”

To Daeryn’s surprise, she did a decent job tying and gagging the man.

“The swearing was a nice touch,” he told her as they returned to the cart and Rivley.

“Just getting into character.”

“Where did you learn the knots?”

She sniffed. “My pa.”

“And how to gag someone?”

She eyed him. “Don’t ask. And if you dare to mention this to my ma, you’re dead meat, Daeryn Darkcoat.”

He raised the stick of wood. “Are you kidding? I’m in way over my head by myself.”

Rivley had the cart’s engine shut off and the housing open. Without the hiss of the steam, a loud snapping and snarling issued from the dozen long, low crates stenciled with G. S. G.

Daeryn banged on the slats. “That’s our gobblers. No mistaking those sounds.”

“Some help here, people,” Rivley muttered. “I need tools.”

Daeryn searched the machine, but it was Mary Clare who found the metal box under the seat. She plucked out a hammer and scooted to Rivley’s side.

“I want to make it look like it failed, not a competitor’s revenge.”

Daeryn handed him pliers and a screwdriver. “We did tie up the fellow.” With the hammer, he pried up a crate board—not too far—to make it look like an attempted theft.

Rivley loosened a gear and slid it across the axle, separating it from the others. “That’ll do it,” he said. “Even if someone frees the driver, the teeth won’t engage to propel the machine.” He slammed the cover closed. “Let’s go.”

They ducked back through the alley and trotted along the street to the train station.

“Now we meet Annmar and wait at the window,” Mary Clare said.

“We fellows can’t,” Rivley said. At Mary Clare’s questioning look, he stopped. “We can’t look like we know you two until after my bet on the time the Harvesters ship is resolved.”

Her face twisted into disgust. “Land’s sake, you and your bets. Did you have to go and complicate things?”

“It was an opportunity. For the money
and
information.”

“The bet greased the man’s tongue,” Daeryn said, “helping us to find you.”

She looked from him to Rivley again. “Oh, fine, but I’d think you’d be more careful when we’re all at risk of having no pay coming in for who knows how long.”

Rivley fiddled with his cap, then dropped his voice. “Which means I’ll need different ways of getting funds if I ever hope to study at one of Outside’s mechanics’ institutes.”

Mary Clare’s lips formed a little O. She dashed off a few steps, then turned and waited for them to catch up, her gaze on Rivley. “How will you fellows get home?”

“Employee car with rail passes. Long story.”

She rolled her eyes before running off.

Daeryn knocked Rivley’s chest with the back of his hand. “Over, huh?”

Rivley didn’t meet his gaze. “She’d talk to you, too, if you had money coming in. I’ve figured out what those coins in her doodem’s Jackdaw claw meant: She likes her comforts.”

That didn’t seem like Mary Clare’s personality, but Daeryn let it slide. Rivley had explained things to her, and in his experience, that was an improvement. They circled the streets to approach the station from the opposite direction. While Rivley found a conductor to confirm they’d be taking the early train, Daeryn went to the freight platform. Several workers paced, their gazes trained on the street the steam cart
should
have come from.

Daeryn searched the platform for Annmar’s greenish figure. Nothing alpha about watching her. Might give him courage to work up to talking to her, the most difficult part of all this. Annmar obviously looked very much at home here. Unless he outright asked her to return, he doubted it would even cross her mind.

But he couldn’t find her.

chapter THIRTY-SIX

Standing aside from
the rail workers gathered at the freight office, Annmar waited. A few people glanced her way while the stationmaster repeatedly checked his timepiece.

Mother’s shawl over top her shoulders didn’t quite hide the bib-and-brace, nor did her straw hat covering her hair, though she’d braided it into one long plait. She certainly didn’t meld with the Sunday crowd seeking early morning tickets for a day in the country, just like she and Mother used to do. The thought didn’t leave her as sad as it once would have. Annmar fingered the few coins in her side pocket, itching to buy her ticket, find Mary Clare and board, but she couldn’t until the stationmaster decided about the freight.

At least she was comfortable waiting. She gripped her valise and slid her hand along her satchel strap and scanned the platform for Mary Clare, for Rivley, for…Daeryn.

The stationmaster lifted his timepiece again. “Very well, we won’t wait any longer.”

Groans filled the small office, overcast by one cheer from the passenger ticket window. The stationmaster frowned and gestured the men to the railbeds. “You’ve heard. Get that flatbed loaded.”

Annmar waited until the men had left before she approached the stationmaster. “Thank you,” she said, and extended one of her banknotes. “As I promised, here is your tip.”

The stationmaster looked from her face to the paper and back again. “Who…
You’re
the same woman who booked the Harvesters?”

Annmar smiled. “Yes, I am. Now I’m dressed to return home and work. We have a harvest to get in.”

He looked her over again. “Indeed you do. Keep your money. I think you may need it. I’ll have your receipt written up and find you on the platform.”

Annmar thanked him and, when she turned, ran right into a grinning Mary Clare.

“So?” she asked.

“They’re on,” Annmar answered. “Which you must know.”

She glanced down Annmar’s length. “Where’s your gown? And however did you get out of that tightened corset by yourself?”

Annmar adjusted the shawl draped over her shoulders. “I cut it off with a knife I stole from The Grand.”

“Cut it off,” Mary Clare cried. “You ruined a perfectly good undergarment?”

“Yes,” Annmar said firmly. “I’m not wearing it again.” She linked arms with Mary Clare and steered her to the ticket line.

After a minute, Mary Clare shook her head and laughed. “Oh, fine. I suppose I’m the one who pestered you into these clothes.”

“You did. And I like them.”

“And you stole a knife?”

Annmar wrinkled her nose. “I would never have done it, except I was worried Mr. Shearing might follow me. I wanted a backup for Jac’s fighting techniques.”

Mary Clare nodded, then a laugh broke from her. “As if appearing in the buff wouldn’t discourage him.”

Annmar sighed. “It’s hard to say with Mr. Shearing.”

Mary Clare looked around at the platform now filling with people. “I’ll be back after I visit the convenience. Meet you here?”

She handed Annmar her ticket money and left before Annmar had a chance to ask if Daeryn and Rivley would be joining them. The line moved along, and soon she passed the last of their coins to a grinning clerk. “The stationmaster pointed you out and said to be sure to hold two tickets back so you could be on the train with your machines.” He leaned forward with the tickets. “I put up a five note saying you’d make the five thirty. Thanks to you, ma’am, I’m one of two winners. No one figured that delivery wouldn’t show, but I sure needed the money, so I gave it a shot.”

Most of the men had been betting against her? Frowning, Annmar bent to her satchel and put her tickets away while contemplating how to respond. She finally said, “We both got lucky,” before turning.

A hand pressed to the small of her back, and a familiar voice at her ear hissed, “I wish I could say I did.”

Annmar’s stomach twisted.

“Surprised?” Mr. Shearing asked.

No, she would not admit that. “Good day,” she managed.

“Perhaps it will be,” he said in a stilted voice. “After all, I found you, even looking like this.”

Her mind raced with what to say, and he’d steered her to a deserted portion of the platform before she noticed. She twisted out of his hold using one of Jac’s maneuvers, an improper move that surprised him, as did her glare.

Mr. Shearing straightened his coat and glanced over her. “These clothes—”

“What of them?” Her chin rose in challenge.

“This…attire is fitting, I suppose, for sneaking out on me.”

“I spent the night in your company as we agreed,” she said in a voice a bit louder than she’d intended.

He closed the distance between them, hands clenched at his sides. “I think we both know,” he said in a low voice, “what that night was supposed to entail.”

Despite her inappropriate actions, he was still determined. She had to keep him derailed. “Sex,” she said as loudly as before.

His eyes widened, and he looked around before hissing, “Precisely.”

“Did I not let you undress me?” Annmar asked in a manner much more forward than she felt.

His eyes narrowed a little, but Mr. Shearing nodded.

“Did you not yourself undress?”

“What are you getting at?” he snapped.

“We lay in that bed together, naked or nearly so. Surely you cannot deny it.”

“We did,” he muttered, “but somehow I cannot remember—”

“You fell asleep.” She fixed him with a stern look. “I’m spending two days of my time traveling to meet you at a location of your choosing. An arrangement we agreed to, if you care to remember the terms stated in your letter, the same ones we discussed yesterday.”

His face flushed, and through clenched teeth, he said, “You think that will hold up in court?”

Annmar pulled her sketchbook from her satchel and opened it to the last drawing—him sleeping in the buff on the ornate bedstead. “These intimate details—scars from fingernails, perhaps?—demonstrate I spent time in that suite. With you.”

“You could have learned these
details
from any number of your sordid cohorts.”

Annmar heated at the implication. But anger kept her steady. “The laundress thought it was a good likeness, and the desk clerk won’t forget my request to verify I was in the hotel on the date you arranged in the letter.” She pointed to the page’s corner. Crossing her signature was The Grand’s time stamp, imprinted with this morning’s time and date.

Mr. Shearing’s eyes widened.

“I’m more than happy to testify in a courtroom this drawing matches
your
stomach. I’ll do it under oath, in the presence of God—and whomever else wishes to attend—as witness that I went out of my way to earn the money you offered me. I’m certain you can interest the Derby papers in the story of how I was the one who failed to perform as expected. Or I will. Perhaps your wife would enjoy the tale.”

His steel eyes bored into her, and for a second she thought he’d dismiss her, as he did with work not meeting his standards. However, he rolled his shoulders and shifted his countenance to one of cool detachment. “Fine. I give you that night. I will not seek repayment. However…” He ran his gaze down her, and Annmar’s mind flicked back to his hands doing the same.

She stood her ground. In the last minute, a few people had strayed in their direction. Mr. Shearing wouldn’t try anything in public. The train would be leaving soon. Mary Clare would find her, and they would go.

The stationmaster strode up and handed her a piece of paper with a slight bow. “Your receipt, ma’am.” Then, he turned to Mr. Shearing and tipped his hat. “I’ll credit today’s absent shipment to your account. We were able to find replacement cargo.” He nodded to Annmar.

Mr. Shearing pivoted, made a quick scan down the tracks and snatched the receipt from her hand. “What? You are
not
substituting her delivery for mine.”

Annmar gasped. “Yours?”

Mr. Shearing spared her a glance, but only to thrust the receipt at her and chase after the departing stationmaster. “Now, see here—”

At the door to the freight office, the stationmaster turned and raised a hand. “Yours missed the deadline. Still isn’t here.” He sniffed. “We have a schedule to keep.” He closed the door in Mr. Shearing’s face.

Mary Clare emerged from the crowd. They could leave. But Annmar planted herself in front of Mr. Shearing. “Those crates of pests are yours? You’re shipping them out to force farmers to purchase your machinery—Eradicators that just
happen
to destroy the right size pest.”

He frowned at her, then his face broke into a wicked grin. “Perhaps we can strike another bargain,” he said. “One with clearer terms. I understand your employer is having a bit of trouble ridding her land of some animals.”

How could he? “Why, you underhanded…”

“Bloody arse,” Mary Clare filled in.

“My dear Miss Masterson,” Mr. Shearing said with a sneer, “your choice in friends is debasing you.”

Mary Clare glared at him. “I’m not sure what you said, but I don’t like your tone.”

Annmar pulled Mary Clare back. “Leave this to me,” she hissed.

“Yes, I’m sure we can come to an agreement, can’t we, my dear?”

“Or at least discuss one, since you
are
admitting you’re shipping these pests into Blighted Basin.” Annmar spread her fingers, wove them together and began rubbing them crosswise. “Where are you obtaining them?”

He laughed. “My experimental laboratories. A little something we…cooked up.”

Mary Clare gasped, and beyond her, a curse made Annmar turn. Daeryn, face twisted and red, leaned ready to charge, except for Rivley’s hand spread on his chest.

Shared anger boiled within her. With no concern for anyone but himself, Mr. Shearing had sent those gobblers, damaging crops and compromising people’s livelihoods. And killing Henry.

Henry
. For the young blond boy, she had to check her anger until she got the information she needed from Mr. Shearing about his sabotage. Annmar swung her gaze coolly back to him. “Ah, those breeding experiments. I thought Shearing Enterprises sold off that portion of the business.”

“Separating my business interests allowed me to give each a new focus. Happily, the new location enabled me to enlarge. I have plenty of room for an endless supply of experiments.”

He didn’t need to say it, nor did she need to ask. He could continue breeding these pests for as long as it took to get what he wanted. And he would. She swallowed the bile rising in her throat and carefully drew her right fingers up her left middle finger, glancing down to make sure she’d captured the thread. Then she clasped her hands before her and stepped closer to Mr. Shearing. “What kind of an agreement might we be talking about this time?”

Behind her, a rumbling, growling sound erupted—
Daeryn
.

No, he couldn’t barge in now.

He didn’t, and Mr. Shearing hadn’t even glanced at him, intent as he was on looking her over again. “You stay in Derby and I cease shipments to Blighted Basin.”

Annmar raised a hand to her flannel shirt’s open collar and paused, as if considering his words. From under her lashes she watched his gaze rivet to the fingers she was rubbing slowly over her bared collarbone. Her thoughts flashed to The Grand’s suite and the agonizing hours of trials and groping before she’d learned how to work this different Knack thread.

But it
had
worked.
I will do this.

For Henry. For Wellspring. For myself.

She felt her Knack warmth spread and lifted her hand.

Mr. Shearing’s Adam’s apple bobbed, and he tracked the movement of her arm rising level with his chest. She had to keep him thinking she was about to agree.

Using her Knack like this was so wrong, but not as wrong as what he’d done—exporting pests designed to ravage crops, using his Knack on unsuspecting people, forcing farmers to buy his machines and eventually sell out to him. No wonder he was so successful where others failed.

The selfish man was worse than a louse and deserved this.

She smiled slightly and said, “Will you take what’s in my hand? It’s all I have as a token of my counteroffer.” Would those words be enough to enact a binding, like Old Terry had done?

His gaze flicked from her face to her empty fingers. “Nothing? You undervalue yourself, Miss Masterson.” He winked. “But yes, of course. Tell me your counteroffer.” He took her hand in his and drew it to his mouth.

In a flash, the pale yellow thread zipped from her finger, to his lips and disappeared.

Daeryn let out a low rumbling growl, unmistakable even among the murmurs of the crowd. Annmar ignored it. She closed her eyes and concentrated, letting Mr. Shearing moisten the back of her hand, then her wrist before she opened her eyes and whispered, “If I may, I’d first like to inquire after your health.”

He looked mildly surprised. “I assure you, I’m healthy as a horse.”