The Twisting

by Laurel Wanrow

  “My pa would say he’s blackmailing you,” cried Mary Clare. “The rotten scoundrel! Why would he think this farm’s future would sway you?”

  Annmar threw her a side-glance. “I told him Wellspring was my home.” Then she told her friend that Mistress Gere had let her go—sort of. “I don’t expect Mistress Gere to keep me on, but I’ll stay in the Basin somehow.”

  Mary Clare practically suffocated her in a hug. “I am so, so happy!” Then she pushed her to arm’s length, worry creasing her forehead. “But how dare he?”

  “Oh, Mr. Shearing dares. Nobody says no to Derby’s industrial magnate. But I suspect something even worse: He may be preventing people from saying no.” She told Mary Clare about his stroking causing confusion and her theory that the same thing had happened to Mistress Gere. “But if he did influence her, it’s worn off. I’m afraid of what might happen if he meets with her again.”

  “Or with any farmer in the Basin. You said it’s the people who work with plants?”

  “Growing them, yes.”

  Mary Clare frowned. “Growers. That’s most everyone in the Farmlands shire.”

  Oh. Annmar covered her mouth. “If someone like Mistress Gere, a powerful Knack, an Elder and a leader in this shire, can be controlled by Mr. Shearing, that’s…disastrous.”

  chapter SEVENTEEN

  Daeryn pounded in his last fence stake just as Terrent walked up from the far end, not even bothering to watch his step over the flattened squash vines. The U-shaped fence around Wellspring’s northernmost field now contained the Harvester.

  “So, that’s the last of it,” Terrent called. “Not a bad idea, don’t yous think?”

  He did—now. When he’d first entered the greenhouse where the growers were suiting up with every hip boot Davies’ Farm Trade had available, Daeryn quickly realized he’d have to change things a lot to raise their spirits. They had ideas and he listened. One, installing a diversion fence could be done immediately if everyone pitched in. They’d said the rolls of close wooden slats should prevent the pests from getting through to their prioritized crops and funnel them to the Harvester and Eradicator. As much as the nasty, dumb things could be controlled.

  Jac had protested the obstruction several nights ago, so of course his agreement to install it got the growers rallying together. It took pulling Jac aside for another word, but she’d already noted the lift in morale and gave a grumbled agreement. It hadn’t hurt that Leander returned from his delivery and agreed to run the message to his first cat trail contact, a trip of about an hour. That they might have additional help in a day or two put them all in a good mood.

  “You go up and see how they’re doing in the middle fields,” Daeryn said to Terrent. “I’ll let Master Brightwell know where they can exit though the overlapped ends.”

  Terrent left and Daeryn crossed to the slow-moving Harvester. Master Brightwell paced behind it at the control panel with Mary Beth beside him. A crowd of growers, including Henry, surrounded them. Rivley met him, and Daeryn explained about the fence access. The avian nodded, but his gaze kept returning to the huge machine.

  “You’re in a good mood,” Daeryn said.

  Rivley shot him a grin. “How can I not be? This has got to be the most brilliant thing I’ve had the privilege to work on. Master Brightwell is truly a genius.”

  “Well, you, too,” Daeryn said quietly. “You came up with the conversion idea. He is giving you credit?”

  Rivley turned red beneath his freckles and looked off. “Said he’d put my name on the patent.”

  “What?” Daeryn punched him in the shoulder. “Why didn’t you say?”

  A grinning Rivley cuffed him back. “Because we’re still fussing with the thing. And…so forth.” He shrugged.

  That short answer was not the way his childhood friend Rivley would have answered, the difference quite noticeable now that Daeryn knew when their division had begun. If only he could put a finger on—

  “What are you staring at?” A frown creased Rivley’s brow.

  “Uh, just thinking.” Neither of them had a lot of time tonight, but a word about the gildan seemed right. “I’ve just had some success working with Jac and our growers using the stunners. You’ve had success working with Master Brightwell and these growers. When we do eliminate these vermin, we’re going to be well set for figuring out our next lesson on working together.”

  Rivley touched the waistband of his trousers, over top his piercing, and in that moment, Daeryn was back at the Determination Trial, hearing the Elders intone the lessons that the two of them were obligated to learn: Leaders must let leaders lead. Honestly work together to restore yourselves and your pack. Keep your community as your foundation. Above all, stay true to the Path of the Creator. He held his breath, waiting for Riv’s response.

  “You’re hitting on something.” Rivley poked Daeryn in the chest. “I knew if we just started, we’d move through this. By the time the vermin are gone, my mechanic duties will have returned to normal hours.”

  Relief loosened Daeryn’s tight shoulders. The plan was in place to do this together. They wandered to the back of the group, and he asked, “Why is Master Brightwell instructing Mary Beth?”

  “I have to be free for Luci-viewer repairs. Henry should be the operator, but we were afraid the growers wouldn’t listen to one of their youngest workers. And that lot is already unhappy over the loss of their crops and their sleep.”

  The plantas’ lamenting in the greenhouse had caught him by surprise. “So I’ve heard. I had no idea the plantas take it so hard when a plant they are caring for dies prematurely. After these losses…” He shrugged.

  Rivley gave a knowing nod. “Mr. Hortens advised putting someone in charge who could deal with the anger and backtalk. Mary Beth grew up operating equipment on their father’s place. She isn’t afraid of big machines. That’s what we need on short notice.”

  Above the clicking valves of the engine, Master Brightwell shouted, “I’ve set the collectors to the tightest grab function, a pinch that should break the spine. For safety”—he pointed to a lever—“this turns the collectors on and off as a unit. Up is on. Halfway will freeze the current position. All the way down to off and the pincer prongs will drop whatever is currently held and close, and each unit retracts to the storage position. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll remember,” said Mary Beth.

  “Excellent.” Master Brightwell beamed. “It’s simple, but watch your step until you learn the range of the swinging arms in the rear. Always place the levers in the off position to retract the collectors before moving the machine to a new field.”

  “And before cutting off the engine.”

  “Exactly. Are you ready to give it a try?”

  “Sure,” she said, and the watching circle of growers nodded.

  Rivley covered a grin. “Though we’re instructing Mary Beth as the primary operator, this section’s whole team hangs on each direction. Poor girl won’t make a mistake without them squawking.”

  Mary Beth thumbed the lever all the way up.

  Something flashed beneath the Harvester.

  Rivley dropped to all fours for a better look. In a second, Henry was right beside him.

  “What is it?” Daeryn asked, echoed by Master Brightwell.

  “A spark, I suppose,” Rivley said. “You see anything, Henry?”

  “That, but nothin’ else. And they’re moving, smooth as can be.” The blond boy pointed to the Harvester’s underbelly.

  “Did see a spark at this afternoon’s test,” the inventor said. “Only the one.” Less limber than his kneeling assistants, Master Brightwell stooped. The growers didn’t know who to copy, so threw themselves through a variety of contortions. Daeryn knelt, too, and almost missed the descent of the collectors. Metal extension rods, six of them, with three-pronged pincers at the tips emerged from the underside. They opened and waved over the plants, obviously searching.

  Damn, he didn’t want to be near here in p
olecat form. He rose and backed away. He was the only one. A murmur of exclamations ran through the growers. Rivley and Henry stood up, grinning at each other. “You go listen again, in case she forgets something tonight,” Rivley said.

  Henry winked and joined the growers just as one said, “We don’t need to collect them at all if they’re dead.”

  Rivley started forward, but stopped when the boy spun to the other grower, his eyes now narrowed to a hard blue-gray. “But that’s what we got,” Henry said. “On short notice it was harder to change the collectors’ operation. Don’t you think the mechanics thought all around this?” He waved to the Harvester. “You people have no idea how hard it is too keep a balance of weight on a machine like this, legs walking and all. Instead of big changes, Rivley reinforced the hopper’s door, in case the pincers don’t snap every spine.”

  That silenced Henry’s co-workers. The boy had backbone.

  Master Brightwell just shrugged. “An improvement for another day, when the situation’s not so urgent, eh?”

  Some agreement was mumbled, and Rivley walked over to Daeryn. “He’s a good kid,” he said.

  The giant machine moved clear of its crowd of onlookers. A grower pointed, and at his yell of a gobbler sighting, the others dispersed. Rivley crouched at a safe distance to study the hanging collector arms. One twitched and darted to the ground, and seconds later, another did the same, this one bending up to the underside of the machine—with a limp pest in its grasp.

  “It worked,” Daeryn shouted along with the other watchers, but Rivley groaned. “Problem, Riv?”

  “The first missed.”

  “Another caught it. Isn’t that why you have six of the collectors?”

  The Harvester continued to catch pest after pest as it advanced. True, several times a pincer came up empty, but in two minutes, it killed four by Daeryn’s count. “I’d say this is a success, considering it wasn’t designed to catch moving things.”

  But Rivley continued to frown. “I swear the arms seem a bit sluggish compared to earlier. We better adjust the speed, or more pests than not will slip through the pincers before they can close and crush them.”

  The results looked good enough to him, and even Master Brightwell was grinning, but refining details was Rivley’s expertise. “I’m sure you’ll fix it.” Daeryn glanced to the fence overlap. “I ought to go. Good luck tonight.”

  “You, too,” Rivley threw over his shoulder, already striding past the growers.

  * * *

  Annmar loaded her arms with another bundle of linen bandages and followed Miriam to the library with the extra supplies. The sickroom had been busy enough last night that tonight a second room was being pressed into service with additional herbs, ointments, swabs and basins. Mary Clare’s sisters hauled in buckets of water. Annmar followed the younger one back to the kitchen to collect a jar of jam in case she needed something to prompt her Knack. Mrs. Betsy handed her blackberry preserves and shooed her out.

  Annmar sharpened a fistful of pencils. Gum erasers hid in her bib pocket. Miriam told her to lie down in the library, but she couldn’t. When the healer got talking to Mrs. Pemberton, Annmar wandered down the hall, watching more and more food appear on the sideboard as Mrs. Betsy prepared for the evening in her way.

  The back door opened and a woman’s call rang through the house. “Mistress Gere?”

  Annmar ran to the hallway with everyone else. The bell hadn’t rung, so what had happened?

  Mistress Gere appeared in her office doorway. “Yes? I’m right here.”

  The wiry woman—a grower—smiled. “The Harvester is collecting pests.”

  A cheer went up, followed by questions, a few gruesome descriptions, then James arrived and he and Mistress Gere went into her office and closed the door.

  Mary Clare scurried to her side. “They work! Riv did it.”

  “I’m thrilled.” Annmar grabbed her by the hand. “But—”

  “I need to talk to you,” they said in unison.

  “Come to the pantry,” Mary Clare whispered.

  In the kitchen, Annmar glanced to Mrs. Betsy, awash in flour as she mixed another batch of muffins with hard twists of her wrist. “Should we?”

  Mary Clare pushed her into the small space, took a matchbox from her apron pocket and lit a candle waiting in a holder. Then she closed the door, making their privacy complete. Mary Clare swung around to face her across the one flame. “I’ve been thinking about Shearing’s offer more and more.”

  Heaving a sigh, Annmar crossed her arms and leaned on the shelves. “So have I. And now we know the Harvester works. Mistress Gere said herself she’d rather ship back the other machines in Derby than be further in debt to Mr. Shearing. He withheld those Eradicators because of my refusal to go with him. If I don’t go to Derby, he’ll come up with another reason to cancel the order—or worse, come to see Mistress Gere and influence her again. I’d like to ship the other two machines from the abandoned field at Manning’s back here for Wellspring to use. Then, all of us might have a chance to keep our jobs.”

  Mary Clare hugged her. “Oh, Annmar, that is just the sweetest offer. Would that money cover it?”

  Neither of them had to say what money.

  “Freight on three rail lines—I hope so.” Annmar pulled the letter from her pocket. “Read this again. Does it say more than I have to spend the night with him to get those banknotes?”

  “I thought he wanted sex, but…” She frowned and read the letter again. “The way this reads, he’s paying for you to spend the night to advise him. That’s all.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Well, if you take each phrase separately, the only requirements seem to be meeting at The Grand and talking about your future plans.”

  Annmar took the letter and looked it over again. That was all it said. “Yes, but he’ll want to do more than talk.”

  “His letter keeps him in the clear. You can’t accuse him of anything. As my pa always says, never put in writing what you don’t plan to follow through on. ’Course, he’s told the lot of us never to give our word on that either. So if you didn’t tell him you would have sex…”

  “I didn’t!”

  “Nor at any time, in any conversation, did you mention sex, or any words to construe the…deed?”

  Annmar drew a breath. “As if that would be a part of any proper lady’s conversation.”

  Mary Clare groaned. “I’ll have so much to learn when I go to the city. But Mary Alice hasn’t bothered to write back, so I suppose I still have time for lessons, if you would.”

  “Of course,” Annmar said, but her mind was reeling. This might work. “I recall a few of Mr. Shearing’s business arrangements I overheard. He’s careful to stick to what’s in a contract, too. Mrs. Rennet called him on it once, and he slapped that money down fast. But never again were the terms unclear. She often said she liked and disliked doing business with him.”

  Mary Clare nodded. “He’ll pay, then, but you ought to get it in advance, for showing up. If you go, that is. And if you do, will he expect you to stay?”

  She practically knew the letter by heart, so nodded. “He wishes to discuss the shop he offered me. ‘There we will explore what arrangements might be necessary to conclude transferring ownership of Number 8 Bond Lane to your capable hands.’”

  “Like you could get the money and a shop. One you could sell, or rent out, if you don’t want it any longer.” She looked hopeful.

  Annmar shook her head. “I want to stay here. Besides, if I was destitute and tried to work or run a shop there, Mr. Shearing would surely make his payments better, his advertising needs greater, his presence more frequent.” She tipped back her head to rest it on the shelf. “Making him ever more difficult to avoid.”

  “Then we forget the shop and focus on the payment offer.”

  “We?”

  Mary Clare pulled one of Annmar’s hands free to hold it. I’m not asking for any part of the money. I just want to see you fig
ure out how Mr. Shearing works this so we can convince Miz Gere to avoid him. Or better yet, have him banned from the Basin.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll certainly go with you to Derby. I can be there in case you need help after… Just—to help. I’ll stay at my sister Mary Alice’s.”

  “I suppose that would be good. Thank you.”

  Mary Clare’s lips twisted, and then her nose scrunched. “You know, it doesn’t sound like he expects to talk all the time.”

  Annmar’s breath caught in her throat. Mary Clare was right. If she went to that hotel—or even back to Derby—even if she intended just to spend the night, Mr. Shearing would surely find a way to manipulate her into doing exactly what he had in mind. At least she had Jac’s training as backup—though it wasn’t exactly tested. Annmar rubbed her eyes. Oh, Lord. How her life had changed in the week since she’d come to Blighted Basin. “I don’t believe Mr. Shearing has ever been refused, but I plan to be the first.”

  “Let me help you. I know a thing or two about sex, including how to avoid it.”

  For the first time, Annmar’s confidence wavered. Could she do this, stop the man determined to control agriculture across the whole of Derbyshire—and now apparently Blighted Basin? She stared at the candle flame. “I had a vision of him once. Vines erupted from him and spiraled out to capture anything—and anyone—in their path. I felt they were about to ensnare me. Right afterward, Mr. Fetcher approached me about coming here. I’m ever so glad I did. Mother might not have wanted to live here, but I do, and I won’t give it up. Mr. Shearing cannot control the Basin farms.”

  Mary Clare hugged her, but when she backed up, she was biting her lip. “I think you should ask Daeryn to do it with you before you go.”

  “What?” Annmar squeaked.

  “Don’t yell. You’ll have Mrs. Betsy in here.”

  Annmar gritted her teeth, clenched her hands and took a deep breath. She released it, but couldn’t keep from hissing, “I think I’ll decide for myself who—and when—my first is going to be.”