The Twisting

by Laurel Wanrow

  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 t
he 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.”

  She nodded. The thread was in place, ready to carry out the image in her mind. Go, she urged it. “Specifically, I’m asking after your male functioning. You’ve had a…weakness?”

  His grip on her hand tightened, and his nostrils flared.

  “I hope you’ll understand I can’t enter an agreement only to have a repeat of last night. Show me you have your…functioning.” She stepped against him, bringing their clasped hands to her neck and then trailing his knuckles right down the skin of her warming chest to rest at the swell of her breasts.

  Annmar heated like she’d been scorched by fire, part embarrassment, part her Knack quickening like it had done last night. Mr. Shearing didn’t seem to notice. He drew a breath at the tactic Mary Clare had suggested and she’d dismissed. Before. He shifted against her, but nothing changed in the area of his trouser front.

  He leaned away, passing a hand down to pat his crotch.

  She continued to meet his gaze. He pulled her closer. “A result of a most frustrating experience with you,” he muttered. “One I can easily fix.”

  She tolerated his body against hers through a long stare. Nothing changed. “Can you?” She dropped his hand and stepped back.

  He ran his hands around his waistband, any concern about bringing attention to that region of his body dismissed by the worry creasing his forehead.

  The train whistle blew its five-minute warning, and she nearly sighed in relief. “Let me know if you change your mind about those pests. If you cease shipments to Blighted Basin, I would see what Basin remedies could address your issues. That’s my offer.”

  “I don’t need your help.” He raised his arm, preparing to strike her.

  Annmar lifted her own arm in defense and stumbled back. His swipe grazed her elbow. She gasped, and behind her, Mary Clare cursed. In the next moment, Daeryn landed before her. He blocked Mr. Shearing’s second swing and spat, “Don’t you dare hit a lady.”