Gears of Brass

by Jordan Elizabeth

  Peter began untying the ropes that moored the ship while Dora pulled Edward onto the deck. Edward immediately started releasing the final rope, but Peter cried, “Too late! Cut it!”

  The launch platform disappeared, and the rope tied to the mooring was beginning to vanish, too. Something was eating it! Dora handed Edward a machete, something Peter insisted they wouldn’t need. Edward cut through the rope just before sharp teeth bit at the ship.

  “Hah! It’s metal, you meaters…”

  Edward was stunned by the words. He turned and there stood Dora, blushing and covering her mouth.

  Edward called over the side, “Yeah, what she said!”

  “Give me a hand,” Peter shouted. Until then, he’d been handling the ship alone.

  The balloon had drifted slightly too far to the right, dangerously close to hitting the roof. If it got caught on anything—a piece of jutting wood or the end of a pipe—the ship would dangle like bait for whatever swarmed below. Dora and Edward used boathooks to push the ship off the wall. The balloon moved, too, and the ship cleared the roofline and rose. The sound of crumbling wood of the monster’s feast faded as the ship ascended higher.

  “We actually got this bathtub off the ground,” Edward said.

  “Bathtub? We?” Peter scowled, but with a smirk.

  “Oh, no!” Dora shouted, pointing at the scene below them. “What should we do?”

  Diana ran toward the corner of a warehouse building after having dropped her bow in the street outside the laboratory. The bow turned to dust. Now the monsters weren’t only eating Peter’s building, but had begun to devour the one next to it.

  “Edward, Dora, get some putty from the chest. Quickly!” Peter called from over the captain’s wheel.

  Edward threw the lid open and handed a brick of putty to his sister.

  “Wait. Ready…” Peter steadied the ship as best he could since he’d never flown one before, and managed to get them just a bit higher before he shouted, “Now! Drop it!”

  Dora didn’t hesitate. Her brick hit the roof. A fireball exploded, sending flames and black smoke upward. Edward let another brick fall as a blast of hot air pounded into the ship. The second brick erupted on the warehouse.

  “Peter, your workshop!” Dora cried out.

  Edward knew Peter felt the loss. So many years of work now incinerated, but it worked! While the laboratory burned as well as the warehouse next to it, the smoke cleared and they saw Diana wave them on—these monsters had been stopped. But there were others, out there someplace.

  The ship sailed over the city rooftops until what had been Peter’s world was a smoking speck in the distance. Diana could hold her own, and Edward was sure she was safe for the moment, but still he wished she had come with them. Dora squeezed his hand.

  “She’ll be all right. We’ll be fine, too, as soon as we figure out what we’re up against.”

  Dora always said the right thing at the right moment. Edward walked to Peter and gave him a pat on the shoulder. He wanted to say something about the laboratory, but changed his mind.

  “You did a great job with this ship, even if it does remind me of an oversized bathtub.” He tapped the copper side. “That was some explosion.”

  “Yes,” said Peter. “I’m going to have to work on the putty. One would have done it. Two was like hunting rabbits with a cannon—a bit much.”

  The next hour was silent. The three gazed at the peaceful landscape of fields and forest, hills and country homes. Edward wondered just how long it would be that way. He closed his eyes. He wanted to remember it like that forever.

  With the excitement behind them, and the ship finally sailing on a good wind, Dora’s curiosity surfaced.

  “You had a surprise for me?”

  They had just escaped with their lives on an airship that Peter somehow managed to make fly, yet the two brothers couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Oh, Dora. Delightful Dora,” Peter said. “You could make even the dead get up and dance, I think.”

  “It will be hard to show you now,” Edward said, taking his sister by the hand and leading her aft. Peter continued to steer the ship while Edward used his boathook to reach over the side and pull the hanging canvas onboard. “Look at the back of the boat, Dora.”

  A little uncertain at first, but eager to see what he had pointed to, Dora looked down. On the back of the boat was a painted star-shaped design with her smiling face in the center, and right below it, a word in golden letters.

  “E. P. O. H.” Dora read out loud. “Epoh?” She giggled. “E poh,” She teased. “Ep-oh.”

  Dora turned to see Peter staring at her, and Edward with his arms crossed, tapping his foot.

  “HOPE,” she said.

  Edward and Peter said it together, “Dora’s Hope.”

  Peter poured a small dram of green liquid into a funnel that fed the boiler below. Zeus’ Fire kicked in and the ship jerked forward. Peter turned the wheel, so the rudders caught the air-blast and brought the ship about with a heading toward Southampton. If they could get their hands on the specimen captured by the doctor, maybe they could find a way to defeat the rest of the monsters.

  Edward pulled his sister close and whispered, “You are our hope.”

  Just then, a drop of water ran down Edward’s cheek. Rain again.

  Redyn, age eight

  edyn spun in a circle with her doll, the cloth legs flapping as the wind grabbed them. Leaves and twigs crunched beneath her feet, the too-small boots pinching her toes, and she chanted beneath her breath, “Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.” Redyn quickened her steps, released the doll, and it slapped into an oak tree before flopping onto a fern.

  Redyn crossed the space to kick the ragdoll with her toe. The moist dirt had soaked into the white fabric and yellow yarn hair. She wrinkled her nose. Of course her mother would make her something crude. The other girls got real dolls, the kind that could move with gears.

  “You’ll like this one,” her mother had said. “You’re almost too old for dolls.”

  Redyn’s father traveled to the city. He could’ve gotten her a doll if he wanted to. She picked up the toy by its calico skirt and held it out so a mud droplet could fall back to the earth. She’d have to make her own, one that would be far superior to anything the other girls in the village owned.

  “Bye-bye, thing.” Redyn flicked the doll toward the fallen tree where it disappeared into the crevice made by the torn roots. The embroidered smile would keep on smiling long after it started to rot. Stupid toy.

  Redyn sank onto a boulder the size of a pony and tipped her head back to stare at the sky through the canopy of interlocking branches. Her parents shouldn’t have had another child if they didn’t want to get her what she deserved.

  Something growled near to her right. The hairs along Redyn’s arms stood up and she held her breath. The sound came again, deep, guttural. Redyn turned her head, her lips parted, her gaze scanning the forest. They’d told her not to wander far from the cottage, but they couldn’t have expected her to play with that hideous excuse for a doll near everyone else.

  A wolf crept out of the shadows, his gray fur standing on end like hers.

  Her parents deserved to have her eaten by a wolf for giving her that measly rag doll. Her mother had used actual rags from the bin in the sewing room.

  Redyn stretched out on the boulder. “Come eat me, wolfy. Rip me to shreds.” A bubble of laughter exploded from her mouth. Her mother would probably make a toy out of those rags, too.

  “And this used to be my daughter,” she would say. “Doesn’t she make a charming doll?”

  The wolf crept forward, the weeds parting around his thick form. He sniffed at her leg before shifting around the boulder to nose her blonde curls. When he tipped his head, she spotted a brass-colored circle tattooed in his left ear.

  “You’re one of them.” She sat up, but he kept still. “My brother told me about you. The king raises wolves to be pack animals. You hunt for him because
you’re good trackers.” Redyn held out her hand, palm up. “Oh, you can’t smell me.” She pulled off her black, fingerless glove and tried again; this time, he nuzzled her palm before licking her fingers.

  A turkey warbled off in the forest and the wolf stiffened. Redyn searched for a sign of someone approaching, but the forest fell silent again.

  “The king shouldn’t be nearby,” Redyn continued. “Are you lost? Hungry? I can bring you something to eat.” Her mother would be out visiting and her brothers would be working at the mine. No one would notice one bowl of stew missing from the pot.

  The wolf cocked his head as if to better understand her.

  Redyn brushed her hand across his head, weaving her fingers into his thick mane. “If I can’t have a doll, then you’ll be my new toy. You’ll make a perfect companion.” The girls in the village might have fancy dolls from the city and pet cats—Redyn’s mother abhorred animals—but not a one had a wolf. She hopped off the boulder and smoothed the skirt of her green dress. “Let’s go exploring. You’ll keep me safe, won’t you, wolfy?”

  Redyn glanced out the kitchen window, the afternoon light fading into dust. The leaves on the trees had started to turn gold and crimson. Once the snow fell, she would have to find ways of hiding her tracks into the forest.

  “Red.” Her mother slammed her fist onto the table and Redyn jumped. “You’ve been sitting there for over an hour. You’re not done with that scarf yet? What’ll your brother do in the mine without that wool to keep him warm?”

  “He can wear his old one.”

  Her mother’s hand flashed across her face so fast it took a second before the sting started. “Hush up. The men in this family are what keep us warm and fed. Do you want to live out there in the wilderness?”

  Her wolf did, and he’d flourished all summer. Redyn could swear his eyes glowed with fresh life.

  “If we’re lucky, one of them will become a squire. Won’t that be fine? We’ll have a foot of ours in the east. How grand court must be.” Her mother wandered off to continue kneading dough and Redyn sighed. Her knitting needles clicked together again. They should’ve bought one of those nice, new knitting machines. How fast she could turn out scarves then.

  Redyn crested the hill and paused, one hand resting against her wolf’s back. Snow dusted the bare branches of the trees to make them appear skeletal, and the rest of the forest lay as if blanketed in hope.

  “Someday,” Redyn said, “I’m going to leave this stuffy old village. I’m going to be an inventor. What do you think? Pa says I’ve got all these ideas just fighting for a way out of my skull. That’s why I get headaches. Ma says it’s because I squint so much.”

  The wolf sat and leaned against her side, almost as tall as she was. Her striped scarf, a reject of her brother’s, flapped as the wind blew up the hill from the valley.

  “Yonder are the mines. That way is the road that leads to Charm. That’s the closest city. Then that way”—she pointed to the south—“is the old castle. This used to be all Kenyon land, but then Lord Kenyon died and he didn’t have any kids. Other people moved into the village. The castle’s empty. I bet it would be fun to live there.”

  “Redyn!” The shout exploded from behind her and she twisted around, breath snaring in her lungs. The wolf lunged to his feet and growled.

  Her oldest brother stepped out from behind a tree with his crossbow lifted. “Redyn, get back.”

  “What are you doing?” She stood frozen with the snow seeping through her worn-out boots, more cast-offs from her brothers, and flakes clinging in her curls.

  “Redyn, get away from the wolf!”

  “No, you don’t understand.” She lifted her hands as if freed from a spell, and staggered toward him.

  He released the arrow and it pinged deep into the wolf’s chest.

  “No!” Her voice sent birds flying from the trees in a flurry of feathers, flapping wings, and creaking branches. Snow fell in clumps to the ground and he reloaded before shooting again to strike the howling wolf in its side.

  Redyn grabbed her friend’s head as his body slumped. She knelt beside him, her tears burning, and murmured “Wolfy” until her mouth ached. Her brother grabbed her arm and she shoved him aside.

  The wolf’s final breath left his muzzle and his chest stilled.

  “You killed him,” she shrieked.

  Her brother grabbed her by the high collar of her dress to yank her to her feet. “It’s a good thing Ma sent me after you. What were you thinking? Red, that thing could’ve killed you!”

  “He was my friend,” she spat. “You imbecile. He was one of the king’s pack. He’ll have your head. It’s treason to kill one of his.”

  Her brother paled before he flopped the ear over. “May the spirits have mercy. Here, we’ll bury it.” He shoved her back as he tried to slide his arms under the large beast. “Get over here and help, Red.”

  “You’ll die for this.” She narrowed her eyes, the tears still blurring her vision.

  “Curse you, Red.” He leaned back from the wolf, panting. “I’ll bury it here. We’ll pound on the snow. Something will eat it. The king won’t know.”

  “You’ll die for this,” she repeated, and the wind carried off her words.

  “You are a wretched, ungrateful, hideous lass,” Redyn’s mother roared. “You think it’s funny to go off behind my back and associate with a wolf? It could’ve eaten you.”

  “I’d rather that than have him dead!”

  Her mother slapped her, but her face had gone numb.

  “You’re lucky your brother was there. Thank him like a good girl.”

  “I’m not a good girl,” Redyn whispered. “I’ll hate him for as long as he lives.”

  The next slap sent her sprawling onto the floor. “You’ll go to your room and you won’t come out until you’re ready to thank your hero.”

  Redyn slammed the door to her closet bedroom and sank against it, her back pressed to the wood and her bottom against the floor. The tears came, and she buried her eyes against her knees, so her skirt would soak the salty water. The fiend—she could no longer think of her brother as a relation—would have to be punished. The wolf deserved vengeance.

  She lit her gas lamp with the matches she hid in the box under her cot and pulled out her paper and pens. She wrote her letter carefully, using her best cursive, and added a flourish to her signature.

  “Anonymous spy.” That name would serve well, and the king would get the gist even if she’d spelled “anonymous” incorrectly.

  Redyn knelt on her bed with her face against her slit of a window to watch the passersby in the road. Two girls walked by, still fussing over their clockwork dolls. Next time they left them unattended at school, Redyn would see if she could smash the porcelain faces. That would teach them not to tease her over not having one of her own.

  The boy with the red cap strolled by pulling a wheelbarrow of chopped wood, the usual jump in his steps. Redyn fought her window open and leaned out as much as she could. “Burke!”

  He paused, setting his wheelbarrow down.

  “Burke.” The window frame pressed into her shoulders. She would look a fright with her tearstains and flushed nose, but he wouldn’t care. He never cared when she didn’t talk in class.

  The boy, a few years older than her, pushed his cap back. “Red, is that you?”

  “I’m the one calling, aren’t I? Come here.” She held her letter out the window. He’d better hurry before someone else noticed.

  “What is it?” The good boy wandered across her yard to see her.

  “You’ll do me a favor, won’t you?”

  “Why’s your cheek so red? Did someone hit you?”

  Curses on him for noticing. “That’s not important. Will you mail something for me?”

  “Um…” He glanced around as if someone would leap out at him. “Why don’t you want to mail it? The carrier won’t come until the next full moon.”

  “I’m being punished. Please, Burke?
The full moon comes in two days.”

  “What did you do wrong?”

  Redyn frowned. “I’m not going to tell you. Go away if you won’t help me.” She couldn’t mail it herself. Someone might track that.

  He sighed, but he held up his hand. “Sure, Redyn. I’ll do it for you. It’s not a bad letter, is it?” His eyes widened as he read the address. “You’re sending it to court?”

  “It’s not a bad letter at all.”

  “This is because of the letter, isn’t it?” Burke’s face had gone so white it seemed to glow brighter than the snow.

  Redyn stood in the back of the crowd, her arms folded beneath her cloak. Silence meant protection. When she didn’t answer, she couldn’t be punished.

  The king’s messenger stood at the side of the scaffold the three knights had erected within a day of discovering the wolf’s body. Her description must’ve helped since the knights had found it so quickly.

  They’d rode into town on black horses, waving pendants with the king’s emblem of hawk wings. The mayor had saluted the messenger who led the group. “How can we help you, sirs? Not often we get the king’s own men.”

  Redyn had stood in the school play yard at her usual spot against the wrought-iron fence, and she’d smiled.

  “What do you suppose this is about?” Tia had whispered to Thara.

  “How exciting. They’re real knights,” Thara had cooed. They’d left their dolls by the tree swing, so Redyn had slunk over while everyone crowded at the gate and had crushed the fragile bodies beneath the heels of her boots.

  The messenger had lifted his voice. “We’re here on behalf of the king. We’ve been notified one of his pack wolves was executed. That crime is punishable under law.”

  Redyn’s mother had fluttered her hands as she paced the kitchen. “This is horrible. How could they find out?”

  Redyn had stood near the hearth.

  “Stop smiling,” her father had snarled at her. “You think it’s funny your brother might be tried for treason just because he was protecting you?”