Steel Heart

by R. J. Blain

  “No,” my aunt announced, and she took the seat in front of me. “I don’t need a herd of randy colts making a mess of my house. They’ll try to seduce the palace staff.”

  “Well, they’re young, male, and have discovered they’re male,” Todd replied, his tone amused. “They know the meaning of the word no, but they’re so handsome women don’t say no for some reason. I even taught them to use condoms unless the lady wishes to become a mare in his herd. I’ve done my fatherly duties properly, I assure you.”

  “They even hold doors open for others,” Cleo added.

  “No. Todd can do his fatherly duties to help his sons meet appropriate women to establish herds and get their start in the world. He could fetch a good amount of money if he sold them as plow horses, I’m sure.” My aunt snickered. “Some of those black studs would make excellent carriage horses.”

  Todd laughed. “I don’t know what I did, but I’m sorry.”

  “You tried to seduce my niece.”

  “Hey. Nate’s trying to seduce your niece. Yell at him. She declined my generous offer.”

  “That is because she has at least one grain of common sense in her thick skull. And anyway, if I didn’t give the tiger my approval, he’d cry. Apparently, I can’t stand when Siberians cry almost as much as I can’t stand when that damned rabbit of mine cries.”

  The damned rabbit in question strolled down the aisle towards us and raised a brow. “What did I do now?”

  “Cried when I wasn’t sure I wanted to court you.”

  “That’d break any man’s heart, babe.”

  My aunt grunted. “You manipulated me with your tears.”

  “It must be so hard knowing you have a heart.” My uncle sat and twisted in his seat to regard me with a smirk. “You can probably get your tiger to do whatever you want if you cry. He absolutely cannot stand when you cry. It’s the most effective tool in your arsenal. Do not be afraid to use it. The trick is to use it sparingly.”

  “You’re an awful rabbit. You should not be giving anyone advice,” I replied.

  “I see Steph has been giving you lessons in social graces again.”

  “I need lessons in social graces? But why? I’ve found stabbing people who upset me to be very effective and far more satisfying than talking with them.”

  “Steph, did you have to? She used to be so polite.”

  “Yes,” my aunt replied. “Just be glad she only demanded we go to Whiteville. I’m not sure I’m woman enough to tell her no at this point in time.”

  Well, if she was stating she couldn’t tell me no, I could think of something I’d like. “I need another horse and a dagger to go with my new sword. I also need my sword returned to me. Where is it?”

  “You have a gun. You don’t need your sword right now.”

  “I need my sword.”

  My uncle whistled to someone and pointed at me. A Secret Service agent handed me my sword, in a bejeweled scabbard I didn’t recognize. While it still possessed a mix of blue fire opal, diamond, platinum, and gold, fire-orange and black stones were included in a roaring tiger motif. Upon closer examination of the hilt, the tiger and dragon design remained, but the dragon had been restyled in turquoise and the tiger reminded me a lot of Anatoly, fire bright and fierce. “Someone has been fiddling with my sword again!”

  “That would be the sword’s maker. He showed up a week after the attack and borrowed it. It came back with a new scabbard and some adjustments. He wanted to do an integrity check of the blade,” Todd explained, reaching around the seat to point at the pommel stone. “He replaced the pommel diamond, too. The picky bastard wasn’t happy with it or something. This one is better.”

  I examined the pommel stone, frowning as it had changed, its color frightening close to that of the Hope Diamond. “But the old one was beautiful.”

  “It was not beautiful enough, apparently. I’ve given up trying to convince that one of anything. He’s more stubborn than a damned rock. He thinks the adjustments this time should make up for the previous sword breaking as it did.”

  “But you said it would have broken anyway.”

  “Don’t try to understand a swordsmith’s pride, Jesse. Your old sword broke, and that’s that. He’s very upset it broke. Anyway, there’s your sword. The stiletto is in Charlotte under lock and key. You’ll get it back when we’re back in town. Try not to cause any more trouble, okay?”

  “I’ll try,” I promised. I set my sword beneath my aunt’s seat, and to make sure nobody made off with it, I looped the belt around my ankle. “It probably won’t happen, but I’ll try.”

  My uncle laughed. “Well, she’s honest. Don’t ask for the impossible, Todd. She wouldn’t know how to stay out of trouble if you sat her down, gave her a manual, and explained it step-by-step.”

  As it was true, I shrugged and amused myself looking out the window at the busy station while waiting for the train to depart.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Delays plagued our trip, and we arrived in Whiteville late the next day, resulting in us having to wait almost a full day for the next train to Rock Hill. With Sandy Creek a short enough ride from Whiteville, I could give Miracle the exercise she really needed, slip off while everyone was fussing over the delays, and make excuses as soon as I figured out why Sandy Creek kept getting mentioned in Ferdinand’s files.

  A list of dates and nothing else wouldn’t give us the answers we needed, and unless I got lucky asking locals about the seaside town, someone would have to go take a look.

  There was no reason that someone couldn’t be me.

  Randal and my tiger, the busybody he was, got drawn into the heated discussion over the delay, leaving me unsupervised. If they’d wanted me to stick around, they wouldn’t have left me alone. I strolled to the stable car and grinned when my horse whinnied a greeting. I spent a full ten minutes stroking her and promising she was the best of little horses before leading her out of the car.

  My agent looked about like he was about to lose his mind over something my aunt said, and I gave it five minutes before my tiger snapped. His growls drew Gentry and Todd into the argument, and I shrugged, leading my horse away from the platform to one of the maps pinned on the wall. To my delight, the map included ride times between the station and nearby towns.

  To my dismay, it would take a full day—or night—to reach my destination. I grunted, wrinkling my nose.

  One of the station attendants approached and asked, “Do you need help, ma’am?”

  I pointed at Sandy Creek’s listing. “Do you know anything about this town?”

  “Oh, yes. Of course. That’s a fishing village now. It used to be a major waypoint, but the coast has infringed on it again, and it’s actually moved closer to us. The maps haven’t been updated yet.” The attendant reached out and pointed at a lake substantially closer to Whiteville. “Sandy Creek is now located here. The coast line has come in an additional ten miles except for some odd outcroppings here and there. Parts of the original Sandy Creek are still intact, but the residents are ready to move out at any point in time. The waters there are particularly dangerous because of all the sunken buildings. They have something called the Creek Bore there, and if you’re looking to see something interesting, you go there.”

  “Creek Bore?”

  “If you put even a toe into the water, it will suck you out into the ocean, and you’ll never be seen again. That’s the Creek Bore. On a still day, the water boils where the tide is at its most violent, and that goes right to the churning waters. It’s particularly bad there; you can see the ocean’s fury. Out beyond the still waters, the waves can get taller than most buildings.”

  Damn. I’d have to make a point of dragging my tiger there one day to see it. “How far to the new Sandy Creek?”

  “Three to four hours at a good trot. A courier can do it in two if they’re in a hurry.”

  One day, Miracle would be a good courier horse again, but I’d take the slow but safe route. Nine hours would get me b
ack to the station by morning, and it wouldn’t take long to figure out if something was amiss near the new Sandy Creek.

  Nobody could hide a large force of people, and I’d be aware of them arriving in such a small town.

  I regarded my aunt, uncles, mate, and friends bickering away on the platform, shrugged, and asked for directions on how best to get to Sandy Creek. The attendant told me how to reach the edge of town, which would put me at the start of the road to Sandy Creek.

  I wandered to them with my horse, tapped my tiger’s shoulder, and said, “Money, please. I’m hungry. Miracle’s hungry, too.”

  Without missing a beat in his prized and heated debate, he got his wallet out of his jacket, pulled out several twenties, and handed them to me. I waited to see if he would ask me to do anything like suggest I should stay put. When he didn’t, I shrugged, and decided his willingness to pay me to go feed myself was evidence he refused to lose whatever he was arguing about. After a brief listen, I determined they were arguing if they wanted to wait for the direct train for Rock Hill or purchase horses and just ride there. I left the platform armed with enough money to make it to Sandy Creek, board Miracle for a few hours if I needed, and grab a good meal on the road.

  I waited until I made it out of the station to mount, and then I gave Miracle rein and a nudge. She pricked her ears forward and shuffled into a brisk walk, sliding through the crowd departing the station to find somewhere to spend the night until the next trains left out in the morning.

  Once outside of Whiteville, Miracle transitioned to a ground-eating trot, something most courier horses did without prompting. Her ears, both pricked forwards, pleased me.

  Like me, she liked to work, and I wondered if she had missed the road as much as I had. I monitored her, but she kept trotting with no sign of distress. I’d have to thank Adrian, Henry, and Cleo somehow for the effort they’d put in to make sure she could be a healthy, happy horse again.

  As the sun set, the Hope Diamond gleamed, offering Miracle enough light to see by while she followed the road towards Sandy Creek. I passed through several towns on the way, and I stopped in each one long enough to offer my mare water and a light snack and a breather. At the same time, I found someone to ask about Sandy Creek.

  Most, like the station attendant, told me the town had moved due to the ocean’s ever-growing temper. As I approached Lake Waccamaw, something in the air changed. For so late at night, the town was abuzz with activity, and curious, I reined Miracle in at the first carriage station I found.

  One of the attendants, an elderly woman who needed the help of a cane to walk, looked me over warily. “Your horse sick, too?”

  My eyes widened. “What? No. She’s not sick.” Not anymore. “Is there an illness going around?” If a plague was spreading through the local population, I’d be bolting right back to Whiteville to warn my aunt. If it was limited to horses, then I’d be poking my nose around.

  I remembered what had happened to the other courier horses, and if I could get a hold of those behind their deaths, I’d enjoy putting Todd’s gun to work.

  Such filth didn’t deserve my blade.

  “There’ve been bodies.”

  “Bodies?”

  “Human and horses, some with no hair at all and awful boils.” The woman pointed down the road in the direction of Sandy Creek. “A few have made it here from that way, and then reached the edge of town and fell over dead.”

  “And they had no hair?” The memory of Miracle becoming bare-skinned and losing her mane and tail would forever haunt me. Her relentless will to live had saved me, and I wanted to turn around and send her somewhere safe, somewhere she’d never have to endure such torture again.

  “It fell out even as they walked.”

  My rage sparked to life. “Where?”

  The woman once again pointed in the direction of Sandy Creek. “We aren’t allowing anyone come through from that way now, and we’re trying to keep people from going that way.”

  “Got a courier here?”

  “We do. Why?”

  “I need to send a message to Charlotte.” I’d piss off Felicity, but I figured there was nobody better for the job than the Vice President—and there’d be zero chance of the rest of my family catching on until I had a good look. “What’s the name of this town?”

  “We’re Little Waccamaw, named after the lake that way. We think this mess is coming from Sandy Creek. One of the bodies had a letter.”

  “I’m a courier, although I’m not on route right now. Do you still have the letter?”

  The woman’s expression brightened. “You can read?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I can.”

  “Come, come. Nobody here can read more than the schedules, you know? The youngins who can read head off to the city and they only come back for visits, not that I blame them. We know a few words and numbers, but nothing like in that letter, and we didn’t know who to send it to. Barb! Barb!” The woman hobbled towards the neighboring inn. “Barb, I’ve got me someone who can read her letters here. Bring that thing Patty-Jo found.”

  A rotund woman waddled out of the inn waving an envelope over her head. “I’ve got it right here, Jolene. That little girl can read? You look pretty tired. What’s a little thing like you doing all the way out here?” Barb held the envelope out to me, and I took it. While the Hope Diamond continued to glow, neither woman seemed to register the stone’s presence. Inside, blood-splattered parchment informed the recipient “the cylinder” was on route to Charlotte through Whiteville to Lumberton before passing through Rockingham. One date marked when the cylinder was scheduled to arrive in Lumberton, which is when the first test would occur, and it required a special shipment. The initials HD offered me the only clue I needed.

  I held a treasure in my hand, and the messenger had died much like my little bare-skinned mare would have died if she hadn’t been given a miracle and a new lease on life.

  “Do you have paper and a pen here?” I asked, fearing I’d have no way to ensure the message got to Dawnfire with the needed information.

  Barb turned and headed into the inn, returning a few minutes later with a pad of paper and a pen. “We keep a stock for couriers,” she explained.

  “Thank you. I’ll pay you for the supplies.”

  She waved me off. “You’re a courier, even if off duty. We send the bill to the government if you’ve a message to send while off duty.”

  I needed to kiss the ground my aunt walked on. I copied the message, and I wrote a letter to my aunt with an explanation of what it meant and how it connected to Ferdinand and his conspirators. Closing my eyes, I drew in a deep breath. If anything could protect the precious letter and make certain it reached Gentry’s wife without incident, it would be the Hope Diamond.

  The stone seemed to have half a clue about the important things, so maybe it could identify the traitors and make sure they wouldn’t get their hands on it. The necklace warmed against my throat. When I lowered my hand with the precious letter, the paper shimmered. “Do you have an envelope?”

  “That I do.” Barb returned to the inn, returning with an envelope and a jar of glue so I could seal it.

  After putting the letter inside and sealing it, I addressed it to Dawnfire for my aunt, added my name in the sender’s space along with Waccamaw, and drew a deep breath. “Where’s your courier station?”

  Both women pointed across the street, and I dismounted, walking Miracle over and knocking on the door they indicated. A young man answered, a familiar enough face I pointed at him, and his eyes widened. “Runs Against Wind, if my eyes don’t deceive me!”

  It took me a minute to remember the fellow, who possessed a tongue-twister of a name he claimed came from Scotland. Fortunately for me, he’d liked me enough he didn’t mind if I called him Leo rather than lose thirty minutes doing my best to keep from sounding like an idiot. “It’s been a while, Leo.”

  “I’d heard you’d about got yourself killed not long ago, but you’re looking in go
od form. Odd horse, though, but I bet she runs like the wind despite that coat.”

  “I rescued her from a bad owner, and she’s been getting fit. She’s game for a brisk walk through the woods, though. I need this sent to Dawnfire on the fastest relay you can get me. The courier should only give it to Felicity Adams. Gentry Adams, Stephanie Miller, and that damned rabbit of a First Gentlemen are also on the allowed list. If the courier runs into Anatoly Silverston, he can receive it, but he must be slapped with the envelope first.”

  “You want a courier to slap a Clan Council member with the envelope?”

  “And have the courier tell him the slap is from his mate.”

  Leo whistled. “You landed yourself a Siberian tiger?”

  “I took pity on him.”

  “You deserve a good man, not that trash you tended to shack up with. I was wondering if you’d ever settle, but that’s not settling at all. That’s taking the most wanted bachelor on the market.”

  I grinned at Leo’s description of my former lovers, having forgotten I’d regaled a group of fellow couriers with some of the more awkward tales of their lack of prowess. I hadn’t told them what I’d been doing in those days, allowing them to believe I’d been an unofficial courier all along. “I’ve had some good ones over the years. Those stories just aren’t as much fun to tell between circuits.”

  “True enough. Ever get to shifting?”

  “Sure have.”

  “Hot damn, you’re on a roll. What species?”

  “Siberian.”

  “Well, that would have made you the most wanted bachelorette in the entire country for all of the ten minutes you stayed single before you were hunted by Silverston.”

  I laughed. “Not quite. We are Siberians. We had to posture and fight first.”

  “That’s true? I thought that was just a running joke.”

  “It’s true. We’re pretty violent. Every damned time I look at him, I want to start a damned fight.” I couldn’t stop grinning at the thought of my tiger and how he’d react when he realized I’d given him the slip. “I’m actually starting a fight right now, and it’s going to be a good one when he catches up with me. Anyway, this is official government business, so make sure we get a good relay going; wire a warning we need a non-stop chain to Charlotte, if you’ve got a wire here.”