The witch was a surprisingly strong swimmer. Gloria did her clumsy best to assist, but the current did a much better job at swinging them around and pushing them toward the opening in the rock. The witch yanked her under the water before she bashed her head against the stone lintel, and in a moment Gloria was crawling and sloshing up a gentle slope of stone and out of the freezing river.
She refused to allow herself to faint.
All the same, she could not rise from her hands and knees, either. Shivering, a dreadful mewling sound coming from her mouth, she crouched in the sand at the top and concentrated grimly on remaining conscious.
Into her limited field of view came a wet pair of boots and a sodden skirt, and then a dry edition of the same. “Help me get her on her feet.”
“Have you lost the boat, Ella, and brought us a drowned rat? Not a fair exchange.”
“Boat’s still tied up, far as I know. Flash flood came through the church. I was running for my life, when I turned and there she was, running hellbent for leather after me. Couldn’t very well leave her there, could I?”
“I was—b-being pursued,” Gloria gasped. Straightening, she staggered between them, one hand on each skeleton’s arm, the sum total of her ability being to put one foot in front of the other.
“Not drowned after all.” The dry witch peered into her face. “Pursued by what?”
“Californios—the Amb-bassador’s m-men.”
The hands on her upper arms became rigid as bone as the grips of both witches clenched involuntarily. “Here? In our church?” They picked up their pace. “Mother Mary needs to hear about this. She ain’t going to tolerate Californios in church. The nerve of them!”
Gloria found her circulation coming back out of sheer necessity. Her brain was still not working properly, for she had no idea what church they were talking about. No matter. From the indignation of both, the enemy of her enemy had just become her friend.
For now, at least. Until she could find her way back to Santa Fe … and once she had done her duty, on to an airship going east.
Her companions guided her along one passage and then another, until the light ceased to come from torches set in holders along the wall, and came instead from the light of the sky coming through a broad oval opening. They emerged on the back side of a village set in the cliff some twenty feet above the river’s surface. The village wasn’t large—ten or eleven stone houses all attached to one another, with a long, semicircular piazza fronting the river behind a wall just tall enough to keep a child from falling in.
On the piazza a skeleton lounged in the sun, whose long golden rays told Gloria it would soon sink behind the cliff at a turning in the river downstream. At the sight of Gloria and her companions, the skeleton swung her feet down from the wall and stood.
With one look at Gloria and the wet witch—Ella—she snatched up a brown bottle from a perfectly unmagical wooden table, and poured a healthy amount of amber liquid into a clay cup. “One shot, each of you,” she ordered.
The liquor burned down Gloria’s throat and hit her stomach like a curl of flame. Ella coughed and handed Gloria the cup a second time, indicating she should drink the last of it. Oh, why not? She tossed it back and did her best not to shudder. It certainly warmed her insides, though it did nothing for her swimming head.
“Come into the sun,” the witch ordered. “Ella, where did you find her?”
Gloria staggered to the wall and sat, gripping the edge with both hands so that she wouldn’t topple over backward. One more plunge into the river would certainly kill her.
“Running from a flash flood and Californio men, in church,” the girl said with admirable brevity. “I couldn’t leave her there. She’d have died.”
“Of course not,” the witch agreed. She bent to examine Gloria’s face. “Mi’ja, can you tell us who you are and how you came to be in our church?”
But Gloria needed to be certain of something before she answered anyone’s questions. “Are—are you las brujas?” she croaked.
“Have you heard of us?” The witch seemed pleased.
“The men who took me prisoner … are afraid of you,” Gloria said slowly. Each word had to be formed separately, so cold were the muscles in her face. “I escaped them and hid in a crack in the desert. They pursued me, and I fell. But they kept coming. If it hadn’t been for the water—and Ella—they would have captured me. Again.”
She rubbed her face and tilted it up to the blessed warmth.
“Why are you this deep in the desert?” the witch asked. “We are not used to intruders in our church.”
“On a train. From Resolution. The tracks are half a mile from the crack in the earth.”
“Resolution!” squeaked a witch in the growing number filtering out of the houses and into the piazza. “I lived in Resolution. Worked at the Desert Rose, until Bert Blake busted my arm and I ran away.”
Gloria couldn’t tell them apart, so similarly did their skull faces and hollow eyes look. But she had to ask, “Did you know Alice Chalmers?”
The woman blinked, her eyes brown and sparkling with interest. “I sure did. She stole Ned Mose’s airship and disappeared. I heard she was dead.”
Gloria shook her head. “As of a week ago, she wasn’t. I came to the Territories aboard her ship.”
“You don’t say. Alice Chalmers,” the witch said in wonder. “I’m glad she ain’t dead. She was always kind to me.”
“I’m happy to hear of kindness among mutual friends. That’s a good sign,” said the tall, buxom witch to whom everyone deferred. “What’s your name, girl?”
Fuzzy and non-operational as it was, Gloria had made up her mind. As far as she was concerned, any connection to the Meriwether-Astor name was no longer a benefit, but a liability.
“Meredith Aster,” she said.
“And what about you is so interesting to the Californios that they’d chase you into a slot canyon and get themselves killed by a flash flood? We seen a body or two come by here after Ella pulled you out. Ain’t many Californios with the courage to come near the Sangre Colorado de Christo unless they were forced to.”
How much of her tale ought she to tell? Would the truth gain her sympathy, or have her tossed over the wall to join the dead men in the river? Abruptly, Gloria’s courage failed her, and her determination to be brave fizzled away as suddenly as water on a hot rock. Her eyes filled, and wordlessly, she began to cry.
The witch gazed at her for a moment as Gloria slid from the wall to curl up in a weeping ball on the flagstones. “Looks like our guest has been through enough for one day. Ella, take her to your room and the two of you get some rest. Mother knows you’ve earned it. We’re expecting Captain Stan and the boat tonight. We’ll feed her and have the story then, when everyone can hear it.”
With encouraging murmurs, the witches helped Gloria to her feet and led her into one of the stone houses, where Ella showed her a pallet laid on a bench and helped her out of her filthy clothes. When she would have clung to her sodden blanket, Ella pulled it gently from her hands and made her lie down.
And there the darkness claimed her even as the tears dried on her cheeks.
GLORIA WOKE hours later to the sound of music and conversation, and the chug of an engine. A fire crackled cheerfully in the hearth of the room in which she lay, and as she pushed herself to a sitting position, she saw that her clothes had been laundered and lay dry in a neat pile on a chair. Even her corset. As she fastened its hooks, she felt surreptitiously for the gold coins sewn into the corners.
Still there. Those coins represented her ability to someday return to her own life, once the task she had set herself was completed. If the corset had been slit and the coins removed, she was not sure she would have been able to stand the blow.
She was becoming very tired of other people controlling her life. If only she could figure out how to regain the autonomy she had once taken for granted! But then, it seemed that said autonomy had been the product of wealth. Without th
at—or without people about her who respected it—she was no more and no less than what she could prove herself to be.
Thoughtfully, she pulled on her pants over clean bloomers. Jake’s shirt, evidently, had not been deemed satisfactory, for the blouse she found on the pile had the gathered neck, cheerful flowered embroidery, and puffed sleeves worn by Ella. It was probably hers. Gloria would have to express her thanks at not having to go about in company in pants and a corset and not much else.
Even her boots were dry, a miracle she would not have been able to pull off even in Philadelphia. How had they done it? Magic?
Clean clothes did amazing things for the spirits. Gloria sallied forth, only to meet Ella on the steps coming up. “You’re awake,” the girl greeted her, looking pleased.
“Thank you for seeing to my clothes, Ella. And for the loan of a blouse.”
“You’re welcome. Keep the blouse—I can always make another. Come. Mother Mary is waiting.”
The whole village, it seemed, was waiting, along with a crew of ramshackle men who toasted the witches and laughed at something one of them said. When the woman turned, Gloria saw that it was the witch in charge. Mother Mary.
Awkwardly, not knowing what else to do, she curtseyed. “I neglected to thank you before for saving my life, you and Ella,” she said. “And for seeing to my clothes so quickly.”
Mother Mary regarded her for a moment. With the paint and the dots along her eye sockets, Gloria couldn’t be sure, but she thought an eyebrow might have been raised. “I like courtesy in a visitor. It ain’t often we see it in these parts. Come along, Meredith, and have some supper.”
It took a moment for Gloria to recall this was the name she had given, and then she crossed to a pair of trestle tables, which had been set up by a roaring bonfire and were laden with roasted meat, squashes, potatoes baked in their jackets, and round, flat bread in which everything appeared to be rolled up in lieu of plates. Some sauce was splashed on the top, and when Gloria bit into it, fire roared along her tongue.
“Oh my,” she choked. “I have heard of this, but never tasted it.”
“The plants are called chiles. We grow them up on the mesas,” Ella said. “The sauce—salsa—takes some getting used to, but capsaicin is good for a body, especially after the dunking you took.”
“If you say so,” Gloria gasped, having taken a second bite. But she could not stop, despite the spicy heat. Nothing had ever tasted so good, and she devoured not one, but two of the meat- and vegetable-filled rolls, and prepared a third one for later, just in case they ran out. There were juicy oranges for dessert, and cinnamon-flavored pastries filled with honey. Gloria had one of everything, and came very close to giving up the thought of Philadelphia if she could only eat like this forever.
During the meal, she became aware that several of the men were watching her—and one in particular seemed to be enjoying the spectacle as much as she enjoyed the food.
Hmph. She gave him her shoulder. It was probably because she was the only woman not wearing face paint. For that, she could see now that she was in her right mind, was how the witches achieved their skeleton-like appearance. If he was a friend of the witches, an undisguised woman was likely a novelty. Still, it was rude of him to stare, and so boldly, too!
“Come,” Mother Mary finally called. “If you’ve all had enough, gather around. I have a powerful need to hear Meredith Aster’s tale.”
“Might I be properly introduced to your friends, and your other guests?” she asked the witch.
“What good will that do?” called the bold man. “These ladies all look alike.”
“Indeed, they do not,” she said, feeling a little huffy on their behalf. “Ella looks nothing like Mother Mary, who looks nothing like the lady who prepared the roast, though I was not told her name.”
“Clara,” that lady said, laughing. “How can you tell me from Ella?”
“By her voice, Ella is ten years younger at least,” Gloria said. “And you have a flower pattern at the corners of your lips, while hers is between her brows. Your skirt is blue, and cotton, while Mother Mary’s is as red as her velvet jacket.”
Mother Mary let out a shout of laughter and slapped her knee. “Not only polite, but observant as well,” she said, smiling. “Not one witch in a hundred could do that on first meeting.”
“She’s no witch,” the man said. His eyes sparkled green in the dancing firelight, and under his disreputable bowler hat with the pilot’s goggles on the brim, his hair curled against his neck and shoulders, black as a crow’s wing. A leather holster ran over his chest and under one arm to hold a pistol, his low-slung belt was decorated with silver brooches similar to those of the Californios, and a revolver was strapped to his thigh. Had his firearms been made by M.A.M.W.?
He bowed and swept the hat from his head. “Captain Stan,” he said. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Aster.”
“We’re all friends and equals here, Stan,” Mother Mary reminded him. “Call her Meredith, same as we.”
“Let me introduce my crew, then, Meredith—Mike, Jim, Carlos, Sully, and Miguel, serving aboard the riverboat Colorado Queen.”
“I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, gentlemen,” Gloria said to them, and was rewarded with a toast from various glasses and bottles. One of them—Sully?—plucked a fanfare from his banjo in lieu of a greeting.
Next she was introduced to the witches, a feat of memory that had her concentrating hard to put decoration and clothing with names. There were at least thirty in the company, including several children. Perhaps it would take a day or two before she could address someone correctly, but all the same, she felt better for knowing at least a few.
“Now that we’re all friends, let’s hear your tale,” Mother Mary said, settling onto the wall as though a chair were too confining for her. Captain Stan took a seat not far away, while those who did not find chairs arranged themselves on the stones and steps leading down from the houses above.
Gloria took a breath to calm a heart that suddenly beat hard in her chest. “I came from Philadelphia to stop a war,” she blurted.
If she had thought this bombshell would elicit some surprise, she was mistaken.
“Lofty ambitions,” Captain Stan said, “for a young lady of gentle upbringing.”
“Shut up, Stan, and let her speak,” Mother Mary said with greater asperity than politeness.
“I hired Captain Chalmers to fly me and a friend to Resolution, where we convinced Ned Mose and his men to waylay the train on which many tons of armaments were being shipped to the Royal Kingdom of Spain and the Californias.”
“Why would you do that?” Mother Mary asked, the dots between her eyes practically meeting as she frowned. “What business was it of yours?”
“I believe it is everyone’s business,” Gloria said steadily. “The Ambassador to the Fifteen Colonies, who seems to have aspirations above his station, has encouraged his young and inexperienced sovereign to spend hundreds of thousands in gold on arming his own supporters for an invasion of the Texican Territory. This train carried mechanicals of war—metal horses and missile-bearing cats to be used as cavalry—and a great behemoth with a rotating gun in one arm and a cannon in the other that could destroy half a village in one shot. All of it is to be deployed—first, to wipe out the witch population along the Sangre Colorado de Christo, and once that is achieved, to take for himself the gold he is convinced you are hiding.”
Half a dozen people swore in as many languages, the babel breaking out and spreading in a wave through the crowd.
“Us!” Mother Mary said when she could be heard again. “We are to be this man’s first objective? What madness is this?”
“Yes,” Gloria replied. “With the gold, he can finance a push deeper into the Territories, all the way to the Mississippi and beyond. At the very least, he—or perhaps the Viceroy, I am not certain—plans to build canals and water courses from the Pacific Ocean to the Sangre Colorado, using the rivers to ship weapons a
nd men more easily.” She gazed at her hostess. “So you see that the only things stopping this man—Senor Augusto de Aragon y Villarreal is his name—are you … and me.”
“I’d be very interested to know where you’re getting your information.” Captain Stan’s gaze was no longer flirtatious. In fact, he might have looked upon her in just this way had she been a rattlesnake or a scorpion.
“Yes,” Mother Mary agreed. “What proof do you have?”
She had no proof. But someone had to listen. Someone had to believe her, or the entire country would be convulsed by one man’s madness.
“You will find that all the armaments were built by the Meriwether-Astor Munitions Works. The reason I was captured during the battle at Resolution is that I can fire anything that company makes. I am—I was closely allied with the company and until its owner died, was very familiar with its workings. The owner, unfortunately, allied himself with the countries with the deepest pockets. Until his death, he had been inciting wars all over the world to promote the sale of armaments.” Her throat closed, and she swallowed. “This war is the last of which I am aware, and since I could not live with my knowledge, I determined to do what I could to stop it.”
“And so you were captured for that knowledge.” Captain Stan’s gaze lay on her with steady disbelief.
For she was a woman, of course, and what knowledge could a woman have?
“I was to be taken to the Viceroy because of it and, I suppose, made to fight on their side—if I was not executed first. Or, being a woman, perhaps I would have been set to training their troops.” She glared at him. “I was able to lull them into believing I meant to do so, until we reached the siding some distance across the country, there.” She waved a hand across the river. “I escaped and thought to hide myself in a crack in the earth. But as I was pursued deeper and deeper into the caverns, I realized it might lead to the river—and that I might find allies among you.”
“And that was when we heard the flash flood coming,” Ella put in. “It swept away the men chasing her.”
Fields of Air: A steampunk adventure novel (Magnificent Devices Book 10) Page 21