“She has a . . . I haven’t the word. Une commotion cérébrale.”
“Concussion,” supplied Whitcombe.
“Oui, exactement. Concussion. Cecily, you must stay awake if you can, at least until we reach a doctor.”
Miss Davis nodded, listless and gray. “I know, Mother, stop telling me.”
Frowning, Whitcombe leaned into the car, blocking most of the doorway as he peered into the injured lady’s eyes. “Miss Davis, do you know what year this is?”
It was as if the answer danced just out of her mind’s grasp. Her pain and frustration were evident. “I . . . do. I know I do. Just forgotten. So tired. And it hurts.”
“I know, it happened to me once. For two whole days all I wanted to do was sleep, and they kept waking me every few hours. Yours is worse, though.”
“Hurts.”
Cantlebury trotted up with a pair of dark spectacles. “Here, she needs them more than I do. We need to move now. The longer we stay here the less I like it. Whitcombe, you’re riding with me, yes?”
“Yes, I suppose. Dammit.”
“You drove well.”
“I was never in the running after Colorado Springs anyway. But I’d have liked to make it to that point on my own, at least.”
They’d resumed their long file for the journey. Eliza was second to last, with Cantlebury and Whitcombe bringing up the rear. Matthew had taken the lead, with Parnell tucked into his cargo area, and Eliza had to wonder if he’d drawn the livelier companion.
“Miss Davis. Cecily, are you awake?” She nudged her passenger’s shoulder and was relieved when Miss Davis mumbled something. “What was that?”
“What happened? Where am I?”
“You were driving in the Sky and Steam Rally, and some saboteurs bombed your steam car. You have a concussion. I’m driving you to the next stop in Colorado Springs.”
Eliza had the answer down pat now, because it was the same thing poor Cecily had asked every time she woke up enough to speak.
“What time is it?”
“Four o’clock in the afternoon. We should be there in another few hours.”
“Hurts.”
“I know, Cecily. Just a few more hours and we’ll get you to a doctor. Try to drink some more water if you can.”
The woman licked her dry lips and accepted the water flask Eliza handed her, but as she lifted it to her mouth she shuddered violently and lowered her hand again. “Can’t.”
“Please try. Just a sip. You’re parched.”
Though the shaded spectacles made it difficult to tell for sure, it appeared as though her eyes were closed again already. Eliza rescued the flask before it could fall from her fingers and put the cap back on tightly.
The bruise on Miss Davis’s temple had darkened to a truly frightening purple black. Her periods of wakefulness were growing shorter and, to Eliza’s mind, less lucid. Her speech slurred, and even when she slept the pain seemed to be unbearable. She alternated between fitful whimpering and, more worrisome, periods of deathlike stillness.
One of those frightening, too-quiet stretches had begun as Eliza drew close enough to the distant mountains to make out some details. After some rough patches of travel through craggy hills and valleys, the land had leveled out around them, a great flat plain stretching out to the foothills of the true mountain range. Eliza felt as if she were an insect crawling along an enormous plate, vulnerable to whatever unfeeling hand from the heavens cared to flick her away or squash her into oblivion. On the other hand, the range of visibility was far too great to make it a likely ambush point for the sky pirates. Her existential anxiety heightened, but her fear of actual attack by the hand of man eased for the first time in hours.
There had been a few simple bridges and raised fords along the way, but for the first time since leaving Westport, Eliza began to see signs of actual human maintenance in the roadway. It wasn’t paved, but it was smoother and flatter than it had been, the larger ruts filled with gravel or sand. There was a small, sturdy bridge at one point, and then a larger trestled one of metal and heavy timbers, spanning a gorge they could have never crossed otherwise. The smattering of single cabins near the road swelled to hamlet size here and there. And then at last a sign, hand-painted and rough, but reassuring, with an arrow pointing west, COL. SPRINGS 5 M.
Eliza chuckled, wondering who had put the sign up, and how often it was read by people who didn’t already know the distance to town. “Cecily, wake up. Look, we’re nearly there.” She shook Miss Davis gently by the shoulder, but the lady slept on. “Come on. Time to wake up. Cecily. Cecily!”
She took her eyes from the road for a quick glance, then jerked them front again, trying to breathe slowly and carefully and not think of anything in particular. She especially could not think of what she’d just seen, the thin trickle of blood from Cecily’s ear.
“Puppies. I’ll think of puppies and keeping the car on the road and that is all I shall think of until we reach the checkpoint. Happy, fluffy puppies gamboling in a field of grass. Cecily, wouldn’t that be adorable? Cecily. Puppies, tumbling and playing, picture that.” She reached for Cecily’s shoulder again but drew back, unwilling to investigate more closely until she had to. At this point it no longer mattered; there was nothing more she could do.
By the time she reached the checkpoint, she had passed through that point of being overwhelmed by hysteria and entered a state of unearthly calm. She parked the steamer carefully, narrating each point of action meticulously to her silent companion.
“I’m venting down the boiler. Turning off the spirit flame now. And double-checking the brake to make sure it’s fully engaged. You should always do that, Cecily, even on the flat. It’s quite hilly here, though, of course. All the more need for caution.”
The first rally official to reach her car looked grim enough at first. After one glance at Eliza’s face and another to take in her passenger’s condition, the man turned chalk white himself. A furor broke out, the crowd’s noise turning to panic and frantic activity, as somebody opened the door and Miss Davis tumbled out. Eliza never saw who caught her, only knew she didn’t hit the ground.
Eliza was not so fortunate.
She came to from an application of smelling salts, and after a moment’s disorientation felt a keen sympathy for Cecily Davis. The first thought in her mind was What happened? How much time has passed? The sky over her head was a lurid blend of reds, pinks and purples. It was either the most spectacular sunset she’d ever witnessed or she had hit her head like Cecily and was hallucinating the whole thing.
“No, we’re old friends from childhood. I’ll do it once we’re sure she’s all right.”
“Matthew?”
Getting her bearings slowly, she realized she was lying on her back on the street, her head pillowed on something softer than packed earth. Matthew knelt at her side. She blinked when he bent close, inspecting her eyes in the quickly dimming light.
“You do not appear to have a concussion. Do you know where you are? Do you know who you are?”
“Colorado Springs, Eliza Hardison. Oh, mercy, did I faint? Tell me I didn’t.” Mortifying. She’d never fainted in her life.
“I think I would have too, under the circumstances. Also, your lips are dry and it was warm in the steamers. Did you remember to drink?”
“Oh. No, I suppose I didn’t think to. I was so busy trying to get Cecily to . . . oh, Matthew. Oh no.” She struggled to sit up, looking frantically around her. All the cars had arrived, and most of the crowd seemed to have moved down half a block or so to a grassy area in front of a bandstand.
“Miss Hardison, if I may?”
The new voice startled her. It was a woman with a kindly face and iron gray hair, who had evidently been standing near her head. She carried a small torchlight in one hand, and now she knelt down by Eliza and lifted a hand to her forehead. With
the skill of many years of experience, she positioned Eliza’s head and raised first one eyelid, then another, shining the light in each eye and then holding it back to observe them both at once.
“I’m Doctor Miller, by the way. Are you in any pain? Headache?”
“No, I’m quite well,” Eliza assured her. She didn’t think she’d fallen very hard, but they seemed to be taking extra precautions with her.
“How is your stomach? Any queasiness?”
“None at all.”
“Grip my fingers, please. Now with the other hand. Good. What’s my name?”
“Doctor Miller.”
“Excellent. I believe your ‘old childhood friend’ here is correct, you don’t appear to have a concussion, but you are probably suffering from dehydration. Water, a meal and some sleep should set you right. He was quite concerned for you.”
Matthew didn’t look concerned so much as miserable. Eliza took his hand impulsively, sensing there was more to his worry than her silly fainting spell. He squeezed back, still trying to give comfort rather than take it.
“Matthew, what is it? Tell me, please.”
But as soon as he drew a breath and steeled himself to begin, she realized. She’d known already, in her heart.
“Cecily? Miss Davis?”
Slowly, he met her eyes and shook his head. Such a small, subtle movement to tell such a grave piece of news.
The doctor stood, taking her time to brush the dust from her skirts. “Mr. Pence, perhaps you would escort Miss Hardison to the hotel now. The sheriff’s men won’t be able to hold back the crowd much longer anyway, and she really does need fluids and rest. No alcohol, Miss Hardison. You may take lemon or barley water, or lemonade if you must, but fresh spring water would be best.”
• • •
THE EL DORADO Foundation Ladies’ Society for Temperance and Moral Fortitude was out in full force in Colorado Springs. They’d retreated to regroup when Matthew arrived with Parnell and his tale of the pirate attack. But by the time Eliza had been shown to her room and brought a dinner tray, she could hear them in the street. Chanting, though she couldn’t make out the words.
She drank a glass of the ice water that accompanied the meal, then undressed down to her chemise, moaning with relief as she unfastened her corset. Thus released, with a dressing gown on to ward against the night’s chill, she was able to eat in relative comfort. Or would have been able to, if her mind didn’t keep taking her back to that moment, the passenger door opening, Cecily falling out. Miss Davis was already dead, Matthew had told her. Only for a few minutes, Doctor Miller thought, but it had been too late to revive her.
A soft knock at the door interrupted her unwanted reverie, and she was grateful for the excuse to stop staring at her stew and bread without eating more of it. Although she hadn’t dared to hope, when she saw who it was she felt an easing as palpable as when she’d removed her stays.
“You can’t be here, Matthew.”
“Nobody saw me come down this hallway. Let me in before anyone does and we’ll be fine.”
She did, closing and locking the door behind him. “You can’t stay long.”
“I know.”
They spent several minutes just holding one another. No words, because there was nothing they could say to make things better. For Eliza, it was enough just to cling to Matthew for a brief time, reassuring herself that he had made it through another day alive. She’d been missing something, and apparently it was his hand on her neck, cradling her head against his chest. Once she had that, she felt things might one day be all right.
Time was short, though, and Matthew had come with news. “Parnell is dead.”
“What? How?”
“He hanged himself.” Matthew sat down on the small straight-backed desk chair, passing a hand over his weary face. “The sheriff left him writing what looked like a letter, and went out to conduct some other business. The next time he returned to check on him, Parnell was dead. Used the sheet from the cot, twisted to make a rope.”
“Dear God.” She let him pull her into his lap, no longer caring about appropriateness. “Why? What did the letter say?”
“Well, it shed a bit more light, and confirmed Orm’s involvement. Parnell wrote that a quick death by hanging was better than the living death he’d have on Orm’s farm if his employer came after him for his failure. And also something about opium. He had seen what opium did to Orm’s workers, and would rather take his chances in hell.”
A cold spike of horror lanced through Eliza. Parnell had feared Orm so much he died rather than face whatever consequences the man might dole out. What sort of monster could this man be, and how could they hope to survive if he was bent on destroying them?
“Orm sounds worse than I ever imagined. Worlds worse.”
“Agreed. There is one small—very small—bright side to today’s events. Parnell’s suicide note lent more credence to our theory than any of us could have done by merely trying to convince the sheriff it was true. The sheriff has asked any of us who are willing to push on to Salt Lake City to alert the garrison there. There’s no land telegraph line between the two cities, it’s out of radio telegraphy range and any of us would arrive faster than a courier on horseback.”
“There’s no one closer to help?”
He shook his head. “No one big enough. Only smaller outposts, a few dozen soldiers apiece at most. They don’t have the manpower or equipment to investigate and stand up against Orm’s men if it comes to that. Not if he’s got sky pirates to waste on a bombing raid. And if he’s making enough money from his illegal opium trade to fund all this sabotage, the ladies’ Temperance Society, the whole mad scheme, we must be talking about a sizeable farm. It must be a large area with a lot of workers.”
“Many of whom may be enslaved former opium addicts. Not very daunting. How loyal to Orm could they be?”
“They’re probably not all slaves. He’d need enforcers, foremen.”
“True.” Eliza yawned, trying and failing to stifle it. “Pardon me.”
Matthew wrapped his arms more tightly around her and pressed a kiss to her temple. “You need to sleep, and I need to leave before somebody finds us out.”
“Hold me a moment longer?”
He did, and she rested her head on his shoulder. She thought, just for a moment . . .
SEVENTEEN
ELIZA STILL LOOKED tired and pale when she entered the hotel lobby at sunrise, and Matthew wanted very much to kiss her. Those two things were foremost in his mind, and it galled him that he could do nothing about either of them. Couldn’t even hold her hand, with the temperance ladies close enough to stare into the ground story windows. He orbited her as though she were the sun, drawn in by her pull but unable to get any closer than his fixed distance.
Her mind was on other things, however. “Miss Speck has the influenza. One of the maids found her lying on the floor in her room this morning, delirious with fever. Doctor Miller’s already been to see her.” She sat down on the round bench in the middle of the surprisingly ornate space, and Matthew joined her.
“Damn. And Cantlebury?”
“He’s with her now, I think. He didn’t look ill but I don’t know if he plans to go on without her. I didn’t speak with him; I found all this out from the maid.”
He’d been looking at a map, and she reached over as she spoke to tip it toward herself. It was a large detail of the land to be covered on the air legs, with stops marked and his own notations added. Eliza traced the dotted line of the route from Colorado Springs to that night’s nameless checkpoint.
“They say Salt Lake’s as far west as the commercial airships dare to go, and only a few of them at that because they don’t like to cross the plains for fear of piracy.” He laid a fingertip on the page, barely brushing hers, then continuing on from Salt Lake to Elk City. “Beyond Salt Lake, the pirates rule the
air with little challenge from authorities.”
“And on beyond that, there be dragons.” She lowered her voice to a murmur. “Thank you for putting me to bed last night. I’m sorry I fell asleep on you.”
“My dear lady, you may fall asleep on me any time you like. I wouldn’t recommend doing it while the manic ladies’ poppy brigade is out in force, however.” He nodded discreetly toward the window. Even this early, there were women with placards assembling in the street, and a mounted policeman had taken up a station by the front of the hotel.
“I’ll be glad to see the last of them. They do seem a bit chastened this morning, however. The maid informed me that some of the ladies were quite taken aback by what happened to poor Miss Davis, and they lost their heart for picketing.”
“Informative maid.”
“She was indeed.” She bent to the map again, studying the region he’d outlined in red. “It seems such a small obstacle, compared to the size of the continent. This one place, holding all the Dominions back from coast-to-coast travel. The alleged foul vapors and disappearing dirigibles over California. Pirates in the air to the east. The Spanish to the south, and to the north nothing but freezing weather, fur trappers and hostile natives. It all comes down to the Sierra passage, doesn’t it? If Orm has been orchestrating things to prevent people traveling there, think of the possibilities if he’s exposed and stopped. This is the part where I expect you’ll tell me I should quit because it isn’t safe to go on.”
Matthew smiled despite himself. He had wanted to. That didn’t mean he would. “I’ve learned that on your personal map, beyond that line there be dragons. I’m not a complete idiot. And you seem every bit as likely to prevail as any of the rest of us. You’re in a vanishingly small group of survivors, after all.”
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