“We hit something,” the man said, helping his mother sit up.
“Will the stagecoach explode with us in it?” Zachariah stared at Clark with widened eyes. “You’ve worked with machines.”
“Long as there’s no fire, we’re fine.” If fire touched the gears and mingled with the oil, that would make a problem. Otherwise, the steam and water would continue to leak.
“We stay in here. Get ready.” The man opened the front of his white leather coat and pulled out two pistols. Bullet sashes crossed his chest. At least one of them came prepared.
“Get ready how?” Zachariah squeaked.
“Ooh, a shootout?” Amethyst grinned. Of course she would grin.
Shouts permeated through the coach. Clark drew his pistol and checked the cylinder. He’d purchased extra bullets at the port, which he had in his pocket in case he needed more.
He really needed his father’s laser pistols.
His heart thumped. Through the window, he saw four men run toward the coach. Three of them carried pistols, the other had a rifle.
“When they come in, we shoot ‘em,” the man said.
Clark shook his head. “We should jump out for the surprise attack. We’re easier targets if they get to aim in at us.”
“Look, boy—” the man started.
“Brass glass.” Clark pushed Amethyst onto her brother and kicked open the coach door. Last time he’d been told what to do, they’d been arrested on the train.
He leapt out, aimed his pistol at the first highwayman, and fired. The bullet caught the man through the skull, knocking off his cowboy hat. He skidded on his feet and tumbled backward. The attackers hesitated, pulling up their weapons, but Clark fired at the next two, knocking them down. He ducked and rolled through the grass as the rifleman shot. Weeds slashed across Clark’s face, catching in his clothes. The rifleman shot again and someone inside the coach yelled.
Clark aimed from his back and fired. The rifleman jerked and tumbled sideways. Clark used his stomach muscles to sit up without using his hands, keeping his weapon out in case another highwayman burst out from the woods.
Silence. Then, he caught weeping.
“Clark, hurry,” Amethyst called from inside the stagecoach.
With a final scan of the woods, he hopped back into the coach. The man lay on his back with blood pooling around him from a dark splotch in the center of the chest. The rifleman’s bullet had missed his bullet sashes to embed itself into his heart. His mother shrieked from the other bench, hiding her face behind her hands.
“Clark, save him.” Amethyst lowered the man’s head to the floor to take the woman in her arms, turning her away from the body.
“He’s dead,” Zachariah said. “We can’t fix him.”
Clark swore under his breath as he grabbed the man’s hand and pulled off his leather glove to touch his skin. The scenery shifted to the wasteland of death, the desert that stretched toward the ruby sky. The man stood, turning in a circle, his hands stretched out.
“Where am I?” He blinked at Clark.
Clark took his hands. “We’re going back to your mother. She needs you.”
The man hesitated before nodding. Clark opened his eyes, gasping, back in the coach. The man sat up on his trembling arms.
“The bullet skimmed you, must have,” Clark drawled, standing. “Might want to be careful about standing too fast.”
The man wiped his hand over his face. “I… what? They gone?”
“Dead and gone.”
“You can do it.” Zachariah gaped at Clark. “That’s what the tonic did?”
“Shut up,” Amethyst hissed. She stroked the woman’s back. “See, ma’am? Your son’s fine. Everything will be fine.”
Zachariah gulped. “What do we do now?”
“We hit a tree,” Clark said. “We’re not getting anywhere in this.”
“We wait for the next stagecoach to come through or we walk on to the next station.” The man kept wiping his forehead where sweat beaded. His hat lay on the ground near him.
“I vote we walk.” Clark refilled the cylinder of his pistol. “It’d be better to reach the next station than wait here for whoever comes along.”
“We’ll wait.” The man grasped his mother’s hand while she wept. “I don’t think Ma can walk that far.”
“That’s fair.” Clark hopped into the weeds. “We’ll send someone back for you.”
Even though the man had been shot, the culprits had been dealt with—that might not have happened if he’d listened to the man’s advice and stayed inside the coach. Should he go back to Hedlund, as his gut said, or follow Garth’s lead?
lark gulped, rubbing his throat. His Adam’s apple bobbed beneath his palm, expanding and contracting, as if it would strangle him. The cities in Hedlund had houses next to each other, with narrow allies in between, and the main one where his father had that mansion contained buildings so tall he had to tip his head to see the top floor.
New Addison couldn’t be a city. It had to be more of a country all of its own. The next stagecoach they’d rented had passed through a tunnel and emerged in the coach depot. He glanced over his shoulder to the people milling through the main floor as big as the entire Treasure house. A mural of the constellations decorated the domed ceiling. Wooden stands with mongers selling fruit, vegetables, and scarves scattered across the marble floor. Men and women passed between them, the din of voices bombarding Clark’s ears.
Amethyst squeezed his hand, drawing him back to the doorway, and she parted her lips with a grin. “Isn’t it wonderful to be here?”
Wonderful… didn’t mean too much. The coach depot itself had a suffocating, otherworldly feel. “It’s something.”
“I can’t remember the last time I’ve been here.” Zachariah adjusted the strap of his canvas bag on his shoulder. “We came to visit you one fall, didn’t we? We stayed in the hotel and drank hot chocolate, only it had ice in it.”
“I was so mad at Mother and Father for coming. I had to miss a bunch of parties.” A shadow fell over her face and she pursed her lips, as though regretting her words. “It was nice to see you, though.”
Clark realized he gaped, so he shut his mouth. The world beyond the doorway had to be a torture dungeon. He’d slept in cellars nicer than the cobblestone road with heaps of garbage along the wooden plank sidewalks. Vehicles passed one after the other. The buildings of gray stone and brick towered to block out the sun, casting shadows over the hordes of passersby.
A little boy wearing only denim overalls and a felt cap ran up to them with a wooden box. Coal, mud, and what Clark hoped wasn’t feces speckled his body, where flesh hung over bones. In the summers, Clark had run amok shirtless, but if he’d been that dirty, his mother would’ve dragged him to the river and scrubbed him with lye soap until his skin blistered.
The boy snapped open the case to reveal brass pocket watches on silk. “Want a watch, misters? Lady? I have the best prices.”
“Get gone.” Amethyst scowled. “We know you’ve thieved them. Go back to your owner and tell him to give you a better job.”
The boy stuck his tongue out at her before darting into the crowd.
“His owner?” Clark repeated. The child couldn’t be older than six.
Her blue gaze softened. “I know you’ve had a rough life, but things here tend to get a lot worse for orphans. A lot of men will force them to sell stolen goods. People are more apt to buy from a child than from an elder.”
“Wait, they force them? The police let that go on?” Cities were supposed to be refined.
Amethyst shrugged. “This is the west side. The police don’t come here much and the crime lords know not to venture into the east side. That’s where we’re going. I’ve only been to the west side a handful of times.”
“It upsets Father, what the crime lords do,” Zachariah whispered. “Sometimes they kidnap the children. They don’t have to be orphans to be owned. It’s not all bad, though. They get clothes and foo
d. A place to live.”
Amethyst hopped down the stone steps to the sidewalk. How could she accept it? Clark winced. She’d probably thought the same about his lifestyle, but she’d embraced him for who he was and what had made him that way. She’d grown up being taught to turn a blind eye, to avoid the west side to stick to her kind.
Which kind would he have been? Living with his mother, they might’ve ended up on a street with heaps of garbage.
A window opened in the building across from the depot and a man emptied a chamber pot into the street. A pair of women walking below staggered to avoid the slop.
“Hey,” the one in the green dress yelled. “Watch it, guy!”
Amethyst shuddered. “It shouldn’t take us long to get to where it’s safe. We can take a trolley. How much do we have left?”
Zachariah edged nearer to the building as he sorted through the canvas bag. A man without legs leaned against the brick exterior with a wooden sign propped against his belly. I not work give money.
“How much is a trolley?” Zachariah asked.
“Um.” Amethyst closed her eyes as she moved her lips without speaking. “Two dollars should cover the fair for all of us.”
Clark whistled. “That much?” The trolley in Hedlund City cost ten cents per ride.
“Of course. Things are more expensive here.”
“They want to keep the riffraff from working in the good sections,” Zachariah whispered. “If they charge more for the fare, the folk can’t get there.” He glanced at the legless man before dropping a penny into his lap. “Am, why were you here anyway? The train station’s in the east side.”
“Oh.” Her cheeks flushed. The hair stood on Clark’s arms. He’d pictured Amethyst living in silks and servants, not stepping around muck and avoiding urchins.
“One of those crime lords could’ve taken you,” Zachariah said.
“I… was with a group. For a birthday party. Come on.” She grabbed Clark’s hand and headed for the street corner. “The trolley will be this way.”
Unlike the trolley in Hedlund City, which couldn’t hold more than twenty passengers, this red one had two floors. People leaned against the open windows. Exhaust pipes pumped steam and copper wires crisscrossed the metal exterior in a knot-like pattern.
“We need Believe Street.” Amethyst took the two bills from Zachariah and handed them to the conductor, a rotund man with a thick bronze mustache and a blue cap over his head.
The trolley conductor raked his gaze over her and licked his lips. Clark stiffened, resting his hand on her shoulder. Zachariah stared at the passengers as though the conductor didn’t exist.
“About two hours.” The conductor nodded down the car as he stuffed the money into a box under his wheel.
“What about my change?” She held out her hand.
“Ain’t no change.”
“I should get back at least twenty-five cents!” She pressed her fists against her waist and straightened her back. “Do you have any idea who I am?”
Clark turned her toward the aisle, whispering against her ear, “And it would better if he didn’t find out. We’ll manage.” He’d lived without any money at all. “People cheat commoners. Get used to it.”
She flared her nostrils, but allowed him to prod her down the trolley car. Double seats lined the walls under the windows. Men and women dressed in black uniforms sat without looking at anyone else.
“Let’s sit upstairs so we can see more,” Zachariah said.
Amethyst lifted her skirt as they ascended the narrow metal stairs at the rear. As they reached the top floor, the trolley jerked into motion. Amethyst glided into the first seat and Clark slid in beside her. Zachariah took the one in front, pulling his sack over his lap.
“Why does everyone look alike?” Clark whispered. The women wore black dresses with high collars, puffed sleeves, and straight skirts, whereas the men wore black slacks and a black jacket that buttoned up the front in two rows.
“They’re servants. Maids and butlers.” Amethyst kept her voice low.
“I thought they couldn’t afford the passage.”
“If they’re good workers, their employers pay for the trolley fare. That’s what my uncle does.”
The city passed by outside the windows. Brick buildings. Stone buildings. More muck, slop, and people so close together they became a blur.
“How many floors do these buildings have?” He couldn’t see the tops from within the trolley. How could such a tall building support itself? Why didn’t they topple into the street?
“Those in the west side aren’t so big. The building where my uncle lives has over forty floors.”
“He fills them all?” How could one person own so much?
Amethyst laughed, leaning her head against his shoulder. “He rents a floor. Some people own the entire building, but most people here only stick to one or two floors.”
How could that make someone happy? Clark lived for the open fields, the sight of the hay blowing like waves across the meadows. He needed the wind whipping his body as he shot his steamcycle down a dirt road, a pond on one side and the plains on the other. He needed the calm of the forest.
Amethyst, his wife, didn’t care about those things. She liked… He couldn’t believe she liked the garbage or people who didn’t look at one another in greeting. At least that was good. No one would bother to recognize them.
“Hey,” he whispered against her neck. “Is this where you want to live?” Did he dare dream about the future? When he closed his eyes and thought ahead, he saw himself hiding in a cave created by the roots of a toppled oak tree. Amethyst crouched beside him, with dirt on her cheeks to hide their flush and her blue eyes bloodshot.
She deserved more than that, whatever it was she wanted.
What did he want?
Amethyst shook her head. “I would never, ever live in the west side. Thieves break into your tenement and kill you in your sleep. One of our maids told us about that happening to the family across the hall.”
That happened in the mining towns, too. “I mean in the city.”
Her eyes widened and she bit her lower lip. “Clark… I like our house in Hedlund City.”
“You don’t want to live here?” He slid his hand across her shoulders and squeezed her arm. She sighed, snuggling beneath his chin.
“Yes and no. I know where things are here. I love the clubs, my friends. I miss my uncle’s place.” She pressed her finger to his lips. “But, you’re not here. I can still have fun in Hedlund City, and you can still be close to the wilderness. I can open my own clubs. I can make new friends, but still come back here whenever I want.”
Movement caught Clark’s eye and his attention jerked to the seat in front. Zachariah peered at them with narrowed eyes. Clark slid his arm off Amethyst and sat back in his seat, his heart thudding. How could he have been so caught up in his thoughts that he’d forgotten about her brother? Cuddling was definitely not something siblings should do.
“Have you ever seen Father’s house in Hedlund City?” Amethyst asked, her voice smooth and her smile back.
Zachariah looked from her to Clark, a neutral gaze replacing his glare. “Yeah.” He sat back down, lost to them over the seat.
Zachariah knew about Clark’s ability. Did Clark trust him with the secret of his father, too?
“I’ll point out attractions,” Amethyst sang. “Coming up here on the left you’ll see the history museum. They have all the jewels and such belonging to our past kings and queens. My school took us there once. It was terribly boring.”
The trolley deposited the group at the end of Believe Street. The cobblestones seemed cleaner and the sidewalk less crowded. No one had thrown garbage in the way. The passersby glided, the women with parasols and the men with walking sticks. The smell Clark hadn’t considered before faded, replaced by a floral scent. Metal poles with lamps and potted plants decorated the roadside.
“Fifth building.” Amethyst glided as the others did, swin
ging her arms at her side, the epitome of grace. Clark could have mistaken her for a princess, but then, he only knew about princesses from stories his mother had told Mable.
Zachariah stared at the wooden plank sidewalk as they followed her. What did he think about what he’d seen? If he told anyone, Clark would have to tell the truth about that, too.
No one knew the future. They might not even have one.
Amethyst pranced up the three steps to the fifth building, a brick one decorated with gargoyles. A man in a suit pulled a lever and the door opened.
“Miss Treasure.” He inclined his head without meeting her gaze.
“Thank you. These two gentlemen are with me.” She sashayed through the doorway.
Clark stuck his hands in his pockets. The doorman knew her, but that didn’t mean he knew she was wanted. According to Garth, they’d be safe as soon as he spoke to the president.
They’d better be.
A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling and murals of the ocean decorated the walls. Women and men sprawled over velvet lounges. Some had placed wine glasses on mahogany tables.
Clark’s boots squeaked on the marble floor. A woman around Georgette’s age looked up from beneath her lowered lashes.
“They don’t belong in here,” she said to the woman beside her. “How did they even get let in? I’ll speak to the building manager. This won’t happen again.”
Amethyst whirled on her heels before Clark could grab her arm. She pushed her unbound hair away from her face and lifted her chin. “Thank you for that lovely compliment, Mrs. Snow. I’ll pass the endearment on to my uncle.”
The woman dropped her wine glass; the yellow liquid splashed across the floor as the glass shattered. “Amethyst Treasure?”
Amethyst turned on her heels again, striding toward the back of the lobby where a suited man waited behind a desk.
“Amethyst,” the woman called after her. “Were you mugged? Dear child, come back here.”
“Gossips,” Amethyst hissed.
Born of Treasure (Treasure Chronicles Book 2) Page 12