Born of Treasure (Treasure Chronicles Book 2)

by Jordan Elizabeth

  She opened the trunk of the buggy and grinned. “Empty. This won’t be that uncomfortable then.” She had to jump and brace herself to scramble inside, thwacking her knee against the edge. The box smelled of leather and oil. Scowling, Amethyst pulled the lid shut.

  To keep her mind off her racing heartbeat, she whispered the streets of her favorite stores in New Addison City. She recited the fifth when Eric hissed, “They’re coming.”

  She bit her knuckles to keep silent. Once they reached the captain’s location—Eric had told her he was staying at the inn—she would have to wiggle a way out.

  The stable doors opened. Muffled voices drifted through the wooden trunk before the engine revved and the buggy jerked backward. Something metal ground outside—the gate opening. The steambuggy slid along the street at an even pace.

  Until it jolted over a bump and her body slammed into the back of the trunk.

  “Stupid cat,” a man shouted.

  “Hang on,” another male said. “Something’s in the trunk. I told you to empty it.”

  Amethyst curled into a ball and bit her knuckles harder. Please don’t look.

  Silence. The steambuggy stilled. They were going to check the trunk. They would find her, with her new clothes and filthy hair. Some of the soot might have worked its way across her face.

  The trunk opened and a man held a gas lamp overhead. “Captain, there’s a chit back here.”

  “Please let me go with you,” she whimpered. “I promise I don’t take up no room.”

  Another man joined the first. “What are you doing in my buggy? Who are you?”

  “Mary Worthington.” Her friend from the city. “You’re in the army, right? I saw the insignia. I want to go there.”

  “You want to go to the army?” Captain Greenwood sneered. “You’re a girl. Get out of the trunk.”

  The driver set his lamp down to pull her free. She went limp to make it more difficult, and collapsed on the dirt once he set her down.

  “I don’t wanna join the army,” she wailed. “I wanna see my beau. Mikey.” Mary’s little brother. “He promised to marry me and he done run off to join the army. He promised me we’d be together. He promised.”

  “Get up, girl.” The captain kicked her thigh without looking at her face. “If he left you, he don’t want you. Git back home.”

  She rolled to her knees and sniffled as if about to cry. “But I gotta reach my Mikey.”

  “Git.” Scowling, Captain Greenwood slammed the lid on his trunk and stormed back into his steambuggy. The driver glanced back at her, his face in shadow, before jogging to get back inside.

  “Mikey,” Amethyst wailed as they drove away. That should cover her acting.

  “You need to get into the desert. You’ll need to walk. It will be a few miles to the next town. You can rent a horse then,” Eric said.

  “A couple miles.” She wiped her mouth on the back of her sleeve. Her legs already ached. “I don’t have any money for a horse.”

  “I can teach you how to get some or you can walk to find Clark’s… friends.”

  “Friends.” The word, when drawn out like that in speech, sounded less than positive. Amethyst folded her arms to make herself smaller as she headed toward the desert in the direction Eric pointed.

  Amethyst folded her arms tighter as she entered the town. Dust clung to her body in what had to be layers of grime. Layers. She’d rarely felt so dirty before. Clark must’ve wiped that insecurity away. People glanced her way and whispered. Of course they would. Clark had told her how strangers in small towns caused big stirs. It wasn’t like in New Addison City where a girl didn’t expect to see anyone she knew.

  Shimmering bodies hunched along the weathered buildings. They stared at her with blackened eyes, mouths agape.

  “Why are so many people dead here?” she whispered.

  “They’re dead everywhere,” Eric said. “Now you’ll see them.”

  “Everywhere? All the time?” Shivers crawled over her skin. She’d wanted to see him, not every ghost that still wandered the planet. A child ran up to her and held out his hand; a dead child, with the same empty face. Amethyst stumbled backward and the child followed, holding out his palm.

  “Food,” moaned the little being. “I’m so hungry, miss.”

  “You can’t help them,” Eric said. “He starved a long time ago.”

  How could people starve when, in the city, cooks tossed out heaps of rotten goods that hadn’t been cooked?

  “What do I do here now?” Amethyst pressed against the wall of a bank. A man passed her, a live one, and spit tobacco juice at her feet. He leered at her with his blackened teeth, most of them missing. Her stomach clenched. How had Clark’s mother managed to be a Tarnished Silver?

  A mechanical horse trotted by, steam pumping from the gears along his joints, and the townsfolk turned their attention to that marvel, rather than on her.

  “Mr. Grisham, what do I do now?” Other than appear to be talking to herself.

  “You’re going to steal.”

  “I’ve never done that before.”

  He laughed, a harsh sound, otherworldly. How easily she forgot he was dead like the others. “I know you’ve stolen from stores to impress your friends.”

  She winced. “I didn’t enjoy it. I only did it once.” Or twice. She’d hated it, the quick hand movements that transferred a silk scarf into her purse.

  “You won’t be picking pockets. You’ll be swiping a horse.”

  Amethyst gulped. She’d barely managed to make it out of the department store with a tiny neckerchief. “I can’t hide a horse under my skirts!”

  “Follow me.” Eric floated down the street.

  Amethyst ducked her head as she followed. Clark had been forced to endure a life like that one, faced with stealing or death. He’d sworn he hated the man he’d become, and Amethyst had wound his hair around her finger. Strong, sexually appealing, talented… how could that combination turn him sour? Her lips puckered. He must’ve thought her an imbecile for not understanding.

  Eric stopped beside a one-story house with a hole in the roof and pansies dying by the front door. “The woman who lives here is blind.”

  “How horrible!” In the city, the blind stayed indoors. They weren’t able to function in society. What could a blind woman do out west without servants or dedicated homes to care for her?

  “She has a horse in the shed out back. You’ll have to swipe it.”

  “I can’t steal from a blind woman,” Amethyst hissed. Her father had treasured Eric as a friend. What a wretched man.

  “You’ll have to if you want to help your family.”

  “Her roof has a hole. She must be penniless.”

  “Her son works at the bank. They haven’t had a chance to fix the hole yet. She’s a kind woman. Once things have sorted, you can send her the funds to replace the horse.”

  Amethyst licked her dry lips, tasting dust that crunched between her teeth. “I can leave her a note to contact my uncle. He would send her the money. He can send enough to fix the hole, too.”

  “People in the west often don’t have a lot of money.”

  She almost rolled her eyes at that statement. It made her feel like just as wretched a person, but a blind woman wouldn’t know someone had taken off with her horse until it was too late. “I’ll need paper and a pencil. I doubt they have that.”

  “There should be something that’ll work in the shed.”

  Amethyst pictured herself scrambling onto the back of a horse. “This animal better be small. I’m not the best rider.” Since no one looked their way, she strolled around the house with her chin lifted. Clark had taught her that confidence didn’t raise suspicion as easily as hesitancy.

  “Did I mention it’s a silver horse?”

  “Um, no.” That sounded like a pretty steed. The shed rested by a dried-up bush, desert stretching out beyond. “Poor horse, stuck in that cramped, little building.” What an awful son the woman had, to keep
the roof broken and their horse suffering.

  Eric chuckled. “Did anyone ever tell you a silver horse is another name for a steamcycle?”

  Amethyst stumbled on a rock as she turned to face him. Her lips stretched into a smile that mirrored his. “That I can ride much better.”

  Captain Greenwood slammed his fist into the closet wall, his nostrils flared. “Look at me, boy!”

  “I am.” Clark stretched his arms and hid a grimace to make the soldier think he reclined comfortably on the cot, his wrists still cuffed.

  Captain Greenwood punched the wall again, this time denting the wood. “Where is that bitch? How can a girl escape from a fortress?”

  “Is the senator’s home a fortress?” From Eric’s description of Amethyst’s escape, the mansion didn’t sound that fortified. She’d managed to climb out a window and hop the porch. Safely, Eric had reassured.

  Red crept across the soldier’s face into his ears and neck.

  “You didn’t help her get away, did you?” Clark purred.

  “Of course not. Why would I do that?” Captain Greenwood’s voice squeaked. So, he knew she’d been the one hiding in his trunk. “Tell me where she is!”

  “How would I know?” Clark wished he could shrug. That would irritate the man. “I’ve been locked up in here. The only time you unlock me is so I can take care of my bodily functions.” Amethyst would be proud of that phrase.

  “I’ll find her,” Captain Greenwood roared, then slammed the closet door.

  Amethyst wrote her uncle’s address on the dirt floor of the shed using the wooden handle of a hammer. Thank you for lending me the steamcycle. Contact him for reimbursement. She sat back on her heels and wiped her hands on her skirt. Hopefully, the son could read, or knew enough to fetch someone who could.

  She glanced out the shed door, but no one headed in their direction. “Coast clear?” Clark had taught her that phrase.

  “Yes. You know how to start this?” Eric asked.

  “Clark deserves a huge hug.” And a little extra. Laughing, Amethyst crouched beside the front of the steamcycle to fiddle with the wires. He’d told her it was important to know how to start it manually in case she ever lost the key.

  The green wire touched the blue wire, and holding them together, when the red wire touched them… The engine revved to life. Amethyst lifted her skirts as she climbed onto the seat and gripped the handle. Overall, the cycle was smaller than Clark’s, with more exposed wires and steam exhaust pipes. His had to be a newer model.

  “You better lead me true,” she sang to Eric, who saluted her.

  Amethyst balanced the bike upward and kicked the stand into its holder. Good thing the cycle was smaller. Standing, Clark’s had strained her muscles. Still grinning, Amethyst pressed the power button on the handlebar and the cycle jerked forward. She eased off the button to let the steamcycle coast through the shed door, turned it toward the desert, and pressed down hard. It jerked again, and this time, she let the engine take her.

  methyst’s teeth dug into her tongue as the steamcycle hit a rock poking up from the dirt; the metallic sharpness of blood invaded her senses.

  “Brass glass.” She slowed her speed to spit bloody saliva at the desert landscape. That had to be the fifth time her jaw had snapped, biting her tongue.

  Maybe not the fifth. A lot. She hadn’t actually counted.

  Riding with Clark had been fun. Zooming across the desert had to be a new form of torture. Clark’s helmet had protected her from that jolted biting and the dust that kept stinging her eyes. She had to drive with them closed when she sped up, which caused the tires to bump against more rocks and gullies. Insects caught in her hair and she could’ve sworn she’d swallowed a fly. She’d also worn gloves when she’d driven Clark’s cycle. Without strong enough protection for her hands, the rough handles had torn up her palms. She actually had calluses. Fine, they were more like hard, white sores, and a few puffy blisters. They’d be calluses soon enough.

  More dust caught in her eyes and she blinked to clear them. Sweat beaded across her body despite the wind from the ride. Her face felt tight; brass glass, more sunburn. Proper ladies didn’t abide sun scalding.

  She stopped the cycle and leaned to the right to balance on her leg, the muscles sore from the new, prolonged strain. What joy. No wonder Clark cursed so often. Amethyst wiped her face on her sleeve, but the cloth was just as dusty and sweaty as her forehead.

  “Eric!”

  He flickered into the space in front. “Yes, Mrs. Grisham?”

  Amethyst scowled. “How much further? I’ve been riding all day.”

  Eric chuckled. “You’ve ridden for six hours.”

  “Six hours,” she yelped. “That is all day!” Her stomach rumbled as if to prove her point.

  The ghost pointed at a hill in the not too far distance. It could be worse—he could want her to travel to those mountains she had to squint at.

  “You’ll find Clark’s gang at the top,” he said.

  “Because they all live up there.” She still didn’t believe him entirely, but as her father-in-law, he had to feel obliged to help her. Hopefully.

  “Do you want me to direct you to the plateau? You have to ride up a curling, narrow ridge to reach the top. Jeremiah barely survived it.”

  She almost wiped her face again before remembering that wouldn’t help. “Now you want me to believe Jeremiah, the lovely prude, associated with a gang of ruffians?”

  “He wanted to save you when Horan kidnapped you.”

  “Oh. Clark did mention that.” She tipped her chin forward to shield her face, but it made her head feel hotter. She would have sunburn all over her scalp, glory be. “These outcasts better have something for me, I swear.”

  “You mean assistance? They’ll aid you in my son’s honor.”

  “I meant a hat.” She revved the engine and lifted her foot as it glided over the ground. No, it didn’t glide. It jolted and jerked, tipped and sputtered, and she wished she knew how to rip it apart.

  Someone had thrown rotting logs and larger rocks around the base of the hill. That had to be a good sign. It made it look, a bit, like a fortress. Clark’s gang must’ve struggled to drag the logs from the forest miles away. Ah, forest, with sheltering trees.

  Amethyst steered the steamcycle around a space between the rubble, but the front tire bumped one of the rocks and another scraped against the metal undercarriage.

  “Curses upon you all!” She kicked off the rock and the back tire caught in a crevice, toppling. Her arm hit a log, cracking the wood, and the cycle pinned her down, the engine still struggling and the tires spinning. Amethyst froze, her heartbeat racing. Clark had warned her about tipping a steamcycle: riders lost legs and broke bones. At least she’d been going slow at the time.

  She tried to push the handlebars up and the engine sputtered. The front tire hit the ground and spun out dirt and pebbles. A rock hit her shoulder with enough force to cut through her sleeve.

  “Eric, help me!” What happened if she couldn’t lift off the cycle? She tried to squirm out, but the body had pinned her left leg down firm. It ached, but nothing felt broken. What did broken bones feel like? “Eric.”

  “I can’t help you.” The ghost hovered over her. “I can’t touch things in your world.”

  “What am I supposed to do?” Tears stung her eyes. “I’m stuck!”

  “One of the members approaches,” Eric said. “He sees you’re a woman, so he won’t attack you. You’ll be safe for now.”

  “Help me!” Amethyst tipped her head up to try to see the outcast. “Is someone there?”

  A male coughed from behind her. “What happened to you?” A young voice.

  “I’m trapped. I can’t get this off me.”

  “Turn off the engine,” the youth said. “Your spinning out so you can’t get a grip on the ground.”

  That… made sense. Blushing beneath her sunburn, Amethyst switched off the engine as a boy walked into her vision. He couldn
’t be much older than ten, with freckled cheeks beneath red curls. Patches decorated the elbows of his shirt and the knees of his breeches.

  “Here.” He gripped the handlebars and braced his bare foot against the front tire as he righted the steamcycle. “See how you feel.” He walked the bike away from her and waited.

  Amethyst stretched her legs and winced. Pain shot along what had to be every nerve in her body, but she could move her limbs. She stood, trembling. “I’m alive.”

  “You want me to send you back the way you come? Like, you lost?” He glanced up the hill, probably to see if his fellow members wanted to join in the commotion.

  She had to look ridiculous. “I think I’m looking for you.”

  “Me?” His eyes widened. “No, miss. I’m just an orphan.”

  “From an orphanage.” The words slipped out. “My school made me volunteer at one once, in New Addison City. It was lovely. Many older couples adopt children to make themselves feel young again. My uncle always said he would have done that if he didn’t have me.”

  The boy scowled.

  “New Addison City is in the east.”

  “Well, miss, they don’t have things like that out here.”

  “You live with family?”

  “They’re all dead. Bromi raid.”

  “The Bromis killed your family?” Clark had never let on that the natives were anything except victims.

  The boy shuffled his foot through the dirt. “We lived near the tribe, see, and when the army came, and they thought we were sympathizers…” He snuffled.

  “The army took away my family too,” she whispered. As soon as she settled everything, she would start a proper orphanage in the west, where children like this boy could find sanctuary. That boy, or Clark, or Clark’s mother—she’d been turned into an orphan at a young age, too.

  “Whatcha need, miss?” He glanced back up the hill.

  “I’m looking for the gang.” Did they have a name for themselves? “I’ve come on behalf of Clark Treasure.” They wouldn’t know a Clark Grisham.