by Gwynn White
Or was Grayson lying?
“Solon said he recognized Lock’s soul,” she said.
Grayson’s confident expression vanished, and he once more watched her with suspicion.
“So, it’s true? Automatons really are made from stolen souls?” She pulled Lock from her pocket. He seemed to know when they were alone, and instantly transformed into the little dragon.
Grayson didn’t answer.
“He’s so beautiful,” she whispered, rubbing Lock beneath his chin, getting a purr from him. “How did Solon recognize his soul?”
“Its soul,” Grayson corrected her choice of pronoun.
“Do you not know or are you just refusing to tell me?” She studied the silent man. A new idea occurred. “Did you take Lock from Solon? Is that what you meant when you said you procured him in London?” After all, Solon shared Grayson’s accent.
Silence met her question.
The boat lurched into motion, and she absently spread her feet to keep her balance.
“We’re leaving?” Grayson asked.
“Yes. I made the unpleasant discovery that your friend is meeting with my cousin.”
“He’s not my friend, and who the hell is your cousin?”
“Andrew Rose.”
Grayson’s brows lifted. “You’re Bridget Rose?”
“My friends call me Briar.”
“Charming, Miss Rose. What do your enemies call you? A thorn in their side?”
“Ha ha. How do you know my name?” Then she remembered. “Oh, right. Andrew had some big plan to marry me off to your Mr. Martel.”
“Was that his plan?”
“Yes.”
“Something tells me you weren’t as thrilled with the idea.”
“That Andrew intended to sell my boat, build locomotives for the enemy, and give me to some ferromancer? I was delighted.”
“So, you stole his boat, pilfered those locomotive plans, and kidnapped me? Seems it would be simpler to just knee Andrew in the nuts.”
“It has proven to be less than effective,” she answered, ignoring the heat in her cheeks. Why did it make her feel so coarse and common to discuss such things with him? It never bothered her with the crew. She rubbed Lock beneath his chin to hide her discomfort and got another coo from him.
“I wouldn’t think Mr. Martel would be any more thrilled with the idea,” she said.
Grayson sighed. “It might be a bit late for that since you’ve already captured a bit of his soul.”
5
Briar looked up from tickling Lock’s chin. “What? Are you saying Lock is…”
“I told you not to name it.”
“You might have told me why!” She stared at the little dragon in horror. Lock blinked, delicate silver eyelids descending over those gem-like eyes. He sprang up to her shoulder and with a coo that sounded too much like a question, rubbed his cheek against her throat.
“What does this mean? What do I do?” she demanded.
Grayson looked amused at her discomfort.
“Is that who Solon recognized?” she continued. “What’s the connection? And why is my cousin involved with both of them?”
Grayson’s frown returned. “That I don’t know.”
“Captain?” Jimmy called down from the hatch above them.
Lock scampered down her chest and vanished into her pocket.
“What is it?” she called.
Jimmy opened the hatch in the roof above them. “We have a problem.”
Her heart surged. “Andrew saw us?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so. It’s the rudder.”
A thump sounded, and Briar stumbled to the side as the boat hit something.
“What the hell?” Briar demanded.
“We docked beside Darby last night,” Jimmy said.
“Shit.” Briar headed for the ladder.
“I can fix it,” Grayson called after her.
Briar hesitated. “You don’t even know what’s wrong.”
“I can fix it.” He held her gaze.
Jimmy snorted. “He just wants you to untie him.”
“A boat floundering at the dock would have to draw attention,” Grayson said. “I don’t know about you, but I’d like to avoid attention.”
In other words, he didn’t want Solon finding him. Not that she blamed him. God, had Solon really stolen a part of Mr. Martel’s soul and locked it in a little metal dragon?
Without commenting, Briar left the cabin and hurried along the catwalk to join Eli on the tiller deck. The boat was currently butted against the dock a short distance from where they had begun. They weren’t noticeably floundering in the middle of the canal—as Grayson feared—but they weren’t underway, either. And with the canal visible from the busy streets to either side, Andrew could catch sight of them if he were to come this way.
“Eli?”
In answer, he lifted up on the tiller, and the handle rose up from its setting. It wasn’t supposed to do that.
“How did that happen?” she asked.
“I thought it felt a little soft ever since we left home, but I hoped it just needed tightening. When we bumped that sand bar coming out of lock forty-four, I heard a pop, but since we docked immediately, I didn’t notice a problem.”
“You think Darby did this?”
“Aside from brushing that sandbar, we haven’t hit anything.”
She ran a hand over her braided hair, glancing toward shore. “Can we rig something just to get us out of town?”
“It’s below the water line. We’ll need to dry dock and have it repaired.”
She knew that, but had hoped Eli might have a little canal magic up his sleeve. Speaking of magic… She glanced back toward the cargo hold.
“Mr. Grayson claims he can fix it.”
Eli’s eyes narrowed. “The ferromancer’s servant?”
“Maybe he learned a few tricks.”
“He’s tied up in the bunkhouse. How does he even know what’s broken?”
“I already pointed that out.” She eyed a hired coach moving along the street. Fortunately, it turned off before reaching them. “I’m going to let him try.”
“Miss Briar—”
“We can’t just sit here in plain view.”
Eli rubbed a hand over his face, but he had no argument for that. He followed her back to the bunkhouse.
“The tiller no longer controls the rudder,” she said the moment she stepped into the cabin. “We’ll have to dry dock and have it repaired.”
Grayson nodded as if he understood just what she meant. “I can fix it.”
“You’re very confident.”
“Yes.”
She turned to Eli and gave him a nod. He didn’t look happy about it, but he walked over to untie Grayson’s bonds. Once free, Grayson rose to his feet, rubbing his wrists.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Eli told him, his voice low.
Briar wasn’t certain if Eli was just being overprotective or if something had transpired between the two of them when Eli first took him captive. Whatever it was, Eli definitely disliked the guy.
“You have me at a disadvantage, friend,” Grayson answered.
“You’re not my friend.”
Briar rolled her eyes. “If you two are done posturing, there’s a rudder to be fixed and a cousin to elude.”
“Yes, Captain,” Eli grumbled.
“Where’s the trunk you stole?” Grayson asked her, ignoring the rest of it.
Briar eyed him. Was that why he’d volunteered? He wanted to learn the location of his employer’s trunk?
Grayson sighed at her hesitation. “There’s a tool kit in the bottom.”
“How would you know that?”
“I packed the trunk.”
“You really are Mr. Martel’s valet?”
“Do you want me to fix the rudder or not?”
“Eli, please show Mr. Grayson to the tiller deck.” She wanted to add that he was free to toss him in the canal if he gave Eli any
trouble. But Eli would probably take her up on it. The rudder wouldn’t be fixed and they’d have the added attention from onlookers while Mr. Grayson was fished out of the canal. She doubted if a dandy like him could swim.
Gritting her teeth against the annoyance of this whole situation, she marched off to her own cabin to retrieve the tools her passenger had requested.
Aware that he had been the one to pack the trunk, Briar sifted through the contents, noting how neatly everything had been arranged. Mr. Grayson would do well on a canal boat where every inch of space was a commodity to be used in the most economical way. Had he grown up in a similar environment?
When she returned to the tiller deck, she found only Eli in attendance.
“Where’s—” She didn’t get to finish as Mr. Grayson appeared—on the other side of the rail. He’d been hanging off the back of the boat.
He hoisted himself over the rail to stand before her. “Ah, good. You found it.” He nodded at the bag she carried.
He’d doffed his coat and rolled up his shirtsleeves, but he still looked out of place in the silk waistcoat and well-tailored trousers. His gold watch chain winked in the sunlight.
“It’s not as bad as I feared.” He accepted the bag from her.
“You can fix it?” She found that hard to believe.
“With a forge and some quality steel, absolutely. With what I have here, I can get us to that forge.” He opened the bag and began to sift through the contents with a lot of clinking of metal against metal.
“Bullshit,” Eli grumbled.
“Would you like to make a wager?” Grayson asked, not looking up from his bag.
“Enough,” Briar cut in. She was going to quickly lose patience if these two had to work together for long.
Grayson pulled out a clamp along with some nuts and bolts. The silver metal wasn’t as glossy as Lock’s scales, but it had a similar sheen.
“That doesn’t look like iron,” she said.
“It’s an alloy. It’s stronger and more versatile.” He handed her a wrench. “Hand that down to me when I’m ready?”
She accepted the wrench with a frown. “What’s an alloy?”
Grayson sat on the rail and took a moment to toe off his boots and socks. “Commonly, it’s a combination of two or more metallic elements. Steel, brass, and bronze are examples.” He rolled up his pant legs and swung one leg over the rail.
“And what’s that?” She nodded at the clamp he picked up.
He flashed her a grin, then dropped over the end of the boat. “The Briar Rose?” His voice carried back to her.
She stepped up to the rail to watch him climb down the back of the boat. “Yes.”
“You named your boat after yourself?”
“No. I’m named after the boat.”
He gave her a considering look she couldn’t interpret before turning back to his task.
She swung one leg over the rail and watched him work. He really did seem to know what he was doing. It was no time before he was asking—no commanding Eli to test the tiller and for her to hand him the wrench.
Looping her knee over the rail, she leaned out to eye the repairs. The shiny metal seemed oddly out of place and made her aware that the boat could use a fresh coat of paint when they docked this winter. Would the boat be hers by then? Would she be able to afford to have it painted?
Grayson climbed back up and took a seat across from her. Without comment, he handed her the wrench.
She lifted a brow.
“I figured you wouldn’t want me to carry around a potential weapon.”
“Do you often use a wrench as a weapon?”
“Not often.” He was studying her again, his expression impossible to read.
“And what—”
Grayson abruptly twisted around to glance over his shoulder.
She lifted her head to follow his gaze when he sprang at her, pulling her from the rail to drop them both to the deck.
Briar grunted as she landed face down against the worn boards, Grayson’s arm around her shoulders holding her down. Like her, he was on his stomach. It had happened so fast that her heart just now began to pound.
“What the hell?” Eli demanded.
“Look,” Grayson whispered, pointing between the posts supporting the rail that surrounded the tiller deck.
Briar looked where he pointed and the breath caught in her throat. Along the street, not a dozen yards from her boat, a hired coach had stopped. As she watched, Solon stepped out.
“Miss Briar?” Eli was reaching for her. “Did he—”
“Eli, get us out of here. Quickly.” She didn’t know why she whispered. Certainly Solon couldn’t hear them.
Eli glanced back toward the street.
“That’s the man Andrew was meeting,” Briar said. “Move, Eli.”
He stepped away from the rail and, taking the newly repaired tiller in hand, shouted out to Benji to get the team moving.
Briar cringed at Eli’s shout, then reminded herself that it was no different from any other boat moving along the canal.
She peered out between the posts. Andrew wasn’t in sight, though he could be in the carriage.
Solon wasn’t looking directly at them. He kept turning his head as if searching for something.
“He can’t…sense Lock from there, can he?” she whispered to Grayson.
“No.” Grayson never took his eyes off the man.
“Then what caught his attention?” she demanded. “Or do ferromancers routinely stop in the middle of the street to stare around?”
The corner of Grayson’s mouth curled upward, hinting at amusement, though he didn’t take his eyes from the bank—or answer her question.
With a lurch, the boat started forward. Benji’s shouts of encouragement to the team echoed back across the water.
“Hope this rudder holds,” Eli said.
“Insulting,” Grayson muttered.
“You can take your arm from around the captain,” Eli added.
Briar’s attention had been so focused on Solon that she hadn’t noticed that Grayson still held her against the tiller deck.
“Eli’s right,” she said when Grayson didn’t immediately move.
“My apologies. Captain.” Grayson still looked amused, though he did take his arm from her shoulders.
“Why do I feel like everything you say with that snooty accent is a joke at my expense?” she demanded.
“You kidnapped me. You’ve given me no cause to address you with anything except derision, snooty accent notwithstanding.”
“If you would take the tiller, Captain,” Eli spoke up, “I can tie the dog in the bunkhouse once more.”
“I fixed your ship.” The coldness was back in Grayson’s tone.
“Boat,” she corrected. “Because it benefited you.”
“And you.”
She started to get up, but he placed a hand on her shoulder. “A few minutes more. That red hair is distinctive. It might catch his attention.”
Solon was still looking around, though to her relief, he seemed most interested in the street around him.
“Can’t this heap of waterlogged timber go any faster?” Grayson demanded.
They were already up to speed. “Four miles an hour is as fast as any boat is allowed to go,” she said.
“Tell me you’re kidding.”
“Any faster, and the wake would erode the bank.”
Grayson just stared at her, clearly appalled.
“What’s going on, Captain?” Eli asked.
“See that man standing beside the hired coach?” she asked. When Eli agreed, she continued. “He’s a ferromancer. The real thing. He even has a hand made out of metal.”
Eli paled. “And he’s meeting with Andrew?”
“Yes, I don’t know why. It gets worse.”
“How can this get worse?”
“I kneed him.”
“You do have a gift for trouble,” Eli muttered before turning his attention to the s
treets around them. “Stay down, Captain. We’ll be out of the city shortly.”
“I just don’t understand what got his attention, “ she said to herself as she watched Solon.
Abruptly, the ferromancer turned and climbed back into his carriage. A pause, and it rolled off, back into the small tangle of streets around the canal.
Briar released a breath and was surprised to hear Grayson do the same. Carefully, she climbed to her feet and he rose beside her.
“Captain? You want to take the tiller?” Eli asked.
Wordlessly, Grayson offered his wrists.
Briar frowned, feeling guilty about holding a man against his will. But if she could prove that the railroad was using ferromancer technology to further its empire, she had to do it. Even if Mr. Martel proved to not be a ferromancer, Solon certainly was. And with her cousin’s clandestine meeting with him, there had to be a connection.
She took the tiller and glanced back at the town they were leaving. She didn’t watch Eli lead Grayson away.
Briar propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hand. The lantern swayed with the gentle rocking of the boat, casting its light across the ledger she was supposed to be updating. They had tied up for the night, not wanting to chance a sandbar or submerged log in the darkness. Eli feared the rudder repair wouldn’t survive a collision. They would reach Chillicothe by morning and have it repaired properly.
With a sigh, Briar leaned back in her seat. “What do you think, Lock?”
The little dragon looked up from where he sat on one corner of the table, his gem-like eyes seeming to question her.
“I feel bad about tying him up, but what am I to do?”
Lock hopped across the ledger, then climbed her arm to reach her shoulder. With a soulful moan, he rubbed his cheek against hers.
She smiled at the gesture of comfort, then rubbed him beneath his chin. “Mr. Martel must be a gentle soul if you’re part of him.”
Lock cooed.
“Of course, that also means Grayson lied. He didn’t buy you in London. Perhaps he stole you from Solon there?”
Lock just rubbed her cheek with his.
“What a shame you can’t talk. I would love to know more—about both men.” She remembered the beauty of the locomotive she’d seen in Portsmouth. Mr. Martel was an artist. What a shame he was a ferromancer.