The Peculiars

by Maureen Doyle McQuerry

  Mr. Beasley spoke. “Perhaps Lena could use some rest?”

  “Perhaps she could, but you and I still have much to discuss, Tobias Beasley.”

  When he raised the empty space that should have been his painted eyebrows, Lavina added, “Oh, yes, I’ve heard of you. I know you were once a medical man, and my people have been without medical care far too long. Kroll, take Lena somewhere to rest, and take her friends as well.”

  The last words Lena heard her say were directed to Mr. Beasley. “I need to know if you’ve been followed.”

  DESPITE EXHAUSTION, LENA WAS UP EARLY, ALTHOUGH IT WAS impossible to tell time within the perpetual gloom of the mine. If she didn’t get outside, she thought, she’d go mad. She tiptoed past the still-sleeping Jimson, but the small man called Kroll stopped her before she was able to leave the large chamber. From a greater depth she could hear the sound of the mining operations. Shadowy figures moved purposefully in the dimness, already going about the daily operations of the mine. Lena noticed something that had escaped her attention in the dark. A large water wheel turned slowly, fed by an underground stream.

  “Our ventilation system.” Kroll’s voice was full of the creaks of rusty hinges. “It draws fresh air down the shaft.”

  “Why is the stone purple?”

  “This is a porphyrium mine. We mine the rock for its purple color and for its heat-storing properties.”

  Lena wondered if Kroll was also a goblin. Although short and wiry, his feet and hands were of normal length, but his teeth were odd—widely spaced and pointed as if they’d been filed.

  “I’ve never heard of porphyrium.”

  “That’s because the only mines are here in Scree, and your government isn’t interested in ’em. Leastways not the way they’re interested in silver and copper and coal. We grind the stone for purple dye, and we cover our cooking pots in porphyrium dust to hold the heat longer.”

  Lena ran a gloved finger along the stone. The finger of her glove came away stained with a fine purple dust. She looked at her gloves in disgust. They were streaked and dirty. Why would she need them here? Deliberately, she removed one and then the other. She flexed her hands, goblin hands. Then she balled the gloves tightly and dropped them in the pockets of her skirt.

  “Your grandmother asked to see you when you woke up,” Kroll said. He led Lena back to the eating area, but even before they arrived, she could hear the demanding voice of Mrs. Fortinbras asking if there were any “normal people” she could speak with.

  Lavina Mattacascar ignored Mrs. Fortinbras’s request and welcomed Lena to the table, where Merilee and Mr. Beasley sat. “Good morning, Lena. Join us. We were just discussing the properties of porphyrium.”

  Mr. Beasley was wiggling on the bench like a schoolboy. Mrs. Mumbles sat next to him at the table as if she were part of the conversation. “Why, this is remarkable!” he said. “Porphyrium. I’ve heard rumors of the stuff for years.” He got to his feet and rubbed one hand along the wall. “But I never expected—Do you know what this could mean?” He turned to look directly at Lavina.

  She looked even more stooped and wizened than she had the night before, Lena thought, as she watched her fold her sinewy arms on the table.

  “It means that we scrape by. The market for purple dye is almost gone, and Peculiars leave to work in other mines. It means we can’t support the ones who’ve escaped and come here for refuge.”

  “No, no.” Mr. Beasley held up his hands as if warding off blows. “Its heat-storing properties—”

  “We’ve dyed clothes with it for years.” Now Lavina was on her feet too. “I have mined here my entire life and my parents and their parents.”

  “But technology has changed, Lavina; heat storage is invaluable. It goes way beyond cooking pots. Why, we could coat boilers for steam power. We must go outside into the sun. We need to take a chunk of this marvelous porphyrium with us for a demonstration.”

  Looking at Mr. Beasley as if he’d gone quite mad, Lavina reluctantly led the group, including Kroll, along the lengthy passage to the mouth of the mine. Outside, the sun was glinting. Medrat stood contentedly munching a breakfast of grain. Lena’s heart sped up. It was all she could do to keep from running toward the light. Mr. Beasley carried a large chunk of purple porphyrium in one hand. Holding out an arm to stop them before leaving the mine, Lavina nodded at Kroll, who scooted out and returned immediately to say all was clear.

  They trooped into the sun, blinking against the bright day. The sun danced off snow and rocks. Lena squinted to shield her eyes. She had never felt so happy to be out of doors. Mrs. Mumbles was already there, eyes closed, her body stretched long as she warmed herself on a rock. Following her example, Lena leaned into a warm rock and her shoulders relaxed.

  “I shall put the porphyrium in the direct sun against an already-warm rock and I’ll put another type of rock next to it,” Mr. Beasley said, describing his experiment. He grabbed a piece of basalt that had been shaded by the overhang of the mine entrance. “Now we wait.”

  Merilee caught her hair up with one hand and let the sun warm the back of her neck, and Mrs. Fortinbras washed her face with a handful of snow. Lavina squatted nearby, watching skeptically. In the bright light, Lena could see that her grandmother’s hair was thin and silvery white. She saw that Kroll’s bones jutted beneath his pale skin. As they waited, Mrs. Fortinbras and Mrs. Fetiscue excused themselves from the group to attend to women’s business.

  “Don’t go far. It isn’t safe,” Lavina warned.

  Jimson appeared in the mouth of the mine looking tousled and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

  “Put your hand on this rock. It’s slightly warm.” Mr. Beasley was almost shouting in his excitement. “Now here—put your other hand on the porphyrium. It’s hot. Porphyrium absorbs heat very efficiently. Instead of radiating the heat away, it transfers the heat through conduction.”

  Lavina laid a hand on each stone. “That’s why we’ve used it on our cooking pots.”

  “Yes, but there are so many new applications. You could coat a solar collector with porphyrium and it would be a very efficient way to capture heat. You could coat a steam boiler—the options are endless!”

  “And to think you have a whole mine of this stuff!” Jimson transferred the hot chunk of porphyrium from hand to hand. “I can’t believe nobody ever tried to exploit this before.”

  “Not many people know about the porphyrium mines, and Peculiars aren’t about to broadcast the news,” Lavina said. “There’re only a few working porphyrium mines left. This may be the largest.” She turned to Lena. “Besides, it’s Lena’s mine now.”

  Lena startled. She had been enjoying the sunlight, hardly focusing on the conversation at all. She saw that all eyes were turned on her. “But I don’t know anything about mining.”

  “Nevertheless, your father has left you a lega—” Lavina stopped suddenly as a loud swishing sound cut through her words. A shadow slid over them.

  Lena shivered.

  “It’s a dirigible!” Jimson shouted. “Get inside!”

  Mrs. Fetiscue and Mrs. Fortinbras, still several yards away, screamed.

  Lena looked up.

  A voice boomed directly overhead, amplified by a megaphone. “We’ve found their nest. Shoot them all!” A face appeared in a window of the dirigible. Lena squinted up into the sun.

  In one leap, Jimson knocked Lena into a bank of snow. She sputtered and twisted up her face, cold and pocked with snow.

  “But he can’t mean us! We’re not Peculiar!” Mrs. Fetiscue cried, her hat askew. She stood in a clearing of snow, looking upward.

  “Why, I suppose he does, my dear,” replied Mrs. Fortinbras, shaking her fist at the dirigible.

  The sun glinted off the barrel of a revolver.

  “Get down!” Merilee dove toward the missionary ladies, arms outstretched, just as a gunshot from the dirigible split the air. She landed in a belly flop, her arms at their feet, as if beseeching. The snow bled.
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  There was a second shot, and then another. The horse screamed and struggled against his tether. Lavina pointed a rifle at the underbelly of the now listing dirigible and pulled the trigger a third time. “I think I managed a few good hits.”

  The dirigible was already obscured by trees. Instantly, Mr. Beasley joined Mrs. Fetiscue and Mrs. Fortinbras at Merilee’s side. Lena sat up, caked with snow from chin to knees. Jimson was on his feet beside her. Mr. Beasley straightened slowly. “We have to get Merilee inside now.” The snow grew redder.

  Lena rushed to help Mr. Beasley, but he had already lifted Merilee in his arms. Her body was limp and her hair spilled almost to the ground. Lena’s heart hammered wildly. She had known the voice as soon as she’d heard it.

  The marshal had found them at last.

  Mrs. Fetiscue seemed to have recovered her wits more quickly than Lena. “Hurry! We need to set up a place where he can work.” She pulled Lena by the arm. They moved quickly into the mine.

  Lavina, rifle at her side, was giving orders. “Use the eating table.” She turned to Jimson. “Make sure some water is boiled. We’ve got clean rags and more lanterns.”

  They laid Merilee on the table. Her mouth was still open as if caught in mid-shout, and her face was an ashy gray. Her eyes flickered briefly.

  Mrs. Fetiscue blew her nose forcefully. “She was trying to save us. Her being a Peculiar and all, she was trying to save us.”

  “We should pray for her.” Mrs. Fortinbras swiped her eyes with the heel of her hand.

  Lena felt as if something within her might erupt. “Why bother if she doesn’t have a soul?” The words escaped from her lips like steam from a kettle. “Do you know that’s why we saved you the first time, because Merilee said to? She couldn’t bear to think of harm coming to anyone. She wasn’t a mistake any more than you are.”

  “Lena.” Mr. Beasley’s voice was as hard as stone. “Get the scalpel from the medical bag.”

  Lena was glad to have a task. She blinked away tears of frustration. Jimson handed her the bag. She sorted through its contents.

  “I think you’ll be in need of this.” Lavina Mattacascar set an earthenware jug on the table. “It’s a hundred and twenty proof.”

  Mr. Beasley nodded. “Jimson, I want you to help me turn her over. Lena, clean the scalpel with the alcohol.”

  Merilee’s breath was fast and shallow. Lena felt her own hands slippery with sweat. She tried not to think about the pain Merilee must be feeling and tried instead to concentrate on the task. Mr. Beasley kept talking calmly. “Merilee, I want you to swallow some of this drink; it will help with the pain.”

  Obediently, she opened her white lips, swallowed, sputtered, and coughed.

  “The bullet entered right below the shoulder, through the site of the old wound,” Mr. Beasley said. “I’ll need two people to help me.”

  Mrs. Fetiscue stepped forward. “I’ve done some nursing before.”

  “Lena?” Mr. Beasley’s voice was more command than question. “Everyone else, please leave. But remain within earshot in case I need you.”

  “They could be coming back for us at any time,” Lavina said. “Jimson, I want you and Kroll to be lookouts. Come on. Stop gaping—we’ve got work to do.” She hustled the others from the room. “And bring that cat with you!”

  It was eerily quiet all of a sudden. A ring of lanterns had been set on the table, but still the light was spotty. Merilee seemed to be resting more easily. Lena’s mouth was dry. She had never assisted at a real operation before. And it was worse because it was her friend. Mrs. Fetiscue seemed comfortable enough, and Lena tried to draw strength from her calm.

  “I will make the incision here,” Mr. Beasley said. “You’ll both need to hold her. When I’ve removed the bullet, I’ll stitch her up just like you did, Lena, with Jimson’s cheek. I’d like you to sterilize the needle for me.”

  Despite the alcohol, Merilee screamed and writhed when Mr. Beasley sliced the flesh of her back. Mrs. Fetiscue made no comment when she saw the long scars where the wings had been removed. She worked calmly and competently. Lena concentrated on breathing slowly so that she wouldn’t throw up as Mr. Beasley dug about for the bullet, which he extracted and dropped into a cup.

  Mrs. Fetiscue gave Merilee more alcohol while Mr. Beasley turned to Lena. “Your stitching is neater than mine. I’m sure Merilee would appreciate having the smallest scar possible.”

  “No, I—” But he was already handing Lena the needle and thread.

  “I’ll hold the skin closed while you work.”

  On the first prick, Lena felt Merilee flinch, and she almost stopped. Her hands shook so badly that it took all her concentration to steady them, and that was what ultimately let her work. She concentrated on making each stitch small and perfect.

  “She’s lost a great deal of blood, but she’ll recover. We need to let her rest now, somewhere comfortable.”

  Lavina reappeared and offered a warm bed space near the fire.

  Lena walked stiffly toward the mouth of the mine, every muscle screaming its displeasure; she had been clenching them the entire time. Now she was eager for the sting of cold air on her cheeks. But she was exhilarated too. It had felt good being able to help Mr. Beasley and help Merilee. In the end, she had been able to forget about the blood and just do her work the best she could. And she did it well. Mr. Beasley said so.

  A shape was hunched against the rock wall: Jimson, with a rifle resting across his knees, his eyes closed, head thrown back. The scar on his cheek was healing. His eyelashes created shadows on his cheeks. Unfair, Lena thought as always, those eyelashes should belong to a girl. “I’m glad you’re protecting us!” she said.

  Jimson’s eyes flew open. “I was just resting my eyes. I—”

  Lena laughed. “The bullet’s out and she’s sleeping.” She leaned against the entrance to the mine, and let the warmth of the rock seep into her back, then sank slowly down onto a log next to Jimson. “How soon do you think the marshal will be back?”

  “Soon. Even if the dirigible was damaged and he’s slowed down, there will be others looking for us. We need to leave, all of us.”

  “But there’s no law about Peculiars working in a mine. What can the marshal do?” She turned and looked into Jimson’s face. Freckles dusted the bridge of his nose; her own face was reflected in the depth of his eyes.

  “The law says a Peculiar can’t own a mine. I don’t know if the marshal has any jurisdiction over us here,” Jimson answered.

  “You mean,” Lena said, “that he may not be able to arrest us just for running away.”

  Jimson nodded. “I’m sorry about your father, Lena. I didn’t get a chance to tell you.”

  Lena looked away as her throat tightened. She shrugged. “My father killed the marshal’s father. No wonder he hates Peculiars . . . So, I really am part goblin. I’m half Peculiar, just like Merilee.”

  “What does it matter if—”

  She cut him off. “It matters because I can’t go back.” It was the first time she had spoken aloud what she had been thinking, worrying over in her mind, like a dog with a bone.

  “Do you want to?” Jimson’s usually mobile face was very still.

  “Do you?” Lena asked. “Pansy won’t want to wait forever.”

  “Pansy? Pansy doesn’t want anything to do with me now. Her last letter made that pretty clear.”

  “I’m sorry,” Lena mumbled, but she felt surprisingly lighter.

  “Don’t be. I feel as if a huge weight has been rolled off my back. I can do what I want now.”

  Lena closed her eyes. “It’s strange. Suddenly, you’re freer and I’m not. Even if I wanted to go back to the City, I’d be sent back here to work in the mines. And all the answers I thought I’d get from my father—” She shrugged again, feeling the warmth of the sun on her face. “I’m not who I thought I was. Everything is different now. I don’t know how to be part goblin.”

  “It doesn’t change anything, Len
a. That’s what I’ve been trying to say. You’re still the same person today that you were a week ago—the most interesting girl I’ve ever met. It doesn’t change the way I feel about you.”

  Lena opened her eyes. Jimson was staring at her earnestly. She stood up. “Maybe I’m interesting because I’m half Peculiar, something collectible.”

  “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” Jimson was on his feet too, a scowl shading his face.

  But Lena couldn’t stop herself. How could Jimson care about her when she didn’t even know who she was anymore? “What did you mean about my ridiculous notions?”

  In one stride Jimson was closer. “When you were arrested, I was terrified. Terrified that I might lose the most amazing girl I’d ever met. And then when you agreed to landing again—” He shrugged.

  Lena looked at his familiar face. One eye was still purpled; the black stitches gave him the look of a desperado. She reached up and traced the black threads with one long bare finger.

  “Not just the most amazing girl . . . the most dazzling woman.” He cupped Lena’s cheek with a warm hand. Lena eased back against warm rock. There were flecks of green in Jimson’s blue eyes. Why hadn’t she noticed that before?

  Jimson traced her lips with a finger, leaned closer until his eyes, framed with thick black lashes and the sprinkling of freckles, were all Lena saw.

  “We’re having a meeting in the eating room. Now. Kroll will take over as lookout.”

  Jimson pulled back.

  Lavina was standing in the mouth of the mine. Turning her stooped back, she clearly indicated that she expected them to follow.

  Lena felt a laugh bubble up from somewhere deep inside. Jimson took her hand.

  Mr. Beasley, Mrs. Fortinbras, and Mrs. Fetiscue were already seated on the benches. Mr. Beasley looked tired, Lena thought. It was funny how a lack of eyebrows made his expressions so difficult to read. Mrs. Mumbles lay draped across his lap. Meanwhile, the missionary ladies had managed to keep their air of competence. Fortitude, Nana Crane would have said. Mrs. Fortinbras and Mrs. Fetiscue were both blessed with an unusual amount of fortitude.