“I don’t want a wife.”
Rose slipped her hand out from between Ikey’s and his thigh. “You don’t want a wife, but you want me? Am I to be your pet, then? A mechanical Turk to do your washing and cooking?”
“No—”
“This is what I meant the other night. Would you ask this of any other person, or simply me?”
“I wouldn’t want anyone else.”
“Be that as it may, if you truly see me as a person worthy of respect and care, then you will respect my situation.”
Ikey rubbed his palms across his thighs and smeared the pool of warmth created by his hand and Rose’s. “Is that it, then?” Ikey asked the dark.
“What more is there?” Rose said.
Ikey sat a moment more, adrift in the hall and waiting for something more. The machinations of the situation overwhelmed him—a riotous machine so loud and thunderous and continuous that it blotted out everything and became the air itself.
Ikey pushed himself to standing. His butt tingled with numbness and his shoulders ached.
“I should leave,” Ikey said. He swept small circles over the floor with the toe of his boot until it brushed against his satchel.
“If it was up to me,” Rose said, and her voice sounded so much different coming from below, sounded full of struggle and climb, “things would be different.”
Ikey crouched down, snatched up his satchel, and slipped it over his shoulder as he stood.
“It is up to you,” Ikey said. “I have offered to open the cage door. If you choose to remain inside, then you are complicit in your imprisonment.” A hot band of iron smoldered along the length of his spine. He wanted to tear the walls down now, rip through them like wet cardboard and struggle out into the light where something could be done.
“That’s not fair,” Rose said. “Things aren’t that simple.”
“Things aren’t that fair. Or so I have heard.”
“Ikey…”
“I’d give you a kiss farewell, but since you don’t respect me enough to trust me not to dribble pity all over you at the sight or touch of your face, I will refrain.”
Her dress rustled as Rose stood. Ikey’s heart fluttered. He hadn’t meant to goad her into casting aside the veil, but the thought of knowing what she hid from the world—what she would trust him with—quickened his blood and filled his head with the heat of wonder.
Something brushed against his chest.
Ikey reached up and found Rose’s hand before him. She presented him three fingers.
As he and his sister had done while aping the manners of the upper classes, Ikey half-bowed and took Rose’s hand, those long fingers in his own. He brushed his lips against her knuckles. The sharpness of lye smoldered from her hand.
“I wish you well,” Rose said.
“Thank you. For that. For your kindness. I won’t forget it.”
“And thank you. The last few days have been grand. I don’t think I’ve come closer to being treated like a normal person.”
“You deserve it, and more.”
Rose slipped her fingers from Ikey’s grasp. “We seldom get what we deserve in this life.”
“Agreed,” Ikey said as he hitched his strap over his shoulder. “I’m beginning to see that we only get what we take.”
“Then take care.”
Despite his desire to reach out and clutch Rose and pull her close, he turned away. He pounded down the steps, hearing each wooden slat crack in the dark under his weight. Music boxes sang their stupid and delicate songs to the rhythm of his steps.
The darkness removed the temptation to look back, to see Rose on the steps. But he did want to stop and listen, to hear Rose move and know whether she retreated back into the hall or traced his steps down the stairs. Instead, he moved onward, counting his steps, turning left to the top of the next flight. Down he went to the kitchen and out towards the front parlor where he extended a hand into the dark and it landed on the doorknob. Ikey undid the latch with a twist of his fingers and pulled the door open.
Light collided with him and stopped his momentum with the force of a blank wall. He stood and blinked at the street until the pain subsided from his eyes and the blobs and blurs resolved themselves into pedestrians, carriages, and carts.
Ikey hitched the strap over his shoulder again and took off for Turk’s Head. It was time to start taking more than care.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The door to Turk’s Head shut behind Ikey and choked off the scrap of sunlight that struggled through the clouds. Shapes swam up out of the shadows as his eyes adjusted.
“Well, lookie here,” Willa’s voice said. “If it isn’t your shadow again.”
“Oh, bloody Nora,” Cross grumbled. “What the hell do you want now?”
Cross’s shape emerged from the dark—tall and thin and leaning against the bar. A glass rested in his hand.
Ikey stepped up to an empty stool beside Cross.
“You didn’t finish your last drink,” Cross said. “So I’ll be damned if I’m buying you another.”
“Then step outside,” Ikey said.
Cross chuckled. “What?”
“I want to talk to you.”
“What the hell about?”
Ikey leaned in. “I know about Rose’s dad.”
Cross took a drink from his glass. “Bully for you.”
Ikey leaned in closer. His chest hovered close to Cross’s arm. “I want to trade places with you.”
Cross regarded Ikey a few seconds, then set his glass on the bar. “What?”
“I’ll take over. I’ll take care of Rose. You leave the house to me, and I’ll forward you the stipend.”
The barman stepped up to them. “Is he drinking?”
“No,” Cross said, “he’s only bullshitting.”
“I’m serious,” Ikey said.
Cross lifted an eyebrow at Ikey. “You’re serious? Then you wouldn’t mind paying for your own drink, would you?”
Ikey sat up straight. “I just want a word with him,” he said to the barman.
“Then you can have it after he leaves,” the barman said. “Until then, make room for a paying customer.” He nodded towards the entrance.
“Cross,” Ikey said, “come on. I’ll take the responsibility. You can be free and still keep the money.”
Cross swallowed the rest of his drink and slammed the glass onto the bar. He spun around and shoved his face toward Ikey. “You don’t get it, do you? You can’t pay for your own drink. And even if Admiral Daughton was to pay you a decent wage, you have no idea what the hell you’re asking for.”
Ikey pushed his face closer to Cross’s. “What does it matter to you what I’m asking for?”
Cross sneered and sat up on his stool. “It matters when you got nothing to offer in return.”
“Last chance,” the barman said. “Buy a drink, or wave goodbye.”
Ikey glanced from Cross to the barman and back.
Cross burst into laughter and slapped his knee. “Don’t you even ask, you bloody tosser. Get the hell out of here.” He nodded at the door.
“You heard him,” the barman added. “You’ve had your word.”
Ikey slid off the stool. His feet hit the floor. But it felt like more of the world was unwinding, drifting away. He clenched his fists, and there was nothing to hold on to, nothing to grasp and cling to. Nothing to lose.
“You’re damn pathetic,” Ikey said to Cross’s back. “A loser.”
Cross turned halfway around and regarded Ikey over his shoulder. “What was that?”
“You don’t love her. You don’t care about her. You’re just after the money. And look what good it’s brought you.”
“Oy!” the barman called. “I’ve had it with you! Get the hell out of here.” He pulled a truncheon out from under the bar.
Cross held his palm up to the barman. “I got it.” He stood and reached for Ikey.
Ikey dodged the grasp, stepped out of arm’s reach, and l
ifted his fists before him.
“Put those down and meet me outside before you get hurt,” Cross said.
Ikey lowered his fists, but stood with his weight back on his foot, ready to dodge and run in like the barman had suggested.
“Come on, come on,” Cross said and ushered Ikey over to the door with sweeping gestures.
As they approached the door, Ikey reached behind him. The door smacked him in the hand as it opened. He glanced over his shoulder and jumped to see Smith standing in the doorway.
Ikey whirled around. Smith looked down at him, then up at Cross. He shook his head once, then hitched his thumb over his shoulder.
“Oh, bloody hell. What could he want now?”
Smith jerked his thumb toward the street in response.
“Him, too?” Cross asked.
Smith shrugged, then nodded.
“Come on, boss,” Cross said and cupped his hand behind Ikey’s shoulder. Before he could spin around, Cross propelled Ikey through the door.
Sunlight blurred everything and pushed in on the corners of Ikey’s vision. Cross’s momentum steered Ikey across the street, towards the steam carriage. Admiral Daughton sat at the window and shook his head in slow, grazing sweeps under which his jowl shifted and twisted.
Fear and anger collided in Ikey. He wanted to run away, and he wanted to run up and punch Admiral Daughton through the window, right in that fat wattle and have the flesh of the man’s neck stretch and ooze and swell with his rage.
Cross ushered Ikey around the carriage, then opened the door. Ikey climbed inside and sat on the back bench, but as far from Admiral Daughton as possible while Cross flipped down the front bench and helped himself to a glass of gin. He held the half-filled glass out to Ikey and arched his eyebrows.
“I can’t believe my very eyes,” Admiral Daughton said.
Ikey shook his head and looked to floor.
“I expected to find Cross here as much as I expected to find the sun in the sky. But you, Mr. Berliss?”
Cross flipped the seat back up and plopped down. The carriage rocked with his weight. Gin sloshed over the edge of his glass. “He had some last minute questions for me.”
“Such as?”
Cross took a sip of his drink. “Such as how to build a flameless heating element to stick under the hydrolysis converter.”
Admiral Daughton looked from Cross to Ikey. “Do you have the plans I asked for?”
Ikey nodded.
“Let’s see them.”
Ikey’s hand went to his right pocket, hovered, and then to his left. He slipped his hand in and drew out the set of the plans drawn that morning. He held them out to Admiral Daughton.
As Cross sipped his drink, Admiral Daughton snatched the square of papers and unfolded them with a crinkling that filled the carriage. He studied the penciled sketches. After leafing through them, he nodded.
“Yes, this will do nicely,” he said. “Do you have the cost estimation sheet I requested? It’s most important that I have something to forward on to the Ministry.” He folded the papers and stuffed them into a pocket inside his coat.
Ikey looked out the window, to the river, the bridge, the people milling over it. He hadn’t made a price list. How thick of him.
“Hey, wait a minute,” Cross said. “I recognize that paper. That’s pilfered from my toolkit, you little shit.”
Ikey glared at Cross.
“Oy, hand them over,” Cross said to Admiral Daughton. He held out his free hand and snapped his fingers.
Admiral Daughton raised his eyebrows. “You’re honestly worried that he stole a few sheets of your paper?”
“Paper? Hell, I think he stole my ideas. Those are my damn drawings.”
Ikey’s jaw dropped.
“Mr. Berliss?” Admiral Daughton asked.
“I did not. Those are my designs,” Ikey said. The words left his mouth before he had time to consider what Cross was attempting.
“Let me see them,” Cross said.
Admiral Daughton regarded the two men before snaking a hand back into his coat. He handed the papers to Cross.
Cross set his drink down on the bench and made a show of examining the sketches. As he scanned the first one, Ikey watched a brief flicker of confusion zip over his face, followed by a flint of a smile as the man realized what he was looking at. His eyes darted to Ikey and back. Ikey fumed as Cross trampled over his plot to discover what Admiral Daughton was up to.
“Yep,” Cross said as he handed the papers back, “those are my designs. This little bugger stole them from my tool kit.”
Admiral Daughton took the papers back and held them before him. The corners of the paper trembled slightly under his touch.
“Mr. Berliss, is this true?”
Ikey shook his head. Heat flushed into his face. “It’s not. Those are my drawings. I did take paper from his tool kit, but those sheets were blank. The drawings are mine.”
“Bollocks,” Cross said before swallowing another drink.
“Gentlemen—” Admiral Daughton began.
“If you want proof,” Cross said, “ask him to explain them to you.”
Admiral Daughton looked from Cross, to the papers, and then to Ikey. He extended his arm. “By all means then, you should be able to explain these schematics.”
Ikey trembled nearly as much as the paper. His breath came hot and oily, and as he reached out to take the papers from Admiral Daughton, he saw that his hands looked more like his dad’s than his own.
The papers trembled even more in Ikey’s clutches. He set the plans next to himself, balled his fists up, and placed them in his lap.
This was how his dad did it. That sensation of rolling action coursed through him; a spring wound to the point of snapping. And if he released that energy, it would propel him in a singular burst of fury into Cross’s face. He’d get in a good shot. Try for two before Cross recovered and wiped him away with his greater size and experience. But for several glorious seconds, Ikey would be the one in control. He’d be the motion when all the world waited for a reaction. For that brief moment.
And then his dad would be spent like a fox that would not stop throwing itself against the bars of its cage until it collapsed in exhaustion. And despite its efforts, despite its snarl and flashing teeth and bristled fur, the lock remained locked, and it cared not a whit.
Ikey took a deep breath. He opened his fists and planted his palms against his thighs. Damp heat pulsed into his legs.
“Mr. Berliss?”
“See?” Cross asked. “He can’t explain them because he didn’t draw them. He stole them from me. I recommend you send him straight back to the chicken coop where you found him. Right now.”
“They’re bogus plans,” Ikey said.
Admiral Daughton cocked an eyebrow. The expression dropped from Cross’s face, along with his color.
Ikey closed his eyes for a moment. The light in the carriage was too much.
“What the hell?” Cross asked. “Look, Ikey, shut the hell up. Admit that they were stolen, and we’ll cut you loose. No blame. You can go back to the farm and we’ll forget all of this. We know you’re in over your head.”
“They’re bogus plans,” Ikey insisted. He opened his eyes into a half-squint and regarded Admiral Daughton. “I drew them. I knew you were setting me up. So I drew them to see if you’d notice or care.”
Cross clapped his hand against his forehead. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
Admiral Daughton straightened his posture and tugged at the lapels of his coat. “That’s a bold accusation, young man. Do you care to explain yourself?”
“Why else would you put me in charge? You know I can’t lead a crew. You would try to fire me one day, then promote me to foreman the next?”
Color seeped into Admiral Daughton’s cheeks. “I knew you were special when I saw you fix Smith’s arm. You have a talent. I thought the addition of you to the crew might shake things up. Especially if it was insinuated that I might start r
eplacing a number of the crew. Once I saw you lift the ship, it seemed only natural that you should be rewarded with a promotion. You did what Cross could not. I meant simply to extend my appreciation and demonstrate my faith in you.”
Ikey glanced at Cross, then out the window again, to the river and sharp hill rising up to the bluff and the buildings and the hangar above. He had made a grand mess of things. He might as well collect his satchel and start walking back to the farm now.
“Ikey,” Cross spat, “get out. We’ll continue our conversation outside.” Cross glanced at Admiral Daughton. “I’ll take care of this.”
“Hold up a moment,” Admiral Daughton said as he raised a palm. “I still have a ship and a deadline. Ikey, you said the plans were bogus. Can you produce actual working plans?”
Ikey’s throat tightened. He nodded.
“Excellent,” Admiral Daughton said with a grin.
“What?” Cross asked. “No. After everything this little shit—“
Admiral Daughton raised his palm again. “Enough! The fact of the matter is that an official from the Ministry of Defense arrived in Whitby ahead of schedule. It seems your crewmen are exceptional gossip mongers, and word is out among the townspeople that the ship has lifted. This official got word of this at a local pub, and now he is demanding a much stricter time table. Now, I don’t give a whit what is going on between you two, but this is my last chance to submit an expense request. I need something to hand over to the Ministry now. Can you draw up an expense list, Mr. Berliss?”
Ikey nodded again. It then occurred to him that he had no idea how much anything cost. His dad always dealt with money, and he never had a coin of his own. He and Uncle Michael often got their parts used or scavenged.
The air escaped Ikey again. He was in way over his head. It was time to stop digging.
“No,” Ikey said. He shook his head. “I can’t. I don’t know how much things cost. Cross should do that.”
Admiral Daughton drew in a deep breath. “Mr. Cross?”
Cross drained his glass, then set it on his knee. “Get rid of the runt. Give him the money you promised him, then send him back to his daddy’s farm. Then we’ll talk.”
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