In The Service Of The Queen (The Gunsmith Book 1)

by C. K. Crigger

  “Hang on,” Ethan yelled, too busy to spare more than a glance at me.

  “I am hanging on.” In fact, I had a death grip on the edge of the seat. Trees at the wayside flashed by with dizzying speed. The road melted into a blur. I had a vision of myself tumbling beneath the wheels of the carriage like a crash test dummy, and hung on even tighter.

  I’d probably just get squished rather than flattened, I thought on a note of consolation. God knows the mud was deep enough. I wondered if Ethan had any memory of Caleb’s medical training.

  The recent rain had washed several fist-sized rocks from the muddy bank and scattered them across the road in a miniature landslide. We had no choice except to speed through them. One of the carriage wheels skipped, jumped, and sent us both sailing into the air with a heart-stopping bounce. My bonnet, loosened by the wind, flopped over on one side of my head where it dangled from an ear. I had no hand to spare to put it right.

  “Can’t you stop this thing?” I cried loudly, as if the tumult of the runaway team kept Ethan from hearing me. I realized the odd noise I heard was my own blood roaring through my ears in a waterfall gush of sheer terror. The horses made only a soft grunt as their hooves pounded the wet ground. The carriage rattled and banged; the loudest sound being a wheel protesting with an obnoxious squeal.

  So what had been that snap as we went over the bump? I’d taken it for a broken back—mine—which I discovered now wasn’t the case.

  The coach commenced an ominous wobble and it dawned on me our vehicle might be the one with the broken back.

  “Get ready to jump.”

  The harsh tone Ethan used widened my eyes, especially as a glance at his set face warned me he wasn’t kidding.

  “Are you crazy?” Jump! Good God, I could barely bring myself to ease my grip on the seat, let alone launch off into space.

  Ethan’s arm tensed and I knew he meant to give me a shove to help me along. But before he had a chance, the horses took a sudden dip, almost as if they’d run off the edge of the world. With a swoosh, the coach dipped, too, and slid after them.

  I caught air, the law of gravity being temporarily suspended. Ethan, with his legs locked for all they were worth against the footboard, dropped the useless reins and hooked an arm around my waist. He was just in time to stop me from flying from the high seat.

  We crash-landed at the bottom of a ditch in an abrupt, bone bruising halt. Water laced us with a muddy spray. A portentous crack echoed off the water and the carriage listed to the right. I slid down the canted seat until Ethan and I sat hip to hip, joined like Siamese twins.

  At least the horses had ceased their wild dash, for which I gave a short prayer of thanksgiving. My hands shook and I gulped in air. How odd, I thought. Facing a man with a gun barely fazes me, yet a team of runaway horses scares me witless.

  Silence held us both still for a moment, while we each took several deep breaths. I allowed myself to sag against Ethan, pretending just for a moment he was Caleb. He held me close a second before saying an extremely naughty word.

  As if the curse put the world back in motion, I pushed the idiotic bonnet I was wearing back on top of my head. With the movement, feeling came back to me.

  “Ow,” I said. “Darn! Bit my tongue.”

  Ethan sighed and dug a big white handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at the corner of my lips. The cloth came away red.

  “So you did,” he said. “Let me see.” I stuck my tongue out for his inspection, although this hadn’t been the medical training I’d been thinking about earlier.

  With a serious expression on his face that his dancing eyes belied, he examined my wound, tilting my head to get the last bit of light. “I expect you’ll live. I must admit I had some doubts for a while.”

  He sat back and stuffed the bloody handkerchief back into his pocket. “And if you know what demon prompted you to blast away with that gun without so much as aiming, I wish you’d tell me. That’s one demon you’d be better off without. You should’ve shot William, you know. Shot to kill.”

  I’d had the same thought myself a couple of times in the last minute or two—not that I’d let Ethan know I agreed with him. “Somebody had to do something,” I said around my sore tongue. “Anyway, you’re a fine one to talk. I saw you aiming over Bert’s head. Why didn’t you shoot him?”

  Ethan stood up and shrugged out of his driving coat. “Didn’t feel like killing anyone today, I guess. And after you managed to dump William, it occurred to me that, if we can get through this without having to explain ourselves to the local magistrate, we’ll be ahead of the game.”

  Surely I heard Caleb speaking in Ethan’s voice because, while his explanation made sound, logical sense, I had a feeling compassion toward the enemy wasn’t anything with which one of Lord Wellington’s officers generally concerned himself.

  Ethan grunted with pain as he climbed off the coach and slid the final couple of feet into the knee-deep creek. Striking flint, he took a couple of lanterns from the carriage boot and lit them. Aided by their yellow glow, he surveyed the damage with a disgruntled expression. He said another word I didn’t realize nineteenth century gentlemen even knew. Well, perhaps they didn’t. Perhaps they would from now on.

  A closer inspection of our situation showed we sat, literally, dead in the water. The ditch we’d crashed in turned out to consist of two narrow banks split by a gushing, rain fed creek. After the horses had crossed the water they abandoned their flight. That suited me very well, except the carriage was immobilized in the middle of the little stream.

  While the water was neither particularly wide nor particularly deep, it was very cold and wet.

  “What’s the damage?” I clambered from the coach, ready to drop into the water beside Ethan. This intention lasted only until my first toe touched the water. I made a hasty retreat and craned my neck instead.

  “Oh. Uh, oh,” I said…an astute conclusion.

  “Hell and damnation.” Ethan looked at me and said, “Sorry.”

  Wearily, he removed his red uniform jacket and tucked it up on the driver’s seat.

  Hell and damnation to be sure! “I don’t suppose you’d be lucky enough to be carrying a spare tire?”

  “Tire?” He looked from me to the listing carriage. “If you mean a spare wheel, yes, I am. Although I must admit I never expected I’d have to change a wheel while standing in the middle of a river.

  Actually, I never thought I’d ever have to change one at all. We carry the spare for any emergency blacksmithing that might occur.”

  “I’d say this qualifies.” From his attitude, I surmised he thought emergency blacksmithing required a blacksmith.

  “Yes,” he agreed, gloomily. “This kind of thing is not one of my stronger suits.”

  Why did I have the predictive feeling that, at this moment, I might have better qualifications for the job than he did?

  “Do you have a jack?” I didn’t have much hope.

  He shook his head. “A jack? No, I don’t think so. Should I?”

  “I wish. Too much to ask, I guess.” I took a deep breath, pinched all my muscles tight and bunched my trailing skirt up in one hand. Then I jumped down beside him into the knee-high freezing cold water. I nearly peed my pants.

  “Oh, my God.” I moaned a weak protest against the chill. “Well, let’s not just stand around. I don’t know about you, but five minutes in this water will have my feet dropping right off the ends of my legs. Do you know how to get the broken ti…er…wheel off?”

  “For all the good that does us, yes. The problem is in raising the carriage so I can take up the weight and remove the wheel from the axle.”

  “Hence my question regarding the jack.”

  “Ah, I see,” he said, enlightened. “I really don’t remember seeing any such implement in the boot, however.”

  “You know, I’d just about have put money on that.” I waded out, walking gingerly over the wet rocks before I bent down for a closer look at the damage.<
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  “I can’t see the lug nuts.” I shivered. “Lordy, it’s getting dark out here. Do you have any more of those lanterns? Sure would help if we could see what we’re doing.”

  Ethan lit more lanterns and hung one over the problem area, muttering all the while. “It would help more if one knew the drill.”

  He may not have been much of a blacksmith, but he did have the makings of an engineer. He set to with a will despite the cold and wet. I admired his perseverance, and even his willingness to listen to me, a

  “mere” woman. Somehow, I doubted if taking advice from a female was usual for a man in his position. None of this must be easy for him, not only because he was a soldier, but also because he was a gentleman soldier. I questioned if he’d ever had to labor before in his whole life.

  I sat on the step with my teeth chattering while Ethan scouted up a tree branch, one he’d ended up breaking off a tree himself. He worked quickly once he got organized, urging the horses forward another stride or two, until the ruined wheel came even with a rock jutting out of the stream bed.

  “A fulcrum,” he explained, as if he thought I must be ignorant of such devices. “Do you think you could wade out here and keep the pressure on the end of this after I lift the carriage?”

  The dim lantern glow lighted only his immediate work area. The post he’d assigned me lay in shadow, and made it impossible to see where to place my feet. Rocks lay hidden beneath the surface of the dark, rippling stream. After my second slip in as many steps, I was ready to kill for a sandy creek bottom.

  We fought to lift a corner of the coach, finding that if I hung on the end like a sack of animal feed, I could just barely manage to hold the thing up by myself. Ethan worked as fast as he could—I know he did.

  It's just that when one is standing past one’s knees in water cold enough to freeze fish, time crawls. I didn’t think he’d ever get done.

  I concentrated on humming one of the mantras that had, on occasion, helped me focus my power, although in this case I just wanted to keep the blood circulating in my feet. Pretty little kid boots are no protection, especially when they’re wet. At any rate, whether the mantra helped or whether the constant chuckle of the stream mesmerized me, I did zone out for a minute.

  Ethan must have called my name several times before I heard him.

  He sounded impatient and highly irate when I surfaced.

  “Wake up,” he said, speaking louder than strictly necessary. He stopped a smidgen short of a full-fledged shout. “What in the hell is the matter with you? And don’t tell me you’re thinking hard.”

  I hadn’t, in fact, been thinking at all.

  “Oh,” I said, bright as a new penny. “All done already? Good job.”

  Something had worked for my feet. I couldn’t feel them.

  Ethan gritted his teeth. “Yes, I’m done, thank you.” He might have been talking to a two-year-old baby. “You may let down the lever now—slowly, if you please.”

  “Yes, sir.” I tried, promptly loosening my grip so everything came down a little harder than I intended. Still, no harm done, and the carriage sat four square when I pulled the pry from under it. “Can you fix the rein as handily as you fixed the wheel?”

  “I hope so. That is a bit more in my line of expertise. If we’re very lucky, the regular coachman will have a spare line or two in the box and I can just attach one to the bit. Even if he doesn’t carry a spare, I’m sure I can rig some kind of patch that will hold until we get to a hostelry.” Ethan tossed the remains of the broken wheel into the boot, more to keep from littering the stream, I suspect, than because it could ever be repaired. He held the door open.

  “Come, milady. Your carriage awaits. You might as well ride inside the rest of the way. At least you’ll be out of the wet.”

  Eagerly I started forward, discovered I still had the tree limb clutched in my hands and tossed it up on the riverbank. Who would ever have expected one of those stupid horses to think I was throwing it at him?

  The horse squealed and jumped, taking the other three forward a couple of strides and yanking the coach forward a pace. No big deal.

  The thing is Ethan, still holding to the open door, was caught off balance. He fought to keep his feet, but in the end, another of those treacherous, slimy rocks defeated him. He fell heavily, pulled down by the weight of the door, and even through my own splashing, I heard his skull smack against the boulder we’d been using as a fulcrum.

  And then he didn’t get up. He lay motionless while the water split and ran around his inert body.

  “Oh, Lord!” I plunged the last couple of steps, grabbing frantically at Ethan’s head to lift his face out of the creek. Pink water ran away from under my supporting hands.

  Now would be a very good time for the magic to draw us home, I thought. It takes blood, doesn’t it? Well, here it is.

  Except nothing happened.

  “Caleb—Ethan. God, Caleb. Wake up! Please wake up.”

  I ran my trembling hands over the back of his head. As far as I could tell, his skull felt whole. No dents or dings, just one cut bleeding copiously. His thick hair must have cushioned the worst of the damage.

  There. Just behind his ear, I found a rapidly swelling goose egg. His eyes remained closed, his mouth half-open.

  A fine pickle this had turned out to be. A short sob, one that should’ve remained buried somewhere in my chest, escaped before I could shut it off. I’d have loved to break down and cry my eyes out like the gently reared miss I was supposed to be, only I knew if I got started, I might not be able to stop. Anyway, I didn’t have time to cry.

  Somehow I had to get Ethan out of the creek.

  An unconscious trauma victim shouldn’t be moved. I knew that. It’s only rule number one in basic first aid. For all I knew Ethan might have broken his neck, or even his back when he fell. Still, I couldn’t leave him where he was, and when the only two choices are move him or let him drown, of course I had to move him.

  I’ll swear he weighed a ton. His water-soaked clothes didn’t help. If he didn’t die right off from his head injury, I’d expect pneumonia to be the next hazard he faced. And with every second I hesitated, the danger only grew worse.

  I slid down behind him—wetting my gown to the waist in the process—and using the depth of the slow running creek, floated his lean, compact frame until I could use my full body, rather than just my arms to lift him. I kept thinking he’d wake up any minute and scoff at my efforts, but he stayed about as animated as a rock. Almost as buoyant, too.

  A backward lunge took my rump up onto the let-down carriage step; the water still floating Ethan’s legs as I pulled him with me.

  Another lunge brought me just inside the carriage door. With my arms clasped around his chest, I braced my legs, one on each side of the door opening, and heaved and pulled until I had him lying all the way inside.

  The horses stamped fitfully, frightened again, I suppose, and thinking the commotion they heard was a bogeyman come to get them. Ah, no.

  Just Boothenay, sweating, swearing and grinding her teeth.

  “I can do this,” I kept telling myself, and eventually I did.

  Even when, at last, I got him inside, I couldn’t rest on my laurels.

  Instead of taking the break I felt I’d earned, and before I examined Ethan’s head wound more closely, there was one more thing to do. I crawled back over his limp body, went around back and poked in the toolbox until I found the spare rein he’d said should be there. Things must be looking up, I thought. I trudged back through the water to the riverbank and approached the lead horse. Ethan had been calling this one by name…not that I remembered what the name was. I just called him Horse.

  “Horse,” I said to him, looking him in his big, dark eyes. “I could use a little cooperation now. What say you use your influence with your teammates and get everybody ready to roll? Tell you what—I’ll just snap this rein on your bit, then I’ll whistle and say ‘Giddap’ and you guys can pull this coach
out of the creek. That is your job, you know.

  And I promise, if you’ll get us all to a livery stable tonight, I’ll personally buy you an extra ration of oats. And you’ll have my undying gratitude if you’ll just keep your feet off me. What do you say? Deal?”

  This very intelligent horse shook his head, which I assumed meant yes, though I couldn’t be sure as I’d done some rather fancy back-pedaling when he started flopping around.

  Much to my pleased surprise, I discovered the team hadn’t strayed much from their accustomed line up and neither had they entangled themselves in the hitch. When the coach had crashed in the creek, the horses had come to an abrupt halt. A patch of green grass, growing sheltered from the cold weather, tempted them to stay.

  Quickly, before I lost my nerve, I had to straighten the four of them out. My wet dress flopped dismally against my legs when I grasped Horse at the bit and led him forward until the coach cleared the creek.

  In a matter of minutes I had the team ready to go, standing on the cowpath of a road.

  “There,” I said aloud. “That wasn’t so bad.” Like a kid whistling in the dark, I almost managed to convince myself the lie was true.

  Chapter 14

  Dark lay all around, covering the area around the stream in a smothering, wet blanket. Ethan had hung lanterns from the coach earlier, but they did little to dispel the heavy black shadows with their eerie pools of yellowish light. We were very much alone on this preternaturally silent road. So alone I began to wonder if the magic had abandoned us between worlds. There was only the gentle clatter of horse harness and the patter of the stream for reassurance we remained anchored in this one.

  Which reminded me. I distinctly remembered Ethan saying this was the main road south and into Devon. Where was everybody, then?

  Were we lost? If so, we were in serious trouble, for I’m sure I had no clue on how to find the way to Exeter or Tavistock or any of the villages near Dartmoor. I had, in fact, just about come to the point where if another highwayman stumbled upon us, I’d probably hail him with open arms. My most pressing desire was to hear the sound of another person’s voice, preferably Ethan’s.