by White, Gwynn
Closing her eyes, she drew the bow across the strings once more. The fingers of her left hand moved across the fingerboard, the progression of notes becoming a melody. She imagined the hopeful tune a balm to Grayson’s battered soul. A sharing of gratitude on her part.
She released the music trapped within the strings—or more accurately, within herself. Expressing as she could never express in words, the terror she had felt before Grayson’s arrival in that alley in Chillicothe, and her relief once he joined her. But she couldn’t quite set aside the confusion and, if she was honest, unease he stirred in her. Who was he?
The last note rang out, echoing over the still waters of the canal. Briar lowered the bow and released a breath.
“Perhaps, one day, I will tell you,” Grayson whispered.
She opened her eyes to find him standing before her, though strangely, his closeness didn’t make her jump. It was as if she’d been aware of him all along.
“What will you tell me?” she asked, her voice just as soft.
“Who I am.”
Her heart sped up with her realization that he had truly heard her through her music.
One corner of his mouth curled at her reaction. “And I’m glad I was close enough to lend you aid,” he added, growing more serious. “I do not want to think about Solon getting his hands on you.”
She clutched the fiddle to her chest, so stunned that she didn’t know what to say.
Grayson’s brow wrinkled, perhaps noting her distress.
“Captain?” Eli was crossing the catwalk toward them.
She gave herself a mental shake and stepped away from Grayson.
“I appreciate the song, Captain,” Grayson said, his tone cheerful. “I’ve never heard such fine playing, neither in London nor Paris.”
“You exaggerate,” she whispered.
“I do not.” He turned to Eli who had stopped beside them. “Any bourbon left?”
“Not for you.” Eli glared at him.
Grayson raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Then I’ll be grateful for what I got.” He started to turn away, then stopped. “Here.” He reached beneath his shirt collar and lifted out a heavy silver chain that held a medallion. Light caught on the surface, and she saw the depiction of a dragon. “I believe this belongs to you.”
When she just stood there, Grayson dropped the chain over her head. The medallion slipped beneath her open shirt collar, the metal oddly warm as it settled against her breastbone. Lock.
She looked up, meeting Grayson’s eyes.
“Keep it close to your heart.” A wink, and he turned and walked away.
“What the hell was that all about?” Eli demanded.
She wanted to say she had no idea, but that wouldn’t sit well with him. “It’s a defense,” she said, feeling inspired. “Against ferromancers.”
“Why would he have something like that?” Eli frowned after him. “He works for one.”
“I’m beginning to wonder about that,” she admitted. She lowered her voice and continued, “I think he might hunt them.”
Eli’s thick brows lifted. “You think he might be part of the Scourge?”
“It’s possible.” What if he hadn’t been working for Martel? What if he was hunting him? But how had he known the contents of Martel’s trunk? Ugh. Just when she thought she’d figured him out, another complication arose.
Eli’s frown shifted to the back of the boat where Grayson was joining the others at the card table. “If that were the case, I would think killing a man wouldn’t bother him a bit. The Scourge was supposed to be a ruthless organization. Some say they were as bad as the monsters they hunted.”
“You’re determined to dislike him.” She walked to her case to put away her fiddle.
“And you seem determined to praise him. If I didn’t know better, I would think you liked him.”
She snapped her case shut and turned to face him. “You over step yourself, Mr. Waller.”
“Miss Briar.”
“This conversation is over.” She didn’t give him a chance to respond before returning to the back of the boat. “The rest of you finish up and get to your bunks. I want to make good time tomorrow.”
A hail of Aye, Captains answered her pronouncement, except Grayson, of course. He’d taken a seat on one of the barrels surrounding the table, his expression far too amused for her taste.
She turned away and hurried down the hatch to her cabin.
The hatch thumped closed behind her and she released a breath. She set her fiddle case on the table, noting the way her hands shook. What had just happened?
She took a seat on the edge of the spare bunk, trying to sort out the events of the last ten minutes. She had played an original song for Grayson—something she had never done—and he had understood every note. The connection she’d felt with him afterward had been so…intimate. Too intimate. And the way he’d slipped the medallion around her neck—
“Oh.” She lifted the heavy silver chain over her head, pulling the medallion out to gaze at it in the better light of the lantern. The dragon etched on the silver surface was an exact depiction of Lock.
She lay the necklace beside her on the bed. “Lock?”
The chain appeared to retract into the medallion, then morphed into the familiar metal dragon she knew so well.
“Oh wow. You really do have other forms.” She hadn’t imaged what she saw in that alley.
He gave her a little whirr of agreement, then sprang up to her shoulder. With something like a purr, he rubbed his cheek against hers.
She reached up to brush a finger beneath his chin. “I just don’t know what to make of you. Or him.”
Lock purred, then hopped down onto the bed. With a flap of his silver wings, he leapt across the short distance separating them from the table.
Finding no answers, Briar got to her feet and walked to the curtained nook that held her bunk. There was nothing to do but follow her own instructions and get to bed. She shrugged off her waistcoat and the shirt followed. She hesitated before pulling on her nightgown, noting with unease the bruises the soulless had left on her when he clutched her heart. What would have happened if Grayson hadn’t found her? Had he once suffered a similar experience?
Her mind flashed back to the scar she’d seen on his chest—before he’d climbed from the bathtub as bare as the day he was born.
Her cheeks heated again with the memory.
“Dear God,” she complained, pulling on the nightgown. What was with all the blushing? It wasn’t like he was the first naked man she’d ever seen. He was just the first one she didn’t mind looking at.
She groaned and dropped onto her bunk. “It’s the bourbon,” she told herself, though she had only one glass. “And the stress.” It had been a very stressful day—well, couple of days.
With a click of tiny claws, Lock slipped beneath the curtain and hopped up on the bed with her. Scampering across the sheets, he climbed onto her pillow and gazed up at her.
“Yes, you’re right,” she told him. “I just need some sleep.”
She lay down, and Lock crawled over to curl against her shoulder. Did an automaton need to sleep? She’d have to ask Grayson—if he would tell her.
“So many unanswered questions,” she muttered, letting sleep overtake her.
* * *
She was buttoning her waistcoat when a knock on the hatch door drew her out of her room.
“Captain?”
She instantly recognized Grayson’s voice. “What is it?” she called out, unease tightening her stomach. Did he have some indication that Solon had found them?
“The crew has informed me that I am now cook—until one can be hired. The equipment I need to do my job is in your chambers.”
She climbed up the ladder and pushed open the hatch. “Cabin,” she corrected, climbing out.
He held the hatch for her, smiling at the correction.
“Well, go ahead.” She waved a hand at the open hatch.
&
nbsp; “You would allow me to visit your…cabin? Alone?”
“Yes. This is a canal boat. Any semblance of private space is merely a courtesy from your fellow boatmen, not an actual physical space. Besides,” she lowered her voice as she continued, “you are already aware of the one thing I consider private. He’s curled up on my pillow.”
Grayson’s smile grew. “He sleeps with you?”
“Don’t be perverse, sir.” She hesitated. “Unless there’s a reason he shouldn’t.”
“No, and I wasn’t being perverse. Merely surprised.”
She lifted a brow, but he didn’t comment further.
“Well, go on,” she said. “I assume you know where everything is.” After all, he had cooked dinner yesterday.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then get to it, and I’ll get this boat underway.”
A final grin, and Grayson disappeared down the ladder.
She turned away, smiling to herself, and discovered Eli at the tiller deck, frowning at her.
“What?” she demanded. “He’s making breakfast.”
Eli wordlessly turned back to the rope he was coiling. She hated being at odds with him, but she had to trust her instincts. And her instincts kept telling her that Grayson wasn’t the bad guy.
9
Captain?” Eli called to her from the tiller deck.
Briar looked up from her mopping. “What is it?”
“We’re coming up on lock thirty-four.”
She dropped her mop in the bucket and turned. He was right. The land flattened out considerably once north of Chillicothe, and she could easily see the lock in the distance.
“Looks like we won’t be doubling up,” Eli added.
Shielding her eyes against the bright morning sun, Briar squinted. Eli was right. The miter gates were closed on their side, indicating that the water within the lock would need to be lowered to their level.
“Looks like we’ll need to fit the lock.” She remembered how Uncle Charlie used to complain about that, but he remembered the days when the Ohio & Erie used to employ lock tenders. There were still men who held the title, but their job was to maintain the upkeep of the locks, waste ways, and sluices. They didn’t open and close the locks for the passing boats.
“Where’s Jimmy?” she asked.
“Below deck, with Mr. Grayson. Apparently, he offered to fix Jimmy’s watch.” Eli frowned. “I hope he doesn’t break it beyond repair. That watch belonged to Jimmy’s father.”
“Mr. Grayson can fix watches?”
“So he claims.”
This she had to see. Walking to the hatch, she called down to Jimmy. “We’re about to lock through.”
“Coming, Captain,” Jimmy’s voice echoed up from below. A moment later, he climbed through the hatch.
“How are the repairs going?” she asked.
“He just took it all apart.” Jimmy’s brow wrinkled in concern.
“I’ll go check on his progress if you don’t mind taking care of things up here?”
“Thank you, Captain.” Jimmy looked relieved already. “I never expected that old watch to ever work again, but I’d like to keep it in one piece, all the same.”
Not sure how Jimmy expected her to remedy the situation, Briar shook her head. Being captain wasn’t just about navigating the boat or keeping the books. Sometimes, she was just expected to make things right—even if she was the youngest person on this boat, save Benji. Still amused, she climbed down the ladder into her cabin.
Mr. Grayson sat at the table hunched over a towel that held an assortment of tiny gears and other pieces.
He glanced up, then turned back to what he was doing. “Turn the sausages for me?” He paused long enough to gesture at the stove, but kept his focus on the watch.
All right, not everyone aboard her boat saw her as captain.
“At least you phrased it as a question.” She walked to the stove, inhaling the wonderful scent of freshly cooked sausage.
“I didn’t figure you wanted me to burn your breakfast,” Grayson answered.
She picked up a fork and carefully turned each sausage in the heavy cast iron pan. Finished, she walked over to the table to see what he was doing. It appeared that he was reassembling all the tiny pieces and was perhaps, nearing completion of the task. She must have misunderstood when Jimmy said he’d just disassembled the watch.
“I hope you know what you’re doing.” She stared at all those parts crammed in such a tiny space. How had he remembered what went where? “That watch is important to Jimmy.”
“It didn’t work and hasn’t for some time.” He picked up a gear with a small set of tweezers. The black tool bag he’d used to repair the rudder was open on the table beside him.
“It belonged to his father,” she explained. “He drowned when Jimmy was seventeen.”
“The watch was submerged?”
“I…guess.”
“There was some corrosion,” Grayson continued, seeming untroubled by the morbidity of his conclusion. “The inner workings were cheaply made. Fortunately, I had some replacement parts.”
Now that he’d drawn her attention to it, she noticed that the watch’s inner workings were bright and shiny, unlike the dull metal of the case. “You mean, Mr. Martel had some spares.”
“Yes.” He picked up one of the gears and carefully aligned it with the one he had just mounted. “It’ll run forever when I’m done, submerged or not.”
She lifted a brow, though he didn’t look up to see it.
He picked up a tiny screwdriver and leaned closer.
She watched him work for a few minutes. “That’s amazing.”
“Thank you.”
A laugh escaped her. “Not you. I meant that all those intricate little parts can fit together and keep time.”
He glanced up then back down once more. “Though complicated, it’s a simple mechanical principle.”
“Show me?”
“If you like, but pull the sausages out of the pan for me?”
“Oh.” She had forgotten all about them. She hurried back to the pan and was relieved that none had burned. Transferring them to a plate, she set it on the back of the stove to stay warm before returning to the table.
“Here, look at this.” Grayson absently scooted over, making room for her on the bench.
She sat down, not so certain she cared for this closeness. She considered moving to the seat across from him when he leaned over to show her what he was doing. She realized she wouldn’t be able to see the tiny mechanism from over there.
“The basic principle is the storage of power in a wound spring, the mainspring”—he tapped a circular housing with his tweezers—“and releasing that power in a controlled way.” He launched into a surprisingly technical explanation about the movement of the balance wheel and the alignment of a host of gears and pinions that transferred the stored power in the spring to the calibrated movement of the hands.
Briar soon forgot about his closeness, leaning in to better see and asking questions. She’d always been interested in the inner workings of mechanical things. Uncle Charlie had taken her to task more than once when she’d disassembled something just to see how it worked. But she’d never had the nerve to tear into a timepiece.
Grayson, on the other hand, had clearly done this before. His movements as he worked were confident and precise, and his knowledge of the topic made it obvious that he had some training, or at least, a lot of experience.
He tightened the final screw and set aside his screwdriver.
“And that’s it?” she asked.
“Yes. It will keep perfect time now.” He pulled his own watch from his pocket and passed it to her. “Allow me to reattach the hands, then you can compare them.”
She pressed the button to open the cover and display the watch face. “So you’re going to validate your claim with your own pocket watch?”
“That watch was a gift, crafted by a master watchmaker. You’ll find none finer.”
> She studied the smooth motion of the second hand. “Are you telling me it’s ferromancer made?”
He lifted his gaze from Jimmy’s watch. “It’s those sorts of comments that have cost many a talented craftsman his life.” A muscle ticked in his jaw with his restrained anger.
His anger surprised her. “I’m sorry. You work for one, and I encountered another’s minion yesterday. I have ferromancy on my mind.”
He released a breath. “You’re right. I apologize for the outburst.” He returned to his work.
“I’d hardly call it an outburst.” She watched him for a moment. “So, who was he?”
“Who was who?”
“This watchmaker who died. The one who gave you this watch.”
Grayson glanced up. “I never told you that.”
“I put two and two together.” She held his gaze. “Will you tell me? Is he the one who taught you how to fix watches?”
Grayson sighed. “His name was Fabrice Martel—no relation, before you ask.”
She smiled at that.
“He had immigrated from Paris and ran a little shop on the outskirts of London. He took me in as an apprentice when I was eight.”
She lifted a brow. “That sounds young.”
“I had—have an aptitude for mechanical things.”
“I’m beginning to see that.”
“No ferromancy involved,” he hurried to add.
She smiled. “I wasn’t going to ask. I might be hard-headed, but I’m not stupid.”
“I’m beginning to see that,” he threw her words back at her, a glint of humor in his gaze.
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “How long did you work for this man?”
“Three years. Aside from the convent, it’s the longest I’ve lived anywhere.”
“You’re an orphan?”
“More or less.”
She frowned, not sure what to make of his answer. Perhaps he still had parents, but they had given him up for some reason. She wasn’t going to ask for details, but his answers only created more questions.
“I’m surprised that a pocket watch still impresses you after being around ferromancers and creations like Lock,” she said.