by White, Gwynn
“Fabrice couldn’t mold the gears with his mind or feel the imperfections in a hairspring, yet he produced watch after watch of meticulous perfection.” Grayson spoke the words with passion and a clear admiration for the man and his talent. “You met the soulless. That’s what ferromancers create.”
“Not all.”
Grayson glanced over, a frown now on his face.
She reached up and pulled off the necklace. “Whatever your relation and feelings toward him, you must admit that Mr. Martel is different.” She laid the medallion on the table. “Lock?”
Like the night before, the chain retracted into the medallion and an instant later, Lock sat in the center of the table, blinking at them with his gem-like eyes.
She held out her hand. and with a whirr of what might be happiness, he rubbed his cheek against her finger.
“I find pocket watches—or any mechanical design—fascinating,” she admitted. “But I don’t see how you can compare that to this.”
“You’re enamored with the construct because it can move on its own.”
She ignored his blatant effort to avoid using a male pronoun. “That aspect is incredible, but if I understand you right, his animation has nothing to do with his design.” She brushed a finger along Lock’s neck beside the raised scales that ran down his spine and along his back. “Look at this intricacy. Each individual scale is a work of art. There’s the life-like motion of his limbs and the design of his joints. Then there are the wings…”
Lock spread one wing as she ran a finger over the upper edge.
“Add to that the fact that he can morph into other shapes.” She looked up and found Grayson watching her, not Lock. “Can other ferromancers do this?”
“All have the ability to create constructs.”
“Of this beauty?”
A slight smile curled his lips at her word choice. “Yours is unique among constructs.”
“I knew it.” She trailed a finger along Lock’s tail. “This is probably incredibly stupid, but I want to meet your Mr. Martel. I’ve studied his plans, and though I can’t make sense of them, it’s clear the man is an artist.”
“An artist?”
“Yes. I snuck into the shed that housed his locomotive in Portsmouth. I had intended to vandalize it, but it was so beautiful, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.” She laughed at herself. “I might have a crush on your boss—vile ferromancer and all.”
When Grayson didn’t reply, she looked up. He still watched her, but she couldn’t read his expression. There was a hint of amusement, but also, something more.
“What?” she asked, suddenly self-conscious about all she had shared. “I’m kidding. You know that, right?”
“Of course.” He returned his attention to Jimmy’s watch, replacing the face.
A knock sounded on the hatch, and Briar sprang to her feet.
Lock let out a soft cry and dropped to the table, morphing in mid fall, but he didn’t become the lock or the necklace. A beautiful silver pocket watch now lay beside Jimmy’s.
“Captain?” Jimmy opened the hatch. “We’ve locked through. How’s breakfast coming?”
She was stunned that she’d been down here so long—and that she’d forgotten breakfast.
“Breakfast is ready,” she answered. “Tell the crew?”
“Yes, Captain.” Jimmy didn’t immediately close the hatch. Instead, he descended the ladder, stopping a little over halfway down. His gaze shifted to Grayson. “I was wondering how you made out with my old watch.”
“Quite well,” Grayson answered. He picked up Jimmy’s watch, the steel watch chain dangling from his fingers, and carried it over to him.
Jimmy left the ladder to accept the timepiece. “It works?” Jimmy eyed the exterior of his watch, no doubt wondering if any pieces were missing.
“See for yourself.” Grayson caught her eye, a slight smile on his mouth.
Jimmy opened the cover and stared at the watch face. He took so long in responding that Briar moved to his side to verify that the watch hands were still moving.
“It really works,” Jimmy whispered.
“You’ll find it keeps perfect time,” Grayson answered.
Jimmy stared at the watch for a complete revolution of the second hand. “I never thought…” He cleared his throat. “My granddad bought this watch with the money he made digging the canal. He always credited it with helping him land my grandma—her seeing that he was a man of means and all with his fancy watch.” Jimmy chuckled.
“It’s a fine piece,” Grayson said. “It just needed a good cleaning and a little adjustment.”
Briar looked up, but Grayson kept his attention on Jimmy. From what he’d told her, it sounded like he’d had to replace a lot of the cheaply made components.
Jimmy snapped the watch closed and offered Grayson a hand. “Thank you, sir. What do I owe you for your trouble?”
“It was no trouble.” Grayson shook his hand. “I enjoy fixing things.”
“So we’ve seen.” Jimmy chuckled. He returned the watch to his waistcoat pocket and carefully reattached the chain. Briar didn’t realize how incomplete Jimmy had looked without that familiar chain dangling from his pocket.
Jimmy kept his head down, seeming to have some trouble getting the chain situated as he wanted.
“Mr. Grayson and I will bring up breakfast,” she said to fill the awkward silence. “Will you set up the table and call in Zach?”
“Aye, Captain.” Jimmy looked up. He blinked several times, but he was smiling. He thanked Grayson again, then hurried up the ladder.
“I told you that watch meant a lot to him,” she whispered to Grayson.
“You did.”
She returned to the table and picked up the silver pocket watch. An image of a dragon was carved into the cover. Like the image on the medallion, it was a perfect representation of Lock. Opening the cover, she exposed the silver face and moving hands. “He actually keeps time?”
“Yes.” Grayson stopped beside her. “This will probably become its favored form since you expressed an admiration for the object. Who knew it was such a flirt?”
“You insist that he is a thing, not to be named or assigned a gender, yet you attribute him with such a human expression.”
“Are you calling me a hypocrite, Miss Rose?”
“Yes, I am.” She slipped the silver watch into her pocket.
Grayson followed the motion, his expression more amused than offended.
“Help me carry up breakfast,” she said, trying to put some distance between them again. “Otherwise, the crew might mutiny.”
“Aye, Captain.” Grayson still grinned.
10
After breakfast, they locked through number thirty-three without a problem, then traveled the two miles between it and lock thirty-two, also known as Aqueduct Lock, so named because it would lift them the nine and a half feet to the Circleville Aqueduct to passed over the Scioto River.
“Wow.” Grayson stopped beside her, eyeing the approaching lock and the covered aqueduct beyond it.
Briar glanced over. “Are you impressed or poking fun?”
“I was admiring the engineering that went into designing this,” Grayson said. “Granted, by today’s standards, it’s a bit antiquated, but I recognize quality work when I see it.”
She glanced over, ready to protest his antiquated comment, but he wasn’t smirking at her as she expected. Instead, he was studying the structure they approached.
“At over four hundred feet long, it’s said to be longest aqueduct on the Ohio & Erie.” They had crossed other aqueducts on this trip, but this was by far the most impressive.
“Though I must admit,” Grayson continued, “I find it amusing that a bridge has been built to transport one waterway over another.”
“How else would we cross it?” she demanded. “Rivers have currents, and they rise and fall with the floods and droughts. Plus we need a towpath to—”
“Mr. Grayson?” Jimmy cal
led from the bow, interrupting their argument. “Would you give me a hand on the balance beams?” Jimmy waved a hand toward the long wooden beams that projected from the top of the lock’s miter gates. One person on either side had to push their gate open using the beam. It seemed Jimmy had selected Mr. Grayson to be his helper.
“Certainly,” Grayson called, his tone cheerful and almost eager. He turned back to her. “Perhaps we can continue our conversation after we’ve…”—he consider his word choice—“locked through?”
“If you like.” She tried to hide her amusement. He might consider their system antiquated, but he was still eager to learn all he could.
She joined Eli on the tiller deck where they waited for the lock to lift them to the level of the aqueduct.
“I don’t like being at odds with you, Miss Briar,” Eli spoke up.
She sighed. “Nor I you.”
“I just don’t trust that Mr. Grayson,” he insisted.
“Why is that, Eli?”
He didn’t immediately answer, frowning at where Grayson and Jimmy were now manning the balance beams.
“Is it because he works for the railroad, or a ferromancer?”
“I should think either reason would do.”
“You don’t think we should judge the man on his own merit?” she asked.
“We don’t know what the merit is. He doesn’t show us his true self.”
She frowned, debating on how much to tell. “Dealing with that ferromancer’s minion in Chillicothe affected him. It made him…cold. I learned that he’d had a similar encounter shortly before he came aboard our boat.”
“A similar encounter? In Portsmouth?”
“Yes, so if your trouble with him stems from his varying personality, that’s why.”
Eli didn’t answer, once again turning his attention to Grayson, who was now pushing the gate open.
“Eli?”
“I don’t like that these ferromancers have come to our country, our hometown.”
“I’m not too happy about that, either, but that doesn’t make Mr. Grayson a bad person. He might not work for that ferromancer willingly.”
“And if he does?”
She didn’t have an answer for that.
Benji had reattached the towline to the mule team, and Grayson and Jimmy were returning to the boat. It was time to get underway.
“We can continue this discussion later,” she told Eli. “Prepare the rudder.” When locking through, the rudder was pulled closer to the boat to allow it to fit better in the lock.
“Aye, Captain.”
She left him to it and crossed the catwalk to the bow of the boat where Jimmy and Grayson were coiling the bow lines that had held the boat stationary while in the lock. She waved to Benji, signaling him to get the team moving.
Grayson straightened from coiling the rope, then looked up at the roof over their heads. “I assume the roof was built to protect the structure from the decaying effects of the weather?”
She had never stopped to wonder why the aqueduct had a roof. “That sounds like a reasonable assumption.”
Jimmy glanced up at the roof. His considering expression suggested that he’d never thought about it, either.
“Iron trusses would remove the need for a roof,” Grayson continued, “but I guess timber was more plentiful when this was built.”
“The area was little more than a wilderness when it was built.”
He grunted, and she guessed the concept was foreign to him. She doubted there were any uncharted wildernesses where he came from.
“The more I think on it,” he said after a moment, “the more impressed I become. To construct such a structure, in the wilderness, with little more than shovels…” He stopped to shake his head. “It’s truly an engineering marvel.”
She had the distinct impression this was high praise coming from him. “We’ll make you a boatman yet.”
“I’m beginning to understand the appeal,” he answered.
Jimmy laughed and clapped Grayson on the shoulder. “Who needs the soot-belching railroad?” Still chuckling, he turned and walked off.
“But what if the train doesn’t belch soot?” Grayson asked her.
“I suppose that would be an improvement, but no train will ever surpass this.” She lifted her arms to encompass her boat and the canal they floated on.
“I do admire your passion.” He held her gaze for a moment, then turned and followed Jimmy.
She watched him go. Perhaps he wasn’t as enamored with the canal as he appeared to be.
* * *
They docked in Circleville, and after Briar located the owner of the appropriate warehouse, they began the slow process of unloading the bricks they’d picked up in Chillicothe.
Briar leaned against the rail, watching the workers transfer the brick to the waiting wagons. Nothing seemed amiss, but after her last two excursions, she couldn’t help but wonder if Solon would show up here, too.
Grayson stopped at the rail beside her. “Would I have time to visit the market?”
“The market?”
“I was going through our stores and planning the next meal. I could use some shallots and perhaps some tarragon.”
“Tara what?”
“It’s an herb.”
“This is a canal boat, Mr. Grayson. You need to keep it simple. How are you with beans?”
“I’ll need some salt-pork.”
She straightened. “That should be easy to find. There are several pork-packing houses in town.”
“How about some leeks?”
She started for the gangplank. “Not on my boat.”
“I meant the vegetable.”
“Good luck finding that.” She led him down the gangplank, but stopped at the bottom. “Do you think Solon followed us here?”
“I can’t say, but you should really consider leaving the construct on the boat. The water and the complete lack of technology will insulate it.”
She laid a hand over her pocket and looked up.
“That wasn’t a criticism on the canal,” he hurried to add, “just a statement of fact.”
“I know. I was curious about your insulating comment. How does that work?”
“I believe we’ve escaped Solon’s notice because he wouldn’t expect us to travel by canal boat. He’ll be looking for a carriage or searching the train stations. He’ll be drawn to metal and more modern surroundings.”
“Why’s that?”
“It’s a ferromancer’s nature.” Grayson shrugged. “He’d be uncomfortable on your boat.”
She smiled, liking the sound of that. “Good to know.”
* * *
Briar walked beside Grayson as they left the docks to walk up Canal Street. A heavily loaded wagon was blocking the road, backing up traffic. It had lost one of its rear wheels and wouldn’t be going anywhere soon. A group of men was busy unloading the wagon in an effort to lighten it enough to jack it up and replace the wheel.
Grayson stopped a moment, watching them.
“We’ll never get your herbs standing here,” she reminded him.
“Why aren’t they using an iron hub?” He waved a hand at the wagon. “They’re far superior to wood.”
“I’m sure they have a good reason.” She caught his sleeve and pulled him away from the wagon. “You’re easily distracted.”
“It’s frustrating to watch people struggle to accomplish something when there are better ways to complete the task.”
“Like the railroad?” she asked.
“I will refrain from comment since I do not wish to be tied to the deck once more.”
“That’s a cowardly attitude. After your recent escapades, I assumed you more courageous than that.”
“Against the soulless, certainly. Against a red-haired canal boat captain named for a thorn bush… Well, I’m not that courageous.”
“What does the red hair have to do with anything?”
“You fit the stereotype, my lady. If I touted the ra
ilroad’s advantages, I’m sure I would end up with a knee in a place where I would prefer not to have a knee.”
“I’m not that unstable.”
Grayson lifted a brow.
“And I wasn’t named after a thorn bush. I was named after a boat.”
“Another reason to avoid a debate on the pros and cons of one transportation method over another.”
“You really are an exceedingly annoying fellow,” she told him. “Maybe you should have been named for a thorn bush.”
“Hm. Perhaps.” He tapped his chin. “How about Hawthorn? It has a roguish air, don’t you think? Except, I believe it is technically a tree rather than a bush.”
She shook her head, unable to hide a smile. “You are in good spirits today, Mr. Grayson.”
“It’s Hawthorn, remember? I will need a cane and a top hat to wear at a jaunty angle.”
She laughed. “That doesn’t sound very roguish.”
“A top hat is to be worn vertically upon the top of the head and a cane is an affectation for someone my age.”
She glanced over. Was he just making this up on the fly or was he really quoting some upper-class etiquette she knew nothing about?
“Ah, I assume this is our destination?” He nodded at the building before them. General Store had been painted in large block letters across the front of the building beneath the second-story windows.
“It is,” she answered.
“A bit more expansive than I expected.” He pushed open the front door and held it for her. “Perhaps I can find some tarragon after all.”
Briar rolled her eyes.
* * *
Grayson was a thorough shopper, browsing through the various foodstuffs and spices with a critical eye. She finally had to tell him to make his selections so they could get back to the boat before too much of the day was wasted.
“You’ll thank me when you taste dinner.” He laid his selections on the counter, but the shopkeeper didn’t pick up a pen and paper to calculate what was owed him. Instead, he began depressing a series of buttons on a large metal box.
“Might I inquire as to what you’re doing?” Grayson asked.
The shopkeeper glanced up with a smile. “I’m totaling the sale.” He pulled a lever, and with the ding of an unseen bell, a drawer at the base of the machine slid open.