Captain Gravenor’s Airship Equinox (Steampunk Smugglers) (5 page)

He opened his pack again and found his blanket, just as Two arrived,
unlocked the cage, and brought in a cot. Just one cot, and if he was going to
be a gentleman, he’d have to give it to Philadelphia. As a gently born lady,
she would not think to refuse. He moved his aching shoulder and winced. But for
all his pains, she had actual bleeding wounds and needed rest even more. Why
did the dratted woman have to choose today to leap off a cliff?

One brought a jug of water and a steaming bowl of stew with
half a loaf of bread. When the guards had left, Philadelphia silently dished
out food for both of them, using the bread as trenchers.

“I have a suggestion,” Brecon said.

“Yes?” She handed him his share of bread.

“If you won’t make them the actual devices, could you offer
the opposite?”

“Devices that negate the first ones?”

“Yes?”

“That would be terribly dangerous. If the brass hand motors
suddenly stop working, men could fall to their deaths from the ratlines. My
understanding is that most of them are slaves. It would be a terrible
injustice.”

“I agree, of course. But there must be a way to simply
negate the control the Blockaders have over the men.”

“My understanding is that each brass hand has an electrocution
device hard-wired into the wearer’s nervous system,” she said. “Knowing that
level of control is out there in the world is deeply unpleasant.”

He understood her chilling thought. “You can make them
without that?”

“I never made them with that. I never made them at all. I
was working on a device to milk cows. And a device to pen animals without
fences.”

He shook his head. “Can you make me a brass hand, without
the electrocution?”

“The automac function has to be hard-wired to your system to
work.” She poured herself a glass of water and took a sip.

“But can it be done without including the punishment?”

“I looked at the wreckage of the BAE airship my brother died
on. The device that monitors the brass hands sends electricity through the air,
above and beyond the battery that keeps the hand working normally. It goes from
the hand, which attracts it, into the person’s body. Because it is an
electrical device, I don’t think I can fix the problem.” Her hands shook as she
ladled more stew onto his bread.

He wondered if she was even hungry. He could eat an entire
cow at this point. “I know you are close to hysteria after all that has
happened, but I am a builder myself. What about a failsafe? Some way to prevent
the brass hand from taking on the extra energy? If you could do that, we can
update the existing hands.”

“And destroy the Man Management spiders too? Trust me, I
would like nothing better, but surely Captain Red Kite isn’t assembling an army
to take on the entire government. It would take a successful civil war to fix
the problem.”

“No, it would take a successful change in morality of the
BAE’s governors.”

“If you want to change morality, why are you worried about
my inventions? Just stop them from chopping off hands in the first place.”

The Blockaders created their amputees. Although he hadn’t
been enslaved, they had taken his hand in battle. He accepted that, since he
had been helping a Newgate Prison escapee to flee Cardiff at the time. Most
amputees were created by the Blockaders chopping off the hands of anyone who
tried to escape their slavery. He took another bite of stew. While the meat was
of an uncertain animal, it still tasted delicious to his exhausted body.

“You should eat,” he said. “Both of us will have clearer
thoughts.”

She sighed and bit into her bread. “I can go without eating
for a couple of days when I’m working. As long as I drink enough fluids, I do
well.”

“I have learned since Valentine’s Day never to turn down a
meal. Life has become far more uncertain.”

“We have both had our lives turned inside out.” She stared
at her bread.

He quickly downed his, taking four bites for every one of
hers. The tureen was empty, so he used his last crust to wipe clean both his
bowl and the tureen, wishing he had three times more. Then, he leaned his head
against the wall and closed his eyes while she finished eating.

*****

When he woke, gray dawn light was clearing away the
darkness. Brecon blinked, wondering why it was so bright when the dormitory had
blackout curtains on the windows. He sat up, his arm numb from where he had
been laying on it, and pushed the blanket from his legs. His body realized he’d
slept on a hard wooden bench as his back muscles twitched.

Philadelphia Hardcastle lay across his cot, though
apparently she had given him his blanket, at least. He’d passed out against the
wall while she ate, so exhausted he hardly remembered moving to the bench.
Their bowls were still on the inside floor of the cage. Instinctively, he
checked around to see if she’d left some food, but no, she’d finished it
eventually. Smart woman, but then he’d known that.

Would her intelligence save them both from the cage, or
would her stubbornness and hysteria leave them here to rot? At least in future
he’d make sure to get his cot back some nights. He winced as he stood,
stretching his neck, then his back and shoulders. The pins and needles feeling
left his fingers when he started to move, though his shoulder still ached from
his original rescue of her yesterday.

He glanced down at the sleeping woman. She was most
attractive in sleep. Her mouth softened into a pink rosebud and color
illuminated her high cheekbones. Her strong chin tucked into his pillow, and
her hair was a pretty shade, though admittedly it was not the cleanest presently.
What were the chances they’d be allowed to take a dip in the pond, the main
source of hygiene for everyone but the captain?

He guessed he had slept for ten hours or so, and she
couldn’t have rested much less. So he turned away from her and banged on the
iron bars of the cage until a sleepy-looking twin stumbled into the basement
room.

“You foul cur,” the twin swore. “I was dreaming of the bar
wench at the Lion!”

“We need brass, and copper wiring, and batteries,” he said.
“How do you expect the woman to do as the captain requires without equipment?”

“We were waiting for her to ask.”

“I require a forge,” said a cool, educated voice behind him.
Miss Hardcastle of Newbury had woken up.

“Not likely.”

“How do you expect me to make a brass hand without one? Do
you think I can mold metal with my own hands?” She came alongside him and
flexed her long, slender fingers.

“I think we’ll give you paper, and give that paper design to
the blacksmith so he can do the work.”

She sighed, as if revolted by speaking to an inferior. “That
will do for the hand casing, I suppose. Now, bring me plaster, so I can make a
mold of Mr. Gravenor’s hand.”

“Why?”

“Because he is my test subject. I will need the wiring and
the battery once the hand is constructed. And stout wire as well as fine, along
with the usual tools for managing such. The fingers must be able to flex.”

“What about the Man Management Device? I hear that’s iron
and has lights and such.”

“The brass hand has a light as well. Thank you for reminding
me. I shall draw up instructions for creating a bulb. Do you have a
glassblower?”

The twin shrugged. Behind him came the other twin, holding a
tray with porridge and a teapot. The first twin pulled out his heater and
pointed it into the cell.

“Turn around and go to the back wall. Hands where I can see
them, mind.”

Hungry, Brecon complied without comment. Philadelphia waited
a few beats, as if to show she was mistress of her own fate, and then joined
him.

He heard the door unlock and the tray thrust in. “We need
more water,” he called. “It’s the key to the doctor’s genius.”

Philadelphia sighed.

The twins rustled around, emptying the slops into a bucket,
refilling the water jug, rinsing their cups and the chamber pot.

“Bloody cold this morning for August,” one of them muttered.

“Storm coming through, I expect.”

“I’m not going to play nursemaid again. They’d best get one
of the women down here tomorrow. This is obviously going to take a while.”

Brecon glanced at Philadelphia and saw her nod agreement.
All he could hope was she wouldn’t dawdle. He wanted out of here before his
muscles atrophied.

“Bring lots of paper,” he called. “I’ll want to work on my
designs while the lady sketches.”

“Sketches,” she mumbled resentfully under her breath.

“Apologies, designs,” he clarified.

“You think the captain will let you design another airship?”
one of the twins scoffed.

“Why not? My airship worked fine. It was the Blockaders that
caused the trouble.”

 “If your airship was any good, you’d have escaped without
needing to be rescued.”

“Accidents happen,” he said.

The man snorted as he left the room. His twin followed with
a burp. After they’d heard the clanking of boots against the iron stairs,
Philadelphia dished out the porridge and handed a bowl to Brecon.

“No toast? No milk for our tea? No sugar?”

Her lips thinned.  “Don’t torture yourself. This is not much
different than I ate at my cousin’s. You have to give up hoping after a while
or go mad.”

“Did she eat so poorly as well?”

“Ha. No. But the dragon glare she gave me the first time I
reached for a slice of toast on the rack could have melted my fingers off. I
quickly learned my place.”

“Perhaps you should have offered your services directly to
the Blockaders. You’d be living in a fine mansion in Mayfair by now.”

She took a sip of tea and closed her eyes as the warmth hit
her. “They do not know who I am. And after all, I did not design the actual
items, just the technology behind them.”

“You were doubly robbed. Of your inventions and your name.”

She scoffed. “I’m not actually a doctor, you know. My
education was at home, governesses, books, my mother.”

“Was she an inventor too?”

Philadelphia smiled. “She was a beautiful redhead who hated
her abundant freckles. She invented any number of creams over the years to
change her complexion. You could say it was her life’s work. I remember an
Irish maid coming to her crying with relief, overjoyed that her freckles were
gone.”

“I’d say you inherited her passion, if not her hair or
complexion.”

“Yes. But I wish I’d focused on beautifying treatments and
not farming.” She set down her chipped mug and picked up the porridge.

He finished his quickly, then drummed on the bars.

“Have you given any more thought to helping me escape?” she
asked.

“It’s one of a number of scenarios.” He kicked at the
ground. “I wonder if we can tunnel underneath the wall.”

“Not the cage?”

“That just puts us into the basement, and I expect there are
guards at the top of the step. Certainly there are guards at the front door.”

“But guards patrol the property too. They’ll see a tunnel.”

“Not if we can come up behind the bushes along the south
wall. The noise is one thing, but we’d be protected from view. If I had a brass
hand I could dig tirelessly.”

“No. Your shoulder and the muscles of your arm would still
exhaust themselves.”

“Ah. I’ve never actually spoken to anyone who had one.”

“Me either. But if we can get enough raw materials in here,
perhaps I can design a steam-powered shovel.”

He chuckled. “I can imagine the noise.”

“But they would think it was from an invention they’d
requested. I hear the Man Management spiders chitter.”

“From what you’ve said, you design with electricity, not
steam.”

Her spoon clattered in her empty dish. “You are right, of
course.”

“Could you make a battery-operated shovel? Using the same
type of technology I used on my airship to run the battery?” Using the spoon,
he sketched out the water and tube system he’d used.

She stared at his sketch. “I’ve never had to deal with
reloading the batteries before, but yes, if you can recharge the battery I can
certainly build the shovel. How do we get the blacksmith to make one? He’s
going to expect a design for an articulated hand, not a shovel.”

“We have to use the hand. You’ll have to have more than one
made. Perhaps send up one design, then a few hours later throw a fit and say
that was a mistake and send up a second design, but give me the first anyway so
I don’t lose time.”

She smiled. “I like how you think. But we are in a basement.
You dig under a wall and you just end up in the equivalent of a grave.”

“An apt metaphor. Have you tried looking out the window
yet?”

She stood. “I did wonder why you hadn’t suggested we blow it
up somehow.” She moved to the window and peered through the iron bars to the
glass. “We aren’t more than six or seven feet above ground. Wait, I thought we
were in a basement.”

“We are on a slope. Depending on where we dug we would end
up above or below ground.”

“There are no protective bushes under the window. I suppose
they don’t want anything to break a fall if someone was able to cut through the
bars.”

“I doubt they’d be stupid enough to give us any kind of
sharpened blade.”

“I could say I need a diamond to run the brass hand,” she
mused.

“I think my first idea is best.” He sketched the basement
outline in the dirt, as best as he could remember, then pointed to a spot. “I
believe we’d only be a couple of feet underground here, but there are bushes.”

“Not too much work, if I can build the shovel.”

“Still, I’d rather you just build me a hand and be done with
it.”

“So I can electrocute you? I believe Captain Red Kite would
let me, to try to figure out how it’s being done.”

“We’ll have to ask for an eyewitness account. Surely the
Brass Hands don’t die the first time they receive a shock. It’s meant as a
deterrent.”