Curio (37 page)

“Chug boat ahead.” Maverick's voice sliced through the hum of the truck's engine.

Whit's heartbeat jumped. “What do we do?”

Maverick reached beneath his seat and pulled out a packet bound in oilskin. He jerked his head toward the rear of the vehicle. “You and Marina crawl into the back. With any luck they'll believe I'm on my way back from a delivery in my dad's truck.” He flashed a document with licensing information in front of Whit's face.

“Come on.” Marina uncurled from her seat, gesturing for Whit to retreat down the narrow aisle between two empty shelving units.

He shuffled into the back of the truck. Instead of two more shelves he found empty space near the door and gray, padded blankets.

“Hide,” Maverick called from the front.

Whit sat with his back to the metal frame of the unit and pressed his body against the side of the truck. His shoes bumped the closed rear door. Marina snatched one of the blankets, but instead of retreating to the other side of the truck, she squeezed in with Whit.

She fit her little body between his legs, pressing her spine into his chest. Then she covered them both with the blanket.
Her hat went missing in the process and a tumble of hair fell down her back.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

“Does it really matter?” Her hiss had the edge of fear. “If they catch us, that's it. If they catch me . . . I'm not registered. Technically, I don't exist. They can do whatever they want with me. Drain my blood right into a chug boat tank.”

Her tremble traveled through him, kicking his heartbeat into overdrive. Remnants of the tainted potion fired in his veins. His muscles flexed. He wanted to kill every deputy in Mercury City. So what if it was a trick of Cagey's concoction? He wrapped his arms around Marina, pulling her tight against his chest. Her hair caught his stubble as he lowered his chin to the crown of her head.

“They're not going to find us,” he murmured as Maverick slowed the truck.

She whimpered and Whit dropped his face into her shoulder, planting a kiss on the ridge between her neck and arm. She was right—they had no chance for mercy if they were caught. If he was going to get striped for indecent contact again, then he bleedin' well wanted that contact to mean something. He brought his knees up around her, protecting her with as much of his body as he could.

The engine sputtered as the truck slowed. The deputies must've flagged Maverick down. Whit's heart sank.

“Name?” a voice demanded.

Marina tensed.

“This is my dad's truck.” Maverick avoided the question. The shuffle of paper suggested he held the license document up for inspection.

Silence followed. Whit cringed. No doubt one of the deputies entered the name into a device on his arm.

“Says here Angelo Rosa is missing.”

Marina sucked in a gasp.

“That's right. He took off, left us to fend for ourselves.”

“And
your
name?” Suspicion spiked the deputy's tone.

“Garren Rosa.”

A pause.

“Get out of the truck.”

Marina breathed a silent scream. Whit crushed her into his chest. “Shh,” he murmured in her ear.

Another deputy's voice mingled with the sound of Maverick opening the truck door.

“What's the fuss, Trager?”

A rustle of paper, then the first deputy's tone. “Boy says this is his father's truck, but records say the man is missing. Gave me a phony name.”

The second deputy raised his voice. “What's your name, son?”

Maverick's feet scuffled on the ground. “Garren Rosa.”

“Age?”

“Sixteen.”

“Why are you lying to us, boy?” the second deputy asked. “I reckon you ain't reached your Stripe.”

Trager's voice dropped an octave. Whit strained to hear. “Are you unregistered?”

Marina gave a squeak, and Whit clamped his hand over her mouth.

The deputy's tone returned to normal. “Ah, that's it, ain't it? Let's go, refugee.”

Marina thrashed in Whit's hold.

Maverick's voice quaked. “To a facility?”

“Nope. Unregistereds go straight to the tower.”

The sound of footsteps sent Marina into a frenzy. She rocked in Whit's arms. He threw a leg over hers and locked her in place. “We can't help if we're taken,” he said into her ear.

“I'll send a message to the station about the truck.” The second deputy's voice diminished as he walked away.

The thrum of the deputies' vessel bellowed into the afternoon. Whit shifted, relaxing his hold on Marina. She flailed, beating at her knees and rocking. No sound escaped her lips for a few moments until a wracking sob filled the back of the truck.

Whit grabbed for her hands, curling his fingers around her fists. “Shh, shh.” What could he tell her? “Shh, sweetheart, shh,” was all that came.

Finally she turned and curled into him, burying her face in his chest. He would've held her forever, but . . . “We've got to go before another chug boat gets here.”

He pried her away. Black waves of hair covered her face, except for her mouth, which was stuck in a grimace.

“We've got to go,” he said again.

When she didn't respond, he untangled himself from her slender body and crawled toward the cab. Crouching on the truck floor, he craned his neck to see over the low doors then lifted his head higher to look out the windshield. A few horses and carts moved along the side street, their drivers too intent on avoiding the deputies to bother with the idling delivery truck. Whit slid into the seat. Another patrol might arrive at any second, leaving them one chance to get away. A thrill snaked up his arms as his fingers curled around the wooden wheel. He checked the temperature, air, and steam pressure the way Maverick had shown him, then applied his foot to a pump in the floor to pressurize the fuel tank.

The afternoon shadows lengthened, the threat of curfew advancing with them.

Movement from the back of the truck caught his attention. Marina scooted by him and sat in the other seat. Her
hair was pushed under her hat again and red rimmed her eyes, but her features looked stony.

“We gotta go,” Whit said above the hiss of the engine.

She nodded.

He eased a lever forward and the truck shuddered into motion. The wood and metal beast around him lurched and drifted. Whit jerked the steering wheel, and the truck barely missed clipping a wagon that crossed in his path. He had to do better than this. He wasn't riding in a train, separate from the locomotion around him. This vehicle was connected to him, an extension of his limbs, his will, like the hydraulic mining suits. He bent his concentration to the operation of hands, feet, engine, and wheels. The truck picked up speed.

He made a wide left turn that sent pedestrians scuttling for safety as the truck narrowly missed the sidewalk. Carriages, wagons, and automobiles bustled along Flamel Avenue. Whit's pulse skittered as the other vehicles converged and horns blared.

“Where can we go?” Whit thought out loud. He jerked his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair.

A bit of Marina's forceful pitch returned to her voice. “I have to get to Tonio. If both Mav and I don't come home, he'll panic.”

“But I've got to make the ration run tomorrow. You don't understand. My mother—” He couldn't finish. Marina didn't need to know his mother shared her potion with him—that she had for years without his knowledge. She'd wasted before his eyes, and he'd been too selfish to see it. He clenched his teeth, waiting for the flush of shame to leave his cheeks. When he glanced Marina's way again, she wore a blank expression.

“You won't make it before curfew. You should stay in town tonight.”

Her hands made fists on her knees. “I have to get back to Tonio. I won't have him thinking both his brother and sister are gone. He's only twelve!”

Whit plunged across traffic and careened onto another side street, checking for chug boats in the lane and dusters amongst the hurrying citizens. Eyes flicked in their direction. Heads turned. They were attracting attention. “We have to find somewhere to hide. Soon. Is there a way to get a message to Tonio?”

She didn't reply.

“Marina, is there a way to reach him?”

“No.”

He smacked the heel of his hand on the steering wheel. The truck swerved, and he gripped the wheel with both hands again. Couldn't she see he was trying to help? Every minute brought them closer to curfew and getting caught with a stolen truck. With a refugee by his side and a dealer-supplied bottle in his pocket, he might as well type his own sentence into one of the deputies' devices. The image of a gauntlet writer crystallized. He turned to Marina.

“What about the Chemist device I saw you hide on Saturday? Does it have any power left?”

Marina's tea-and-milk complexion blanched. “So you did see it?”

“Yeah.”

“When I found it in Burge's pack, I knew we were moving forward with the dispensary robbery. With gauntlets we could coordinate with each other. Maybe even send false information to the station. But I hoped you didn't spot it.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think, Whit? The only way to get a device like that is to take it off a deputy. It's not like that's easy. I told
you Burge was loco. When I saw the gauntlet, I thought . . . I thought maybe he'd killed a deputy and taken it.”

Whit's throat tightened. “Where is it now?”

“I hid it in our cabin.”

“So we
can
get a message to Tonio.”

Marina went full-on shrill. “Sure thing, Whit. All we need is another gauntlet. You up for bumping off a potion head to get one?”

“We don't have to kill a deputy to get one of their devices. All we'll need is a rock to smash a window.”

CHAPTER

23

T
he air whooshed from Grey's lungs on impact. Her mouth opened, but no sound escaped despite the wracking pain. Any second water would close over her head.

A suffocating moment passed. And another.

She wasn't drowning. At least not yet. Beneath her a metal structure bruised every point of contact with her body. But it had broken her fall.

She managed a shaky gulp of air, eyes straining into the inky blackness. Somewhere out in the dark, water flowed. Movement from under the metal surface made the hairs on her neck stand on end. Something brushed her ribs.

The structure beneath her lurched down. Grey scrabbled for a handhold, her fingers closing around a wet metal bar. She was on top of one of the cages.

“Hello? Who's down there?”

Another heave jostled the cage. Moans drifted between the bars. The stench of contaminated water intensified as another jolt brought them closer to the unseen surge below.

“Who are you?” a weak voice said.

“My name is Grey. Who are you?”

“Lilan,” the voice answered before another jerk brought them lower. A splash sounded from directly beneath at the same time screams lifted from across the chamber.

“We're going under,” Lilan said.

Grey felt around the bars below then pushed up onto her knees. She stretched her arm as far as she could to the right and encountered empty space. The chain moved again, the clinking sound coming from in front of her. Grey crawled forward as groans mingled with the lap of water. Her hands closed around a slick metal link, and she pulled herself to a stand. Pain flared from her arm, knee, and hip, but her bones were intact.

The next lurch plunged the cage beneath the black surface. Water covered her feet and splashed up her boots. Her long coat dragged in the current. Clinging to the chain, Grey shrugged out of the garment and dropped it into the water. Her teeth chattered, but at least she wouldn't be pulled under by the weight of the wet coat. She'd move more easily in her breeches and blouse anyway.

Seconds went by with screams, moans, and splashes marking the progress of the suspended cages. From high above, faint voices floated. If Callis incapacitated the jailer with his magnetic gun, she and Seree would be stuck down here. He had to convince the creature to haul them up.

After a failed attempt to climb the slippery chain, Grey returned to her position, arms and legs wrapped around the woven links. A commotion sounded above just as the top of the cage cleared the surface of the underground water. Grey tensed, her senses probing the darkness.

Voices drifted down. Hurried commands overlapped a frantic argument. An odd stillness overtook her. Something was different. She whipped her head from side to side, searching the darkness. The ticking had stopped. The cage she stood upon swung upward, rising through the abyss with steady speed.

“Lilan, is there a porcie named Seree in there with you?”

The name was whispered through the enclosure, but no one responded.

Light from the upper chamber drew nearer, and the buzz of voices grew louder. The cage ground to a halt suspended over the abyss. Callis stood on the dais, his glass gun aimed at the jailer's rounded body. He threw Grey a glance, then his eyes moved to the inhabitants of the cell. Grey looked down.