David drake hammers sl.., p.5
Mechanical Mistletoe, page 5
“This looks very good,” she whispered.
“It is,” Silas whispered back. “But you’d better pick your favourites quickly, because I think Miss Thea may be hungry too, and you don’t want her eating all the good stuff before you...”
Dorothea couldn’t help but chuckle. “It sounds as if you have brothers and sisters, Mr Gray.” She helped herself to an assortment of cheeses and a couple of crusty bread slices, which she buttered lavishly.
“Just one brother,” smiled Silas. “But he is a handful, even now.”
“Is here in the Undercroft as well?”
“No. His choices took him down a different path.”
There was something in his words that told her this was a subject he’d prefer left alone. Understanding, she nodded and chewed thoughtfully.
“Do you have brothers or sisters?” Silas filled his plate.
“One brother,” she replied between mouthfuls. “Older brother.”
“I see. Is he here in the Undercroft, or joining you here, perhaps?”
She looked at him thoughtfully, wondering if he was being polite or doing a little subtle digging. “He is quite busy these days, so I doubt he will follow me. He has enough work to keep him occupied elsewhere in Arcvale.” She smiled a little. “Also, he’s not one for spontaneous adventures. Which this has certainly turned out to be.”
Silas smiled as they both glanced at Gen, who was managing to finish her plate, but clearly flagging.
“Perhaps, after your young protégée is settled, you might care to join me for an after-dinner brandy?”
Dorothea used her mouthful of food as an excuse not to answer immediately. His offer had, for some obscure reason, made her heart jump a little, which was absurd, of course.
And it would be considered quite outré by her family, and probably most everyone in Renslow House, not to mention the rest of the elegant neighbourhood. Those realisations tipped the scales in his favour.
“I would be delighted, Mr Gray,” she nodded at last, keeping her voice level. “I believe that would be an ideal end to a very long and adventurous day.”
The conversation turned ordinary, food was served and consumed, and Gen managed half of her pudding between yawns.
“Which you both have certainly had,” smiled Silas, shooting a quick glance at the tired child.
“Gen, if you’re done, I think we might tuck you into bed now?” Dorothea suddenly realised how natural that felt, and yet she’d had little experience with children as young as Gen.
Was it the girl? She was a delight and had brought a new breath of air into Dorothea’s existence. Or was it perhaps something that had been there all the time and yet had never had the opportunity to develop? Hard to tell.
“I’m done, Miss Thea.” Gen scrambled down off her chair and walked to Silas. “Thank you for my food, Mr Gray. It was wonderful.” And then she stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.
Dorothea didn’t know who was more surprised. Herself or Silas.
He certainly looked stunned, but then smiled widely and opened his arms to hug Gen. “Good night, little one. Sleep tight. And I’ll see you in the morning.”
“When Mama comes,” she nodded.
“When your Mama comes,” he echoed firmly.
Dorothea stood and took Gen’s hand. “I won’t be long,” she said quietly.
“I’ll be here,” he answered.
Yes, I know. And I find that knowledge a lot more stimulating than I should...
*~~*~~*
With Gen tucked snugly on one side of the large bed, and Thim settling on the floor next to her, Dorothea felt more comfortable about leaving them for a little while. They’d certainly taken to each other, without a doubt. While many argued that a tickerkin had no emotions, she’d never been one of them. And Thim was proving her point.
Battered, clearly misused, and having experienced a hard life, it was still working and showing a good deal of intelligence. Not to mention surprising affection for a little human girl. Yes, its eyes weren’t aligned as well as they should be, and there was a bit of a lopsided rattle when it moved, but sometimes one had to judge what lay in the heart, not on the surface.
Glancing in the mirror, she winced and did her best to restore some order to her hair. The day’s adventures had taken their toll on her appearance, leaving her with some loose curls and smudges on the hem of her skirt and petticoat. She sighed. Such was the price one paid for escaping Arcvale. And it was unlikely that Mr Gray would notice.
With that not-very-comforting thought, she straightened, turned the knob near the door to reduce the lighting to a soft glow, and quietly left the room.
It seemed as if the whole house had settled itself for the evening. The lights in the hallway were also a little less bright, but Nelson appeared in front of her. “If you’d follow me, Ma’am.”
“Of course. Thank you. I would have been quite lost on my own, I’m sure.”
“Neither Mr Gray nor I would ever allow that to happen,” replied Nelson, his tone rather dry in nature. “However, there are more than a few rooms on this level, so I can comprehend your confusion.”
His words were uttered in a somewhat supercilious tone, so she merely followed him down a passageway that led past where they’d eaten and further into the house.
Stopping in front of a door, he glanced at her. “Mr Gray awaits, Ma’am.”
The words almost sounded like an incantation, and Dorothea scolded herself for the absurdity. “Ah. Well then. Thank you, Nelson.” She walked past him with a nod and went inside.
A fire burned brightly in a large fireplace, and the thick rugs silenced her footsteps as she walked across them to the man rising from his chair.
“No, please don’t get up.” She held up her hand. “This looks so comfortable. And warm, too.”
Two chairs were set near the flames, with a small table between them, obviously to hold the brandy and the two accompanying glasses.
She took the other chair with a minimum of fuss. “I think Gen’s probably already asleep,” she smiled. “That is one tired little girl.”
“She’ll be well rested to welcome her Mama.” He glanced at her and raised an eyebrow while picking up one of the lovely glass snifters.
Understanding his silent question, she nodded. “Yes, please.”
Silas carefully poured what she recognised as Smuggler’s Polished Sin—amber-dark and velvety—its warm spice and burnt sugar finish curling into the air between them as it splashed into the two glasses.
“Careful,” he murmured, offering her one. “This one has a reputation.”
“So I’ve heard,” she replied, waiting until he picked up his to take a sip. “Mmm. Very nice indeed.”
“You’ve tried this one before, I take it?”
“Actually, no, but I have heard it praised by those who have. Up until now, my choice has been the Imperial Amber Reserve, but this...” she sipped again, “may just change my mind.”
“Your preference is admirable,” he said quietly. “Not many get the chance to enjoy such a supremely made liquor as the Amber Reserve.”
“Um.” Cursing herself for her mistake, Dorothea changed the subject. “Tell me about your home, Mr Gray. It is much larger than I could have imagined, and must have taken a long time to excavate?”
“I would be happy to,” he smiled. “But not unless you call me Silas...”
She fought with herself for all of ten seconds. “I’d be honoured, Silas...”
“Thank you, Thea.” He nodded, immediately glancing around the room. “This room was an addition. When I first looked at this place, I knew there was a lot of potential. And you’re right, it’s not easy to create a fair-sized dwelling unless you go into the caves and build more traditionally.”
“But there, you’d have the routine issues of what I understand are the usual sixth-level dwellings. Ventilation, heating, cooling, water...”
“Whereas here, tucked into the rocks, I have much better control over all those things, although I will admit the pumping system gave my crew some headaches.”
“Running water is definitely an advantage,” she observed, sipping her brandy.
“It is, of course,” he agreed. “Now that the civilities are mostly observed, perhaps you would tell me what on earth a woman like you is doing down here amongst the caves and forges?”
She blinked. “What on earth do you mean? A woman like me?”
He met her gaze calmly. “I’m not blind, dear girl. Elegance and class, not to mention good breeding, ooze from your pores as freely as sweat does from our Forge workers.”
She raised her chin. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“Wrong answer, Thea.” He sipped his brandy. “Besides the fact that your conversation is clearly way above what is to be expected of Arcvale’s lower levels, I doubt that anyone further down than level two has ever heard of, let alone tasted, Imperial Amber Reserve.”
Dorothea wanted to give herself a good hard kick, but keeping her countenance calm and unruffled was about the hardest thing she’d ever done. Hoping he didn’t see her internal chaos, she met his gaze as calmly as she could.
“So I am well-spoken and like excellent brandy. That makes me unusual? I think not.” Her mind selected and discarded comments in a whirlwind of decisions. “I’m sure there are more than a few ladies with sophisticated tastes here in the Undercroft.” A random, if unwelcome, thought shot into her head. “Although perhaps they may not be as reputable.”
He chuckled. “No, you’re no torchlight belle, Miss Thea. That I can say with complete certainty. But there’s something about you that doesn’t quite....fit. That’s the word. You don’t fit into any of the Undercroft categories.”
“Ridiculous. Of course I fit.” She took a good swallow of her brandy and barely managed to refrain from coughing.
“In the right environment, yes.” He nodded. “I see you at a piano, candles reflecting light off the brilliantly polished instrument, you’re playing alone, a sonata perhaps. Your hands fly softly over the keys...”
She swallowed. “Nonsense.”
“Or perhaps at a ball,” he continued, his eyes on her face. “Your hair shining beneath the chandeliers, your gown a whispered breath of blue and gold as you whirl around the floor...”
His words seduced her, kept her gaze on his. “I...I...”
The table between them was small, and she didn’t realise he’d reached across it until she felt his hand in her hair. “Tell me, Thea. Tell me the truth. Let me help you if I can...”
Breathless, she leaned toward him, her eyes drifting to his lips. But just in time, she caught herself up, and jerked backwards in her chair, pulling away from his touch, his gentle voice, and his seductive words.
“Silas,” she whispered hoarsely. “You are a dangerous man, and I don’t know if you fit here either.” In one smooth move, she finished her brandy, put the glass back on the table, and rose to her feet. “I must leave before this goes any further. Good night.”
Chapter Six
To say he slept poorly would be an understatement.
Silas had spent a miserable night, tossing and turning, visions of Thea appearing with annoying regularity and interrupting whatever rest he managed to claim. Even when he did sleep, she was there—bold as brass—in his coggleblasted dreams.
One look at her and his gears had forgotten their manners, and the more he looked, the more his pistons misfired as well.
Staring at himself as he shaved, he was appalled to see dark shadows beneath his eyes and a slump to his shoulders. This would never do.
“Rough night, sir?”
Nelson earned himself a glare as he passed his master a towel along with the question.
“I have a lot on my mind, if you must know. Any more trouble and my whole system will be kicked out of rhythm.”
“I see, sir.” Nelson, as always, betrayed no expression at all, but by St. Virellus, his intonation spoke volumes.
Silas decided that ignoring all the implied comments would be the most mature thing to do. “Do you have my clothes ready? I’m going to the Depot first thing to pick up little Gen’s Mama.”
“I did recall that, sir, yes. Suitable garments await on your bed.”
“Good.” He rinsed off the last of his shaving cream and stared at himself. He still looked a bit tired, but overall he thought he’d pass muster as a welcoming committee to the Undercroft.
“The young ladies are still asleep,” Nelson said. “Would you wish me to wake them before you leave?”
“I don’t think so.” Silas considered the matter as he fastened his shirt. “They had a long day yesterday. Especially little Gen. Let’s let them sleep for a while. That way they won’t have a long wait for Gen’s mother.” He grabbed his jacket. “A full breakfast, I think, Nelson. I’ll wager everyone will be hungry.”
“As you say, sir.” He trundled from the room, the model of efficiency as always.
It really was very early, Silas realised, as he left his house, quietly activating the gear locks in the front door behind him. The few people out and about were on their way to whatever the morning held for them, and disinclined to talk. So he walked along the lane toward the Depot, his mind turning over a variety of matters. None of them, of course, had anything at all to do with a certain unusual and lovely young woman, who was at present asleep in his guest room.
Lost in the variety of emotions that vision aroused, he damn near squeaked when a firm hand thumped him on the shoulder.
“What the devil are you doing up at this hour?”
“By all the saints, Hiram. You almost scared the breeches off me.” Hoping his heart would restart soon, Silas stared at his friend. “This is very early for you, you know.”
“I know.” He rolled his eyes. “But to be honest, I didn’t get much sleep. That coggleblasted Mistletoe machine is worrying me, and I spent half the night trying to decide what to do.”
“Look, I’m going to the Depot to pick up Gen’s mama. Walk with me, come back with me and have breakfast. After that, we might get a chance to sit down and go through your ideas, and maybe mix in a few of my own.”
Hiram considered the invitation, then shrugged. “I could manage breakfast, that’s for sure. And I wouldn’t mind seeing little Gen again. Not to mention that lovely lady who was accompanying her...” He waggled his eyebrows at Silas.
“Hmph.”
The clatter of the Trammelbuggy grew louder as they neared the Depot platform, and Silas drew out his pocket chronometer, watching the seconds tick like tiny hammer strikes. “Shouldn’t be long now,” he murmured.
And as if summoned, a light appeared and grew brighter as the vehicle neared its destination, and finally arrived with an ear-splitting squeal.
Hiram winced. “Someone hasn’t greased the track yet.”
Silas nodded, but his eyes were busy trying to find a woman who looked like she might be Gen’s mother. He’d asked Gen what she looked like last night, but her answer, although honest, hadn’t been helpful. “She looks like Mama.”
“You know her name?” Hiram watched the crowd.
“Er...”
“What the hell were you doing last night, playing gears and pistons with Gen?” He grinned. “Or maybe Miss Thea?”
“Oh hush,” Silas brushed the comment aside, frowning a little as he could see very few unattached women who weren’t wearing their work uniforms. Trammelbuggies at this time of day transported workers to the forges and furnaces, so those who weren’t in the dark grey clothes with the same-coloured cap were fairly obvious.
And there...one of the last to exit the carriage, was a woman wearing ordinary clothes. “Perhaps that’s her,” said Silas, moving forward. “I’ll ask.”
She stood unmoving as the final passengers swirled around her, her skirt unfashionable, her jacket a size too large, and her hat—well, it had seen better days. She had a large bag next to her on the platform, and Silas suddenly saw that in one hand was a cane.
He approached her slowly. “I beg your pardon, Ma’am, but would you by any chance be Genevieve’s mother?”
Her gasp was audible, and she would have fallen as she turned toward him, but he caught her just in time.
“You have her? You have my Gen? Is she safe? Oh, please...”
Tears flooded her eyes, green as emeralds, and Silas was a little breathless as he stood her upright. Her jet-black hair was coming loose from its pins, and her shirt had a smudge on the cuff, but in spite of all that, she was stunning.
Behind him, Hiram cleared his throat. “Gen is safe, and we can take you to her now. A friend of ours is with her.” He turned slightly. “This is Silas Gray, and I’m Hiram Fowler. Gen is at Silas’s house. We met her last night.” He picked up her bag.
“I’m Mrs Sinclair. Lyra Sinclair. I was so worried about my daughter,” she said, her voice low and a little shaky.
“I can assure you she’s well,” said Silas with a smile. “And very much looking forward to telling her Mama all her adventures.”
“’Tis only a short walk, Ma’am,” said Hiram. “So if you’ll come this way?” He headed for the exit, but their guest followed slowly, leaning on her cane.
“You must pardon my awkwardness, gentlemen. I have, as you see, a slight handicap.”
Silas frowned. “I am sorry to hear it. A recent injury?”
“No, and I apologise,” she answered. “I will do my best not to slow you down, sirs. Please go ahead. I will be right behind.”
For the first few minutes, both Silas and Hiram strolled slowly back along the platform toward the exit, but it was clearly slow and awkward going for Mrs Sinclair.
Hiram stopped and turned. “This walk is tiring for you, Ma’am, I can see that most clearly, and I’ll wager you didn’t sleep much last night. So, as gentlemen, we must lend our assistance.” He glanced at Silas. “Get the bag?”
Silas grinned and nodded.
“What...what...wait...” Lyra’s green eyes nearly popped out of her head as Hiram calmly picked her up as if she was a child, settled her in his arms, and strode off, with Silas, bag, and cane in hand, right behind him.
