Mission: Nutcracker

Chapter 8

8

Terminus, 18 December 1871

Progress through unity. Remember your legacy.

Devon Meriweather knew he should be pondering more immediate questions instead of the stamp he wanted to leave on this new era of Terminus, but his eyes stung from studying the documents on the table in front of him. Admittedly, the piles had shrunk since he’d forced himself to go through them for several hours each day since returning from France, but they seemed to grow again overnight and when he wasn’t looking. He rubbed his eyes. Everything appeared in order. Pierce had done well during Devon’s absence, even with the War raging around Terminus and disrupting trade.

“The vultures are circling,” Pierce said from where he stood by the window, waiting to answer any questions Devon might have. Sometimes people mistook one for the other due to their dark hair that shone red in the sun and dark hazel eyes, and Devon suspected Pierce had used that to his advantage.

Devon shook his head and recognized the thoughts as coming from his irritable disposition since that morning, when he’d woken with what he thought may be the start of a sick headache.

It didn’t help that the light blue of the sky beyond Pierce made the room almost unbearably bright and mocked the heaviness of Devon’s mood. While the open lawn in front of the house allowed more natural light into the office, Devon missed the old townhouse, which was both cozy and in the middle of things.

“Whose carriage do you see?” Devon didn’t bother to get up. His left ankle ached and added to his foul mood.

“A steamcart. One of the newfangled ones.” Pierce looked over his shoulder and wrinkled his nose. “I can almost smell the charcoal from here.”

Devon bit back the reply that burning coal was preferable to horse s**t stench, but he and Pierce didn’t disagree on much, so he didn’t make anything of it. And in his current mood, if he started arguing, he might not be able to stop himself. Therese had gotten their mother’s calm temperament, Devon their father’s passion and temper.

“Whose steamcart?” Devon persisted.

“A tall gentleman. He has a limp.”

“Just one person?” That didn’t sound like a team. Perhaps his silent prayers to the gods of efficiency had been answered.

“Yes, why?”

Devon sat back in his father’s old chair. Although he had his father’s height, the chair felt too big for him, even beyond the fact that he lacked his father’s bulk. Or absolute honesty. The lie he’d concocted slid easily off his tongue. “After the incident at the ball, I decided to hire a security team.”

“Oh?” Pierce raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t tell me about this.”

“It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while. I want to keep you and Therese safe.” Devon shrugged with apparent regret but thrilled that he’d at least kept his cousin out of one aspect of his life. It wasn’t that he didn’t like or trust Pierce. He just liked having things for himself as well. And secrets. Like how part of the reason he’d been in France was to make reports back to Washington as to how the war was perceived there, and to monitor who was supporting whom. And if he managed to sway some opinions, he was doing his part to help the war effort at home.

Pierce simply grinned, again surprising Devon with how someone with such good business sense could also have such an easygoing nature. “Probably not a bad idea, considering…”

“Considering what?”

Pierce’s smile vanished. “How many of the planters still don’t care for us, the ‘coward cousins,’ although you did seem to make some headway with Sheriff Blair.” Then he sighed. “I do wish you trusted me more, Cousin.”

Devon wondered how Pierce had known about Blair’s visit, but he first had to deal with the many levels of his cousin’s complaint. Pierce had been making a suit for Therese’s hand, but Devon hadn’t given his blessing. Mostly because Therese hadn’t given hers. Although of marriageable age, her health problems had kept her off the market, and Devon didn’t want to force her into anything that would jeopardize her happiness or health. And he worried that childbirth would kill her.

“I’ll try to do better at keeping you involved in household decisions. Meanwhile…” Devon c****d his head at the office door.

“Your wish is my command.” Now back to his easygoing self, Pierce mock-bowed and left. Devon took the opportunity to rub his burning eyes again. He’d never been able to sleep when there was a storm coming, and he’d had the feeling for over a month.

“Sir?” Crenshaw knocked on the door a few minutes later.

“Yes, come in.”

Crenshaw held a tray upon which sat a glass that held an amber liquid. “Mister Pierce said you were having a headache again, so I brought you some whiskey with laudanum.”

Devon hesitated before accepting the cure. But a stabbing pain behind his right eyeball heralded the next stage of his sick headache, which would send him to bed for the rest of the afternoon.

“Thank you.” He took a sip, and the pain receded slightly. With the next sip, the tension in his neck relaxed, and the stabbing subsided to a dull ache.

“Also, there’s a chap outside by the name of Davidson. Says you’re expecting him?”

Devon nodded. “Please send him in. And some tea.”

“Yes, sir.”

Crenshaw held the door open for the man Devon had been told to expect—Henry Davidson. The man himself walked through the door, and his direct gaze took in everything before settling on Devon. “Mister Meriweather, I presume.” He spoke in a soft English accent.

Devon rose, wincing when he put weight on his ankle. Was that a sympathetic glint in Davidson’s eyes? “And you must be the head of my investigative team. Please, have a seat.”

After resuming his seat, Devon took a moment to study Henry Davidson. Tall and thin with a smattering of freckles and hair somewhere between dark red and medium brown, he had an unassuming air until one looked more closely. Then Devon took in the way he sat, straight but slightly forward as though ready to spring up at a moment’s notice, and how he also studied Devon with more than mild curiosity.

Davidson spoke first. “Who was that young man out there? I see a family resemblance.”

“My cousin Pierce. He helps me to manage things while I’m away.”

Davidson nodded. “And I assume he will also need my firm’s protection?” He pulled a notepad from his pocket. “I have written that your household consists of you, your sister Therese, and several servants. Formerly enslaved people, I presume.”

“You presume incorrectly.” Devon almost grinned. “My family, being from the North, never owned slaves. Those who work for us have always been free. And paid.”

“Noted.” Davidson made a mark in his notebook.

Devon felt that Davidson had let him have a victory. “As for Pierce needing protection, let’s be straight with each other. He can handle himself, but I am concerned for him, considering how tinkerers have been vanishing.”

“As well you should be.” Somehow Davidson managed to convey both approval and censure, and it hit Devon who he was really talking to.

A wave of exhaustion overtook Devon, and he remembered why he’d hated the foreign service work—all the deception. “Look, let’s drop the pretense. I know you’re not in charge of a security firm. I heard of you while I was abroad, Inspector Davidson.”

Davidson raised his eyebrows and put his notebook away. He studied Devon for so long that Devon speculated he’d just made a horrible mistake and revealed too much about his own secret work. He pushed the half-finished whiskey with laudanum away.

“And is your sister truly fragile?” Davidson—or whoever he was—finally asked. But he didn’t say yes or no to Devon’s implied questions.

Devon sighed. “Unfortunately, that much is not a cover-up. She’s been ill since childhood. My parents pursued many treatments for her before they died, and I after, but while we’ve managed to keep her alive, she is still unwell.”

“Very well.” Davidson nodded. “Since you know this is more than a security arrangement, please tell me how you would like it to work. You and your family are in danger, and so my purpose for being here is twofold, and I would like to help as much as I can.”

Devon heard the words that weren’t said—whether you like it or not. He relaxed slightly as the warmth of the alcohol and opium continued to spread through him. How had the glass ended up in his hand again? “I have told the household that there is a security team coming. And that you will be staying as we implement the first stage of railroad reconstruction to guard against sabotage.”

The pad of paper appeared again. “Anything else?” He inclined his head to the office door, through which the ebb and flow of an intense discussion could be heard, although not the words. Devon recognized Pierce’s and Crenshaw’s voices.

“In the interest of being completely honest, I’m also looking for a strategic marriage. But I don’t want to jump in blindly.”

“Then perhaps now would be a good time for you to introduce me as your new head of security. It sounds like you could use some protection with all these people who want to use you.”

Devon nodded, but he stifled another sigh. Wasn’t Davidson also using him? At least Devon could do the same.

“How many are on your team?” Devon asked.

Davidson paused for a second too long before answering, “Five, including myself. And two more who may join us, but who will not be staying here.”

“And when do I get to meet them?”

“They will be arriving in a few days with equipment.”

Devon stood, as did Davidson, and said, “I look forward to it.” Another lie. Why had he allowed his life to get so complicated?

Typically Vinni enjoyed the landing of the airships, the gentle almost-kiss when machine descended to hover above the earth, but not today.

“I hope your uncle recovers soon,” Captain Andrews told her once they’d done their final check of the instruments. “It’s a shame there isn’t any other family to help out.” He shook his head. “But then, some people aren’t lucky enough to have lots of relatives to help care for them.”

“Thank you,” she told the captain. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Again, I’m sorry.” Sorry for having to go on leave again so soon. Sorry for lying to him. Sorry for not being able to fulfill her duties and follow her dreams because she was too far embedded in an organization that demanded her life and her soul.

The captain had told her once she boarded that he’d gotten the message about her sick uncle, so of course she’d been granted leave to care for him. Then he’d confided in her that he feared he would end up in the same situation, being a man with no wife or family himself, and an orphan to boot. She’d never asked, but she had no doubt the neo-Pythagoreans had ferreted out his formerly secret insecurity and used that to their advantage.

As for the plausibility of an uncle in Terminus, she had a Southern drawl that came out occasionally, although she had no idea where it originated. Had her parents been Southern? She couldn’t remember. And anyone she’d talked to at the temple had only said she’d been found wandering near the property when she was about four years old, and they had no idea where her parents were. They swore they’d looked, but she’d often suspected they hadn’t put too much effort into the search. At least her burning desire to find her parents had diminished to an occasional sting, which stuck her heart at times like this.

Would this enforced leave be an opportunity to find out more about her own past? It might not be so bad after all.

The captain shook her hand. “You’ll always be welcome back. Regardless of where you disappear to when you’re not flying.” With that odd statement, he exited the bridge.

Vinni shook her head. Had Captain Andrews guessed she was involved in something? His superiors might know of her connections to the neo-Pythagoreans, but he shouldn’t. But like her, he was a shrewd observer, which made him a good captain. She was pretty sure she hadn’t slipped. She kept the tattoo of a circle inside a square on the inside of her left wrist covered by both a watch and her sleeve.

She gathered the few belongings she kept with her on the bridge and waited for the passengers who were getting off in Terminus to disembark. She and Cat had agreed to meet once the crowd thinned. Cat would have Vinni’s luggage, and they’d go to the apartment in the city that had been rented for them.

Vinni sighed. It all seemed to be nicely planned and laid out for them, but she knew that things could easily go awry. Like they had in the spring, when she’d failed her assignment, been betrayed by Paul Farrell, and lost her faith.

Cat waved her over, and they took a carriage from the airship field south of the city to an apartment downtown.

Two hours later, Vinni stood by the window and watched the hustle and bustle on the street below—carts and carriages, driven and ridden in and unloaded by people with a range of skin tones. She envied their easy manners and warmth. Could she disappear into the chaos? Or would she stand out?

She kept one ear on Cat, who sat on a cushion in front of the fireplace—not burning since the chilly morning had turned into a balmy day—and closed her eyes, seeking the signature of the aether. Or that’s what she’d told Vinni. Vinni wondered if that was the case because every time she’d tried to sneak out the door, Cat had caught her and had fixed her with a look that said, Don’t you even think of it, Missy. Now all Vinni could do was wish Cat would fall asleep so Vinni could slip out.

Vinni regretted confiding her plans—well, desire—to escape to Cat. She hadn’t been allowed to go anywhere alone, and Cat felt more like a jailer than a lover.

“That’s it!” Cat opened her eyes. “I’ve found something.”

“Where?” Vinni walked to the dining room table, which had a map of the city spread on it. She tried not to be jealous of Cat’s abilities, but sometimes it was difficult. Vinni didn’t like feeling useless.

Cat closed her eyes and hummed, which she’d told Vinni helped her to block out distractions. Her fingertips traced over the map, finally landing on a block that Vinni knew to be warehouses. “There.”

“When do we go?” Vinni asked. Being out would give her the chance to run—more of a chance than she’d had previously, anyway.

“Now.” Cat grinned, some of the tension of the past two days melting from her broad cheeks. “Let’s check it out.”

“Now?” Vinni tried not to show her shock at Cat wanting to leave the apartment so soon.

“Yes. But Vin?” Cat put a hand on Vinni’s shoulder.

“Yes?”

“You won’t leave me, will you?”

Vinni hated lying to Cat’s face, but she smiled and tried to allow the remnants of the love they’d once shared to shine through her eyes. “Why would I do that?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Cat turned and wiped something from her cheek. “I’m sorry for bringing you to Uncle.”

Vinni couldn’t tell Cat it was all right. It wasn’t. “I’m sorry we’re both in this situation,” she said softly.

Cat nodded, and to Vinni’s relief, didn’t say anything. Maybe she didn’t want to pile more lies between them on top of everything else.

Vinni went to check her gear and make her preparations—to find the source of the aether, and to be alert for any opportunity to make a run for it.