Bitter Cold: A Steampunk Snow Queen (The Clockwork Republic Series Book 4) (16 page)

Extraordinary!

"Come in, please." The sharp notes of her voice pierced the wooden door, and Kit entered. The 'gen shut the door behind him.

"Good morning, Miss DeWinter." Kit smiled at the vision before him. She was bathed in light pouring in through four porthole windows. A dress of shimmering blue and white swirled around her as she moved, and her white blond hair coiled in elaborate twists and curls at the back of her head.

This was clearly the suite's parlor. Evelyn gestured to a chair covered in rich indigo velvet.

"Good morning, Kit. Have a seat. Have you made any sense of the schematics?"

He sank into the plush cushion. "Yes, Miss. I think I have a good grasp of the problem."

"Problem?"

"Well, in looking at these plans, there's clearly a flaw which would prevent it from working."

At this, her pale eyebrows rose to nearly her hairline.

"In fact, there's a series of -- well, flaws may not be the correct word. It's almost as if some of the mechanical elements have been deliberately designed to fail."

Kit could have sworn the temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees. A look of cold hatred passed over his hostess, but she recomposed herself quickly.

"I see. It seems some of your predecessors took exception to my success. Tell me, Kit, can you correct these design flaws?"

"Certainly."

"And how long do you think it will be before we can test the engine?"

Kit frowned. Mechanical work was always difficult to judge, even with accurate plans. Tasks that should only take a few minutes could draw out into hours if the right tool or material wasn't on hand. He decided a conservative estimate would be the best choice. "I think I can have the machine operational in perhaps a day, maybe two. Certainly no more than a week, depending on parts and materials."

For the first time since he'd met her, the Snow Queen seemed to relax. "Are you quite sure? That is a much shorter timeline than my last engineer provided."

"With all due respect, Miss DeWinter, from what I've seen of those plans, your previous engineer may have been taking you for a buggy ride. Perhaps he or she needed the additional money a longer project would provide?"

Evelyn considered this for a moment, her eyes narrowed, and an odd smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Perhaps. In that case, they've received their just payment. And now, thanks to you, my engine can finally be completed."

"My pleasure, ma'am."

At this, she gave him a look of dismissal. "This is very good news, on the whole, Kit. Please go get settled in your stateroom. When you're ready to begin work, any of the 'gens aboard can take you to the engine."

Disappointed in her sudden loss of interest, Kit turned and headed out the door, following the 'gen who had brought him up. He hoped she would be impressed enough by his ability to assess the problem to take a more personal interest in him.

Frowning a bit, he decided his best course of action was to complete the engine as quickly as possible. If he proved himself as skilled as he claimed to be, perhaps then she would take the kind of notice of him he deserved.

~*~

The rap at the door was unexpected and unwelcome. The tinker could not have completed the Eternity Engine yet, and Evelyn was not anxious to speak to anyone else until it was finished.

"I'm not to be disturbed!" Her voice cut sharply through the polished wood of the stateroom door.

A low chuckle preceded the response. "You are already disturbed, according to most reports."

Ice water slid through Evelyn's veins at the sound of Valentine's voice. No! It was too soon. She intended to wire him as soon as the Eternity Engine had completed its first successful test.

When she had been transformed into an immortal, with thousands dead in sacrifice, he'd be forced to show her the respect she deserved. He'd realize she was more than his equal. Through Valentine, she would get the acknowledgment she'd never received from her father.

She was very close. Closer than she'd ever been. At this point, with Kit working on the engine as they spoke, there was nothing anyone could do to stop her.

Perhaps this was for the best. She never knew where on earth Valentine might be. What if, in some horrid coincidence, he'd been in the range of the cold wave? Then she would never hear his words of shocked respect, never get to see those perennially narrowed eyes widen in awe at her accomplishment.

She carefully adjusted her tone. "Valentine! This is a pleasant surprise. You so rarely make a personal appearance." She glided to the stateroom door and opened it. "I'm afraid you've caught me unprepared to properly entertain visitors, at least in this room. Come, let's repair to the observation deck. I can't offer you much in the way of luxuries, but I can offer a rather spectacular view of the mountains."

"If you say so, Evelyn. I don't think this visit will take long." She guarded her features against the frown threatening to appear at that statement.

"Once you hear how my plans have been proceeding, you may change your mind, my friend. You might wish to extend your visit a few days to see this particular experiment first hand." She graced him with a dazzling smile.

It took only a few minutes to traverse the winding passageways from her stateroom to the observation deck. It was an immense room, intended to serve as a ballroom in the Boreas' original purpose as a luxury cruise ship.

The front wall was filled with banks of windows glittering in the early morning light. Clouds drifted past, shimmering white like drifts of fresh snow. The sight never failed to entrance Evelyn. It was so clean up here. So perfect. Unmarred by the dirty, scrabbling messes people tended to leave in their wake.

Once the Eternity Engine was complete, the ground below would be like this, scourged clean and white with snow.

Valentine cleared his throat. He picked up a glass of sherry offered by one of her 'gens. "I was most displeased with your lack of progress on our project, my dear. I believe I was clear in my last message. Imagine my distress when I learned that instead of remaining in Little Rock to move things along, you'd flown halfway across the country to Appalachia. One might be tempted to think you've given up."

"Valentine, you must see reason. I've attempted every experiment you've asked of me. The homunculi are a dead end. But here, I've found a better means to the same objective."

"I doubt that very much, my dear. For one thing, I don't think you fully understand my goals." The man's sharp black brows folded inward and his lips made a thin line beneath his narrow black mustache.

"You want power. You want immortality. This ship holds the key to both!"

At this, Valentine burst into laughter. "You silly woman. You mean your ridiculous Eternity Engine? Why should I want immortality, when I already possess it?"

Evelyn's eyes widened in shock.

How could he possibly know?

"What do you mean?" A chill passed over Evelyn as a certainty she refused to acknowledge settled in her mind.

"I've had the formulae for the philosopher's stone for quite some time. What, do you think someone comes by this much knowledge in a single lifetime? I've known about your machine for months. I must say, it's certainly a novel approach. Not a particularly simple or elegant solution compared to the dozens who've come before you. But most definitely a novel one."

"You lie!" she hissed. It couldn't be. The philosopher's stone was the mystery of the ages. It had waited for her to unravel its secrets.

Another amused chuckle erupted from the dark haired imp of a man. "Oh, Evelyn, I wish you could see your face right now. You really should school your expression a bit better. You'll get wrinkles frowning so."

Evelyn recomposed herself. "Perhaps you do tell the truth. Maybe others have solved the stone. But the engine does more than grant immortality. You want an army? With this ship, I can conquer nations without setting foot on the ground. Complete subjugation, without bloodshed."

Valentine raised an eyebrow, sneering at her. "You think because you can freeze men where they stand, your hands will be clean? You are far too literal. And you still fail to comprehend what I mean to accomplish. I have no interest in your flying icebox, even if you can get it to work."

Evelyn stood near the bank of windows, crestfallen. In Valentine she'd seen an equal creature, a man who could appreciate her talents and strength of will without moral judgment. It was a foolish sentiment. She would be better off without him. Without the illusion that anyone was her equal. Let him leave. Let that smarmy smile freeze solid on his face.

She needed no one.

"My dear Evelyn, it's become clear our association has reached an impasse. It's a pity. You did have such potential. I'll be taking my leave. I'll also be taking the tanks from your laboratory."

Evelyn smothered a smile. "Certainly. I have no use for them, and I very much doubt they'll ever amount to more than a peculiar set of disgusting dolls." If Kit completed his work as quickly as he'd promised, her erstwhile partner would be dead long before he could reach them. "My servants will see you out."

With that, Valentine flashed a wicked smile. "Oh, that won't be necessary, my dear. I'll see myself out."

And with that, he whirled on his heel. A flash of smoke and light exploded at his feet, and in an instant he'd disappeared entirely.

Chapter 15

Allies and Alchemy

It was early morning. Greta found herself outfitted like a member of the Caravan, standing in the same clearing where her sleigh had been dismantled. She couldn't decide if her odds of surviving, much less saving Kit, were better or worse than they'd been last night.

Lulabelle's father, the Robber Baron of the Caravan, had agreed to let her go. But she was under strict orders to find Evelyn DeWinter and either kill her or bring her back as a hostage. As part of the agreement, she had to be ceremonially "mustered in" as a member.

The ceremony had taken place in front of the roaring bonfire in the middle of camp last night. Gregory had cut her hand with a wicked-looking knife. Lulabelle had volunteered to have her own hand cut. The two young women had clasped hands over a flaming torch, and Greta had to repeat a vow of loyalty.

At the end, the crowd erupted into loud whoops and songs, and Lulabelle had bandaged their hands with some clean muslin. The musicians struck up a lively tune, and Greta had been obliged to dance with nearly every man, woman and child in the camp. A wiry older woman had offered her a flask, insisting it would take the sting out of her hand.

A sip from the flask had definitely taken her mind off the cut on her hand. It felt as though it seared the skin from her throat and burned away most of her nose hairs, as well. She'd gagged, coughed and sputtered, but the woman only laughed. It seemed like the revelry would last all night, but eventually she'd been allowed to tumble into Lulabelle's caravan and fall asleep on a pile of cushions.

She'd been awakened at dawn and dressed in some of Lulabelle's cast off clothes. Buckskin breeches and tall leather boots replaced her heavy wool skirts and high-button shoes. A flowing yellow blouse replaced her buttoned-up wool bodice. She wore a deep red corset over the blouse. It was a little uncomfortable, but Lulabelle insisted the steel boning had saved her life on more than one occasion.

A scrawny young man had lent her a long duster coat, as well as a belt with a sheath and holster. She'd bound her hair back into its usual braids, wrapped around her head and pinned tightly in place. She felt quite dashing in her new attire.

As soon as she was dressed, she had promptly been dragged back to the clearing to plan her daring mission of rescue and revenge. She had to hand it to them. Once the Caravan decided upon a course of action, they certainly didn't waste any time.

If she hadn't just agreed to go on a suicide mission where failure meant the end of the world, it all would have been quite exhilarating.

The sleigh was a complete loss. They'd reduced it to a neat stack of brass and copper plates faster than Greta would have believed possible. But the reindeer were still intact, and she still had her last bottle of featherfall and her alchemical work box.

She knew she could get one of the reindeer aloft with the featherfall formulae. She just needed to figure out a way to propel it, preferably at a high rate of speed. Sails? Something like a kite? The reindeer lacked a steam engine, and its clockworks weren't powerful enough to run the propeller fans she'd mounted to the sleigh.

Lulabelle came wandering up behind Shep, the scrawny young man who'd provided Greta with a coat and belt. He'd offered her his jaunty top hat, but she'd declined. Flying into a stiff wind didn't bode well for fine haberdashery.

"If only I had some of those Chinese rockets," she muttered, rummaging through her box of compounds for something useful.

"Did you say you needed some rockets? Like firecrackers?" Lulabelle asked.

"Yes," she said, "But I'd hardly expect to find something so exotic in the middle of Tennessee, no offense."

"We run down a wagon train full of Chinese fellers just last week!" Shep exclaimed.