Hope and Red (33 page)

The two of them stood there, hands clasped, and stared at each other, neither able to find the words that might come next.

“I say, there, fronzies! Watch out!”

Hope and Red leapt apart as a large clanking jumble of metal and wood on wheels zoomed past. A young man sat on top of the pile, yanking levers and pressing down on pedals, a panicked expression on his face. The contraption continued on a little further, then spun around sharply and tipped over with a crash.

Hope and Red got to their feet, watching the pile of machinery warily. A moment later, the man jumped up from the wreckage, his eyes a little wild. He had long dark hair that was now only partly pulled back in a ponytail. The rest was a curtain that covered half his face. He wore the elegant finery of the uptown class, except the jacket was torn, and there were black smudges all over his pants. But the thing that struck Hope the most was that he looked so much like Red, he could have been his older brother.

“Is everyone alright?” he demanded, stumbling free of the pile. “I have some slight medical knowledge. If I can be of any assistance, I should be very glad of it.”

Red seemed to assess the situation in a second, then his eyes locked on Hope's. “Oh dear!” he said in a fairly good imitation of the young man's lacy tone. “I fear my companion may have injured her leg in the fall!”

Hope had no talent for performance, but she did her best to look pained and hold on to her ankle.

“My goodness, but this is awful!” exclaimed the man. “You must come inside at once so I can tend to your injury!”

“Very kind indeed, but we'd hate to be such a nuisance,” said Red, finding more confidence in the lacy speech.

“Nonsense, I insist!” He hurried over to Hope. “My name is Alash Havolon, and it would be an embarrassment to my name if I didn't care for an injured lady. And may I have the honor of your name?”

“My name is Bleak Hope.” Only after she said it did it occur to her that she should have used a fake name. One that sounded a little more lacy and not known by Teltho Kan.

“A troubling name for such a lovely lady.” Alash reached for her right hand, but found that it was holding a sword. He stared at it for a moment, his expression openly shocked.

“And I'm Rixidenteron,” Red said quickly, grasping his hand and shaking it vigorously. “Is this your estate?”

“Actually, my grandfather is the head of Pastinas Manor,” said Alash.

“Do tell!” Red's expression gave no indication that he'd just learned he was talking to his cousin. “We were passing by and stopped to admire it.”

“I'm smitten you like it!” said Alash, brushing his hair back out of his face. Unlike Red, his eyes were a light gray.

“Oh yes. Clearly the finest in the area,” said Red. “A pleasure to behold.”

“Perhaps once we have seen to Miss Hope's injuries, you would like a tour?”

Red smiled triumphantly. “That would be marvelous.”

“Excellent!” Alash held his elbow out to Hope. “Please permit me to escort you in, Miss Hope.”

“Sure.” She tentatively reached out and took hold of his elbow.

He gave her a confused look.

“Miss Hope is not familiar with our customs,” said Red. “She's from the Southern Isles, you know.”

“Damned if you say!” gasped Alash.

“Have no fear of her, though,” said Red, really warming into his role now. “Despite what you may have heard, the Southerners are not all cannibals.”

Alash laughed, his voice like a clear bell. “I
had
heard such tales.” He took Hope's arm and slipped it through his so they interlocked. “But I never believe such ignorant nonsense. I am a man of science, you see.”

He held his arm stiff so that she could put weight on it. That was a fortunate prompt, because after being nearly accused of cannibalism, Hope had almost forgotten that she should be limping.

“I will not make any more assumptions, Miss Hope,” he continued, “but shall strive my utmost to make you feel as comfortable as possible, being so far from home.”

Hope glanced over her shoulder at Red, who wore an amused grin. There was something else in his gaze, though. It seemed almost like jealousy. But he gave her an encouraging nod and gestured for her to go with it.

“You are very kind,” Hope said quietly as she and Alash began walking slowly up the path toward the manor entrance.

“Forgive me if this is too bold, Miss Hope,” said Alash. “But is it customary for a Southern lady to carry a sword?”

“Yes,” she said, surprising herself with the easiness of the lie. Perhaps she was warming to her role as well. “All Southern ladies of a certain age must be armed. The isles are not as peaceful as this place.”

“It seems cumbersome to always have it in hand,” Alash said sympathetically.

“We normally belt the sheath to our side. But your Northern clothes don't have a place for it.”

“So this is not even your native garb?” He seemed utterly fascinated. Hope suspected that Alash was starved for anything outside his own limited experience.

“No, it's not,” she said truthfully.

He frowned thoughtfully. “Well, I think we should be able to figure some way for you to wear it comfortably. I'm quite clever, you see.”

Red made a quiet choking sound behind them.

“You said you are a man of science?” asked Hope.

“Indeed! It is my passion! Science of all kinds. Mechanical, natural, philosophical. I'm smitten with it all!”

“What was that machine you were riding?” asked Hope.

“Ah, that!” Alash beamed. “I call it a pedal carriage. It relies on a system of gears, rather like a clock, only much larger. This system allows one to make the carriage move simply by pedaling, without any need of horses!”

“How's the steering?” asked Red cheerfully.

“Yes.” Alash's cheeks flushed slightly. “As you witnessed, the steering is not quite ready.”

“Or the brakes,” said Red.

“That as well,” admitted Alash. Then he patted Hope's hand. “But I assure you, Miss Hope, this is the way of science. Trial and error and refinement, day after day, until it is perfected!”

“That is the way of
all
things, not just science,” said Hope.

“Oh!” said Alash. “You are clearly a practitioner of the science of philosophy! I did not realize they had such studies in the South, but I am glad to hear it. The world would be much improved if we all took the time for philosophical speculation.”

“I agree.” Hope found herself smiling. There was something artlessly charming about Red's cousin. A bright exuberance she had seen only in children. In many ways, he seemed the exact opposite of Red. Sweet, guileless, and without pretense.

As he led her across the rolling meadow to the stately Pastinas Manor, she felt a pang of regret that she was bringing violence within its walls.

No. They were harboring the vile biomancer, Teltho Kan. Alash might well be innocent. But someone in that place was not.

Alash led them through the lush gardens that encircled the home and up the imposing stone steps to the front door. “Here we are, then. Welcome to Pastinas Manor!”

The thick, dark wood doors were carved with intricate designs of fish and otters painted with accents of gold. He threw them open to reveal a large room with gleaming white floors, thick rugs, and delicately decorated sculpture hanging from every wall. In the center of the room was a grand staircase that swept up to the next level. At the top of the stairs, a giant portrait of an old man with thin black hair and a neck like a lizard gazed down balefully at them.

“That's Grandfather,” said Alash. “And yes, he
is
that dour, I'm afraid.” He patted Hope's hand, still hooked through his arm. “Perhaps we should head to my workshop, where I can attend to your injury and fashion some small contrivance to hold your sword, Miss Hope.”

“That would be greatly appreciated, Alash,” said Hope.

Alash opened a small door off to one side that led to a narrow hallway. The plainness and economy of the hallway was in stark contrast to the front room, and Hope wondered why it was so different. At the end of the hall was a room with a bare wood floor and worktables along the walls. The room was strewn with metal gears, leather straps, sheets of waxed canvas, small pieces of wood, and odd little mechanical objects.

“Apologies for the mess,” Alash said absently as he bent down next to one of the piles and pulled out a wooden box. “Miss Hope, I must ask you to sit on this stool. I'm terribly sorry I don't have anything more comfortable.”

“It's fine, thank you.” Hope sat on the short, wooden stool and watched as he pulled a bandage from his box.

“I confess, I am more at home with mechanical sciences than medical ones,” said Alash as he knelt down in front of her. “But as you saw, my mechanical experiments frequently lead to injury. Usually my own. So I have some experience with a turned ankle.” He held up the bandage. “If you will permit me to wrap this around the injured ankle, the additional support should give you some relief and speed up your recovery.”

Alash's hands were rough and calloused from his work with machinery. But his touch was gentle as he slowly wrapped Hope's ankle in the soft cotton bandage. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Red shifting his weight back and forth. She wondered what he was feeling, now that he was actually inside his ancestral home.

“That should do it.” Alash stood up and packed his wooden box of medical supplies away. “Now to find you a suitable means of securing your sword.”

“It really is a workshop,” remarked Hope as she watched him rummage around in the piles of material.

“Naturally.”

“I suppose I wasn't expecting to see something so…”

“Honest?” Red gave her a smirk.

She ignored him. She suspected he was making these little jabs at his cousin to relieve his own discomfort at being in this place. But if he wasn't careful, he might alienate Alash too much.

“Oh yes.” Alash chuckled good-naturedly. “My family tolerates my passion, but only just. It is, as Rixidenteron suggests, a bit too much like honest labor for their tastes. I must confine it to this room, and I am never to bring guests…” He trailed off, looking suddenly first at Hope, then Red. “Oh drown it all! What a terrible host I am! I rarely have guests. Well, never, actually. So I haven't had any practice at this. But of course you'd much prefer to see the nice parts of the house!”

“Actually, I think it's likely that this will be my favorite room,” said Hope. “Southerners appreciate rooms—or anything, really—that have a purpose.”

“You are too kind.” Alash turned away, his face reddening.

“Right, well, shall we get on with it?” said Red brusquely.

“Even so!” said Alash, and went back to rooting through his piles of junk.

“Do you have any other guests here right now?” asked Hope in what she hoped was a casual tone.

“Oh yes.” Alash nodded absently. “People come in and out all the time. My grandfather knows a lot of people. It's nothing to do with me, though, so I pay it little mind. Ah!” He held up a pair of odd-looking flat-nosed pliers and a few thin strips of leather. “This should do nicely.” He walked over to Hope. “Would you kindly lift your arms?”

She watched as he wove the thin leather straps into a long, narrow web, attaching it to a longer strip of leather that encircled her waist.

“There we are.” Alash stepped back and examined his handiwork. “Let me know how it feels.”

Hope slid the sheath through the leather weave and let it hang at her side. “It distributes the weight nicely. It keeps it at my side and out of the way without confining my movements.”

“If I had better materials, I could make it more ornate.”

“No, I prefer this.” She gave him a full smile. “You are just as clever as you said.”

“Do you think so?” asked Alash, his face lighting up. “Take a look at this, then! I've been longing to show it to someone who might appreciate it.” He picked up a leather sleeve with a metal tube attached to the bottom of it. “This is something I recently completed. You strap it on like so.” He slid it over his hand so that it covered his arm up to the elbow. The metal tube ran along the bottom of his forearm. Hope examined it closely and saw that there were small springs attached to the sides and little wires and pulleys.

Alash held out his arm. “Now watch. When I twist my wrist just so…” He rotated his hand at an angle. A small pole popped out of the tube, extending a foot past his fingertips.

“Very interesting,” said Hope.

“But wait!” said Alash, looking absolutely giddy now. He pulled a tiny lever on the side of the sleeve, and the pole retracted back into the tube. “It resets itself so that it can pop in and out as often as you like.”

“Remarkable,” said Hope.

“Yes, indeed!” said Red, his enthusiasm sounding a bit sarcastic to Hope. “But what is it actually for?”

“For?” asked Alash, blinking.

“Yes, as Miss Hope said, Southerners do like things to have a
purpose
,” he said lightly.

“Well…I hadn't really…The pole comes out with quite a bit of force. So I suppose you could use it to…poke holes in things? While building…things? Perhaps?” He smiled weakly.

“Regardless, I'm sure someone will find a use for it.” Hope gave Red an angry look. She was doing everything to make Alash feel inclined to help them, and Red seemed to be doing the opposite.

He winced, his eyes fixed guiltily on the floor. “Right you are, Miss Hope. Such a clever design like that, I'm sure better minds than mine will have thought of ten different uses for it.”

“Do you think so?” asked Alash earnestly. “I tinker around all day, never sure if anything I do will ever truly amount to anything. Mr. Kan says I should stop wasting my time and learn a practical skill.”