Terra Mechanica: A Steampunk Anthology (21 page)

The father looked at him, tears on his worn but proud face. “Thank you.”

The mother looked with gratitude at Ada. “Thank you. Bless you, Ada!”

Ada smiled at her. She pressed a few coins into the other woman's hand. “For the doctor.”

The mother looked ready to argue but Ada shook her head. “You'll need it for the medicine. If you can't find work, I'm heading north in a few days after I secure my claim. Find me.” Ada turned to the young guard. “You're doing a good thing.”

He sighed. “I just hope we don't get caught.”

She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “You're a good man.”

He blushed slightly and shook his head. “I'm a fool, but thank you, miss.”

Ada watched the guard lead the family away. She hoped the boy would be all right.  She sighed and touched the money she had left. Oddly enough, she didn't regret the loss of the watch. She felt a strange feeling of fulfillment, that she had finally been able to keep her promise, if not to her own brother, then to this boy, a stranger, that reminded her so much of her brother.

The watch had reminded her that the world was not all winter, even if it would only be so for one small boy and his family. The watch would have been a nice touch on the bargaining table. She wasn't sure now if she could afford all of the land she wanted. But she would survive. She always did. She hadn't looked away, and this time a young child’s brother would live on.

The young guard, Mathew O’Donnell, put the last of his gear away and changed into his civilian clothes. He hoped the family made it. He hadn't dared ask them for their names. If anyone caught them trying to flee quarantine, they would be shot on sight. If they were smart and quick, they stood a chance. Otherwise, it was best not to be too close. He had watched too many people die on that accursed island.

Mathew boarded the ferry with his pass and returned to the mainland. It had been a long day. He glanced at the pocket watch and noticed it was clicking, telling him it was a little after nine. He felt a bit guilty taking the watch from the young woman, but if he told himself that it was for trade and not his heart getting the better of him, he could distance himself. It was necessary to do that to survive the job. There was no room for compassion. But for one simple day, he had said ‘to hell with the rules,’ and it had felt good.

When the ferry arrived at the mainland, he joined the throngs of other working-class men and women looking forward to returning to a warm hearth after a long day of trials and labor. Life was hard, but it came with the promise of a tomorrow. For now, that was enough.

His feet took him home along the northern river bank. The moon was out and shone on the dirty water below him. Suddenly, he heard a woman cry out. He looked up and saw a group of men circling a couple. “What is going on here?” he yelled as he ran towards them.

He struggled with one of the men. The man pulled a blade. “You have no business here.”

“I won't let you hurt them!” He wasn't sure if it was the fire of helping that boy and his family or merely what the young woman had said to him, but he knew in his heart he couldn't let anything happen to the couple.

He grabbed for the knife and the other man struck out, stabbing him in the heart and killing him. Mathew's final thoughts as he fell to the ground were of the family and the young woman. How ironic that she had made him remember why he had come to that land with his own family. They would never know about the first day he was proud to wear his uniform. But his conscience was clear, his heart unburdened.

The leader of the men watched as the young guard fell to the ground. He grimaced; no one was supposed to get hurt.

“What are you doing? We are here to get the boss' money back, not kill a random passerby.”

“It's not my fault,” the first man protested. “That fellow jumped for my blade. What was I supposed to do?”

“Fool!” The leader heard the shouts and whistles of a constable. “Quick, grab the bag and let's go!”

The man stared at him dumbly for a moment and the leader spat at him. “I said grab the bag!” The other man complied and ran with the others. They disappeared into the evening mist, leaving the dead guard and the couple behind.

“You all right, George?” the woman asked, leaning down to check the cut on his cheek.

He knocked her hand away. “Stupid woman! They got the bag. Now what are we going to do?”

“You still have your bag of tricks,” she said. “We can go back to doing shows.”

He shook his head, bemoaning their plight. “It would take us years to earn back what's in those bags, and I can't do anymore work here. Those Irish bastards own this whole area. They'll never let me into another hall.”

“Well, you shouldn't have stolen what he owed us,” she admonished. “We could have survived without it.”

“Stupid! He didn't pay us for the two shows we did. We have nothing. Nothing!” He got up and stamped his feet angrily, wanting nothing more than to hit something right then. He was tempted to hit her, but he knew that if he raised a hand to her again, she would leave him once and for all.

He glanced down at the dead man who had come to their rescue.
What a fool
. It wasn't surprising he had gotten himself killed charging in like that. He heard the whistle of the constable getting closer.

“We've got to run, woman,” he snapped. “Let's go!”

“But why? They’ve got the bag now. They won’t care about us anymore now that they have the money back.”

“Stupid! Most of the constables are Irish! They'll be on that bulldog's payroll! They'll lock us up and throw away the key, if we live long enough to get to prison. Now come on!”

He grabbed her wrist to run, when he saw something sparkling on the ground in the nearby lamplight. Thinking it was perhaps a coin that had been dropped from the money bag, he leaned down and scooped it up.

They darted around the corner leaving the body lying on the ground, fleeing the footfalls and whistles of the constables that faded into the distance. Despite being winded, George and his assistant ran, his sides hurting from where that bloody Irishman had kicked him. They finally paused to catch their breath. Josie leaned against the wall, struggling to breathe through her corset. Perspiration dotted her young, attractive face.

It was moments like these as he watched her that reminded him of years ago when he was in demand. He had entreated her to join his act, promising her excitement, magic, and wealth.

All George had been able to do after four years was struggle to find any show, drink most of the profits away if he managed to find work, and shout his disappointment with life at her and his stagehands. It had left him with nothing in the end except her. He couldn't let her go.

In his fear of losing her, he had taken a gig for a local shark. He had watched carefully for a week, noting how the money was moved, and then he struck, switching the money bag for one filled with his props. Then he made a run for it with Josie.

“George, why were those men after us?” she said, turning frightened eyes at him, hoping to see the man that she once thought she could trust. “All you did was take what he owed you for the show, right?”

“I stole that bastard's money,” he confessed. “Everything that was in his office.”

Her eyes widened. “Why would you do such a daft thing!”

“Because he owed me! They all owed me!” She shrank back at his raised voice and he tried to quiet and calm himself. “We needed it, Josie. This was our chance. We could have made it with that, just like I promised we would!”

She eyed him dubiously. “What you've done . . . Even if they got the money back, he won't forget. We can't stay in the city.”

“No, no we can't.” Absently, he reached into his pocket and remembered what he had seen on the ground. He pulled it out and noticed the round objected still covered in the blood of the man who had intervened and saved them. He wiped away the drying blood away with his dirty sleeve. His eyes widened when he saw the yellow gleam. So the night wasn't a total loss. The watch wasn't much, but if it was still ticking . . .

He opened the watch compartment and noted with satisfaction that the hands were still moving. It was enough to get them passage out of the city. But it wouldn't be easy. He knew the coppers would be hunting for him. The fat Irish bulldog would see to that.

But they wouldn't be looking for Josie in plain clothes. He could send her with the watch to buy a ticket out. Even if it wasn’t enough for the both of them, he could tell her he would use the ticket, do some shows, and then send for her. If she was smart, she could avoid the men.

“Use the watch and buy us train tickets out of this cursed city,” George commanded. “We'll head west. I'll rebuild my show, and everything I promised you will come true. It will be like the old days again.”

Josie eyed him warily, all faith in his words gone. She couldn't trust him, but what else was she to do? If she tried to run with the watch, he would follow her for sure. All she could do was what he asked.

She took the watch and headed into the city. It was a long walk, but she had no money for a cab. He told her he would meet her in the morning, and that the men would be after him and not her. But she didn’t really believe him. Rather, he was waiting to see the coast was clear before he ventured out. Fine, let the coward hide behind her skirts.