Terra Mechanica: A Steampunk Anthology (8 page)

“There ain't a lot to tell,” Toby answered. “My name is Tobias Kincaid. I come from Tennessee.”

“Where you fighting in that war over there?”

“I was.” Flashes of memory—an exploding hatchling; a bullet-riddled suit of armor; a bayonet missing his heart by inches . . . “I don't want to discuss it.”

Mike nodded solemnly. “I fought me own wars as a younger man. I know your mind on this. Did you leave many behind when you came a-traveling?”

“No one left.”

“That's a sad lot,” Mike said, shaking his head in commiseration. He snapped his fingers, and then pointed at Toby in emphasis. “Why, I'll give you one of me girls in marriage, I will. I'd be most honored to have you in the family.”

Toby was taken aback, and then grinned. He hadn't thought of a wife, particularly now, in the middle of his challenge, but the idea of the company of women—even if for just for an hour—fueled a hunger he hadn't known he possessed. Perhaps he would have a real bit of fun . . . and no need to marry the wench after.

“I would be honored to meet your daughters. From there, we will see.”

“I'll have you as a son-in-law. And here's my hand on it.”

Toby took the old man's hand and shook it carefully, not wanting to scratch Mike with the talons his nails had become.

By the time they had finished the repast—and a couple of pints apiece to wash it down—Toby was even more inclined to sleep than company, but he was curious to see these girls, and see if he could coerce one of them into a dalliance.

Together, they staggered through the streets of Dublin, supporting each other more than the ale seemed to warrant.They arrived at length before a hovel that stood on the edge of town. It looked ready to fall to the next high wind. Mike threw open the door with a flourish and bellowed, “I'm home, me lovelies, and I have brought a most honored guest besides.”

There was a squawk of panic from somewhere out-of-sight and a tall, raw-boned young woman rushed into the room, drying her hands on a cloth. “Pa! Where have you been so late? And bringing company without so much as a how-do-you-do? I—” She stopped dead at the sight of Toby. “What, by all the saints in Heaven, is that?”

“This is my good friend, Tobias Kincaid,” growled Mike, two hectic spots of color blazing on his wan cheeks. “I'll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head, Mary Frances. He's come to wed one of you.”

As he finished this last, two other girls came into the room. One was pretty enough, but her face was marred by the pout affixed on it. The third, slender-framed and copper-haired, took Toby's breath away.

“May I officially present my daughters to you, Toby,” Mike continued. “That one in the apron is Mary Frances—pardon her rudeness. The golden-haired one scowling behind me chair is Bridget. And this . . .” He held out his arms, and the redhead ran into them. “. . . This is me darling Kate.”

Kathleen disentangled herself from her father and dropped a pretty little curtsey. “Pleased to meet you, sir,” she murmured, eyes downcast.

Toby carefully lifted her chin to look into those eyes. They were guileless and beautiful, two emeralds washed by rain. He fell instantly under their spell. They lifted his soul from the depths to which it had fallen and restored it to the light.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Kathleen.” The words tumbled out of him of their own accord, and he wondered where he got the temerity.

How he wished he was his normal, clean-shaven self. He often found himself forgetting his appearance for weeks at a time, until some encounter would remind him. Now, he was conscious of every rip in his tattered clothing, of the length of his hair and beard—and their filthiness—of the stench rolling from him in waves. He felt the heat rising to his face. Why hadn't he ignored the Toymaker's offer?

If he were standing before her as himself, he would feel worthy of seeking her affection. He had never felt such an immediate connection to another human. He knew could be happy at her side for the rest of his life. As it was, he could not tie her to a monster.

“I have promised my friend here one of the three of you will be his wife,” Mike announced, with an emphatic nod of his head. “Mary Frances, you are the eldest, so you should have the honor.”

Mary Frances shook her head so vehemently her hair tumbled free of its pins. “I will not, Pa! You may desire to be a laughingstock, but I will have none of it.” She lifted her chin, spun on her heel, and retreated back into her kitchen.

“Then it falls to you, Bridget.” Mike beamed at the golden-haired beauty. “You would like to be married, would you not?”

“No! I will not marry this . . . this tramp. I deserve fine things and a house in London for the season. I will not settle so far beneath my station—and it isn't easy to find someone beneath us.” She flounced after Mary Frances.

“I will marry him, Papa,” murmured Kathleen, before he even asked. The sound of her voice was like heavenly music that went straight to Toby's heart.

He thought of a life beside this angel . . . he would be the happiest man in the world. All it would take would be to give up the challenge. Cut his hair and beard, take a long bath, change his clothes—be the man he truly was. It would be the work of an hour, and he would have the girl of his dreams. All it would cost him was his soul. It would be worth it, but what might be the cost to Kathleen? If there was any chance she might be drawn into his deal with the Devil, he could not take the risk.

He shook his head. “I couldn't let you do that, Miss Kathleen,” he replied, the hardest words he had ever spoken. “You are too fine a lady to be tied to the likes of me.”

Mike started to speak, and Kathleen held up a staying hand. “I can make up my own mind, the both of you. I can see in his eyes that he is a good man, who will treat me fairly and with kindness. That is more than I can say about most of the lads I know hereabouts. I know you might think me a fool, Papa, but I know what I see, and I would be honored to be his wife.”

Toby's heart nearly burst from his chest. She would take him as he was, despite the rough clothes and scraggly beard. She was the first one to see behind the mask of poverty to what he was inside.

“Are you sure, girl?” Mike asked softly.

“Aye. I am perfectly sure.”

Toby smiled gently. “I would be the honored one if you become my bride, Miss Kathleen.” He reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a ring. He remembered it on his mother's hand—how she loved it so. She would take it off and show him its secrets.

He could hear her voice in his head. ‘
It's my prized possession, Toby. Your Pa won it for me from a traveling show. Isn't it the most cunning thing?’
When she was sick, it got too loose for her to wear. She told Pa to put it away for Toby, so he could give it to his sweetheart when he became a man. Toby had found it among his father's things when he was sorting out the house. It was a symbol to him of all a marriage should be—full of love and laughter like it had been when Ma was alive.

“I have carried this with me through thick and thin. It was my mother's.” He twisted the ring, and it broke into two interconnected parts. “It symbolizes two hearts as one.” He twisted it again, and the rings separated. “I give to you, half of my heart.” He slipped one half onto her delicate finger.

Then, he turned to Mike. “I thank you for your hospitality, and the honor of your daughter's hand, but I must be moving on.” He couldn't stay beneath the same roof with her or else he would tell her the entire story and lose the challenge just when he received a reason to win it. He couldn't risk losing his soul when he had so very much to gain.

To Kathleen, he promised, “I'll be back for you in just over three years time. That you might know it is I, I'll carry the other half of the ring close to my heart. When you see it again, you'll know I've come for to fetch you.” He planted a gentle kiss on her forehead. “If you ain't waiting, I'll understand, but the hope that you are will be a true comfort to me until I return.”

She looked up at him, eyes shining with tears. “Must you go?”

“It cannot be helped.”

“Then let me come with you!”

Toby shook his shaggy head. “No, you can't. Don't worry. The time will pass more swiftly than you think.” He hoped that last was true.

The rest of his challenge seemed simultaneously to drag and fly by. Everywhere he went, he shared the Toymaker’s gold, redeeming the wicked thoughts and deeds he’d done before he met his Kathleen—his angel. He spent many long hours turning his half of the ring over in his hand and wondering if she had found another love in his absence.

He traveled far and wide on the airships that girdled the globe, sometimes working as crew to learn more of their operation. He made suggestions for improvements that earned him the respect of his comrades, even if they did sleep downwind.

He saw the fakirs of India and the dojos of Japan. He rode a camel in Arabia and piloted a steamboat on the Mississippi.

Chester started to look as disreputable as he did as his brass tarnished and gears began to age. Toby tried to replace the worn parts, but even his gold wasn't enough to buy him the custom bits from the merchants that he required.

When Chester lost his broken leg completely in Prague, Toby was beside himself. He stepped to the back door of a clockmaker's shop and banged upon it until it opened.

“What do you want?” asked the surly man who cracked open the door. “We do not give alms to beggars here.”

“I'm no beggar,” Toby replied, pride wounded. “I need to buy materials for a delicate mechanoid. I thought perhaps—”

“Get away from my door before I call the law on you.”

“I have money.” He pulled out a handful of gold.

The man's eyes widened. “A thief as well!” He made a grab for Toby's arm, as if to hold him for the law.

Toby only escaped by throwing the gold in the man's face and taking to his heels as fast as he might go. Chester had to make do with more wire and a decided list to his off-side.

On the whole, however, Toby's days, though lonely, were uneventful. Each one was marked off as a careful tally in his battered notebook. Every night before he went to sleep, wherever he was, he pulled out his half of the ring and whispered to it all the adventures of the day. Sometimes, he wrote postcards to Kathleen, but it didn't feel as personal as telling it all to the ring.

He found himself in Paris at the waning of the sixth year. It was the Christmas season once more, and he stood shivering outside the great cathedral of Notre Dame. Light streamed through the stained glass windows to stain the snow outside the church. The music within clawed at his heart. He longed to join the service. Christmas mass at Notre Dame—one of the most sacred events in the world. Almost against his will, his feet climbed the outer stairway. His hand was on the door—a step inside, and he could make things right with God . . . but lose his soul in the process. Would it be worth it? What of Kathleen?

As he hesitated, the other door opened, and a stooped priest stepped out onto the landing. “My son! It is freezing out here. Come inside and warm yourself.”

Toby was tempted, but something in the other’s eyes stopped him. The man looked like no one he knew, but the eyes were familiar. They gleamed with a cynicism he had seen before.

“Lad, you will catch your death. It is fate that brings you to our door on this holy night. Step inside.” The priest gestured him inside with a sly smile.

Toby stepped back instead. Now, he was sure. This was a test—the Toymaker . . . he was trying to trick Toby into losing the bet.

A few more months, and he would be free to tour all the cathedrals of the world, soul intact. He looked down at his hand clutching the handle of the door. It was filthy. His nails curved like talons. The cuff of his shirt was frayed into string.

He had gone through so much, and Kathleen waited for him in Ireland. If he gave in now, they would have no future. No. He must hold on.

“No,
Father
,” he emphasized the title to let the Toymaker know he had seen through the ruse. “I have pressing business.” He turned and plodded away from the church. It was not the time to give in. He was so close to the end.