This Deadly Engine Read online

  “And what of the fondness of her father to a miserable magic addict?” I whispered.

  He answered with a raised voice, “Need you ask, sir? You are here. You have saved me from Reginald Schaever’s diabolical schemes. Tell me…what should I think? That you are a rotten sinner who deserves eternal damnation?” He stood. “Why, I would describe myself, man!” He spoke with the same emotion and fire as he did in his more passionate sermons. “I know you refuse to listen. You believe your heart is broken – and it is, I have no doubt. But only because you have not yet entrusted it to someone worthy of keeping it safe. A young lady resides within these walls who adores you. She recognizes the goodness in you. Are you such a coward that you would forsake undeniable devotion?”

  I pointed to the scars on my face. “This is what happens when I give my heart.” I pulled back my shirt to show the red bump from Sheela’s bullet. “And this is what happens when I trust someone with my heart.” I stood. “What is love? I don’t know! Madness? Torture? Pain? Sleepless nights? Betrayal? You accuse me of being a coward? Love almost killed me. Twice!”

  The Bishop met my eyes. “Love did kill someone on the cross. So yes, love can hurt.”

  He refused to see, to understand. I needed to say something to earn his scorn. “I am addicted to magic. I need the elixirs to survive.”

  “And I’m addicted to those cinnamon rolls baked by Paul’s. I eat one almost every day despite the addition it makes to my girth.” He rubbed his belly for emphasis.

  “There is no shame in eating those rolls.” My mouth watered at the thought. “Yet there is great shame in needing the magic.”

  “Perhaps, but there are ways to break the addiction, though none are pleasant, and some could kill you.” He walked to the door. “But I will make sure you receive your elixirs in a timely manner. We will discuss your options on breaking the addiction once you are better rested.” As he opened the door he added, “For now, rest and regain your strength.” He motioned to someone.

  And confirming my fear, Rebecca stepped inside. She took me by the arm. “You should rest, Alexander.”

  I let her lead me into the hallway.

  If her father spoke true, and I had no doubt that he did, why would I risk Rebecca’s eventual hatred and betrayal by letting her love me? Why would I want to hurt her when I did something wrong?

  I had to leave, not only Saint James’, but Campden altogether. I needed to find a new town where I could disappear, forget the troubles of Reginald Schaever, and leave my past behind. Time and distance would allow Rebecca to forget me, to forget my heroics. For her sake. And perhaps for mine.

  The lady led me to my room, where she helped me into the bed. She kissed my forehead and whispered, “I love you, Alexander Asherton.”

  My heart beat fast. I wanted to tell her she made a terrible mistake. Before I spoke, she kissed me again, but this time on the lips. Part of me enjoyed the passion she showed in such a simple act…it had been too long since anyone kissed me that way. Yet part of me wanted to push her away. Both sides struggled such that neither won and I simply let her continue. In so doing, I proved once again how much of a scoundrel I truly was.

  I could look upon her favorably, and certainly did. Yet I would not love her.

  When she finally pulled away, she put a finger over my lips. Again! “Rest, Alexander.” She took my hand and pressed something into the bandage. She held tight so that I could not look at it. “When you dream, then dream of me.” She hurried from the room.

  I opened my hand to reveal a locket on a silver chain. A small portrait within captured her beauty.

  “Do you doubt her sincerity and determination?” the canon asked.

  No…but I would only hurt her in the end. One way or another.

  Chapter 3

  The Cathedral bells tolled the midnight hour. The ache in my back conspired with thoughts of Rebecca to keep me awake. Instead of continuing to toss and turn, I arose on weary legs and made my way to the sanctuary. Lamps burned low within the massive room, and a few candles fought the encroaching darkness. Quiet filled the place.

  Lord Diggerty sat on the front pew. He stared at the stained-glass depiction of the crucifixion high above the dais. I could only speculate as to where his thoughts roamed or as to what plans he considered. Whatever the nature of the contents of his mind, he chose not to acknowledge me when I sat several feet away on the same pew.

  If he believed the silence bothered me, he assumed wrong. I could stay for hours knowing that despite the turmoil of the world around us, at least one place remained calm and unshaken. One place remained safe. It was a rare treasure, a priceless gem in the marshes of humanity in which we found ourselves. And so I stared at the ceiling and tried not to think about Rebecca or love or of any such trapping.

  Yet her kiss still lingered.

  Lord Diggerty broke the silence after no less than ten minutes. “I assume you expect a reward in exchange for saving me from Reginald Schaever.” He paused. “So what will it be?” His continued tone of condescension made my skin crawl.

  The silence returned as I considered how to respond. I needed to put distance between Rebecca and myself, between The Misters and me, between the Elders, Sheela, Reckard, Reginald Schaever, and the whole bloody lot of magical creatures. However, I had no ability to do any such thing in and of myself. My powerless position rendered me a prisoner…except for the fact that I held a debt of gratitude over one man who could help. And so I said, “Tell me how you plan to leave.”

  Only after another lengthy pause did he answer, “I have made arrangements for an airship to return me to London tomorrow night. Because of the difficulties you forced upon me by bringing me here, it has required considerable resources to plan my escape.” He continued looking ahead, as if he talked to no one. “Since you are asking, am I to assume you wish to join me on the ship?”

  “Yes.” It would do no good to lie or to make my desires sound like anything else.

  He sighed. “Am I expected to evacuate half of this town? More weight slows me down. And there is the matter of transporting the most wanted man in the Empire.” He shook his head. “Yet I owe you a debt, and I would not suffer you asking to have it repaid at a more inappropriate time.” He paused. “Would I?”

  “If you help me in this matter, then I will consider the debt paid.” And hopefully our paths would never cross again.

  “There are many here who wish to go, but I had to refuse one in order to allow you to take his place. And in leaving the one, I condemn him to a most unpleasant demise at the hand of Reginald Schaever.” He spoke the name as if it tasted like a soured bread pudding. “However, several volunteered to surrender their seat to repay their own debt.”

  I looked at him with no little confusion. “How did you—”

  “Bishop Donnavan. By your tone, I am assuming he has not yet asked you to escort his daughter to London.”

  “Rebecca is going?” Though I should not have been surprised, I sounded as such. At the least, the revelation made me sad…not for her, in the sense that she would be safe, but for my own desires to go as far from her as possible.

  “Of course,” Lord Diggerty said in a tone that suggested I had asked a foolish question. “The good bishop will do most anything to assure the safety of his daughter.”

  The subtle hint of satisfaction in his tone made me ask, “What is he giving you?”

  Despite his usual stern appearance, a smile managed to emerge on Lord Diggerty’s face. “Assurances, Mister Asherton.” He said nothing more, but his expression remained unchanged, as if he did not quite know what to make of his emotion.

  For a moment, I wondered if those assurances involved Rebecca.

  Do not be a jealous fool. You have no say concerning Rebecca, and that is the way it should be.

  “What time do we depart?” I asked.

  “Promptly when the bells toll eleven.” He stood and looked at me. “We will depart from the north spire. Be on time. I will
not suffer delays, and I will leave any who are tardy.” He sniffed, then turned and walked away.

  The time gave me the opportunity to say good-bye to the Bishop and begin distancing myself from Rebecca. The sudden prospect of a new beginning and a new life becoming a reality actually made me…happy…a feeling that had become so rare that I almost forgot how it…well…how it felt.

  A new beginning. No more Ash. No more former canon. Gone would be the nastiness with Aimee and Sheela. I could start afresh in a new land. Perhaps I could make my way to America.

  “You are simply running away,” the canon said.

  Perhaps. I ran from people who wanted me dead, from a woman who wanted more than I could give, from a war between the magical creatures on the other side of the Gateway for which I cared nothing about. So why should I not leave?

  The canon said nothing else.

  I remained in my seat and continued staring into nothing. Despite what needed to be done concerning Rebecca’s heart, contentment filled me. For the first time in many years, the possibility of tomorrow enticed. And the more I dwelled on the thought, the more traveling to America sounded better.

  The bell tolled two in the morning before I stirred from the pew. By that point, I had a plan in mind – I would board an airship in London. Those saved at Chen’s Theatre could contribute to my worthy cause by financing my passage.

  The canon said, “You seek selfish gain for a good deed. You should be ashamed.”

  I refused to let the admonition bother me. I returned to bed and turned out the lamp on the bedside table.

  The sound of the door opening, and a shaft of light across my eyes made me sit up. My back ached at the movement, and I sucked in a quick breath. My hands throbbed, too.

  Rebecca entered with the scent of cinnamon wafting from the tray in her hands.

  “Is that…”

  “Paul baked it fresh not more than twenty minutes ago. I sent one of the new canons out to buy some for Father and for you.” She blushed. “I think he favors me, but he is a boy whose heart is prone to wandering.” She placed the tray on the table so I could see the rolls, the small dish of butter, and the goblet of ale.

  The thought of eating the sinful delicacy made me reach too quickly. I forced myself to slow, for I would never eat one again. I needed to enjoy it.

  Rebecca watched.

  I took a bite. The sweet flavor tickled every taste bud. “Thank you,” I said between slow bites.

  I ate the remainder in silence, for I dared not say something that she would take as encouragement for her affections. I had refused Sheela’s advances for months. I could refuse this lady’s for another day or two.

  When I finished, she took the tray. She noticed me flinch and said, “We need to check those bandages, Alexander.”

  “Call me Ash,” I said. “That is my name, now.” Alexander was but a distant memory…though one who appeared determined to crawl back from the oblivion to which he had been banished.

  “Why?” Soft fingers touched my arm and gently pulled my hand to her lap. “Alexander is a fine, honest name. Why would you choose something different?” She looked at me with an expectation that tugged at a piece or two of my heart, albeit with great protest and reluctance. Her eyes retained the introspection and knowledge gained through difficult times and challenging events. She was no innocent babe waiting for an evil man like myself to pluck her before she knew she had left the vine.

  I swallowed hard and refused to acknowledge the sudden pounding in my heart and the sudden rise in temperature in the room. I looked away from her face, but my eyes landed on her bosom, which reminded me of the automaton lying on the table in Schaever’s lab, waiting for the real Rebecca to bring it to life.

  She gave a sly, knowing smile. She slowly unwrapped my hand. “So why do you choose to be called Ash?”

  “It is a fitting name.” I focused on the bandages and the small hand practicing a delicate touch. “After the explosion, my life burned to ashes, as if my surname had been given for just such a reason.”

  She exposed the flesh beneath the bandage and turned my palm up. She ran her finger lightly over each of mine. The warmth that spread up my arm settled somewhere in my belly. “You are healing well. The scratches already have scabs, and those should start falling off…soon.” Her hand lingered on my wrist, touching it with the lightest of touches until she drew my eyes to hers.

  While commanding my look, she took my other hand and repeated the process. She ran her index finger up and down each side of each of my fingers. She traced a small pattern on the back of my hand as she said, “Yes, the healing salves are working as promised. I don’t believe you need to keep them wrapped. Let the air touch them.”

  You are so beautiful, Rebecca. You are so sweet and tender. I want to hold you in my arms and kiss you and—

  Damn it, Ash. Control your thoughts. Focus on what you have to do.

  She pressed me onto the bed. “Let’s have a look at the cut on your back.”

  I grabbed her wrist. “The cut can wait. I’m still tired and need to rest a little longer.” Desperation snuck into my voice, which only made my heart beat faster. I could not give her false hope. “Rebecca, please leave.”

  She pursed her lips as if she lovingly reprimanded a naughty child. “Nonsense, Alexander…Ash…first, let’s have a look and make sure it is healing as expected.” She gently pushed me to the side before she ran her hand along my shoulders. She pulled the bandage loose. One hand rested on my shoulder and seemed to have no intention of leaving. Surely she felt my heart pounding.

  Her brow narrowed. She leaned closer to better inspect the wound. “The cut is still red. That concerns me. If infection sets in…” She let the bandage fall back but kept her hand on my shoulder. “We should clean it. Let me fetch fresh water and fresh cloths.” She stroked my shoulder. “I shall take but a moment.” She drew away.

  She lingered in the doorway and looked over her shoulder. The shadows obscured most of her face. Unfortunately, the part I did see held a certain longing…and expectation. She left without a word, but her look made a far stronger statement.

  I needed to leave, flee, put distance between me and the lady.

  I jumped from the bed despite the protest of my back. I threw on the canon’s robes and hurried from the room.

  Rebecca turned the corner as I closed my door. “Alexander…Ash…where are you going?” She sounded sincere in her disappointment at finding me. “I need to take care of your wound.”

  “Rebecca…” Why did she make this so difficult? “My wounds are fine. You have done enough to help.” As she approached, I tried to step around her. “Do you know where your father is?”

  She stopped in front of me. “Turn around.”

  I shook my head. “Rebecca—”

  “Turn around!” Her tone and expression indicated that I had no choice but to obey. Yet…

  “You don’t need—”

  She placed her pail on the floor and crossed her arms. “Do not be as obstinate as a five-year-old, Alexander. That wound needs to be tended to, and I will not have you tarnish my reputation because of your stubbornness. Now turn around and lift up your robe.”

  The canon said, “You have no choice.”

  I wanted to protest further, but the voice was correct. I obeyed.

  Rebecca cleaned the wound and whispered, “Alexander, do you believe I am pretty?”

  This is why I do not want her to do this!

  The canon said, “In such situations, the truth is the best.”

  Fearing a betrayal by my voice, I also whispered, “Yes, I believe you are very pretty.”

  She put a new bandage in place and continued to whisper. “I never cared for the curve of my nose or the fullness of my cheeks.” She ran her fingers lightly across my back, which caused small bumps to cascade across my skin. “Alexander,” the way she said my name carried a meaning far beyond friendship, “do you believe I am beautiful?”

  Such a sim
ple question with such a difficult answer. To say she was ugly would be cruel. And while I wanted to push her away, she did not deserve such spiteful treatment.

  The canon said, “Again, speak truthfully.”

  As she moved so close that I could feel the heat from her body, I whispered, “Yes.” I dared not speak louder for fear that she would sense my rising desire. I turned to face her, to stop her wandering hands. “I believe you are very beautiful.”

  She closed her eyes as if she wanted to savor the words and the moment to the fullest. “Do you believe I am worthy of a good man?”

  A question with an easier answer. It would help to explain my feelings the best.

  “Yes,” I whispered again. “I believe you are worthy of the finest lord and the finest household. The man who marries you will consider himself the most blessed man to ever have walked this earth. He will watch you at night as you sleep and wonder how he managed to capture your heart and affections. He will weep after a nasty argument, though he will never allow you to see him break down over the fact that he made you feel so terrible. He will laugh to see your joy in watching the sunrise in the promise of a glorious day. He will stand next to you at the altar in sheer awe of the ritual that will make you his wife.”

  What am I saying? Why am I speaking of such feelings concerning the better days of my marriage to Aimee?

  Rebecca dropped her cloths into the pail of water. She wrapped her arms around me like she feared she might lose me at any moment. Yet her hand brushed the wound on my back and made me gasp. She jumped back with a look of horror. “Alexander, I am so sorry. Did I hurt you? Did I—”