Bitter Cold: A Steampunk Snow Queen (The Clockwork Republic Series Book 4) (3 page)

Unfortunately, he was just too distracted to trust himself working on such delicate mechanisms. Unless he wanted a workshop full of more broken devices, he'd be better off taking a walk to calm his nerves. He set the angel aside, grabbed his coat and hat, and headed off to the park.

~*~

When life's exasperations exceeded his considerable patience, Kit found a brisk walk at Riverside Park usually restored his equilibrium. The bright March sun didn't quite banish the chill in the air, but the exertion of walking soon warmed him up.

He could see the shining towers of the downtown business district above the trees. The St. Louis Municipal Monorail zipped through the sky along on its sleek silvery track. Airships soared by, dropping to clear customs after arriving from the Republic of Illinois. A border ferry chugged across the Mississippi River dividing the two nations.

He trudged past an old woman sitting on a bench before turning onto a less-frequented footpath, anxious to be away from other people.

He wondered what the Singletons' reaction would be when they returned from Illinois to discover the shed missing. If they were delayed at least a little while at the border, it would give Greta a brief reprieve, but that seemed unlikely. It was not as though they were in the habit of carrying back contraband from a visit to Greta's elderly maiden aunt in Peoria.

Although things had been fairly peaceful among the Republics for the past decade, the papers still hinted at simmering unrest and secret alliances. Still, Illinois and Missouri had a long history of friendly relations, so the border passing was just a formality.

Politics was another grown-up concern which tugged at the edges of his mind while seeming to leave Greta entirely untouched. His father fought in one of the continental wars. Kit knew from his father's stories how quickly a seemingly trivial disagreement between nations could escalate into violence.

Forty-eight independent countries comprised the North American continent now, with more territories gaining immigrants in the hopes of reaching the population required for independent nation status every day. Some had rich resources, while others struggled. He supposed human nature dictated those with little should envy the rich, and those with plenty should guard it jealously.

He'd scoffed when a friend suggested the continent, with its intricate alliances and rivalries, could be one violent moment away from plunging into a World War. Still, he supposed stranger things had happened. He had, after all, just watched an entire garden shed laboratory ascend to the heavens.

He couldn't help chuckling as he walked through the sun-dappled park, remembering the look of mingled excitement and dismay on Greta's face as the lab had taken flight. Despite the trouble it was sure to cause, he couldn't deny it was a moment of sheer wonder.

His head still throbbed, and he might need to see a doctor about his shoulder, but one thing was certain. Life with Greta would never be boring or predictable. She'd created a concoction which could defy gravity. Failures and explosions aside, he believed she could accomplish anything she set her mind to do. And he was determined to make sure she didn't lose the freedom to pursue her dreams.

Becoming the young lady of quality her parents wanted would mean she'd have to give up everything that made her happy -- most likely including Kit. While his parents were delighted he'd found a trade so young, her dabbling in alchemy was a source of constant consternation to her family. They expected her to be absorbed in the rules of etiquette and pay meticulous attention appearances. Instead, she was fascinated with bending the laws of science and couldn't possibly care less how she looked or what others thought of her.

When obsessed with an idea for a new alchemical formulae, she'd neither see nor hear anything else, like a cab horse wearing blinders. Her failure to acknowledge his romantic gestures like the clockwork canary were exasperating, but hardly surprising.

Oh, she'd squealed with delight when he'd given it to her, and wrapped him in a tight but all-too-brief embrace. But the knowing look, the understanding that it was a gift from a young man to the woman he admired, never came. He was just her Kit, the same Kit she'd grubbed in the garden with as a child, the same Kit who'd rubbed warmth back into her hands while calling her a silly goose when she'd nearly frozen herself.

He was such a constant presence in her life, she couldn't see even him. At least, not as a suitor.

He had to concede that, given the treatment she usually gave suitors, that might be a point in his favor. He was fairly sure she'd coated the last one's hat and jacket with an itching formulae, judging by how ferociously he'd been scratching as he stormed off. Kit's workshop was an excellent vantage point to see the results of one gentlemen after another having a very unsatisfactory visit with his neighbors.

Midday sun poured through the pale green leaves and buds, hinting at the hope of a spring that still felt far away. He pulled off his coat and hung it over his other arm as a breeze ruffled his hair. He still intended to finish that proposal, and it would be best if he weren't soaked with sweat when he did. The path turned, meandering through a thick patch of cedar and pine. Their dark, muted green broke up the monotonous greys and browns of the landscape, which hadn't yet shifted from winter's palette to spring's.

He frowned, wondering if he'd misinterpreted Greta's response to his romantic gestures. Maybe she'd been ignoring his intentions on purpose. What if she really didn't return his affections? He'd always believed she loved him, but what if she truly felt only friendship?

While he didn't doubt she'd do whatever she thought was the kindest thing in such a situation, predicting exactly what Greta's mind would consider "the kindest thing" was a puzzle that didn't bear thinking about. She'd once decided the best way to help him get rid of a cold was to give him an alchemical tisane designed to make him sneeze continuously.

"It'll clear your system faster!" she'd insisted. He'd declined her concoction, but the neighbor's cat must have licked up a bit of it after they'd poured it out. The poor creature never did nose around the laboratory after it finally recovered.

Her odd reaction to his proposal attempt puzzled him, and admittedly wounded his pride. More importantly, it made him afraid for her. Being certain she wasn't rejecting him for another man was cold comfort. Especially when her parents were so determined to marry her off.

The Singletons had inherited legacies from both sides of the family. Margaret Singleton was unfailingly sweet, if a bit exasperated. Jonah was something of a bear, though. Kit could never understand why he showed such little affection for his only daughter. Kit had no doubt the man would sell her to the highest bidder and consider himself lucky to be rid of her.

~*~

She was beautiful, but she was so much more than that. He wanted her love, but he also wanted to protect her ability to be her own person. He couldn't imagine anyone else loving her as much as he did. He certainly didn't believe another man would bother getting to know her as well as he did. They were generally focused on her more visible assets, although Greta seemed oblivious to the attention.

She didn't even notice the leering looks she received from men during their daily walks in the park. Just earlier this week, a fair-haired young man in a black suit had followed her home from the herbalist's. Kit had caught him poking around her laboratory after her parents left. He'd run the man off, but when he'd asked Greta about the man, she'd said he had only been asking about her alchemical experiments. She'd nearly forgotten the conversation had even happened by the time he'd asked her about it.

"What else could he have possibly wanted with me, Kit?" she'd asked, laughing.

He'd been tempted to pull her into his arms and show her exactly what any sane man would want with her. Instead, he'd just shook his head and told her to show a little caution where strange men were concerned. Her own imagination always held her attention far more than what went on around her.

Now here he was, finding himself distractedly imagining kissing her, when he needed to be devising a plan to get her married to him. Or, if she was absolutely opposed to being his wife, figuring out some other way to avoid her father's scheme. He could hardly imagine a person less well-suited to life in the wild and uncivilized frontier than Greta.

The park trail sloped upwards, and he was beginning to feel warm and settled again as he smiled, thinking about her two obsessions: music and alchemy. She couldn't sing or play a note, but she adored music. She appreciated beauty, although she wore simple, frugal clothing, preferring to spend whatever money she had on gramophone cylinders or alchemy supplies. Her practical attire had earned her the derision of the more fashionable young ladies in the neighborhood.

Her disregard for others' opinions meant the mean-spirited barbs rarely hurt her. Unfortunately, it also meant she rarely listened to advice. What would she do without him if he couldn't convince her to accept his proposal? Her spontaneity and curiosity often got her into the most appalling situations.

He'd happily keep rescuing her from these misadventures if he could. Greta viewed the world with the innocent optimism of an alchemist, seeing only possibilities. He viewed it with an engineer's eye for detail, seeing every broken cog and twisted spring of human frailty. He realized, even if Greta didn't, what a damaged, dangerous place it was. Eventually, her naive innocence would attract human predators. Whether she loved him or not, he wouldn't let her fall into their hands.

He'd arrived at the footbridge over a stream flowing into the river. One of the more peaceful spots in the park, from here you could hardly tell you were in one of the great cities of the continent, the Gateway to the West. He felt the last of his anger dissipate, as if it dropped into the stream to be swept away to the mighty Mississippi.

He could never stay upset with Greta for long. She had probably settled down as well. He should head back and help her set things right, at least as much as they could. There wasn't time to rebuild the shed, and he could hardly spare the money for materials right now, but perhaps they could figure something out together. Perhaps he could get her to listen to his proposal, too.

The sound of steam engines and pumping hydraulics caught his attention. Mechanical automatons called 'gens, from the English word "engine" and the French word for people, must be nearby. They sounded like miniature railway trains, or the snorting of a wild beast.

He puzzled over the sound. It could be a household servant, but he'd never seen several outdoors together in the city. Even the wealthy usually had only one, and kept them home where they wouldn't get damaged. Cheaper agricultural 'gens went out to the fields in groups, but he was miles from the nearest farm.

His curiosity was soon answered. The clanking metal and snorting engine announced a mechanical wolf. Steam and smoke puffed out of its nostrils. Red optical lenses glowed within a copper canine skull. Sharp, perfectly shaped steel teeth ringed its open mouth. Four identical beasts stalked out of the wood after it. With a purpose that seemed eerily lifelike, the pack of metal wolves advanced on the footbridge.

Chapter 3

Cleaning Up Her Mess

After she'd had a good cry, Greta brushed the dirt and debris from her hair, washed her face and hands, and changed from her ruined plaid wrapper into a green poplin dress. Her amber braids were still wrapped around her head. Loose hair could fall into formulae or fire; she enjoyed neither. After donning a fresh pinafore, gloves and a knit hat, she headed back to the garden to address the scene of her latest failure.

She grabbed a wrench from the toolbox in the pantry. Her first mission was closing off the water line spraying a fountain over the remains of her laboratory.

Early March was still bitter cold, and now she was wet. Father would be outraged when he discovered she'd lost the garden shed, just as he'd predicted. Well, maybe not exactly as he'd predicted. After all, she hadn't actually destroyed the lab. There was no way of knowing where it was, but the last she'd seen of it, the small building had still been more or less intact. Father would probably not appreciate the difference. Still, the more she cleaned up before he and Mother returned, the less severe her punishment would be.

Neighbors glared from their windows as usual. They used to come out and complain. After one matron had gotten violently ill from the fumes of a previous experiment, they tended to rant from the safety of their homes. She was lucky no one had run for the constable yet.

Even if she managed to convince Father the accident wasn't her fault, the respectable ladies of the neighborhood would take this as yet another opportunity to pull Mother aside and insist she find a husband to "put that girl in her place." According to everyone but Kit, her place was sitting in some parlor keeping her opinions to herself and letting her talents go to waste.

Where was Kit, anyway? She wanted to apologize for how they'd parted, and she'd probably need his help getting the water shut off.

When the laboratory had broken free, it had twisted and bent some of the copper pipes. The shut-off valve appeared to be hopelessly jammed open. She struggled with the wrench, trying to coax the valve closed and stop the spraying water.

"Excuse me, Miss. You seem like you could use a little help?"

Greta dropped the wrench in surprise and spun around. A tall, broad-shouldered young man in a black suit stood in the alley. His scarlet four-in-hand tie, and the red rose in his lapel, stood out sharply against the black wool of his suit. Blond hair stuck out from under his hat and a friendly smile was almost hidden beneath a tawny beard. He looked familiar, but she couldn't quite place him.