Clementine (The Clockwork Century 1.10)

The horses fussed and shifted from foot to foot and the coach rocked heavily when the captain climbed aboard it one last time, withdrawing the Rattler in its crate and letting it slide onto the ground. He tugged at his jacket collar, and stretched his arms and back in preparation to lift it again.

Off at the edge of the sidewalk, he saw the mulatto boy who worked for Barebones, watching curiously—and perhaps by his employer’s strict instructions, if Hainey knew Barebones at all.

“You over there,” he called out, and pointed at the boy in case there was any doubt.

He cringed and said, “Me?”

“You, that’s right. Come here, would you?”

The kid slunk forward, coming up the half-block’s distance and all but cowering. He said, “Yes sir?”

And Hainey told him, “For God’s sake, son. Stand up straight. No one’ll ever respect you if you hunker like that all the goddamned time. ”

“Yes sir,” he said more firmly. “But I’m only a kitchen boy. ”

“All the more reason to show some dignity. Straighter than that,” he commanded. “That’s better. Now let me ask you something. You’ve been working for Barebones, how long?”

“Pretty much forever. I don’t remember. ”

The captain said, “That’s fine, all right. You trust him?”

“Of course, sir. ”

“Don’t lie to me, now. I know when boys are lying. I used to be one, you understand. ”

The boy said, “No sir. I don’t trust him. But he’s not too bad. ”

Hainey nodded slowly. “That’s fair enough. I’d say about the same, if anybody asked me. So let me ask you one more thing—you got a horse, or anything like that?”

“Not even a mule, sir. ”

“Not even a mule,” he repeated. “Well then. If I were to give you these two horses here—and they ain’t much, I know—but if I were to give you these two horses, would Barebones take ’em from you, or let you keep ’em, do you think?”

The boy pondered this a moment, then said, “I think he’d probably keep the better one, and let me keep the other one. ”

“I think you’re right. ” He picked up the Rattler’s crate, hoisting it up to hold it in front of him, and straining to do so. “Anyway, I guess they’re yours. ”

“Mine?”

“Yours, that’s right. I don’t have any more use for them. Take the coach too, and take it right now—back to Barebones. Tell him we thank him for his time and his hospitality, such as it was. Tell him I said the horses are yours, but the coach is his if he wants to keep it. Or he can push it off a cliff, I don’t care. ”

The boy brightened, though he was confused. “Thank you, sir!” he said, not wanting to appear ungrateful or disinterested.

“You’re welcome. And stand up straight. Do it all the time. Otherwise, you’ll be a boy all your life,” he said, and he walked back towards the service yards, and the Valkyrie, without a backwards glance.

He was halfway between the street’s edge and the Union warbird when he heard the first shot. The second rang out close behind it, and a third and fourth came fast on the heels of the others.

Hainey made some guesses.

Someone had come back.

Simeon hadn’t been able to hold the ship without opening fire; he was a good first mate, and an all-around smart man—too smart to shoot unless he had to. And Lamar, up there under the hatch. Had he kept a pistol in his tool belt? The captain couldn’t recall; he hadn’t looked. He’d been in such a hurry.

The Rattler’s crate bounced against his thighs, his knees, and his shins as he gave up on jogging and dropped the thing to the ground. An all-out firefight had opened up only a hundred yards away and he was being left out of it. He didn’t want it to come to this—it was always easier when things didn’t come to this—but he kicked the lid of the crate away and, as a new volley of shots were exchanged, he hefted the Rattler out of the sawdust and shavings that cradled it.

People were running past him, flowing around him like he was a rock in a stream, ignoring him as they rushed to see the commotion, or rushed away from it. The noise level rose as men began to yell, to summon further assistance, and to sound a wide assortment of alarms.

But he had the Rattler raised, and it was still loaded from the day before; its sling of ammunition dangled heavily across his arm and the crank on the right was ready to turn. He shifted himself, adjusted the gun, and kept walking in the ponderous pace which was all he could manage while shouldering so much weight.