Fiddlehead (The Clockwork Century 5)

“The one you landed on. ”

“Ah. Is it…?”

He rolled over onto his side. “Broken. Not as bad as it could be,” he said with a wince.

When she turned her head, she could see that yes, his hand was lying at an unhealthy angle. “Oh, no. We need to brace it. ” She wiggled a bit and frowned. No longer lying on his arm, but she was somehow still lying upon something. Ah. Her satchel. Still slung around her chest. Would wonders never cease?

“There seem to be plenty of promising sticks lying about, thanks to us. As for you,” he said, “we need to see about that pretty little head of yours. ”

“What about it?” she asked. But now that he mentioned it, a spot to the left of her forehead, just above her ear, felt hot. When she touched it, it stung, and it left the tattered remnants of her glove covered in blood. “Hmm. ” She wasn’t sure how much of the blood was from her head, and how much was from her hands—the gloves themselves were in shreds, and scraped skin showed through them. She was quite confident that when she warmed up enough to feel her fingers again, every single one of them would be in agony.

“Let me see it,” Henry suggested.

“First, let’s see about that arm. ”

“Heads are more important than arms. ”

He had a point, so she let him probe the problem, but only briefly. “You see? It’s all right. I’m fine,” she assured him. “If that’s the worst I get from the adventure, I’ll be in excellent shape. Now. I can stand. Can you?”

“You can stand? Prove it. ”

“Fine, I will. ” She did, and though the effort was at first unsteady, she settled the matter by arriving upright. “Your turn. ”

She offered him her hand and he grasped it, clutching his broken arm to his chest and letting her pull him to his feet. “See? Me too. ”

“Apart from the arm, are you intact? How do you feel?”

“Like I just fell out of an airship and crashed through a tree. How about you?”

“The same. Now, let me bind up that arm, and I suppose we’ll have to get on our way. Did I mention I used to work as a nurse?”

“Don’t believe it came up. ”

“No? Well,” she said, eyeing the ground for a promising splint. “I didn’t last very long. I don’t mind blood and bones, but I have trouble with vomiting and pus. Here. This will do nicely. ”

Before long, Henry was as patched up as he could expect to get, his injured arm fastened tight to a piece of wood, courtesy of the remains of the hemp belt, which had accompanied them to the ground. Maria had found it nearby and rejoiced. Henry’s scarf served as a sling, tied up in a knot behind his neck.

Maria used her own scarf to staunch the bleeding above her ear. Her options were few, and it was dark enough that the stain scarcely showed. Maybe with a good laundering, it would vanish altogether. Or perhaps she’d pester Mr. Pinkerton for hazard pay, should she escape the mission alive. He could damn well buy her a new scarf for her pains. And maybe a good winter coat, too.

“Where are we?” she asked, hoping that perhaps he’d paid closer attention on the way down that she had. “What time is it? How far away do you think we are?”

He shielded his eyes against the sun, and checked the shadows filtering down through the brittle, naked branches around them. “Well, it’s early afternoon,” he said. “I think we landed a little to the east of the road. West should be that way. ”

“How certain are you, exactly?”

“Somewhat. That’s the best I can do. ”

“It’ll have to suffice. We need to find that road and … and stop that caravan. ”

“Single-handedly,” he added, as he lurched forward in the general direction of west and south.

“Well, you’ll be single-handed. But, between us, there are three hands. ” She mustered a smile. “And I’m sure we’ll think of something. ”

Nineteen

Gideon crouched behind the front door, performing mental calculations and deciding that yes, it’d likely withstand a significant ballistic onslaught. It was oak, he believed—upon rapping it gently and feeling the sturdy density of it—and fully three inches thick, with some variation where it was carved for the sake of a paneled appearance. Regardless, unless someone was firing a canon at the thing, it’d hold just fine. The lock, on the other hand …

He examined it closely, since no one was firing at him right that moment.