Shannon Delany - Thunderstruck

She waited.

“Jordan,” Rowen said.

She closed her eyes and stayed still.

“Jordan,” Caleb whispered, and Jordan’s eyes fluttered open and she nodded, her eyes never meeting Rowen’s as Caleb led her to the table. Rowen trailed quietly behind until pride overtook him and he lengthened his stride, coming up beside Caleb.

The wind toyed with Jordan, playing around her dress’s hem and spinning around her body to ruffle her short, dark hair. It rumbled across the deck like a playful puppy.

And then it snared the wanted poster from where Rowen had tucked it in his belt, tossing it to the deck where it rolled and fluttered before Caleb.

Caleb scooped it up, and Rowen swallowed hard, extending his hand for it and hoping it wasn’t unrolled.

Without giving it a glance, Caleb smacked it into Rowen’s upturned palm and continued on his way.

Rowen wrapped his fingers cruelly around the poster, rolling it tighter and no longer trusting it to his belt. But holding it started him thinking, as he worried the poster in his grip. If Jordan wanted escape—a way to be gone from the life she’d been forced into—perhaps Rowen could finance such a thing whether his parents had disowned him or not. The money from his wanted poster might not buy a huge house or the trappings she was born into—nor all she truly deserved …

But perhaps she had lower standards now.

And if he gave the bulk of money to the revolution as he promised Evie, would the Tempest ’s captain blame him if he kept something for his efforts—for the risk to life and limb he took in the process?

He didn’t think she would begrudge him that. So, his eyes on Jordan as everyone arranged themselves around the table, his mind stumbled through a plan to somehow weave revolution into his happily ever after.

He knew they might yet have it all.

*** Philadelphia

The falling rain silenced and soaked Philadelphia’s Below, crawling into John’s bones, carrying a chill. He clamped his teeth together to keep them from rattling and bent low, hissing to the girl still stooped and sopping wet. “Cynda!”

Her head came up and she scrabbled back farther from the water’s edge.

He called her name again and she whipped around, her eyes slits as she peered toward the shadow holding him. “‘Tis John,” he said, stepping away from the building at his back so she could make out his form more easily. Light filtered out from a few nearby windows, yielding patches where vision was easier in the downpour.

Recognizing him, Cynda leaped to her feet and ran at him. John spread his arms for a hug, surprised when she shoved him back into shadow. Breath puffed out of him as he slammed into the wall. “Stay in the shadows,” Cynda urged. “They left a gunman who makes rounds. It’s not safe for you here, John.”

“You will not make me leave you, child.”

She shook her head and hugged herself, looking back up and down the strip of stones and wood that ran along the waterway. “The rain should start to lessen soon, don’t you think?” she asked as she stepped away from him.

“Sure enough. Round ‘bout another hour or so,” he said to her back.

“That’s when they’ll come for her,” she said. “The blood mixing in the water—it calls them. That’s what they say …”

“They’ll not devour her,” he fumed, fists hard at his sides, the complaints of an old man distant at the idea of such injustice.

“No, they won’t,” she agreed, spinning back to look at him, her eyes large and mournful. “But John, they aren’t like we’ve been taught,” she said, her voice cracking. “Not at all.” Then she went back to her assigned position and knelt there, wrapping her arms around herself and rocking.

America, thou, half-brother of the world; With something good and bad of every land .

—Philip James Bailey Aboard the Airship Artemesia

Bran’s head snapped up when the Wandering Wallace announced, “There is a method to this madness.” The Wandering Wallace took a seat at the table’s head.

There were a dozen places Bran would rather be, and judging from the dull expressions on his companions’ faces, he was not alone. They were all exhausted.

“We must make sure that we proceed swiftly but with caution. A nearly indestructible army works at my request, subduing any physical opposition. Its necessity will be short lived, and at the end of its usefulness many of its members will be retired.”

“Will be retired,” Jordan said softly in Caleb’s direction.

Evie’s gaze flicked to Jordan and then Jack before returning to the Wandering Wallace.

They knew something he was not privy to.

Jack continued playing with whatever the thing was he tinkered with—a collection of small bottles and hoses now. The tiny automaton he’d quickly crafted earlier waddled around the table, its form between that of a beetle and a tiny bear. Bran leaned over the table and partly around Marion to better watch Jack work while they all listened to the Wandering Wallace.

Jack’s hands worked deftly, his fingers spinning a diminutive screwdriver as he pulled pieces out of a modest pile of odds and ends and, assembling the bits seemingly at random, turned the piece over. It was somewhat larger than his hand and an odd-looking conglomerate of the wreckage from the Wraiths’ earlier attack.

Ignoring Jordan’s commentary on his word choice, the Wandering Wallace said, “We’ll be in Philadelphia in a few days if we encourage Lady Astraea to be swift.”

“Please remember that Lady Astraea, ” she stressed, continuing, “must keep her energy level high in order to make a quick retreat should your plan fail. Supposing I am the main route of escape.”

The Wandering Wallace nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes, it is true that you are many things, including a means of escape.”

“Then do not push me too hard nor too fast,” Jordan suggested. “I carry the weight of two ships now.”

Evie shifted position, kicking her booted heels onto the table’s edge, drawling, “And you do it marvelously.” She picked at the lace edging one of her voluminous sleeves. “I, for one, appreciate the lack of strain on my ship, and the fact I will have a fully stocked steam engine to fly us out of harm’s way should we need it. The Tempest is far faster if we must needs beat a hasty retreat.”

Jordan glared at her.

The Wandering Wallace smacked his palms flat on the table. “We will not need an escape plan as we will not fail. But we do need to reach our destination before the people of Salem spread word too far that we have missed our docking appointment and it is realized that an entire liner has gone missing.”

Bran cleared his throat. “We should send Salem a message telling them that we are delayed. That should help.”

“A good idea indeed,” the Wandering Wallace agreed. “We shall do so tomorrow.”

Jordan pressed her lips together. “This army of yours—they will not fail? You are certain their membership is vast enough … And that they will come when you call?”

“Yes. Beyond any doubt.”

Evie grumbled something under her breath before snarling, “Numbers. I would prefer higher numbers.”

Jack said, “Agreed.” Then, perhaps more for himself and Evie than the others, he added, “That’s the best I can do until I solder some bits….” He held the contraption up for Evie’s inspection and she grinned.

Bran recognized it by shape alone. “A gun.”

Jack grinned, nodding. “Yes. Once I get this part …” He pointed to a particular piece near the grip. “ … properly attached I’ll have a long-range weapon like none other.”