Clementine (The Clockwork Century #1.1)

“Gentlemen,” she said. “I believe this is where our missions diverge. It’s been…it’s been a most peculiar…pleasure. Or at the very least, it’s been an adventure. I thank you for the use of your ship, and for your trust, if ever I earned any.”

Simeon said through a skeptical narrowing of his eyes, “Thanks for not shooting any of us.”

She nodded, accepting that it was all the friendly acknowledgment she was likely to receive from the first mate; she nodded also at Lamar, who hadn’t said a thing, even to wish her farewell; and she took a deep breath. She adjusted her hat, and then let it fall to rest between her shoulder blades, suspended around her neck by a red velvet ribbon.

And she said to the captain, “Well, Captain. Best of luck to you.”

He said in return, “And to you, Belle Boyd.”

As she walked away, down towards the building that reared up darkly through the woods, she heard him say behind her, “And that’s something I never imagined—not in all my life—that I’d ever say.”

She was nearly warmed by the sentiment, or by the thought that she’d deserved it; and she honestly wished them well, for all the strangeness of it.

Down at the bottom of the hill and across a walking bridge that crossed the stream in a tidy wooden arc, Maria made her way towards the dark spot—the hole made of a building, and stacked four stories up through the Kentucky bluegrass. The structure sucked everything towards it. The creek flowed to it, the trees leaned its way, and the earth itself seemed dimpled by the immense weight of the place and all its horrible contents.

She was drawn to it like everything else.

She strode through the forest away from the Valkyrie and up to the main road. She would conceal the gunbelt under a tied shawl, hold her baggage firmly and with purpose, and announce that she was there to apply for a position as a nurse. Maria scaled the low edge of the road and walked along it as if she had nothing to hide and no purpose at all which was not direct, friendly, and absolutely ignorant of military behavior or espionage of any stripe.

Out on the front lawn there were patients, here and there—or people masquerading as patients. And behind them, Waverly loomed.

It was a massive structure, made of brick from first floor to top, and crowned with four monstrous gargoyles, each one the size of a small horse. They were spread out along the roof’s edge, spaced evenly and facing forward, mouths agape, faces watchful.

Maria shuddered.

And she sturdied herself, standing straight, adjusting her luggage, and strolling up the walkway to the grounds. The main entrance was directly underneath the gargoyles, of course, and to reach it she was compelled to stroll along a gravel road that wound its way forward. Here and there, nurses, orderlies, patients, and perhaps a doctor or two gave her a quizzical stare; but she was determined to preserve her decorum so she strode along, head high and luggage toted with dignity until she reached the front door.

It was a doubled door with a round iron knocker and latch. She ignored the knocker and tugged the right-hand door open. She poked her head around its side and saw only a corridor that could’ve belonged to any sparkling new facility in any city, with any number of doctors, patients, or uses.

A pair of gurneys were left against a wall. A wheeled chair hunkered squatly at the end of a hallway; and here and there, a barefoot man or woman wandered from one room to another.

Maria let herself inside all the way, setting her carpetbag on the floor and clutching both her handbag and the shawl at her waist. She called out softly, “Hello? Is anyone here?”

None of the barefoot patients noticed her, or if they did, they did not feel moved to answer. But a nurse in a fluffy, ivory-colored uniform manifested to Maria’s left and asked with a nurse’s uncompromising firmness, “Can I help you?”

It was not a question, exactly. It was a declaration that the nurse knew Maria was somewhere she really shouldn’t be, and an announcement that the hospital was aware of her presence. It was also a warning, that this was a place of order and that disorder, and disorderly behavior would not be tolerated.

The nurse was a petite, sharp-eyed woman with yellow hair tied up in a bonnet. She did not look like the kind of woman who could cram so much meaning into four words, but she also did not look like the kind of woman who was accustomed to dilly-dallying or backtalk.

Maria neither dilly-dallied nor backtalked. She asked, “This is a hospital, yes?”

“This is a hospital, yes.”

“I’ve come in search of a job,” Maria said.

Without a beat, the nurse replied, “And I’m your mother.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I know who you are,” the nurse said. “I’ve seen your picture more than once, most lately on a poster for a play in Lexington, a few years ago. Now tell me what you’re doing here, Belle Boyd?”

As Maria stared down at the small woman with the no-nonsense face, she considered her next move. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. Finally she said, “I did not intend for my reputation to precede me. And I certainly don’t mean you any trouble,” she added, which was not quite a lie. It wouldn’t have mattered if it were an outright falsehood; Maria would’ve said it anyway.

Just then, a wild-eyed woman stepped forward from behind one of the nearest corners, and she stood very still perhaps twenty feet away. The newcomer’s feet were naked and her hair was the color of autumn leaves. The shift she wore was snagged and ripped, and from its sides dangled a telling set of straps.

Thus distracted, the nurse said, “Madeline, I don’t know what you’re doing out of your room, but you’d better return there before Dr. Williams sees you out and about.”

Madeline said, “She’s here about Smeeks.”

Maria frowned and said, “I…I’m sorry. I don’t know anyone named Mr. Smeeks.”

“Doctor Smeeks,” Madeline said quickly, before the nurse could interrupt her. “And of course you don’t. You haven’t met him yet.”

“To your room, Madeline.”

The patient was careful not to make a move; she seemed to understand more about the situation than Maria did, and she did not remove her eyes from Maria’s—where they were locked into place more securely than she’d ever been restrained in a room. She said, “We aren’t what you think we are. Smeeks isn’t what you think he is. It’s Steen’s doing, really.”

“Steen,” Maria said to Madeline, and then to the nurse. “She’s on to something. I do need to speak with Steen. It’s Ossian Steen, is it not?”

If the nurse was cool before, her voice was glazed with ice when she said, “There’s an Ossian Steen here, yes. And if you’ve come to work with him, or for him, then—”

Maria sensed where the tirade was headed and she jumped in. “No. No, I only need to speak with him. About a professional matter.”

“A professional matter,” the nurse repeated with scorn. But suddenly something changed, and she looked at Maria with something new—some new thought had colored her assessment of the situation.

Madeline turned on her heel. Before she went back to her room as commanded, she said to the nurse, “You should speak with her. She will interfere with him, if she can.” And then shortly, she was gone.

A second nurse, an older woman in a billowing gray uniform that spoke of her rank, joined the first and said, “Anne, was there a problem with Madeline?”

“Not anymore,” she said, and then before Maria could offer her greetings she continued, “This is Maria, and she’s here to see about a job. I was only now going to speak with her, and see if we might have a position open. But we need to sit down and chat, and see what sort of employment might best suit her.”

The older woman cast Maria the same gaze she might’ve used to appraise a mule, and she said, “She’s got good height on her, and she looks sturdy. We’ll have to cover that better,” she gestured at Maria’s cleavage. “Some of the male patients can scarcely spot a knuckle without improper arousal and inappropriate behavior. This having been said, Anne, I trust you to assess her and assign her. I’m going to go make sure Madeline is where she ought to be. She’s a real pill, that one. You never can tell.”

“It’s a fact,” Anne murmured an agreement. “And thank you, Mrs. Hendricks. Come with me, Maria,” she said curtly. “We can have this conversation in the nurse’s sitting area, where it’s more private.”

Maria retrieved her bag and followed behind Anne, past the nurse’s station where the women gathered together and chattered like hens in their voluminous skirts and serious faces. They walked together past a laundry room where bundles of linens hung from the ceiling in bags as big as small boats, waiting to be emptied, sorted, and dried. Beyond the kitchen rooms they strolled, and around a final bend in the corridor until they’d reached a lounge that was empty except for a green-eyed cat who yawned, stretched, and ignored them.

Anne motioned for Maria to take a seat on the nearest padded bench, and then she positioned herself across from her, where she could lean in close and speak softly. She said, “You aren’t here to work with him, are you? You wouldn’t, I mean. Not for a man like that. Not against Danville, I don’t think.”

“You may safely assume it,” Maria told her. “Your accent, I can’t place it as precisely as I’d like, but I must guess you’re a native of Florida, or southern Georgia. Am I close?”

“Valdosta,” the blonde nurse said. “You’ve got an ear for it, don’t you?”

“So I’ve been told. And in the interest of utter honesty, I’m no longer acting in any official capacity on behalf of the Confederacy—which was not a decision of mine, I assure you. I’ve been cut loose and sent on my way, but my loyalties remain. And those loyalties bring me here, to a military scientist with a terrible project. This Ossian Steen is preparing to destroy my native land, and I wish to…” she searched for Madeline’s word and used it. “Interfere.”