The Iron Thorn - Caitlin Kittredge [137]
A rumble grew from the mist, and twin lanterns pierced the fog like the great eyes of the Old Ones.
The jitney hissed to a stop, steam escaping the vents and tracks chewing up the gravel road. The driver cranked the door open.
“The cowboy better get a move on,” Dean said as he helped me up the steps. “Otherwise he’ll be waiting for the next jitney with no one but ghouls for company.”
“I’m here!” Cal came flapping down the shoulder of the road, hauling his schoolbag in his wake like a ferry towing a rowboat. “I’m coming!”
The driver looked at all of us. “Where are your parents, girlie?” he demanded.
“Back in the city,” I answered without skipping a beat. “My mother will be waiting for us.”
“I don’t like your look,” the driver told Dean. “No trouble on the bus. I’ll toss you off and I’ve got a nightstick to do it with.”
“I’ll behave like I’m in the Builder’s chapel,” Dean said. The driver glared.
“And I don’t like your smart mouth. Go to the back, sit down and shut up.”
He stopped me with an arm. “That’ll be three-fifty apiece, girlie. For my good nature.”
“Three dollars?” I looked up at the posted fares: LOVECRAFT—$1, POINTS SOUTH—$2.50, NEW AMSTERDAM PORT AUTHORITY—$3.
“Or I could always call the truant officer up here in Arkham,” he said with a grin that dripped venom. “Have him speak to the Proctors about three kids running around the country when they should be in school.”
“You shyster …” Cal started for the driver, but I got between them.
“Cal, it’s fine.” I pulled out eleven dollars from my money roll and shoved it into the fare slot. “He’ll get what’s coming to him.” To the driver I said, “Keep the change, pal,” with a sneer worthy of Dean. He punched my tickets and handed them over, still grinning.
“You’re cute when you’re mad, girlie. You should sit up front by me.”
I darted away from his grasp and followed Dean to the last row of seats. “Why are normal people such scum?” I growled.
“Because scum floats,” Dean answered. He slouched, his hair in his eyes, and glared at any passenger who stared too long at our trio. Cal fussed himself into the seat ahead of me, nearly too tall for the space under the luggage rack.
“Plain highway robbery. I should report him to the jitney company.”
The driver put his fat hands on the levers and spun the steam dial to full, and the coach lurched forward, rattling over the road. I listened to the thrum of the gears and they soothed my Weird, speaking to it and warming it in steam. It still sat uneasy inside my head, but it no longer felt as if it would split my skull.
“We have more important things to worry about,” I said.
“Like what?” Cal demanded, still in high dudgeon. I wiped condensation away from the window and made a small pane to watch the country pass. I would do as Tremaine asked and then I would be free, and I could avenge Conrad, find my father and give him back the job of Gateminder.
I looked back at Cal. “Like how we’re going to gain entrance to the Engineworks.”
We sat in silence until the jitney came off the mountain and was rolling along the broader road through the valley, all conversation of the other passengers drowned in the hiss of steam and the clank of the track.
I’d let the idea grow and germinate in my mind while I’d lain awake the night before. It was a welcome relief from the niggling fear that Tremaine’s lie about Conrad had been only the first of many.
I laid out my plan for Dean and Cal.
“There are plenty of vents under the city,” I said. “And some go out to the river.” I rattled the devices secreted inside my carpetbag. “We can wait until low tide and we can use this to go down to the vent. We can use the invigorator to get through the guard lattice and then we’ll be in the Engineworks.”
“Aoife, the river’s got to be near freezing,” Cal said.
I’d also thought of the contingency plan. “We’ll go to the Academy first. The Expedition Club has cold-water diving suits.” Marcos Langostrian was president of the club, and I’d take a distinct