Storming: A Dieselpunk Adventure (10 page)

The only thing that even came close to experiencing that for yourself was sharing it with someone else for the first time.

Far ahead, the rows of parked planes glittered, mirage-like, in the sun. He banked again and dove low to cross the cornfields. From up here, they looked like a sea of green swirling in his prop wash.

A dark spot he’d taken for a blackbird suddenly flashed white: a small face looking skyward. A dark-headed kid in overalls saw the plane and jumped up and down, waving both arms. He started running, swiping the corn aside to keep up with the plane.

Hitch laughed and dove lower to give the boy a thrill.

In the front cockpit, Jael stood up. She leaned out, one hand on a support wire, and waved down at the boy.

Hitch’s heart jumped into his throat. “Get down!”

She couldn’t hear him, of course, and he couldn’t reach her from here. So he waved his free hand, until finally she glanced back at him.

Her eyes twinkled. She knew she’d done exactly what she shouldn’t have.

Consarn the girl.

She ducked back into the cockpit, and he yawed the plane a smidge to the right, enough to give her a push and tumble her into the seat. She was a gutsy little thing, he had to give her that much.

Once she was sitting again, facing forward, he let himself grin, just a bit.

They left the boy far behind and swooped in low over the airfield. From the back where he sat, Hitch couldn’t see the ground ahead, but he lined up the landing as best he could. The plane glided in to about six feet off the ground, as nice and easy as you could want. He brought the nose up and flared, then settled the whole thing with a bump-hop, then another. He finally brought the wheels to the ground to stay, let the tailskid drop, and killed the engine. The propeller’s noise died.

He slapped the turtleback between the two cockpits. “Are you crazy?”

Jael stood up. Her cheeks were flushed from the wind, and her hair was coming out from the front of her kerchief. “That was... What is your word for it?
Polet
! Like
Schturming
, but not same. Different.”

“Passengers stay
in
the cockpit, you hear me?”

Earl came running over. “What in blue blazes? Where’d you get that thing? You’ve seen Livingstone? He let you fly his plane? That’s got to be a good sign!”

“Yeah, well, about that...”

Earl drew up short. “What now? Or wait, don’t tell me: You stole the plane.”

“Yep.”

“
What
?”

Hitch glanced over his shoulder.

Even now, a big cloud of dust chased the fleet of automobiles up the road to the field’s entrance.

He hoisted himself up and swung his legs over the edge of the cockpit. “Look, it’s not all
that
bad.”

“You stole Livingstone’s plane! How is that not bad? Tell me how that’s not bad!”

Hitch’s feet thumped against the ground. “You’re right, it’s bad.”

Earl leaned his head back and groaned. “You did this without having any kind of a plan?”

“Of course I had a plan. It just might not be, on reflection, a very good one. I had to save this girl, see.”

“What girl?” Earl whipped his head around to look at Jael standing in the front cockpit. “I
knew
there was a girl!”

“It’s the girl from last night.”

Earl didn’t look convinced.

“She saw somebody in town, got scared—and then I had this thought.”

“You should never have thoughts.”

“We needed to make a splash with Livingstone—get his attention, right? So what if I was to do him a favor? You remember the man. What’s the one thing in this world he loves better than flying?” He pointed toward the motorcars streaming in. “You cannot
buy
this kind of publicity.”

“This is the kind of publicity that lands you right in the pokey!”

The cars careened to a stop a few yards off. Rick drove the first one, with Lilla waving gaily from the back.

Livingstone piled out of the front passenger seat. He smashed his Stetson back onto his head and gave his black string tie a tweak.

Hitch hooked his thumbs into his suspenders, trying to keep his posture both relaxed and confident.

“Well, well, well.” Livingstone’s words were calm enough, softened by the hint of a Georgia accent. The high pitch at the end of each word was the only tip-off he was peeved. “If it isn’t Hitch Hitchcock. I do believe I haven’t seen you since Nashville. When was that, ’17, ’18?” His nostrils flared, and he grinned wolfishly, the careful trim of his Vandyke beard curving around his mouth.

Hitch pasted on a grin that was just as wide. He came forward to shake Livingstone’s hand. “You ol’ bushwhacker. Took you long enough to get yourself out here.” He gestured over his shoulder. “Quite the ship you’ve got.”

Livingstone’s smile widened, but he spoke through his teeth. “Isn’t she?” He was still mad enough, that was clear. And he was likely to stay mad until Hitch did something sensible—like apologize.

“Thought I might help you drum up some extra business. All in good fun, right?” Hitch winked. “Showmanship, always showmanship, isn’t that what you used to say?”

“And am I to understand you’ve pulled these shenanigans for no reason other than the benefit of my circus?”

“Why not?”

Bonney Livingstone could talk a man into picking his own pocket. He was as phony as they came and that much crookeder. Plus, he cheated at cards.

But he was no fool. What Hitch had done could either drown his circus in the excitement of a scandal—or raise it even higher with the anticipation of some good clean fun. Farm towns liked scandals well enough, so long as they didn’t upset the equilibrium too bad. Good clean fun, however, paid the better by far.

And if there was one thing Livingstone was good at, it was getting paid.

The man shot a sideways look at the crowd gathering behind him, then back at Hitch. “My pilots will be hard to beat this week.” He raised his voice so everyone could hear. “Do you think you’re up to the challenge?”

He was going for the bait.

Hitch let a sigh of relief sift past his teeth. “And when have you known me not to be up to beating you?”

Livingstone slapped Hitch’s shoulder, a little harder than he needed to. “My dear boy, you always were in the habit of biting off more than you could chew.”

“Don’t you worry about me. Earl here—you remember my mechanic?” He gestured to Earl, who managed a terse nod but didn’t manage to stop scowling. “He’s given my Jenny a reinforced frame and hooked her up to a Hispano-Suiza.”

Livingstone straightened. He shot a look around the field, probably trying to spot Hitch’s plane. “Is that so?” When his gaze came back to Hitch, he scanned him up and down. “Well now, that does sound interesting.”

“Pulls like an elephant. More speed and power than half your boys would know what to do with.” Hitch reined up a smidge. “Excepting you, of course.”

Livingstone glanced around the field again. He smoothed a hand over his Vandyke. “This Hispano-Suiza of yours just might put a new light on things.”

An uncomfortable feeling knotted in Hitch’s middle. He looked back at Livingstone’s Jenny. “What things?”

Jael had stayed in the front cockpit this whole time, leaning forward to peer at the hot click of the Curtiss OX-5 engine’s exposed cylinders. She cast a nervous glance at Livingstone and Earl, then swung herself out of the plane and dropped to the ground. Gaze alternating between Livingstone and her feet, she sidled toward them, evidently headed for a closer look at the engine.

Livingstone swept off his hat and set it over his heart. “Well, now, my dear. If my ship must be commandeered, I can hardly complain if it is commandeered by a brigand as lovely as yourself.”

She narrowed her eyes, but kept coming.

“May I have an introduction to your fair companion?” Livingstone asked Hitch. “A new addition to your act, I take it? What do you do, my dear? Wing walk, parachute?”

“She’s not exactly part of the act.”

Livingstone snagged her hand and raised it to his lips. “Charmed to the living end, my dear.”

With any luck, she’d bat her eyes and curtsy and let it go at that.

Hitch gave her an encouraging smile.

Her eyes got big and shocked, and she yanked her hand back. “
Nikogda bez moego razreshenia
!”

Livingstone’s smile slipped. “Well.” He coughed. Probably, this was the first time his southern gentleman act had come up short. He clamped the smile back in place. “I’ll give you this, Mr. Hitchcock, you’ve always had the knack for picking up the most interesting people. That
is
showmanship, sir.”

Earl rolled his eyes. “Brother.”

Hitch glared at Earl. Let Livingstone talk. The longer he talked, the better the chance he’d decide this whole stunt had been his own idea.

Livingstone straightened the lapels of his white suit coat. It was a crazy getup for flying in, but it had become his trademark.

He smiled, almost genuinely, at Jael. “It’s quite all right, my dear.” His gaze seemed to snag on something. “Now, that’s an interesting piece.”

Hitch turned to see.

On a chain around her neck, she wore a heavy brass pendant. Round like a compass and intricate with clockwork gears, it had a little crank in the center, the handle of which was shaped like a leaf.

She darted a look at it, as if shocked to find it there.

“Might I have a better view?” Livingstone asked.

What he was doing, of course, was asking her to let him save face after the rejected hand-kissing. Hitch knew it. Earl probably knew it. But in light of her record so far today, Jael was likely to take it as a threat and punch him in the face.

She snatched the pendant and held it against her chest. Her other hand tensed into a fist.

Hitch reached for Livingstone’s shoulder. “You best leave her alone. She’s a little... unsettled today.”

“Nonsense. She wears it with pride. I’m sure she’d like to exhibit it.” And then Livingstone actually reached for it.

Jael scrambled back two steps. “You stop! Or I—I kill you!”

Livingstone probably had no real interest in the pendant. But now it was a test of wills—and he had made his reputation winning those battles.

He laughed and followed her two steps. “Don’t be ridiculous, child.”

She threw a wild punch, all strength and no precision. Her fist clipped his Adam’s apple, and his breath exploded in a noise too much like a hen’s clucking to be good for his pride or anybody else’s well-being.

Hitch ducked under the wing and snagged her free hand before she could swing again. He rose to his feet, facing Livingstone. “She didn’t mean that.”

Earl choked on something suspiciously like a laugh. “I’ll say she didn’t.”

All Livingstone’s blood rushed right back to his face. “You little— Is she mad? You’re all mad!”

Hitch pushed her farther behind him. “Look, I’m sorry.”

She put her free hand on his back, either to reassure herself he was there protecting her—or, more likely, getting ready to hit him too if he did something she didn’t fancy.

“You scared her is all,” he said.

Livingstone grasped his throat. “I am pressing charges for this one!” His voice sounded just fine, so she couldn’t have hit him hard enough to do damage. “She can spend the rest of the week in custody, that’s what!”

“Oh, c’mon.” Hitch’s own temper rose. “She hardly speaks any English. She didn’t understand what you meant.” He lowered his voice. “You really want the kind of publicity you’re going to get for chucking a girl like this into jail?”

“You are not exactly in a position to be talking about who belongs in jail and who does not.” Livingstone clamped his lips. Then, finally, he released his throat and straightened up. “Fine. But I want her off this field. You get rid of her, you understand? She is no longer a part of your act.”

“She’s not mine to get rid of. And anyway, you’ve got no right telling me who can be in my act and who can’t.” He kicked himself as soon as the words were out of his mouth. What was he doing? He didn’t want the girl on the field
or
in the act. He needed to just let Livingstone have his way. Calm him down and get him off his back before it was too late.

But he said it anyway. “She stays.”

Livingstone glared at him. Then once again, he glanced across the field to where the other planes were parked. “All right.” With the backs of his fingers, he slowly knocked the dust from his hat. “If that’s the way you want it, then let us reach a compromise. I will allow your”—he scowled at Jael—“
gamine
to stay, if you agree to a small wager I have in mind.”

“What kind of wager?”

“You say you’ll win the competition with your machine’s new engine. But I will wager you do not, and if you do not, ownership of your plane will be transferred to me.” He ran his tongue over his lower lip.