Storming: A Dieselpunk Adventure (11 page)

The knot in Hitch’s stomach tightened. “And if I win?”

Livingstone settled his hat onto his head. “If
you
win, you get to be a partner in my circus.”

A partnership in one of the biggest flying circuses in the country. Hitch near choked.

He looked over to where his Jenny’s red paint gleamed in the heavy afternoon sunlight. That ship was his life. He’d picked it up for a bare two hundred bucks, still in the crate, when so many of them had been available for the taking after the war. She was a common little hussy, with more attitude than any woman had a right to. But she’d won his heart fair enough with her guts and her wild, willing spirit.

Lose her, and he’d be grounded for who knew how long. But if he won... he wouldn’t have to scrape up the money to
buy
a circus, and he wouldn’t have to tag along as a mere sideshow to Livingstone’s act. He’d have a ready-made circus handed right to him.

He glanced at Earl.

The man was almost as wide-eyed as he was—except his expression looked a lot like panic. Earl gave his head an insistent shake.

True enough the Jenny’s engine needed some repairs, and true also that they barely had enough money to cover those repairs. But it was a better start than Hitch’d had on other bets he’d won.

He turned back to Livingstone.

That wolf-like look had spread from the man’s mouth all the way up to his eyes. This had to be about more than Livingstone just saving face. This was about him trying to keep Hitch in his place. The only thing Livingstone liked about competition was squashing it. But if he was going out of his way to try to squash Hitch, then that seemed mighty indicative that some small part of him thought Hitch might just be able to
be
that competition for him.

Whether Livingstone intended it to be or not,
that
was a vastly encouraging thought.

“All right.” Hitch let go of Jael and stepped forward to offer his hand. “You got yourself a bet. By the end of the week, you’re going to have a new partner.”

“By the end of the week, I’m going to have a new plane.” Livingstone crunched Hitch’s hand in his and grinned. “Seems to me I win either way.”

Nine

A FEW MISTY clouds gathered against the high blue of the afternoon sky as Walter ran barefoot through the cornfields, toward where the airplanes sat in an empty field. He reached the field and lay down flat to roll under the barbed-wire fence.

There they were, maybe twenty biplanes, all in four colorful rows. He drew in a deep breath. If anything was worth whooping over, this surely was, but the pilots might not like it if they noticed him here. And he needed them to like him, because more than anything in this wide world, he needed to sit in one of those planes. It could stay on the ground, and that would be enough. But he needed to sit in one once.

Not more than an hour ago, one of the red-white-and-blue ones had flown right over his head. A pilot had leaned out of the front driver’s seat and waved at him. The engine thrum had rumbled all through his chest. It was like it had filled him up inside with floating air and near taken him off the ground.

Then it had flown on by, and he’d felt the warm dirt under his feet once more. If just seeing one could make you tingle all over like that, then sitting in one had to be ten times better.

The pilots were up and moving, some of them leaning over fires, getting ready to cook their suppers, some of them rubbing down their windshields and tinkering with their engines.

The question was, which plane to choose? He chewed his lip and scanned down the rows. It was important to pick the right one, and he might only get one shot.

A dog barked, and he turned to look.

A long-haired brown-and-white dog with one floppy ear trotted over and sniffed his bare feet. Walter waited until he was done sniffing. When the dog looked up, Walter scratched his ears. The dog panted and wagged his tail.

Papa Byron had a dog to watch the chickens, but Walter and the girls weren’t allowed to play with him. He was a working dog, not a boy’s dog. That made a sort of sense, but, still, it’d be nice to have a boy’s dog. A dog just like this one, as a matter of fact.

He patted the dog again, then looked back to the planes. The nearest one was as red as the barn after he’d helped Papa Byron paint it last summer. Nobody was near it, so he padded over. The dog trotted at his side.

The plane was just pretty all over, from its square metal nose to its wooden wing struts, all the way back to its tail. He stopped beside the wing and reached out to touch it. It was made of cloth, stiffened with some kind of varnish. He poked it once, experimentally, then gave it a gentle thump. A hollow strum resounded.

The tingly feeling in his chest wasn’t quite as strong as when the engine had been roaring overhead, but it was close. He traced his hand up the wing and stopped next to the drivers’ seats. They were too high up to see into, and he didn’t dare climb onto the wing. He stood on tiptoe. Still nothing. Then he dropped onto all fours and peered underneath.

Two pairs of legs—one in laced-up boots and the other in grease-stained white pants—walked over.

“How long will repairs take?”

“That’s all you’re going to say to me?
How long will repairs take
?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know, something about how you’ve got some grand secret plan that’s going to make winning this competition a cinch—seeing as how
everything
we’ve got is now riding on it.”

“Not exactly a
cinch
. But we’ll make it happen.”

“Right. Just like that. Because beating Bonney Livingstone is always so easy.”

“Can we go back to talking about how long you’re going to take with those repairs?”

The other man harrumphed. “An hour or two, I reckon. But I gotta go to town and dig up parts before any of that. You want to see if you can talk Rick into driving me?”

“You’re better off asking him yourself, don’t you think?”

The dog yipped and scooted under the plane.

The legs with the boots bent and their owner knelt to fondle the dog’s ears. Then the man ducked his head and looked straight at Walter. “Well, now, seems Taos went and had a puppy. Where’d you come from, son?”

The man was long and lanky, his face square and freckled, and his eyes so pale a blue you almost missed them altogether. He looked older than Molly and younger than Mama Nan. He wasn’t wearing a helmet and goggles or a leather jacket, like the pictures on the posters in town, but he was a pilot. He had to be. A real, honest-to-goodness pilot.

Walter’s face went hot. This wasn’t how he’d wanted to meet a pilot, not hunched over on the ground, as if he was spying.

“Come on out,” the pilot said. He seemed happy to talk to Walter instead of the other man.

Walter clambered on through and stood up, hands in his overalls pockets.

“What are you doing under there?”

He shrugged.

“Cat got your tongue?”

The heat on his cheeks flared hotter. He watched the ground.

“Ah, leave him be, Hitch,” the other man said. “He’s just shy, I reckon.”

“Come to see the planes?” the pilot asked.

Walter nodded. His fingers seized the wadded-up sock in his pocket. He’d brought Mr. J.W.’s penny. He wouldn’t spend it if he didn’t have to, but surely they wouldn’t let people sit in a plane for free. He pointed at the plane behind him.

Hitch looked up at his plane. “I’m afraid this one isn’t going anywhere right now.”

The other man, the one in oily white coveralls, grunted. He scratched the days-old black whiskers on his cheek. “Let’s just you and me hope it ain’t a permanent condition. She may be ugly and cranky, but I’d hate to see her grounded for good.” He ambled off, toward the nose of the plane.

Ugly and cranky? Walter craned his head to look at her again, then turned back to Hitch, eyebrows furrowed.

Hitch’s face was straight, but something in his eyes twinkled. “What—you don’t think she’s ugly?”

Walter shook his head.

“Well, you’re not so wrong. Planes are like people. If you love ’em, they’re beautiful.” He stood up. “I suppose you want a ride?”

Walter grinned and nodded.

Hitch chuckled. “I warn you, son, it’ll change your life.” His gaze got kind of far away.

Walter squeezed his penny again.

Hitch looked down. “You come on back tomorrow. My ship might be fixed up by then. And if not, somebody else around here’ll be hopping rides.”

Walter bit back the first wave of disappointment, but he nodded anyway. A ride tomorrow was better than no ride at all.

Hitch winked at him. “See you around.” He walked off, slapping his leg to his dog. “C’mon, Taos.”

He didn’t seem to notice that Taos stayed where he was, only perking his ears.

So that was that. Walter heaved a sigh and backed up a couple of steps. As Mama Nan would say, when the pie comes out of the oven, you just have to go ahead and eat it the way it is. If the pilot said leave, Walter would have to leave. But maybe if he found something to do, so he looked busy and out of the way, nobody would notice he wasn’t leaving in a hurry.

He walked away, the dog trailing him. He kept his eyes on the ground but peeked up around the corners so he wouldn’t miss anything.

A dozen yards out from the planes, a woman stood staring at the sky. She wore pants and boots, and her hair had been bobbed short, in that new style Molly wanted so bad. She held one fist at her chest and swiveled her head back and forth, slowly, as she scanned the sky.

It was the angel lady! He stopped short and looked all the way up at her.

She glanced at him. A smile bloomed on her face. “Hello. It is you, from by water this morning past?”

So she talked normal talk after all. Kind of. And even though she was wearing pants, she
looked
a lot more normal without her storybook dress.

He walked over. Hitch’s dog padded along at his side, tongue lolling. Walter grabbed a handful of neck fur. The dog was real, and who knew what the angel lady was, so it might be just as well to hang onto something.

“I am Jael,” she said. Her face, at least, still looked like something out of a storybook. Her eyes creased when she smiled at him.

He smiled back.

“Your name is what?” she asked.

He started to shrug, then changed his mind and squatted to finger his name in the dust.

She tilted her head to read it. “Walter.” She pronounced it
Volltair
. “This is good name.” She gestured to the dog. “Are you knowing this man Hitch?”

He nodded. If
she
knew Hitch, maybe she flew too. He pointed to the planes.

“Yes, they are very beautiful thing.”

He raised both eyebrows and tilted his head toward her. Most people understood that meant a question.

Figuring it out only took her a second. “No, they are not mine.” She leaned forward, as if sharing a secret. “I could be fixing them, but I could not be taking them into sky.”

He let his shoulders sag.

“But Hitch would maybe be taking you.”

He shook his head.

“You are not saying much, no?” But she didn’t look angry or even confused, like some people did. “I am not saying much too. I am not quite knowing how to say how you say things here on ground.”

She’d already said a whole lot more than he ever did. But he smiled and nodded back at her anyway. Not liking to talk wasn’t something he could share with most people.

She touched his shoulder. “Come back again after time. You should be asking again, about planes. This man Hitch—he is man who likes to be saying no first. But I have thoughts that... maybe he will be helping if he can.”

A random gust of wind hit their faces—and it smelled, strangely, just like rain.

She looked up, and she seemed almost scared.

What was there about rain to be scared of?

He followed her gaze. The sky was still blue overhead: no clouds at all. How did you get rain smell with no clouds?

He shivered.

The sparkles were gone from her eyes. Her mouth was suddenly hard. “Goodbye, Walter. Maybe you go to your home now. Maybe there is no safety now.”

That didn’t make any sense either. But that look in her eyes was real enough. He nodded slowly and backed up a few steps. When she didn’t look at him again, he patted Taos one last time and turned to go. He’d be back to ride in the plane tomorrow—rain or no rain.

Ten

THROUGHOUT THE AFTERNOON, Hitch did a good job finding reasons to stay away from Jael. But by nine o’clock, the sun had set behind the random clouds, turning the sky into a smoky haven for the rising stars—and he was starving.