Clockwork Canada Read online

  Sometimes he woke; sometimes he quieted. Once he wrapped his hand around her foot and held on.

  “No one’s messing with him any more. I would swear to it,” Manuel said in one of their Sunday conferences, while Rafa sang to himself in the kitchen, chopping onions. “You’ve seen it, haven’t you? They save him a bowl now, even when he’s still in the kitchen.”

  Emiliana said, “I’ve seen him eating it, too. But no one treats him like one of the crew yet. And he doesn’t write home.”

  “He might be lonely,” Manuel said. “But aren’t we all? Don’t we all miss our sweethearts?” Maybe it was intended to be judgmental, but his eyes welled up as he spoke, and so Emiliana left him to his letter and went back to her own rags and oil.

  * * *

  As the rubble-clearing grew closer to completion, Crew 255 moved on to building. The blast had crumbled so many structures right down to their foundations, fissuring stonework that had been made to last centuries. Earth had to be shored up and framed, cornerstones had to be laid, then foundation-stones and supporting walls. The work was going to take years, and the workers were ready and willing.

  Manuel, when he saw the next set of orders, was so jubilant he actually hugged Emiliana and shook her by the graspers. “I can bring Paula over!” he said. “I can marry her at last!”

  Emiliana kissed him on each cheek and hugged him back, in the stiff way her graspers would allow. “Will you still live with the crew?”

  “Paula can cook much better than Casimiro,” Manuel said. “Maybe she can sleep in your room until we’re married.”

  Emiliana laughed at that. “If we’re going to move people around, doesn’t Rafa have seniority?”

  “Rafa’s been sharing with Jorge so long they can’t sleep when they’re apart,” Manuel said, grinning, and that was that.

  Emiliana did not tell Casimiro that he was going to lose his post as cook, but someone must have, for he came to her that evening, as she laboriously trimmed the lamp and rolled the sleeves of her nightgown down over her graspers.

  Casimiro sat on the edge of his cot, long hands wrung tight together, and ducked his head between his shoulders. He did not usually come to bed so early; Emiliana did not even know what he did in his evening hours. She rolled her sleep-socks onto her feet and waited for Casimiro to speak.

  He took forever about it, too, taking in deep sighing breaths and then letting them out again without finding any words.

  Finally Emiliana said, “Paula might be a wonderful cook, but you will still be part of the crew after she arrives.”

  Casimiro lifted his head, eyes wide, lips open. “Manuel’s wife is going to be our cook?”

  “I thought you had heard,” Emiliana said.

  “Thank the Lord,” Casimiro said. “I was never going to get the salt right.”

  Emiliana touched her pincer to her mouth so as not to laugh. “If it isn’t that…then what has you worried?”

  He didn’t bother to deny there was something. He only ducked his head again.

  “I won’t tell anyone,” Emiliana said. “Whatever it is. I’ll find you more apples, since you like them. Buy you bread. Whatever you need.”

  Casimiro hunched further into himself, hands over his face. “No,” he said. “You told me not to beg for scraps. You said that.”

  Emiliana did not remember saying that. “It’s not begging,” she said. “I’m offering.”

  “Why?” Casimiro said, looking up at her, brows twisted.

  Because you’re part of my crew, Emiliana almost said, and that was true – the crew was hers now, in a way, hers as well as Manuel’s – but that was not the whole of it.

  Because you’re my friend, she thought next, and that was also true. But that wasn’t all of it either.

  “I want to,” she said finally, simply. “When I give, I give freely. If I want to say no, I will say no. But I might say yes.”

  “I’m afraid of what will happen,” Casimiro said. “I’m afraid either way.”

  And he shuffled off his cot to kneel before Emiliana, and he laid his cheek on her thigh, and she could feel the heat of his breath in heavy quick bursts through the flannel of her nightgown.

  And she saw what he was asking, and it was much greater than apples.

  She reached out with her graspers and lifted Casimiro’s shirt from his shoulders, and the fabric tore apart.

  “I am not afraid,” she said. “And I am strong enough to carry you, if you’ll let me.”

  * * *

  The rooming house was full to bursting: one room for Manuel and Paula and the babe on the way, another for Emiliana and Casimiro, the other two rooms with four cots each for the crew, and then Rafa and Jorge on a makeshift cot in the pantry.

  “We’ll build an addition,” Manuel said, rolling out a sheet of plans on the table by the stove, while he and Emiliana stayed back from church. From the kitchen, Emiliana could smell thyme and onions, and hear Rafa teaching Paula a new song in English he’d learned from someone at the work site.

  “Build it ourselves?” Emiliana said. “We’ve got enough brick workers, that’s for certain.”

  “We’ll need plumbing. And another stove.”

  “And conduits for the wiring Casimiro is always talking about.”

  “Then we’ll have better light,” Manuel agreed.

  “Even though you don’t have to write letters any longer,” Emiliana said, “it will be better for you when you read to the baby.”

  Manuel’s face went soft. “And you?” he said. “Will there be a baby for you?”

  “A baby is not what I wish to bring into the world,” Emiliana said, shaking her head and smiling.

  She laid one of her graspers on the sheaf of plans to hold it open, while she pointed out where they could put the third chimney, and how the new rear wall would cast warmth onto the earth, and how in the next spring Casimiro might plant an arbour there.

  THE CURLICUE SEAHORSE

  CHANTAL BOUDREAU

  “We’re making land,” Captain Roberta Rogers declared in a booming voice. “Prepare for descent.”

  She liked feeling the wind whip about her shoulder-length hair, even if it occasionally brought tears to her eyes. She also enjoyed listening to the hiss and whoosh of the steam engine that propelled her airship as she strolled across the main deck. She didn’t know much about the mechanics that made it work – she was an adventurer, after all, and not a technician or an engineer – but she still found the shifting steel and chrome that churned at its heart impressive. It glittered in a divine way, a living, breathing metallic beast.

  “In Lunenberg, Captain Ro? You can’t be serious. We just left Halifax. It’s a long trip to Bermuda. It’ll be far longer if we stop for every whim along the way,” replied Lorna, one of Roberta’s most forthright crewmembers.

  Captain Ro, as her crew of nine liked to call her – all women at her father’s behest because travelling with men would be unseemly for an unmarried woman of her status – could be intimidating at times. Her voice was enough to cow the shyer ones in the bunch, like the mousy Marian or the mild-mannered Beth. That never stopped Lorna, her second-in-command, from speaking her mind though. The stout, brassy-skinned woman wasn’t afraid of much.

  “Not just a whim, my friend. I received word from Father by wireless that Grandfather has a gift for me, one that might sway me to postpone our voyage to the islands. You know he’s not fond of me straying so far from home. Apparently, he doesn’t understand the nature of an adventurer. The whole point is to leave home far, far behind me when the inclination strikes.”

  Roberta wasn’t about to offer her father too much resistance, however. If it had not been for the efforts of her father and grandfather to convert the family’s sailing ship construction business to the manufacture of steam airships instead, at the most opportune of times, her family would not possess the wealth that it did. It was that family wealth that funded her high-minded excursions. Her father had gifted her the Evange
line, the prototype of their most successful line. She could never have afforded such a lavish vessel, sizable for an airship, using her own earnings – she wasn’t the type of adventurer who carried home plunder and riches to support her travels. Her finds were more of the scholastic kind – ancient artefacts with historical value.

  Her father had never understood her interest in items of historical significance or her love of adventure, travelling when necessary for business, but rarely for pleasure. Then again, he had never been confined to his house. After a riding accident at the age of eight that had her housebound, Roberta had sought solace and escape in a scattering of books. Mostly school textbooks, history, geology and science, though she had uncovered a few fictional adventure novels and some travelogues as well. In these, she lost herself in stories of pirates and treasure islands, treacherous mountain treks, and journeys into the darkest depths of the oceans.

  When she had tired of reading books, she had used the knowledge she had found within them to imagine her own adventures to pass the time. She found that far more exciting than learning to needlepoint or staring longingly out of her window at the world denied her. Eventually, she didn’t just want to dream of such things – she wanted those dreams to come true.

  Roberta’s latest plans had been to investigate the supposed site of a shipwreck down in the Caribbean, one that had been transporting important academics as well as their goods. Her father hadn’t enjoyed that notion. The quest for lost collegiate relics somewhere underwater would require the use of untested diving equipment and put Roberta and the Evangeline at risk of pirates, both in the water and in the air. She knew he would find a way to divert her if he could.

  “Then again, he would have me married off to the first high-society elitist willing to take me, if he could. Safe at home birthing his grandchildren. Like that would really be any safer for me,” she harrumphed to herself.

  While schucking her skirts and ascending into the sky for the sake of her latest expedition might not be a proper lady’s pastime, Roberta had never considered herself, nor any of her crew, a proper lady. She was brash, impulsive and strong-willed. Not all of the women working under her were similar in temperament, but they all shared her love for adventure.

  “Postpone our voyage? But we have all this new underwater equipment to test and one good storm out there could shift our salvage site marker out of place – or even drift the salvage itself,” Lorna protested. “Besides, if we delay, someone else might beat us to it.”

  Roberta laughed inwardly, but noted that Lorna’s words had drawn the attention of crusty, old Marguerite who had been scrubbing a portion of the deck. The steely-haired deck-hand frowned. They all knew that the expected recovery would offer less potential return than risk to the typical bounty hunter. No one else would be willing to put in the work required to steal their claim.

  Roberta believed they could spare the time, and she knew Lorna was aware of that. The real reason for Lorna’s protest was that she longed to bask in the island sun, partake in the abundant rum and maybe even have a delightful roll in the sheets with some dark-skinned stranger – man or woman, it had never really mattered to her. The area was flush with its own particular types of indulgences. The other crewmembers had also been looking forward to some time spent in the sun.

  “Give me the chance to at least inspect Grandfather’s offering. I didn’t say the detour would be a given. But Father seems to think once I see what’s there I’ll be willing to wait… So, we’ll have a look.”

  Lorna made a sour face before returning her attention to her duties, and Marguerite went back to scrubbing as well, but that was the last of the objections. Roberta’s father had sent a cryptic message that had intrigued her: He has a key to a mystery long in need of solving. Once her curiosity was piqued, there was no turning back. She suspected her unyielding persistence would be the death of her some day.

  When the Evangeline was settled within town limits, Roberta ventured off into Lunenburg to meet her grandfather, taking Lorna with her for both company and camouflage. “You make me look good when we’re together,” she insisted. “You’re mouthier than I am and less tactful too. I’m a demure flower next to you.”

  She gave leave to the other eight women for the afternoon also. With their voyage delayed, she could at least offer them the consolation of time to relax.

  It was easy to pick out Grandfather Rogers’ home from a distance, the most ostentatious house in all of Lunenburg. A servant met them at the door and guided them to the sitting room where they would partake of tea and blueberry scones with their host. Grandfather did not leave them waiting for very long. He hobbled in soon after them, his cane in one hand and a neatly wrapped package in the other.

  “This was meant to be your birthday gift, Roberta, but your father requested I give it to you now. He mentioned something about wanting to keep your treasure hunting closer to home. It comes in two parts. Here’s the first.”

  When Roberta plucked the box from inside the paper, she wondered how the contents of something so small could have any bearing on a treasure hunt. She cracked it open to find a tiny metallic seahorse charm inside, one decorated with fine filigree and curlicues.

  “This is lovely, thank you,” she remarked, letting the chain of the delicate trinket dangle from her fingertips. “But I don’t see what this has to do with any treasure—”

  Before she could finish her sentence, Grandfather Rogers reached over and gave the charm a gentle prod. Movement followed, along with the subtle whirr of miniature clockwork within the seahorse as it reshaped and transformed. In the end, Roberta was left holding a little silver key. She gave her grandfather a questioning look.

  “What’s this for?”

  “You’ve heard of Oak Island and its cursed treasure?”

  Lorna spoke up in response. “Of course. No person legitimately calling himself an adventurer doesn’t know about Captain Kidd’s legendary treasure. Trying to find it is more trouble than it’s worth, however. The venture has proven lethal to many a man crushed, drowned or suffocated. None of them pleasant ways to go.”

  “True – but none of them possessed this key, nor had the information and the wherewithal to use it. Your father says you have prototype mechanisms with you to keep divers safe?”

  “I do,” Roberta agreed. “But I wouldn’t know what to do with it or this key, in this instance. Without knowing more, I wouldn’t run the risk of attempting to retrieve the treasure. I’m not in this for riches and too many others have already failed.”

  “You needn’t follow in their footsteps,” her grandfather insisted. “There is a failsafe within the pit, a mechanism that will disarm all of the traps Kidd had put in place, but it will only work for the wielder of this key. Of course, you have to know where the keyhole is located, and it happens to lie underwater at this point, thanks to the blundering efforts of those attempting to excavate the treasure before you. But the opportunity and the advantage are yours if you choose to use it. That’s where your diving equipment would come in.”

  “The intent was to use it to search underwater in a safer way, yes. But how am I expected to find the keyhole for something so small? It would take forever, down there in the depths of the pit.” She held up the tiny end of the key, scrutinizing it.

  “Well, that’s where the second part of the gift comes into play. I bought this at a special auction. It belonged to a young man who happens to be a descendant of Captain Kidd’s Nova Scotian mistress. This gentleman claims that Kidd left the key in this woman’s care, declaring the treasure to be hers if he and his crew did not return for it. He also left her a journal with directions on how to locate and disarm the failsafe should they not return. Apparently, she never chose to follow through and fetch it back from the island. An antiquarian has authenticated the signature of Kidd that accompanied the instructions and dated both the journal and key to the appropriate time. Plus the seahorse bears the maker’s mark of an artisan known to run in the same circle
s as Kidd. He likely crafted that failsafe mechanism and key on commission.”

  Lorna’s dark eyes lit up, her slight smile broadening into a full grin. “So the journal is the other half of the gift then? Come on – out with it. Let’s see it.”

  “Not exactly. The young man was not willing to give up possession of the journal. He considers it an important part of his family history – that it serves as proof he may be descended from Captain Kidd himself. But while he won’t let the journal leave his possession, he is willing to accompany any treasure seekers wishing to attempt to retrieve the treasure. I told him I might be sending you out his way. Your arrival wouldn’t be unexpected.”

  Roberta’s excitement faded at this news. She now eyed the key with reluctance. Lorna caught the look and immediately started in on her.

  “Captain Ro – you’re not about to turn this one down are you? I’m willing to forego sun and surf in the Caribbean for this. This isn’t just any treasure. This could make us rich.”

  “You know I’m not doing this for wealth. I don’t see why I would add this to my agenda. It’s not my kind of find – not my type of claim. And I don’t want some overgrown boy worming his way into my salvage excursion. There’s too many problems to this. Too many complications. Perhaps I can just wear my gift as a proper keepsake and return to our original plans. Or if Grandfather thinks that would be an opportunity wasted, perhaps it can be resold to someone more willing to make proper use of it.” Roberta glanced his way, her eyes questioning.

  Her grandfather chuckled.

  “A gift is a gift, my dear. You can do with it as you please. But you shouldn’t cast aspersions upon Mr. Briand without meeting him first. He left a positive impression upon me with our auction encounter. He’s a clever one and a man of scruples. I think you and he would get along just fine, and I don’t think he would prove to be any sort of impairment if you brought him along while pursuing the treasure. I hope you wouldn’t do him the dishonour of dismissing him without even giving him a chance. If he’s not up to snuff, you’re perfectly free to abandon this quest and return to your southerly travels.”