Mainspring by Jay Lake Read Free Book Online Page B

snobbery that would likely condemn him in the presence of the viceroy as well, Hethor thought with glum persistence.
    â€œWould you like me to drive?” he finally said, his voice somewhere between a squeak and a gasp. His face was still hot.
    â€œAre you a drover? I only do this a few times a month.”
    Hethor wanted to say, “No, but I’m a man,” but he couldn’t quite find the courage. “I … I thought you might like some help is all.”
    â€œWhy? If you’re half as potted as old Le Roy, you’re in no condition to drive a settee, let alone a wagon.”
    He gave up. The night was crisp and cool, and after a while Hethor found himself talking about spring loading
and escapements, and how the wheel train drove the measurement of time so precisely that one could not discover the errors without special instruments and training. It was something safe and neutral that Darby seemed to find interesting. He was even able to forget she was a girl, mostly, and not think about what there might be under her shapeless pea coat.
    She stopped for the night, offering him the hearse’s box to sleep in, but the prospect of lying where the dead would soon travel unnerved Hethor. “I’ll sleep up here on the bench, thank you.”
    â€œSuit yourself.” Darby shrugged, now visible in the starlight, still looking boyish. She grinned, her teeth gleaming, and climbed off the driver’s seat and headed for the box.
    Hethor sat a while. His pants were suddenly tight and uncomfortable, and he was embarrassed and hot all at once. He wondered what he should have said or done differently. When sleep found him, he was chased by vague dreams of looming women with fire in their eyes.
    THE NEXT day was another round of quiet chatter, with stops for stew and bread. Darby was content not to push the horses, a mismatched team of an old gray and a young, frisky roan. They talked about spring plantings and the virtues of cobbled streets as compared to brick, and why ships carry more than one clock aboard, and who the viceroy was likely to appoint as the next governor of Connecticut. Every time the sway of the hearse brought their forearms brushing together, Hethor felt his face flush again. He worked very hard on forgetting that this was the first time in his life he’d been alone with a girl … well, a young woman.
    In the late morning, insects droned in the trees as the day shaped up hot. Hethor stared at the damselflies darting below the railings of a little bridge as the hearse crossed. Darby’s conversation had lapsed a while. Hethor
kept stealing glances at her profile—gray eyes, snub nose, wisps of brown hair under her cap.
    She drove well. Much better than he would have, though that was hard to admit. She knew her way along the roads. She was pleasant, funny—might have made as good a friend as a boy could have.
    That was when Hethor finally blurted out what had been bothering him all along. “But … but … you’re a girl!”
    It came out sounding like an accusation of heresy.
    Darby twitched the reins, slowing the horses to a halt, then turned to look at him. Her eyes were narrow under her flat cap. “Not that my nature’s any business of yours, but what of it?”
    He felt like an idiot—clearly, she was driving, with no trouble at all. One of Master Bodean’s sons could have explained it much better, with all the rigor and might of Yale logic, and probably the majesty of the law on his side as well. But for Hethor, the problem was so obvious, so self-evident, he wasn’t even sure how to put it into words. Everyone knew that women couldn’t be trusted with such responsibilities. Nor could men be trusted with a woman running free among them. “It … women … you’re alone. You’re not supposed to be driving the roads.”
    â€œI’m not alone,” she said reasonably. “I’m with