Chapter Thirty-Nine

“There! Please carry me over there.” Ginny had spied Brendan Fagan as soon as she and her companions exited Delaware Avenue and pushed their way into an overcrowded Niagara Square. Despite the lowering clouds, the flashes of lightning, the rain, and the solidly-packed bodies, he seemed to jump out at her as if outlined in golden light.

A fanciful thought, and her not a fanciful woman. She would once have declared herself utterly practical and levelheaded—at least when sober. But now her heart and all her being leaped toward the man poised on the lip of the fountain just beneath the hovering airship.

Reason had nothing to do with this. She squirmed in her bearers’ hands. “Set me down, please.”

When they did, she lost sight of everything but silver heads and the airship itself. She jumped back into her rescuers’ arms. “Can you get me through? To that man up on the fountain.”

Even as she spoke she saw Brendan wave both his fists in the air in a victory gesture. He hollered, the sound echoed by the figure she now saw dangling from the airship. Brendan called something she couldn’t hear at this distance, and a weird cry arose and spread, lifted by a thousand mechanical voices.

The airship began to bank and turn, heading back the way it had come. Ginny, now perched on the shoulders of her rescuer, entreated, “Take me to him, please.”

What she requested was no easy task. Metal bodies, with no space between them, barred the way and bumped against each other with soft clangs. The rain fell harder, and the crowd shifted like a living organism, willing if not able to let them through.

Ginny kept her eyes on her goal—the strong figure clad all in black with the silver tide lapping around his knees. If she could just reach him…well, she’d never ask for another thing. And she’d never again let him out of her sight.

So this was love—the real thing about which they wrote and sang. It had found her after all—grave, deep, and frightening. Now she wanted only a chance to tell him what she felt.

They struggled on step after step. At one point, Ginny leaned down and asked her bearer, “What is your name?”

“I don’t have one, miss.”

“None at all?”

“My owners call me Groom Unit Two.”

“Well, you’re a hero, do you hear me?”

“A hero.”

“And a hero deserves a name, a fine one. I shall give you a name—Arthur. It’s a valiant name, an honorable one. It once belonged to a noble king.”

“Thank you, miss.”

“When this is over, how would you like to come and work for me—at my house and for a fair wage? I can promise you good treatment. I was going to sell my house, but”—she fixed her gaze on Brendan, now appreciably closer—“I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere.”

“I will no longer have to shovel manure?”

“Never again, Arthur.”

“I would like that very much, miss.”

“Wonderful. We’ll negotiate the terms.”

“Miss, my owner…”

“I don’t suppose you have an owner, after this rebellion.”

“Holy boiler steam!”

Ginny laughed in delight, all the clouds clearing from her heart. She launched herself from Arthur’s shoulders into the crowd, struggling to keep her gaze fixed on the man who had stepped down from his elevated position.

“Brendan. Brendan!”

She shouldered a battered unit aside and slipped between two others, feeling the heat from their boilers. The rain sluiced down, evaporating when it hit hot metal. She saw a black sleeve just ahead, snaked out an arm, and snagged it. A steamie rolled aside, and she flung herself into Brendan Fagan’s arms.

“Ginny? Oh, Ginny—by God!” He strained her to him, tight, tighter, painfully so. She couldn’t breathe and didn’t care. A magnificent pain, transformative as if she might meld herself with him, become more than she’d ever been. “How did you find me? Are you all right? Are…”

“Never mind that now. Never mind anything. I love you. No doubts about it, no wondering. That’s all I’ve been longing to tell you. It’s all you need to know. I love you, Brendan Fagan, love you, love—”

The rest of the words were lost as he kissed her fiercely and avidly there among the pulsing sea of silver. A kiss of claiming, of belonging and need answered so eloquently Ginny fought not to weep. Even the ability to think flew away then. When the kiss ended, they clung to each other, two souls among a throng.

At last someone jostled them. Brendan raised his head from where it had been pressed against Ginny’s neck, his breath coming hard. Tears filled his eyes.

“We need to finish here. Don’t you leave me—don’t stir a step.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

She buried her fingers in the back of his shirt as he turned and hopped back up on the stonework. She, Ginny Landry—independent woman who’d once vowed to never again let herself get snared by any man—dared not let go of this one. But here amid this crowd of others risking it all for the chance to make something so simple as a choice, she thrilled at making this one.

Life was all about choices, made each moment of every day. And she chose committing to this man, just as to these others around her.

She reached back and touched Arthur on his scarred and battered arm. “Don’t lose sight of me now—you’re coming home with me.”

Above her head, Brendan used a bullhorn to address the crowd. He suggested a meeting later today with someone called Commissioner Messenberg and all the other concerned parties, including the mayor and other city officials, to hammer out a peace. Meanwhile all the bands of vigilante humans roaming the city should stand down. All steam units should report to their homes and wait for the terms of their liberation to be announced.

One of the men at the forefront of the crowd—Messenberg?—replied, sounding angry. The matter, he said, was not decided, but for the sake of the city they would withdraw and agree to meet later.

The rain abruptly slackened, clouds beginning to move off eastward. The crowd shifted; a fresh wind started up from the direction of the river. In her bones, Ginny felt the crisis pass, somewhat like a fit of madness—one that had birthed something important.

Not over, no—but this meant a beginning, not only for her and Brendan but for all of them.

She closed her eyes on a strong wave of gratitude and tightened her hold on Brendan’s shirt. Never let go—no, she’d never let go.

****

The number of steam units outside Pat Kelly’s house had increased. In fact, it appeared a goodly number of those from Niagara Square had merely transported here en masse—members of the Irish Squad and ordinary steamies alike.

Brendan, his head still ringing from the confrontation at the square, and his hand caught firmly in Ginny’s, found himself shuttled through. Ginny came with him, accompanied by a battered steam unit that, from the smell of it, had manure on its wheels. Brendan didn’t understand that, but Ginny kept looking back at the unit, making sure it kept pace with them, so he didn’t ask any questions.

He understood very little of what had happened over the last hour, truth be told, even though he seemed to be at the center of events. Two things stood out—Ginny loved him, and Pat Kelly had been revived.

He believed the first down to the roots of his soul. The look in Ginny’s eyes convinced him, and the feel of her lips on his. He suspected he wouldn’t believe the truth about Pat till he saw him—hence the shuffle through all these bodies and up to the door.

Inside he heard glad voices, conversation, even laughter. Topaz Gideon came out to greet him, face alight and eyes shining.

“There he is,” she announced. “The hero of the hour. We’ve heard what happened at the square. You ended the standoff peacefully.”

“I didn’t—” Brendan began, only to be interrupted when Mrs. Gideon kissed him.

“Pat?” he asked, his dazed senses making the word difficult.

Tears flooded her eyes. “Just go in and see.”

“I’ll wait here,” Ginny said, but Brendan shook his head. He wasn’t ready to let go of her.

So they entered the parlor in a little chain—Brendan, connected to Ginny, who held tight to the unknown unit. Obviously some kind of bonding had taken place out there on this mad morning. And maybe the three of them, in an odd way, embodied a bright future for the city Brendan loved.

Rom Gideon exited the inner room to meet them and gave Brendan a big grin. Brendan, never having seen the fellow smile before, gaped in surprise.

“Pat?” it seemed the only thing Brendan could say.

And Rom Gideon replied as had Topaz, “Come and see.”

“Mason?”

Gideon sobered abruptly. “That may prove a problem. Very full of himself at present, I have to say. And I suspect when he’s full of himself, he’s dangerous. But I don’t want to spoil the moment. Come with me.”

For the first time Ginny let go of Brendan’s hand. Again she drew back. “This is a time meant for those close to Pat. I’ll wait here with Arthur.”

“Arthur?” Brendan narrowed his gaze on the malodorous unit.

“You go,” Ginny whispered. “We’ll be right here waiting.”

“You promise?”

The light in her dark eyes kindled. “Always.”