Wild Cards and Iron Horses Read Online Free PDF Page A

gear.” A mumbled curse echoed around the insides of the metal equine, the hollow voice rumbling through any open port. “We’re going to need to take it apart again and check the gears by hand. Damned…” A blonde head popped out of the intestines, past the pipes and gears, and stared at Jon.
    “Oh. My.” Dropping whatever tool she had in her hand into the innards of the horse, the woman straightened up. Her free hand wiped the beads of sweat from her forehead and cheek. Jon’s mouth went dry as he studied the woman—no, the engineer—who he hoped would be able to save him.

Chapter Three
    She stood all of five feet tall, her blonde hair braided and tucked into the front of her off-white shirt.
    The leather coat buttoned up around her neck hung loosely on her small frame, letting the shirt collar hang out at the top. Her hands were hidden inside a pair of thick leather gloves, the oversized gauntlets almost up to her elbows. Her blue eyes were rimmed with soot and dirt, making her look more like a raccoon than a young woman and much more like an engineer and inventor than any woman he had ever met, on either side of the pond. The fair-skinned cheeks went scarlet as she stared at him, her face damp with sweat.
    Jon bowed. He had no other idea what to do. “Madam.” He glanced at the one-armed man. The resemblance between father and daughter was impossible to miss, which partially explained the abrupt reception at the front door. “As I was just telling your father, I need some delicate work done. Repairs, as it were. On a piece of equipment I own. Which is broken. And needs repairs.” In a flash of embarrassment, he realized he was babbling like a fool.
    “All right. Let’s take a look.” She looked back at the iron horse with longing.
    After stripping the gloves off, she tossed them onto a nearby workbench. The woman strode over to stand in front of him, hands on hips. The jeans poking out from the bottom of the leather coat were well worn and almost white with wear, the work boots on the verge of surrendering any protection they could have offered in the past. “Let me guess, a broken pocket watch.”
    Handleston stood his ground, staring back at her. “If only I could stop time as easily as that, Miss Weatherly.”
    The old man laughed, a rolling cough pulling free at the end. “He’s got you there, Sam.” Extending his only hand, he smiled. “Jake Weatherly. And you’ve already heard of and met my daughter Samantha.”
    Jon winced at the strength of the handshake, his left hand aching by the time he retrieved it from the elder Weatherly’s grasp. The man wore similar garb to his daughter’s, but much better fitting and with more wear and tear, along with a few mysterious stains that could have been oil or blood.
    “Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir. Jonathan Handleston, at your service.” Instinctively he bowed. The older man bent slightly in response. “As I said, I require the assistance of your daughter to repair an item.”
    He turned towards the woman. She waited impatiently for him to begin, twirling a wrench between her fingers.

    “Miss Weatherly, I need a piece of equipment repaired as soon as possible. And before you ask, it’s not for sale.” He paused. “I would appreciate it if you would keep this information between us three. What I am about to show you is not found in the local general store nor is likely to ever be.” He looked down at his right hand. “However, I would be lying if I didn’t say that I wished I had no need of such a device.”
    After pulling off the glove, he held up the warped, twisted hand for them to see. The flesh itself still held the resemblance of a hand, the four fingers extending from the palm and the thumb jutting out from the side. But the skin was mottled and pale, the scarred and burnt ridges rolling outward from the palm as if a pebble had been dropped into the hand and the ripples frozen in time.
    The metal exoskeleton around it caught