Clockwork Firefly

Clockwork Firefly - Chapter Eleven

The train, like most of what came out of the workshop of Walter Robotics, ran on Blue Matter. This negated the need for coal or firewood to fuel the boilers. It did not, however, solve the problem of water and the next water stop was tiny town called Perkit. There were a few houses here and there among a wide space of farmland, a large water tower and a single hotel/restaurant. Otherwise, it fit quite well into the rather unkind moniker 'a jerkwater town'. The train itself would not be the only thing that needed water though. The tanks which held the water needed for drinking, cooking, washing up, and so forth would have to be filled at this stop as well. Peter had drawn the short straw and after his turn as boilerman, he was soaked to the skin and slightly sunburned, but in good spirits as he traipsed through the lounge where The Spine, Rabbit, and his father were playing cards and The Jon was leafing through the Sears & Roebuck catalog.

"Well, we're full up." Peter's voice muffled by the towel he'd pulled from a shelf beside the kitchen sink, drying his face and hair with a grin. Draping the towel over his shoulder, he ran his hands back through his hair to smooth the scrub-ruffled strands down as he looked around the room. "Where's Pete gone? Back working on his secret project again?" Said with a smirk of amusement. Pete didn't usually keep his work hidden, but since they'd left Virginia he'd been practically a hermit back there, allowing no one to disturb him when he was working, even father. Maybe he still felt a little embarrassed about what had happened. It was the closest the two had come to fighting since they were out of short pants so Peter had given his brother more privacy and leeway than usual.

"He went into town. Said he needed to have a proper bath. I advised him to get some milk and eggs as well." His father spoke somewhat distractedly as he studied his cards.

"Well,I think I've had my bath already." Peter chuckled plucking at his wet shirt. "I'm going to go back and change into some dry things. Soon as he returns, we can head out." Giving a whole-body shudder. The lack of sun was making him cold now as well as wet as he headed out through the door to the sleeping berth.

The quiet sound of the catalog's pages being turned slowed, then stopped. "I'm worried about Pete." The Jon spoke up from the floor where he was lying on his stomach, braced up by his folded arms, breaking the silence that followed in Peter's wake. He gave a wide-eyed look toward his creator as he swung round to sit up, his arms wrapping around his knees. "I mean, he's been so grumpy lately." And he hasn't built anything since we left the mansion."

"He's been designing, Jon." Peter the first corrected, but there was a note of hesitation. To go even a day without making something was unusual, and he could easily say that since they'd arrived on the East Coast, he'd not seen that Pete had made anything at all. Admittedly, he had also been growing increasingly snippy and ill-tempered this trip. "And if he is, now and then, a little grumpy, we have to give him time. Humans don't react to war like you boys do. You remember when we visited the soldiers in the hospital? Shell shock is very common. Sometimes it comes up on a man just when you think everything is completely fine."

Even as he said it, he found himself wondering if it might not be more than that. It was a niggle in the back of his thoughts that he'd been unwilling to listen to until Jon's comments made it clear it was not just imagination. He decided that, just as soon as they were back underway, he'd make it a point to have a nice long chat with Pete and determine what was wrong. It was soothing, a bit, to let his mind turn on the planning of it. Of how it would draw out whatever issue was at the core of this change in attitude, and then he could fix it as easily as he'd repair a bent cog or over-tightened spring. Pete would be back to tip-top order in no time. A small knowing smile touched his lips beneath his mustache as he shifted an ace from one side of his hand to the other. Suddenly, a masculine shout of pain sounded, distant but obviously too close to be anywhere but the train.