Nadya Skylung and the Masked Kidnapper Page 15

  Gossner’s got an even better setup for making plans than we do on the Orion. Her table’s about twenty feet long and ten feet wide, made of huge wooden boards set up on enormous iron legs and all sanded and lacquered and nicked and old as you can imagine. It sits beneath a three-story window that looks out toward the skyscrapers on Doubleflow Island. Behind them, on the other side of the river, Bleak Forest sprawls in smoky shadows.

  “They’ll know you’re here,” Gossner says, leaning back in a big wooden chair on wheels that can swivel and rock. “They’ve been watching the place ever since you left.”

  “We know,” I say. “We figured coming back here was a good way to get their attention.”

  Gossner picks up a pencil, then starts rolling it around between her knuckles absentmindedly. “So there’s a whole bunch of them out there, probably getting ready to storm the place. How do you want to do this?”

  I start sweating, thinking about what’s coming, and glance at Alé. She lays out the plan. “We want to modify Rash’s bicycle so Nadya can use it with just her hands, since her hurt leg’s still healing. They won’t expect her to be that mobile, so they’ll have to scramble to get after her. We’ve mapped out a route for her that leads to a police station, where we think the Shadowmen won’t follow. They’re always careful about getting caught.” Alé pulls out Nic’s map, which we brought from the Orion, and traces my route. It runs along a couple major streets, then through some alleys, and it zigs and zags a lot. The Shadowmen will have oilcars, but I’ll be more agile on my bike. That should let me keep them confused and lose them in the alleys.

  Gossner looks over the route, then shakes her head. “Your map’s old,” she says. “This street’s not there anymore, there’s a building here, and the road’s all torn up here.” She grabs a red pencil from the table and starts making changes to my route. “This should work though. How are you going to catch one of these guys?”

  Thom answers smoothly. “We’re going to have ambushes set up along the way. Three teams, each of which will have a chance to nab one of Nadya’s pursuers and get away with him. We’re getting some help from Captain Varma and his crew, and we’re hoping these Dawnrunners will be in on it as well.”

  Gossner frowns. “These guys are dangerous. No offense, but I’m not sure you and your kids will be able to handle them.”

  Nic, who’s seated across from Gossner, leans forward. “Our crew has tangled with these men and others like them and come out on top.” He taps his walking stick on the floor for emphasis. “Don’t underestimate them.”

  Gossner blinks under her big eyebrows like she’s calculating something, then shrugs. “Well, suit yourselves. It’s a decent plan. But Goshend help you if it doesn’t work.” She looks out at the workshop. “And don’t think you’re using any of my kids. They live here, and if they get on the wrong side of these Shadowmen, they may never walk the streets safely again.”

  Alé starts to protest, but Gossner levels a glare at her that could melt a glacier, and she closes her mouth. “That goes for you two too. You’re free to do what you want, but you’re not free to recruit anybody for this scheme within these walls, got it?”

  Alé huffs, crosses her arms, and looks away, but after a second she nods.

  “Rashid?” Gossner asks.

  Rash looks like he wants to argue too, but he says, “Fine.”

  “Good, then,” Gossner says. “That’s settled. You’re welcome to use the workshop to get that bicycle modified. In the meantime, Nadya, your leg’s ready for its first fitting.” She smiles. “Would you like to come try it on?”

  * * *

  • • •

  While Rash, Alé, and the others head off to work on Rash’s bicycle, I crutch over with Tam and Gossner to her personal section of the workshop. “That was fast,” I say breathlessly. “I thought it was gonna take like a month!”

  Gossner shrugs. “I work faster than most, and I couldn’t sleep last night, with the storm and Alé missing. So I stayed up to work on it and keep from worrying.” She glances at Tam, as if to suggest how hard it must’ve been on her when he disappeared, and he hunches his shoulders like he’s trying to disappear inside his overalls.

  “So, like, it’s ready for me to use?” I ask.

  “Probably not. But it’s ready for you to try on. Then I’ll make some final adjustments.” We get to a set of big iron doors in a metal cage the size of the Orion’s cargo bay. It’s an interesting setup—Gossner can see out to check what’s going on elsewhere in the workshop, and the kids can see in to check whether she’s there and what she’s doing, but nobody can bother her or mess with her stuff. She unlocks the door with a combination of numbers and a key, then swings it open.

  On top of a metal workbench toward the back of the space, surrounded by drill presses and stamping machines and augers and lathes and scrap metal and a forge and empty metal vats with a million rainbow stains on them, is the leg Tam built for me. Next to it there’s a footlong sleeve made of that rubbery stuff Alé showed me two days ago.

  The leg’s a little different now. Some of the black iron pieces Tam banged together on the Orion have been replaced by shining steel ones that look like Gossner made them here with her way-more-advanced tools. The cylinder is smaller. The mechanisms in the foot and ankle have been simplified, so it’s really just a few sets of springs and a couple levers, like the ones in Alé’s foot.

  “Tam has great ideas,” Gossner explains as we walk over to it, “but he has a tendency to overcomplicate his designs.” She smirks at him. “What did I always tell you?”

  Tam sighs. “‘Simple works. Simple is easy to make. Simple doesn’t break. It’s not done till you can’t make it simpler.’”

  Gossner laughs and pats him on the back. “Exactly. So I simplified the leg a little bit to make it more reliable. Still, yours was amazing for a first go.”

  Tam brightens. “Really?” he asks, and then he gets up close to the leg. “I thought so too, but I get what you did here. I was using a lot of extra pieces.”

  Gossner turns to me, still smiling. “So, are you ready to try it on?”

  “Sure,” I say. “I’d love to.”

  “Hop on up, then!” Gossner pats the workbench next to the leg, and I set my crutches against the bench and jump up, then turn around so my injured leg hangs down.

  “Great,” Gossner says. “We’ll start with the sleeve.” She hands it to me. “Just to get used to the feeling. See how it’s different on the inside and outside?”

  I nod. On the inside, it’s tacky and sort of sticky, like it’ll keep a good grip on my skin. On the outside, it’s covered in smooth felt.

  I hand it back to her, and she starts to put it on me. “The easiest thing to do,” she says, “is to start with it inside out and then roll it up your leg.” She demonstrates, putting the sleeve against the Lady and then rolling it upward. It gets about halfway up my thigh before it stops, and she grabs a pen from the workbench and makes a couple marks on it. “I always fab them too big,” she explains, “and cut them down afterward for a better fit.” She finishes making marks and steps back to look at me. “There. How’s it feel?”

  I lift my leg up and down, rotate it, flex and extend my knee. It’s like wearing a thick sock that fits really well. “Pretty good,” I say.

  “Too warm?” Gossner asks. “Too tight? Too loose?”

  I shake my head. “No, I think it’s about right.”

  Gossner grins. “Great.”

  Tam beams. He looks excited, like the promise he made me on the Orion last month—that he’d make sure losing my leg never kept me from doing the things I love—is about to come true. I don’t think we’re quite there yet, but I’m glad he’s happy. Without his help, and without him coming to Gossner’s to face his past, I’d never have made it this far.

  “Let’s try the prosthesis next,” Gossner says. Sh
e fits it against my leg, moving slowly and carefully, not pushing too hard. “How’s that feel?”

  “A little sore,” I admit. The Lady’s still kinda swollen, and when the top of the cylinder presses against my knee, it smarts.

  Gossner makes a note on a piece of scratch paper. “I’ll enlarge the cylinder a little, then. Your leg will change size sometimes, depending on how long you’ve been standing, how hot the day is, and other factors I don’t fully understand yet. The best way I’ve found to deal with it is to make the cylinder a little too big, then have you fill the gap by putting on extra socks as necessary.” She finishes scribbling and looks back at me. “Is it so tight that I shouldn’t continue?”

  I shake my head. “No way. I want to see how this thing works.”

  Gossner laughs and presses a button on the cylinder. “See this?” she asks, and I nod. “This opens a one-way valve that lets air out. Now, as you put your leg into the cylinder, I want you to listen.”

  I nod and press my leg into the cylinder so that it moves up over my residual limb—it feels more natural to think of it that way here, with Gossner being all technical about things—toward my knee. There’s a little hiss, like air leaking out of a balloon, and then a big, wet farting sound. Even though my stomach’s fluttering, I laugh a little. So does Tam.

  “Great. That’s far enough,” Gossner says with a smile. She scribbles down a few more notes. “That sound was air escaping from the cylinder as your leg pushed into it. Now I just let the valve close”—she lets go of the button—“and we should be in business. How’s the leg feel?”

  I practice lifting and lowering it. It’s weird to feel weight below my knee again instead of just an occasional twinge of pain or pressure from my missing foot. But it’s also exciting. I remember this. It’s only been a month since I had my leg, and I was already starting to forget what it was like. But this is pretty close, except it’s a little heavier and it’s not nearly as flexible. “Great,” I whisper. “It feels great.”

  Gossner claps and smiles. “Wonderful! Now, I want to demonstrate the purpose of that little valve, if it’s okay with you.” I nod, and she holds the foot of the prosthesis. “Try to pull your leg out of it.”

  I do, gently at first, expecting it to come off pretty easily. It doesn’t budge.

  “Try as hard as you can, Nadya,” Gossner says.

  I reach down and press on the top of the cylinder, trying to pry it off my leg. It won’t go. Every time I think it starts to move, I feel suction on my residual limb and it keeps the leg attached.

  Tam looks almost giddy. “It’s a vacuum!” he says. “Gossner, that’s genius!”

  “I know,” she says lightly. She lets go of the leg. “Because your leg forced all that air out of the valve, there’s less air in the bottom of the cylinder. When you try to remove your leg, something has to fill that space. Since there’s no air around to flow back in, the cylinder pulls itself back onto your leg again. Now, press the button and try taking it off.”

  I reach down and press the button, and the prosthesis comes off as easy as anything. Air hisses back into the cylinder through the valve as I pull it out. “Wicked,” I say, breathing quick and brushing hair out of my eyes. “Can I try walking on it?”

  “That was going to be my next suggestion,” Gossner says. We put the leg back on, and she helps me stand. “Okay,” she says. “Now put your weight on it, gently. Go as slow as you want. We’ll start with standing before we walk.”

  I lower the prosthesis and put weight on it. It pinches a little, and I wince.

  “Still too tight?” Gossner asks.

  I nod, and she asks me where and makes a few more notes. “Okay,” she says. “Now just practice balancing. Tam, would you hold her hands so I can look at her from a distance?”

  Tam nods and takes her place in front of me. His fingertips feel warm and a little sweaty. He looks me in the eyes and grins, and I can’t help grinning back. We’re doing it.

  “Looks good from here,” Gossner says across the workshop. “How’s it feel?”

  I try shifting my weight a little bit and nearly fall, but Tam catches me. “Whoa,” I say. Before I put weight on the leg, it really did feel a lot like my old, biological one. But this isn’t the same at all. “It’s, ah, different. I can’t really feel it the same way.”

  Gossner nods. “That’s normal. Try just rocking back and forth, heel to toe.”

  I do. That feels much more natural. It’s not quite like having my old foot back, but it’s sort of like being on stilts.

  “Good,” Gossner says, “very good!” She walks over and stands alongside me. “Tam, stand on her other side, please, and offer your arm like this.” She holds out her arm so I can lean on it if I need to. Tam mimics her. “Now,” Gossner says, “are you ready for your first step?”

  I nod, my heart pounding. “Let’s do it.”

  “Good. Take it slow. Just try walking normally. Put your weight on your heel and let it roll toward your toe.”

  I take a deep breath, balancing on Tam’s and Gossner’s arms, and swing the leg. It’s awkward. My hip strains to move all that weight. I guess it’s not used to it anymore. But the exercises and stretches Nic has me doing must be working pretty well, because I can do it. The leg swings. When I move my weight onto the prosthesis, the heel lands first and rocks me forward onto the toes, like it’s getting me ready to take another step. I wobble a little, but Tam and Gossner catch me. I can imagine walking in this thing. I can imagine climbing in it. It’ll take a while to master, but I think it’s going to work, I really do.

  “Great,” Gossner says, “you’re doing great. Let’s keep going for a while, and then we can go see how the others are coming along with that bike.”

  * * *

  • • •

  We only get a few dozen steps in before my leg tires out and the Mighty Lady swells up, and Gossner tells me it’s time to get out of the prosthesis. She and Tam help me take it off, and she suggests I do some of Nic’s stretches before I go. I do, and Tam watches, grinning the whole time. I grin back. I can’t help it.

  Gossner points us toward Alé, Rash, and the others, who are in a room similar to this one half a floor up and about a hundred yards away. “You go ahead,” she says. “I have some ideas I want to jot down. Most people I work with just need these legs for walking and standing. But you I think could use something special.”

  She waves us off and closes the door of her workshop behind us.

  “Wow,” I say as I head over. Tam walks next to me, hands in his pockets, looking thoughtful. “That was great. Thanks, Tam.”

  He shrugs. “Ah, Gossner did most of the work.”

  “Yeah, but you brought me to Gossner, and you’re gonna be with me to help with this thing once we leave.”

  Tam shrugs again, but a smile sneaks over his face like a nervous kitten. I look up ahead, and Pep’s underneath the bicycle, covered in grease and gesturing with a wrench while she works.

  “Hey,” I say, slowing down, “do you think I put Pep’s ideas down sometimes?”

  He scratches his head. “Um,” he mumbles. “Well, sometimes, yeah.”

  I feel like he just whipped my leg out from under me.

  “Not a lot,” he hurries to say. “Just . . . you could follow her lead every once in a while, y’know? Like, sometimes you insist on your way, but hers is just as good. Maybe pick your battles, I guess is what I’m saying.”

  I let out a big, lip-flapping sigh. Trust Tam to be totally honest, even when I wish he wouldn’t be. “Thanks,” I say, looking up at Pep again. She and Alé are laughing. I bet Alé listens to her ideas better than me. “I’ll try.”

  CHAPTER 15

  IN WHICH A PLAN GOES VERY WRONG.

  Late that afternoon, I’m wheeling Rash’s now-hand-cranked recumbent bicycle out of the ground floor of Gossner’s building, m
y heart fluttering, my hands sweating, and my tuna sandwich and spinach salad on the verge of climbing up and breaking for daylight.

  What’s a hand-cranked recumbent bicycle? I’m glad you asked, because I had no idea until Rash showed it to me.

  Recumbent is a fancy word that means “lying down,” which is how you position yourself when you use the bike. Most bikes have the seat up high and the pedals down low. This bike’s the opposite. The seat’s down between the wheels, and the pedals are up high where the handlebars would be, so I can use my hands to move them and steer at the same time. There’s two wheels behind me and one in front, which makes the whole rig a lot more stable. Once you get it going, it can really fly. It’s got a bunch of gears, and when we tested it and I hit the high ones, I was going so fast I could barely stop myself with the hand brake before I hit the end of the little track Gossner has along one side of her workshop.

  I think it’ll work to outrun the Shadowmen. I know they won’t be able to keep up on foot, and it’s a lot more maneuverable than a car. I just hope they don’t have any gadgets we haven’t thought of yet, and I’m still terrified of something going wrong. I really, really don’t want to end up kidnapped by Silvermask. I don’t know what he’s got in mind for me, but I’m pretty sure it involves giving me to the Malumbra.

  “All good so far?” Tian Li asks. She’s the only one coming out with me for the first part of the run, where we expect to pick up the Shadowmen. Everybody else is plotting an ambush with a team of Dawnrunners somewhere along the route, except Rash. He’s back up in the tower with Gossner and Raj, to help me if things get sticky.