“Adelia, mind if I ask you a question?”
Adelia did not look up from the knife. “Yes. It’s Cal’s baby. No, I am not sorry that he’s dead.”
Archie shifted uncomfortably. “Well, that’s . . . that’s good to know, but it’s not what I was going to ask.”
That made Adelia look up. Her face was, for the first time, completely open—Archie realized she had not seen plain emotion on the woman’s face before.
“What would you like to know, Archie?”
“I don’t mean any offense, of course—you are incredibly skilled, obviously you are an asset. But . . . why are you ’ere?”
Adelia’s face split into a wide, white smile. Archie realized that one of Adelia’s canines was made of gold, and she was reminded strongly of Ruby’s deadly sharp tusks.
“Why, Archie. I’m here to kill you.”
Archie was startled into laughter. Adelia went back to sharpening Houndstooth’s knife. She tested it against her thumbnail, then returned it to the whetstone.
“What? Me?”
“Well, not you precisely. But, all of you. Everyone on the team.”
Archie went very still. “I think perhaps I misunderstand your joke, madame.”
“Oh, it’s not a joke,” Adelia said, although her smile had not faltered. “I’m here to kill you all. If anyone goes rogue, if anyone tries to steal the money, if anyone sabotages the plan. I’m supposed to keep an eye on you, per the boss.”
“You mean the Bureau of Land Management? Or ’oundstooth?”
Adelia did not reply.
“Aha,” Archie said. “So you’re keeping an eye on us for this ‘boss’ of yours. But who keeps their eye on you, Adelia Reyes?”
Archie stood after a long, silent moment, and walked into the dining room after Houndstooth and Hero. Adelia watched her go, testing the knife on her thumbnail once more. This time, she found it more than sharp enough.
Chapter 11
THEY MET THE NEXT DAY in Hero and Houndstooth’s suite to assemble the bombs that would drive the ferals to the Gate.
“So,” Hero said, staring into Archie’s saddlebag.
“The man I bought it from, Mr. Wolffenstein? ’E said you would know what it is. ’E called it ‘the Mother of Satan’?”
“Madre del Diablo?” Adelia asked. “I’ve heard of that before, I think. But I thought it was just a rumor.”
Hero took a rapid step away from the saddlebag. “No, no, it’s not a rumor at all, Adelia. Triacetone triperoxide.” They aimed a pointed look at Archie. “It’s extremely volatile.”
Archie shrugged. “Wolffenstein said it was so pure that it could be considered relatively stable.”
Hero pulled a single tiny white crystal out of the saddlebag and threw it to the ground. It exploded with a loud pop.
“ . . .’e said relatively,” Archie said with a shrug.
“Well then you can be the one to handle it,” Hero replied. “I hope you brought gloves.”
Archie pulled a pair of long leather gloves from the back pocket of her green breeches. “’Ero, darling, I always bring gloves.”
For the remainder of the afternoon, Adelia sat cross-legged on the divan, massaging wax into leather pouches, rendering them effectively waterproof. Archie filled each wallet with the tiny white crystals of madre del Diablo, then handed each one to Hero, who inserted wires and bits of metal in a configuration that seemed to make sense to them and them alone. Archie asked what Hero was doing, and the response was in no way illuminating.
“Would you like to discuss the inner workings of a blasting cap, Archie? Because we can discuss the inner workings of a blasting cap, if that’s what you’re looking for here.”
Archie had groaned and shoved Hero’s shoulder. “If you don’t want to tell me, then don’t tell me.” Hero had grinned and gone back to work, and Archie had caught Houndstooth beaming at them.
After Hero had finished doing whatever it was they were doing to make the bombs sufficiently dangerous, they wrapped each leather pouch around itself a few times. There was more room than they needed, since the crystals were so much smaller and lighter than the dynamite Hero had been expecting.
“You’ve worked out the equivalency, I suppose?” Houndstooth asked.
“More or less,” Hero replied. “We might get a little bigger bang than we expected, but I think it’ll all even out in the end. Don’t worry, Houndstooth. This hippo caper will go off without a hitch.”
Houndstooth opened his mouth to reply, and they all responded with him: “It’s not a caper; it’s an operation.”
The final step was left to Houndstooth. He had a pot of melted wax, kept liquid by water boiled in his travel kettle—Adelia had rolled her eyes at him for bringing it, but there wasn’t an inn north of Lafayette that could brew an acceptable pot of tea. He sealed each leather pouch, pouring wax over the seams.
After the first one was finished, he held it up. It was about the size of both his hands, and didn’t look remotely dangerous.
“Are you certain that this will be enough of a bang, Hero?”
Hero looked up at him with a half smile. “I think I know how to create a bang, Houndstooth.”
Houndstooth’s ears turned violet, and he didn’t speak again until they had finished making all twenty bombs.
*
That evening, Hero prepared to ride into the Harriet to set up the bombs. Houndstooth accompanied them to the dock at dusk, carrying one of the two loaded saddlebags that they’d need to take out onto the water.
“Now, remember, don’t place the charges too close—”
“Too close to the dam, I know. You’ve only told me a thousand times, Winslow.” Hero smiled. “I know the dam has a crack. I know we don’t want to be the ones to blow it. Trust me, why don’t you?”
Abigail waited for Hero dockside, impatient. She blew bubbles in the water when she saw them approaching. Houndstooth looked at her apologetically, then whistled for Ruby, who slipped up to the dock like butter sliding across the bottom of a hot pan.
“You don’t have to go alone, you know,” Houndstooth said, dropping his saddlebag.
Hero regarded him with their steady gaze. “Oh, Winslow. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were worried about me.”