Free Scarlet Devices by Delphine Dryden Page A

as all the cars in front of her began to move. When she finally edged into motion, smooth as glass, she let herself exhale in relief. Her grip on the steering wheel loosened, her shoulders relaxed. The mechanics of driving were second nature to her, and she lost herself almost immediately in the delight of handling the finely made steam car and the joy of the beautifully clear road beneath her wheels.
    Manhattan proper had come to a halt for the rally’s start, and traffic was cleared from Tryon Square all the way across the Murray Bridge. Cheering crowds lined the streets, and policemen on horses and swift velocimobiles accompanied the racers to ensure security. Once over the bridge’s impressive span, the crowd thinned and the racers sped forward, soon leaving the city and the police escort far behind.
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    P ERFECT DAY FOR
it
.
    That was Eliza’s main thought entering the fourth hour of her drive. She couldn’t have asked for better driving conditions. The sky was a clear, perfect, spring blue, with a few fluffy white clouds to the west for added interest. A recent spate of rainstorms had brightened the fresh green of the hedgerows and fields she drove past, but the road itself was dry and smooth. She knew not to take that for granted. The rally committee had paid for road repairs to the suggested route thoroughfares prior to the race, but only as far as St. Louis at the western edge of the Northern Dominion.
    Once they crossed into the Victoria Dominion, things would likely turn rockier, literally. The end of broad, well-maintained roads, the end of the steamrails. The beginning of catch-as-catch-can byways, wagon tracks and the jealously guarded domains of the petty lords who essentially ruled the continent’s interior. Eliza had heard that large swathes of Victoria and Louisiana might as well be medieval England, in terms of economics and the local methods of governance. She thought it sounded more like ancient Greece, and in her heart of hearts she’d feared Matthew Pence’s dire predictions for her safety would come true.
    But for now, sailing down the smooth stretch of road leading into Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, Eliza felt only optimism. The weather, the road, the fact that her car hadn’t been sullied by steer manure—good omens, all. There were a few race fans along the streets of the charming city, but nothing like she’d seen leaving New York. If anything, the lack of excitement was anticlimactic, though Eliza was embarrassed to think such a thing when she was only a few hours into what was meant to be a great adventure. The city itself looked the opposite of adventure, its tidy streets and domed capitol building the very picture of order and respectability. It seemed unpopulated, as well. The racers were shunted through the center of town but their route had been cordoned off, and the mounted police escort made sure no spectators drew close enough to hinder their progress.
    The crowds began again at the bridge over the Susquehanna, and Eliza heard the cheers as she geared down to join a short line of competitors creeping over the wide river while attempting to avoid hitting any careless pedestrians. The Watchmaker’s absurd spider-steamer was easy to spot, high above all the banners and placards. Eliza craned her neck and caught a glimpse of vivid green—Cantlebury’s car was anything but subtle—and Barnabas Smith-Grenville’s absurdly bullet-shaped royal blue vehicle. A black car she couldn’t place was directly in front of her. Behind her, the crowd had closed in, suggesting no other cars were close at her heels.
    No sign of gunmetal gray. Had Pence surged ahead or fallen behind along the way to this first stop, at the old Harrisburg Academy grounds? Not that it should matter, as Eliza was competing against the entire field of opponents, not Matthew alone. It was only a midday pause in the race, more a press