Imperial Clock (The Steam Clock Legacy) by Robert Appleton Page A

already discussed sending a letter to her father about her unsavoury remarks—what would happen if the nation’s bottled-up rancour found a militant outlet? Perhaps sponsored by the Coalition forces from abroad? Politically speaking, by joining the Leviacrum, he might be walking into a gunpowder magazine with a lit cigarette.
    The first spits of sleet gave way to heavy snowflakes. In minutes, the entire hillside was a whiteout, soft and eerie.
    “ Stay close, girls,” Mrs. Prescott bellowed back over the vague path. She slung the rucksack from her shoulder, retrieved a length of climbing rope and passed it back through the party. “I want you all to hold on to this line and follow the girl in front of you. Walk single file, help your partner, and no one is to let go under any circumstances. Is that understood?”
    “ Yes, Mrs. Prescott.”
    “ We should reach the coaches shortly. Mr. Auric has it in hand. Then we will all be able to get warm with a cup of hot soup before the drive back to Keswick. Now I want no idlers and no complaints. Are we clear?”
    “ Yes, Mrs. Prescott.”
    For a hefty woman in her late fifties, she was remarkably nimbl e and had more energy than many people half her age. But her face was not a healthy colour—deep red, almost purple as she wheezed by, handing Derek the end of the rope.
    “ Are you all right, ma’am?”
    Several gasps later, she gave a rapid nod, faced scrunched, mouth agape. “Yes, I’m— whuwh— I shall be glad to have a sit down.”
    “ Why don’t you take a few minutes?” Derek placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder as she bent, hands on thighs, to recover her breath. “There’s no wind yet, it isn’t all that cold. And here, let me take that.” He tugged at her rucksack strap until she shrugged it off for him.
    “ What’s the matter, Miss? Have you got a stitch?”
    “ Quiet, McEwan. Get back in line!” Wilhelmina Challender yelled.
    Derek glanced over his shoulder at Sonja M cEwan. She was muffled like an Inuit, fleeced trousers tucked into her Wellingtons, the hood of her kagool pulled back out of her eyes, revealing a smooth,  attractive, young-looking face steamed pink by her exertions. Of the dozen or so who could see Mrs. Prescott’s discomfort, she was the only one who had stepped out of line to enquire after her.
    “ We should get her to the coaches as soon as possible.” Eustace ducked beside his poorly superior, draping her arm over his shoulders, ready to lift her. “Auric, help me out, man.”
    “ We should leave her to rest a minute.” Derek then addressed Mrs. Prescott, “Your colour is not good. I’d rather you stay here awhile and recuperate than risk over-exerting yourself further. If it’s your heart, walking on so soon could trigger an attack.”
    The poor woman could hardly draw breath, let alone answer. Derek caught her as she teetered to one side. “Look here, Challender, she’s about to faint. Let go of her, and you see the girls safely back to camp.” He nodded Eustace ahead, in the direction they’d been going. “I’ll stay with her while she recovers. You have your compass?”
    “ Yes, but—”
    “ Keep to a north-northeast heading. It shouldn’t be more than half a mile from here.”
    “ W-what about you?” Eustace held off his wife tugging at his arm.
    “ We’ll be fine as long as the wind doesn’t get up.” I hope.
    Eustace thought for a moment, then raised his chin. “Right, ladies, it’s quick-to and follow your leader, no dawdling. Mrs. Prescott has had a nasty turn, and Mr. Auric is going to look after her until she’s ready to walk again. We need to get you lot back safely before the weather worsens.”
    “ You should carry her.” Again, the McEwan girl had spoken her mind out of turn.
    “ Let’s leave the big decisions to the grown-ups if you don’t mind, thank you very much. Now, watch your footing—it’s awful slippery downhill on this virgin white.” Eustace whispered something to