Mainspring by Jay Lake

you. I’ll ride Daisy back and lead Dapple, probably make it in one long day. Besides, most people think I’m a boy, and don’t look twice at me. So why do you care?”
    â€œThere’s an order to the world,” muttered Hethor darkly, his face and groin hot all over again. She was making him sweat now. That made him angry.
    â€œYes, and that order is that I’m driving this hearse and you’re not, which means you can get out and walk if I tell you to.”
    â€œWhat about your parents?”
    â€œMum and Da’ build the hearses, along with three hired men. They can’t take the time to make a delivery, and they don’t have to pay me to do it because I’m family.”

    Somehow Hethor doubted it was that simple, but he tried to let loose of his objections. “World’s a strange place,” he managed, “and rarely fair.”
    â€œAll the more so if you’re a woman, which is why I’m just as happy to pass as a boy. I’ll thank you not to say more.”
    As the afternoon wound on, their chatter continued, while avoiding the girl question. Hethor noticed Darby took corners a little faster, bumped into him a little more. That night she invited him into the hearse with her, to spoon a bit.
    â€œYou’re a nice enough boy.” Her smile glinted in the moonlight, lips parting wide in a way that made his breath catch. “Come on, we can keep warm.”
    â€œI …” This woman kept driving him to silence. Hethor’s penis felt huge, distorted, like it would drag him to the ground. He was sure she could see it straining at his pants. Why wasn’t she laughing at him? “I, no!” he said, sweat pouring down his face. “I’m already too warm!” His voice was loud and clumsy.
    Then Darby did laugh, but softly. It seemed she meant to be kind. “Suit yourself.” She crawled inside the hearse and tugged the door shut behind her.
    Hethor sank down under a willow tree nearby, loosening the buttons on his fly, though he was careful not to touch himself. That way lay sin and madness, everyone knew.
    So why was he so desperate to get closer to her?
    When sleep came, it was hot and troubled. When Hethor woke later, he had to find a stream bank far from the hearse to wash his shame out of his linens. They talked very little the next morning.
    TWO MORE days of travel, including another hand-off in Foxboro to a taciturn Italian man bringing early greens into Boston, got Hethor to the Boston Common. There were no more mentions of albino toucans, but Hethor still
saw the influence of the white bird. “Court Street,” was the only thing the last drover said to him, waving generally to the east.
    He was amazed to have arrived in good order.
    On the Common, Hethor found himself surrounded by horse chestnuts and elms and half a dozen more sorts of trees he didn’t recognize. Men and women wandered together. Families were out taking the air with hampers of food, children screeching by the ponds. He’d never been away from the Connecticut coast before, and the journey here hadn’t felt quite real. Standing on the grass of the Common, staring at the brick walkways and the spring-green trees, made him terribly homesick.
    â€œViceroy,” said Hethor to himself and the chattering squirrels. “I must find the viceroy.” He walked to the east end of the Common, then followed Tremont Street until it met Court Street. Boston was not so different from New Haven. Bigger perhaps, but with the same gas lamps and electrick cabriolets and shouting teamsters forcing their wagons through traffic. There would be more airships looming over the nearby harbor than those that called at New Haven, of that he had no doubt. Government was here, which meant the Royal Navy.
    Court Street ran east from the Common, so he followed that until he came to a brick building that had to be what he was seeking. The building’s