The Rail Specter

by Vennessa Robertson

  “Well, I am looking forward to this meeting,” I said trying to banish the dark cloud that had suddenly settled over our visit. “Surely when we explain our position, he will be able to make a full accounting of our investment.”

  “Don’t bet on it,” Nate said scowling. “Viv, I’ve lived on both sides and I don’t believe there are many men who will easily part with money, even when it is rightfully ours.” He charged across the street, and I had to move quickly to catch up. “He may be a business man who makes his money by leveraging deals and using the capital of others to fund projects. We just have to know why they report paying investors every quarter since gaining their charter, but not us.”

  “You don’t expect him to cheat us, do you?”

  Nate took my hand and we crossed another street. “This is the reason gentlemen have agreements and businesses require contracts.”

  “We at least need to be ready to hear him out,” I said.

  “I know you want to trust him, but trusting people in power to do the right thing is foolishness. We trusted Langston to send us to China for artifacts not into a literal dragon’s mouth. We believed Sterling would help London, instead he hired a madman. The only man who hasn’t lied to me is Old Captain Morgan. Men who don’t sweat for a living are, as a rule, either dishonest or idiots.” He was right of course. Aside from the rare exception, it was hard to find a man of worth in high society.

  There was no reason for him to be so difficult. He was now a man of means that did not have to sweat for a living. He did, of course, but that was more for the preferred life of an adventurer. He had become a man in power and the fact that he didn’t see it was maddening. If we did not use out new position to help others, we were no better than Sir Langston or Lord Sterling. He was so frustrating at times.

  I don’t know if it was the stress of the journey or the bright sun, but I suddenly had a horrible headache. My blood hammered in my ears. I could not breathe. My dress was too tight. The world was blurry. My jaw ached and my chest hurt, and I felt irrationally angry. My hair fell over my eyes and, through the curtain of it, I saw Nate blinking at me. I felt I wanted to snap at him—more than that, I wanted to bite him.

  A change passed over him, and he stared at me, his eyes wide. He stopped what he was saying, his mouth hanging open. He grabbed my arm and the thrumming in my chest grew louder—no, not in my chest, my stomach, maybe my waist. It was a deadly heartbeat that made me feel both hot and cold. The desire to snap at him like a wounded hound was so strong I ground my teeth.

  The desperate thrumming of my blood rushing through me was gone. Nate wasn’t trying to fight with me. And though he made me terribly frustrated at times, I loved him. I wondered how could I have been so angry before. It wasn’t me. I would never want to do him harm. My hand was deep in my pocket, the ruby clutched so tightly in my hand it felt hot.

  I still had it. No one could raise the dragon and turn it loose against the world. Nate was safe. I forced myself to let go. My fingers ached.

  “Men shouldn’t decide the fate of others. It’s not natural.” He scrubbed his hands through his hair, in his habitual tense, angry motion.

  He took my hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow. Maintaining a struggling estate, the loss of my papa; all these things created a distance between us that filled up with an absence I could not name but in that moment, the image of biting, gnashing fangs filled it and consumed me. I pushed a deep breath out though shaky lips. My breath was hot like fire.

  I leaned against my husband’s shoulder grateful for his strong frame.

  Poor Nate, he wasn’t thinking of Mr. Cassatt, or Mr. Langston, or even my papa. He was thinking of himself and all the lives he was suddenly in charge of. Poor decisions could cost them their lives. It wouldn’t matter how hard our tenants worked. It would not have mattered how hard he worked. He’d been one of the poor, one of the men living moment to moment, meal-to-meal, trying to figure out how to survive, before he turned to a life of adventure in the sky.

  A tall building loomed before us, at least five floors of cut-glass windows, brick and steel, and inside was the man we had come all this way to see. A gentle touch was apology enough for both of us. He smiled at me and I at him.

  Mr. Cassatt’s office was a stunning suite with wood paneling and a thick, green carpet. In the anteroom, a gentleman roughly Nate’s age stared at a thick ledger through a pair of glasses, an inkpot dangerously close to the edge of the desk as he muttered to himself and motioned in the air with his pen. His shirt must have been purchased off the rack with sleeves that came in the standard length. He wore brown garters to keep his sleeves up and out of his way. This had to be Mr. Cassatt’s clerk, and not a well-paid one at that.

  The man was so engrossed in his ledger that he paid us no mind. He stared at the ledger, and the remains of a ham sandwich, in a wax paper wrapper, sat on the corner of the desk. A cup of coffee appeared to have been sitting by the remains of his lunch for quite a while—it had developed a little spidery star of separated cream on the top.

  I cleared my throat.

  The clerk raised his head and set the pen between his teeth, but his eyes remained glued to the page. “Oh, um, Mr. Cassatt isn’t seeing anyone today.”

  Then he glanced up at us, mouth agape as if we had just interrupted a very complicated train of thought.

  Nate pulled a calling card from his waistcoat and handed it over. “Mrs. and Mr. Nathaniel Valentine, Esquire from London.” Nate gave him a fierce look, the one that accompanied the Nate-the-Lord voice. “He will see us.”

  The clerk took the card. After reading the name, he saw us in a new light. “Of course, sir, madame. I am Mr. Cassatt’s clerk, Mr. Burris. I will let him know you are here.” He disappeared through the wooden doors to the office beyond.

  A moment later, Mr. Burris returned and ushered us through tall heavy doors. “Mr. Valentine, Mrs. Valentine, Mr. Cassatt would be more than happy to speak with you. May I offer you both some tea?”

  A balding man sat scowling at a ledger on his desk. His desk had, in addition to a few fine pens, a heavy metal nail, tapered on one end and flat on the other, longer than my hand and as thick as three fingers, and a locomotive made of metal and painted in red and green.

  “Mr. Valentine. I am surprised to see you here.”

  My husband wasted no time. “Mr. Cassatt, this is a very serious matter. We have trusted you to act in good faith with our money and we have not seen a return on our invested funds in nearly a year,” Nate said. “We have several families whose health and wellbeing are our responsibility, as well as our personal fortunes. I am surprised that you do not entertain more disgruntled investors.”

  Mr. Cassatt leaned forward on his desk. “Mr. Valentine, I do understand your concerns. But there are always delays in the expansion of new business. Your patience is appreciated while we deal with these matters. I assure you there was no need to come all the way from London.

  Nate was unmoved. “Little good that does to those who invest great sums of money in your project on the empty promise of profitable returns. We were assured this was a lucrative investment. If this is the transportation of the masses and in such high demand why are we not making any money?” Nate asked, cocking an eye at Mr. Cassatt

  “There have been…setbacks.” Mr. Cassatt twisted his glass in his hand, staring at the whiskey. “We have hundreds of miles of track laid all along the eastern United States where most of the people of wealth and means reside. We are also working on a project to revolutionize the system of propulsion for the trains from a dirty coal-burning, steam-powered locomotive to a model that runs almost entirely on electricity, saving us thousands on coal annually—a savings that shall put money directly into your pocket, I might add.”

  “That is all well and good, but it does not answer my question for today.” Nate had crossed one leg across his lap. “Mr. Cassatt, if you cannot answer my concerns in a satisfactory manner, my wife and I will be forced to mov
e our money elsewhere. Perhaps we will be forced to move our money to the Union Pacific Railroad or the Central Pacific Railroad. If they currently possess the most complete railroad line, they may be the more lucrative investment for the Valentines.”

  After a long pause, Mr. Cassatt spoke. “The truth, Mr. Valentine, is that there have been complications in our westward expansion project.”

  I hated when men used that tone. “What kind of complications?” At best it was a half-truth, at worst, an all-out lie.

  Mr. Cassatt spared me a glance. “We have had issues with the steel.”

  “What kind of issues?” Nate said.

  “The quality has not met our standards for the safety and well-being of our line and travelers.” Mr. Cassatt turned the gold ring on his little finger with his thumb. Swords, Mr. Cassatt was surrounded by Swords. They were the Tarot suit of intellect but many of them were inverse. He had lost control of the situation and he was using his intellect to be less than truthful with us. And he was even less inclined to be truthful around me. He was one on those men who seemed to believe women had no place anywhere but keeping the home and looking pretty. I realized I had to leave.

  “Would you gentlemen excuse me?”

  Mr. Cassatt said, “Of course.” They both stood. Their conversation resumed as soon as the door was shut. I could not help but smile. Mr. Cassatt was clearly of the mind that business was not for the fairer sex.

  The clerk directed me to the water closet, a fancy toilet facility that flushed, with a carved wooden seat, shiny white tile, and fine copper pipes. I washed my hands with powdered soap, then returned to the office. Mr. Burris was nowhere to be found but he had left the ledgers open along with a huge set of books laid out along a table behind his desk. On the desk was a list of names. It appeared to be a list of employees followed by a location and stn. or cty, probably the station or city where they were employed. The Pennsylvania Railroad must be massive, indeed, to employ so many men.

  There was another drawer, open just enough so the corner of several cream-colored folders poked out. It was careless. Just like his ink bottle sitting uncorked at the edge of his table. I couldn’t help it, I corked the inkpot.

  The coffee cup was old and filthy, the books all open and in disarray. The folder, and its contents, would be damaged. Mr. Burris’ caretaking, or his lack thereof, could affect our investment. I opened the drawer the rest of the way. I would fix the folder and close the drawer. Then, when Nate and Mr. Cassatt were at a natural break, I would rejoin them so as not to interrupt their conversation.

  I pulled the folder out, holding its place with my little finger and tapped the papers back together, then made to tuck it back into the drawer when my eye caught the title on the folder.

  “Geiger, N.”

  Geiger. Certainly, it couldn’t be Newton Geiger.

  I set the folder on the desk and pulled it open. There were dozens of drawings on thin paper, schematics for train parts. Knowing Geiger, there was no way it was merely train parts. I shuffled through them for some clue as to what was really going on. If he was willing to bankrupt an English lord to experiment with leymagic and he would lie to the esteemed Explorer’s Society for access to their vaults and, I suspect, to get access to an enchanted arrow, I doubted he had found gainful employment with the Pennsylvania Railroad. He would certainly have something to do with our failing fortunes.

  Concerning Newton Geiger. Meeting this morning. I was approached with an intriguing new idea. Mr. Geiger assured me he could revolutionize the way our entire fleet of rail engines is powered in order to lower the cost of running our engines. The result, if successful, could mean huge dividends to our investors and unheard-of westward expansion.

  I heard footsteps in the hall. I hastily slammed the drawer closed and stuffed the folder under my dress, against my stomach. I prayed for all I was worth that nothing would fall out.

  The clerk returned carrying a tray of cups and a steaming pot. By the smell it was fresh coffee. “Ahh, Mrs. Valentine. Mr. Cassatt and your husband must be missing you. I made coffee.”

  If he made coffee anything like he kept books, I resolved not to have any.

  Mr. Burris juggled the tray as he turned the doorknob. “Mrs. Valentine, you look pale, are you all right?”

  “Yes, thank you,” I said, going through as he held the door open.

  Mr. Cassatt was speaking. He had his back to us and was looking out over the street. “We anticipate dividends to be forthcoming as soon as these little setbacks are resolved.”

  “A loss of thousands of pounds of steel is hardly what I would call a setback,” Nate said.

  “Our engineers are now scouting an alternate route for the westbound line that will bypass the problem. By next quarter the losses will be absorbed, I can assure you. If we cannot pay returns upon your investment, Mr. Valentine, I shall cover the loss of revenue myself so you will not lose any more money.”

  “I can assure you, Mr. Cassatt, if you did not, we would be forced to cash our remaining stock and move it to another railroad, one that is more consistent.” Even though I knew he was bluffing, I was nearly fooled.

  “Mr. Valentine,” Mr. Cassatt said tersely. “I can assure you, the Pennsylvania Railroad has never failed to pay quarterly to senior level investors.” He returned to his seat and looked at us from across the massive wooden desk.

  Nate’s mouth was a thin line of displeasure.

  They sat sizing one another up. We had chosen the Pennsylvania Railroad initially because of its excellent record of paying upon investments. Though it didn’t always pay spectacularly, it had a record of always paying consistently upon their investments since being granted their charter in 1846. Mr. Cassatt was right, technically. If they always paid some investors, then they could claim they had always paid investors. The politics of how the upper class operated was thoroughly obnoxious.

  Chapter Six

  WE HURRIED TO a bit of privacy, which ended up being the corner of the common room of the hotel that was temporarily in custody of our belongings. I pulled the folder from my dress. If Nate was stunned at my larceny, it was nothing at what the file contained. Mr. Cassatt had aligned himself with Mr. Geiger and was holding our investment without paying out our fair share. Whether his intentions were good or not, we were going to find out how the two were connected.

  Clearly Geiger was in the employ of the railroad and promising them wondrous machines. The railroad was losing both money and good steel. Mr. Sterling had lost his fortune as soon as he got involved with Mr. Geiger. He had trusted the inventor to create machines able to create goods inexpensively to sell to the masses but, instead, Geiger created his own machines designed to harness magic. Anywhere Geiger was involved blood would follow. If disaster was at the end of the line, then that was where we had to go.

  Nate told Mr. Cassatt we intended to inspect the line for ourselves while I purchased tickets. For good or for ill, we would soon know exactly what was happening at the end of the line and what misfortune was befalling our investment. If Geiger was behind it, then God help him.

  We reclaimed our belongings. There was no need to take a room, we would be moving on to the end of the Pennsylvania Railroad’s westward line.

  Nate threw his pack over his shoulder as we readied ourselves “I cannot say Mr. Cassatt seemed particularly happy.”

  I paused, my satchel halfway over my head, “Why doesn’t he want to know what is happening at the end of the line?”

  “He does. He has rail men working there. They have been looking into it for months. He says the problem is with the steel itself. He doesn’t believe there is anything we can do there.” Nate took my satchel and tossed it over his own shoulder. “He advises against interfering.”

  I touched my belt making sure my pistol and seax were there. “Clearly, he has no idea who he is dealing with.”

  “Geiger?” Nate nodded, “The man is a lunatic.”

  “No, darling, us.” I said. “We happen to b
e champion interferers.”

  “First London, then China, now America.” Nate took up our last piece of luggage. “I am afraid of what Geiger is seeking here.”

  I touched his back. Whatever Geiger was seeking in the new world, it spelled doom and he must be stopped at all costs. Mr. Cassatt seemed consumed with the railroad so I doubted he was purposefully helping Geiger with whatever mad master plan he had devised, but we could not let it happen.

  The rail line had been extended almost to St. Louis before the quality of the steel had degraded. Interfering or not, we were headed to the end of the line. We had our destination.

  We boarded the train for St. Louis, ignoring the stares of the other passengers. Clearly, they were not accustomed to women dressed for adventure and they were not friendly to the British. We ignored them, taking our plush seats near a carbide gas light.

  I closed my eyes as the train pulled away from the station, and saw a Tarot card materialize in my mind. It was The Hermit, the one I had seen in our parlor before we left home, walking, following his lantern, led onward by the light of understanding as he tried to find his way. The Hermit has a strong need to understand not just surface knowledge but why things are. I knew deep inside something was very, very wrong with the whole situation, I knew it in all aspects of my being, but I could not determine exactly what it was. I had closed my eyes to try to make sense of it. What could Mr. Geiger want with a train? They could not leave the track. Trains were not weapons, they were new technology and would not hide some ancient weapon. I touched the ruby in my pocket and the frantic energy in my brain calmed somewhat. As long as I had it, Geiger did not. He could not get to the enchanted arrow. He could not awaken the dragon.

  The dragon. Four horns, four eyes; serpentine and vicious, Xihuan-Lung glared and snarled. Her nostrils smoked, her maw let loose a great fount of liquid fire that turned the forest to ash and melted stone and my Nate, my loving Nate, who had been caught between canithrope and man whimpered and burned. He suffered and died. His warm flesh charred and fell from him.