by Devon Monk
He tipped his glare down at her. “You’re not really going with this bluestocking, are you?”
Calling a man a bookish old woman was fighting words from where Rose came from. She glanced quickly at Mr. Wicks, gauging if she’d have to try and stop a fistfight in the middle of a moving train.
But Mr. Wicks laughed. His arm was still extended for Rose. “Black, actually, if you so care to know. My stockings,” he said. “Now, let’s go see what we can see.”
Rose took Thomas’s arm. “Excuse me, Captain. But I will be going now.”
Hink leaned back, just the fraction of an inch, so Rose could step between them.
“Good day, Captain Hink,” Mr. Wicks said.
Hink turned to the side and they moved past him and down the length of the car, managing the swaying of the rail rather well. Once at the door at the end, Mr. Wicks turned to her. “It’s a bit blustery between cars, and the shaking—”
As if in answer, the entire car swung hard to one side and back again. Rose almost lost her balance, but grabbed a brass rail above her to keep her feet.
“I’ve flown on an airship, Mr. Wicks,” she said. “I know how to keep my boots down and my head up.”
“Excellent. Here we are.” He pulled open the door. A great rush of wind and smoke and dust curled up into the train. There was a walkway between the cars and enough railings to hold for balance. They made quick work of crossing the short space, Rose going first and Mr. Wicks making sure to shut the door firmly behind them.
The next car was much like the one they had left. A single aisle down the center, a stove in one corner, and seats crowded with people down both sides. They strode through it and three others like it. One of the cars contained the mail and telegraph station, something she would have liked to have seen, but that car only had a narrow hallway to pass through, with two locked doors on each side where the mail and telegraph men worked.
“Next stop,” Mr. Wicks said as they paused on the crossway. “First class.” He opened the door and they stepped across the threshold.
She was surrounded by luxury.
The ceiling, walls, and floor glowed with the warmth of deep, rich cherrywood, and the large, plush seats were all red velvet with gold trim. All the brass shone to a mirror finish, and chandeliers dripping in cut crystal glittered merrily across the arched ceiling, making the pastoral scenes painted there dance.
There was even a neat little piano to one side in the middle of the car that stood silent, waiting for someone to strike a tune.
While the other cars had been crowded and jolly, with plenty of people and plenty of talking and wailing babies, the Pullman was much more sedate.
Men in sharp suits and the shiniest shoes she’d ever seen sat reading papers, smoking cigars, and drinking from cut crystal glasses. Women in jewel-colored dresses that Rose only dreamed of were reading books or tending to needlework, fine china cups on the tables beside them. She noted the young men with shiny shoes at a table, smoking and playing cards.
Wide windows set close together strung down both sides of the car. For a moment, she felt a little dizzy as trees whipped by quickly to each side of them.
“This way,” Mr. Wicks said, with a gentle pressure on her elbow.
She walked down the aisle, feeling more out of place than a duckling in a desert, but then even that passed. She forgot to worry about her dusty boots and disheveled hair; instead she wondered how the bunks hinged down and stowed away, how the heat here remained so steady and pleasant—likely from hot water piped through from the engine itself—and other such minute details of the construction of the place.
Mr. Wicks led her over to the empty chairs and waved his hand toward one by the window.
Rose settled her skirts and took the lush seat while he took the chair opposite her.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“It’s…it’s wonderful, Mr. Wicks.”
“Please. Thomas. And it is rather, isn’t it? They have a library too. Just a small stash of books, but some worthy reads to pass the time.”
She looked about the car and he pointed to a shelf not far from the piano. “Are they for any passenger to use?”
“Any in first class. Or his friend, of course.”
Rose smiled and Thomas settled back, looking pleased as could be. He removed his bowler hat and placed it on his knee. His hair was wavy but combed back, so the worst of the curls seemed to fall in a semblance of order.
“Your destination is Des Moines?” Rose said. “I’ve never been.”
He shrugged. “It’s not nearly as exciting as the big cities, but it’s grown quite a bit with the rail. There’s a man I need to see about a business he’s starting. Exciting prospect that I hope to have a hand in.”
“What sort of business?”
Wicks glanced out the window and his eyes narrowed just a bit. “Shipping, I believe. Although it will require my knowledge of the telegraph system and, if I may say without it sounding too much like a boast, my skills as an operator.”
There was something about his manner that made Rose think he was being very careful with what he told her. Perhaps there was something about this business that wasn’t on the level.
“That sounds very exciting,” she said. “So many opportunities for someone with your skills.”
“This is the land of opportunity,” he said, brightening. “Not a road any of us can’t follow. I plan to follow a lot of them. And you, Miss Small, what is it you do to occupy your time?”
“Please, Rose. Just Rose.”
“Very well then. Rose.”
“I have a few handy skills. Know how to mind a store, keep a ledger. And I enjoy working with metal and steam. Thought I’d work a boiler on an airship for a while there. But now I am following new horizons.”
“I see. And what distant shore are you and your companion, Captain Hink, traveling toward?”
He leaned forward just a bit and seemed a little too keenly interested in Hink.
“Oh, I’m not traveling with him. He’s not my companion. Well, he was—we traveled together, with a few other people before landing in Kansas. But now…now he’s just…well, we just happened to be leaving on the same train, is all.”
“You’ve known him for some time then?”
“No. Not really for long at all.”
“But you must have a destination,” he pressed.
“Must I?” She glanced out the window. Snow was falling, tiny flakes like seeds of white planting the fields with winter. The train could take this kind of weather without a pause. It wasn’t like airship travel, where too much snow and ice would bring a dirigible down to the earth like a rock in a river.
“I thought I’d step off at Kansas City. Find a job, see what the town has to see, then save up for a ticket east.”
“How far east?”
“As far as I can go. Big cities. Universities, sciences, industry. I want to see this great new world we’re building. I want to see it all.”
“Alone?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I guess if I must.”
“Sometimes it is better to go it alone,” he said.
She looked over at him. He was staring out the window too, though he watched the countryside as it pulled away from them, seated as he was with his back to the engine, whereas the world all seemed to be rushing toward Rose.
“I was…grateful to run into you, truth be known,” he said without looking over at her. “I know we’ve only briefly met, but I rarely run into anyone who is so…curious.”
“Curious?” she asked.
He looked away from the window. “Oh. Not in an odd sort of way.” He folded his hands over the book in his lap and looked up at the ceiling as if reading words there. “Inquisitive. Yes, far better choice of phrase. You have a wonderfully inquisitive way about you, Rose.” He lowered his face and smiled.
The reflection of bluish light from the window frosted the lenses of his glasses, hiding his eye
s in the pale glow. “From the moment you nearly ran over me”—Rose rolled her eyes—“I thought,” he continued, “‘This person is lovely and self-assured.’ And now that I know you’ve traveled with an airship captain, I simply must know everything about you.”
“Mr. Wicks—Thomas,” she corrected when he lifted one long finger. “I am certainly flattered you think me interesting. But really, we’ve only just met. Other than a taste for books, and a remarkable ability with telegraphing, I don’t know a thing about you either.”
He sat quietly for a bit, then leaned forward to look at her from over the top of his wire glasses.
“I’m not a very interesting story, I’m afraid.”
Rose very much doubted that, but kept her smile in place.
“But there are other things we could do to pass the time,” he said. “Would you like to explore the train with me? The freight is in a locked car.” He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a key on a fob. “I managed to get my hands on a key.”
“How? You didn’t steal it, did you?”
“What?” He gave a fair go at looking surprised. “No. Someone just left it where I could find it and I thought it’d be good for a lark.” He waited to see if she would challenge that.
“I’m not sure that taking that key is legal, Mr. Wicks.”
“I don’t intend to do any harm. Just look about a bit. It’s a long way between here and Kansas City. So, would you like to see the rest of the train?”
“I don’t think it’s my business, seeing other people’s goods. I worked my parents’ store for years. I know what a crate full of straw looks like.”
“Of course,” he said, settling back. “I understand. Still…while everyone else was boarding the train, I was watching the workers load freight. There seemed to be some unusual items placed aboard.”
“How unusual?”
“Very.”
He sat there, not saying a word, and not looking away from her. Rose knew she shouldn’t. Her curiosity had gotten her into trouble all of her life. But she’d never seen a freight car full of packages, since the railroad hadn’t made it to Hallelujah yet.
And she still wondered what was in the crate that Margaret had handed those men who looked nervous they would be caught loading it.
It could be nothing. It could be dangerous. It could be the only time she had a chance to see such a thing, just like this probably had been her only chance to see the inside of a Pullman car.
“Let’s go,” she said.
“Really?” he asked, startled.
Rose stood. “I’m a woman seeking adventure, Mr. Wicks. As such, I can’t just turn timid when the first romp presents itself. Let’s see what this train can offer.”
He stood, placed the book on the seat of his chair, and settled his hat back on top of his head, giving the brim an extra tug to make sure it was secure.
They exited through the doors and cars they’d already passed through, and Rose felt the tingle of excitement in her bones. It was probably nothing; there were probably no secret items on the train. Probably nothing more in the hold than magazines, potbelly stoves, and cooking pans.
She supposed there might be something worth snooping over, even if it was all ordinary things. Books would be fun to see, perhaps a clever use of gear or spring for the house or field. There might even be parts of airships or glim-harvesting gear on board. She wouldn’t mind setting her eyes on that.
It wasn’t unreasonable to think there might even be glim on board. It would be locked in a safe so no one could see it, but since the rail ran from coast to coast, glim from the Rocky Mountains or the Cascades might easily be shipped along the main route, which cut a horizontal line through Iowa and then connected with Chicago, New York, and went all the way to California.
There certainly seemed to be people in the Pullman car who looked rich enough to have a dram of glim. Although she suspected a person would keep it near if they actually owned any of the rare substance.
They rushed through the car where she had been sitting with Mr. Hink. She glanced over at the seat he should be slouching in, and was surprised not to see him in their seat, though her luggage was still stowed under the bench.
She didn’t have much time to wonder where he’d gotten off to; Thomas was already out the door. She hurried behind and stepped into the crowded immigrant car, filled near to busting with men, women, and children, coats hung to dry on every available hook or line, the bare wood floor and benches covered by families or strangers crowded together.
The car smelled of cabbage and pork. Someone was breathing the harmonica through a sweet tune she’d never heard before and a baby was fussing. It was messy in a homey sort of way, crowded, and no one looked up as they passed.
Passing through the back door, they entered the first freight car. Rose stepped in close behind Thomas, and he reached back and shut the door behind her.
The car was dark and cold. There were no windows and the only light tongued in through the cracks in the walls.
“There should be…ah, yes, here.” Thomas took a few steps to the side and pulled a lantern off a hook on the wall. He ran his thumb over a flint and steel built into the bottom of the lantern, and the whole thing came to life with a warm yellow glow.
He held it up and Rose couldn’t help but whistle. “This is all mail?”
“Well, those bags”—he pointed to a lumpy pile of canvas—“and these boxes and crates.” He nodded at the stack of crates piled up and secured with rope and buckles all the way up to the ceiling. “And well, all the rest?” He spun a circle with the lantern held out, like an actor on a stage revealing a great wonderland. “Yes.”
“How many freight cars are on this train?” she asked.
“Not many out of Hays City. Just five. This is first-class freight. Two cars of livestock at the end, and two cars of produce and such goods in between.”
“How do you know?”
“I told you, I’ve worked for the railroad, and I’m a very observant man. So, let’s see what sort of shipments we have here.” He walked over to the huge pile of crates and rocked back a bit on his heels so he could stare all the way up, the lantern held high.
“Sewing machines, bolts of cloth, musical instruments, baby buggies…firearms. Hmm. This!” He wandered over to the far corner and Rose followed along, her eyes fully adjusted to the light now.
“Odd shape, don’t you agree?” Thomas said.
“It looks like a coffin.”
“Yes, it does, doesn’t it?”
“That’s not odd. Not really,” she said.
“I agree, but I noticed there were gold letters on the side.” He bent down. “Yes, here. VB. Initials on a coffin?”
“The maker?” Rose suggested.
“Unusual, don’t you think?”
“I suppose. You don’t think there’s, um, a person in it?”
“No, no. They ship corpses on ice. No ice car on this train, though it’s cold enough without it, isn’t it?” He turned from where he was kneeling by the coffin and smiled up at her, his words catching cold curls of smoke in the light of the lantern.
The light bounced off a smaller crate to one side and Rose noticed the green VB painted on the side. “I wonder what’s in that,” she said. “I saw a crate very like it being loaded and unloaded today.”
“Is that so? Let’s open it.”
“We shouldn’t.”
“We shouldn’t even be in this car,” Thomas said airily, “but here we are. Tell me you aren’t curious, hmm? What’s in the crate and what’s in the coffin? Both sharing the same initials.”
Rose shook her head but her curiosity was getting the best of her. “I figured you for a law-abiding man, Mr. Wicks.”
“Oh, I am,” he assured her. “But there is no law against a quick look if we put everything back the same as we found it, now is there?”
“Yes, I believe there is, actually.”
“Well, then, you can hold the lantern, and I
will do the dirty work.” He handed the light to her.
Thomas did a quick search, found a pry bar, and set the forked end of it beneath the lid of the first crate. With the skill of a career burglar, he pulled the nails free and carefully lifted the lid off the top of the crate.
“Now, let us see what sorts of things are shipped beneath the VB letters.” He pushed the lid to one side, balancing it across the top of the crate.
“Well?” Rose asked.
“I…don’t know. Lighting? Lanterns? Care you to apply your curious mind to it?”
She stepped up to the edge of the crate and glanced inside.
A chorus of not-quite voices and not-quite strings and not-quite woodwinds burst through her mind. It was as if the device—whatever it was—was eager to speak, to reveal its secrets, to tell how it was made and why it was made and what it could become.
Growing things used to fill her mind like this, used to speak to her like this: the device, the thing made of metal, sang.
Copper—so much copper—gave off the hardiest sound, twisted as it was in coils around a central glass orb the size of a large apple. Four solid plates of cold-pounded copper spread out from the center orb and coils. Holes allowed the copper coils to thread through those plates into long, thin, almost delicate strands that looked like spider legs.
The possibilities of what it could be, what it was intended for, rushed over her like a hard wind, and she gasped trying to catch her breath and wits. Her mind swam with the wonder and the complex concepts of this odd creation.
She knew this was not a creature, not a lantern. It was more. It was built to hold something. Carry something.
And it was built to power something. But the possibilities of what, specifically, it could power flashed hot behind her eyes, then, just as quickly, burned to ashes.
“It’s…amazing,” she exhaled.
“Don’t move!” a voice called out.
Rose blinked hard, trying to pull her racing thoughts away from the device and back to the dark train car.
“Put your hands up and step away from that crate.”
Who was speaking? Thomas? No, not Thomas.
Three rough-looking men were headed their way, guns drawn.