by Devon Monk
The mine was braced by iron girders that jutted up from the walls and crossed over the ceiling like scaffolding constructed around a tower. The ground beneath him slanted downward and was fitted with a rail. To either side were metal staircases, bolted into the stone walls.
He made his way down into the mine, looking for any sign of the children who had been in the doorway.
Usually stealth was his best option, but if the children were here, hiding, then he’d need to convince them to show themselves.
“Hello,” he said just loud enough to be heard. The stone and metal seemed to swallow his words, and the deeper he descended into the mine, the more it felt like his ears were stuffed with wool.
“Is there anyone here? I’ve come to help you. If you’re lost, I can take you home. There’s no need to be afraid.”
Nothing moved. There was no wind in this hole, just the damp smell of stone and wet metal and the dusty arc of dirt all around him.
“I can help you,” Cedar said.
The hush of something scraping over stones scratched in the shadows ahead. Something was moving down here. Cedar lifted the lantern higher and held his gun at the ready. He strode toward the sound.
The mine shaft took a hard right toward town. The tunnel narrowed, and metal bracers, which now also supported thick copper wires, closed in around his head and shoulders. Wil padded softly in front of Cedar, silent as darkness.
Another scratch, almost a buzzing, rattled through the tunnel.
Cedar’s heart was pounding. It was harder to breathe here, though Wil didn’t seem to be having any trouble.
The tunnel was tight and near-impossible to fight in. If someone ahead had a gun and saw him coming before he saw them, he’d be dead. He considered dampening the lantern, but hated the idea of wandering these tunnels blind.
There was a side tunnel to his left. He lifted the lantern, but could see nothing but a stone tunnel supported by wood bracers marching downward. The sound had come from ahead, not to the left.
Wil paused at the edge of the lantern light, head up, nose scenting the air.
Cedar walked up behind him. The tunnel split left and right, a rail line set smoothly down both paths. The scratching was coming from the right.
Cedar and Wil turned that way. Here the stone was no longer just brown and charcoal black. Spidery thin lines of blue and white spread down the wall and arced across the ceiling like lightning caught in stone.
Copper. A much richer vein of it than he’d expected.
At the end of the tunnel was a steel door. It stood ajar and the slight scratching came from beyond it.
Someone or something wanted him to go in there. Someone or something had been leading him this whole way.
It could be a trap. But who would go through this much trouble to try to lure him out here?
Cedar pressed his fingertips on the edge of the door. He gasped as the song of the Strange filled him, and with the song, their sorrow.
Cedar let go of the door and lifted the lantern.
The room beyond the door was massive. Easily two stories tall, it was a wide, smooth chamber that looked like it had been carved out with water and then polished down to a smooth sheen.
Lantern light caught a surreal turquoise glow from the walls and ceiling and floor. The entire room was the center of a massive copper vein. Cedar felt like he’d just stepped into the heart of an ocean-colored jewel.
But it was not just the stunningly rich deposit of copper that made him catch his breath in wonder; it was the huge iron and copper devices that filled the center of the room.
Five tanks stood at one side, wires connected to the top of each and spreading outward. Those wires also connected to a boiler and an alternator that were both taller than Cedar. And in the center of all those wires and connecting pipes was a transformer made of metal and wood and thick blown glass.
The room was noticeably damp and warm, which meant the boiler was still hot, and the device had recently been in use. The scratching sound could have come from the boiler cooling.
Cedar walked around the contraptions. They were built to power something, maybe to send an electric pulse of some kind down the copper wires hammered over the walls and ceiling like a net thrown across a blue wave.
The scratching hiss crackled down one of the wires, perhaps latent energy bleeding away into the walls.
Cedar walked over to one wall and touched the copper wire with his palm.
No heat, it was just the opposite. The metal was so cold, it drank the heat out of his skin. He pulled his hand away and could make out red lines left behind from the wire. Cold copper. What kind of energy could it carry, a metal that heated so slowly? What kind of power could it drink down?
Wil had made his own search of the room and came to stand next to Cedar.
There were no children here. There were no Strange. Whatever they had seen at the mine’s entrance, whether it be an illusion cast there by Strange, ghosts, or his own tired imagination, they were not here.
But the one thing that Cedar had discovered in the room was the smell of hickory and cherry cologne, the scent he’d noticed on Mayor Vosbrough when they’d met. His stomach knotted, and he paced his breath to calm the sudden fear that rolled through him.
The mayor had been here. Recently. But Cedar had no explanation for his fear.
“What a pleasant surprise.”
Cedar turned. The mayor walked through the door and froze as soon as he saw Wil.
“A wolf—,” he started.
“Belongs to me,” Cedar said. His heart was still pumping. This man, the mayor, set Cedar’s instincts clamoring. He was danger. He was pain.
The mayor smiled, but did not move. “You certainly are an interesting man, Cedar Hunt. Would you like to tell me why I’ve found you in our generator room? And do make it a good reason; otherwise I’ll be obliged to escort you to jail.”
“I was told there are children missing in your town. Thought I saw them out at the mine entrance when I was riding by. Thought they might have wandered down these tunnels and gotten lost.”
“How altruistic of you,” he said, then, in a more friendly tone, “And how thoughtful. Most men would have notified the authorities instead of trespassing on private property.”
“I saw no signs posted.”
“That’s because this is Vosbrough land and a private Vosbrough mine. I don’t have to post signs. The town understands that if I find anyone near these tunnels without invite, I’ll shoot them dead.”
Cedar’s fear crystallized into anger. “Is that what you’re planning to do?” he asked very calmly.
The mayor glanced at Wil, then back at Cedar. He smiled. “Of course not, Mr. Hunt. I’ll chalk this up to an honest mistake on your part. But I insist on escorting you off of my land.”
He took one step, eyes on Wil. Wil growled.
There was nothing that would make Cedar agree to let this man walk behind him up these narrow tunnels.
“How about we follow you out,” Cedar said.
Vosbrough’s eyes tightened. He didn’t like the idea of Cedar at his back either.
“The wolf can go first,” Cedar offered.
“Yes, I suppose that will do.” Vosbrough took three steps to clear the doorway for Wil to pass.
Wil walked through it, and paused, waiting for Vosbrough to follow.
“After you, Mayor,” Cedar said.
Vosbrough ducked out into the tunnel, Cedar behind him.
“What is the generator for?” he asked.
“Nothing, yet,” the mayor said. “But I have plans to bring this town into the modern world. To make it a wonder of communication and transportation. This generator is only part of that plan. An advance I expect you to keep quiet, Mr. Hunt.”
Some of what the mayor was saying might be true, but one thing wasn’t. The generator was being used. It was still hot, electricity still crackling down the wires.
“Have you tested it?” he asked.
<
br /> “I don’t see any reason to continue on this subject, Mr. Hunt. How exactly did you come across a tame wolf?”
“He’s not tame.”
“Then you’d best keep him out of my city. We shoot dangerous animals.”
“I’ll keep a close eye on him,” Cedar said. It was both a promise and a warning.
They stepped out into the cold air.
“I know you travel with the Madder brothers, Mr. Hunt. And I hate to judge a man by his companions. But if you cross me”—Vosbrough smiled and swung up onto his horse—“I will make your remaining days very unpleasant.”
Vosbrough urged his horse down the hill, away from the mine.
Cedar doused his lantern and tied it to the saddle. Remaining days? It had not been an idle threat. Cedar searched his memories. A moment, a memory of Vosbrough, his voice, his threats, slipped through his mind, blurry and incoherent.
Something. There was something important about Vosbrough that Cedar should know, but escaped him.
He rubbed at his arm, and the bruises there. He usually healed more quickly than most men. But these aches from the blizzard were slow to mend.
He took some time walking around the place, looking for signs of Strange, of children, or of anything else.
Nothing. He mounted up and headed back to town.
Nightfall was only a few hours off. He’d need to be under Mae’s spell, or under chains, before moonrise. If not, he’d be hunting Strange and, in his current frame of mind, killing people too, beginning with the mayor.
The wind, pushing cold down his spine, was thick with the scent of Strange.
Why had the Strange asked for his help? That was something he’d never seen before.
It made him wonder, for the first time, what sort of thing the Strange would fear.
Rose hadn’t even gone through half the freight before she found a cutting torch and rigged it so she could catch a fire to the tip. She’d tried opening the doors, of course, but when the airship had lifted the car, it had done something to lock the doors from the outside.
She braced herself as best she could with all the swaying and then burned out a square hole in each of the doors at the ends of the train car.
The cold air that howled in through those holes was lung robbing, but if she squinted against it, she could see that they were being carried over hills and plains. Now and then she saw a river snake by.
She was going to share her observation with Hink, but he’d fallen asleep, likely trying to outrun the pain of his wound.
As day filtered into evening, Rose settled down too, putting a blanket she had found in a crate over Hink and wrapping up in one herself. But instead of sleeping, she set out bits and pieces of the puppets to see if she could fathom what they could do.
The puppet pieces fit together well enough, screwing in and hinging. She could make a roughly man-sized thing with feet, legs that included hinged knees, arms with all the bendy parts, a torso, and a neck. It had one hand with fully articulated fingers. She didn’t know where the head was, and couldn’t tell if it was intended to have one.
Also, there was that hole in the middle of the chest that didn’t make a whole lot of sense, with its copper band binding the cavity’s edge. Yes, one of those copper devices fit the hole, but how exactly did it power the thing? She’d assumed steam or maybe oil, but there was no evidence of either.
Plus, she hadn’t found another of those glass-and-copper devices, just the broken one that Hink had in his pocket.
It would have to do.
Rose got up and took the few steps over to Hink.
She gently lifted the edge of his blanket and pushed his coat to the side. First, she checked to see if there was more blood from his wound than there should be. No, the handkerchief was soaked through but there was no blood on the floor beside him and he didn’t seem to be leaking from anywhere else.
A wash of relief overtook her, and for a moment she just sat there, looking at his sleeping face. He didn’t seem so worried and sullen when he slept, although pain pulled tight at the edge of his good eye and even at the corner of his eye patch.
“If you’re waiting for a good time to kiss me, I’d say now should work,” he said without opening his eyes.
“I thought you were asleep,” Rose said.
“I was. Then you pulled near everything off me.” Hink opened his eye and gave her half a smile. “You weren’t going to pickpocket me, now, were you?”
“No!” she said too quickly. “Of course not.”
“Rose Small.” He shook his head, that grin growing wider. “You were going to pat my pockets. What are you after?”
“Nothing. I only came over here to check on your injury.”
“For a girl so clever with her hands, you don’t lie well. Go on now. Tell me. What were you after?”
“The copper device.”
“Why?”
“After I cut a hole in the doors I got bored and started piecing things together.”
“You cut holes in the doors?”
She nodded. “Can’t tell where we’re going though. Just snow-covered trees, fields, and a river or two.”
He straightened a bit and grunted at the movement. Then he pulled a compass out of his pocket. “Let’s find out before we’re all out of daylight.”
“I’d like to bind that wound.”
“Do you have anything to bind it with?”
She pulled the strips of cotton she’d made out of a table linen she’d found in the crate.
“All right, let me get out of this coat.”
She helped him take off his heavy outercoat; then with unspoken agreement, he stripped down to his undershirt too.
He shivered while Rose replaced the bloody handkerchief with a clean square of cloth, then wrapped his ribs, knotting the whole thing tightly enough to keep the wound closed. Or so she hoped.
“How’s that feel?”
“Tight,” he said. Then, “Fine. It should hold, and that’s good. Now let’s see where we are.”
He got up to his feet with only a whispered swearword, then took a step. Finding himself steady, he shrugged back into his overshirt. When he was done, Rose handed him his coat and he pulled that on too, though she noticed he was breathing a little heavily by that point.
“Maybe you should rest,” she said.
“No, I’m fine. Let’s see what we can see.” He walked over to the hole in the door, stepping around the puppet she’d pieced together. “That’s what you’ve been fiddling with?”
“It’s got my curiosity in a twist,” she said. “So? See anything familiar?”
“I’d say…” He paused, looked away from the hole to the compass in his hand, then back out the hole again. “We’re headed northwest by the lay of the sun. Still toward Iowa, by my estimation. We’ll know soon enough.”
“Why?”
“Can you hear it?” He paused. “The fans changed speed. We’ll be on the ground before sunset, which”—he looked back out the door again—“will be in about two hours. Should be long enough.”
“For what?”
“To see what that device on the floor can do.” He drew out the glass-and-copper contraption and handed it to her.
Rose almost pulled her hand away.
Hink caught her slight hesitation and paused with the battery balanced over his palm. “Problem?”
“No. None.” She held her hand out again.
“Rose. Tell me true.”
“I don’t like touching it.”
“Because?”
“It…I can hear it in my head.”
The silence that stretched out made her wish she’d told him that some other way. It sounded like something a crazy woman would say. And she’d been accused of being odd, strange, mad, for much of her life. She could handle people judging her, but she wasn’t sure she could handle Hink thinking she was…frail in that way.
“Like a thought? A voice?” he asked. Not judging. Not yet. But not exactly believin
g her either.
“Never mind.” She forced a short laugh. “I’m just being silly. Let me take that and see if it fits.…”
“Rose.” A gentle reproach. “I told you you’re the only woman who brings the truth out in me. I’d be pleased if you’d answer me truthfully. How can you hear this in your head?”
She swallowed hard to get the dry out of her throat. Then she told him something she’d never admitted to anyone. “When I was little, when I was first learning to talk, I used to tell my mother that I could hear the plants. That they said they were happy with sunlight, or water, or bugs. I told her I could hear the trees and flowers, and if I listened carefully, moss.”
“Moss?”
“It’s the quietest.”
He didn’t say anything else. Waiting. Waiting for her to continue proving she was tetched in the head.
“By the time I was seven, people in town were talking. I was adopted, which made me strange, and I was talking to trees. You can imagine how well that went over.
“I stopped telling my mother what the plants were saying. Stopped…just stopped talking about all of it. I found my way to Mr. Gregor’s shop. The metal there in his blacksmith shop didn’t talk to me. But my hands seemed to know what to do with it. How to make it change from a lump, or a cog, or a spring, into something wonderful. Something just as vital as the plants and other living things. It was still strange for a girl to spend her time in the blacksmith shop, but my mother allowed it for a while. Then she didn’t even allow that.”
Rose had hoped she could end her story there, but he was still waiting, as if he knew she wasn’t done yet.
Good glim. Why did she have to hook up with a man who paid so damn much attention to a person? Wicks would have likely been bored by her story by now, and suggesting a book on botany or some such thing.
“I never stopped hearing green things talking about dirt, bugs, the weather. It’s just a pleasant chatter in the background, like always being in a slightly crowded room.
“Only ever since I got hurt, since the tin bit of the Holder hit me, I don’t think I’ve heard growing things. But when I put my hands on that…on that cold copper, it speaks to me in an overwhelming sort of way. Saying what it can do, saying what it might have been made for, like too many pictures rolling through my head all at once.”