by Devon Monk
“Does it hurt you?” he asked.
“It’s not painful, no. Just…just strange. I don’t like it as much as I like hearing from plants. They’re so simple in their needs and functions. This…that thing is very complicated.”
“So what did it tell you it can do?”
“Power something, store something, trap something. It’s copper and glass, obviously, but it’s more. I think…I think there might be glim worked into that metal.”
Hink nodded slowly. Odd thing was, that didn’t seem to surprise him. “We’ve heard, well, I’ve heard that could be true. That someone may be working metal with glim. And glim-worked metal doesn’t behave like other metal.”
“Who have you heard that from?” she asked.
“The doves.”
This time he waited for her reaction. She realized she wasn’t as angry about it anymore. A spy network among those women made a lot of sense when she thought about it. Even with the…temptation present. “What have they heard it can do, glim metal?”
“That’s the thing. No one’s talking about what it can do. There are rumors, but nothing’s been confirmed. And the rumors say it’s best used as a weapon. A weapon that can be used to bring this country to its knees.”
“That’s a big weapon,” Rose said.
“Or many small ones. Maybe say roughly the size of a man that can be shipped in parts in a railcar, then pieced together at every destination the rail, boats, or airships can reach.”
Rose glanced at the puppet man she had constructed on the floor. Headless, it looked like some kind of gruesome toy.
“Do you think that’s what that is?” she asked. “A weapon?”
“One way to find out.” He lifted the copper device again. “Have you figured out exactly how it powers with this thing?”
“No. I have ideas, but…” She made up her mind. “Let me do it. If I see pictures of what it’s made for, or what it can do, maybe that will help us figure it out.”
“Are you sure, Rose?”
She nodded. “Won’t be the first time I’ve heard funny things in my head. I can handle that.”
Hink reluctantly rested the copper and glass in her hand. The cold and weight of it still surprised her. And then, just like before, a rush of knowing about the thing thrashed across her thoughts. Power, holding, storing, feeding, and other things: how it was made, pounded flat of cold copper and bound to glim by…something slippery there. She got the image of herbs and hands and…
“Witches!” she exhaled.
“Rose?” Hink put his hand on top of the copper piece, ready to pull it away. The noise from the device dampened down, like a plucked string with a palm over it.
“Witches. I think the glim was bound to the metal by witches. Oh, God. Do you think that was why Margaret was delivering the crates? Do you think they made this?”
“Hold on now, hold on. Are you sure it’s a spell?”
“No. Yes. I mean, when I pick this up, I sense hands and voices and herbs. A sort of mixing up of the things I consider unique to the coven. I’m not sure it’s a spell put on glim and metal to make them bind, but I’m sure the witches are involved.”
“Can you tell who?” he asked.
Rose shook her head. “But the night before I left the coven I heard some of the sisters talking. Saying witches shouldn’t choose sides in a war. Saying they shouldn’t be involved in curses. Maybe it’s not the same thing. Maybe it’s not this.” She held up the device. “But it might be. You haven’t heard of the witches being involved in the homunculus thing have you?”
“There has been some whispering of deals made between different covens across the country and people who are involved in movements for and against the government. Covens choosing sides.”
“Sides for what?”
“You know how Alabaster Saint was raising a force to see that the glim trade funneled through him to someone above him so they could start up a new war? I’m beginning to believe Alabaster Saint was just the tip of that sword. There are people who want this government overthrown. People who know just how vulnerable the United States is right now, since the war.”
“Is it that serious?”
“Much more. Anything else you can tell me about that?” He nodded at the copper device.
She considered the device in her hand. “I don’t get the impression this is all that needs to be together for that”—she pointed at the puppet on the floor—“to work yet. It seems to be missing something; some part of what it does isn’t here yet.”
“Think we can get some power into that thing on the floor now that it’s all together?” he asked.
“Without repairing the glass, I don’t think so. Maybe if we patch it, though. Is there any oilskin around here? Glue?”
“I’ll look.” Hink checked the labels on crates, broke open half a dozen, and finally found waxed parchment and glue.
Rose cut a piece of parchment to the correct size to patch the glass, then glued it in place.
Hink walked over to the puppet and groaned a little as he knelt next to it. “So what a ways do you think we should fit it this time?”
Rose knelt on the other side of the construction and handed him the battery. “This way, I think. Those wires should thread into the holes there, which isn’t what we did last time. I don’t understand what they’re used for. One string at each compass point.”
“Got it.” He lowered the device, and made sure to thread each wire before dropping it down carefully in the metal band. It fit perfectly.
“How do you think it starts up?” he asked.
“Maybe…” Rose searched her memories, searched the pictures that had flashed through her mind. “I’d turn it counterclockwise.”
“Might want to stand back,” he said. Rose got on her feet and stepped back a bit. Hink twisted the device by the patched globe, one firm turn to the left.
And then the parchment and remaining glass lit up with the uncanny green-white glow of glim.
“Well,” Hink said. “I think you were right. Well done, Rose Small.”
She smiled and was going to walk closer so she could see what it might be capable of. But she didn’t have to get any closer.
Because the puppet man twitched. All the limbs flexing one at a time like pistons pulling and pushing. Then it whirred somewhere inside, as if fans and cogs and springs got under power.
And then it stood up.
Cedar walked up the wide polished stairs to the city hall library. Marble pillars supported an arched entryway to a tall double door wide enough for a wagon to pass through.
He was suddenly aware he hadn’t had a decent hot bath in a couple weeks, and that his clothing was the sturdy sort made for the trail, not tailored wear appropriate for fine institutions such as this.
He removed his hat, smoothed his hair, and entered the building.
And a fine, grand building it was. The whole of it opened up to walls filled with books, only interrupted by six arched windows marching down both sides. Half a dozen tables took the center of the place, each with a padded chair, inkwell, and sheaves of paper at hand, and green-shaded lamps waiting for the user.
The wooden floor glowed softly in the evening light, a wide, rich red carpet taking up the centermost of the room. There were doors at the far end and, as he walked through the room, more to each side beyond the collection of books. The doors likely led to the trial room and smaller chambers, respectively.
He passed a small study area and noted Miss Dupuis inside.
She had removed her coat and rolled up her sleeves, not a state he usually found her in. She sat at the head of the table, head bent as she read over broadsheets and newsprint, several smaller record books opened and stacked on the table within her reach.
He knocked softly on the half-open door, old manners and habits from his days in universities falling upon him as easily as stepping into worn slippers.
She looked up, the frown fading as she recognized him. “Mr. Hunt. Ple
ase come in.”
“How is the case going?” he asked as he entered the room, which was also filled with walls of books. He dragged his finger along the tabletop to the end chair, where he finally settled.
By glim, he was tired. And just the short walk through the building had left him winded. He needed sleep. A lot of it. Soon.
“There are some inconsistencies in the reports of what happened to Roy Atkinson all those years ago. Still…” She sighed and sat back. “It does not look good, Mr. Hunt. Not just that there was a man murdered, but that Mayor Vosbrough is the witness who can best testify to what he saw that day.”
“Did he see the murder?” Cedar asked. “Was he there when the man was shot?”
“No. But he saw the Madders riding off to the mayor’s manor with guns at the ready. And he overheard them saying they were going to end a man’s life. The circumstantial evidence is a mile high. And since the judge was appointed by the mayor, who has a personal grudge against the Madders, I do not see how I can do much more than delay the hanging.”
“Then that’s what you’ll do. Delay it. How many days do you think you can hold it off?”
“Two, perhaps. No more than that. Maybe not even that.” She leaned forward and laced her fingers together, elbows resting on the table. “We should plan to break them out before then,” she whispered.
“We’ll have a plan in place by morning.” He looked around the room and for a long moment savored being surrounded by knowledge. Savored the silence of the place with the hustle of city life just beyond the walls, savored the connection to the life he’d given up years ago. He had been a different man then, but not in a bad way. He wondered if he’d still be happy with this sort of life, had he the chance for it.
“Do you miss it?” she asked. “The days you spent in places like this?”
“Very much so,” he said quietly. He stood and held back a grunt at the ache in his bones. “Have you seen Mae or Father Kyne since you came to town?”
“Yes. They found the herbs they needed and went back to the church. They asked me to tell you to meet them there, if I saw you.”
“Then I’ll be on my way. Good luck to you, Miss Dupuis. In case the Madders haven’t seen to thank you lately for taking on this task, let me extend my gratitude on their account.”
She smiled. “Such fine manners, Mr. Hunt. A brief encounter with civilization suits you.”
“Perhaps it does,” he said as he walked out the door.
But that was not the full truth. The beast lingered just beneath his skin, growing strong as the moon grew fat. Just like a veneer of moonlight over shadow, his civilized manners were fleeting at best, and misleading at worst.
Back outside, he untied his horse from the watering trough, and swung up into the saddle. The wind shifted, bringing the first scents of the night—a razor cold sharpened by ice.
The clouds had thinned enough he could see the angle of the sun near the horizon. An hour perhaps until dark. No more.
He should turn back to the church. Give Mae and Father Kyne time to break the curse.
Instead, he guided his mount toward the jail. He needed some answers, and the Madders seemed to be the only people who could provide them for him.
The townspeople sensed the failing light too. The few, very few, children he saw on the street with parents were held firmly by the hand and taken into homes where doors were shut, bolted, and shutters latched tight.
All before the sunset. There was a hurriedness to it, an apprehension in the air, a tangible fear. Fear of the night. Or of what happened in the night.
By the time he made it to the jail, the streets had half emptied out, leaving only the saloons and parlors full with laughter.
He rode around to the side of the jail, hitching his horse out of the way a bit, out of the wind that was hard rising.
He walked through the front door without knocking.
There was only one lawman there, Deputy Greeley, who stood behind a desk drinking coffee.
“Evening,” Cedar said.
“Evening. Mr. Hunt, wasn’t it? Something I can help you with?”
“I understand you have three men behind bars here, Alun, Bryn, and Cadoc Madder.”
“That’s so.”
“I’d like to speak to them.”
The wide-built deputy considered him, then sucked his teeth a moment, making the scar on the side of his face pucker. He placed his cup down and walked out from behind the desk. “I’ll need your weapons. All you got on you, blades included.”
Cedar complied, placing his guns and knives on the desk.
“They’re back in the far holding cell at the end of the row. Put them together so it’d be easier to shoot the lot of them if needed.”
Cedar nodded and strolled down the line of cells, passing by hard-eyed or desperate-looking men until he came to the cell at the end.
The Madder brothers had made themselves at home, somehow between the three of them managing to sling up three hammocks and turn the bunks into a table and chairs, at which they currently sat, playing poker.
“Nice of you to visit, Mr. Hunt,” Alun called out cheerily. “Any news on how construction on the gallows is going?”
“Haven’t looked in on it myself,” Cedar said. “Could stop by tomorrow morning to let you know, if you want.”
“I would indeed. There’s been a startling rise in the preference toward the new drop systems. I myself would prefer a bucket I could jump off of, don’t you agree, brothers?”
“I don’t know,” Bryn mused. “Snapped neck is quicker than slow strangulation.”
“Bah,” Alun said. “You want to go that easy? Crack and it’s done? Rather kick and spit and make a scene as I choke to death. Last chance to be on stage. Shouldn’t want to waste it.”
“I didn’t come here about the gallows,” Cedar said before Cadoc could enter the argument.
“What then, Mr. Hunt?” Alun asked with a twinkle in his eye. “Something on your mind tonight?”
“Roy Atkinson.”
The brothers stopped smiling. All of them, simultaneously, seemed more interested in their card hands.
“Don’t know that I know a man by that name,” Alun said.
“I wouldn’t suppose you would.” Cedar placed one hand around the thick cell bar. “Seeing as how he’s dead.”
“That so?” Alun said. “I’ll take two.”
Bryn thumbed two cards off the top of the deck.
“Did you kill him?” Cedar asked quietly enough; even the deputy out front shouldn’t be able to hear him.
The brothers played their hands a bit longer, Bryn giving Cadoc four new cards, though Cedar was sure he hadn’t asked for them, and Bryn taking only one.
“Aces high. Cadoc loses,” Bryn said.
Cadoc heaved a sigh and pushed up to his feet. He walked over to the bars and stood in front of Cedar. “That man is dead. It is true. Not by our hands, though we helped with his crossing. He wasn’t meant for this world, Mr. Hunt. He’d done his good. And we gave him his reward for it. The reward he asked for.”
“Death?”
“Only to some eyes. To others, we gave him eternal life.”
“Careful there, brother,” Alun said quietly. “All the world is made of ears.”
“Eternal life. Is that a fancy way of saying murder?” Cedar asked.
“We…” Cadoc looked up to the ceiling and frowned, as if working his way through his thoughts. Finally, he returned his gaze to Cedar and regarded him, for just a moment, as if he were gauging a stranger’s trustworthiness.
“You’ve seen things, Mr. Hunt. Been affected by a world most people can only imagine. One might think there are other curious things set near our world. Perhaps even other places that are wholly difficult to discern. Like darkness hides in shadow, some things and places hide in plain sight.”
Cedar tried hard not to sigh. He usually didn’t much mind Cadoc’s roundabout riddle answers. But tonight the moon was calling.
Calling for blood.
“Just so.” Cadoc nodded toward Cedar as if he had listened in on his thoughts. “Things beyond the naked eye that are nonetheless very real. Things that can speak and even…change us.”
“What does this have to do with murder?”
“Why, everything,” he said, clearly surprised. “Haven’t you been listening to me?”
“You are difficult to parse on the best of days, Mr. Madder,” Cedar said. “And tonight is not my best day.”
“Tell it to a child, brother,” Alun suggested while Bryn reshuffled the deck.
Cadoc raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Oh. Well, then.” He patted Cedar’s hand like an uncle to a fond nephew. “Mr. Hunt. Cedar. We just made him appear dead so that he could live a different life. His time of being a mayor was over and only the illusion of death would release him from his promises.”
“To whom?”
“To us. Or as much as.”
“As much as,” the other two brothers repeated.
“So you faked his death?” Cedar said. “But the mayor found him dead. Robbed. He put a price on your heads for it.”
“That devil found what he wanted to find,” Cadoc said. “No more.”
“Did you break into the safe? Did you rob Atkinson?”
“No,” Cadoc said. “Those valuables always belonged to Roy Atkinson. No one took them from him.”
“So where is he?” Cedar asked. “If you tell me, I can bring him here. He can stand as witness, as proof that you didn’t kill him. You’d go free.”
“Free?” Alun said. “Why…I can’t…” He exhaled one hard grunt. “Mr. Hunt,” he began in the tone of an orator as he stood and strolled slowly over to the bars of the cell. “We do not wish to be free. If we wanted to be free, we wouldn’t be in a jail cell, now, would we?”
“Can’t say as I’ve ever seen the logic in what you do and don’t do,” Cedar said.
That made Alun grin. “Even so, this should make sense to you. We are here to buy you time. Time to fulfill your promise to us. A promise that if gone unfulfilled will mean disaster and death for many innocent people. A promise that you are apparently not doing since you are instead standing here talking about something long finished in days gone by.”