Copper Cove

by Robert Dahlen

  I tried to sleep in spite of my discomfort. Every time I nodded off, an officer would slam the door open and start pestering me with questions. They asked about the two murders and the attack on Rostall, and ignored me when I protested my innocence. They only gave me water when I was unable to speak, and they laughed when I asked to use the privy.

  It was obvious what Putnam and his men wanted. The knife had been planted by whoever had robbed my workshop, and that was enough to stick me with the charges. I’d be thrown in jail, and Putnam would get the glory for solving the crime and stopping the murder spree. My innocence didn’t matter to him. All that he cared about was marking this case as being solved.

  It was nearly dawn before they grudgingly let me have water and a privy visit. I was then hauled into the station room and pushed into another chair. Putnam bent down and glared at me. “We want the full story, missy.”

  “I’ve already told it to you three times!” I swallowed, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. “Whitlock was my client, but I only met him twice before he was killed. I didn’t even know who he was until after I found the body. Why would I have killed him?”

  “A falling out over money,” Putnam said smoothly. “A quick trip to dispose of the murder weapon, and then back to the alley and crocodile tears.”

  “Then why would I have carried on with Jenkinson and Rostall?”

  “Bloodlust.” Putnam started to smile. “You can’t decide if you’re a boy or a girl, after all. You must be unstable in some way.”

  Tired though I was, I had had enough. “Go to Hell,” I snapped. “I’m innocent, and you know it.”

  My anger grew when Putnam tried to sound offended. “We’ll let the judge and jury decide that.”

  “I hope you’re proud of yourself. I hope you’re happy with destroying an innocent life.”

  “Some criminals just won’t cooperate with the law.” Putnam stretched. “Take her to the cells, men. We’ll get the charges ready to be filed.” Two officers grabbed my arms and hauled me out of my seat.

  I shut my eyes as I was dragged through the station. I knew my life was ruined, even if I could prove my innocence. At that moment, my thoughts turned to Darjeeling, and I barely kept from weeping. What would become of her? Who would care for her? If only...

  “Putnam! What in Hell do you think you’re doing!”

  I opened my eyes and gasped. Sophie was there.

  She was dressed to the nines in powder blue with an impressive bustle and a dark purple bodice, topped with a matching, wide-brimmed, flowery hat held in place with a wicked-looking hatpin. Had I not been in such a dilemma, I might have wondered about why she was outfitted so splendidly, but right then I didn’t really care. I had never been as glad to see anyone as I was to see Sophie at that moment.

  “Now look here, missy—” Putnam started to say as Sophie pushed her way past the other officers and stormed up to him.

  “That’s Haverford!” I saw the rage in Sophie’s eyes, heard it in her voice. “And you know damn well that Miles is innocent!”

  “We caught her in the dwarf’s house. Her knife was in a corner.”

  Sophie folded her arms. “Was it dusted for fingerprints?”

  Putman inhaled sharply. “Our specialist in that was at Jenkinson’s. We’ll be handling that shortly.”

  “Was there blood on Miles’ hands?”

  “No.” Putnam glared at Sophie. “But we know she killed Whitlock with that knife.”

  “You saw his wounds!” Sophie said. “They were far too deep to be inflicted by a pocket knife!”

  “I’ve heard enough—”

  Something in me stirred. Sophie might not win this on her own, but I could help. “Putnam?” I said. “What time do you estimate that Jenkinson was killed?”

  “That’s none of your business!” Putnam said with a snarl.

  “What time?” Sophie said.

  Another officer cleared his throat. “Forensics puts it between two and four o’clock.”

  I smiled. “I was at the Courant that whole time, being interviewed by Haverford. There are at least three others who can attest to this.”

  Putnam glared at me. “How can you—”

  “If I have an alibi for one killing, your theory is worthless, isn’t it?”

  Sophie walked up to Putnam. “You are not going to railroad her, Sergeant. You will not have her jailed just so you can impress your bosses.” She jabbed her finger into his chest. “Let her go. Now.”

  Putnam pressed his face into Sophie’s. “And what if I don’t, missy?”

  “How would you like to be on the front page of the Courant?” Sophie said. “I’m sure our readers would love to find out every detail of how you sent an innocent woman to prison. And I’m sure the aldermen would love to hear about how you run this station.” She smiled triumphantly. “It would be a change from all those stories about the train line.”

  Putnam glared at Sophie for a long moment, panting for breath, red all the way down past his collar. “Get Miles’ things,” he finally said. “She’s free to go.”

  The cuffs were taken off, and my hat and other possessions were brought to me. Sophie took my arm and hurried me out of the station. “Thank you, Sergeant,” she said with mock sweetness over her shoulder as we left.

  Sophie flagged down a cab as I waited quietly. My knees were trembling, and my heart pounded so hard that my ears were ringing. Sophie helped me inside the carriage, spoke to the coachman, and sat next to me as we drove off. “I know Henry’s Crossing is closed now,” she said, “but there’s a little place I—”

  It was all too much. Everything. It finally all caught up to me, and as I looked at Sophie I started to cry, with relief and anger and frustration and exhaustion and fear. Without a word, she took me into her arms, cradling me gently as I sobbed.

  Several minutes later, when I had run out of tears, I looked up at Sophie. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  “You don’t need to apologize. I do,” Sophie said. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize I had abandoned you in the newsroom until I was already halfway to the stationhouse. I get that way sometimes when I lose my composure.” She started to blush. “As soon as I realized what I had done, I hurried back to the Courant to find you. I looked everywhere.”

  “I…” I swallowed. “I thought you were done with me. I thought you were just using me to get your story.”

  “Sometimes…” Sophie took a breath. “I let that happen. And I’m so ashamed about that. I’m sorry, Tabitha.”

  “But you were there when I needed you. Thank you, Sophie.” Even with my exhaustion, I still smiled.

  “You’re welcome. I…” She looked away.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “It’s nothing. I just…” Sophie sighed and shook her head. “You were right. Life rarely goes the way you want it to. Sometimes, you think that you’ve found something special, and then you discover that it can never be, and even if there had been a chance, you’ve ruined it.”

  “Sophie?” I stared at her, my mouth wide open.

  “I’m making a tremendous fool of myself. I’ll be quiet now. I’m sorry, Tabitha…”

  Sophie closed her eyes. She couldn’t see the light in mine. Cogs and gears, I thought. Is Sophie trying to say that...she fancies me? That she cares for me?

  The weariness I had felt in my bones and my heart vanished, as if it had never been there. I took a moment to gather my thoughts, as I wanted what I had to say to Sophie to come out right. Even if I was wrong, I had to take a chance. I needed to tell her what was in my heart. I longed to see her smile again. I turned my head away and took a breath.

  “Sophie?” I said. “There’s something you should know about me. I’ve fancied and dated men and women. I’ve always cared more for what was inside someone than the trappings on the outside. And…”

  I fidgeted in my seat. “I’ve just met the most amazing woman. She’s so pretty. She has beautiful eyes, and she always dresses n
icely. But what’s more, she’s brilliant. She writes like a dream. She has such a big heart. She wants to help people, to make things better. She makes mistakes at times, but that’s because she cares so much. Darjeeling likes her a lot, too. And…” I swallowed, still fearing the worst, as I turned back.

  Sophie was looking at me, with a tear in her eye, and she was smiling. I choked up as I tried to speak. “And every time she smiles at me, my heart stops. Just for a moment. And it’s stopping right now. Because you’re smiling. She’s smiling. You, Sophie. It’s you.” I blushed at my incoherence, but her smile widened.

  “Tabitha…” Sophie took me into her arms, and I returned her gentle embrace. After a moment, she tilted her head back and looked at me. “My dear Tabitha,” she said as she smiled again and stroked my cheek, “as soon as all this is over, we will go on a proper date. I promise.”

  I slid my hands up to her neck, my fingertips finding their way into Sophie’s hair. “I’m going to hold you to that,” I said as I moved closer. She tilted her head forward, and I seized the moment and kissed her.

  If Sophie’s smile had made my heart stop, the jolt I felt when we kissed, the rush of excitement and joy, started it again. It was something I’d experienced before, but never as strongly or sweetly. When I pulled away I could see by her wide eyes and joyful grin that Sophie was feeling the same way, and I wanted to kiss her again and again.

  Naturally, my stomach picked that moment to gurgle impertinently. Sophie laughed. “We need to get you something to eat.”

  I blushed and grinned. “And some tea. And about seventeen hours of sleep.”

  “Let’s get breakfast first. We’re close to this tea shop that always opens early.”

  “Would it be too much trouble if we picked up Darjeeling first?” I asked.

  “Not at all!” Sophie smiled. “Did you leave her at your flat?”

  “My workshop. Friday was quite a day.” I shook my head at all the memories. “I do hope today is better.”

  I related my misadventures of the previous day to Sophie as the cab headed for my flat. “You poor thing,” Sophie said as I finished, taking my hand and squeezing it gently.

  “What brought you to the police station?” I asked.

  “When I returned to the Courant after looking for you, word had reached us about Jenkinson’s murder and the assault on Rostall. I had gone over to the station house to get some quotes from Putnam when I saw you.”

  “It’s a good thing that you did.” I clutched her hand. “If not…”

  “Shhh,” Sophie said gently. “It’s over now.” I smiled as she continued, “I’m so sorry about Jenkinson.”

  “Thank you. Is there any word on Rostall?”

  “We’ve heard that he’s still alive, but in grave condition. He’s fighting.”

  “No surprise. He’s too cranky to go down without a fight.” Sophie chuckled, and I continued, “He was saying some odd things.”

  “Such as?”

  “He was trying to tell me that there was something going on with the train. And he kept mentioning wings.” I shook my head. “I don’t know that he wasn’t having delusions.”

  “Poor fellow,” Sophie said as we pulled up at my flat. “What now?”

  “Perhaps you should take the cab and pick up that breakfast. I’ll fetch Darjeeling and maybe freshen up a bit.”

  “A sound plan.” Sophie smiled and kissed me. “I’ll see you soon.”

  I had a smile for her as I climbed out of the carriage, and a wave as the cab rolled away. My heart filled with joy as Sophie leaned out the window and waved back at me.

  I hurried inside and straight up the stairs to the roof and my workshop. I opened the padlock and pushed the door aside. “Darjeeling!” I shouted. “Darjeeling!”

  Everything was still. I fought off the panic as I walked to my workbench. Even with what was happening with Sophie, my life wasn’t complete without my dear Darjeeling. Had something happened to her? I shouted her name again, fearing the worst.

  I heard the faint chittering. I looked up in the dark rafters and saw a hint of movement. Darjeeling climbed down the beams and jumped on the table in front of me. I scooped her up in my arms and smiled as she nuzzled my face.

  “Sophie’s bringing back food,” I said to her. “I know you must be hungry. Just be patient, little one.” She seemed to understand, as she didn’t protest when I set her on my workbench.

  My smile faded as I glanced around the shed and thought about poor Rostall. His words came back to me, and I couldn’t shake the thought that they were warnings, not the ramblings of a wounded dwarf. Rostall was never the type to ramble.

  On a hunch, I took my toolbelt from its hanger and buckled it on. There was one empty space where the pocket knife would have gone, so I grabbed a Verne’s Drainer and slipped it into the slot. I didn’t think I’d have much use for a tool that could drain the dwimm from a machine, but I felt better with a full belt.

  I pondered for a moment about my pocket knife. I hadn’t even noticed it had been stolen; I’d thought all that had been taken were the blueprints and the commission I’d completed for the late Whitlock. How did it wind up in Rostall’s house? Was it…

  Oh no, I thought as I froze in place. Oh Gods. The pocket knife wasn’t here at all. I’d lent it to Neil.

  Darjeeling chirped faintly. I saw her looking past my shoulder with wide eyes. As I turned towards the doorway, I heard the flapping of wings.

  What I saw froze me where I stood. Standing in front of me was someone who at first glance was part human and part automaton. The mechanical part of him was the wings that rose from his back, crafted in shiny aluminum, connected to a harness that wrapped around his slender bare torso and held a tank of dwimm-infused water to his back. He wore an odd sort of armor on his forearms, with two sets of long, curved talons that were folded back. His head was covered by a mask that resembled a bird’s face, with a protruding beak and large eyeholes.

  For a moment, I stared at the intruder wordlessly, studying his apparatus. My gaze fell upon the frame, and I felt my stomach churn when I recognized the craftmark there. It was mine.

  The intruder looked past me as the sound of wings filled the air again. I started to step away, but I was struck hard on the back of my head. It felt as if my skull might have been split open. I dropped to the floor as pain shot through every inch of my brain.

  A strong hand grabbed me by the collar. I was dragged across the workshop and onto the gravel covered roof. My assailant dropped me; I lay face down, my head throbbing from the blow.

  “Get it!” I heard someone say. There was scuffling, and I heard Darjeeling chirp angrily, and then heavy footsteps. “Where is it?” the muffled voice asked.

  “She’s up in the rafters,” another voice said in a higher, gentler voice that sounded obscured yet faintly familiar. “She’ll leave us be there.”

  “That’s fine. It’s not like it can tell the police what’s about to happen.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Don’t play games. That’s not why we recruited you to take Whitlock’s place. There’s a loose end to tie up.”

  “Loose end?”

  “We’re about to destroy the Velessan Express on its first run. What’s one more body?”

  One more...they mean me, I thought. They’re going to kill me. I risked opening my eyes slightly.

  I could see, in the dim light before dawn, that there were two men with mechanical wings on the roof. The second man was stockier than the first, and his wings were mostly covered in feathers, though patches of metal showed through in spots. He had the same sort of armor on his forearms that the first man had, but the talons were extended from the wrists, stretching past his hand. It might have been a trick of the light, but I could have sworn there was blood on the talons.

  The two winged men had moved away from me and were facing one another. The one I had seen in my workshop was holding up his hands. “Not her,” he said in that high, oddly famili
ar voice. “She won’t talk, Strom. I’ll make sure of it.”

  I barely held back a gasp. Cogs and gears! I thought. Strom’s part of this! He murdered Whitlock and Jenkinson! And...and the train. The Velessan Express. Oh gods.

  “No witnesses!” Strom shouted. “No one must ever know who was behind this!” He took a step towards me.

  The other man stepped in front of him, pulling off his mask. “Don’t do this,” Neil said softly. “Please. Not Tabitha.”

  I could feel my heart sink. What have you done, Neil? I thought. Oh Gods, not you. Anyone but you.

  “We don’t have time to argue!” Strom grabbed Neil’s shoulders. “Don’t you want your vengeance, boy? We need to make them pay!”

  As Strom ranted, I felt my head clear. I couldn’t let them wreck the train, never mind slitting my throat. I needed a way to escape, but Strom and Neil were blocking the stairwell down. How could I get away?

  “I know,” Neil said. “I do want revenge. But Miles...I can’t let her die, too. She’s my only friend.”

  “No, boy.” Strom shook Neil. “I’m your only friend. We’re both in on this. No witnesses, remember?”

  I glanced across the roof. My workshop was ahead, and I could see Darjeeling hanging from the wall, her stare fixed on me. Past her was the cord that fed dwimm-infused water into the flats. It ran from the roof of the workshop, at a steep angle, down to a lamppost on the corner. At the edge, the cord cleared the roof by just a few inches. An idea hit me, and I caught Darjeeling’s eye and whistled very faintly. She started to climb down.

  “I beg of you, Strom.” I could hear the pleading in Neil’s voice. “Please. Leave her be.”

  Strom pushed Neil away. “I’ll spare you having to watch this. Get going towards the station.”

  “No.” Neil stepped towards Strom. “I’ll do anything else you ask, but not this.”

  “Damn you, boy! Move, or else—”

  Darjeeling jumped down to the roof, ran towards me and climbed on my shoulder. It was now or never. I leapt to my feet and sprinted across the roof, reaching for my toolbelt and my longest wrench. Behind me, I heard cursing and the flapping of wings.