Dead Iron aos-1

by Devon Monk

  Bryn turned and jogged to catch up with his brothers, and after a moment’s hesitation, and a moment’s prayer, Rose did the same.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Cedar Hunt stalked the perimeter of the dozen or so tents and cook pits of the workers in Shard LeFel’s employ. Unlike most railmen, who brought a crew of stragglers and ruffians to work the rail, LeFel had only a handful of men he brought along, and had hired up another handful or two of men from the town. For the rest of the rail work, he used his matics and tickers.

  The men were sleeping, vulnerable, lying quiet and easy for the kill. The cook fires had gone to ash and smoke. No sentries watched over the rail. Even the matics were powered down, cold, silent, unmoving sculptures of iron and leather and oil made supple by moonlight.

  It would be easy to kill the men. But it was not men Cedar hunted. It was the Strange. And the tuning fork that whispered against his heart said the Strange were close.

  Cedar had to find Wil, dead or alive. Had to find the boy, Elbert, dead or alive. And he had to kill Mr. Shunt. He may not have been able to save Mae Lindson, a sorrow that made him want to keen, but he had made her promises, and he would see them through.

  Mr. Shunt would likely return to the three railcars on the track, down a ways from the men’s tents and matics. Cedar headed that way. He didn’t know why a man like Shard LeFel needed three cars, but he had a suspicion. One car to live in, maybe one car to work in. And likely one car to hold his prisoners in.

  Cedar slipped through the darkness to the railcars on the spur off the main rail, staying in shadow, silent as the moonlight.

  He crept to the first car and sniffed at the underbody. Death and Strange. There were things, Strange things, in this car just waiting to be killed. But the tuning fork did not hum louder. There might be Strange within the car, but it was not the one Strange who had taken Elbert. And that Strange was the one he would kill. First.

  It took everything he had not to give in to the beast’s need to kill. He pulled against the urge, tamped it down, and sniffed at the car again. Something skittered in the three corners of the car, dragging long tails or ropes behind, and then was still. He could not find the boy or his brother’s scent in the death and blood and oil above him.

  There might be prisoners in this car, but they were not Elbert or Wil.

  He moved on to the next car. It stank of oil and steam and burned metal. Faintly, he caught the scent of the boy’s blood. Old. No other smell of him. And still no smell of his brother. The tuning fork remained quiet.

  The last car was filled with scents. The heavy, moldy pall of Mr. Shunt filled his nose. Cedar stifled a growl and licked his muzzle. Mr. Shunt had been there, but he was not there now. He could not kill him, tear him apart, dig out the bits of him that made him tick. There was no movement, no talking, no signs that Mr. Shunt and Shard LeFel had returned to the car.

  Other odors filled the air—Shard LeFel’s rich cologne, meat, liquor, metals, old wood.

  The smell of Elbert was in that car—the musky milk scent of a child deeply sleeping, strong and alive. Cedar’s heart quickened with hope. If that was true, he had a chance to save Elbert, to bring the child back to his father alive.

  All he had to do was find a way into the railcar. He sniffed along the edge of the car, looking for a trap, a latch, a door in. And then he caught the scent of his brother.

  Wil. Here. Above him. Wounded. The rot of infection was already tainting the smell of his blood. But it was new blood. It was not the smell of death. Wil still breathed.

  Cedar wanted to howl with joy, but that joy was short-lived. To save his brother, he had to get into the car. It was not flesh that stood in his way; it was wood and metal, latch and hinge, things that took a man’s hands, a man’s fingers.

  All the claw in the world would do him no good.

  The ground shook. The matic Shard LeFel and Mr. Shunt rode was coming closer. Cedar hunkered down beneath the edge of the car. Shard LeFel’s matic huffed across the ground. It rolled up the ridge and would be at the rail any minute.

  Cedar waited. Waited for Shard LeFel and Mr. Shunt to walk up the stairs and open the doors. And once they opened the doors, he would no longer need them, or their hands.

  The steam-powered matic huffed nearer and nearer.

  Over that noise, Cedar could just make out the sound of men shifting in their tents.

  Easy kill. Heart. Throat. Brain.

  No. Men would not slake his thirst. He wanted the Strange. He wanted the Strange who took Elbert and hurt Wil. He wanted Mr. Shunt. Dead.

  No other creature moved. Not even those who were inside the carriage above him. It was as if the whole of the world held its breath.

  The matic grew louder until Cedar’s teeth rattled from the vibration of it. It stopped next to the tracks in front of the first car Cedar had investigated. A hiss of steam expelled in a roll of heat; then the huffing slowed and slowed, like a heart losing the will to beat.

  Cedar waited for the footsteps. Waited for the stride. Waited for the hands to open the way to the boy, the way to his brother. Waited for Mr. Shunt.

  A rattle of a hinge. The door on the matic swung open. Then bootheels scuffed down metal stairs. One set of boots was Shard LeFel’s; another set of boots shushed and smooth, almost without noise, belonged to Mr. Shunt. And the third set of footsteps was smaller, lighter than Shard LeFel’s. Who?

  Cedar took a sniff, and caught the honey and flower scent of Mae Lindson. She was alive. But captured.

  Rage pushed through him and the beast squirmed under his hold. Kill.

  He bared his teeth, holding back a growl. They needed to be closer. They needed to open the door. Then they needed to die.

  They said nothing as they hurried down the track, Shard LeFel’s cane clacking like a second hand ticking seconds into minutes along the dead iron rail.

  Cedar counted footsteps. Three people. Counted scents. LeFel, Shunt, Mae. Mae was not bleeding, but he could smell her anger. And her fear.

  Cedar could not suppress the sudden, livid anger at the thought of Mae in that monster’s hand. The beast inside twisted again with the rage of Mae’s capture. He pulled his muscles tight, ready to lunge. They walked up the stairs, Shard LeFel in the front, Mr. Shunt in the back, Mae Lindson between them.

  Wait, the part of him that was a man commanded. Wait for the door to open.

  Shard LeFel pulled a chain of keys out of a fold of cloth and unlocked the bolt on the door, but did not open it.

  “Hurry, Mr. Shunt,” he said. “The moon will soon be at the end of its journey and I will have no time left.”

  Mae Lindson gasped and stumbled up the stairs, pushed or pulled by her captors.

  This. Now. The door. Run.

  Cedar’s muscles pushed.

  A flash of light burned against the southern sky, and the sound of something crashing through the trees rolled like thunder.

  Shard LeFel paused at the door and swore in a language Cedar had never heard.

  “The Madders,” he breathed. “I will not have the king’s dogs keep me from my passage. Go,” he commanded. “Kill them. I want their flesh in bits, and their bones crushed so fine they won’t fill a tobacco box.”

  “And the matics?” Mr. Shunt asked.

  “Yes, yes. Release them. All of them. But keep your Strangeworks near. Kill the Madders, kill Miss Small if she is fool enough to be with them, and kill every man and woman in the town if that is what it takes to keep them from my threshold this night.”

  Rose Small?

  Cedar growled so softly, it was almost too quiet for even his sharp ears to hear.

  But Mr. Shunt paused, his boot soles scuffing the rocks and dirt. His body shifted with a subtle rub of fabric over metal and bone, oil and blood dripping into warm, soft folds of flesh and cloth as he bent to look under the railcar where Cedar crouched in shadow, eyes slit.

  He had a prod in his hands. Just like the one that had wounded Cedar.

&
nbsp; If Cedar leaped now, the door would remain closed. He would have no way to save Wil or Elbert.

  If Cedar held still, Mr. Shunt walked free.

  Both. He wanted the door open and Mr. Shunt dead.

  Cedar held his breath and did not make a sound, though the tuning fork on his chest burned hot enough it felt like it was searing a hole through his fur. If he moved, he knew the fork would ring out. If he moved, he knew he would tear Mr. Shunt apart, lose all reason, and lose his chance to save Elbert and Wil.

  Strange. The Strange who took the boy. Attack. Fight. Kill.

  Cedar pushed back against that belly-deep need, his control of the beast slipping. He needed the door to the car open. Needed it as much as he needed Mr. Shunt’s neck in his jaws.

  The open door would save Wil. Save Elbert. The open door would save Mae.

  “Kill them,” Shard LeFel said. “Quickly, before the moon sets, or I will shatter the Holder, and the door for the Strange will remain closed forever.”

  Mr. Shunt straightened, the whisper of wool and silk stroking his leather boot tops. Cedar could smell the hatred on him. The ever-so-slight whir of a spring coiling and uncoiling beneath those folds of cloth where only bone and blood and heart should be filled Cedar’s ears.

  “Of course, Lord LeFel,” Mr. Shunt whispered. Mr. Shunt took a step away.

  Cedar strained to hear the carriage door open.

  But instead, a great noise roared out into the night. It didn’t sound quite human, but it was a voice, not quite a man’s, raised in a yell of pain, of fury.

  Behind that voice was the ungodly screeching of iron bending, straining, breaking. Something was coming down the rail. Something was tearing up the rail. And whatever that creature was, it was surely coming this way.

  “Go!” Shard LeFel hissed as he finally opened the door.

  Cedar leaped out from beneath the carriage and crashed into Mr. Shunt, knocking him to the ground. He snapped at Shunt’s face, but the Strange snarled and blocked his jaws with one hand.

  Cedar clamped down on the hand and twisted it, jerking back. Mr. Shunt screamed as his arm dislocated with a grinding pop. Cedar pulled harder and tore it the rest of the way off. Severed from the Strange, the arm still ticked and twitched, the gears and bones forcing the hand to open and close.

  But that did not stop Mr. Shunt. He dashed backward so quickly, Cedar could not track his movement. Mr. Shunt stood several feet away and lifted a gun from his pocket. He pointed it at Cedar.

  “Killer,” he hissed. “You will not stop us.”

  Cedar growled and lunged.

  Mr. Shunt’s lips split in a blackened grin filled with serrated teeth. He squeezed the trigger.

  The impact threw Cedar backward. The bullet dug deep through his lung, taking the breath out of him and leaving behind pain. He landed hard, blacked out, and came to again, barely able to hold on to conscious thought. The bullet was still moving, digging through him like a beetle burrowing between his bones.

  Cedar howled, anger and rage colliding in his mind and bringing him to his feet.

  Mr. Shunt was gone. Shard LeFel and Mae were gone, locked up tight in the car.

  He heard the middle train car door open. Water hissed over hot coals, and chains clattered from inside the car. Mr. Shunt must have been releasing the matics and tickers to protect the rail.

  Cedar started toward the railcar, each step agony. He had to stop Mr. Shunt. He had to save Wil, Elbert, and Mae.

  The night air punctured with the inhuman cry of rage and twisting metal that was coming up the track.

  Cedar limped to the shadows near the train car, as half a dozen metal beasts, some as large as a bison, others small as fox, lumbered out of that car, puffing white and black plumes of steam into the air.

  They were made of steel, iron, leather, wood, brass. They were made for pounding, tearing, cutting, stabbing, breaking. They were made to kill.

  “Kill the Madders,” Mr. Shunt commanded from where he stood on the platform by the car door. “And every living thing with them.” The menagerie of matics ran, rolled, pounded down the rail, along the rail, running fast toward whatever bellowing creature was coming this way.

  And then Mr. Shunt strode through the car to the last in line. Cedar pushed himself to follow, still clinging to the shadows. The bullet hadn’t exited his body. It rubbed and dug with every movement, every breath. But pain meant nothing.

  Kill, the beast within him urged. Kill the Strange.

  Behind Cedar in the car that held his brother, the child, and Mae, something moved. If he took the time to hunt Mr. Shunt, Shard LeFel might kill Wil, Elbert, and the beautiful Mae Lindson.

  Cedar Hunt was not a man who hesitated in making decisions. And yet he paused, torn between the choice of killing or saving, the mind of man and the urge of beast locked in stalemate.

  A gunshot rang out, breaking through his thoughts. He glanced over at the rail where bullets pinged and sparked and rattled off the matics, peppering the metal monsters to no effect.

  The Madder brothers’ laughter filled the silence between the shots, their guns roaring like cannon blasts, each concussion illuminating the night and clouds of smoke from their guns with flashes of lightning and fire. Over all that, he heard Rose Small call his name.

  “Cedar Hunt!”

  Cedar saw her, amber hair stirring wild from beneath a bonnet, goggles over her eyes reflecting the spark and fire of the gun in her hands. A gun she fired at the matics, and the railmen who had roused out of their tents, and come running down the line to face the demons in the night.

  “Find Mae!” Rose yelled, her aim taking three shots in a man’s heart at seven hundred yards. “Save Mae Lindson!”

  She was calm as a sharpshooter, taking careful aim at a matic’s head. She shot out an eye, then reloaded and aimed at a valve line as the ground shook.

  “Find Mae!” Rose Small shouted again.

  Mae. Cedar knew where she was—in the train car. With Shard LeFel. With Wil and Elbert.

  Mr. Shunt was nowhere to be seen.

  But down the track, walking forward as if dragging a mountain behind him, was a man.

  Big, dark, bloody, and charred, Jeb Lindson walked down the railway, two huge chains strapped to his wrists. On those chains were two round matics taller than the man himself, screeching and squealing as he dragged their dead metal husks over the rail. Every step loosened bolts, pried spikes and ties, and forced the rail to rise up like a giant, twisted snake behind him, broken free of the earth, broken free of the binds that held it down.

  Smoke rose up from the rail. And the tick, tick of blood and sweat falling off the big man’s fists sent a pockmark of plumes up off the metal like two tiny engines following behind his steps.

  The wind shifted and brought Cedar new scents. And he knew that man, that creature, tearing apart the rails was not alive, nor was he dead. He did not know what could power a man to keep moving, keep walking, pounding forward.

  Jeb yelled out, a single call of pain, anger, and longing wrapped around one word: “Mae!”

  Cedar’s heart beat painfully, his blood too hot, his wounds agony as he ran. To find Mae. To save Mae. To get to Mae before Jeb Lindson.

  No, to save his brother. To save the child. Yes, and to save Mae.

  Cedar leaped up onto the platform of the middle train car where the door hung open. He needed into the first car, and that door was shut.

  The door slammed open.

  Mr. Shunt stood in the threshold, oil pouring slick from his empty sleeve. Mr. Shard LeFel and Mae Lindson stood behind him.

  Cedar snarled. He leaped.

  Mr. Shunt raised his remaining hand from within his coat, and fired the gun again.

  The world tipped sideways, filled with explosions and noise. And all Cedar could do was fight to breathe as waves of pain crashed through him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Shard LeFel tightened his grip on the Holder he held tight to his chest as if i
t were a babe made of glass. In his other hand was a spiked chain looped around the witch’s neck. The same chain noosed the necks of the wolf and the boy.

  “Well done, Mr. Shunt,” Shard LeFel said, watching the other wolf twitch and bleed at his feet.

  Mr. Shunt bowed slightly, and then bent toward the wolf who struggled to breathe. He splayed his spiked fingers, itching to dig out the wolf’s heart.

  “Leave him,” Shard LeFel said. “He will be dead soon. I’ll not have this interruption stop my return.”

  Mr. Shunt hissed, then seemed to compose himself. He straightened. “Yes, Lord LeFel.”

  Shard LeFel handed the chain to Mr. Shunt and walked through the open door into the car his collection of matics had once filled. Empty now. But he could hear them out on the battlefield, the magnificent screech and hiss and thump of the devices killing the Madders. Music. Sweet and fitting for his last grand night in this mortal world. Fitting to send him back to his own lands and immortality.

  An explosion rang out and then a ragged howl of a voice lifted above it: “Mae!”

  Shard LeFel paused between one step and the next. “Could it be?” He glanced over his shoulder at the witch, whose eyes were wide in fear, her voice silenced by the leather gag in her mouth and the barbed-wire chain that left beads of blood around her throat every time she swallowed.

  “I believe that is your husband, Mrs. Lindson, come back from the grave. Such a pity he is too late to save you.”

  He continued through that car and to the next. The door opened before him and one of the Strangework bowed, and stepped aside to allow his entrance.

  Shard LeFel strolled over to the center of the room, where the door lay like a coffin on a pedestal.

  “Three hundred years of exile,” he said softly. “And now, finally, I shall cheat this death, cheat this mortal world, and mete my revenge upon my brother in the lands from whence I came.”

  He placed the Holder at the very top of the door’s frame, pressing it down into a hollow carved perfectly for the device. The device pulsed, moonlight caught there in echo to a faintly beating heart. But Shard LeFel knew it would take more than moonlight to open this door.