by Devon Monk
“There is some chance you might find the antidote in time, but since you won’t even remember being poisoned, I doubt very much that you will survive a month.”
He tugged the needle out of Cedar’s arm. “Just one last thing before I return you to your companions, Mr. Hunt: I am an old-fashioned man. And while I find new advancements in the scientific world fascinating, I find it best to rely on tried-and-true methods. I do hope you’ll humor me.”
Cedar could barely think past the pain storming through his body. Too late, he realized the man was casting a spell.
And then the world went dark.
* * *
The wind clattered against the frozen treetops, sifting snow down through the branches like sand through fingers.
Cedar sat on the church porch stairs, his head resting against the rail. He glanced up at the sky. It had been dark just a moment ago. But the sky was bright with dawn. Had he been walking in his sleep? Dreaming? He remembered being restless and pacing through the church, then finally stepping outside.
He rubbed at his face and at the tender pain at the side of his neck from his nightmare. His arm hurt, but then, he hurt everywhere from nicks and bruises gotten on the trail.
The cold could do strange things to a man’s mind. Hallucinations. Madness. And he had been far too cold for far too long in that snowstorm.
It must have rattled his mind more than he realized.
“Good morning, Mr. Hunt,” Father Kyne said quietly as he walked up from the barn, a bucket of water in his hand. In the muffle of snow, even his soft voice carried.
“Good morning,” Cedar said. “Need any help with the animals?”
“There is no need. I gave them hay and water. They’ll be fine until tonight. Is there something else that brought you out so early?”
He remembered he’d come out to look for the Strange. To find the one who had found a way into the room and bit him. To discover whether it had been real or a dream.
Most people didn’t believe in the Strange. Thought them to be ghosts and stories and things to frighten children into doing their chores.
“There’s a restless wind in this town,” Cedar said. “Restless souls ride it.”
Father Kyne nodded as he walked up the back steps to the church. “It has been so for many years. Some people say it is the rail that brings unrest. Some say it is the people rushing to build this city into a road for civilization. Others…” He paused and opened the back door to the kitchen. “Others say it is the earth shivering beneath the tread of strange devils.”
Cedar followed him into the house. “Strange devils?”
Father Kyne set the bucket of water in the sink and caught Cedar with his sober gaze. “There are ghosts who walk this town. They come in at night and flood the streets. So many, the mayor must send men to walk the streets with copper guns. Guns that sweep the ghosts away.”
“Have you seen this?”
“Yes.”
“So you believe in ghosts? In spirits?”
Father Kyne smiled briefly and Cedar realized he was not as old a man as his serious eyes made him out to be.
“Why would I ignore that which is in front of my eyes? Do you think the ghosts are to blame for the children disappearing?”
“I don’t know. But I plan to find out.”
“You have my gratitude. The Madders do not seem as deeply concerned for the children’s welfare. Why do you travel with the Madder brothers, Mr. Hunt?” He turned and began gathering eggs and small potatoes for breakfast, and set them beside the stove.
“They did me a great good. Helped me find my brother,” he said.
“Your brother?”
“The wolf. He is beneath a curse. A curse we both bear.”
Kyne was silent for a bit. “Do you know why I am a minister, Mr. Hunt?” He scooped water from the bucket to the pot on top of the woodstove, then reached for the jar of oats on the shelf and dropped handfuls of the grain into the water.
“Followed in your father’s footsteps?” Cedar said.
“He wanted it so. I was taken in young enough the people, the tribe, refuse me as their own. I am a man between worlds. But God accepts all His children. I had always thought the people of this church had accepted me. But when my father died…” He shrugged. “I was mistaken.”
“Do you have a congregation?”
“A few remained, for a while. Now they no longer come. I believe we must all find God at our own pace. Do you pray, Mr. Hunt?”
“I used to.”
“And now?”
Cedar didn’t say anything.
Kyne waited, then quietly said, “The curse?”
“Prayed to any god who would hear me for months,” Cedar said. “Not even the devil lent me his ear.”
“Have you tried breaking the curse? Gone back to the one who put it upon you?”
“I don’t remember much after the curse. By the time I had…reasoning back, he was gone.”
“Was he a man?”
“He didn’t seem to think so. Seemed to think he was a native god. Pawnee.”
“I do not know those people. Have you looked for him?”
Cedar heard the approach of hooves in snow. He walked over to the window near the door and peered out. “Not sure I know how to track a god, Father Kyne.”
Riders were approaching: four men on horses in front of a towering black and green three-wheeled steam carriage. The carriage itself was suspended between two wheels taller than a man, with a driver sitting right atop a single front wheel. Gray plumes of smoke poured out of the single chimney pipe sticking up at the back of the coach.
The first horseman wore a bright silver star on the breast of his sheepskin coat. He had a long, mulelike face, narrow at the chin, with a forehead full of wrinkles beneath a flat-topped hat. He was clean shaven except for thick sideburns; his eyes brown and cold as grave dirt.
The sheriff.
The riders stopped in front of the church stairs. The carriage rolled to a stop farthest from the church, turning enough to show the footman who stood on the backboard. Painted in gold on the doors were two gilded letters: V and B.
Father Kyne moved the oatmeal to a cooler burner, but kept stirring. “How many men?” he asked.
“Four riders, two with the carriage. Lawmen on horses. Probably the sheriff.”
Kyne nodded. “Is the coach green and gold?”
“Yes.”
“You may want to make sure your companions are awake. That’s the mayor’s coach.”
“Why send the law? We barely hit town ten hours ago. Is there something I should know, Father Kyne?”
“The mayor is much beloved by many in this town. By most,” he added. “I do not trust him. He has lied to my family far too often. Lied to the people of my church. Hidden things.”
The lawmen tied their mounts to the snow-covered hitching post, then stomped up the stairs to the short porch. The sheriff knocked on the door.
“Go,” Father Kyne said. “I will invite them in.”
Cedar left the kitchen and met Wil in the hallway.
He heard the kitchen door open, and Kyne’s greeting. He couldn’t catch any of their words before he was in the bedroom.
Everyone was already awake. Mae and Miss Dupuis were dressed, coifed, and folding blankets into neat squares atop the chest of drawers. The Madders were awake too, caught up in some kind of dice game where the stakes appeared to be who would go outside in the cold to take inventory of the supplies in the wagon.
“We have company,” Cedar said.
They all looked up sharply, and Cedar was reminded how quietly he often walked. “The sheriff, his men, and a carriage are here. Kyne says they do the mayor’s bidding. He thinks they want to see us.”
“Mayor?” Alun said. “Isn’t that an interesting turn? He’s getting slow. Thought he’d be by last night.”
“Wonder what that devil wants.” Bryn pocketed the dice and pushed up from a crouch.
“We
don’t have to wonder,” Cadoc said. “Killian Vosbrough wants what he has always wanted.”
“So you do know him?” Mae asked.
“There’s a reason we should have avoided this city.” Alun settled his coat around his shoulders with a dramatic flair. “It wasn’t just because of our promise owed to the Kyne family. But you wouldn’t stand for it, would you, Mr. Hunt? Insisted we stop at this town. And now, see where you’ve landed us? Summons. From that snake of a man.”
“Why are you worried,” Cedar asked. “Do you owe him a favor too?”
“No,” Alun said. “Quite the opposite. We’ve been asking him for a favor for years.” Alun ambled out of the room.
“What favor?” Cedar asked the other two brothers.
“To lay down and die,” Bryn said. “He seems reluctant to grant our request, but I am looking forward to the day we collect on that.”
“As am I,” Cadoc said with a sharp grin.
Cadoc and Bryn sauntered out of the room after their brother.
Mae raised her eyebrows and Cedar shook his head. He had no idea what their issue with the mayor might be. The Madders were given to moments of drama and foolery, and moments of sobering truth. He didn’t know which of those this was.
“Do you know anything about the mayor?” Cedar asked Miss Dupuis.
She finished placing the last blanket on the dresser and smoothed it while she considered her answer. “I know the Madders have made a great many friends in their efforts to keep this land safe. I know they have made a great many more enemies. Vosbrough is an old family, rooted in the beginnings of the country, in the money and influence that holds it together.”
“Are they famous?” Mae asked.
“Powerful, which buys them fame if they so wish. Some even say it will buy them the country.”
“The New York Vosbrough?” Cedar knew he’d heard that name before.
He’d guess there almost wasn’t a man in these United States who hadn’t heard of them. They were millionaires, thriving on glim trade between the states and into England, France, and Spain. The elder patriarch Vosbrough had died more than thirty years ago, leaving the running of his thriving glim empire to his three children.
“Are there any others?” Miss Dupuis asked with a faint smile. She adjusted the pearl hatpin in her hat, then walked across the room, smoothing her skirt. She had chosen to put on her coat and kidskin gloves, ready to face the storm.
“I’ll see what, exactly, the sheriff wants,” she said.
Cedar turned to Mae. “You could stay here.”
Mae shrugged into her coat and shook her head. “I have nothing to fear from a rich man, mayor or not. It is possible he wants to have words with the Madder brothers and we will be left behind. Or perhaps Mayor Vosbrough doesn’t want to speak to any of us. Perhaps he wants to talk to Father Kyne.”
“And so he sends the sheriff to fetch him?” Cedar asked. “And four other men?”
She gave him a quick smile. “Well, whatever the case, I can’t imagine it would be a bad idea to have a witch at hand, do you?”
“No,” Cedar said, catching her hand and walking with her, “I don’t.”
The kitchen was empty. Father Kyne leaned in the open door looking outside, and glanced back at them. “The mayor has asked for your company,” he said. “Breakfast at the manor.”
“Aren’t you coming?” Mae asked.
“He asked for the company of the Madders and their traveling companions. He did not ask for me.”
Cedar looked out past the minister.
Alun, Bryn, and Cadoc were standing in the snow near the tall carriage that hissed and steamed up the air. Their hands were in their pockets and they stared at the sky like they were expecting an airship to cross it any minute now. From the buzz in the distance, Cedar could tell there were airships out today, though he had always thought snow made for bad flying.
Miss Dupuis was at the back of the carriage, stepping up a ladder to the back door of the coach.
“Coming, Mr. Hunt?” Alun shouted.
Instinct said, trap. If it were, then Miss Dupuis and the Madder brothers, who were all within easy range of the mounted men’s firearms, were already in danger.
“I’ll look after your brother,” Father Kyne said as he moved aside so Cedar and Mae could step past him. “Be careful.”
Cedar walked onto the porch.
“Are you Mr. Hunt?” the sheriff asked from atop his horse.
“I am.”
“Pleased to make your meet. I am Sheriff Burchell, and this is my deputy, Greeley.” He nodded toward a clean-cut man, built stocky with slicked-back black hair and an old scar running from the edge of his mouth to his temple.
Greeley tipped his fingers to the brim of his hat.
“You and your lady friend are invited to breakfast with the mayor,” Sheriff Burchell said. “He sent you a carriage. We’ll see you returned here or to other more suitable lodgings after your meal.”
“Seems an awful lot of guns for a stroll to the mayor’s place,” Cedar said as the Madders all clambered up into the tall carriage.
“Father Kyne there doesn’t care to have the telegraph lines hooked up to his church, so there was no faster way to send an invite,” the sheriff said. “Besides, there are plenty of people passing through town out to make trouble. We get our share of tramps and rowdies. Wouldn’t stand for you to be delayed.”
“Delayed?” Cedar said as he walked down the porch with Mae. “I’m surprised the mayor knew we had arrived.”
The sheriff’s mouth curved up for the briefest of moments, but no humor took hold in those dark eyes. “We hear all sorts of things from both sides of the Mississippi here in this town. Every corner has a wire, and every house a telegraph key. Isn’t a thing that happens in this town the mayor doesn’t know about.”
“That’s thorough of him.” Cedar and Mae walked to the tall coach.
“He’s a very caring man,” the sheriff agreed. “Always has the good of this city on his mind.”
“Hurry up, now, Mr. Hunt,” Alun called. “We wouldn’t want to keep the mayor waiting.”
Cedar had followed Alun Madder and his brothers into danger before. He didn’t enjoy making a habit of it. But Mae was right. If there was trouble, it would be good to have a witch at the table. And it might not be bad to have a bounty hunter either.
They climbed the ladder and Cedar ducked his head through the coach door and settled onto the plush green velvet of the seats arranged on either side of the carriage.
The coach was roomy, luxurious. The three Madder brothers sat on the bench opposite him, Mae, and Miss Dupuis.
The footman shut tight the door, and then the driver let loose the brake. The carriage pulled forward rather smoothly through the snow and chugged along at a smart pace.
“Do you know what this is about?” Cedar asked over the creak and jostle of the carriage.
“It’s about old debts and new wars, Mr. Hunt,” Alun said. “Mayor Vosbrough has never quite sided with the people who have the best interests of this country in mind. We’ve wondered why he settled in Des Moines. Now that the railroad hub is here in the town connecting rivers and lands and coasts, well, seems to make some sense as why he’s here.”
“He’s powerful and wants more power,” Bryn said.
“Power,” Cadoc mused. “Perhaps that is all the town is made for.”
“And what does this have to do with you?” Cedar asked. “He wouldn’t be the first man to use money or other means to bend the law and the progress of civilization to his favor.”
“He’s not a man,” Cadoc said so softly only Cedar’s sharpened hearing allowed him to make out his words. “He’s a devil.”
“Oh, it’s worse than that, brother Cadoc,” Alun said. “He’s a devil with plans. The worst sort of devil to have. Mr. Hunt, promise me this: you will look for the Holder. No matter what happens.”
“I’ve never gone back on my word, Mr. Madder,” Cedar said
. “I caught the scent of the Holder. I think it’s nearby.”
“Is that so?” Alun said. The brothers exchanged a look.
“Lucky for us,” Bryn said.
“Lucky for someone,” Cadoc said.
“Luck or otherwise, I expect you to be looking for it,” Alun said. “If, of course, we survive meeting the mayor.”
“That sounds rather final,” Mae said. “Do you think this is dangerous?”
Alun raised one bushy eyebrow and dug in his pocket for his pipe. “Don’t think it, I know it. Life is danger, my dear woman. Today we happen to know just exactly where the danger’s coming from.”
“What did you do to him?” Cedar pressed.
Alun paused and gave Cedar a hard look. Then he patted his pockets and Bryn offered him a welding striker, from which Alun lit the tobacco in the bowl.
“The Madders and Vosbroughs have history, Mr. Hunt. It is a long history. That’s all you need to know.”
Alun puffed away on his pipe and folded his arms over his chest, staring out at the passing city. It was clear he would say no more.
Drama or foolery. Cedar didn’t have time for either.
“A man deserves to know what foe he might be facing,” Cedar said.
But none of the brothers said a word.
Cedar settled back. Fine. He’d gone blind into war before. He didn’t think breakfast would be the worst battlefield he’d ever navigated.
The frozen landscape of the city shifted from trees and two-story wood-frame houses to wide lanes cleared of deep snow, drifts piled up on either side of the roads teetering against tall brick buildings and wrought iron gates.
Down those roads rattled every manner of steamer cart: brass and wood, and one that seemed made of silk handkerchiefs and fine embroidery. Horses added to the muddle, and heavy muler wagons belched out smoke and hot ash that flashed red before dying gray in the wet snow.
Plenty of people were in the street, in tailored coats and high hats, bonnets with lace that matched the hem, boots in bright blues and yellows tied up in black. All those people crowded together wearing browns and gray and sensible black, with scarves or mittens adding a coy flip of color, like birds flocking beneath the shadow and bleak light of the day. Mixing and milling, they ducked under bright red awnings that were stretched out from towering buildings.