by Devon Monk
All the shops had glass windows, goods stacked for display, and door latches polished bright.
But the thing that caught Cedar’s eye was copper wires that spooled from roof edge to roof edge. Crossed and tangled, caught up with glass globes, looping down poles, and spun along windows, the copper wires looked like a great metal spider had gone mad and stitched the entire city together with thread.
Telegraphs in every house. The sheriff hadn’t been boasting.
Des Moines might have once been a sleepy town, but no more. Rail, river, and sky had packed its streets with people eager to work, businessmen in smart suits and jackets, bowler hats and canes, and women in silk tuck-edged umbrella skirts and parasols.
Mixed among the upper class were cowboys, farmers, and miners, all in sturdy workaday clothes, overalls, and heavy boots, walking with the sort of determination found in men who sweat for their pay.
Newspaper boys called out the morning headlines at street corners, and the airships rattled fans overhead as they hummed toward the skyscraping tether towers just outside the city, dragging bulbous shadows over the streets and buildings.
This was a working town, a shipping town, a building town.
This was a city.
The old yearning of days long past, when he had sought a scholarly life, settled around him again. It wouldn’t be so hard to imagine himself out in those streets, hurrying for a meeting, for a class, for the day’s business. It wouldn’t be so hard to imagine the nice suit, the companionship of learned men, the steady dignity of education, reading, and other comforts.
Mae shifted a bit, her hand upon the tatting shuttle she wore beneath her coat. She was worried, uncomfortable. He didn’t know if she’d ever been to a city this large. Most of her days had been spent in the coven and then on the farm she and her husband owned. He touched her hand where it rested on the seat between them, meaning to lend her comfort.
She turned her gaze away from the window to him.
All the thoughts of his previous life faded away.
She was his life now, his future. Maybe they’d settle in a city once he found all the pieces of the Holder for the Madders. Maybe they’d settle on some faraway hill and take up farming.
Whatever they chose, he knew wherever this woman was, his heart would find home.
She searched his face, and he wondered what she saw there. His long sorrows? His fleeting joys? He wondered if his growing love for her was plain in his eyes, wondered if it was clear without words how he felt about her.
She frowned. “Are you all right? Did you sleep at all?”
“No. Not a wink. But I’m fine enough.”
She gave him a fleeting smile, then looked back out the window. She didn’t remove her hand from under his, and they rode the rest of the way through the loud, busy city to a grand manor house.
The carriage rolled up right in front of the marble stairs that made a half circle in front of a four-story brick building with spires and creased copperplated roofs. The building was a fine specimen of architecture, sporting crisp white balconies and scrolling trim that framed every window.
“Remember your promise, Mr. Hunt,” Alun said. “The Holder is all that matters. The longer it remains out of our reach, the more damage it does. Wars, disease, and madness. And if it falls in the wrong hands, our civilized world will be gone in a snap.”
Alun shoved the door, nearly nicking the footman who jumped down out of the way.
Bryn lifted his woolen hat, smoothed down his tousled hair, and adjusted the monocle over his bad eye. “We’ll know if you aren’t looking for it,” Bryn said. “We’ll know if you falter. Do not disappoint us in this, Mr. Hunt.” He ambled out the door behind his brother.
Cadoc reached out for the doorframe but paused.
“This is long coming, this encounter between the Vosbroughs and Madders,” he said. “Remember your promise to us and all those living. Finding the Holder is all that will save us in these dark days. This is a grim time, and it is a grim game we play with the world in the balance. The winning or losing hinges on you, Mr. Hunt—on you finding the Holder.”
And then he was out the door too.
“They have always been so theatrical,” Miss Dupuis said, tugging her gloves tighter to her hands. “Once they gave farewell speeches fit for a king when all they did was walk from one room to another to get a beer.”
“So you don’t think this is serious?” Mae asked. “You don’t think they are serious?”
Miss Dupuis frowned just slightly, setting a thin line between her brows. She had seemed pale and often frail since her man, Otto, died. But not now. Now she considered the facts as presented with the mind of a scholar.
“From what little I know about the Vosbrough family, I think it is very serious,” she said sadly. “And the Madders are not wrong about the Holder. Each piece is enough to tear down this great country, to hold all lives hostage. Those who want to possess it and use it as a weapon will go to great lengths to do so. Killing. Torture. The Holder is a poison that will spread quickly. I wish it had never been made.”
Something about her words was familiar, and tugged at his gut. But the faint feeling was gone as soon as it came.
She stepped down out of the carriage, and after a brief moment Mae followed and Cedar did the same.
The cool morning air seemed colder now. The Madder brothers swaggered up the wide steps, passing between the smooth marble columns like soldiers come to declare victory. These three short, bull-built men in the plain clothes, worn from long miles of travel, carried about them an air of something more dignified, something strong and righteous.
If Cedar didn’t know them, he’d think they were royalty come to inspect an outpost of their rule. Or conquerers come to take the spoils of war.
Cedar made note of the manor’s doors and windows that could be used for escape, and kept count of how many guns and other weapons the men who accompanied them into the house carried.
Sheriff Burchell walked in front of the group, and scar-faced Deputy Greeley and one other man followed behind Cedar.
The manor was warm inside and well lit with high chandeliers of cut crystal and electric lights strung on copper wire. Green and gold wallpaper padded the walls, and the marble floor was covered by an expensive carpet, resplendent with flowers and vines.
The high arched ceiling was stamped with copper that reflected light like a low fire. Opulence.
Standing at the far end of the massive entry hall was a man.
He was dressed in a respectable, but not overly expensive, three-piece gray suit, tailored well to his solid, lean frame, and he was shorter than Cedar, but likely just under six feet. He had yellow hair brushed back that curled just below his ears. He was clean shaven, his eyes a bright blue. His nose might have once been straight, but someone had flattened the bridge of it so that it crooked to one side.
When he smiled, a dimple shadowed his cheek.
“Welcome, my friends!” he said in a friendly voice, arms wide. “Welcome to my home. I hope you’re hungry. Breakfast is hot and delicious and served. Please come on in this way.”
He gestured toward the wide double doors to his right, and Cedar caught a strong scent of cologne with hickory and cherry overtones.
The scent triggered pain that rolled down his spine. His palms slicked with sweat. There was something very dangerous about this man. Cedar wanted to take Mae’s hand, turn, and leave the manor. Run, if they had to. But it was an unreasonable fear that seemed to spring from his nightmares.
And he was not the kind of man who gave in to nightmares. He forced himself to stroll into the room.
The mayor walked into the dining room, still talking.
“It has been years since I’ve had the great honor to dine with the infamous Madder brothers. As soon as I’d heard you’d come to town, I couldn’t wait to invite you and your…” Here he tossed a look back at the rest of them, his quick gaze weighing and balancing Miss Dupuis, then Mae, befor
e resting on Cedar.
He showed no reaction on meeting Cedar’s steady stare. Cedar knew most people didn’t like holding eye contact when the beast hovered just beneath his surface. But Mayor Vosbrough only smiled.
“. . .most interesting traveling companions to join me in a meal,” he finished. “I always trust the Madders to find the most fascinating people, and I am not disappointed today. Please, be seated.”
Cedar had seen dance halls smaller than this room. A long wide table took up the meat of the space, with equally impressive cushioned and carved chairs set along it.
It was a beautiful place. A plush place.
Just the kind of place where Cedar would expect the devil to sit down for a meal.
8
“Mr. Wicks,” Rose said. “How wonderful to see you here. I didn’t know you’d be traveling on the train. I thought you were staying in Hays City for some time.”
“That had been my plan. But an unexpected opportunity arose that requires my attendance in Des Moines.”
The train jostled over a rough spot in the tracks and Wicks grabbed the luggage rack to steady himself.
“Please,” Rose said, “sit with us.”
“Well, I…” He looked up and down the aisle as if just noticing where he had gotten to. “If it wouldn’t be too much bother, yes. Thank you.”
Captain Hink hadn’t moved an inch. “Nope.”
“Move over,” Rose said.
“There isn’t enough room on this seat for three.” He glanced up at Mr. Wicks again. “You’ll need to be moving on.”
“Captain Hink,” Rose said. “Please move aside.”
“I said there isn’t room for him.”
“There doesn’t have to be.” Rose stood. “Please let me by.”
“Where are you going?”
“For a stroll.”
“Why? Where?”
“Because I want to. And anywhere”—she leaned in a little closer—“anywhere away from your terrible manners, Captain.”
Hink shook his head slowly, then took a hard breath and pushed up onto his feet. He stood out into the aisle, face-to-face with Mr. Wicks. Rose hadn’t realized how tall and wide Captain Hink was when compared to the willowy Mr. Wicks.
But Thomas did not back down from the impressive man hulking over him.
“It’s good to see you again, Captain Hink,” Mr. Wicks said calmly. “Are you enjoying your travel?”
“This isn’t my first time on a train, Wicks.”
“It is mine,” Rose said, stepping away from the seats and trying to stand near Thomas, but unable to get around the looming Captain.
Mr. Wicks’s eyebrows shot up into the curls beneath his bowler hat. “Your first time on a train? Would you like to see a Pullman car?”
“I only bought second class,” Rose said. “I don’t think they’ll allow me into that kind of luxury.”
“Oh, I daresay they would. Please”—he offered his arm—“you will be my guest.”
“You have first class accommodations?” Rose asked. She was impressed and didn’t try to hide it.
“Of course.” He smiled. “Shall we?”
Hink was still in her way. She waited. Wicks waited.
Finally, Rose stepped on Hink’s foot. Hard.
He tipped his glare down at her. “You’re not really going with this bluestocking, are you?”
Calling a man a bookish old woman was fighting words from where Rose came from. She glanced quickly at Mr. Wicks, gauging if she’d have to try and stop a fistfight in the middle of a moving train.
But Mr. Wicks laughed. His arm was still extended for Rose. “Black, actually, if you so care to know. My stockings,” he said. “Now, let’s go see what we can see.”
Rose took Thomas’s arm. “Excuse me, Captain. But I will be going now.”
Hink leaned back, just the fraction of an inch, so Rose could step between them.
“Good day, Captain Hink,” Mr. Wicks said.
Hink turned to the side and they moved past him and down the length of the car, managing the swaying of the rail rather well. Once at the door at the end, Mr. Wicks turned to her. “It’s a bit blustery between cars, and the shaking—”
As if in answer, the entire car swung hard to one side and back again. Rose almost lost her balance, but grabbed a brass rail above her to keep her feet.
“I’ve flown on an airship, Mr. Wicks,” she said. “I know how to keep my boots down and my head up.”
“Excellent. Here we are.” He pulled open the door. A great rush of wind and smoke and dust curled up into the train. There was a walkway between the cars and enough railings to hold for balance. They made quick work of crossing the short space, Rose going first and Mr. Wicks making sure to shut the door firmly behind them.
The next car was much like the one they had left. A single aisle down the center, a stove in one corner, and seats crowded with people down both sides. They strode through it and three others like it. One of the cars contained the mail and telegraph station, something she would have liked to have seen, but that car only had a narrow hallway to pass through, with two locked doors on each side where the mail and telegraph men worked.
“Next stop,” Mr. Wicks said as they paused on the crossway. “First class.” He opened the door and they stepped across the threshold.
She was surrounded by luxury.
The ceiling, walls, and floor glowed with the warmth of deep, rich cherrywood, and the large, plush seats were all red velvet with gold trim. All the brass shone to a mirror finish, and chandeliers dripping in cut crystal glittered merrily across the arched ceiling, making the pastoral scenes painted there dance.
There was even a neat little piano to one side in the middle of the car that stood silent, waiting for someone to strike a tune.
While the other cars had been crowded and jolly, with plenty of people and plenty of talking and wailing babies, the Pullman was much more sedate.
Men in sharp suits and the shiniest shoes she’d ever seen sat reading papers, smoking cigars, and drinking from cut crystal glasses. Women in jewel-colored dresses that Rose only dreamed of were reading books or tending to needlework, fine china cups on the tables beside them. She noted the young men with shiny shoes at a table, smoking and playing cards.
Wide windows set close together strung down both sides of the car. For a moment, she felt a little dizzy as trees whipped by quickly to each side of them.
“This way,” Mr. Wicks said, with a gentle pressure on her elbow.
She walked down the aisle, feeling more out of place than a duckling in a desert, but then even that passed. She forgot to worry about her dusty boots and disheveled hair; instead she wondered how the bunks hinged down and stowed away, how the heat here remained so steady and pleasant—likely from hot water piped through from the engine itself—and other such minute details of the construction of the place.
Mr. Wicks led her over to the empty chairs and waved his hand toward one by the window.
Rose settled her skirts and took the lush seat while he took the chair opposite her.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“It’s…it’s wonderful, Mr. Wicks.”
“Please. Thomas. And it is rather, isn’t it? They have a library too. Just a small stash of books, but some worthy reads to pass the time.”
She looked about the car and he pointed to a shelf not far from the piano. “Are they for any passenger to use?”
“Any in first class. Or his friend, of course.”
Rose smiled and Thomas settled back, looking pleased as could be. He removed his bowler hat and placed it on his knee. His hair was wavy but combed back, so the worst of the curls seemed to fall in a semblance of order.
“Your destination is Des Moines?” Rose said. “I’ve never been.”
He shrugged. “It’s not nearly as exciting as the big cities, but it’s grown quite a bit with the rail. There’s a man I need to see about a business he’s starting. Exciting pro
spect that I hope to have a hand in.”
“What sort of business?”
Wicks glanced out the window and his eyes narrowed just a bit. “Shipping, I believe. Although it will require my knowledge of the telegraph system and, if I may say without it sounding too much like a boast, my skills as an operator.”
There was something about his manner that made Rose think he was being very careful with what he told her. Perhaps there was something about this business that wasn’t on the level.
“That sounds very exciting,” she said. “So many opportunities for someone with your skills.”
“This is the land of opportunity,” he said, brightening. “Not a road any of us can’t follow. I plan to follow a lot of them. And you, Miss Small, what is it you do to occupy your time?”
“Please, Rose. Just Rose.”
“Very well then. Rose.”
“I have a few handy skills. Know how to mind a store, keep a ledger. And I enjoy working with metal and steam. Thought I’d work a boiler on an airship for a while there. But now I am following new horizons.”
“I see. And what distant shore are you and your companion, Captain Hink, traveling toward?”
He leaned forward just a bit and seemed a little too keenly interested in Hink.
“Oh, I’m not traveling with him. He’s not my companion. Well, he was—we traveled together, with a few other people before landing in Kansas. But now…now he’s just…well, we just happened to be leaving on the same train, is all.”
“You’ve known him for some time then?”
“No. Not really for long at all.”
“But you must have a destination,” he pressed.
“Must I?” She glanced out the window. Snow was falling, tiny flakes like seeds of white planting the fields with winter. The train could take this kind of weather without a pause. It wasn’t like airship travel, where too much snow and ice would bring a dirigible down to the earth like a rock in a river.