by Devon Monk
“Yes, Killian,” Alun said. “The Vosbroughs are humanitarians to the marrow. Nothing but the heart and country on your docket.”
“Just so,” he agreed, stabbing a chunk of beef and chewing away.
Miss Daffin glanced at each one of them in turn. “Well, I sense there may be a disagreement between these two gentlemen. How exciting. I wish you’d have invited a reporter or two for breakfast, Mayor Vosbrough. Think of the gossip.”
“Won’t have to,” Mr. Lowry said. “If I know you, Miss Daffin, there’ll be a letter to the editor in time for the evening edition.”
She patted her mouth with her napkin and gave him a coy look. “I have no idea what you are talking about, Mr. Lowry. However,” she said, turning her full attention to Alun Madder, “I am very interested in what started this feud.”
“Guns and glim and gold,” Cadoc said, “a price he puts on every man’s soul.”
Vosbrough pointed his potato-filled fork toward Cadoc. “I’ve always liked your poetry, Mr. Madder.”
“It isn’t poetry,” Cadoc said, his hands on either side of his plate as if waiting to be excused. “It is the truth of you.”
“Well, you got the truth of me wrong, then. Here we mine coal.” He nodded toward Miss Daffin. “Good rich veins to power trains, airships, water-going vessels and, of course, warm the family home. Here we lay lines for every house to have the latest in luxury. Even the most poor has a telegraph on the corner. Why we’ve strung cables through the rivers themselves and will soon connect every corner of this country into our system.
“When the East makes a decision, the West will know it instantly. We are fuel, we are communication, we are roads and sky. That is a properly modern way to run a country. Des Moines will be the hub that holds these states united. And no false accusations on your part will change what we’ve built by the sweat of our brow and spark of our genius.”
“I never accuse,” Cadoc said, unimpressed with Vosbrough’s speech. “I see the what of things. And the why. It is the truth of me.”
“Delightful,” the mayor said. “Incorrect, but still, a whimsical addition to the meal. What did I tell you, Mr. Lowry—aren’t they a treat?”
Alun had finished with his breakfast and was picking at his teeth with his pinky. “What do you want, Vosbrough?”
“Pardon me?”
“What do you want? You drag us in here, feed us like pigs to the slaughter, and baste us in compliments. What do you want?”
Vosbrough laughed. “Where are your manners, Mr. Madder? After all these years. All these long”—he practically snarled the word before affixing his smile back into place and pleasantly continuing—“years, you need me to remind you of what I want?”
Cedar didn’t move, but from the corners of his eyes he saw shadows crossing the light coming in beneath closed doors, and heard the creak of many quiet footsteps.
They were surrounded. And he didn’t think it was the serving staff.
“Let me refresh your memory of what I want, then, Mr. Alun Madder,” Vosbrough said. “I want peace in the world, I want America to become a civilized shining example of progress, and I want you and your brothers dead.”
Miss Daffin gasped.
Vosbrough snapped his fingers and dozens of gunmen flooded through the four doors of the room.
“Alun, Bryn, and Cadoc Madder,” Vosbrough said in the steady voice of a judge. “For crimes upon my family, for crimes upon this country, you are hereby sentenced to the gallows, where you will be hung by the neck until dead.”
Alun laughed. “Hanging? That seems so beneath you, Vosbrough, so common.”
“I’ve acquired a taste for a much simpler life. Sometimes it is best to rely on tried-and-true methods.”
Cedar’s mouth went dry. He had heard those words before. Heard that tone before. His heart picked up a hard beat and every instinct told him to run.
Or kill.
“They are due a trial,” Miss Dupuis said.
“Excuse me?” Vosbrough said.
“A trial. As citizens of this United States, and beneath the employ of the government, they are due a trial.”
Vosbrough’s eyebrows went up when he heard that. “Government? Is that what you’re playing at now?”
“That’s only fair and square, Mayor Vosbrough,” Mr. Lowry said. “A trial for their crimes. Justice. That’s what this civilization is built upon. And, as you say, Des Moines is a civilized city.”
“It is so exciting,” Miss Daffin added. “A notorious case here in Des Moines. Stop the presses and tap the wires. This will turn more than a few eyes toward our town.”
“Well.” Vosbrough looked between Miss Dupuis to Mr. Lowry and Miss Daffin. “Well, well. I suppose this might attract some attention.”
“Wouldn’t hurt for folks to know just how safe it is around these parts,” Mr. Lowry said.
“But they’ll need representation,” Miss Daffin said. “You don’t happen to have a lawyer you could call for, do you?” she asked Alun.
“Yes.” Miss Dupuis stood. “He does. Miss Sophie Dupuis, Esquire. I will be defending the Madder brothers.”
“You’ll let a woman speak for you?” Mr. Lowry asked.
“Why wouldn’t I?” Alun replied calmly. As a matter of fact, all of the Madders were taking this turn of events with something almost akin to boredom.
Vosbrough lifted the fine cotton napkin from his lap and wiped at the edges of his mouth. “Esquire,” he repeated. “Government servants and the law. Isn’t this a pleasant divergence. Well, for me, anyway.”
“As always,” Alun said, “you talk like a man and act like a fool. Killian, you have always been such a chore.” He sighed heavily while Vosbrough’s color rose.
“The papers will pick up our trial and all the eyes will be on the wire,” Alun said. “Miss Dupuis will make sure the whole country knows you put innocent men on trial over trumped-up charges. Mighty big risk. Might lose your standing, lose your power with those you court, and those you are indebted to.”
Alun sucked on his teeth, trying to dislodge a bit of breakfast. “What will your brother say? How do you think that sister of yours will survive your disgrace? Your family business and name aren’t without fault. I suppose there’s a reason your brother and sister sent you all this way west to get you out of their sight, out of their hair.”
Cedar didn’t think shaming a man would turn him away from the chance at revenge, especially when he had all the cards on his side.
He also knew they were outgunned ten to one. He glanced at Mae.
She was looking at the Madders. Maybe waiting for a signal, though he didn’t know what spell she could cast to keep them safe from bullets. Her magic was mostly bindings, curses, and vows.
Vosbrough turned a shade darker red, staring at Alun Madder like a bull ready to kill.
“What do you have to lose?” Cadoc said into the stagnant silence of the room. “Time,” he answered just as quietly, then, “What do you have to gain? Our abject humiliation.”
Vosbrough swiveled his head as if his neck had been oiled, turning his gaze from Alun to Cadoc.
Cadoc was still staring down at his food, hands still on either side of the plate. He lifted his head and met Vosbrough’s gaze.
“Abject humiliation,” Vosbrough repeated. “Poetry, Mr. Madder.” He pushed back from the table and stood, then slid his chair into place at the head of the table. “Poetry to my ears. Men, arrest them. Throw them in the jail. I will hold court for their judgment tomorrow.”
The mayor’s men moved forward and pointed guns straight at the Madders’ heads.
Miss Daffin clapped happily, as if enthralled by a dinner play.
Cadoc had just talked the mayor into a trial. Why?
“No,” Cedar said, standing.
“Mr. Hunt,” Alun warned. “This is old history. You have other, more important things to do with your time.”
“Do you want to go to jail?” Cedar asked.
&n
bsp; “Old history,” Alun repeated. “Not important. Not important to you.”
“On what charges do you intend to jail them?” Miss Dupuis asked.
Vosbrough seemed to notice she was in the room again. “Excuse me?”
“What are the charges you are leveling against the Madder brothers?”
“Treason to the country to begin with,” Vosbrough said. “Thievery, murder.” He clapped his hands together and rubbed them. “Why, a whole list of things. Plenty for a hanging.”
“And a rousing trial,” Miss Daffin said.
“Yes.” Vosbrough gave her a bit of a bow. “And for a rousing trial.”
“I will expect to see a full list of their crimes by the end of the day,” Miss Dupuis said.
“Of course, of course.” Vosbrough smiled, showing his straight white teeth. “I’m rather looking forward to this lawful proceeding. I’ll have my secretary write everything up and bring it straightaway to where you’re staying. Where, exactly, is that?”
“The church on the edge of town. With Father John Kyne.”
At the sound of the man’s name, Vosbrough’s face shifted to flat contempt. “When you find suitable accommodations,” he said, “I will send my secretary over.”
“The church,” Miss Dupuis repeated firmly. “Send the papers there. Before the night is upon us, Mr. Vosbrough.”
The Madder brothers were on their feet now too, and being hustled out of the room, without making so much as a fuss.
Cedar would never understand the brothers and their ways. Walking off to jail as if they were being escorted to a fine hotel made no sense. Unless they had a plan.
Which was likely. He’d never seen them without one.
“So nice of you all to stop by,” Mayor Vosbrough continued. “Stimulating conversation. I hope you enjoy our city and all it has to offer. Oh, here.” He strolled over to a table in the corner of the room and retrieved a sheet of paper. “New hotel opening up on Seventh Street. Looking for renters. Might be more to your comfort.” He held it out for Miss Dupuis, but she didn’t take it.
Mae stood and walked over to the mayor. “It’s been an interesting morning.” She took the paper. “Good day, Mr. Vosbrough.”
The remaining men in the room moved aside as Mae walked out. Miss Dupuis followed. Cedar walked up to the mayor to follow. Vosbrough took hold of his arm to stop him from passing by.
“Mr. Hunt, was it?” he asked in a friendly tone.
Every muscle in Cedar’s body froze. That was the voice of death.
“I don’t know how you fell in with those men, with the Madders, but I am doing you a favor. Stay away from them. Stay out of their business, whatever they have told you it is. And stay out of my way.”
Cedar looked down at the mayor’s hand on his arm, then back up at his face. “The last man who threatened me is dead, Mr. Vosbrough.”
“Is he, Mr. Hunt?”
Vosbrough removed his hand and tugged on a smile. “I see I’ve misjudged you. My advice, however, remains. They are not what they seem to be.”
“And neither am I, Mayor Vosbrough.” Then Cedar turned and walked away.
10
Rose clutched the copper device tighter. The three men in the train car stood across from Thomas, who was just ahead of her. Thin streams of light swung in the darkness, pinstriping every crate, bag, and person with the jostle of the train.
“Don’t you move an inch,” the lead gunman said to Thomas. “You.” He lifted the gun toward Rose. “Put the battery down.”
Battery? she thought.
“Yes. Of course. I’m going to put it down now, just as you said.” She knelt, as if to place it on the floor, then tucked her other hand into her pocket. She wrapped her palm over the wooden ball filled with nails. Looked like she was going to have a real life test for the little grenade after all. She threw the device straight at his knees.
Hit him too. Nails flew out like shattered glass in a yard radius, striking all three men.
They yelled and stumbled backward, firing wild shots as they ducked for shelter behind the crates.
“Run!” Thomas shouted.
Rose was not running. She took aim and threw the battery at the men.
Thomas swore, grabbed her by the arm, and dragged her to the door. “I said run!”
“You can’t just order me around!”
“Then consider it a suggestion,” he said with a grin.
Thomas yanked the door open and all but shoved her out of it. She threw her arms out to the side to catch her balance, then ran across the narrow walk to the next car. She expected Thomas to be behind her.
She turned. He was inside the freight car, hands in the air as a gunman slammed the door behind him. Her gun was back in her luggage by her seat two cars away. She didn’t know if she could reach it in time.
She pulled the door open.
“Miss, there you are.” A middle-aged man with a brimmed flat-topped cap and the uniform of a porter reached through the door to help her into the car.
“Let’s get you inside now.” He reached past her to close the door and shuffled her into the train car.
“I was told you’ve been running between the cars. That is not allowed. Not allowed at all. I believe your seat is in second class?”
“There’s a man in trouble,” Rose said. “Back there. In the freight car. We need to help him.”
“I’ll see to it he returns to his seat after I escort you to yours. Please,” he said, pressing a small gun to her ribs. “The sooner you return to where you belong, the sooner I can look in on your friend.” He leveled his other hand at the crowded aisle indicating she should get walking.
Was he in on this too? Was he a part of the men keeping Thomas trapped in the freight car?
Several faces turned her way, but hardly anyone could hear the conversation over the rattle of the train. She was sure no one would notice the gun before he had a chance to shoot her.
She could try to rouse the passengers to help her, but as she met each person’s gaze, they quickly looked away. Helping a friend was one thing; getting into trouble with the porter for a stranger—and getting thrown off, family and all, because of it—was an entirely different sort of risk.
Rose made up her mind. She needed her gun, and needed it fast.
The porter opened the next door and helped her across the narrow space between the cars before repeating the process all over again until she was back in the car where she and Hink had sat.
“I believe this is your car,” he said.
“It is,” Rose said. “You don’t need to worry about me now.”
“I’ll just show you to your seat.”
Rose bit back her frustration and quickly walked down the aisle and to the open bench.
Captain Hink was not there.
“This is it,” she said. “My luggage is right where I left it. This is my seat. Thank you. I’m sorry to have been a bother.”
“Just see that you don’t go out again, miss. It’s dangerous out there. Very dangerous.” He leaned down over her, smiling as if he were her best uncle, but his tone was hard and clipped. “As a matter of fact, if I were you, I’d make a point to stay right here the rest of the trip. Stay out of the cargo, forget your ‘friend’ back there, and stay out of things that aren’t your business. When you get off at the next stop, don’t look back.”
Then he straightened, his hand still on the gun in his pocket. “Do you understand me, miss?”
Rose nodded. “I promise to stay completely out of your business, if you’ll just let my friend go.”
“That isn’t going to happen.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No,” he said. “It is not.”
He walked down the aisle and stopped in front of the door that would lead her down to the freight car, turning his back to the door so he could look down the aisle at her.
Thomas might not be dead yet. He was a smooth talker and seemed to keep his wits sharp. He might have talke
d his way out of the fight. Which could have left him wounded or tied up.
Or he might have talked enough that the men in the freight car shot him dead.
She couldn’t just sit here if there was a chance she could save him.
But how?
“Get tired of the tenderfoot and come back here for a real man’s company?”
A man’s shadow fell across the bench. Captain Hink stood blocking the light and the aisle, one hand up on the brass rail above the seat, the other tucked in his belt loop.
He still wore his hat, and, Rose thought, he smelled a bit of tobacco and whiskey.
“Where have you been?” she asked.
He raised one eyebrow, but did not smile. “On the train,” he drawled.
“I walked through the car. I walked through several cars. You weren’t here.” She pointed at the seat.
“Maybe I was. Maybe I was sending a wire to Seldom telling him where to meet me with my ship. Maybe your eyes were filled with that toff, Wicks.”
“He’s in trouble,” Rose said. “Three gunmen have him.”
“Three?”
“I don’t think he’s armed. You must help me save him.”
“Must? Don’t recall ever signing a waiver as that dandy’s protector. He get himself in a row? Fine by me. Might look better with a few less straight front teeth.”
“Paisley Cadwaller Hink Cage, I cannot believe you can be so heartless.”
“Heartless? I never threw my lovers in your face.”
“Lovers? So you did fraternize with those women!”
“No,” he said leaning down so that there was nothing to be seen but his tightly controlled anger. “I did not sleep with those women. Don’t,” he warned when she opened her mouth, “start talking. Listen. Just listen.”
He tipped his head slightly, waiting for her agreement.
“He could be dying right now. Or dead,” she said.
“If you sit there and listen to me, I promise to go look for the dandy. Agreed?”