by Devon Monk
“We go look for him.”
He considered for a moment, then nodded and sat down next to her.
For the first time, she realized how much he had been making it a point not to touch her. When he sat, he made sure his leg didn’t brush her skirts and deftly turned so his wide shoulders fit the space available.
“I haven’t been completely true to you about my…activities,” he began. “You’re right that I haven’t told you everything. Honestly, it’s such a habit to keep certain things…private. Things I don’t even share with my crew.”
Rose clenched both her hands together and resisted the urge to stare out the window to see if Thomas was bouncing down the track.
“You know how I was raised, what sort of business my mother was engaged in.”
“Yes,” she said. He had been raised in a brothel. He’d told her that was one of the reasons he had so many names. His mother believed in giving him one from each well-off man who had visited her bed, hoping to secure a father for him.
“As a younger man, I found myself feeling quite at home in such places,” he continued. “You may not believe this, but I made friends with some of the women over the years.”
“Years? Is this supposed to be making me feel more kindly toward you, Captain?”
“This is meant to tell you the truth.” He inhaled, held his breath a moment, then exhaled. “I’ve visited hundreds of brothels, dance halls, and parlors. Maybe thousands. And while I do not pretend to be a saint, the truth of it is, I visit such places for information.”
“Is that so?” Rose said with a smile clenched between her teeth. “So this is purely altruistic of you. Of course. You are only exchanging information with thousands of beautiful, available women of ill repute.”
A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth and she glared at him. The man was maddening. The angrier she got, the more he seemed to enjoy the challenge of testing her temper. If only he wasn’t so frustrating, she might be able to ignore him.
But he made her blood heat up. In more than one way.
There was a roguish charm and power about him. Even with the eye patch, he still looked every inch the U.S. Marshal and airship pirate. And when he was this close to her, it didn’t take much for her mind to wander to the kisses they’d shared and…gentler moments.
“They are that, just what you say,” he said calmly, his voice a warm burr beneath her skin. “I’d expect a woman who plans to live her life adventuring to be more open-minded about women who are also trying to make their way in the world with their particular talents.”
“So you are just helping these women make their way. Lovely.”
“I am helping them, and they are helping me.”
“I am certain they are!”
He gave her that grin again, enjoying her reaction. “By spying,” he said. “They spy for me. Well, not just for me.”
Rose opened her mouth, then shut it fast.
“They spy,” he repeated, “for the American government. No better place to harvest a man’s secrets than between the sheets.” At her look, he added, “Not my secrets. Well, not always mine. There was this one woman…” He pulled back just a bit at her glare.
“Guess that’s a story for another time,” he said. “These women gather other men’s secrets. Important men, unimportant men. Rumors, brags, lies, pillow-talk truths. All gathered up by the doves, and given to me. For a reasonable payment. For money.
“Telegraphs can be intercepted, but a message by dove always comes through.”
“Spies? Do you expect me to believe the president of the United States would use women, those kinds of women, as spies?”
“Women like my mother?”
Rose closed her eyes. The man made her want to shout. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Yes, you did.”
“All right,” she said. “I did. I just can’t believe a word coming out of your mouth, Captain Hink. Weeks. You spent weeks at that bordello. No secret takes weeks to hear.”
Hink looked down at his hands folded on top of his leg. “There are things happening, Rose, things I cannot tell you for fear of you falling in harm’s way. Those things take more than a week to piece together.”
“And you want me to believe that you alone, naked and sweaty on your back, are somehow saving the world?”
“Don’t have to be on my back, necessarily.”
“Is that all?” Rose asked archly.
He nodded and tipped a glance her way. “It is all I can say now. And it is the truth. Is it enough?”
“For what?”
“Forgiveness.”
Rose thought it over. She could lie to him, and tell him yes. But he’d know. For all he was a charmer and a man of lose morals, he had a keen eye when it came to reading people—her especially.
“No. But it’s enough that I’ll think it over. What you said. About what you have and have not been doing. Now will you help me find Thomas?”
At the mention of his name, Hink visibly tightened. “I don’t understand what you see in that cheap suit.”
“Discussing him wasn’t part of our bargain,” Rose said.
Hink just shook his head slowly. “All right. So where did he get himself caught up?”
“We were in the freight car—”
“What in the blazes were you doing there?”
“He’d seen some odd packages getting loaded. I was curious.”
“The man lured you into a dark private train car so he could show you his package?” Hink said it real evenlike, but something about the way he asked it made Rose hesitate.
“I was curious,” she repeated.
“I bet you were.”
“About the freight,” she continued. “Margaret had a box that was loaded aboard. She looked like she was trying to hide it. The initials VB were stamped on the side, and when Thomas said he’d seen something unusual…what? What is it?”
Captain Hink had gone a shade whiter than just a moment before. “Be very clear with me, Rose,” he said in a voice befitting a U.S. Marshal. “Margaret Wood from the coven had a crate with the initials VB on the side?”
“Yes.”
“Were there more of those boxes in that freight car?”
“Yes. Is that bad?”
“Yes. And you say Thomas is trapped there? By men?”
“Three men with guns. Looked like ranchers, but they told us to get away from the goods, and put them down.”
“Down? You didn’t take one of the crates, did you?”
“We…he…opened one.”
“Oh, for the love of glim, Rose. What were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t thinking, I was curious.”
“Well, your curiosity might have just killed a man.” He stood, and took a step toward the end of the car.
“We can’t go that way,” Rose said. “The porter threatened me with a gun. I think he’s with the other gunmen.”
Hink tipped his chin up so as to better sight the man standing at the door. “He pulled a gun on you?”
“Yes, a small pistol.”
“Stay here.”
Hink strode down the aisle, imposing as a blackened summer sky, storming to kill. Rose hurried behind him. Her gun was still packed away in her luggage, the ammunition in a separate pouch.
She’d just assumed taking a civilized sort of transportation meant she wouldn’t have to get into a shoot-out before they’d even made the first station.
Hink had a long set of legs on him and was already in front of the porter. Rose paused, ready to duck or run or find something to throw, but neither man drew a gun.
Hink just grabbed ahold of the man by his lapels, picked him up off his feet, and walked with him through the door.
She rushed after him just in time to see him throw the man off the speeding train.
“Wait! No!” Rose yelled. “What are you doing?”
“Throwing a man off a train, what does it look like I’m doing?”
“But
he’s…he’s the porter.”
“I don’t care if he’s the king of England,” Hink said. “He was in my way.”
Hink walked the short distance to the next car, then turned to look at her. She nearly ran into him and had to grab the railing not to tumble the way of the porter.
“You, stay here,” he said.
“We do this together.”
“We?” he said, maybe angrily. But then he smiled, and it was a wicked smile. “You are a crazy soul, Rose Small.” He pulled a gun out of one of the many pockets of his heavy coat. “This shows how much I trust you. Can’t think of another woman as angry as you are that I’d go and give a gun to and then turn my back on.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “If I’m angry enough to shoot you, you’ll see me coming.”
“Promises, promises,” he said with a soft smile that made Rose wish that maybe she weren’t quite so angry with the man.
He reached out to clasp her hand, which she took, and then they were moving together, walking across the span, then in through the next door, and once again all the way down through the cars until they stood at the end of the third-class car.
Rose was beginning to think rail travel wasn’t all that wonderful, and was tired of keeping her balance while getting half blown off and half frozen between cars, since it was now raining icy pebbles.
But when they came to that last door, and Captain Hink squeezed her hand once before letting go, she was tingling and alive. This was adventure. This was the world. Her world. And even if it was wet, cold, and full of danger, she was going to face it, gun drawn.
“Don’t crowd me,” Hink said. “Don’t get in the way of fire. And don’t go heroic, woman. Understand?”
“Clearly. Same goes for you, Captain.”
“Ain’t never been a hero a single day of my life,” he said.
“Yes,” Rose said, gathering up the material of her skirt, twisting it, and then tucking it into her belt so it stayed out of her way. “You have. You’ve been my hero.”
When she looked up at him, he had such an expression on his face: maybe a bit of surprise, maybe a bit of hope.
“Ready?” she asked, her hip braced on the railing.
“Since I took my first breath,” he said. Then Captain Paisley Hink drew his gun and kicked in the door.
11
The Madders were quickly pushed into the back of an enclosed steam wagon, which puffed its way down the lane toward the heart of the city.
Cedar paused on the stairs outside Vosbrough’s manor. From the height of this hill, he could see the towering buildings, brick and wood, and the brass tether towers spiring up above even the tallest structures. There were no airships at rest there now, probably because of the snow that fell in bitter, ragged squalls.
He’d heard at least one ship pass over when they’d been coming this way, so likely there was a landing field and air sheds outside the city.
Black smoke curled out of chimneys, wings of coal smudged the sky.
But there was more than just smoke in the air. There was the sound of the Strange, a low, slow weeping he’d never heard before. And with the sound of the Strange came the faintest scent of the Holder.
The Holder was here. Somewhere.
“Mr. Hunt?” Mae said from a short distance ahead.
He glanced one last time over the buildings. He didn’t see the Strange, though if they were close enough he could hear them; he should be able to glimpse them. They weren’t invisible. Not to his eyes anyway.
He tipped his hat down over his eyes and walked down the stairs.
“Are we going to let them take the Madders to jail?” Mae asked.
“For now.” He walked with her toward Vosbrough’s carriage and helped her navigate the slick steps up into it.
Just before he entered the carriage something bright on the snowy ground by his boot caught his eye.
He bent, picked it up. It was a piece of copper, flat and shaped like a triangle, bright as a sunrise. The edges were smooth and even, and in the center of the triangle was a punched hole, just as smooth and even as the edges. Tied through that hole was a small length of kite string.
But it wasn’t the copper or shape of the piece that surprised him. The moment his fingers touched it, he heard again the Strange. Crying.
He pocketed the copper and string and stepped up into the carriage.
The driver started off toward the church.
“Can you defend them?” Mae asked Miss Dupuis.
“I can if I know what they’ve been accused of.”
“Won’t the mayor stand as judge?” Mae asked.
“No. There is a full and active courthouse here. There is an appointed judge.”
“Appointed by the mayor?” Mae asked. “It won’t matter to a man like him whether or not justice is being served; he has already declared them guilty. He intends to hang them no matter how the trial plays out.”
“We’ll have them out before the trial ends,” Cedar said.
“I agree,” Miss Dupuis said.
“How?”
Cedar just shook his head, and Mae’s eyes widened a bit. She understood. If they had to, they’d break the Madders out.
“What about the missing children?” she asked quietly, even though the driver and footman wouldn’t be able to hear her over the noise of the coach.
Cedar frowned and stared out the window. “I’ll do what I can to find them while the Madders are in jail. But in this weather…”
He didn’t have to finish. They’d all known it was a lost promise. Children gone wandering in snow, in blizzards, were rarely found alive. And if they hadn’t gone wandering, if instead they’d been stolen away by boat or airship or rail, there would be no trace of them now.
“I will look for the children,” Mae said.
That brought Cedar straight out of his wandering thoughts. “Mae.”
“You need to find the Holder, and you must. Do you think it is anywhere near here?”
Cedar nodded. “Close enough I’ve caught wind of it. But not enough that I know which direction to turn.”
“Then it’s settled,” she said. “You will find it. And if it is near—”
“And if it is not?” he asked.
“We were following its trail before the blizzard hit. It must be near. I do understand,” she added quickly, “that Miss Dupuis will be busy preparing her argument to save the Madders. I’m not going to just stand on the porch worrying while she defends the Madders and you hunt for the Holder. So I will look for the children. I may even have some spells that could help locate them.”
Cedar pressed his lips together to keep his objections behind his teeth. He didn’t like the idea of her searching alone. “You’ll take Wil with you.”
She shook her head. “Wil should go with you. To find the Holder. Especially since you’ll be…” She didn’t say it, didn’t have to. They all knew the full moon was coming tonight. Then he’d be a wolf with barely a man’s mind. Lost in a killing lust for the Strange, and caring nothing for hunting the Holder.
“I won’t leave you alone,” Cedar said.
Mae gave him the sort of smile that reminded him she’d traveled a good lot of this country at great risk to herself when she’d left the coven to start a new married life years ago. And that had been when she was sworn and bound to not use her magic.
“I will be careful,” she said. “As I hope you will be.”
He nodded, having no words to give her. If he lost her, if her search for the children brought her harm, the vestiges of his humanity would fall from him like an unbuttoned shirt.
And then it wouldn’t be just the Strange that he killed.
The city was fully awake and even more crowded than when they had driven through on the way to the mayor’s. The clash of voices, ringing of bells, and the constant ruckus of wheels over snow, harnesses, and the rattle and chug of steamers stirred the pulse of the living city.
And beneath it all, Cedar could hear
the Strange. Wailing, crying. Their voices snatched away by the wind as quickly as he heard them.
Why were they caught in sorrow? What could make an inhuman thing grieve? He searched the street, peered in windows of buildings, and stared at shadows. Although he heard the Strange, he didn’t see them.
Odd.
The carriage took a side street and detoured through a poorer part of town. Here the windows were covered with boards and newspapers, laundry hung in lines and over copper wires between buildings, even though the day was freezing.
People were just as busy here, but most wore much plainer clothes. It was here, more than in any other part of town, that the obvious lack of children on the street struck him.
Women with infants bundled close against their chests walked the slick streets with sacks of goods from the market. A lame boy, perhaps ten or twelve, leaned on a corner post, trying to keep the newspapers tucked beneath one arm dry from the snow. He saw no other children. The missing sight and sound of children among the noise of the place was like a piano lacking every other key.
It was this street that reminded him Des Moines was a hardworking shipping and coal-mining town that had built itself up on the shoulders of those who bent their backs to hard labor.
Mayor Vosbrough, Mr. Lowry, and Miss Daffin might be enjoying the luxuries of life, but the rest of the citizens were not as fortunate.
“What do you know about Des Moines, Miss Dupuis?” Cedar asked.
She shook her head. “Not much, I’m afraid. Several years ago we heard that one of the Vosbrough family had set himself in a powerful position and lobbied, bribed, and blackmailed to have the railroads meet here.”
“The rail doesn’t cross in Des Moines itself,” he said. “There are spurs, but the main line is north, isn’t it?”
“Yes. But this is the capital city of the state and, as Vosbrough is prone to remind us, seated between both major rivers, which run north and south.
“Between the rail and rivers, the town can be reached from all corners of the land, and with the airship fields, all corners of the sky.” She paused. “Des Moines is quite well-set between mountain ranges and all the goods they offer.”
“Access to glim harvested above the western mountains,” Cedar said. “And access to store it, use it, or sell it anywhere in the country they want.”