by Devon Monk
“Yes. That is one of our concerns,” Miss Dupuis said. “It is too much of a coincidence that one of the richest families in the country is so conveniently seated in the hub of all modes of transportation and shipping.”
“And communication,” Mae pointed out. “All these wires.”
Cedar ducked a little to better see the poles and lines stringing the city. She was right. Telegraph wires connected like a weave over the top of each roof, knotting together and marching across every rooftop, carried on the arms of overhead poles.
“Communication to whom?” Cedar asked.
“As Mr. Alun Madder said, the Vosbroughs are in contact with those in the government,” Miss Dupuis said. “Congressmen, speakers, officials. And with those others who are connected to the Vosbrough family and are building their fortune in line with them.”
“Like Mr. Lowry,” Mae said. “If Alun Madder is correct, the Vosbroughs traded weapons and supplies on both sides of the war. Isn’t that also what General Alabaster Saint was accused of?”
“We have long suspected Alabaster was on their payroll, before, during, and after the war,” Miss Dupuis said. “The Vosbroughs have paid and blackmailed commanders to lose battles, have opened glim trade with pirates and brigands to stockpile the rare substance and control the price on the market, and have bought land from impoverished farmers, securing river passages, minerals, and supply points.”
“Do you have proof of these things?” Cedar asked.
Miss Dupuis shook her head. “Not enough. Even the president himself, with all his men, hasn’t managed to force the Vosbroughs to take the stand. The Madders were right in wanting to avoid this town.”
Cedar had never heard of these charges against the Vosbrough family. Which meant they not only could sin, and did so, but they could also keep their sins hidden.
That made Mayor Vosbrough a very, very dangerous man. Cedar’s stomach knotted with an uncertain fear. There was something about that man that bothered him to his core.
A steamer wagon bumbled out in front of their carriage and slowed to a stop, the driver cussing up a storm at the boiler breaking down.
Miss Dupuis glanced at the broken vehicle. “This might take some time.”
From this vantage, Cedar noticed tall scaffolding piercing the steam and smoke of the city. Behind the buildings around them was a factory of some sort. Great billowing clouds of black smoke poured out from it, and a distinctive smell of scorched metal filled the air with the stink of hot blood.
Copper. It was a foundry or a mine refinery. Cedar frowned. The scent of the Holder tinged the air, then was gone.
“Copper mining,” Cedar said as several people in the street pushed the faulty steam wagon out of the way. “Do you know much about it, Miss Dupuis?”
She shook her head. “Why do you ask?”
Cedar wrapped his fingers around the copper in his pocket again. “I can taste it on the air. Copper. All these cables and wires powered by electricity. There appears to be a foundry or refinery beyond the town.”
“Lead is mined near here,” Miss Dupuis said. “And, of course, coal. But copper?” She shook her head.
“Rivers, rails, the sky…and resources.” Cedar rubbed at the back of his neck, unable to dislodge a restlessness growing in his bones. Fear peppered his lips with sweat. There was something he wasn’t seeing here. Some dangerous thing.
The driver found a way around the broken-down cart and got their carriage going again.
Yes, the Strange were near. But it was more than that.
“How long before you think the mayor will just hang the Madders?” he asked.
Miss Dupuis looked back out the window as the city rolled past. “Most trials don’t last longer than a day.”
There wasn’t much time, then. He’d promised the Madders he’d look for the Holder, and Mae insisted he do so. For the day, and if his reasonable mind remained for the night, he would hunt the Holder. And then he would get them all out of this town before Mayor Vosbrough decided to hang not just the Madders, but all of their companions as well.
The carriage finally came to a stop outside the church and Cedar stepped down first, offering his hand to Mae and then Miss Dupuis. The driver and footman didn’t even say so much as a word to them as the carriage turned around and left them standing in the spitting snow.
As the women walked to the church, Cedar lingered behind. Pain stabbed his neck, like teeth biting deep. He pressed his fingertips there, blinking hard to try to clear his vision.
Where the coach had been moments before stood a Strange.
It was made of bits of snow and ice swirling in one place, pulled together to form a manlike shape, easily Cedar’s height, the head overlarge, with no mouth and two huge holes where its eyes should be, showing the forest behind it. It lifted one hand, snowy palm upward beseechingly.
The beast within him coiled to spring, to tear at the creature with empty eyes.
Cedar snarled, reached for his gun.
“Please…” the Strange said in a voice made of the brittle ice cracking. “Help…”
“Cedar, what is it?” Mae’s voice.
He blinked.
The Strange was gone.
Snow still fell, without eyes, without voice, without shape, onto the ground, then was whisked by the wind up to the treetops.
“Cedar?” she asked again.
He glanced down the road after the carriage, then at the bushes and the building. Nothing. There was not even the smell of the Strange in the air.
“Strange,” he said.
She looked in the direction he was staring. “Is it still there?”
“No.”
“But you did see one?”
“Yes. The same one from last night. It had the same empty eyes.”
Mae scanned the trees again, then turned and walked with him toward the stairs. “Would a bullet have killed it?” she asked quietly. She knew the answer as well as he did.
“No.”
They entered the kitchen, and were wrapped in the warm smell of woodsmoke and pine.
He pulled his hat off and dragged his hand through his hair. “It spoke.”
“The Strange?” Mae said. “We’ve heard them speak before. Mr. Shunt did more than just speak. He walked this world in a body and passed among us like a man. The evils he did…” Her voice trailed off and Cedar knew the horrors of her memories. He’d been there too. He’d watched Mr. Shunt butcher and kill.
He’d almost died tearing Mr. Shunt apart with his bare hands.
“Yes,” Cedar said. “Shunt spoke. But he was the only Strange I’d known to do so. This one outside just said two words: ‘Please help.’”
Mae picked up mugs from the sink and filled them with hot water and a few mint leaves. “The Strange are wicked. They delight in playing on our sympathies.”
Cedar nodded, taking the cup she offered and sitting at the table. Mae had fallen for a Strange that made itself look like a little lost child. So yes, she was correct in thinking the Strange enjoyed that kind of game. But this Strange had seemed sad. Hopeless.
Strange weren’t human. They didn’t have feelings, not human feelings.
Cedar rubbed at his neck again, at the pain there. He still ached from the trail, muscles already tired though the day had barely begun.
On top of that, the beast within him turned, pushing for control. It wanted to hunt and kill the Strange. But Cedar suddenly, for the first time in all his years killing Strange, felt a pang of empathy.
Father Kyne walked into the kitchen. “Are you not well, Mr. Hunt?”
“Well enough,” Cedar said. “Do you know what this is?” Cedar placed the copper piece with the broken kite string on the table.
Kyne took a step back, his hands slightly out to the side as if Cedar had just deposited a snake on his kitchen table.
“Copper,” he breathed. “Cold copper.”
“Cold?”
“It is cursed metal. All who touch it
go mad. Then they die.”
Cedar picked it back up.
“Don’t,” Mae said.
“I’m already cursed.” Cedar balanced the triangle in the center of his palm. “And my mind appears to be whole. This looks like kite string or a line a child would use to fish. It fell from the mayor’s coach.”
“People drop things in cities,” Mae said. “Children drop things.”
“It could just be a bit of trash, but when I picked it up, I could tell the Strange had touched it. Tell me about cold copper, Father.”
The minister hesitated, then nodded. He sat at the table, placing his hands loosely in his lap. “There is a mine north of town. Not a coal mine, not a lead mine. It is the place we do not speak of. Not even the men and children who work there speak of it. From that pit into hell, they bring up cold copper.”
“And it’s cursed?” Cedar asked again.
“Damned.”
“How?”
He shook his head. “It steals souls. It is the devil’s work.”
“What is cold copper used for? Trinkets for curses?”
“No. Cold copper is used for the devil’s devices. There is something alive beneath this city. That is what is whispered. Something that feeds on cold copper. But no one knows. Some say there are mines beneath the city. Mines where the devil makes matics that drink down men’s lives and steal the children away.”
“Have you seen them? The mines? The devices?”
He shook his head again. “But I have heard them screaming in the night.”
“The devices?”
“Yes. On the full moon, all doors are locked, all windows shut. No one is on the street except the mayor’s men, who patrol. All through the night, the sounds of screaming pour through the cracks in the ground.”
Cedar was silent. It seemed far-fetched that a demon or devil lived beneath the city. Still, he wouldn’t rule it out. He’d certainly run across enough people in his time who didn’t believe in the Strange, didn’t believe in witchcraft, didn’t believe in the Pawnee curse he carried. And each of those things was as real as the cold, cold copper in his hand.
“When did the children disappear?” he asked. “Was it during the full moon?”
“No. Not just then. But in the nights, other nights, the children who were tied to their beds were gone. Ropes unknotted, coats and boots left behind.”
“People tie their children to their beds?” Mae asked.
“For months now, though it has done no good. Ever since the star fell.”
“What star?”
“In the autumn night sky a star caught fire. It came from the west and fell to the earth.”
“And that was when the children started disappearing?”
“Yes.”
Cedar closed his hand over the copper bit. He could already feel the rising power of the beast within him. Soon, the moon would offer him its whiskey escape from this body, from this lingering ache, from his reasoning mind. Then all his world would be blood.
“Mr. Hunt?”
Cedar had squeezed his hand so tightly, the copper sliced his palm in three places.
“Is it the curse that drives you?” Father Kyne asked.
“My curse is no concern. Not until nightfall. Mrs. Lindson will make sure I am secured. Until then I will help look for the children.”
Mae raised her eyebrows.
“Or the Holder.”
Father Kyne frowned. “The Holder? Is that what you seek? Is that the task the Madders have bound you to?”
“You know of it?” Cedar asked.
He shook his head. “I’m afraid that I don’t.”
“Better for you that way,” Cedar said.
“In what manner does the curse take you?” Kyne asked.
“Like my brother, I gain the beast’s senses and body. Unlike my brother, I lose the man’s mind.”
“I believe I can help.”
“No, that’s fine,” Mae said. “I think it’s best we take care of this. We have done well enough so far.”
“Not help in…restraining him.” He nodded toward Cedar. “Not help in chaining the beast within him. But in breaking the curse. I believe I can break his curse.”
12
“Gentlemen, if you’re gonna shoot, better do it now,” Captain Hink bellowed as he strode into the freight car. “You ain’t gonna get a second chance.”
Rose couldn’t make out anything in the dark. But Hink, the fool, walked right down the narrow path between stacks of crates as if there weren’t three armed men in the shadows.
“Stop right there,” one of the gunmen said. “And get the hell off our train.”
“Your train?” Hink bulled across the distance like a man storming the deck of a ship, making enough noise for three. “Unless you can show me where you branded its haunches, I don’t think I’m inclined to believe you own this train.”
Hink drew something out of his pocket with his left hand, scraped his thumb over a section of it, and threw it off to one side.
The entire freight car lit up with a blinding orange flash that just as quickly snuffed out. It was one of the flares airship crews used, and in this dark, enclosed place, it was devastating on vision.
Two voices yelled out. Then, gunfire.
Rose ran into the darkness, her flash-ruined eyes no good to her. She found the crates by feel and ducked behind them.
She didn’t have a gun to draw, didn’t have a flare, and now, she didn’t even have clear vision. She wasn’t sure Hink was helping rescue Thomas or just getting into a fight for the sake of fighting.
The loud scuffling was followed by that particularly meaty sound of fists hitting bone; then everything went quiet.
Except for the sound of one man’s breathing.
She knew better than to call out. One against three? What were the chances it was Hink who still stood?
“You’re lucky I don’t throw you and that silly hat of yours behind bars,” Hink said.
He was standing? He’d won?
“For what, Mr. Hink?” Thomas said with a grunt, as if he were getting up on his feet. “Last I knew it wasn’t against the law to be roughed up by men of poor reputation.”
“Thomas?” Rose said. “Are you all right?”
She moved out from behind the boxes, her vision still muddy but clearing up quickly.
“Rose? I am fine, just fine. I would have been out of here in a moment or two. I was just waiting for my opportunity.”
Hink snorted. “You weren’t waiting for an opportunity; you were waiting for rescue. And I’m the one who did the rescuing.”
“I understand how you could see it that way,” Thomas said distractedly. “But I was just holding them here until you came and arrested them.”
“Arrest them?” Hink asked. “I would have pinned a medal on them for keeping you out of my way if they hadn’t shot at me. Seemed a favor keeping you out of my sight.”
“But you are a man of law, aren’t you? Captain Hink? Or is it Marshal Hink?”
“What I am, Mr. Wicks, is all out of patience. Get walking.”
Thomas stepped out from the corner of the car and tugged his jacket better into place. Then he dusted his hat and ran his fingers over the brim before placing it on his head.
“Miss Small,” he said with no small amount of delight. “So wonderful of you to return.”
“I couldn’t leave you here with those roughs,” she said.
He gave her a smile and a nod. “I am in debt to your kindness.”
Hink had stayed behind. He grabbed hold of one of the unconscious men and dragged him across the car. “Step aside,” he said as he passed Rose and Thomas. Hink opened the door, walked out with the man, then, a moment later, walked back in empty-handed.
“What did you just do with that man?” Wicks asked.
“Same thing I’m going to do with the next one.” Hink stormed down the car again, and did indeed drag another man with him to the door, then out the door.
&nb
sp; “You’re throwing them off the train!” Mr. Wicks said. “They’re unconscious. Bleeding.”
“Don’t worry,” Hink said. “I left them their guns.” Then he strode over to the remaining gunman and slapped him conscious.
“I’ve just tossed both your friends off this train, and I plan to do the same to you. Unless you tell me who you’re working for.”
The man spit in Hink’s face.
“Wrong answer.” Hink grabbed him up by the coat and dragged him to the door.
“Wait,” Wicks said. “I’d like to know why they nearly killed me.”
Hink opened the door. The man in his grip whimpered. “Last chance. Tell me who you’re working for.”
“I’d rather be tossed in the dirt.”
“Happy to oblige.” Hink stepped outside, the door slamming behind him.
“They were trying to kill you over those crates,” Rose said.
“True,” Thomas said. “Unpleasant business, wasn’t it? I think it’s best we find a more comfortable place to finish our ride.” He offered her his arm.
Just then, Hink strode back into the place. He paused long enough to give Thomas’s extended arm a look, then, shaking his head, walked farther into the car, obviously looking for something.
Rose wondered what it was.
“Rose,” Thomas said again. “I’m sure there is a cup of tea and book waiting for us back in the Pullman car.”
Rose stepped away from Thomas. “You go on ahead, Mr. Wicks. I’ll be right there in a tick.”
“I wouldn’t think of it,” he said. “A gentleman always escorts a lady.”
“I don’t need a gentleman,” she said, surprising herself with that sudden truth. Then, a little kinder, “It’s thoughtful of you, but I need a word yet with Mr. Hink. In private.”
Thomas frowned and, for the barest moment, anger swiped across his face.
Rose held very still, startled by his reaction.
He swallowed and drew his bottom lip beneath his teeth once, as if folding words back into his throat. “Of course,” he said with careful casualness. “I’ll wait for you there.”
He walked out the door and closed it behind him.