Ellis stopped just shy of the barracks and made one of his theatrical pauses, raking the gathered men with his gaze.
Beside him, Rawle waited quietly. Despite his newly-savage appearance, his eyes were as round and devoid of thought as ever. A barely suppressed grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. He didn't act much like a man who'd been screaming and bleeding on James's study floor the night before. The only thing about Rawle that seemed different at all were the curves and angles of midnight-colored wings imprinted into his flesh.
"I thought we were gonna fight the Reds, not join them," Jennett said.
"The markings serve their purpose," Ellis replied, as utterly smooth as ever. "Although the science behind them would require a lengthy and likely unnecessary explanation. What is probably of greater interest to you is what these markings allow Mr. Rawle to do. Please allow us a few moments to demonstrate. Mr. Rawle?"
They must have left the Crow in the gardens. Vincent glimpsed a black shadow between the trees, flitting from trunk to trunk like a phantom. Some of the other men must've seen something too, because they started to murmur half-spoken questions.
Then the Crow burst through the tree tops and into the open sky. Its spread wings spanned nearly an entire treetop, and its eyes shone with brilliant silver light. Real birds screamed and flew from the surrounding trees in a frantic rush of beating wings.
"Jesus," Langston whispered. "Holy fuck."
For once, Vincent didn't disagree. Even though he'd known what was coming, he sucked in his breath.
"Bring it down," Ellis said. "If you would, please, Mr. Rawle?"
Rawle's child-like, grinning anticipation fell slack. His brow furrowed, and he stared straight ahead without seeming to really see anything.
The Crow skimmed over the trees and swooped straight toward the barracks. As it closed on them, its size grew even more apparent. Its eyes gleamed with supernatural light against flat, unreflective black. Vincent couldn't quite tear his eyes from that magnificent piece of metal, but at the edges of his vision, he noted the men standing in the doorway shifting uneasily. The Crow descended another few feet, abruptly dropped straight down, and landed with an ungraceful thump at Rawle's feet.
Rawle blinked and grinned.
The men were quiet for a few seconds. Finally, Ackermann cleared his throat.
"Captain Ellis," Ackermann said. "Might you be kind enough as to tell us more about this great metal bird and its connection to Mr. Rawle and his tattoos?"
Then Ellis grinned. "An amazingly acute choice of words, Mr. Ackermann."
Nobody was even looking in Vincent's direction, so he grinned, too.
~
"So you have used our Johnny to make this thing," Ackermann said. "This Crow."
The explanation Ellis had offered had left out only a few of the things he'd already told Vincent. Vincent was careful to take note of what had been left unsaid. The fading sky was now faded, and the Crow's eyes glowed steadily in the dusk. Vincent caught himself staring at it while Ellis spoke.
Ellis didn't answer Ackermann immediately. Instead, he smiled and murmured, "Of course. Crowmakers. That is what you will be called. Thank you, Mr. Ackermann."
Ackermann's frown was puzzled.
"Perhaps I am only slow in understanding," Ackermann said. "It is a very nice flying machine, yes, but I am uncertain as to the usefulness of a metal bird."
Ellis's gaze slipped past Ackermann and latched onto Vincent. He smiled and inclined his head.
"It's not a bird," Vincent said.
Heads turned and feet shuffled as all eyes shifted to Vincent—including Rawle's, Vincent noticed. Ellis hadn't even told Rawle everything yet.
"Special Horse and Battery Troop," Vincent said. "It's a gun."
"A quite advanced gun," Ellis added. "Although you will not be using them as such until they are fully under your control."
Vincent thought of the hopper, designed to hold dozens—hell, maybe hundreds—of bullets. He shivered. He also grinned, just a little. He probably looked as dumb as Rawle, but he couldn't quite help himself.
Kalvis understood first.
"When you speak of 'your control,'" Kalvis said, in a voice that was quiet and solemn even for him, "you do not speak just of Mr. Rawle."
No one else said anything for a very long moment.
"Crowmakers," Colley finally said. "Plural."
"That means 'more than one.'" Byrne nodded with mock solemnity at Bosch, but a nervous tic danced at the corner of his mouth. Bosch gave no sign of even hearing Byrne. His typically red face seemed moon-pale in the dim light.
Petras Juszkiewicz exchanged a look with Tomas Poanski.
"You are asking the rest of us—all of us—if we will become what John Rawle has become." Petras didn't look nervous. Vincent didn't think the man knew what fear meant. But he frowned.
Poanski did look nervous. A lot of them did, including sturdy Joseph Goodson and even William Jennett.
Despite having had time to get used to the idea, Vincent abruptly felt a little ill. What Rawle had shown them he could do, even just hours after becoming what he was, was amazing. Exciting, even. But Vincent had glimpsed what he'd gone through to get there. And there was something about Rawle even now, an odd vagueness in his eyes when he'd he worked the Crow—something that didn't seem quite right.
But that gun. God damn, that gun. If firing the .36 was like holding life and death in your bare hands, then what would it feel like to control a Crow?
"All of you," Ellis said. "Each of you. Crowmakers."
Vincent shivered again. He was nervous, sure, but it was a good nervous. Think of the power of owning that Crow.
Ellis's gaze slid toward Vincent. "Save for Lieutenant Bradley, I fear."
Vincent's stomach lurched and dropped. He thought of Rawle's screams, and he thought of the double barrels concealed in the Crow's belly, and he wasn't sure if the lurch was relief or disappointment.
"I will require your assistance at the house around the clock from now on, Lieutenant. You will move your things at once."
Chapter 28
Vincent wasn't sure what "things" Ellis thought he had to move. Like the other men, he'd gotten rid of the rags he'd been wearing when he walked out of Philadelphia. Other than his uniform, he had his sabre and his .36. When Ellis walked back up the hill, Vincent went to his cot for the sabre. He wore the .36. He'd have worn it in his sleep if he could.
Behind Vincent, the other men flocked around Rawle, looking over his tattoos and warily examining the Crow. Rawle answered their questions tentatively at first, but bravado and excitement quickly took the place of any hesitance. The more questions the others asked, the more Rawle sounded like Langston at his most boastful moments.
"It's a big honor," Rawle said at one point. "Being the very first Crowmaker."
Vincent crouched beside his cot. He wondered if Rawle remembered anything at all about the night before.
Relieved, Vincent decided. He was more relieved than disappointed about not becoming a Crowmaker. He was the honored one. He was the one Ellis knew wasn't stupid enough to run right into anything so risky.
"I'm gonna be the second one," Langston said. "You wait and see."
"I am not so sure about it," Ackermann said. "Any of it."
Vincent glanced toward the door. A lot of the men, those who weren't saying much of anything, nodded at Ackermann's words.
"Ackermann, you big chicken shit piece of shit," Langston said. "You just got no sense of adventure, that's all."
"There is adventure, and then there is sensibility."
"I can't turn back now." Poanski's voice was quieter than either Langston's or Ackermann's. "I know maybe it seems like a lot. But if I go home now, I will be a failure. Elena's father, he will never relent and let us marry."
Poanski nodded, in that frighteningly earnest way he had.
"I will do this," Poanski said. "I must."
Petras put a hand on Poanski's shoulder. Bes
ide them, Kalvis nodded slowly.
"It is surely an uncertain thing," Kalvis said. "And yet I have no reason to go back, no reason to not go forward. Who knows? Perhaps I will make something good of my life yet."
They fell quiet. Vincent reached under his cot, found the pommel and sheath of his sabre, and dragged it out.
Ellis had known. Vincent thought back to that very first time he'd laid eyes on Tucker Ellis, along the wharves in the biting winter wind. He'd said he was looking for intelligent muscle—Vincent knew enough by now to know that was so much horse shit. Ellis had no qualms about lying if it was useful.
But Ellis had hand-picked these men, that much was true. He'd needed men that he believed would respond in particular ways. He'd needed men he knew would follow him even after they discovered what he wanted them to do. Vincent was struck with a very strong sense that Ellis had foreseen, even back then, exactly how this very moment would play out.
None of them would leave. Every last one of them would become Crowmakers and follow Ellis off to the Indiana Territory or wherever else Ellis led them. If they thought they were making a decision, it was one that Ellis had already known they'd make.
Vincent stood, sabre in hand and .36 on his hip, and walked toward the door.
"Guess you ain't so special after all, Bradley." Jennett's voice. Vincent didn't look toward him. "You get to be Ellis's pet, but you're a gelded pet. No balls for you, boy."
Vincent stopped and turned slowly. Jennett's icy eyes stabbed at him.
"There'll be eleven of you," Vincent said. "But there's only one me. Boy."
He left the barracks and climbed the hill toward the house. He didn't look back again.
~
Ellis was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, trousers and jacket as crisp and free from creases as if he'd just dressed for the day, showing no signs of wear despite the masterful works of manipulation he'd been performing.
"Lieutenant Bradley." Ellis nodded and tipped a smirk toward Vincent.
"Sir," Vincent replied.
"Follow me." Ellis turned and treaded briskly up the stairs.
Vincent hesitated before lifting his foot onto that first step and following Ellis into unfamiliar territory, but only for a second. You had to be quick to keep up with Ellis, or you'd get left behind.
Vincent's room was in a garret on the top floor. One dusty window overlooked the Schuylkill. The cot was no different from the one he'd slept on in the barracks.
"Don't get too comfortable," Ellis said, and Vincent caught just a hint of wry humor. "We will not be here much longer. As soon as our little regiment—our regiment of Crowmakers—is capable of travel, we will depart for the Indiana Territory."
Depart. That word hit Vincent's gut as hard as any punch ever swung at him. But so much had happened—was happening—that it took a moment for him to understand why.
Kellen. Sending money back to her was all fine, but he'd always meant to go back for her.
Ellis was looking at him. Vincent schooled his expression, but he figured it was already too late. Anything Ellis cared to know, he'd probably already read in Vincent's face.
"Yes, sir," Vincent said.
He'd waited too long, some small part of him stated clearly. He'd given up too much ground, and Kellen was out of his reach now.
"We have just enough time to make our Crows and get their makers on their feet. Provisioning has already begun. Further training will have to take place along the road."
As Ellis spoke, he took a step back from Vincent's tiny berth, opened the door next to it, and motioned Vincent inside.
Even before Vincent crossed the threshold, even before his eyes adjusted to the dim interior, he felt the raw power radiating from the room's contents. Stepping inside was like wading against a river current.
Rows of silent Crows stood beneath the eaves, perfectly still on their metal legs, wings tucked smoothly against their sides. A pair of silvery eyes glowed in each triangular head. Machines, Vincent reminded himself, but he couldn't help feeling watched.
"That is one impressive sight," he finally managed to say.
"Isn't it, though?" Ellis replied from the hall behind Vincent.
The hairs along Vincent's arms rose, and his skin tingled at the vitality vibrating against it. The air inside the room full of Crows felt hot and thick, like the worst of an August afternoon on the wharves. Every breath was an effort.
"It's a shame," Ellis said, and his voice seemed as loaded as the air inside the Crow room. "You'd have made an excellent Crowmaker."
Here. Here was the test. With Ellis, there was always a test. Vincent gathered his wits as best he could and turned to face Ellis.
"Why won't I?" he asked. He still wasn't sure if he was asking why he'd been slighted or why he'd been reprieved. Part of him wanted to bask in that room full of waiting power, and part of him wanted to flee. "Why won't I become one of them?"
Ellis flashed a wry smile. "You were supposed to. I hadn't planned on finding such an excellent right hand to groom, not in the midst of unfinished dock hands."
All those sets of Crow eyes seemed to be fixed squarely on the back of Vincent's neck. He carefully folded his hands behind his back and waited for Ellis to keep talking.
"Do you understand, Vincent, what it is about you that I value?" Ellis asked.
Not Mr. Bradley. Not Lieutenant. Vincent. That threw Vincent's balance off as surely as the room full of Crows. Something must have shown on his face, because Ellis chuckled.
"Fear not. I don't intend to launch into any fatherly speeches," Ellis said. "I learned nothing from my own father. He was a weak man. Weakness is not a virtue."
Ellis tilted his head and regarded Vincent steadily—waiting for an answer to his question. Vincent struggled to ignore the barely restrained power buzzing in the air and think clearly. It occurred to him that Ellis had planned on just that.
"Not because I follow orders," Vincent said. "They all follow orders. And not because you trust me. Trusting anyone but yourself is stupid. Dangerous."
"Indeed." Ellis smiled. "I would be a fool to trust you, or anyone else. You understand that. You understand many things, Vincent, and what you don't understand you eventually comprehend. But there is one thing even beyond that, that thing which means I do not need to trust you."
Vincent waited.
"I know what you want." Ellis leaned the slightest bit closer to Vincent. "And you know that I can help you get that. A mutual interest binds us, and that is far stronger than flimsy trust."
Vincent almost instinctively asked—what was it Ellis thought he wanted? But then he met Ellis's steady gaze and remembered that they both knew already.
"I cannot give you power," Ellis said. "Being you, you will have already noticed that I did not suggest that I could."
"Power's not something you give." The words came from Vincent's mouth, but he felt strangely as though they came from somewhere else. Maybe he drank them in from the wild, hot air in the room. "It's something you take."
Ellis's smile was slow and full of approval, as heady as the Crows' aura.
"And that, Vincent, is why you cannot become a Crowmaker. I would be an incredible fool to risk such potential on an experiment, no matter how glorious the possible outcome."
Experiment. Nausea pinched at Vincent's throat.
Ellis motioned Vincent out of the room full of Crows. The air in the hall tasted cool and sweet, and when Ellis closed the door, Vincent had to make a conscious effort not to sigh in relief.
"There is one thing, however." Ellis motioned back toward the closed door of the Crow room. "We have an even dozen of the Crows. Since we now have only eleven men to make them, we will need to add one more."
Kellen's face filled Vincent's vision. He struggled to keep any reaction from his face. Ellis had turned away and led Vincent now toward the top of the stairs, so he wasn't looking—but damned if that man didn't always know what was going on in Vincent's head anyhow.
&nb
sp; And what did it matter? Hadn't Ellis more or less just told Vincent that he was special? Chosen? Hadn't he been encouraging Vincent, from the very start, to be bold and speak his mind?
"I know someone," Vincent said.
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wondered if he ought to regret them. Kellen might not scream as childishly as Rawle had, but she'd feel whatever had caused those screams. She'd go through what Rawle had, and that glazed, half-awake look in his eyes would be in hers when it was all over.
But she'd be with Vincent.
Ellis stopped just short of the top step and turned to look at Vincent.
"I am not surprised," Ellis said. "Tell me, before you make your suggestion—are you making it for the right reasons? Or are you taking the opportunity to have me do a favor for you and make it sound like you're doing one for me?"
Vincent nearly swallowed his tongue. Ellis was not smiling, not even a little. His voice was perfectly level, but it held no mildly amused lilt, no calculating charm. All the times before when Vincent had thought Ellis was testing him, those had been nothing, Vincent realized. This. Here. Right now. This was the real test.
Vincent hadn't ever understood until then how very badly he did not want to fail.
Ellis stared Vincent down, waiting. Vincent could not look away—and wouldn't have dared to if he could, because that was probably part of the test, too.
"Both," Vincent said. "This will work for both of us. She has a good head, and she knows how to work hard, as hard as anyone you've hired so far. Harder than most. She could be your best Crowmaker yet."
"What a set of balls." Ellis's smile quirked, suddenly. "It is a rare breed of man who truly understands that if you really want something, you must be willing to give everything in your life to attain it."
Vincent wasn't sure exactly what Ellis meant by that, he just knew it sent another sick thrill down his spine. But Ellis was looking expectantly at him.
"Yes, sir."
"Very well. When you go, take the wagon—and see Lockton before you leave. There are supplies in the city you can pick up for him while you're there."
Ellis turned and tapped briskly down the stairs. Vincent wavered at the top of them a moment longer, trying to reconcile the soaring of his heart with the sick weight in his stomach.
A Stillness of the Sun (Crowmakers: Book 1): A Science Fiction Western Adventure Page 20