Devon Monk - Dead Iron

“They’ll overtake us,” Mae said. “They have mounts that will travel the fields much faster than we run.”

“We’re not traveling the fields,” Alun Madder said. He slowed from a run into a brisk walk. “The tunnel is just ahead.”

Rose Small slipped up beside Mae. “Don’t worry; we’ll get you safe and away and on the road by sunrise.”

“On the road?” Mae said. “No. I’m not leaving. I’m not done taking care of my own business with this town.”

The crowd roared.

Mae glanced back over her shoulder. A low glow was rising, flames licking up the walls of her house, burning through the home she and Jeb had built with their own hands. Burning her life away.

They had taken it from her, the last of her life with her husband. All the things he had carved on long winter nights, the quilts she’d made for their bed, all their memories, all the time—their life—gone.

“Here we are,” Alun Madder said. “Mind the ladder—it’s a bit uneven.”

Mae heard his boots tap out a muffled echo down wooden stairs as he descended into whatever tunnel they’d decided to dig. But she had no plans to run away. Her husband’s murderer was on the other side of those flames. Her husband’s murderer was in that matic that squatted and huffed like an iron buffalo on the other side of this field. And if this blanket could keep her hidden in the night, she planned on using it to get her close enough to put a bullet through his brain.

She took a step, but Rose Small caught her hand again. “You can’t go back,” Rose said. “Mrs. Lindson, Mae, come on with us now, please. We have to go. All of us, or we’ll be dead.”

A shadow ran low to the ground, fast, slick in the night, darting across the field toward the flames. For a moment, the light from the fire caught it in silhouette, a wolf with a silver chain around its neck.

Cedar Hunt. He was running toward the fire, toward the flame, toward the mob.

Mae took another step. Rose Small tugged her harder. “You can’t go back.” Her voice was high and harshed by fear. “Please.”

And then the Madder brothers were there, Bryn and Cadoc, blocking her path. “You must trust us, Mrs. Lindson,” Bryn Madder said. “If it’s revenge you seek, you’d be better for it without walking through fire first.”

“Now,” Cadoc Madder said.

A cry rose up in the crowd. Gunshot exploded the still night air. And the matic, the great metal beast carrying Mr. Shard LeFel and his man, Mr. Shunt, turned toward the open field. Turned as if it could see Mae and Rose and the Madders. Then it huffed, steam punching the air like a percussion of thunder, and huffed again. Even at this distance, Mae could see it lurch forward and begin racing their way, a nightmare beast scenting a blood trail.

Mae turned and ran down the ladder, Rose, Bryn, and Cadoc behind her. At the base, holding the ladder steady, stood A lun Madder.

“Quick, now, quick,” he said. As soon as the last in line, Cadoc, had lowered his head beneath ground level, Alun turned what looked like a valve wheel set on the wall—the same sort of wheel she had seen them use at the door to their mine. The roof of the tunnel above the ladder closed in, a stone piece set on rails rolling quickly into place.

Bryn and Cadoc Madder made fast work of folding the blankets they had been wearing and stuffing them into their satchels strapped across their chests and hanging at their waists. Then Bryn Madder lit a candle and Cadoc Madder lit two lanterns that were pegged on the wall, handing one lantern to Rose Small.

“Here.” Rose gave the lantern to Mae. The lantern was a green glass globe caught all round in silver vines and leaves, so that it looked to be a glowing flower. Oil wick inside, it was a beautiful device, and made with a master metalsmith’s fine hand. Not what she’d expect rough miners to stock in case of emergencies such as this.

The tunnel was tall and wide enough for two people to walk shoulder to shoulder. Here and there along the wall were crates and sacks covered with heavy canvas. Wooden crossbeams and bracers were set off down the tunnel at a steady distance, holding the earth above, while straight down the middle of the ceiling, supported by the wooden beams, rested a single rail.

She hadn’t a clue what the rail was in place for and could not believe how many supplies the Madders had stashed away. A veritable storehouse this close to her home and she’d never once suspected the tunnel was here.

“You’ll want a sling.” Alun Madder pulled the canvas cover from the pile of gear by the ladder and started digging through the odds and bits.

“Sling?” Mae said.

“Sling.” Alun pulled what looked like an unattached rope swing out of the pile. “Netted bottom here is the sling part. That you’ll sit upon. These”—he strung out the two heavy ropes that looped together through an iron hook—“you’ll attach to the eye loop there.” He pointed upward.

Mae lifted the globe and could just make out several metal loops hanging from the iron rail above them.

“Why?”

Rose Small took the sling from Alun and handed it to Mae. “It’s quite a lot of fun, if a little breezy.”

“Fun?” Mae asked. “Swinging in a tunnel?”

“Not swinging,” Alun Madder said. “Soaring.” He produced a sling from the pack on his back, then hooked it into an eye loop. “Mind that you keep your feet tucked on the corners or you might break an ankle. Or worse.” He stood in front of the sling, hands on the rope just as if he were a child ready to get a push on a swing. But as he walked backward to the ladder, the hook and eye above him clacked like a chain tightening a spring.

“I’ll see you at the first junction. We’ll have to switch lines there.” He sat down in the sling, which lowered slightly under his weight, then lifted his feet. The spring device above shot him forward so fast, Mae sucked in a breath at the gush of wind that filled the tunnel.

The light from Alun Madder’s lantern swung across the walls and ceiling of the tunnel, showing a good, long, straight shot, before suddenly the light whipped left and was swallowed by darkness.

“Quick,” Rose Small said. “It’s safe enough. I rode it most of the way from town.” She took a sling out of her pack and shook it out, righting the ropes and seat. That she left on the ground and instead snatched up Mae’s sling. “Just mind to keep your skirts tamped tight and tuck your feet on that corner.” She hooked the eye loop, and held the seat of the sling out for Mae.

“Latch the lantern here.” Rose used a leather thong sewn into the rope to secure the globe near Mae’s shoulder. The lantern tossed up enough light to catch on the clever wheels and gears that were attached like a miniature cart above the rail, the eye loop hook directly below it.

“Where does the tunnel lead?”

Rose Small shrugged. “Don’t know that it matters so long as it’s away from that mob who want you burned. They think you did witchcraft on Elbert.”

“They found Elbert?” Mae asked.

“That devil LeFel brought in a boy who looks like Elbert,” Rose Small hedged.

“The Strange,” Mae breathed.

“You know about them?” Rose Small’s words came out in a tumble of relief.

“Yes, I do,” Mae said. “Too well.”

“Hurry up now, ladies,” Bryn Madder said. “We need to be out from under their feet before they realize we’ve gone.”

“I’ll be right behind you,” Rose said, holding up her own sling and smiling.

“Just walk backward toward me, Mrs. Lindson,” Bryn Madder said. “When you lift your feet, you’ll swing down the line and go it strong.”

Mae held tight to the ropes and walked backward. It wasn’t difficult to pull the rope back. She kept a good hold on the shotgun in her left hand, her heart pounding.