Devon Monk - Dead Iron

Mr. Gregor waited until she was gone, the door not only closed but locked behind her.

“The boy doesn’t seem to remember the last few days,” Cedar said. “A blessing, I think.”

“I can’t be more grateful,” Mr. Gregor said around a catch in his throat. “Mr. Hunt. Name your price and I’ll give it to you gladly.”

“I’m not a man who needs many things. And I’m set well enough.”

“You must take some payment,” he insisted.

Cedar didn’t want to take anything for a job he had already gained so much from—finding his brother. “What happened to the changeling Shard LeFel brought you?” he asked.

Mr. Gregor looked down at his hands clenched together in front of him. “In the middle of the night, it was tearing through the house, wild. Crazy. When it struck Hannah and made her bleed, she thought it possessed by devils and began reading Bible verses while I held it tight and still. When daylight poured in through the window and touched him—it—he turned to a stock of wood.”

He held Cedar’s gaze, as if knowing how mad that sounded.

Cedar adjusted the hat on his head, catching his breath against the wound in his side and the other injuries that had not healed. They likely wouldn’t heal any faster than a normal man’s pains, since the change into wolf, and the quick healing it offered, was a month away.

“Well, then how about you pay me by giving me that stock of wood?”

If the blacksmith seemed surprised, he hid it well. “Follow me—I put it in the shop. I wasn’t sure what else to do.”

Cedar glanced at Rose Small. She shrugged. “I’m going with you.” She marched off after Mr. Gregor, her horse following behind her.

Cedar walked after them, keeping a keen ear out for any sounds of trouble. But all he heard was the sounds of townsfolk, and the hammering of the men who worked for Mr. Gregor.

Mr. Gregor stepped into his shop, where four young men worked hammers and vises. “Take a break,” Mr. Gregor said. “Take your supper early if you want. I’ll tend the fires.”

The men looked over, and gave Cedar Hunt a wary eye.

“Go on, now,” Mr. Gregor said. “Before I change my mind and you’ll get no break at all today.”

The men caught up their lunch buckets and hurried out with little more than a nod to Rose Small, whom, Cedar realized, they must know nearly as well as Mr. Gregor.

Once the workers were gone, Mr. Gregor strode to the back of the shop and pulled the stock of wood from the corner shelf. It was wrapped in waxed cloth, a Bible pressed tight against it. He handed it to Cedar.

Cedar unwrapped the cloth, gave Mr. Gregor the Bible, and tipped the wood to the sunlight to study it.

It didn’t look like a child at all. It looked like a branch that had been debarked and rubbed smooth with oil.

“What do you plan for it?” Mr. Gregor asked.

Cedar nodded at the blacksmith’s forge that was hot enough to heat the sun.

“I think that fire will make sure the Strange can never use it again.” Cedar held Mr. Gregor’s gaze. Most folk didn’t believe in Strange.

But sometimes, some folk opened their eyes and saw, harsh and clear, that the Strange were real. And saw the damage they could do.

“I’ll tend the bellows,” Mr. Gregor said.

He walked to the forge and pumped air over the fire until the coals stoked ruby hot.

Cedar threw the stock into the fire and watched as it burned as quickly as if it were made of paper. The blacksmith stirred the ashes, making sure there were no lumps of wood left.

“Do you think we’ll have worries?” Mr. Gregor asked. “From those sorts again? That they might want my boy again?”

Cedar shook his head. “Don’t reckon you will. Mr. Shard LeFel and his man, Mr. Shunt, are dead. They were the bringers of such things to this town. Make sure word of that gets told. He had dark things locked up in those railcars—any man can go on out and see what’s left of them for himself. Those devices and matics were meant to kill. Now that Shard LeFel is dead, I think Hallelujah will continue on apace with no Strange happenings, though the matter of the rail will be something this town will have to decide.”

Cedar pulled a tuning fork from around his neck and struck it against the heel of his palm. A sweet pure note sang out. “I’ll be on my way, out of Hallelujah, out of the Oregon Territory. I’d like to give this to your son.” He held out the tuning fork. “If ever this note turns sour, you’ll know you and your family are in the company of the Strange.”

“Mr. Hunt, I am the one who should pay you.” Mr. Gregor walked across his shop and, on a high shelf, drew down a cast-iron safe. He worked the lock, then withdrew an item. He locked the safe, and turned.

“This is the Gregors’ seal. Any who are friends of mine will be a friend to you, Mr. Hunt. Any who are family to me will be family to you.” He held out a ring, cleverly carved with words upon the center, and a great bruin bear breathing fire across the outside.

“I don’t think—,” Cedar began.

“You’ll take it,” Mr. Gregor said. “It is the least I can give you for my son’s life.”

Rose Small, who had been silent all this time, spoke up. “It’s a fine gift, Mr. Gregor. I’d wager you have family and friends scattered far and wide.”

Mr. Gregor glanced at Rose and looked like he was going to say something else. But instead said, “That is the truth, Rose Small. You’ve always told the truth.” He took the tuning fork and tucked it in his pocket, while Cedar placed the ring on his left thumb.

“I’m sorry for the way I treated you the other night,” Mr. Gregor said.

Rose smiled. “We were all riled up. It’s not a matter to me now, though I was sore angry at you then.” She laughed. “But thank you.”

“Suppose you’ll come around the house for dinner?” he asked as they walked out of the heat of the shop into the cool afternoon light.

“No, Mr. Gregor,” Rose said. “I’ll be traveling too.”

“Ah,” he said, his hands behind his back. “Send me a postcard when you’ve piloted your first airship.”

At those words, Cedar watched Rose Small light up. “I promise you I will. Might even drop it out of the hatch as I float over the top of your house on my way to China.”

Mr. Gregor chuckled and glanced over his shoulder at his house, restless.

“Well, then,” Cedar said. “We should be on our way, and I’m sure your son wants to see you. Good day, Mr. Gregor.”

“You’re a fine and decent man, Mr. Hunt. And always welcome in the Gregors’ home for generations to come.”

Cedar shook Mr. Gregor’s hand, surprised at how that offer brought a smile to his lips. It had been a long time since he had thought he had a place he belonged in this world. A place he was welcome.

“Thank you, Mr. Gregor.”

Cedar swung up onto his horse, holding his breath against the shot of pain in his side. He pressed his elbow against the bandage bound there beneath his coat, hoping to stem the weeping of the wound.

Rose Small gave Mr. Gregor a huge hug. He patted her fondly on the back and looked up at Cedar. “See that you take care of her for me, Mr. Hunt.”

Cedar nodded. “I’ll do what I can. Though she’s done a fair job minding her own self.”

Rose Small hitched up into her saddle and gathered the reins. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll be enough trouble to keep us both busy, Mr. Hunt.”

“No doubt,” he drawled.

They turned and rode down the main street a bit.

“Did you want to say good-bye to your parents?” Cedar finally asked.

He watched as Rose Small’s smile went from a sparking hot flame down to a lantern’s dim glow. “No, thank you. We’ve had our say. A whole lifetime of it.”