Devon Monk - Cold Copper

“Shush, Margaret. Don’t speak of him so. He’ll hear you.” She paused, then, quieter: “Sister Adaline wouldn’t lead us wrong.”

“Something bad will come of our good work,” Margaret said. “Nothing good can come of those things.”

“Shh!”

Rose knew they had heard her walking, breathing.

Then Sarah said much more loudly, “Good night, Margaret. I’ll see you in the morning.”

The shuffle of bare feet crossed the hall floor, and two doors closed firmly.

They had known she was there. They must have known.

She felt a little guilty for eavesdropping, but didn’t know what they were talking about. The world was falling apart? As far as she could tell, the witches had a good communal farm, were respected citizens in a town willing to turn a blind eye to their practices, and even managed to keep their witchery mostly quiet. Outsiders would never suspect an entire coven sat right outside Hays City. And since that’s how the sisters liked it, Rose had thought things were going very well for them.

She wondered who that man they were doing business with was, and why it made Margaret so uncomfortable. Devices and curses. That certainly sounded worrisome.

Rose walked down to her room, shucked out of all of her clothes, and pulled a blanket around her shoulders. The finder compass hung against her chest, its burnished metal warm from contact with her skin. She tipped it up and saw the fine needle pointing northeast toward the other finder compass she had made, Hink’s compass.

There was a time she thought she’d never want that man to be lost to her. That had changed now.

Rose hung her wet clothes over the back of the chair and on the wall hook to dry. She dragged her carpetbag from the corner of the room and packed her clothes, her metalworking tools, and the twine, wax, oil, and bits and pieces of metal and gears she had slowly gathered up over the last few months. Finally, she draped her practical trousers and a dry pair of socks over the back of the chair for the morning.

She considered the clothing. No. She was starting a new life. She’d meet it looking her best. She packed away her spare trousers and pulled out her best dress and underskirts. That was the way to meet her horizon: like a lady.

The train left early. She’d be dressed and ready to meet it.

She settled into bed, pulling the rough wool covers up over her nose. Just before she slipped into sleep, she realized with a pang of regret that she hadn’t had a chance to read the books she’d borrowed from the library. There was no changing her mind now. Those books were just one more thing she loved that she’d have to leave behind.

The Madder brothers sat at the table in the church kitchen, hats off, hair and beards still dripping wet, hands wrapped around mugs filled with tea.

They looked as uncomfortable as schoolyard bullies under a teacher’s disapproving glare.

The teacher, in this case, was Father John Kyne, who seemed quite at home putting the kettle on the back of the stove now that he had seen to the filling of everyone’s cup. It was proper manners, almost English manners, and not what Cedar was used to seeing from a man native to these lands.

But then, he’d never known a native man who had taken the Almighty as his personal savior.

“Let’s get this over with,” Alun said. “What favor do you want from us, Kyne?”

Father Kyne paused with his teacup resting on his bottom lip. He regarded Alun Madder from over its rim. “You are not the men I expected to answer my call,” he said mildly.

All three Madders swiveled their heads to peer at him.

“What sort of men did you expect?” Bryn rubbed at his bad eye while staring at Kyne from the good one. “Did you think we’d be taller? People always think we’d be taller.”

Alun snorted and Cadoc turned his head to the side a bit more, like a bird trying to sight a worm.

“I heard stories. Stories of the noble Madder brothers. Brave, ingenious, and wise.” Kyne sipped his tea, then sat at the head of the long wooden table.

“Stories are just that,” Alun Madder said. “No matter what your father told you.”

“My father told me you owe my family a favor.”

“We promised a German man named Kyne a favor. Not a man born of this soil,” Alun said.

“Lars Kyne took me in when my family was killed. He raised me as his own and had no other.”

“But you are not, in fact, of Kyne blood,” Alun pressed.

Father Kyne leaned back and placed his fingers together, tip to tip, his hand curved loosely on the table. “I am not of his blood,” he agreed. “Did you give your promise to the blood or to the man?”

“We promised Holland Kyne three favors,” Cadoc said. “One favor for each of our lives saved.”

“He saved your lives?” Miss Dupuis asked, surprised.

“It was long ago,” Cadoc said.

“It was that,” Alun agreed. “And a promise made to a dead man. We’ve done Holland his favor and the favor to his son, Lars. That’s two favors. Now that Lars is gone, the last favor dies with him.”

“Brother,” Cadoc said with soft reproach, “he saved our lives.”

Alun turned and glared at Cadoc. “We’ve repaid enough.”

Cadoc only shook his head slowly, the dark of his hair curled out to the side into points, his close-set, rounded features visible between beard and hair and scrubbed red from wind and snow.

“Perhaps your life was repaid,” Cadoc said. “Perhaps Bryn’s life. But not mine. Not all of ours. Three promises given must be kept. Madders do not break their vows.”

Alun grunted and pointed a finger at John Kyne. “This better be good. We are doing important work, Mr. Kyne. Work that might just save this land and a fair more people than who sit in this room. Now we have to halt that important work to tend to your favor that couldn’t wait. So tell me, what is it you want? And if you say more favors, I promise you it will be the first time I’ve shot a man in a house of God.”

“Mr. Madder,” Mae cut in. “Please, show some gratitude for our host. He brought us in, gave our animals food and shelter, and is offering the same to us. Without him we would be lost in a blizzard.”

“We weren’t lost.”

“Yes,” she said, “we were. And now that we are found, we will show our appreciation.”

There was a clear threat in her tone. A threat Cedar knew she could follow through on. Mae’s magic ran toward curses and bindings. She could make a very formidable foe, though he’d never seen her raise magic in anger.

“Widow Lindson, I do believe you are threatening me,” Alun said with just a bit of a glint in his eyes.

“Believe what you will, Mr. Madder.” Mae took a sip of her tea.

Father Kyne watched the exchange without much change of manner. He seemed to be a man with little expression beyond a serious, almost sad stare. Still, Cedar could tell there was something weighing on him. He certainly hadn’t brought the brothers here on a whim.

“What is your trouble, Father?” Cedar asked. “And how can we help?”

Kyne nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Hunt. The trouble is not mine alone. Although many of the town do not choose to worship in the church my grandfather built, our congregation was once very devout. Common people, miners, farmers, millers, and a few merchants, all gathered here.

“Many families too. Some young and of distant homelands, pushing west, looking for a beginning. Children worshiped here until three months ago when the children began to disappear. Called into the night, and gone, never to return home.”

“Children?” Alun asked, a little startled at the story. “How many?”

“Dozens. Perhaps hundreds. Ever since the star fell out of the sky.”