Devon Monk - Cold Copper

She ran her fingers across the tools and bits of metal, twine, and cloth she kept in her pocket. The feel of all those little oddments was as soothing as a hot bath and she felt her shoulders relax and her mood lighten. There were so many things she could do with the castaway bits in her pocket. Right away, she had half a dozen ideas of how it could all join together to make half a dozen different little whimsies.

The last thing she’d made and tucked in her pocket was a little hollow wood ball, spring loaded and filled with sharpened nails that shot out when the trigger was hit. It was just a model to see if that kind of nonexplosive grenade might do some damage in a fight aboard an airship. She had planned on showing it to Hink.

Not now.

Still, she loved putting things together, seeing her ideas take form between her fingers, exploring the world through screw and bolt and curiosity. But today, on this ride, she worked on the little lock. She felt the need to fix, to repair, to make something work, since nothing else seemed to be going right in her life.

All through the ride, Captain Hink talked up the witch, making her laugh with that damnable charm of his. Rose wished she could block out the sound of his voice, but there was nothing else to listen to.

In the past, she could hear the sound of growing things, trees and bushes and the like, though mostly their comments were about sun, or shade, or water, or wind. But she hadn’t heard a single thought of any green since she’d been injured by the tin piece of the Holder.

The witches didn’t know what to say about it when she’d discussed her ability with them. Some of them had that same natural hearing of greenery. But none of them had just up and lost their abilities. And plus, she wasn’t a witch.

It was winter now and everything was sleeping, guarding roots, waiting out death, silent.

Maybe spring would bring her world back into full song again.

Margaret laughed and Rose hunched a little deeper into her coat, holding tight to the broken lock as they rattled over the rough trail.

Nothing about her world seemed worth a song right now.

The rail station was bustling with activity and noise. Rose looked up and away from the lock that she’d nearly gotten fixed. All the insides of it had frozen up, and she’d had to pry the pieces apart to get to the trouble. Once she had it opened, she’d been so distracted a cannon could have gone off and she wouldn’t have noticed.

She needed to put just a little grease inside to make sure the mechanism moved smoothly, but there wasn’t time for that now. Reluctantly, she dropped the lock into her pocket and took in the excitement around her.

The train station was a long, narrow wooden building, two stories tall, with a steeple right up the middle of it. The platform around it was built nearly six feet off the ground to make loading and unloading onto the train from wagons and carts all that much easier.

Dozens of steam-powered wagons and at least that many horse carts and carriages surrounded the place on three sides, while the huge, hulking black train sat huffing on the track along the remaining side of the station. Beyond the train was a row of warehouses and silos.

There had to be at least fifty people hugging, handshaking, and saying their good-byes. The squall of babies and barking dogs made up all the middle-ground noise, punctuated by the yell of workers loading crates and boxes and bags onto the back cars of the train, while laughter and shouts from the soon-to-be passengers muddled up all the calm of the day.

It was exhilarating. Rose found herself wondering what each of the people might be getting on the train for, where they were going, and why they were leaving friends and family behind.

“I’ll pull up here so as not to get us run over,” Margaret said. She guided the cart to the far side of the muddy road, just avoiding a family of four—a father, mother, boy, and girl—who dashed out in front of the wagon as they headed for the platform stairs, clutching one bag each, hands on their hats to keep them in place.

“Thank you,” Rose said, “for all the kindness you’ve shown me. I wish you and the sisters all the best.”

“Travel safe,” Margaret said, giving her a quick hug.

“Oh,” Rose said, “One other thing. I left some books in my room. Could you return them to Miss Bucker’s library?”

“I’d be happy to.”

Hink jumped down out of the back of the cart and was around to the front before Rose could swing her boots over the edge.

He held his hand up to her. Didn’t say anything. Just raised his eyebrow.

She took his hand and stepped down off the cart into the straw-filled mud.

“Might be difficult keeping that dress clean while adventuring,” he said.

“I’m a woman, Mr. Hink. I can keep my dress clean, and my shoes bright no matter what adventure may bring.”

“I thought you liked mucking about in trousers. Said they don’t get in the way like petticoats and whatnot.”

“Well, since I am no longer employed repairing your ship, I feel much more comfortable in proper dress and belted coat.”

He grunted. They made their way through the hiss and puff and heat and noise of the place. “You have enough for your ticket?”

“Yes.”

“And for food?”

“Mr. Hink.” She navigated around a cart with six men unloading crates of apples, potatoes, and bags of grain. “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“Couldn’t hurt to have some company. It’s a long way to Kansas City. Might be dangerous.”

“On a train? I don’t think so.” She kept walking and he dropped his pace to hers.

“Rose,” he finally said as they strode up the wide wooden steps onto the platform. The station house was ahead and to their right, the train running the full length on their left. “I didn’t sleep with them.”

“I can’t hear you, Captain Hink. You’ll have to lie a little louder.” The day was noisy, but she could hear him just fine. And she didn’t believe him for one hot second.

Hink swore and stopped pacing her. Fine. She had tried to get rid of him all morning. She was glad he had finally taken the hint that she didn’t need him for where she was going.

Rose strode into the station and stood in the short line of people purchasing tickets from the agent in the ticket booth. She had been here once before, just out of curiosity, but this would be the first time she’d ever ridden a train. Here she was, Rose Small, with nothing to her name but a change of clothes and her wits, ready to take her first steps out on the adventure of her lifetime.

She couldn’t wait to see the big cities. Couldn’t wait to build her place among them. Someday she would own her own airship. Faster than the Swift. Stronger too. She’d fly halfway around the world for tea every morning, if she so cared.

The line moved forward and Rose’s stomach fluttered with a mix of excitement and a dose of doubt. She knew heading off into the unknown could bring joy, but it was also filled with danger. And heartache.

She swallowed hard and glanced out the window, wondering if Hink was still following her. He was a tall man. With his hat on, he stood a good hand or two above most other men. But there was not a hint of him out there.

She was surprised at how sad that made her.

Maybe she wasn’t being honest about her own feelings. Maybe she was angry with him but still sweet on him, though she didn’t know how the two emotions could take up space in the same heart.

“Miss, may I help you?”

Rose blinked and looked back to the ticket agent. All the people in front of her were gone, leaving a wide empty space between her and the man. She’d been dreaming in her boots again.