Devon Monk - Cold Copper

Rose very much doubted that, but kept her smile in place.

“But there are other things we could do to pass the time,” he said. “Would you like to explore the train with me? The freight is in a locked car.” He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a key on a fob. “I managed to get my hands on a key.”

“How? You didn’t steal it, did you?”

“What?” He gave a fair go at looking surprised. “No. Someone just left it where I could find it and I thought it’d be good for a lark.” He waited to see if she would challenge that.

“I’m not sure that taking that key is legal, Mr. Wicks.”

“I don’t intend to do any harm. Just look about a bit. It’s a long way between here and Kansas City. So, would you like to see the rest of the train?”

“I don’t think it’s my business, seeing other people’s goods. I worked my parents’ store for years. I know what a crate full of straw looks like.”

“Of course,” he said, settling back. “I understand. Still…while everyone else was boarding the train, I was watching the workers load freight. There seemed to be some unusual items placed aboard.”

“How unusual?”

“Very.”

He sat there, not saying a word, and not looking away from her. Rose knew she shouldn’t. Her curiosity had gotten her into trouble all of her life. But she’d never seen a freight car full of packages, since the railroad hadn’t made it to Hallelujah yet.

And she still wondered what was in the crate that Margaret had handed those men who looked nervous they would be caught loading it.

It could be nothing. It could be dangerous. It could be the only time she had a chance to see such a thing, just like this probably had been her only chance to see the inside of a Pullman car.

“Let’s go,” she said.

“Really?” he asked, startled.

Rose stood. “I’m a woman seeking adventure, Mr. Wicks. As such, I can’t just turn timid when the first romp presents itself. Let’s see what this train can offer.”

He stood, placed the book on the seat of his chair, and settled his hat back on top of his head, giving the brim an extra tug to make sure it was secure.

They exited through the doors and cars they’d already passed through, and Rose felt the tingle of excitement in her bones. It was probably nothing; there were probably no secret items on the train. Probably nothing more in the hold than magazines, potbelly stoves, and cooking pans.

She supposed there might be something worth snooping over, even if it was all ordinary things. Books would be fun to see, perhaps a clever use of gear or spring for the house or field. There might even be parts of airships or glim-harvesting gear on board. She wouldn’t mind setting her eyes on that.

It wasn’t unreasonable to think there might even be glim on board. It would be locked in a safe so no one could see it, but since the rail ran from coast to coast, glim from the Rocky Mountains or the Cascades might easily be shipped along the main route, which cut a horizontal line through Iowa and then connected with Chicago, New York, and went all the way to California.

There certainly seemed to be people in the Pullman car who looked rich enough to have a dram of glim. Although she suspected a person would keep it near if they actually owned any of the rare substance.

They rushed through the car where she had been sitting with Mr. Hink. She glanced over at the seat he should be slouching in, and was surprised not to see him in their seat, though her luggage was still stowed under the bench.

She didn’t have much time to wonder where he’d gotten off to; Thomas was already out the door. She hurried behind and stepped into the crowded immigrant car, filled near to busting with men, women, and children, coats hung to dry on every available hook or line, the bare wood floor and benches covered by families or strangers crowded together.

The car smelled of cabbage and pork. Someone was breathing the harmonica through a sweet tune she’d never heard before and a baby was fussing. It was messy in a homey sort of way, crowded, and no one looked up as they passed.

Passing through the back door, they entered the first freight car. Rose stepped in close behind Thomas, and he reached back and shut the door behind her.

The car was dark and cold. There were no windows and the only light tongued in through the cracks in the walls.

“There should be…ah, yes, here.” Thomas took a few steps to the side and pulled a lantern off a hook on the wall. He ran his thumb over a flint and steel built into the bottom of the lantern, and the whole thing came to life with a warm yellow glow.

He held it up and Rose couldn’t help but whistle. “This is all mail?”

“Well, those bags”—he pointed to a lumpy pile of canvas—“and these boxes and crates.” He nodded at the stack of crates piled up and secured with rope and buckles all the way up to the ceiling. “And well, all the rest?” He spun a circle with the lantern held out, like an actor on a stage revealing a great wonderland. “Yes.”

“How many freight cars are on this train?” she asked.

“Not many out of Hays City. Just five. This is first-class freight. Two cars of livestock at the end, and two cars of produce and such goods in between.”

“How do you know?”

“I told you, I’ve worked for the railroad, and I’m a very observant man. So, let’s see what sort of shipments we have here.” He walked over to the huge pile of crates and rocked back a bit on his heels so he could stare all the way up, the lantern held high.

“Sewing machines, bolts of cloth, musical instruments, baby buggies…firearms. Hmm. This!” He wandered over to the far corner and Rose followed along, her eyes fully adjusted to the light now.

“Odd shape, don’t you agree?” Thomas said.

“It looks like a coffin.”

“Yes, it does, doesn’t it?”

“That’s not odd. Not really,” she said.

“I agree, but I noticed there were gold letters on the side.” He bent down. “Yes, here. VB. Initials on a coffin?”

“The maker?” Rose suggested.

“Unusual, don’t you think?”

“I suppose. You don’t think there’s, um, a person in it?”

“No, no. They ship corpses on ice. No ice car on this train, though it’s cold enough without it, isn’t it?” He turned from where he was kneeling by the coffin and smiled up at her, his words catching cold curls of smoke in the light of the lantern.

The light bounced off a smaller crate to one side and Rose noticed the green VB painted on the side. “I wonder what’s in that,” she said. “I saw a crate very like it being loaded and unloaded today.”

“Is that so? Let’s open it.”

“We shouldn’t.”

“We shouldn’t even be in this car,” Thomas said airily, “but here we are. Tell me you aren’t curious, hmm? What’s in the crate and what’s in the coffin? Both sharing the same initials.”

Rose shook her head but her curiosity was getting the best of her. “I figured you for a law-abiding man, Mr. Wicks.”

“Oh, I am,” he assured her. “But there is no law against a quick look if we put everything back the same as we found it, now is there?”

“Yes, I believe there is, actually.”

“Well, then, you can hold the lantern, and I will do the dirty work.” He handed the light to her.

Thomas did a quick search, found a pry bar, and set the forked end of it beneath the lid of the first crate. With the skill of a career burglar, he pulled the nails free and carefully lifted the lid off the top of the crate.

“Now, let us see what sorts of things are shipped beneath the VB letters.” He pushed the lid to one side, balancing it across the top of the crate.