Devon Monk - Cold Copper

Vosbrough swiveled his head as if his neck had been oiled, turning his gaze from Alun to Cadoc.

Cadoc was still staring down at his food, hands still on either side of the plate. He lifted his head and met Vosbrough’s gaze.

“Abject humiliation,” Vosbrough repeated. “Poetry, Mr. Madder.” He pushed back from the table and stood, then slid his chair into place at the head of the table. “Poetry to my ears. Men, arrest them. Throw them in the jail. I will hold court for their judgment tomorrow.”

The mayor’s men moved forward and pointed guns straight at the Madders’ heads.

Miss Daffin clapped happily, as if enthralled by a dinner play.

Cadoc had just talked the mayor into a trial. Why?

“No,” Cedar said, standing.

“Mr. Hunt,” Alun warned. “This is old history. You have other, more important things to do with your time.”

“Do you want to go to jail?” Cedar asked.

“Old history,” Alun repeated. “Not important. Not important to you.”

“On what charges do you intend to jail them?” Miss Dupuis asked.

Vosbrough seemed to notice she was in the room again. “Excuse me?”

“What are the charges you are leveling against the Madder brothers?”

“Treason to the country to begin with,” Vosbrough said. “Thievery, murder.” He clapped his hands together and rubbed them. “Why, a whole list of things. Plenty for a hanging.”

“And a rousing trial,” Miss Daffin said.

“Yes.” Vosbrough gave her a bit of a bow. “And for a rousing trial.”

“I will expect to see a full list of their crimes by the end of the day,” Miss Dupuis said.

“Of course, of course.” Vosbrough smiled, showing his straight white teeth. “I’m rather looking forward to this lawful proceeding. I’ll have my secretary write everything up and bring it straightaway to where you’re staying. Where, exactly, is that?”

“The church on the edge of town. With Father John Kyne.”

At the sound of the man’s name, Vosbrough’s face shifted to flat contempt. “When you find suitable accommodations,” he said, “I will send my secretary over.”

“The church,” Miss Dupuis repeated firmly. “Send the papers there. Before the night is upon us, Mr. Vosbrough.”

The Madder brothers were on their feet now too, and being hustled out of the room, without making so much as a fuss.

Cedar would never understand the brothers and their ways. Walking off to jail as if they were being escorted to a fine hotel made no sense. Unless they had a plan.

Which was likely. He’d never seen them without one.

“So nice of you all to stop by,” Mayor Vosbrough continued. “Stimulating conversation. I hope you enjoy our city and all it has to offer. Oh, here.” He strolled over to a table in the corner of the room and retrieved a sheet of paper. “New hotel opening up on Seventh Street. Looking for renters. Might be more to your comfort.” He held it out for Miss Dupuis, but she didn’t take it.

Mae stood and walked over to the mayor. “It’s been an interesting morning.” She took the paper. “Good day, Mr. Vosbrough.”

The remaining men in the room moved aside as Mae walked out. Miss Dupuis followed. Cedar walked up to the mayor to follow. Vosbrough took hold of his arm to stop him from passing by.

“Mr. Hunt, was it?” he asked in a friendly tone.

Every muscle in Cedar’s body froze. That was the voice of death.

“I don’t know how you fell in with those men, with the Madders, but I am doing you a favor. Stay away from them. Stay out of their business, whatever they have told you it is. And stay out of my way.”

Cedar looked down at the mayor’s hand on his arm, then back up at his face. “The last man who threatened me is dead, Mr. Vosbrough.”

“Is he, Mr. Hunt?”

Vosbrough removed his hand and tugged on a smile. “I see I’ve misjudged you. My advice, however, remains. They are not what they seem to be.”

“And neither am I, Mayor Vosbrough.” Then Cedar turned and walked away.

Rose clutched the copper device tighter. The three men in the train car stood across from Thomas, who was just ahead of her. Thin streams of light swung in the darkness, pinstriping every crate, bag, and person with the jostle of the train.

“Don’t you move an inch,” the lead gunman said to Thomas. “You.” He lifted the gun toward Rose. “Put the battery down.”

Battery? she thought.

“Yes. Of course. I’m going to put it down now, just as you said.” She knelt, as if to place it on the floor, then tucked her other hand into her pocket. She wrapped her palm over the wooden ball filled with nails. Looked like she was going to have a real life test for the little grenade after all. She threw the device straight at his knees.

Hit him too. Nails flew out like shattered glass in a yard radius, striking all three men.

They yelled and stumbled backward, firing wild shots as they ducked for shelter behind the crates.

“Run!” Thomas shouted.

Rose was not running. She took aim and threw the battery at the men.

Thomas swore, grabbed her by the arm, and dragged her to the door. “I said run!”

“You can’t just order me around!”

“Then consider it a suggestion,” he said with a grin.

Thomas yanked the door open and all but shoved her out of it. She threw her arms out to the side to catch her balance, then ran across the narrow walk to the next car. She expected Thomas to be behind her.

She turned. He was inside the freight car, hands in the air as a gunman slammed the door behind him. Her gun was back in her luggage by her seat two cars away. She didn’t know if she could reach it in time.

She pulled the door open.

“Miss, there you are.” A middle-aged man with a brimmed flat-topped cap and the uniform of a porter reached through the door to help her into the car.

“Let’s get you inside now.” He reached past her to close the door and shuffled her into the train car.

“I was told you’ve been running between the cars. That is not allowed. Not allowed at all. I believe your seat is in second class?”

“There’s a man in trouble,” Rose said. “Back there. In the freight car. We need to help him.”

“I’ll see to it he returns to his seat after I escort you to yours. Please,” he said, pressing a small gun to her ribs. “The sooner you return to where you belong, the sooner I can look in on your friend.” He leveled his other hand at the crowded aisle indicating she should get walking.

Was he in on this too? Was he a part of the men keeping Thomas trapped in the freight car?

Several faces turned her way, but hardly anyone could hear the conversation over the rattle of the train. She was sure no one would notice the gun before he had a chance to shoot her.

She could try to rouse the passengers to help her, but as she met each person’s gaze, they quickly looked away. Helping a friend was one thing; getting into trouble with the porter for a stranger—and getting thrown off, family and all, because of it—was an entirely different sort of risk.

Rose made up her mind. She needed her gun, and needed it fast.

The porter opened the next door and helped her across the narrow space between the cars before repeating the process all over again until she was back in the car where she and Hink had sat.

“I believe this is your car,” he said.

“It is,” Rose said. “You don’t need to worry about me now.”

“I’ll just show you to your seat.”

Rose bit back her frustration and quickly walked down the aisle and to the open bench.

Captain Hink was not there.

“This is it,” she said. “My luggage is right where I left it. This is my seat. Thank you. I’m sorry to have been a bother.”