Devon Monk - Cold Copper

“No. But it’s enough that I’ll think it over. What you said. About what you have and have not been doing. Now will you help me find Thomas?”

At the mention of his name, Hink visibly tightened. “I don’t understand what you see in that cheap suit.”

“Discussing him wasn’t part of our bargain,” Rose said.

Hink just shook his head slowly. “All right. So where did he get himself caught up?”

“We were in the freight car—”

“What in the blazes were you doing there?”

“He’d seen some odd packages getting loaded. I was curious.”

“The man lured you into a dark private train car so he could show you his package?” Hink said it real evenlike, but something about the way he asked it made Rose hesitate.

“I was curious,” she repeated.

“I bet you were.”

“About the freight,” she continued. “Margaret had a box that was loaded aboard. She looked like she was trying to hide it. The initials VB were stamped on the side, and when Thomas said he’d seen something unusual…what? What is it?”

Captain Hink had gone a shade whiter than just a moment before. “Be very clear with me, Rose,” he said in a voice befitting a U.S. Marshal. “Margaret Wood from the coven had a crate with the initials VB on the side?”

“Yes.”

“Were there more of those boxes in that freight car?”

“Yes. Is that bad?”

“Yes. And you say Thomas is trapped there? By men?”

“Three men with guns. Looked like ranchers, but they told us to get away from the goods, and put them down.”

“Down? You didn’t take one of the crates, did you?”

“We…he…opened one.”

“Oh, for the love of glim, Rose. What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking, I was curious.”

“Well, your curiosity might have just killed a man.” He stood, and took a step toward the end of the car.

“We can’t go that way,” Rose said. “The porter threatened me with a gun. I think he’s with the other gunmen.”

Hink tipped his chin up so as to better sight the man standing at the door. “He pulled a gun on you?”

“Yes, a small pistol.”

“Stay here.”

Hink strode down the aisle, imposing as a blackened summer sky, storming to kill. Rose hurried behind him. Her gun was still packed away in her luggage, the ammunition in a separate pouch.

She’d just assumed taking a civilized sort of transportation meant she wouldn’t have to get into a shoot-out before they’d even made the first station.

Hink had a long set of legs on him and was already in front of the porter. Rose paused, ready to duck or run or find something to throw, but neither man drew a gun.

Hink just grabbed ahold of the man by his lapels, picked him up off his feet, and walked with him through the door.

She rushed after him just in time to see him throw the man off the speeding train.

“Wait! No!” Rose yelled. “What are you doing?”

“Throwing a man off a train, what does it look like I’m doing?”

“But he’s…he’s the porter.”

“I don’t care if he’s the king of England,” Hink said. “He was in my way.”

Hink walked the short distance to the next car, then turned to look at her. She nearly ran into him and had to grab the railing not to tumble the way of the porter.

“You, stay here,” he said.

“We do this together.”

“We?” he said, maybe angrily. But then he smiled, and it was a wicked smile. “You are a crazy soul, Rose Small.” He pulled a gun out of one of the many pockets of his heavy coat. “This shows how much I trust you. Can’t think of another woman as angry as you are that I’d go and give a gun to and then turn my back on.”

“Don’t worry,” she said. “If I’m angry enough to shoot you, you’ll see me coming.”

“Promises, promises,” he said with a soft smile that made Rose wish that maybe she weren’t quite so angry with the man.

He reached out to clasp her hand, which she took, and then they were moving together, walking across the span, then in through the next door, and once again all the way down through the cars until they stood at the end of the third-class car.

Rose was beginning to think rail travel wasn’t all that wonderful, and was tired of keeping her balance while getting half blown off and half frozen between cars, since it was now raining icy pebbles.

But when they came to that last door, and Captain Hink squeezed her hand once before letting go, she was tingling and alive. This was adventure. This was the world. Her world. And even if it was wet, cold, and full of danger, she was going to face it, gun drawn.

“Don’t crowd me,” Hink said. “Don’t get in the way of fire. And don’t go heroic, woman. Understand?”

“Clearly. Same goes for you, Captain.”

“Ain’t never been a hero a single day of my life,” he said.

“Yes,” Rose said, gathering up the material of her skirt, twisting it, and then tucking it into her belt so it stayed out of her way. “You have. You’ve been my hero.”

When she looked up at him, he had such an expression on his face: maybe a bit of surprise, maybe a bit of hope.

“Ready?” she asked, her hip braced on the railing.

“Since I took my first breath,” he said. Then Captain Paisley Hink drew his gun and kicked in the door.

The Madders were quickly pushed into the back of an enclosed steam wagon, which puffed its way down the lane toward the heart of the city.

Cedar paused on the stairs outside Vosbrough’s manor. From the height of this hill, he could see the towering buildings, brick and wood, and the brass tether towers spiring up above even the tallest structures. There were no airships at rest there now, probably because of the snow that fell in bitter, ragged squalls.

He’d heard at least one ship pass over when they’d been coming this way, so likely there was a landing field and air sheds outside the city.

Black smoke curled out of chimneys, wings of coal smudged the sky.

But there was more than just smoke in the air. There was the sound of the Strange, a low, slow weeping he’d never heard before. And with the sound of the Strange came the faintest scent of the Holder.

The Holder was here. Somewhere.

“Mr. Hunt?” Mae said from a short distance ahead.

He glanced one last time over the buildings. He didn’t see the Strange, though if they were close enough he could hear them; he should be able to glimpse them. They weren’t invisible. Not to his eyes anyway.

He tipped his hat down over his eyes and walked down the stairs.

“Are we going to let them take the Madders to jail?” Mae asked.

“For now.” He walked with her toward Vosbrough’s carriage and helped her navigate the slick steps up into it.

Just before he entered the carriage something bright on the snowy ground by his boot caught his eye.

He bent, picked it up. It was a piece of copper, flat and shaped like a triangle, bright as a sunrise. The edges were smooth and even, and in the center of the triangle was a punched hole, just as smooth and even as the edges. Tied through that hole was a small length of kite string.

But it wasn’t the copper or shape of the piece that surprised him. The moment his fingers touched it, he heard again the Strange. Crying.

He pocketed the copper and string and stepped up into the carriage.

The driver started off toward the church.

“Can you defend them?” Mae asked Miss Dupuis.

“I can if I know what they’ve been accused of.”

“Won’t the mayor stand as judge?” Mae asked.

“No. There is a full and active courthouse here. There is an appointed judge.”

“Appointed by the mayor?” Mae asked. “It won’t matter to a man like him whether or not justice is being served; he has already declared them guilty. He intends to hang them no matter how the trial plays out.”