Devon Monk - Cold Copper

The road that led to the structures was cut down the middle with a single, wide metal rail that had a slit down the length of it. The single rail continued to Cedar’s right, into town.

“Is that an air-rail cable line?” he asked.

Mr. Hensling nodded. “The only one this side of the Mississippi. Better than the ones in New York, Boston, Philadelphia, or Chicago. Ever seen one?”

The man started into town and Cedar followed.

“Not while it was in use,” Cedar said. “Saw one being built once, lines laying down. Is this air rail for passengers or freight?”

“Bit of both,” he said. “Ever since the coal mines went into full production and the Transcontinental hammered the spike in Ogden, Des Moines has gone from a farming town to a genuine high-class city.” He nodded toward the rise of brick buildings ahead of them. “Had to be replatted a dozen times already to take on the growth. Hear even Smith & Wesson are thinking of putting in a production warehouse. Building a new theater too, since the three we have are busting at the seams.”

“You must think highly of Mayor Vosbrough then,” Cedar said.

“I get paid on time every week. Got a paper every evening, telegraph’s cheap, and there’s enough jail space for those who like to cause trouble. That’s enough for me,” he said.

“What about the mayor before him? Atkinson, was it? Did he treat the town well?”

The man went quiet for a bit, and the brush and trees were replaced by buildings, sheds, a farrier shop, a blacksmith for matic work, and shops turning wood, casting clay, melting glass.

“Don’t remember much about how Atkinson ran the town. Had just come out of the battles down south when I started paying attention to such things.”

“Was his death suspicious?”

“His murder?” He shrugged. “I suppose any man in power is setting himself up to stand in another man’s sights.”

“You know who did it? Who killed the mayor?”

“They say it was a gang of brothers, riding rough. Broke into his manor demanding gold, glim, and anything else of value. Atkinson didn’t have servants other than the cooking and cleaning staff. He started off as a farmer and didn’t take much to people waiting on him. There were no guns that night to defend him.

“Found him dead the next day flat on the floor by his safe, all his riches gone.”

“Who found him dead?”

He thought a minute. The road had brought them solidly into town now, and every cross street grew busier and busier. There were still a lot of horses in the street, carrying riders or pulling wagons and coaches, but the closer they came to the center of the city, the more devices and steam matics crowded the roads.

People on foot rushed between the steamers and animals, narrowly avoiding getting run over.

Cedar couldn’t help but smile. He’d missed this: the hurried pace of city life. While the wilds spoke to his blood, this was the life of his memories. Of his happiest days as a husband and father, back when he was a teacher in the universities, with a wife and daughter. Back before they had died and he and Wil had struck out west, escaping Cedar’s grief.

There was a small break in cross traffic and both Cedar and the man urged their mounts out into it.

“I think it was the mayor,” the man said.

“What?” Cedar had lost track of the conversation to the memories unfolding in his mind.

“The mayor, Vosbrough, found Roy Atkinson dead. Declared a manhunt for the killers and put a price on their heads. They were never found as far as I recall. Vosbrough took up where Atkinson left off.”

“What about the copper mine?” Cedar asked.

The man shrugged. “Not much of a vein, but enough not to waste. That’s just north of town back along the crossroad where you saw the air-rail line. But since there’s more money in coal, and more coal to be found here, that’s what we mine. They pull lead up around Dubuque and gypsum out Fort Dodge way, ship it all by rail east and west, river north and south, and anywhere else by sky. Hold up, now.”

He heeled his horse to sidle over to Cedar’s mount. Cedar noted everyone else was making a clear path down the left side of the street too, leaving the center of the street empty.

For good reason. That single rail cut a straight line down the bricks of the street.

The distinct plucked-bow hiss of a heavy wire moving through the air was immediately drowned out by the rumble of overhead fans.

He glanced up and over his shoulder.

A dirigible floated toward town, the stacks puffing slow, low smoke as it navigated the sky above the buildings.

A long cable hung from the airship, latched down inside the rail, rolling on metal wheels and guiding the dirigible through the town as easily as a needle pulling thread. Too many ships had crashed into buildings buffeted by winds between tall structures. But ever since some wild deviser had invented an air trolley system, people and goods could be delivered by airship more quickly and safely than by carts on the ground.

No wear and tear on the roads; no adding to the already traffic-heavy street. It opened up an entire sky full of shipping lanes.

Good for precious goods or particularly heavy freight too.

The fat shadow of the ship bobbed down the street, then was ladled up the sides of hotels, restaurants, and shops. The cable sped down the road, fast as a horse at full gallop, smooth and mindless as the wind.

As soon as the cable passed by, the townspeople went back to business, barely pausing for it to be out of the way before moving on.

There had been some arguments over the safety of installing air trolleys. Fears that the racing cable would cut horses and carts in half. But the accidents and deaths caused by collision with the cable had been fewer than expected. People quickly learned to stay out of the way of the device, and animals already had the good sense in their heads to do the same.

“This is the end of my ride,” the man said. “It was nice meeting you, Mr.… ? I don’t believe I got your name.”

“Cedar Hunt.”

“Well then, Mr. Hunt. Enjoy your stay in Des Moines.” He kicked his horse into a quick walk, taking one of the side streets along which signs advertised lodging, laundry, and cheap hot lunches.

Cedar had kept an eye on Wil and knew he hadn’t entered the crowded city. Too easy to be seen. Too easy to end up a trophy on the wall.

But he didn’t need Wil to lead him to the place that would give him the most answers. The copper mine was just north of town. Cedar clicked his tongue against his teeth and set off at a trot.

There’d be answers at the mine. Answers to the copper in his pocket. Answers to the demons beneath the city. Because even though that man thought Kyne was insane, Cedar knew the priest was right about one thing: the children were missing, and the people of this town were wrong to think that nothing Strange was involved.

Rose clung to the side of the railcar, her head tucked down to keep the worst of the smoke, ice, and snow out of her face.

She wanted to climb to the top to see if Hink was still up there or if he had fallen to the ground, now a long distance below, but she couldn’t seem to force her arms to unlock from their death grip around the ladder rungs.

She usually loved flying. Wasn’t a bit frightened of heights. But she preferred to be safely inside the ship rather than hanging below it like a bobber on a fishing line.

“Hand!” a voice yelled, barely breaking through the noise of the overhead fans.

She looked up.

Captain Hink lay flat at the top of the train car, one hand held out for her. The first thought through her mind was relief that he was alive. The second was disbelief that he thought she would unlatch her hold on this crate even if she could.