Devon Monk - Cold Copper

He kept the light low, but it was night out and the freight car had the two holes Rose had burned into the doors. Also, the walls themselves weren’t exactly air tight. If there was someone watching out in that dark, they’d see slants of light slipping out of the freight car, and that would surely send them searching.

“You up to climbing?” Hink asked.

“If it means getting out of this box, I am.” Rose plucked a signal light off the wall and held up the glass chimney while he lit it.

The lantern light seemed like a whole sun compared with the little flame he’d been using. It was easy enough to find a rope, and Hink was a dead aim throwing it out the hatch in the roof they’d come down through.

“I’ll go up first,” he said. “If it takes my weight, it will take yours. Once I’ve reached the top, tie this end of the rope around your ribs, and I’ll help pull you up.”

“I know how to climb,” Rose said.

He nodded. “Good. But tie it anyway. I don’t know how much time we’ll have once I top that roof.”

He tugged on the rope one more time, then held on to it while he climbed the height of the boxes stacked along the wall. He hoisted himself up the rope, hand over hand, with impressive speed. Rose was once again reminded that Hink was an airship captain, and likely spent more than half his time crawling over ropes and riggings. Of course he was quick at the climb.

His boots disappeared over the top. After a pause, he leaned over the hatch. “Come on up. Quick now.”

Rose blew out the lantern, set it at her feet, and tied the rope in a loop under her arms. She made sure her skirts were tied up and out of the way and thought, not for the first time, that Molly Gregor, Hink’s recently departed boilerman, had it right by wearing men’s trousers. As soon as Rose had a chance to do so, she was changing back into her practical overalls. The modern adventurer didn’t need fluff and ruffles. She needed good boots, a reliable pair of suspenders, and a level head on her shoulders.

Rose was good to her word and climbed the rope while Hink hauled back on it, bringing her over the top of the train car with more speed than she’d expected.

She sat and Hink let go of the rope and crouched down next to her. “Are you okay?”

“Good as glim,” she whispered back. Rose worked the knot on the rope. “Any idea where we are?”

“Too dark to see much, but I heard the airship fans fade off east of us, and that”—he pointed—“looks to be a work shed or factory of some sort.”

“So people might be that way,” Rose said, pulling the rope off and tossing it back down into the freight car. Hink did one better and tugged the other end of the rope free and kicked it down the hatch.

“I reckon,” Hink agreed. “Town should be that way. My guess is Des Moines.”

“So we go to town?”

“We find a telegraph office.”

“Why?”

Hink stood and offered her his hand, which she took. They crossed to the side of the freight car, to the rungs set down the side, which they could use as a ladder.

“I have information that needs passing along. That thing in there? It’s something my superiors want to know about. Telegraph will be quickest.” Hink lowered himself down the side, feet sure on the rungs. He was on the ground in an instant.

Rose followed, cussing a bit under her breath as her boots got tangled in her skirts.

“Problem?” he asked when she reached the ground.

“I’m just thinking Molly Gregor was smart to wear men’s trousers, with all the climbing and cavorting that goes into this sort of life.”

Hink tightened just a bit. The death of his crew member still hurt, even though it had been months ago, and not his fault.

“She was one of a kind,” Hink said kindly. “And smart.”

“Yes,” Rose said, “she was. I might even buy myself some tailored trousers that I could wear about town. Something more sleek and fitted than all this fluff.”

Hink had taken a step and stopped. He looked back over his shoulder with a grin. “Woman, why did you go and have to put that vision in my head?” He started off again. “I do not have time for such distractions.”

Rose smiled and followed on his heels. The freight car had been placed surprisingly accurately on a rail spur, which connected to a line that ran parallel to the warehouse they had seen from the top of the car. At this late hour, no trains appeared to be coming or going, and the airship that had transported the car here was not visible in the sky.

Hink moved from shadow to shadow with clear purpose. He wasn’t going toward town. He was headed straight to the warehouse.

“Wait,” Rose whispered when they paused by an empty wagon. “Why aren’t we following the rail or road into town?”

He pointed at the telegraph pole standing at one corner of the warehouse. “Telegraph line. Shouldn’t be manned this time of night. I’ll send the message here, then we’ll bolt to town.”

“Is the homunculus that important?”

“Yes.”

Hink strode away from the wagon, straight toward the warehouse. Rose supposed if someone came along to stop him, he’d tell them he was a U.S. Marshal here to inspect the place. Or, just as likely, he’d hit them in the face and consider that explanation enough.

They rounded the corner of the warehouse. Four doors were spaced up the length of the building, the one at the farthest end looking the most likely to lead to an office.

That’s where Hink was walking.

Rose followed. The only windows were up higher than her head, and all of them were dark and still. If this was a working warehouse and not just a place of storage, then it was silent and waiting for dawn to bring its workers back. She had heard of many big businesses in big cities keeping at least one person on the grounds to watch for robbers and other undesirables, but since this building was so far from town, she doubted anyone would leave portable valuables behind.

And though some factories chugged away through the night, this place was silent.

Just before they reached the door, a man stepped out of it. He tugged his bowler hat down tight, then looked ahead and behind.

And saw Hink, who had closed the distance between them.

“Hey!” the man said, startled.

Hink grabbed hold of his arm, twisted it behind his back, and shoved him up against the warehouse. “What are you doing out here at this time of night, friend?” he asked.

“I’m…I’m.” The man paused. Just as Rose recognized his voice.

“Mr. Wicks?” she said.

“Ms. Small?” He twisted to try to see her, but Hink pressed a little harder, keeping him in place.

“It’s Thomas,” Rose said. “Let him go.”

Hink didn’t seem to be listening. “What are you doing here? I thought you were up in first class sipping tea in your stocking feet.”

“Well, there was a robbery.…”

“Yes, I recall,” Hink said. “Shot a man for trying to nick my valuables. What I’m wondering is just how much you are involved in the whole thing. Seeing as how you obviously took a smoother ride to this warehouse than we did.”

“I’m not—” He grunted as Hink pressed a little harder. “For the love of decency, Mr. Hink. Will you please let go of me so I can explain?”

From the look on Hink’s face, the answer was no. Rose reached over and placed her hand on Hink’s arm. “We don’t want to draw attention.”

Hink considered her for a moment, then loosened his grip on the man. “Hope I didn’t wrinkle your accouterments, Mr. Wicks,” he noted conversationally. “You do understand I’ll shoot you if you run.”

Wicks turned and took a moment to straighten his jacket, cuffs, and collar.

“Well,” he started. “This is unpleasant. May I inquire as to why you are following me?”