Devon Monk - Cold Copper

Only Alun stood in front of the sheriff. And he was smiling.

One thing Rose had learned in the time she had known the Madders was a smile like that meant they were intending to make trouble.

“These metal bars are more than strong enough to hold us right where we stand. Only thing is, I can’t say the same thing about the stone in which they’re anchored. Do you see that?” Alun pointed to the ground.

The sheriff looked down. “The floor?”

“The floor,” Alun agreed. “Brick and mortar. Stone held together by more stone.”

“Your point, Mr. Madder?”

“Well, stone isn’t at all the same thing as metal. Stone is known to crack, break, to move about if it so chooses. Metal? It stays in one place unless a man goes through some hard sweat to shift the stone aside and break the metal free. If a man really wants to set metal free, all he has to do is convince the stone to step aside a bit.”

Bryn and Cadoc both had something small and shiny in their hands that looked like a brass piston. They placed the bottom of the piston against the wall where they were leaning and then depressed a button at the top of the device.

The building filled with the sound of ice cracking. Rose glanced at the ceiling and floor. The sound wasn’t coming from outside the building; it was coming from inside. Every wall around her, the floor, the ceiling, was breaking apart. Cracks in the stone nearly a finger width snaked out from the base and top of each bar of her cell and ran lines up the walls.

The entire jail was cracking apart, all the stone crumbling.

“Rose!” Hink yelled. “Are you all right?”

“Fine!” she yelled back.

But the noise had brought all the rest of the lawmen crowding into the hallway.

“What in the hell is going on?” the deputy demanded.

The sound faded like the last rumble of a distant drum, and it was eerily quiet inside the jail again.

Until Alun spoke. “The rocks moved aside a bit,” he said. “So the metal could come free.”

And then Alun pressed one finger against one bar of his cell. The bar creaked and fell out into the hall.

Like a cascade of dominoes that just needed a push, all the other bars of his cell fell out too. And so did all the bars of the other cells.

There wasn’t even time to take a deep breath before the entire jailhouse erupted into a brawl. Prisoners rushed for freedom, prisoners rushed the lawmen, prisoners rushed prisoners, raising bare-knuckled fists or brandishing the bars of their cells.

The Madders were right in the thick of it, throwing punches at every man who wore Vosbrough green and laughing their fool heads off.

Rose ducked through the space of two fallen bars and kept her back against the side of the hall as she made her way toward the main room. The fight was an undulating sea of men and sweat and swearing. There were twice as many prisoners in the place as she’d seen on her short walk down the hall. Maybe the jailhouse was a lot bigger than it looked from the outside.

Right behind her was the cell with the dying man. She glanced in. He turned his head and opened his eyes, just slits of pain.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask her to save him or give him mercy. Still, there was something that caught at her, caught at the deep parts of her, and made her want to help him.

“Time to be moving.” Hink came up behind her and grabbed hold of her arm.

“We have to take this man with us.”

“No, we have to get out of here,” Hink said.

“I’m not going if he’s not going,” Rose said.

Hink scowled down at her, and she held his gaze.

“Oh, for the love of glim, woman.” He gave her a small push out of the way so he could enter the man’s cell. “Death of me. Always thought it’d be my ship, or some pirate come to stab me while I sleep, but now I’m pretty sure it’s going to be you. You’re death in petticoats.”

He bent and without much fuss, picked up the man and slung him over his shoulder.

The man groaned, and promptly passed out.

Hink turned. “You.” He pointed at Rose. “Get walking. Now.”

Rose turned to do so and nearly ran into Bryn Madder.

“Rose? Thought you’d be long gone. Hey, there, Captain. What are your plans with that man?”

“Rose wants him carried out of here. I’m carrying.”

“Aren’t women curious contraptions?” Bryn asked.

“They are at that.”

“Curious contraptions?” Rose said. “It’s not as if men are exactly a deciphered wonder.”

“Rose, darlin’,” Hink said, “let’s finish this argument after we escape from prison.”

Bryn Madder stepped aside, and held his arm out for her like he was escorting her to a dance.

She took his arm, and they made a dash for the door, avoiding fists, broken bits of chairs, and swinging metal bars.

They were separated only once, and Rose made use of a lost boot to hit a man over the head, and then Bryn pulled her forward and out the door, Mr. Wicks on their heels.

Alun Madder stood outside the jail, smoking his pipe. “I do love a good morning brawl,” he said as he exhaled smoke. “Helps to get the blood moving. What exactly are you thinking of doing with that man, Captain Hink?”

“Ask Rose,” he said.

“What connection to him do you have, Rose?”

The fight seemed to be dying down inside, or at least there were fewer sounds of fists. There was, however, a gunshot.

“I think we can talk that over on the run, don’t you, Mr. Madder?”

“I surely do,” he said.

They took off at a run down the street and Rose couldn’t help but think of what a motley crew they made: Hink, with a man bleeding over his shoulder; the well-suited Mr. Wicks; the three rugged Madders; and herself—still dusty and unbelted—dashing away from the jail and down streets and darkened alleys at break-leg speed.

A few people stopped and stared, but no one took after them, nor stood in their way. That was nearly unimaginable to Rose, though she was grateful for their indifference. In the small town she’d grown up in, there would have been half the population of Main Street out to chase down people running away from a jail.

Here in the city, it appeared to be nothing more than a passing curiosity.

And then a great whistle went off, piercing the air and rolling over the rooftops like a banshee screaming. It must be a siren telling the city they had escaped. It must be calling in more men, more guns, more matics to stop them.

“Where are we going?” Rose asked as Mr. Wicks paused at the end of the alley and turned left.

“Did you bring your ship, Captain Hink?” Alun asked.

“No. Came in by other means,” Hink panted. He looked a little flushed and Rose suddenly remembered that he’d been shot before pounding his way through a brawl. Some of that blood on his coat might not be from the man he was carrying. It might be his own.

“Train,” Hink added. “And air cable.”

“Both?” Bryn asked, suddenly seeming interested in the conversation. “How so?”

“I’d be happy to tell you, Bryn Madder,” Hink said. “So long as we survive this. You gents have any notions up your sleeves? Like, say, a bomb or two?”

“Not as much as,” Alun said. He pulled up short at the next opening to the street and reached out and grabbed hold of Wicks’s coat to drag him back into the shadows. “You hear that?” he asked.

Mr. Wicks shook his head. “Hear what?”

“Wagon wheels.”

“It’s a city, Mr. Madder. It’s filled with wagon wheels.”

“But these wheels are special.”

“How so?”

“They’re mine.” He stepped out and put his fingers to his lips, letting off a piercing whistle Rose had heard many times when traveling with them.