Devon Monk: Cold Copper

“We knew this day would come,” Bryn said.

“Aye.” Alun sighed. “We did. This will be the last of it. No man there will have another promise from me. But on this old vow, they will collect. And it will be the last time I set foot in this devil’s town.”

“It will be the last time any of us set foot in this devil’s town,” Cadoc said. “He, I am sure, will see to it.”

“He?” Cedar asked. “Who?”

“The devil,” Cadoc said.

The wind picked up again and snow sifted down like flour through a sieve. The wagon scuttled onward, crawled along as fast as a man could walk.

Ahead a glimmer of gold sparked and burned brightly, perhaps a lantern on the west edge of the bank.

“Just a ways now,” Bryn said. “Catch the wind’s march, boys. We’ll be to land soon.”

Cedar adjusted the sail, and so did Alun. Just as Bryn had said, the wind drew them smoothly, slowly, as if dreading the journey, while Cadoc steered them toward the ever-brightening light.

Soon Cedar could make out its source.

A man in a full cloak with a wide, heavy hood sat on a horse on a rise over the bank. He held an oversized lantern, mirrored to enhance its flame. The light threw shadows against his face so thick, Cedar couldn’t make out a single angle of his features.

“Trim the sails,” Bryn said. “This is our stop.”

“Do you know that man?” Cedar asked as the wagon came to a creaking stop, sleds skiffing over the ragged ice at the river’s edge and riding up to settle in the snow on the bank.

“No,” Alun said. “We knew his family, I expect.”

“Ho, stranger,” Bryn called out. “What town lies beyond this bank?”

“Des Moines,” the man answered, his accent pressing hard on the spaces between the words. “Where do you fare from?”

“Long away and better days.” Alun jumped down out of the driver’s seat and lashed the ropes of the sail tight so the wagon didn’t go wandering off onto the ice again.

“Was it your song playing?” Cadoc Madder stepped onto the snowy ground too and saw to resetting the hitch so the mules could pull the wagon on land again.

“It was the song of my father, and his before him,” the man said.

“Father’s, eh?” Alun asked. “I suppose it has been some years since we were last through. We’ll need shelter for the night and a place for the animals out of the storm.”

“Yes,” the stranger said. “Follow me.”

It didn’t take long to get the animals situated to pull the wagon. Mae released the calming spell, and the mules and horse all seemed a little spooked to find themselves in the middle of a snowstorm.

With some pushing, pulling, coaxing, and cussing, they managed to get the wagon up the bank and onto a road.

It was well and dark now and the only light came from the lantern the man carried, the lanterns on the wagons, and the occasional flickering behind the thick glass of the houses they passed.

The streets of Des Moines rambled between haphazard structures built with the hurried signs of sudden growth now that the railroad joining the Mississippi and Missouri Rivers had come through town. That, along with the mines of coal, lead, and a rare vein of copper, had put the city’s star on the map.

The town was quiet beneath the snow. Houses gave way to warehouses, shops, and brick buildings. Now and again a shout broke the night, a gunshot cracked, or the rattle of laughter and piano reminded Cedar of this city’s restless state.

Des Moines had grown dense with the people who had settled here for years. Now more were coming through, building businesses, clearing land for farms, working the mines, and seeing to the shipping of grains, cattle, devices, and other goods between the east and west.

The railroad and telegraphs that connected this great land had been a boon to the town and had given it enough spunk to build tall buildings, airship fields, and foundries.

It was a city now. Called itself the capital of Iowa.

Cedar thought it might be the sort of town Rose Small was hoping to see one day: full of busy and bustle, fed by all the new ideas coming on rails from the east. He wished, for a moment, that she might be here with them. Then the wind scraped across his exposed skin and he was glad she was safe and warm back in the Kansas coven.

They turned down a street lined by unlit lamps, then left that street for another, and finally came to a winding lane.

Cedar rolled his shoulders. The press of people sleeping just behind the tall walls was a palpable weight on his nerves. Dawn would come too soon. By moonrise tomorrow, he’d be full under the hold of the Pawnee curse and in the body of a beast.

Hungry for Strange blood.

The Madders hadn’t said a single word as they traveled the streets; neither had their host, who led them down the lane.

In short time, a structure rose at the end of the path.

A single candle in a high arched window flickered in the framework building. Above that rose a blocky bell tower with a simple cross atop it. A church. From the look of it, a very old but well-kept house of worship.

The rider took them past the building to a barn that was larger than the church by half. He dismounted and motioned them forward into the shelter.

The barn wasn’t large enough for the wagon, but there was a generous lean-to, beneath which the wagon would be shielded from the worst of the weather.

Their host led his horse into the barn and they followed.

“There are stalls for your animals here.” The man pushed the wide hood of his cloak away, revealing black hair smoothed back from his wide forehead and tied in a single braid that fell at least halfway down his back. He had the tanned skin and carved angles to his face that spoke clearly of native descent. And yet, he wore a modern man’s clothing. At his neck hung a simple silver cross.

An Indian preacher? Cedar didn’t think he’d ever heard of such a thing.

“Mr. Hunt,” Alun said. “Please see to the mules and our host’s horse. We have business to conduct with Father Kyne here. I assume there’s room in the church?”

The native man nodded. “Find your welcome. I will follow in a moment.”

Alun strode out of the barn, impatience clipping his step. “Brothers,” he said. “Let’s get this done with.”

Bryn and Cadoc turned heel and followed him.

Wil was waiting in the shadows. As soon as the Madders had passed by, he slipped into the barn.

Mae and Miss Dupuis led the mules and horse toward stalls, all of the animals too tired to care about the unfamiliar surroundings.

“They’re in a hurry,” Mae said. “Do you know why?”

Cedar took the horse’s reins from her. “I’m given to understand they owe a favor to someone here in town.”

“Perhaps that is why they wanted to avoid it?” Miss Dupuis said.

Cedar watched Father Kyne, who stood in the stall, removing the light saddle from his horse. He was watching them all but, most especially, him and Wil.

“I don’t know the Madders’ business,” Cedar said. “And they seem content to leave it that way. I do want to thank you, Father Kyne, for guiding us to town. It’s been a long, hard ride.”

“My pleasure,” he said quietly. “You and the wolf. He belongs to you?”

Cedar nodded. “My name is Cedar Hunt. The wolf is named Wil. This is Mae Lindson and Sophie Dupuis.”

Father Kyne nodded to them each, and draped the saddle over the stall door, followed by the bridle. “You are all welcome to my home, for as long as you have need.”

“We don’t want to be a burden, Father Kyne,” Miss Dupuis said. “Perhaps there is a hotel with room for us this evening?”

“Not so late in the night,” he said, stepping out of the stall. “In the morning, I would be happy to take you to better accommodations. But tonight, no one should be out on the streets. There are…strange happenings in our town. I do not think it would be safe.”