Cold Copper: The Age of Steam (6 page)

Now they were all huddled beneath the overhang of the hardware shop, wet and shining in yellow lamplight.

Rose was close enough to Thomas that even in the low light she could see his eyebrow arc and a hard, cool sort of look cross his face. She decided he most certainly had a gun on him.

“Please,” Rose said softly to him. “Let it be.”

He glanced at her, his wide eyes shifting just over the frames of his glasses to take in the all of her face. Then he nodded and leaned in a little closer, whispering, “As you please. I do hope I’ll see you again, Miss Small.”

Hink chucked his chin up and stared at Rose from behind Thomas. She heard the creak of leather in the seams of his gloves straining as he clenched his hand.

“Thank you, Mr. Wicks.” She stepped back so as to lessen the chance of Hink walloping the man.

Thomas moved out of the way and Hink pushed past him to hand Rose the horse’s reins. “I’ll see you out at the farm,” he said.

“Don’t bother yourself, Captain.” She clomped past him, half expecting he would reach out for her, try to stop her, try to tell her that he was sorry.

But he just folded his arms across his chest and leaned back on one foot, glowering in the darkness as she swung up into the saddle—glowering at her as she turned the horse and started away.

The stirrups were too long, set for his legs not hers, but she pretended that it didn’t matter, just as she pretended he didn’t matter.

She had loved him, given him her heart, even if she hadn’t said so much in words. He had broken that trust and spent weeks in the arms of other women.

She didn’t want that, didn’t want a man who gave his affections to any pretty painted bird. But she had wanted him—so much so it had made her ache to think of leaving. But she knew she must.

She urged the horse into a quick trot as the cold sleet scrubbed away her tears.

*   *   *

By the time Rose got back to the farm, she was all cried out and numb, both inside and out. But the numbness brought with it a certainty she hadn’t possessed before: she was going to catch the next train out of town, head up to Kansas City, or maybe St. Louis, then off to Chicago, New York, Boston.

She had horizons to see, and she wasn’t going to let any man take them away from her.

She walked Hink’s horse into the barn, dismounted, lit the lantern with shaking, cold hands, then put the horse in a stall and gave it a quick
wipe down with a cloth before tossing some hay in for the poor thing and setting the saddle and bridle in the tack room.

Her room was in the main house, a sort of large lodge building that housed all the people who worked the farm in the spring and summer, and fell empty during the wintering months. The witches all shared in the labor and the harvest of the land, but most lived in town or on their own smaller lots of land.

The gathering room of the main house was empty and quiet, fists of coal from the wood fire that had burned down to ash whispering softly. The rocking chair Mae Lindson had sat in while she was recovering her mind and sanity when they’d first arrived stood empty.

The quiet of the place just made Rose more lonely. And determined. She might have made the wrong choice agreeing to take the boilerman job on Captain Hink’s ship, but she didn’t have to sit around moping about it.

Not wanting to disturb the coven members who might be sleeping in the guest rooms, she made her way on tiptoe across the hall.

Halfway across the room she heard hushed voices, and almost called out softly to the sisters to ask why they were awake so late after sunset.

Probably spells. All of the sisters had been busy lately, mixing herbs and other blessings, making trips into town for supplies come by the mail or train, and then shipping them off again. She hadn’t seen any of the things they’d made their magic with, and since they’d told her it was of both a private and business nature, she hadn’t thought it right to ask.

Better just to pass by quietly.

“But he’s asking for more,” Margaret said. “We’ve already fulfilled our side of the agreement. I don’t know why Sister Adaline doesn’t tell him we’re done with this business. It’s worrisome. Do you ever think what that family of his might be doing with those things?”

“We have to think of what’s best for the coven,” Sarah replied. “Times are changing, Margaret. Witches can’t just stand by while the
rest of the world falls apart. We must choose a side. Do you remember what happened the last time witches were on the losing side?”

“I don’t see any good coming of this. Since when do witches choose sides in wars? Our calling isn’t for these kinds of…devices and curses. He can do his own dirty spells. Or buy them from someone else.”

“Shush, Margaret. Don’t speak of him so. He’ll hear you.” She paused, then, quieter: “Sister Adaline wouldn’t lead us wrong.”

“Something bad will come of our good work,” Margaret said. “Nothing good can come of those things.”

“Shh!”

Rose knew they had heard her walking, breathing.

Then Sarah said much more loudly, “Good night, Margaret. I’ll see you in the morning.”

The shuffle of bare feet crossed the hall floor, and two doors closed firmly.

They had known she was there. They must have known.

She felt a little guilty for eavesdropping, but didn’t know what they were talking about. The world was falling apart? As far as she could tell, the witches had a good communal farm, were respected citizens in a town willing to turn a blind eye to their practices, and even managed to keep their witchery mostly quiet. Outsiders would never suspect an entire coven sat right outside Hays City. And since that’s how the sisters liked it, Rose had thought things were going very well for them.

She wondered who that man they were doing business with was, and why it made Margaret so uncomfortable. Devices and curses. That certainly sounded worrisome.

Rose walked down to her room, shucked out of all of her clothes, and pulled a blanket around her shoulders. The finder compass hung against her chest, its burnished metal warm from contact with her skin. She tipped it up and saw the fine needle pointing northeast toward the other finder compass she had made, Hink’s compass.

There was a time she thought she’d never want that man to be lost to her. That had changed now.

Rose hung her wet clothes over the back of the chair and on the wall hook to dry. She dragged her carpetbag from the corner of the room and packed her clothes, her metalworking tools, and the twine, wax, oil, and bits and pieces of metal and gears she had slowly gathered up over the last few months. Finally, she draped her practical trousers and a dry pair of socks over the back of the chair for the morning.

She considered the clothing. No. She was starting a new life. She’d meet it looking her best. She packed away her spare trousers and pulled out her best dress and underskirts. That was the way to meet her horizon: like a lady.

The train left early. She’d be dressed and ready to meet it.

She settled into bed, pulling the rough wool covers up over her nose. Just before she slipped into sleep, she realized with a pang of regret that she hadn’t had a chance to read the books she’d borrowed from the library. There was no changing her mind now. Those books were just one more thing she loved that she’d have to leave behind.

T
he Madder brothers sat at the table in the church kitchen, hats off, hair and beards still dripping wet, hands wrapped around mugs filled with tea.

They looked as uncomfortable as schoolyard bullies under a teacher’s disapproving glare.

The teacher, in this case, was Father John Kyne, who seemed quite at home putting the kettle on the back of the stove now that he had seen to the filling of everyone’s cup. It was proper manners, almost English manners, and not what Cedar was used to seeing from a man native to these lands.

But then, he’d never known a native man who had taken the Almighty as his personal savior.

“Let’s get this over with,” Alun said. “What favor do you want from us, Kyne?”

Father Kyne paused with his teacup resting on his bottom lip. He regarded Alun Madder from over its rim. “You are not the men I expected to answer my call,” he said mildly.

All three Madders swiveled their heads to peer at him.

“What sort of men did you expect?” Bryn rubbed at his bad eye while staring at Kyne from the good one. “Did you think we’d be taller? People always think we’d be taller.”

Alun snorted and Cadoc turned his head to the side a bit more, like a bird trying to sight a worm.

“I heard stories. Stories of the noble Madder brothers. Brave, ingenious, and wise.” Kyne sipped his tea, then sat at the head of the long wooden table.

“Stories are just that,” Alun Madder said. “No matter what your father told you.”

“My father told me you owe my family a favor.”

“We promised a German man named Kyne a favor. Not a man born of this soil,” Alun said.

“Lars Kyne took me in when my family was killed. He raised me as his own and had no other.”

“But you are not, in fact, of Kyne blood,” Alun pressed.

Father Kyne leaned back and placed his fingers together, tip to tip, his hand curved loosely on the table. “I am not of his blood,” he agreed. “Did you give your promise to the blood or to the man?”

“We promised Holland Kyne three favors,” Cadoc said. “One favor for each of our lives saved.”

“He saved your lives?” Miss Dupuis asked, surprised.

“It was long ago,” Cadoc said.

“It was that,” Alun agreed. “And a promise made to a dead man. We’ve done Holland his favor and the favor to his son, Lars. That’s two favors. Now that Lars is gone, the last favor dies with him.”

“Brother,” Cadoc said with soft reproach, “he saved our lives.”

Alun turned and glared at Cadoc. “We’ve repaid enough.”

Cadoc only shook his head slowly, the dark of his hair curled out to the side into points, his close-set, rounded features visible between beard and hair and scrubbed red from wind and snow.

“Perhaps your life was repaid,” Cadoc said. “Perhaps Bryn’s life. But not mine. Not all of ours. Three promises given must be kept. Madders do not break their vows.”

Alun grunted and pointed a finger at John Kyne. “This better be
good. We are doing important work, Mr. Kyne. Work that might just save this land and a fair more people than who sit in this room. Now we have to halt that important work to tend to your favor that couldn’t wait. So tell me, what is it you want? And if you say more favors, I promise you it will be the first time I’ve shot a man in a house of God.”

“Mr. Madder,” Mae cut in. “Please, show some gratitude for our host. He brought us in, gave our animals food and shelter, and is offering the same to us. Without him we would be lost in a blizzard.”

“We weren’t lost.”

“Yes,” she said, “we were. And now that we are found, we will show our appreciation.”

There was a clear threat in her tone. A threat Cedar knew she could follow through on. Mae’s magic ran toward curses and bindings. She could make a very formidable foe, though he’d never seen her raise magic in anger.

“Widow Lindson, I do believe you are threatening me,” Alun said with just a bit of a glint in his eyes.

“Believe what you will, Mr. Madder.” Mae took a sip of her tea.

Father Kyne watched the exchange without much change of manner. He seemed to be a man with little expression beyond a serious, almost sad stare. Still, Cedar could tell there was something weighing on him. He certainly hadn’t brought the brothers here on a whim.

“What is your trouble, Father?” Cedar asked. “And how can we help?”

Kyne nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Hunt. The trouble is not mine alone. Although many of the town do not choose to worship in the church my grandfather built, our congregation was once very devout. Common people, miners, farmers, millers, and a few merchants, all gathered here.

“Many families too. Some young and of distant homelands, pushing west, looking for a beginning. Children worshiped here until three months ago when the children began to disappear. Called into the night, and gone, never to return home.”

“Children?” Alun asked, a little startled at the story. “How many?”

“Dozens. Perhaps hundreds. Ever since the star fell out of the sky.”

“Is this your favor?” Cadoc asked.

“Yes.”

“Then give it words that bind and speak it true,” Alun said. “Tell us exactly what you want us to do for you. And we will do that exact thing.”

“Find the children. All the missing children and return them to their families. Do not leave this city until you have done so.”

All the Madder brothers sat back, their chairs creaking. “That’s your favor?” Alun asked.

“Yes.”

“You had to say it that way, didn’t you?” Alun muttered. “You want us to find children who have been lost for months. Not just one, not just the living, but
all
the children. Did you see the blizzard beyond the doors? We promised a favor, not a miracle.”

“We will do it,” Cadoc said, throwing a stern look at his brother. “Just as you have said. We will find all the missing children and return them to their families. We will not leave this city until we have done so.”

Alun threw up both hands and exhaled. Then he crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at Father Kyne.

“Is there more you can tell us about their disappearances?” Bryn asked, ignoring Alun. “Has the local law been involved?”

“Yes. Sheriff Burchell has searched the city. He has found nothing. No trace of the missing children. But the mayor has done nothing.”

“Over a hundred children?” Alun grumped. “This could take years.”

“Was my father wrong, then?” Kyne asked Alun.

“Probably.”

“When he spoke of the Madder brothers, he said they were men above all others. Men who cared about the misery of their fellow man. Men who would never shirk to help the innocent.”

Alun scowled, his dark brows pushing wrinkles across his broad face. “Your father had a way with words.”

“What is the mayor’s name?” Miss Dupuis asked. “Perhaps I could speak with him.”

“Vosbrough,” Father Kyne said. “Killian Vosbrough.”

All three brothers looked at one another. They knew that name. They knew that man. But none of them spoke a word. Even Miss Dupuis seemed a bit startled.

“I see,” she said.

“But it is late,” Father Kyne said. “Perhaps morning will bring us all more rested to this endeavor.” He stood and gestured toward the doorway to the right. “There is a room, a fire, and blankets for sleeping. I am sorry I don’t have beds to offer.”

“No, that is fine,” Mae said. “We are grateful, truly, for everything you’ve given us.”

“Yes, thank you, Father Kyne,” Miss Dupuis agreed. “The tea was lovely, and your kindness most welcome.”

Cedar pushed up away from the table. He was bone tired. “I’ll do what I can to help find the children also.”

“Mr. Hunt,” Alun said. “You aren’t forgetting your promise to us, are you?”

“How could I? You remind me of it constantly.” He nodded at Father Kyne, then walked from the room with the women.

Wil lifted his head from where he had been drowsing near the stove. He got to his feet, then stretched and yawned hugely before padding off after Cedar.

Cedar wondered if he should stay and see what the Madders and Father Kyne discussed. Wondered if he should do what he could to warn the priest that making deals with the brothers could land a person in more trouble than bargained for.

But this time the shoe was on the other foot. Father Kyne was owed a favor by the brothers, not the other way around. It was no wonder Alun was so angry. Cedar didn’t know if the brothers had ever owed any man or any country anything ever before.

He smiled. It was about time the table was turned.

The narrow hall ended in a room that must have once served as a bedroom, but now looked more like a storage space. There was a chest of drawers and several shelves built into the wall. The shelves held some canned goods, three books, boxes of candles, and several bottles of kerosene and medicine.

Wool and cotton blankets sat folded on top of the chest, enough to make up fifty beds. A small stove in the corner put out enough heat to make Cedar wish he were dry and curled up beneath every last one of those blankets.

Mae and Miss Dupuis spread quilts on the other side of the room, then untied boots and took off their wet outercoats. Mae drew the combs out of her hair, and used them to brush through her long honey locks.

He found himself yearning to touch her, to draw his fingers through her hair, to hold the heat of her body against his.

“Do you suppose they’ll be coming to bed too?” Miss Dupuis asked as she rolled up a quilt to use as a pillow.

Cedar blinked and wondered how long he’d been staring, transfixed by Mae.

“I would assume so, eventually.” He walked over to the chest and pulled out five heavy blankets, then turned his back so the women could strip down to their undergarments. “I think Father Kyne was weary and ready to turn in.”

“And so am I,” Miss Dupuis said with a sigh. “I could sleep for a year, right here on this hard floor with nothing more than my dreams for a pillow.”

“Do you think they’ll start in the morning, looking for the children?” Mae asked.

Cedar shook out two blankets near the door, for Wil and himself, careful to keep his back turned so the women had some privacy. Enough time on the road together had afforded them a certain sort of ease around situations more civilized people might shy away from.

Time on the road had also set them into much worse sleeping arrangements than this.

“You heard them as well as I,” Cedar said. “Cadoc seems set and ready to see this promise through to fulfilling it, and so does Bryn.”

“And you?” she asked. “Are you going to search for the children? If they’re lost…like little Elbert Gregor… ?”

“Yes.” Cedar resisted the urge to look over his shoulder at her. “Even if they aren’t lost like little Elbert Gregor.”

“Good,” Mae said over the shush of crawling beneath blankets. “I had hoped you would.”

Elbert Gregor had been kidnapped for a man named Shard LeFel by the Strange creature known as Mr. Shunt. Cedar had killed Mr. Shunt, had felt him fall apart into bits and pieces of bone and bolt and spring. There was no chance that monster was still alive.

But there were other Strange, other monsters. The wind was thick with them. Likely, the town was thick with them. And Strange were known to steal children, though he’d never heard of a hundred missing at once.

As long as there were no bodies available for the Strange to wear, whether the freshly dead or the rare Strange-worked creatures built of cog and sinew, like Mr. Shunt, the Strange couldn’t directly harm anyone. They were spirits—bogeys and ghouls—reduced to haunting the living world and desperately looking for ways to become a part of it.

No, it made the most sense that the children of Des Moines had been taken for more common evils by more common men—to work mills and factories in faraway cities, or to do some other labor in this quickly growing land.

With the railway connecting coast to coast and all lines pointing to Des Moines, it would be fairly simple to send a large group of children off to the far corners of the country. But a child-smuggling business that large had to have a reason to pull so many from one place alone.

Cedar lay down and dragged a thick, well-patched quilt that smelled
of pine up to his chin. He’d left his boots on and laid his hat on the floor next to him. Wil settled down too, groaning as he stretched out.

Cedar dropped one arm out to the side, and dug his fingers into Wil’s fur. They’d track the children tomorrow. He’d have most of the day to do so. He’d look for the Holder too.

And when the moon rose full, Cedar would ask Mae to make sure he was locked up, in the wagon or in a cellar.

The Pawnee curse turned him into a beast like his brother, but he had far less control over the animal instincts. When he changed, all he wanted, with every pump of his heart, was to kill the Strange. This tired, in this unknown city, he would be too likely to kill at random, kill people in his rage to destroy the Strange. He didn’t want to lose control near a city this size with Strange so near. He didn’t want innocent deaths on his hands.

He’d spilled enough innocent blood. With that grim thought, sleep finally claimed him.

Cedar startled awake as the Madder brothers tromped into the room. They each took a blanket and made beds, rolling up without removing coat or gloves, and snoring nearly as soon as they hit the floor. From the rhythm of breathing in the room, he knew Mae and Miss Dupuis slept through their arrival.