Storming: A Dieselpunk Adventure (14 page)

Hitch stopped short.

The bird—a strange-looking brown eagle—swooped low over their heads.

Hitch ducked instinctively.

But the stranger didn’t budge from staring back at him. The bird, fully two feet from beak to claws, circled around. It landed on the stranger’s hat, pushing the brim lower over his forehead.

It couldn’t be a coincidence that somebody as obviously out of place as this gent was standing right over the top of the eighth body to fall from the sky. This was Zlo. Had to be. And even though Zlo obviously couldn’t have pushed this man to his death, he was tied up in it somehow.

Hitch’s heart rate started double-timing. Before he could think about it too hard, he lunged forward and caught the man’s arm, whirling him around.

The idea was to get his arm up behind his back before Zlo had a chance to draw any weapons. But Zlo was at least five inches shorter than Hitch, and he moved like a greased pig. He spun with Hitch’s momentum and kept right on spinning until his arm slipped free.

The bird squawked and flapped away.

Zlo pulled the flare gun from his belt and held it between them. “I have no fight with you.” His accent wasn’t as thick as Jael’s.

Hitch stayed back, stance wide, hands in front of him. “Fine by me, brother.” He pointed at the body. “All I want to know is where that guy came from.”

Zlo grinned. “He is good sign. My people are finished with taking control.”

“Control of what?”

“
Schturming
.”

“What’s
Schturming
?” Hitch ran back through his brain for the biggest airplane he could think of. “A Handley-Page bomber? A hot-air balloon? What?”

“It is place where we pretend not to envy your world. But I think maybe it will be your world that will envy us.”

“What does that mean?”

“It does not concern Groundsmen. Not yet.” Zlo turned up the corner of his mouth. He seemed to be enjoying the fact Hitch had no idea what he was talking about.

“I’ll say it concerns me,” Hitch said. “You people keep falling on top of me!”

Zlo looked around, a smidge of theater in his expression. “I like your town. Very rich.” He grinned fully, and his front teeth sparkled, as if they were capped with silver or gold. “When I return, I will not be falling this time. I can promise you that.”

“Yeah, and do you promise you’re not going to go shoving girls out in front of you?”

The grin disappeared. Zlo took a step toward Hitch. “This girl? Jael Elenava—you know where she is?”

Hadn’t taken Zlo any time at all to grab
that
bait. Hitch stifled a growl. Probably should have let that one alone.

He moved to the side. “All I know is they found a body out by the lake this morning.”

Another step forward. “She was not killed. I saw her footprints.”

Well, it had been worth a shot. “Disappointed?” he asked.

Zlo shrugged. “I do not care if she dies or lives. If you want her, you can have her.” He tapped the center of his chest. “All I want from her is this.”

Her pendant? Hitch frowned and shook his head. “Maybe I can help you find it. My brother’s a deputy sheriff. Lives down the road here. He’ll help you retrieve what’s yours and get you on back home.”

“Deputy sheriff?” Zlo snorted. “I think not. But if you find
yakor
for me, I will promise you no more bodies will fall. I cannot leave you without it. I tell you that is no threat, it is just fact. I will even pay for it, yes? If you want
nikto
girl, she is yours too. And if you do not want her, I get rid of her for you. Is this deal?”

Hitch dropped his placating hands to his sides. “Look, you’re going to stay away from that girl.”

Zlo’s features stilled. “Fine.
Idi i bud’ proklyat.
”

That didn’t sound too much like “farewell and good luck.”

Zlo stepped forward, the flare gun still in front of him.

Hitch’s choices had just rapidly narrowed themselves to one of three: get shot, turn and run like a scared rabbit, or take this guy from the front and probably still get shot.

He feinted to the right, then dove straight at Zlo. His shoulder caught the man’s gut and bowled him off his feet. Zlo lost all his air in a hard exhalation.

Hitch caught the wrist of Zlo’s gun hand and bashed it against the ground. The soil here was too soft to do much damage, and Zlo’s grip didn’t so much as loosen. Hitch hit it again with no luck, then looked back in time to take a fist in his ribs. His own breath whuffed out, but he managed to plant a knee on Zlo’s throat.

He curled his fingers into Zlo’s fist and pried the gun loose. “Now you’re going to see the deputy, whether you want to or not.”

Against Hitch’s knee, Zlo’s throat bobbed. “Maksim!”

The eagle hit Hitch from behind. Its talons skimmed the meat of his shoulder and knocked him off balance.

He lost the gun as he rolled, and it disappeared in the cornstalks. He turned around, jumping into a crouch.

Zlo was already up, fists clenched at his sides. The whites of his eyes shone in the dark.

Well, now Hitch had gone and made the man mad. Probably not a good sign, since to all appearances, he was already on his sixth kill.

Hitch rose, panting.

On the road, a motorcar puttered past. A woman’s familiar laugh sounded over the rumble of the engine. Lilla.

And Rick with any luck. Never thought he’d be saying
that
.

“Rick!” Hitch kept his eyes on Zlo. “Lilla! Rick! Get yourselves over here before I end up dead!”

Behind him, the hard slap of the eagle’s wings beat the air.

Zlo cast a glance at the road, then back at Hitch, hesitating.

The engine slowed. Stopped.

Lilla’s voice floated across the cornfield: “I heard something, I know it!”

Hitch hollered again. “Rick!”

“It’s Hitch,” Rick said. “What’s he want now?”

“Go see,” Lilla urged.

That was enough for Zlo. He glared at Hitch, then whistled for the bird and turned to scramble back through the corn.

Hitch gave a thought to following. But in a cornfield at night, Zlo could hide five feet away and nobody’d ever see him.

The beam of a flashlight cut across the field. Rick and Lilla tromped through the corn.

“Oh, it
is
you!” Lilla said.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“What is it this time?” Rick said. “We’re on our way into town. There’s supposed to be a speakeasy down on East Ninth.
Anything
to relieve the tedium.”

“Well, how about this.” Hitch pointed at the corpse. “That relieve the tedium?”

Lilla screamed.

***

Practically the whole crowd from the airfield came out to see for themselves.

When Jael eased forward to see the corpse, still lying in the circle of smashed corn, her face went whiter than ever.

Hitch looked at her. “Know him?” He pitched his voice low, so only she could hear him.

She tucked her chin in barely a nod.

“Whoa now,” one of the flyers said. “Looks like somebody jumped without his parachute.”

That was a whole lot closer to the truth than these folks knew. The gent in question was a big man, tall and lean with a muscled torso. He was bearded, had dark hair down to his shoulders, and wore loose pants and scuffed knee boots. A black leather apron covered everything down to mid-shin. On one hand, he wore a black leather mitten extending to his elbow. Both the apron and the mitt were smeared with oil and ash. Gelling blood coated his nostrils and ears, and he most certainly had about twice as many bones now as he’d had before his fall.

Hitch had offered the crowd a quick explanation about finding Zlo standing over the body. He left off the falling-out-of-the-sky part.

He watched Jael. “Who is he?”

She shook her head.

“Not a friend of yours, is he?”

She stared at Hitch for another of those long, studying moments, probably gauging whether she should tell him.

Then she shook her head. “He is Engine Master. Never is liking me. But is not bad man.” She hung her head and huffed softly. “This is not how it is done.”

“What do you mean?”

“This”—she flung an arm out at the field—“this is what we do with dead. Drop them to final sleep. But over water, not over Groundsworld. And not
before
death comes.”

Okay. He glanced overhead. Not exactly what he had been expecting. If enough people died up there that they had
rituals
for taking care of the bodies, then it was starting to seem like more and more of a long-term place to visit.

Back at Rick’s car, the voices grew louder.

Hitch looked over his shoulder. The talon cuts in his shoulder pulled and stung, and he winced.

Livingstone had arrived. He strode through the weak beams of the car headlights and held up both hands in a placating gesture. “Not to worry, ladies and gentleman, not to worry. Before leaving camp, I stopped at the farmer’s house and was lucky enough to discover he is the proud owner of a telephone. I contacted the proper authorities. They should be here at any moment.”

Hitch’s heart sank.

Proper authorities meant Campbell. Maybe he’d send a deputy. Maybe he’d even send Griff since the farm was close by. Assuming Griff also had a telephone.

Problem was—murder was a big deal in a sleepy town like this, especially with all the brouhaha of the airshow in town right now. If Campbell had any notion at all that Hitch might be part of that airshow? He’d be personally headed in this direction, sure as shooting.

If he did come, there was no way Hitch could get out of talking to him, since he just happened to be the chief and only witness.

Jael turned back to him. “Authorities? These are custody men—like your brother? You have talked to him?”

“Yeah, about that. It didn’t go so well.” He made himself stop poking at the cuts and drop his hand back to his side. “He didn’t want to see me.”

“He is your brother.”

“That’s mostly the problem.” Hitch had never had any difficulty winning over strangers—only the people he cared about.

She frowned.

“In the meantime,” Livingstone continued, “I suggest we do not sully the scene of the crime any further.”

Even as he said it, headlights swiped across the field and tires crunched against the shoulder of the road.

“Ah,” Livingstone said. “Admirably timed.”

Hitch nudged Jael behind him and eased around to see the road.

Even before the big green sedan’s engine stopped rumbling, Hitch started getting a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

The sedan’s door opened, and Sheriff Bill Campbell slid his bulk out of the driver’s seat.

Frustration rolled over inside of Hitch and rose back up, carrying with it more than a fair share of anger. Nothing left to do but face it. Now that Campbell was here, Hitch sure wasn’t about to skulk around in corners, waiting to be hunted down.

He glanced back at Jael. “You stay back here. I’ll keep you out of it if I can.”

Her gaze flicked between Campbell and him, maybe not quite understanding what was happening. But she ducked her chin in a tight nod.

Hitch squared his shoulders and walked into the wind to meet Campbell.

They met at the roadside, a few paces off from the noisy crowd that had gathered around the body.

Campbell didn’t look surprised to see him. “Well, now,” he rumbled, his voice deeply graveled. “If it isn’t the famous Hitch Hitchcock. Heard folks saying you might be back.”

So it didn’t matter after all that the dead body had fallen right on his head. Hitch wasn’t sure if there was any comfort in that or not.

“Here you are,” Campbell said, “one day back, and already you’re my chief witness to a bizarre death. How’s that happen, I wonder?” He rooted in his shirt pocket and came out with a match. He flicked the flame free with his thumb and cupped it in his hand to protect it from the growing breeze. As he held it to the cigarette in his mouth, he looked past Hitch to the crowd in the cornfield.

The death
would
have to be a bizarre one. Campbell might not have bothered coming out himself if it hadn’t been.

“Same way it happens to anybody,” Hitch said.

Campbell was a hulking man, as tall as Hitch and maybe fifty pounds heavier. His face had gotten craggier in the last few years, but the same faint, knowing smile lurked around his lips, never quite pulling them tight.

“I was just walking by,” Hitch said, “coming back from seeing Griff.”

Campbell took a puff on the cigarette, then let the breeze blow out the match. “Sure you were, son. I know you wouldn’t get yourself mixed up in something like this. Tell me about it, why don’t you?”