by Devon Monk
“Chicago, you think?” said another voice, that of Mr. Seldom, Hink’s second-in-command.
“It’s where I’ll start looking. If you hear anything, send me a dove. There has to be another connection between the east and west trade and I want to know what it is, and who’s behind it. And watch Miss Adeline. I’ve a feeling the witches are in this deeper than they’ll admit.”
“What about Miss Small?”
Rose skidded to a stop and ducked just behind the open door.
“She’s…” Hink sighed. “Look after her for me. Keep her on the boilers. She’s got a hell of a knack for steam and I have no doubt will be the best boilerman the Swift has ever had if she gets over her stubborn foolishness.”
Rose made a small sound but clapped her hand over her mouth.
There was a pause, wherein she wondered if he’d heard her. Then he said, “Do me a favor, Seldom. There’s a man named Thomas Wicks who’s sweet on her. Kill him.”
“No!” Rose gasped. She stormed around from behind the door.
And ran straight into Hink’s massive chest.
“You were spying on me.” Hink reached out and caught her elbows to keep her from falling.
Rose adjusted her wide-brimmed hat and pushed away from his embrace.
“I was not. You were talking too loud.”
“I was having a private conversation. I can talk as loudly as I please.”
“You. You.” Rose felt the heat creep across her face. Too many thoughts were colliding in her brain, and too many emotions in her chest. He’d said she was good at her job, a better boilerman than even his last crew member, Molly Gregor. He’d told Mr. Seldom to look after her for him.
Because he cared about her, or cared about getting the Swift’s boiler repaired?
“You will not have Thomas killed,” Rose blurted.
“Thomas?” Hink tipped his head down just a bit so that his eye was covered in shadow. “Are you on a first name basis with a man you’ve just met?” he asked softly. Too softly. “You did just meet him last night, didn’t you?”
Rose closed her mouth and glared at him. “I was on first name basis with you quickly enough. Why not also with an educated gentleman?”
“I had to beg you to use my first name.”
“You never told me your first name! I had to bribe it out of Mr. Seldom.”
“Aha!” Hink turned to his first mate and stabbed a finger toward the man. “I knew you told her.”
Mr. Seldom was a thin man with close-cut red hair and a face most often set in a droll expression. He wore coveralls, leather gloves, goggles, a flat cap, and a tool belt with an alarming range of things attached to it, each of which he could handily use as a weapon. He gave Hink a bored look.
Behind Seldom, filling every spare pocket of the shed was the Swift.
It didn’t take much imagination to see that she was an airship, even though bits of her were scattered out across the floor, stacked up against the shed walls, and hanging by chains from the rafters.
Her huge tin envelope was almost whole now that they’d had a couple months to rivet, bend, and weld. And all of her internal framework, also made of tin, was strong again.
The ship had been nearly blown out of the sky, and been so filled with holes, Rose didn’t know how she’d limped all the way to Kansas.
It had been good to work on her, to know her quirks. Even now, Rose’s fingers itched to pick up a wrench or a hammer, and start in on making her whole again, strong and fast.
But that was done now. Breaking up with the man meant breaking up with his ship. She was sure she’d miss the ship more.
“I’ll have your word,” Rose said, looking away from the beautiful airship. “Mr. Seldom, I’ll have your word that you’ll not harm Mr. Wicks while I’m gone.”
“While you’re gone?” Hink asked. “Where are you going? And in a dress, I might add.”
“I’m leaving Hays City. By train. Like a lady.”
“Are you now?”
“Yes. And I’m already late. Mr. Seldom, please do nothing to harm Mr. Wicks. He seems a decent, upstanding man, whom I spoke with only once. Also”—she stabbed Hink in the chest—“you have no right ordering innocent people to their deaths.”
“Need I remind you I am a U.S. Marshal? I could hang the man before you could say Nelly.”
“Nelly.”
Seldom snorted.
Hink gave him a deadly glare.
Seldom went back to stitching up the net he had hung over a rafter, pulling the rope through it to rebuild one of the Swift’s glim-harvest trawling arms.
Rose walked over to Mr. Seldom. She stood with her back to Hink, hoping he hadn’t seen what she carried in her hand. “I trust you, Mr. Seldom. Please don’t bother Mr. Wicks.” She handed him the finder compass, which he took with a frown. “I think this should stay with the ship,” she said quietly. “A ship should always know where her captain is.”
She turned before he asked her any questions. He knew what the object was, had been mighty interested in her making a version for the ship, but now she wouldn’t need to. Seldom would be able to find Hink anywhere he was in this country. At least some good had come of all this.
“Good-bye, Mr. Seldom. Marshal Hink.” Rose turned and strode toward the door.
“Cage,” Hink corrected her. “It’s Marshal Cage or Captain Hink.”
“I’ll leave you to the sorting of your special names,” Rose said. “I have a future to find.”
Hink was quick and caught her arm.
“Without me?” He stepped up close, so she had to tip her head up to see the all of him.
Her heart about beat its way out of her chest. He’d left her. He’d gone sleeping with other women. Was he asking to be in her life, her future?
“Well…I have a train to catch,” she said softly.
“Isn’t that something?” he said with a smile. “So do I.”
She narrowed her eyes. “No, you don’t.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t know why you are so set upon bothering me!” she said. “I am leaving you behind.”
“This has nothing to do with bothering you. I’m set to leave on that train.” He stepped back and hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his long, heavy coat, then shrugged. “Bothering you is just a happy accident.”
“Happy for whom?” Rose demanded.
“Me,” Seldom said. “Because then both of you will be out of earshot. Winds are turning, Captain.”
Hink looked up and over Rose’s shoulder, his eye widening at the brightness of day. “Hell, woman. I have a train to catch. Why’d you have to go and make me late?”
“I’m so sorry to get in your way!” Rose shouted. “Oh, and by the way, I’m taking your horse.”
Seldom snorted again.
“We both take the horse,” Hink said.
“I don’t think the horse can carry me and all the people you claim to be.”
“Ho there, airship people!” a cheery voice called out over the rattling of a cart.
Rose glanced over her shoulder. It was Margaret, one of the witches she’d heard in the hall last night. Margaret’s wild brown hair curled across her forehead just beneath the brim of her bonnet, pulled back to reveal her rounded features, which were covered with a liberal sprinkling of freckles. She was just a few years older than Rose, and smiled brightly, bundled up in the driver’s seat of a horse-drawn wagon. Half of the wagon was filled with supplies of some sort, covered over with a canvas tarp.
“I’m going in to pick up mail,” Margaret said. “Do you need a ride?”
“Yes,” Rose said, spinning on her boot heel and quickly securing the seat next to her. “Thank you so much. Quickly, I need to catch a train. We’re running out of time.”
Captain Hink said one last thing to Seldom and handed him a thick fold of bills. That would be enough money to finish the repairs on the ship and some.
“What about Captain Hink?” Margaret asked.
Margaret flicked the reins and the horse started off at a brisk walk.
Unfortunately, Captain Hink had long legs. He jogged after the cart and jumped up into the back of it before they’d gone more than a short distance from the shed.
“Captain Hink,” Margaret said. “I thought you had other plans.”
“Not at all,” he said. “I’m bound for the rails. Seems there’s a future out there needs finding.”
Rose rolled her eyes and settled in for a long ride of ignoring him. Hands always restless for something to do, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small lock that she’d found broken on the ground in town the other day.
She ran her fingers across the tools and bits of metal, twine, and cloth she kept in her pocket. The feel of all those little oddments was as soothing as a hot bath and she felt her shoulders relax and her mood lighten. There were so many things she could do with the castaway bits in her pocket. Right away, she had half a dozen ideas of how it could all join together to make half a dozen different little whimsies.
The last thing she’d made and tucked in her pocket was a little hollow wood ball, spring loaded and filled with sharpened nails that shot out when the trigger was hit. It was just a model to see if that kind of nonexplosive grenade might do some damage in a fight aboard an airship. She had planned on showing it to Hink.
Not now.
Still, she loved putting things together, seeing her ideas take form between her fingers, exploring the world through screw and bolt and curiosity. But today, on this ride, she worked on the little lock. She felt the need to fix, to repair, to make something work, since nothing else seemed to be going right in her life.
All through the ride, Captain Hink talked up the witch, making her laugh with that damnable charm of his. Rose wished she could block out the sound of his voice, but there was nothing else to listen to.
In the past, she could hear the sound of growing things, trees and bushes and the like, though mostly their comments were about sun, or shade, or water, or wind. But she hadn’t heard a single thought of any green since she’d been injured by the tin piece of the Holder.
The witches didn’t know what to say about it when she’d discussed her ability with them. Some of them had that same natural hearing of greenery. But none of them had just up and lost their abilities. And plus, she wasn’t a witch.
It was winter now and everything was sleeping, guarding roots, waiting out death, silent.
Maybe spring would bring her world back into full song again.
Margaret laughed and Rose hunched a little deeper into her coat, holding tight to the broken lock as they rattled over the rough trail.
Nothing about her world seemed worth a song right now.
* * *
The rail station was bustling with activity and noise. Rose looked up and away from the lock that she’d nearly gotten fixed. All the insides of it had frozen up, and she’d had to pry the pieces apart to get to the trouble. Once she had it opened, she’d been so distracted a cannon could have gone off and she wouldn’t have noticed.
She needed to put just a little grease inside to make sure the mechanism moved smoothly, but there wasn’t time for that now. Reluctantly, she dropped the lock into her pocket and took in the excitement around her.
The train station was a long, narrow wooden building, two stories tall, with a steeple right up the middle of it. The platform around it was built nearly six feet off the ground to make loading and unloading onto the train from wagons and carts all that much easier.
Dozens of steam-powered wagons and at least that many horse carts and carriages surrounded the place on three sides, while the huge, hulking black train sat huffing on the track along the remaining side of the station. Beyond the train was a row of warehouses and silos.
There had to be at least fifty people hugging, handshaking, and saying their good-byes. The squall of babies and barking dogs made up all the middle-ground noise, punctuated by the yell of workers loading crates and boxes and bags onto the back cars of the train, while laughter and shouts from the soon-to-be passengers muddled up all the calm of the day.
It was exhilarating. Rose found herself wondering what each of the people might be getting on the train for, where they were going, and why they were leaving friends and family behind.
“I’ll pull up here so as not to get us run over,” Margaret said. She guided the cart to the far side of the muddy road, just avoiding a family of four—a father, mother, boy, and girl—who dashed out in front of the wagon as they headed for the platform stairs, clutching one bag each, hands on their hats to keep them in place.
“Thank you,” Rose said, “for all the kindness you’ve shown me. I wish you and the sisters all the best.”
“Travel safe,” Margaret said, giving her a quick hug.
“Oh,” Rose said, “One other thing. I left some books in my room. Could you return them to Miss Bucker’s library?”
“I’d be happy to.”
Hink jumped down out of the back of the cart and was around to the front before Rose could swing her boots over the edge.
He held his hand up to her. Didn’t say anything. Just raised his eyebrow.
She took his hand and stepped down off the cart into the straw-filled mud.
“Might be difficult keeping that dress clean while adventuring,” he said.
“I’m a woman, Mr. Hink. I can keep my dress clean, and my shoes bright no matter what adventure may bring.”
“I thought you liked mucking about in trousers. Said they don’t get in the way like petticoats and whatnot.”
“Well, since I am no longer employed repairing your ship, I feel much more comfortable in proper dress and belted coat.”
He grunted. They made their way through the hiss and puff and heat and noise of the place. “You have enough for your ticket?”
“Yes.”
“And for food?”
“Mr. Hink.” She navigated around a cart with six men unloading crates of apples, potatoes, and bags of grain. “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“Couldn’t hurt to have some company. It’s a long way to Kansas City. Might be dangerous.”
“On a train? I don’t think so.” She kept walking and he dropped his pace to hers.
“Rose,” he finally said as they strode up the wide wooden steps onto the platform. The station house was ahead and to their right, the train running the full length on their left. “I didn’t sleep with them.”
“I can’t hear you, Captain Hink. You’ll have to lie a little louder.” The day was noisy, but she could hear him just fine. And she didn’t believe him for one hot second.
Hink swore and stopped pacing her. Fine. She had tried to get rid of him all morning. She was glad he had finally taken the hint that she didn’t need him for where she was going.
Rose strode into the station and stood in the short line of people purchasing tickets from the agent in the ticket booth. She had been here once before, just out of curiosity, but this would be the first time she’d ever ridden a train. Here she was, Rose Small, with nothing to her name but a change of clothes and her wits, ready to take her first steps out on the adventure of her lifetime.
She couldn’t wait to see the big cities. Couldn’t wait to build her place among them. Someday she would own her own airship. Faster than the Swift. Stronger too. She’d fly halfway around the world for tea every morning, if she so cared.
The line moved forward and Rose’s stomach fluttered with a mix of excitement and a dose of doubt. She knew heading off into the unknown could bring joy, but it was also filled with danger. And heartache.
She swallowed hard and glanced out the window, wondering if Hink was still following her. He was a tall man. With his hat on, he stood a good hand or two above most other men. But there was not a hint of him out there.
She was surprised at how sad that made her.
Maybe she wasn’t b
eing honest about her own feelings. Maybe she was angry with him but still sweet on him, though she didn’t know how the two emotions could take up space in the same heart.
“Miss, may I help you?”
Rose blinked and looked back to the ticket agent. All the people in front of her were gone, leaving a wide empty space between her and the man. She’d been dreaming in her boots again.
She pulled her shoulders straight and put on a smile as she walked up to the agent.
“I’d like a ticket to Kansas City,” she said.
“First class?” he asked, though from the tone of his voice he already knew what her answer would be.
“No, second class, please.” She put her money on the counter. She’d done the math. At two cents a mile, she’d make it to Kansas City and would have a few cents left for food when she got there.
She didn’t like the idea of arriving in a new town nearly penniless, but didn’t fear it either.
The agent took her money and handed her a stamped ticket. “Just give this to the conductor when he comes by. Best be hurrying. Train’s about to pull out.”
“Thank you.” Rose glanced at the ticket, then held tight to it as she walked out on the blustery platform. She hurried down the line of cars, steam fogging the air with the thick smell of ash, until she reached the second-class passenger car.
Down toward the end of the train, a crowd of workers quickly loaded long crates that looked like coffins and several dozen smaller square crates into the last car. Dark green letters, V and B, were inked onto the crates. The workers looked over their shoulders a bit too often and hurried a bit too much. They were nervous handling that freight, trying not to be noticed as they transferred the VB cargo onto the train.
It must be very valuable indeed.
To Rose’s surprise, she caught a glimpse of Margaret handing them one last crate with VB on its side. She’d thought the witch was going for the mail, not to deliver crates for shipping.
A terrible curiosity caught her up. What were the witches shipping? She had never heard of them sending produce or grain anywhere but to the markets in Hays City. And those crates were handled like something fragile or valuable were inside. Rose called out Margaret’s name, but the noise of the engines covered her voice.
