by Devon Monk
“Aren’t you coming?” Mae asked.
“He asked for the company of the Madders and their traveling companions. He did not ask for me.”
Cedar looked out past the minister.
Alun, Bryn, and Cadoc were standing in the snow near the tall carriage that hissed and steamed up the air. Their hands were in their pockets and they stared at the sky like they were expecting an airship to cross it any minute now. From the buzz in the distance, Cedar could tell there were airships out today, though he had always thought snow made for bad flying.
Miss Dupuis was at the back of the carriage, stepping up a ladder to the back door of the coach.
“Coming, Mr. Hunt?” Alun shouted.
Instinct said, trap. If it were, then Miss Dupuis and the Madder brothers, who were all within easy range of the mounted men’s firearms, were already in danger.
“I’ll look after your brother,” Father Kyne said as he moved aside so Cedar and Mae could step past him. “Be careful.”
Cedar walked onto the porch.
“Are you Mr. Hunt?” the sheriff asked from atop his horse.
“I am.”
“Pleased to make your meet. I am Sheriff Burchell, and this is my deputy, Greeley.” He nodded toward a clean-cut man, built stocky with slicked-back black hair and an old scar running from the edge of his mouth to his temple.
Greeley tipped his fingers to the brim of his hat.
“You and your lady friend are invited to breakfast with the mayor,” Sheriff Burchell said. “He sent you a carriage. We’ll see you returned here or to other more suitable lodgings after your meal.”
“Seems an awful lot of guns for a stroll to the mayor’s place,” Cedar said as the Madders all clambered up into the tall carriage.
“Father Kyne there doesn’t care to have the telegraph lines hooked up to his church, so there was no faster way to send an invite,” the sheriff said. “Besides, there are plenty of people passing through town out to make trouble. We get our share of tramps and rowdies. Wouldn’t stand for you to be delayed.”
“Delayed?” Cedar said as he walked down the porch with Mae. “I’m surprised the mayor knew we had arrived.”
The sheriff’s mouth curved up for the briefest of moments, but no humor took hold in those dark eyes. “We hear all sorts of things from both sides of the Mississippi here in this town. Every corner has a wire, and every house a telegraph key. Isn’t a thing that happens in this town the mayor doesn’t know about.”
“That’s thorough of him.” Cedar and Mae walked to the tall coach.
“He’s a very caring man,” the sheriff agreed. “Always has the good of this city on his mind.”
“Hurry up, now, Mr. Hunt,” Alun called. “We wouldn’t want to keep the mayor waiting.”
Cedar had followed Alun Madder and his brothers into danger before. He didn’t enjoy making a habit of it. But Mae was right. If there was trouble, it would be good to have a witch at the table. And it might not be bad to have a bounty hunter either.
They climbed the ladder and Cedar ducked his head through the coach door and settled onto the plush green velvet of the seats arranged on either side of the carriage.
The coach was roomy, luxurious. The three Madder brothers sat on the bench opposite him, Mae, and Miss Dupuis.
The footman shut tight the door, and then the driver let loose the brake. The carriage pulled forward rather smoothly through the snow and chugged along at a smart pace.
“Do you know what this is about?” Cedar asked over the creak and jostle of the carriage.
“It’s about old debts and new wars, Mr. Hunt,” Alun said. “Mayor Vosbrough has never quite sided with the people who have the best interests of this country in mind. We’ve wondered why he settled in Des Moines. Now that the railroad hub is here in the town connecting rivers and lands and coasts, well, seems to make some sense as why he’s here.”
“He’s powerful and wants more power,” Bryn said.
“Power,” Cadoc mused. “Perhaps that is all the town is made for.”
“And what does this have to do with you?” Cedar asked. “He wouldn’t be the first man to use money or other means to bend the law and the progress of civilization to his favor.”
“He’s not a man,” Cadoc said so softly only Cedar’s sharpened hearing allowed him to make out his words. “He’s a devil.”
“Oh, it’s worse than that, brother Cadoc,” Alun said. “He’s a devil with plans. The worst sort of devil to have. Mr. Hunt, promise me this: you will look for the Holder. No matter what happens.”
“I’ve never gone back on my word, Mr. Madder,” Cedar said. “I caught the scent of the Holder. I think it’s nearby.”
“Is that so?” Alun said. The brothers exchanged a look.
“Lucky for us,” Bryn said.
“Lucky for someone,” Cadoc said.
“Luck or otherwise, I expect you to be looking for it,” Alun said. “If, of course, we survive meeting the mayor.”
“That sounds rather final,” Mae said. “Do you think this is dangerous?”
Alun raised one bushy eyebrow and dug in his pocket for his pipe. “Don’t think it, I know it. Life is danger, my dear woman. Today we happen to know just exactly where the danger’s coming from.”
“What did you do to him?” Cedar pressed.
Alun paused and gave Cedar a hard look. Then he patted his pockets and Bryn offered him a welding striker, from which Alun lit the tobacco in the bowl.
“The Madders and Vosbroughs have history, Mr. Hunt. It is a long history. That’s all you need to know.”
Alun puffed away on his pipe and folded his arms over his chest, staring out at the passing city. It was clear he would say no more.
Drama or foolery. Cedar didn’t have time for either.
“A man deserves to know what foe he might be facing,” Cedar said.
But none of the brothers said a word.
Cedar settled back. Fine. He’d gone blind into war before. He didn’t think breakfast would be the worst battlefield he’d ever navigated.
The frozen landscape of the city shifted from trees and two-story wood-frame houses to wide lanes cleared of deep snow, drifts piled up on either side of the roads teetering against tall brick buildings and wrought iron gates.
Down those roads rattled every manner of steamer cart: brass and wood, and one that seemed made of silk handkerchiefs and fine embroidery. Horses added to the muddle, and heavy muler wagons belched out smoke and hot ash that flashed red before dying gray in the wet snow.
Plenty of people were in the street, in tailored coats and high hats, bonnets with lace that matched the hem, boots in bright blues and yellows tied up in black. All those people crowded together wearing browns and gray and sensible black, with scarves or mittens adding a coy flip of color, like birds flocking beneath the shadow and bleak light of the day. Mixing and milling, they ducked under bright red awnings that were stretched out from towering buildings.
All the shops had glass windows, goods stacked for display, and door latches polished bright.
But the thing that caught Cedar’s eye was copper wires that spooled from roof edge to roof edge. Crossed and tangled, caught up with glass globes, looping down poles, and spun along windows, the copper wires looked like a great metal spider had gone mad and stitched the entire city together with thread.
Telegraphs in every house. The sheriff hadn’t been boasting.
Des Moines might have once been a sleepy town, but no more. Rail, river, and sky had packed its streets with people eager to work, businessmen in smart suits and jackets, bowler hats and canes, and women in silk tuck-edged umbrella skirts and parasols.
Mixed among the upper class were cowboys, farmers, and miners, all in sturdy workaday clothes, overalls, and heavy boots, walking with the sort of determination found in men who sweat for their pay.
Newspaper boys called out the morning headlines at street corners, and the airships rattled fans overhead
as they hummed toward the skyscraping tether towers just outside the city, dragging bulbous shadows over the streets and buildings.
This was a working town, a shipping town, a building town.
This was a city.
The old yearning of days long past, when he had sought a scholarly life, settled around him again. It wouldn’t be so hard to imagine himself out in those streets, hurrying for a meeting, for a class, for the day’s business. It wouldn’t be so hard to imagine the nice suit, the companionship of learned men, the steady dignity of education, reading, and other comforts.
Mae shifted a bit, her hand upon the tatting shuttle she wore beneath her coat. She was worried, uncomfortable. He didn’t know if she’d ever been to a city this large. Most of her days had been spent in the coven and then on the farm she and her husband owned. He touched her hand where it rested on the seat between them, meaning to lend her comfort.
She turned her gaze away from the window to him.
All the thoughts of his previous life faded away.
She was his life now, his future. Maybe they’d settle in a city once he found all the pieces of the Holder for the Madders. Maybe they’d settle on some faraway hill and take up farming.
Whatever they chose, he knew wherever this woman was, his heart would find home.
She searched his face, and he wondered what she saw there. His long sorrows? His fleeting joys? He wondered if his growing love for her was plain in his eyes, wondered if it was clear without words how he felt about her.
She frowned. “Are you all right? Did you sleep at all?”
“No. Not a wink. But I’m fine enough.”
She gave him a fleeting smile, then looked back out the window. She didn’t remove her hand from under his, and they rode the rest of the way through the loud, busy city to a grand manor house.
The carriage rolled up right in front of the marble stairs that made a half circle in front of a four-story brick building with spires and creased copperplated roofs. The building was a fine specimen of architecture, sporting crisp white balconies and scrolling trim that framed every window.
“Remember your promise, Mr. Hunt,” Alun said. “The Holder is all that matters. The longer it remains out of our reach, the more damage it does. Wars, disease, and madness. And if it falls in the wrong hands, our civilized world will be gone in a snap.”
Alun shoved the door, nearly nicking the footman who jumped down out of the way.
Bryn lifted his woolen hat, smoothed down his tousled hair, and adjusted the monocle over his bad eye. “We’ll know if you aren’t looking for it,” Bryn said. “We’ll know if you falter. Do not disappoint us in this, Mr. Hunt.” He ambled out the door behind his brother.
Cadoc reached out for the doorframe but paused.
“This is long coming, this encounter between the Vosbroughs and Madders,” he said. “Remember your promise to us and all those living. Finding the Holder is all that will save us in these dark days. This is a grim time, and it is a grim game we play with the world in the balance. The winning or losing hinges on you, Mr. Hunt—on you finding the Holder.”
And then he was out the door too.
“They have always been so theatrical,” Miss Dupuis said, tugging her gloves tighter to her hands. “Once they gave farewell speeches fit for a king when all they did was walk from one room to another to get a beer.”
“So you don’t think this is serious?” Mae asked. “You don’t think they are serious?”
Miss Dupuis frowned just slightly, setting a thin line between her brows. She had seemed pale and often frail since her man, Otto, died. But not now. Now she considered the facts as presented with the mind of a scholar.
“From what little I know about the Vosbrough family, I think it is very serious,” she said sadly. “And the Madders are not wrong about the Holder. Each piece is enough to tear down this great country, to hold all lives hostage. Those who want to possess it and use it as a weapon will go to great lengths to do so. Killing. Torture. The Holder is a poison that will spread quickly. I wish it had never been made.”
Something about her words was familiar, and tugged at his gut. But the faint feeling was gone as soon as it came.
She stepped down out of the carriage, and after a brief moment Mae followed and Cedar did the same.
The cool morning air seemed colder now. The Madder brothers swaggered up the wide steps, passing between the smooth marble columns like soldiers come to declare victory. These three short, bull-built men in the plain clothes, worn from long miles of travel, carried about them an air of something more dignified, something strong and righteous.
If Cedar didn’t know them, he’d think they were royalty come to inspect an outpost of their rule. Or conquerers come to take the spoils of war.
Cedar made note of the manor’s doors and windows that could be used for escape, and kept count of how many guns and other weapons the men who accompanied them into the house carried.
Sheriff Burchell walked in front of the group, and scar-faced Deputy Greeley and one other man followed behind Cedar.
The manor was warm inside and well lit with high chandeliers of cut crystal and electric lights strung on copper wire. Green and gold wallpaper padded the walls, and the marble floor was covered by an expensive carpet, resplendent with flowers and vines.
The high arched ceiling was stamped with copper that reflected light like a low fire. Opulence.
Standing at the far end of the massive entry hall was a man.
He was dressed in a respectable, but not overly expensive, three-piece gray suit, tailored well to his solid, lean frame, and he was shorter than Cedar, but likely just under six feet. He had yellow hair brushed back that curled just below his ears. He was clean shaven, his eyes a bright blue. His nose might have once been straight, but someone had flattened the bridge of it so that it crooked to one side.
When he smiled, a dimple shadowed his cheek.
“Welcome, my friends!” he said in a friendly voice, arms wide. “Welcome to my home. I hope you’re hungry. Breakfast is hot and delicious and served. Please come on in this way.”
He gestured toward the wide double doors to his right, and Cedar caught a strong scent of cologne with hickory and cherry overtones.
The scent triggered pain that rolled down his spine. His palms slicked with sweat. There was something very dangerous about this man. Cedar wanted to take Mae’s hand, turn, and leave the manor. Run, if they had to. But it was an unreasonable fear that seemed to spring from his nightmares.
And he was not the kind of man who gave in to nightmares. He forced himself to stroll into the room.
The mayor walked into the dining room, still talking.
“It has been years since I’ve had the great honor to dine with the infamous Madder brothers. As soon as I’d heard you’d come to town, I couldn’t wait to invite you and your…” Here he tossed a look back at the rest of them, his quick gaze weighing and balancing Miss Dupuis, then Mae, before resting on Cedar.
He showed no reaction on meeting Cedar’s steady stare. Cedar knew most people didn’t like holding eye contact when the beast hovered just beneath his surface. But Mayor Vosbrough only smiled.
“. . .most interesting traveling companions to join me in a meal,” he finished. “I always trust the Madders to find the most fascinating people, and I am not disappointed today. Please, be seated.”
Cedar had seen dance halls smaller than this room. A long wide table took up the meat of the space, with equally impressive cushioned and carved chairs set along it.
It was a beautiful place. A plush place.
Just the kind of place where Cedar would expect the devil to sit down for a meal.
“Mr. Wicks,” Rose said. “How wonderful to see you here. I didn’t know you’d be traveling on the train. I thought you were staying in Hays City for some time.”
“That had been my plan. But an unexpected opportunity arose that requires my attendance in Des Moines.”
> The train jostled over a rough spot in the tracks and Wicks grabbed the luggage rack to steady himself.
“Please,” Rose said, “sit with us.”
“Well, I…” He looked up and down the aisle as if just noticing where he had gotten to. “If it wouldn’t be too much bother, yes. Thank you.”
Captain Hink hadn’t moved an inch. “Nope.”
“Move over,” Rose said.
“There isn’t enough room on this seat for three.” He glanced up at Mr. Wicks again. “You’ll need to be moving on.”
“Captain Hink,” Rose said. “Please move aside.”
“I said there isn’t room for him.”
“There doesn’t have to be.” Rose stood. “Please let me by.”
“Where are you going?”
“For a stroll.”
“Why? Where?”
“Because I want to. And anywhere”—she leaned in a little closer—“anywhere away from your terrible manners, Captain.”
Hink shook his head slowly, then took a hard breath and pushed up onto his feet. He stood out into the aisle, face-to-face with Mr. Wicks. Rose hadn’t realized how tall and wide Captain Hink was when compared to the willowy Mr. Wicks.
But Thomas did not back down from the impressive man hulking over him.
“It’s good to see you again, Captain Hink,” Mr. Wicks said calmly. “Are you enjoying your travel?”
“This isn’t my first time on a train, Wicks.”
“It is mine,” Rose said, stepping away from the seats and trying to stand near Thomas, but unable to get around the looming Captain.
Mr. Wicks’s eyebrows shot up into the curls beneath his bowler hat. “Your first time on a train? Would you like to see a Pullman car?”
“I only bought second class,” Rose said. “I don’t think they’ll allow me into that kind of luxury.”
“Oh, I daresay they would. Please”—he offered his arm—“you will be my guest.”
“You have first class accommodations?” Rose asked. She was impressed and didn’t try to hide it.
“Of course.” He smiled. “Shall we?”
Hink was still in her way. She waited. Wicks waited.
Finally, Rose stepped on Hink’s foot. Hard.
