by Devon Monk
Rose twisted to see another man, also in all black and with covered face, aiming a triple-barreled gun rigged for bullets and also emanating that ear-pinching whine of an electric coil shot. He had shiny shoes too.
If he was any good with that gun, he could pick off a dozen people before anyone could get a shot off.
“We will spill your blood unless you cooperate. If you want to stay alive all the way to Kansas City, then put your money and jewelry into this bag and pass it on to your neighbor to do the same.” He held up a canvas bag and threw it at the man in the seat nearest him. “Now.”
The man dropped a pocket watch and a few coins into the bag and handed it to the man next to him.
“Aren’t you going to do something?” Rose whispered over the frightened muttering of the fifty or so people in the car.
Hink hadn’t moved, his eye still on the bandit ahead. “They’re not the problem,” he said.
Two metal-on-metal impacts rang out through the car twice, as if something had just hit the train. The car jerked.
“That,” Hink said, “is the problem.”
“Did they uncouple the train?” Rose asked.
Hink shook his head. “Not this car. But one of the cars.”
“Why?”
He nodded again, this time toward the window. “For that.”
Rose looked out the window. She didn’t see anything but a snow-covered field.
“What?”
“Listen.”
That’s when she heard the low buzz of an airship drawing near. Not the Swift; this ship had a much deeper roar. At least a four-stack. Maybe six. It must be massive.
“Do you know it?” she asked.
Hink and his crew were good at identifying other vessels by the sound of their fans alone.
He shook his head. “When I tell you, duck.”
Rose pushed at her luggage with her foot, then bent a bit to pick it up and sling the strap over her shoulder. Her heart was hammering, but she couldn’t help but feel a little happy thrill. She’d seen Hink get out of all kinds of life-threatening situations. If he had a plan, it might not be safe, but it might work.
“That’s right,” the bandit bellowed. “All of your valuables. I want to see coins, jewelry, and paper money. If you’ve got a deed in your pocket, it better be in that sack.”
Hink leaned back, pulling something out of his right inside coat pocket as he did so.
The bag was passed, hand to hand, seat to seat, the clink of coins and rattle of contents revealing its passage.
Rose was practically holding her breath.
The airship boilers chugged on, fans growling louder and louder, like a beast snarling down at its prey.
The man in front of Hink twisted around and handed over the sack. Hink took the bag and dropped something inside it. “Duck,” he said quietly.
He stood and hurled the bag at the bandit at the front of the car.
A rapid cacophony of gunshot rattled out; everyone screamed and ducked while blinding flashes of orange light splattered through the air.
The car fell into chaos.
People rushed to run or hide, yelling and pushing, though there was no space to do either.
Hink stayed calm during it all, twisted to face the back of the train car, pulled his gun, and shot the bandit there straight through the head. A second later, he turned back and shot the other bandit right through the heart.
Both men crumpled to the floor.
Then Hink faced Rose and offered his hand.
She took it, and with one smooth, waltzlike step, he exchanged places with her so that he was near the window and she was nearer the aisle.
People were rushing to the doors, crowding and pushing and trying to get out.
“What?” she asked as he held her tight against him with his left arm. With his right, he fired three shots to clear the glass from the window.
He looked down at her. “Stay with the train, Rose,” he said. “Keep your gun ready, and when the train starts moving again, go on up to Wicks in first class. Kansas City ain’t far.”
“Where are you going?”
“To stop the real robbery.”
The airship fans added to the chaos, their sound so thunderous and so close above the car that the glass lampshades rattled in their casings.
Hink tugged Rose close for a brief moment. Then he bent and kissed her.
Rose knew there was no time for this sort of thing. But at the touch of his lips, all time seemed to slip, and then the world was filled with him, her senses overwhelmed by him, and she found herself wondering how she could possibly go on without this man in her life.
Right then he pulled away. The sharp whip of winter wind poured in through the window, cold enough to hurt, as he let her go.
Hink bent, shouldered through the window, then dropped down outside.
A handful of heartbeats ticked off the seconds. And then the whole of the world came back.
Rose glanced up and down the car. Passengers pushed and shoved, some yelling for people to calm down, some just yelling. Several men surrounded both bandits. Someone had hold of the robber’s sack and was beginning the process of convincing the crowd that this could all be sorted out amicably.
She could stay here. It would be wise. Hink said they weren’t far off from Kansas City, and once there she could put this kind of nonsense behind her and keep her hands busy building a brighter horizon.
Or she could jump out that window, find out what he meant about “the real robbery,” and get her eyes on that massive airship.
That would be foolish.
And a chance she’d never get again.
Rose stood on the bench and hoisted herself up into the window, kicking the wet, heavy ruffle of her skirts out of the way and pulling her satchel close to her.
The wind was brutal, slashing from above and all around. She sat in the window and squinted skyward.
Only there was no sky. Swallowing the heaven, from end to end, was a monstrous airship as black as coal. Smoke shrouded and parted in random, ragged patterns as at least a dozen fans roared along its side like the oars of a great vessel, each fan set so it could swivel independently.
Genius, she thought.
The roar of the ship made her want to cover her ears, but she needed both hands to slip her feet up under her and then drop down onto the narrow edge of the train car. She might be able to hold on to the outside of the windows and make her way along the train car, but not for long. She looked around for Hink.
And saw him on the ground running full-out down the line.
What was he running from?
Jumping down off the train would mean no going back. But then, there was a robbery in progress on the train, likely in every car, so going back might just get her killed.
But if she let go of the train, she’d be stranded out here, in the middle of nowhere, chasing a man she wasn’t sure she loved.
Only she did know. She’d known all along.
It was why him leaving her for those other women had hurt so much. It was why she was so angry. Not because she disliked him. Quite the opposite. Because she had never stopped loving the man.
“Blast it all,” she said through gritted teeth. “You’re bound to be the death of me, Lee Hink.”
Rose let go of the window edge and jumped down. It was a longer fall than she expected, but she knew how to manage it without hurting herself and didn’t do more than kick up some snow as she hit ground.
Hink was still running alongside the tracks. He wouldn’t hear her if she shouted.
The airship’s boilers belched out smoke and the fans shifted, delicately adjusting the big blower’s position above the train.
And then she saw why.
A massive rope, large enough to tow a frigate, extended down from the airship to one of the train cars.
The rope had a huge hook on the end that attached to the top of the freight car.
The same freight car where she and Hink had sav
ed Thomas. The same freight car filled with coffins full of body parts and boxes full of strange copper devices.
What could that huge ship do to the train car? Tip it over? Pull the top of it off like a knife prying at a can of beans?
She couldn’t tell from here. So Rose ran. Toward Hink. Toward the freight car.
It was almost impossible to see anything through the coal smoke. She caught a glimpse of Hink as he reached for the ladder rungs on the outside of the freight car and climbed up.
Rose ran the remaining yards between them, then stopped.
The airship boilers changed tempo again. This time a low, rolling growl boomed out in repeating echoes and all the fans shifted position at once.
Then the airship began lifting the entire freight car off the tracks.
Rose didn’t wait. She didn’t think. She leaped at the freight car, grabbed hold of the ladder rungs, and held on for dear life as the earth dropped out below.
Cedar had given up trying to track the herbal combinations, strengths, and conversation of prayer and spells Mae and Father Kyne had been poring over at the kitchen table for the last hour.
It was quickly apparent that Father Kyne had spent some time learning about the herbs and spells witches used. He had told Mae that his father’s stories about the mysterious Madder brothers had fueled his curiosity as a child. A curiosity that had led him to study the ways of witches, Strange, and even glim. He was convinced each of these things was a part of God’s will and world, and therefore it was his responsibility, in some small way, to understand them.
A native-born man taking up the Word of God didn’t surprise Cedar much. But a man of God willingly combining his knowledge of those things beyond a man’s understanding with a witch’s spells was something he’d never thought to imagine.
But then, this land was changing quickly, from frontier to civilization. A man unwilling to adapt could soon be left behind.
“Will this do more for me than the Madders’ chain?” Cedar asked Mae while Father Kyne was retrieving another book from the other room.
“I think so, yes. The chain helps you keep some of your logic and human thoughts. This should keep you from taking beast form at all. You will remain yourself, just yourself, during the full moon. With no compulsion to hunt the Strange.”
Father Kyne came back into the room. “This volume speaks of the herb I think might help us.”
Mae gave him a quick smile, then went back to studying the text.
Cedar pushed up away from the table and paced the pain out of his legs. While they puzzled over whether or not they could really hold off his and Wil’s curse enough to give them both a man’s mind and body during the full moon, he puzzled over why the Madders hadn’t put up even a small fight back at breakfast. It wasn’t like them to just stroll off in shackles to jail because some old enemy said so.
No, they were more the blowing-up and breaking-out kind of men.
If they were in jail it must be because they wanted to be.
But why?
So he’d stay and hunt the Holder? He’d given his promise to do just that. They knew he was a man of his word.
Staying in jail certainly wouldn’t fulfill their promise to Father Kyne to track down the children. Cadoc and Bryn Madder had been adamant about holding to the vows they’d made, even if Alun was not.
There was something the Madders weren’t telling him. Something they felt they could gain by going along with the mayor’s wishes.
The crunch of hooves in the snow brought him to the window. The rider wore a heavy coat, gloves, and black Stetson against the softly falling afternoon snow. The only color on him was his scarf, thickly woven in deep green and gold stripes. One of Vosbrough’s people.
Built light and short, he was not one of the men who had escorted them to the manor this morning. He hitched the horse and retrieved a leather satchel from one of the saddlebags.
“Who is it?” Father Kyne asked.
“Vosbrough’s man. With papers, I’d guess,” Cedar said.
Mae was already headed out of the room. “I’ll get Miss Dupuis,” she said.
Father Kyne closed the books he and Mae had been consulting, then opened the door.
“Welcome here, Mr. Peters,” he said.
The man took the stairs and drew his hat off upon entering the building, but other than a brief nod toward the priest, he treated him as if he wasn’t standing in the room.
Fear. Cedar could smell fear on the man, could see it tied up in the stiff angle of his shoulders and set of his jaw. The man wasn’t afraid of Cedar.
No, he was afraid of Father Kyne.
Cedar took a moment to look at the priest, trying to see the threat in him this man obviously felt. He sensed nothing threatening about the priest, nothing that made him uneasy. Only a calm sort of certainty emanated from the man. As if he unflinchingly knew who he was, and just as unflinchingly knew his place in the world.
“How is your wife?” the priest asked quietly.
“Fine,” he said without looking at Kyne.
“No sign of Florence?”
He shook his head, mouth pressed tight.
“The baby is doing well enough?”
“Wife keeps him tied to her at all times, night and day. Even sleeps with us now.”
Father Kyne looked past the man to meet Cedar’s gaze.
“Florence is six,” he said. “A sweet child with a wide imagination and several playmates that only she could see. Disappeared just last week. We’ve been saying our prayers for her.”
“Prayers haven’t brought my girl back,” Mr. Peters said stiffly. “You won’t speak of her again. God’s given me his answer.”
“Yes,” Father Kyne said, holding Cedar’s gaze. “I believe He has.” And in his eyes was the faith that Cedar, or perhaps the Madders, was the answer to all their prayers. The answer to finding the children.
Cedar didn’t much like being the servant of things beyond this world. But it wouldn’t be the first time he’d been called to help those in need.
“Hello,” Miss Dupuis said, sweeping into the room with a rustle of taffeta and wool. “Have you brought the charges leveled at the brothers Madder?”
“Are you Miss Dupuis?” he asked.
“I am.”
“Then yes, these are from the mayor. Trial begins at dawn tomorrow. Good day, ma’am.” He turned and was out the door like his heels were on fire.
Cedar watched him mount and ride off. He didn’t even throw a single backward look.
“His wife and I were children together,” Father Kyne said. “Her parents were faithful to the church when my father guided the congregation. Once my father died, she did not return. Then, three days after her daughter went missing, she came to me. Asking for my help. Pleading for me to find Florence. To do anything in my power.”
“So you called the Madders.”
“I searched for her daughter, before the snow set deep. Found nothing. Nothing but sorrow in these winds. And then I remembered the promise, our family promise. Yes, I called the Madders.”
“Who have been thrown in jail,” Miss Dupuis said as she untied the leather strips and opened the satchel.
“They promised to find the children,” Father Kyne said. “I think they meant for you to do so for them now, Mr. Hunt. That you would find the missing sons and daughters. That you would find Florence Peters.”
“I said I’d look for them,” Cedar said. “But I think the Madders want my favor for the Holder repaid first.”
“You said you were once a God-fearing man,” Father Kyne said. “Can you be a God-trusting man if it will mean the burden of your curse is lifted?”
“Trust isn’t something I shrug into and out of, Father Kyne. If you want me to kneel before God so that the children can be found, I’ll do so. But if you expect me to become faithful to Him, it would be a lie.”
Father Kyne nodded, dark eyes weighing Cedar’s soul. “There is a reason you are on this earth. There
is a reason you bear this burden. God knows the heart of every man, and sees the good in each of us. He will guide us down this path, you and I.”
“Will breaking the curse take long?” Cedar asked.
Mae shook her head. “I’ll need to go into town for some herbs, but if what Father Kyne and I have discussed is possible, it will only take a few minutes to put the spell together for you and Wil, and, hopefully, not much longer for it to come to full strength.”
“Why are we waiting?”
Mae glanced at Father Kyne, then back at Cedar. “We both agree it won’t last for more than a few hours. We’ll want to begin it after sunset if it’s to last most of the night.”
“So it’s temporary?”
Mae smiled, and for the first time in a while looked excited and pleased with something that had to do with magic.
“It should be,” she said. “A very gentle sort of way to stave off the curse for a short time. If it works well, we should be able to do it again tomorrow night and the next. Perhaps even…even as often as you like. A respite when you want it. A way to control the beast. But first I’ll need those herbs.”
“I would be happy to take you into town,” Father Kyne said.
“Thank you,” Mae said. “Miss Dupuis, is there anything we can pick up for you while we’re there?”
Miss Dupuis was leaning over the table already reading through the documents she had pulled out of the satchel. “No, I don’t believe so. I’ll just put some water on for tea. I have reading to do, then an argument to reason out. They’ve been charged with theft, claim jumping, and suspicious activity toward the United States.” She turned the page. “Oh.”
“What?” Cedar asked.
“Murder.” She looked up, her brown eyes wide with surprise. “They’ve been charged with murder.”
Cedar stepped over so he could read the paper in front of her. In tight, clean script it clearly said that all three brothers had been involved with the disappearance and murder of a man named Roy Atkinson.
“Who’s Roy Atkinson?” Miss Dupuis asked quietly. She glanced up at Father Kyne. “Have you heard of him?”
