Railroad! Collection 3 (The Three Volume Ombinus)

by Tonia Brown

  “How is she?” he asked.

  Feng looked up from his book. “Same, same. She doesn’t seem to be suffering, just catatonic. Poor thing.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that.” Dodger nodded to the sleeping young girl. “Do you think she’s just like Boon?”

  The mystic glanced over the edge of his spectacles, to Sarah, then back to Dodger. He blinked sleepily. “You know, I hadn’t thought of that. Perhaps she is.”

  “Is there any way to tell?”

  “Is there some magic spell, you mean?”

  “Well …” Dodger worried the brim of his hat, feeling all sorts of silly and nervous for asking such a thing.

  “I don’t think I have the energy to perform the same one as I did for Boon, but I think I know of another way.”

  “Can you manage it?”

  “I could certainly try.”

  Feng yawned softly into the back of his hand, and it was then that Dodger noticed how exhausted the Celestial appeared. Half-moons of darkness bordered the man’s eyes, which lacked their usual sparkle. He blinked again, in a slow manner, as if savoring the moments for which his eyes closed, brief as they were.

  “How are you holding up?” Dodger asked.

  “Me?” Feng asked. “I’m swell.”

  “You sure?”

  “Never better.” Feng winked.

  Dodger nodded, but he knew a lie when he heard one. “All right, then. You let me know if you need anything. Or if she wakes up. You hear?”

  “Aye, aye, cap’n.” With a wide grin, Feng gave Dodger a little salute.

  Dodger pushed the thought of Feng’s sudden exhaustion to the back of his mind. He would have to deal with it later. There was something larger looming on the horizon. A nasty little something named Canis Rex.

  Dodger slipped into the meeting cab just as the doc asked, “Would you hold still?”

  The doc stood over the not-dead man, trying his best to stitch the hole in Ched’s cheek.

  “I will when you shtop pokin’ at me,” Ched said.

  Boon snickered softly from the darkened corner.

  “I need to repair the damage,” the doc said. “You ninny.”

  “I told you how to fix it,” Ched said. “Don’t need shtichin’. Needsh whishkey.”

  The doc exhaled in frustration. “Fine.” He dropped the sutures on his desk and passed a key ring to the driver. As Ched stood, towering over his boss man, the doc poked his finger at the driver’s bony chest. “One. Do you hear me? One bottle. If I even suspect you so much as looked at a second bottle, I will let you dry out.”

  “Yesh, shir,” Ched said. He snapped up the keys and was out of the door before the doc could holler an additional reminder to take only one bottle.

  Mesmerized by the proceedings, Jones leaned over to Dodger and asked, “Is it always like this?”

  “Mostly,” Dodger said. He settled onto the couch beside Lelanea.

  “I would like to apologize again,” the doc said, as he turned his attention to the native.

  “No need to, sir,” Jones said.

  “I had no intention of ruining all of your hard work on those poor crops. I would never deliberately-”

  “We know, sir,” Jones said. “It was just a simple mistake. In the end, we learned to make it work for us instead of against us. That’s all that’s matters now.”

  “But how your tribe could possibly profit from the Internal Centigrade Extractor is beyond me.”

  “Oh, it’s more than just profiting. Your ICE machine has all but saved us. We were struggling on that dry patch of earth, certain that most of us would starve, but you came along and rescued my people. We are eternally indebted to you.”

  Rather than bask in the praise, the doc huffed an angry little huff. “Nonsense.”

  Jones lost his grin in a cloud of confusion. “Nonsense?”

  “Rescue you? I did nothing of the sort.”

  “Yes sir, you-”

  “No. No. No. I won’t hear of it. I didn’t save anyone. I made a grievous miscalculation in communication that you and yours were right to get upset about. If anyone rescued your people, it was you.”

  Jones started. “Me?”

  “Not you specifically. You in the broad respect. Vous as opposed to tu, as the French would say.” The doc touched his chin in thought. “Or is that tu as opposed to vous? I always get those two mixed up. Why is French such a dastardly difficult language? It shouldn’t be. I mean, if the French can speak it, then it must not be too hard.”

  “Tu ish shingular and pershonal,” Ched said from the doorway, clutching a bottle of amber liquid to his chest. “Vous ish proper and shometimesh plural.”

  The doc shot his driver a suspicious look. “Case in point.”

  “What?” Ched asked.

  “Since when do you speak French?” Boon asked.

  Rather than answer, Ched’s skeletal grin widened as he returned to his seat. He took a few swigs from his bottle, somehow managing to get it all down without spilling a drop from his open wound.

  And Dodger had to admit, the hole did seem smaller already.

  The professor crossed his arms and stared at the silent not-dead man. “French indeed. I think we are overdue for a long discussion. But first back to … wait … where was I?”

  “You were explaining that the tribe rescued themselves,” Lelanea said.

  “Quite right,” the doc agreed. “It takes ingenuity to make a mistake work in your favor. Ingenuity and genius. I had nothing to do with that.”

  “Thank you for your modesty,” Jones said, “but we do owe you some small debt. I should start by apologizing for the way my people treated you. It isn’t our habit to rise so quickly to anger. Especially over such an obvious misunderstanding.”

  “To be fair, it was a reasonable reaction, considering everything your tribe has been through.”

  “Shpeakin’ of tribesh,” Ched said. “What’sh with the breeshe on the neck?”

  “Excuse me?” Jones asked.

  “The short back and shidesh?”

  Jones shook his head, unsure what the driver was getting at.

  “I think he means your hair,” Dodger said.

  “Chester,” the doc scolded. “Don’t be so rude.”

  “No, I don’t mind,” Jones said. He ran a hand over his short locks. “I had my hair cut when I found God.”

  “Where whash He hidin’?” Ched asked. “A barber shop?”

  “Chester!” the doc snapped.

  Jones laughed, free and easy. “Don’t worry, Professor. I am used to much worse comments from my own family. I should explain; though I was raised on the reservation, I have been in the service of Reverend Young for several years.”

  “Brigham Young?” Dodger asked. “The Mormon leader?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Is that where you learned English?” Lelanea asked.

  “Correct again,” Jones said.

  “Then what are you doin’ back here?” Ched asked.

  “Chester Hedediah McMullen,” the doc scolded. “I swear sometimes I think you were raised by apes. Excrement-flinging, teeth-baring, odoriferous apes!” The doc turned a look of pity on the native. “I must apologize for my driver’s rudeness. Sometimes his brain goes a bit soft around the edges.”

  “It really is fine,” Jones said. “My people needed me, so I came home.”

  “A good an answer as any,” the doc said.

  Ched let out a healthy belch, spreading the smell of death and rotgut across the cab. “Excush me.”

  “There is no excuse for you,” the doc said. “Now, Jones, explain again how you make a profit from the ICE?”

  “We use it in the way you intended, sir,” Jones said.

  The doc’s eyes went wide. “You’re joking.”

  “No, sir.”

  “You freeze your crops?”

  “Yes. It’s just peas right now, but with help, we are expanding our fields to include a variety of vegetables.” />
  “Why would folksh want frozen peash?” Ched asked.

  Jones explained, “Freezing our vegetables allows us to ship them much farther away than we normally could. They arrive nearly thawed and almost as fresh as the day we picked them.

  “How clever,” the doc said.

  “Thank you, sir. We also formed a business relationship with the local farmers. They bring us their crops to freeze for shipping. Corn, beans, you name it, we can freeze it.”

  “Amazing,” Lelanea said.

  “That it is. It’s still in its infancy, but it’s proving to be a profitable business. There is already a higher demand than we can meet.”

  “That’s incredible,” Dodger said.

  “Thank you,” Jones said. “I would like to take credit for it, but it wasn’t my idea. I came along later to help negotiate contracts.”

  “Another clever use of resources,” Lelanea said.

  “Yes,” the doc said. “Your grasp of English is exceptional. I daresay that without your translations, things may have fared very differently.”

  “Your people are lucky to have you,” Dodger said.

  “Learning English was the reason I was sent to study under Young,” Jones said. “Finding solace in the Lord along the way was a blessing I didn’t expect.”

  The doc clapped. “I am so pleased by your tribe’s success. And if there is anything else I can do to help out, you have only to ask.”

  “Actually, sir,” Jones said. “We do need your help again. That is the reason I came back with Mr. Ched and Mr. Dodger. To request a meeting. Our chieftain would like to speak with you, sir. In person.”

  All at once, the doc became flustered, shuffling papers across his desk as he huffed and puffed. “Well, I, that is to say, I’m not sure if I can. There is so much to do here.”

  “My uncle doesn’t like to make personal appearances anymore,” Lelanea said. She lowered her voice to add, in a soft whisper, “He’s developed a bit of a shy side.”

  “Having your life threatened on occashion will do that to a man,” Ched said.

  “Please, sir,” Jones begged. “I promise we will treat you better this time. I wouldn’t ask, but we are at our wits’ end. Your arrival here was no coincidence, for you are the only man clever enough to help us.”

  “What is this about?” Dodger asked.

  “I … I … truthfully, I don’t know where to start. I’m not sure you will believe what I have to say.”

  Ched gave a soft snort of humor. Dodger couldn’t help but grin. The kid had no idea.

  “Ignore them,” Lelanea said. “Go on. Tell us what this is all about. You will be hard pressed to share something we would find too outlandish to believe.”

  Jones drew a deep breath and exhaled very slowly before he started again. “Fall of last year, about three months after you came and went, a man arrived claiming he was a representative of yours. A friend, he said.”

  “Friend?” the doc asked.

  “Rex?” Dodger guessed.

  “Yes,” Jones said. “He arrived bearing apologies and offering to make reparations for your mistake.”

  “What an odd thing to say,” the doc said.

  “You should know,” Dodger said, “Rex is no friend of ours.”

  “Certainly not. A fiend, at best.”

  “We didn’t know that at the time,” Jones said. “We were just glad to see him. We had finally figured out how to make the ICE machine work for us, and needed all the technical help we could get.”

  “He helped you set up your freezing production?” Lelanea asked.

  “I’m afraid so. Without him, we wouldn’t have gotten done quite so quickly. We could have managed, but it would’ve taken much longer. He and his men had it done in days. We tried to find you before Rex arrived, but you are a hard man to pin down.”

  “That was all?” Dodger asked. “He just wanted to help you set up your business?”

  “That’s all,” Jones said. “Well, that and he wanted a pair of bison.”

  “Oh dear,” the doc said. “I can almost imagine why.”

  “We couldn’t have dreamed why,” Jones said. “Normally we wouldn’t consider them ours to give away, but he helped us when we really needed it, so we allowed him to take two bison with him.”

  “How convenient he came along when he did,” the doc said.

  Dodger didn’t miss the sarcasm in the doc’s voice. “Did you meet him face to face, or did he speak through his manservant.”

  “Face to face,” Jones said. “I worked very closely with him. He spoke a little Ute, but he kept me nearby for translations.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “A little under six foot, on the heavy side, gray at the temples. He spoke with a slight Southern accent, and talked very highbrow. It was all I could do to keep up with him sometimes. He was also incredibly polite. It was almost impossible to say no to him. The first time, at least.”

  Dodger rubbed his stubbly chin in thought. That seemed to pan out with what he knew of Canis Rex. If all of this happened over a half of a year ago, then Rex was still human. As were his minions. It was a few months after that when he began to have some success with his experiments on the Pack, and then another couple of weeks before they shoved the man into his own devilish machine. Dodger would bet a dollar to a biscuit that those bison played some part in Rex’s horrible experiments, both with the Pack and with Boon.

  As Dodger contemplated the possibilities, the doc asked, “First time? You mean he returned?”

  “Yes,” Jones said. “He revisited us just yesterday. This time, it was very different. You aren’t going to believe me, but he arrived by air, in some kind of flying contraption.”

  “The Phoenix,” Dodger said.

  Jones blinked in surprise. “That is what he called it, yes. You have seen it?”

  “Ha!” the doc snapped. “Seen it? I drafted the original-”

  “Yes, Jones, we’ve seen it,” Dodger said over the doc. No need for the natives to know where Rex got his ideas from. “I take it he refused to come down from his perch this time?”

  “Correct. He sent his manservant to deliver three things in his stead. The first was his voice. I don’t claim to understand how, but his manservant projected Rex’s voice from some kind of contraption.”

  “Another cylinder recording,” the doc said.

  “What did he say?” Dodger asked.

  “He thanked us for the use of the bison,” Jones said. “And he warned us against you, Mr. Dodger. He said you were from the government and would arrive soon to take the ICE machine away from us.”

  “Son of a …” Dodger whispered. “Jones, you know I have no intention of-”

  “I know. But you have to understand, Mr. Dodger, at the time, we didn’t know you were with the professor and his crew. We thought we could trust Rex. He even prepared us for your arrival. He said we should give you an envelope his manservant left with us. That the contents of the envelope would make you go away and leave us alone.”

  “You don’t happen to have it with you?” Dodger asked.

  “My chieftain is holding on to it. I don’t even know what is inside of it. He says he will only give it to the White Crow when the time is right.”

  “White Crow,” Lelanea echoed.

  “Sheemsh you have gone and earned yourshelf a tribal name, Sharge,” Ched said. “Congratulashonsh.”

  Dodger waved away the jest. “When is the right time?”

  Jones swallowed hard and said, “After you help us with the third thing Rex left behind.”

  “Which was?”

  “Buffalo. He took two bison, but returned with three. He said they were the offspring of the pair he mated.”

  “Poppycock!” the doc shouted. “The bison gestation period is almost three hundred days. They couldn’t have produced one calf in that time, let alone three calves.”

  “Not three calves, sir. Three adults. Females, to be exact.”

  “
And I say poppycock again! It isn’t just unrealistic, it is unpossible!”

  “I know that well enough,” Jones said. “Yet I am telling you, he dropped off three bison not a mile from our reservation. By the time they made their way to us, Rex was long gone. It wasn’t until then that we realized how dangerous he was.”

  “How do you know the three aren’t part of your herd already?”

  Jones’s eyes filled with something akin to awe as he said, “Because they are white. All three of them. White as the fresh fallen show with eyes as blue as a sparkling river. They are the most beautiful animals I have ever seen.”

  Dodger was more than familiar with the native’s reverence for the white buffalo. The birth of such an animal was a rare and celebrated occasion. Usually, such a calf was born with white fur and pink eyes as the result of albinism, and lived a sadly short life. Occasionally, a beast was born with white fur and blue eyes, an even rarer condition than albinism. Rare enough that three born in unison seemed not just highly unlikely, but downright absurd.

  “What is wrong with them?” Dodger asked.

  “Yes,” the doc said. “What did that rogue do to those poor things?”

  “He fitted them with some kind of explosives,” Jones said.

  “How awful,” Boon said.

  “What kind of explosives?” the doc asked.

  “I don’t know,” Jones said. “I’ve never seen the likes of them. They rest like collars around the creatures’ necks. Big bulky things, all encased in leather and metal.”

  “I hate to seem impertinent, Mr. Jones, but if you have never seen the likes of them, then how do you know they are explosives?”

  “Because each collar has a message etched upon it. The first explains that the mechanisms are explosive. The second claims that the collars will explode within three sunsets. That means that by tomorrow evening, they will die.”

  “The monster,” Lelanea said.

  “If we had known that man was going to endanger such sacred animals, we would never have let him take the bison in the first place.”