Way Out West (The Markhat Files Book 10)

by Frank Tuttle

  “I bet Foley and Winnings died with your word fresh in their ears,” I said. “Nothing doing, sister.”

  Mrs. Krait might never have achieved much in the way of sorcerous skills, but she’d spent the last ten years being rich and having her own way, and what she lacked in arcane power she certainly made up for in sheer bullheaded arrogance.

  “I tell you I must have the keys and the case,” she said. “I can do nothing without them!”

  “Evis,” I said. “Mrs. Krait will be getting off the train now.”

  Evis leaped to his feet. “I’ll get the door,” he said. “Mind the first step, my lady. The trick, I’m told, is to tuck and roll.”

  I nodded. “Take a look out the window, Mrs. Krait. I may have forgotten to mention that we’ve taken something of a detour. So if you have some wild scheme to catch up with me and your crate later, you might want to reconsider. Gertriss, the window. Evis, the door.”

  Gertriss pulled up the shades by Mrs. Krait’s window. Colliding stars flashed obligingly.

  We sped through a terrain marked by jagged stone peaks and ruddy flows of dull red lava. Things cavorted amid the dusky shadows. Ten feet tall, some more, each winged and clawed and leathery. A bevy of them pursued us, talons flailing just shy of the Star’s iron bones.

  “Perhaps they are friendly,” I said. One grabbed up another and bit its head off. “Or perhaps not. Either way, say hello to them for us. Time to go. The C&E thanks you for your patronage.”

  I took her by her elbow and lifted.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” she said. “I have powers you know nothing of!”

  I met her gaze. “An apprentice does not a wand-waver make. You have a wand and a few finger bones in your purse,” I replied. “You’re about to be tossed off a train by an angry man with a gun. If you’ve got a spell in mind, fling it. I’m done talking.”

  I pulled her out of her seat. She tried to pull away, and she cussed like a dock worker, but we went half a dozen steps with no sorcery being flung, hurled, or otherwise dispatched.

  “Stop,” she said, well before we reached the door and a grinning Evis. “All right. You’ve won. I’ll do what I can, which is nothing, because I have no tools.”

  I stopped, but didn’t let go of her elbow. “You seriously didn’t bring anything with you?” I asked.

  “Of course not,” she spat. “What kind of fool brings illegal arcane tools with them on a train?”

  “Both of your partners, for starters,” I said. I described the contents of their crates quickly to her. “Any of that help?”

  She frowned. “Idiots. But.” She frowned some more. “I might be able to discern the nature of our pursuers.”

  “What about that?” I asked, nodding toward the nightmare beyond the windows. “Can you get us out of that?”

  She thought about it. Her expression suggested she was sucking fresh lemons. “I don’t know.”

  “That’s probably the first honest statement you’ve made today,” I said. I let go of her arm. “I’m not stupid. I know damned well you’re thinking you can use whatever trinkets Foley and Winnings brought to come up with a spell just right for yanking my head off. But know this, Mrs. Krait. I’ve got a magic wand or two myself, I do. Try and kill me, go ahead. If you fail, you’ll never open your precious case. And, lady, you will fail. Do we understand each other?”

  “Perfectly,” she said. She found a smile, one suited for a serpent. “If you’ll show me to the equipment?”

  “Happy to,” I replied. “We’ll even help you set up a laboratory, right here. The lighting is good for working magic. And shooting. Whichever we decide to engage in.”

  She just nodded. Evis joined us, and we set about looting the dead men’s arcane contraband.

  Two other crates were also packed with magical whatnots. We hauled them out of the luggage car and dumped them on the floor beside the makeshift worktable.

  Setting up her erstwhile laboratory took all night.

  We shoved tables together. She stacked glassware atop them. The first crate I’d found, the one with the small skull, became the centerpiece of something right out of a nightmare.

  Candles heated flasks, filled with the contents of various jars marked in some secret sorcerer’s script. Tubes conveyed bubbling fluids from one station to the next. Intricate devices formed of copper and coils of silver wire spun and sparked and smoked, casting infant lightning that sputtered and popped and left the air in the bar car smelling of a just-departed thunderstorm.

  Rowdy and a pair of bewildered conductors arrived just after Mrs. Krait began assembling her machines. According to Rowdy, traveling from the engine to the bar car had taken nearly six hours, and they’d traversed some cars twice, walked through quite a few that none of them had ever seen before, and at one point had caught a glimpse of their own backs, vanishing through a door that disappeared before they could reach it.

  Rowdy bore word from Engineer Stoddard. I was to hoof it to the engine, right now, no ifs, ands, or buts.

  “Tell the engineer I’m staying put,” I said. “Tell him to do his job. Keep the train moving. I’ll handle things back here.”

  Rowdy swallowed. “Can’t stop anyway,” he said, his eyes darting toward the shuttered windows and the strange lights that played around the shades. “He had us put on the brakes. Didn’t even slow down.” He lowered his voice. “We ain’t taken on water since Wetherneck,” he said. “We shouldn’t even be moving now. It’s like we’re being pulled.”

  “It’s magic, kid,” I said, cutting my eyes toward Mrs. Krait. She was listening, I was sure, but she hadn’t offered any comment. “Tell Stoddard to do what he can.”

  “Suggest he make peace with his Angel,” muttered Mrs. Krait. “As should you all.”

  Rowdy went green, like he had at sight of the dead Watchman.

  “Ignore her,” I said, slapping him on the shoulder. “We’re going to be fine, kid. And you’ll roll back into Rannit with the best damned story a railroad man ever had. You’ll see.”

  He nodded, took a deep breath. A particularly bright flash lit up the north side of the car.

  “What’s out there?” he said. “Mister, do you know?”

  “Just the dark, kid. Same as always. It’s only there if you look.”

  Mrs. Krait snorted in derision, but bit back her words at a glare from Gertriss. I sent Rowdy and his companions forward after suggesting they each take hold of a length of twine in case the cars took on unusual geometries as they walked.

  We slept in shifts, always keeping at least a pair of eyes and an equal if not greater number of weapons trained on Mrs. Krait. She pretended not to notice, and indeed she did appear to lose herself in her sorcery.

  Darla woke me from my second nap of the night. I kissed her, turned my bleary eyes toward the window.

  No hint of daylight showed around the edges of the window-shade, which was drawn shut.

  All the shades were drawn.

  “The sun didn’t rise, dear,” Darla whispered. “It’s probably a good idea we leave the blinds down.”

  “That bad?”

  She just nodded, her eyes weary, her face drawn and pale. “That bad,” she agreed, quietly. “And getting worse.”

  “What about the Wicked Witch of the Bar Car?” I asked.

  Mrs. Krait shot me a look of pure murder.

  “She’s behaved herself,” Darla said.

  “Evis? Gertriss?”

  “I sent them to fetch some coffee,” she said.

  I grunted and rose, my revolver in my hand.

  “Good morning,” said Mrs. Krait, her eyes never moving away from the glasswork she was tinkering with. “I’ll save you the trouble of asking.” She rose, stretched, yawned. “Yes, I am done with the initial construction. No, I cannot assure you it will work. Yes, I demand a cup of coffee, or you can simply shoot me and be damned. I haven’t had a minute of sleep.”

  “Coffee it is,” I said. “So what happens now?”


  “I prepare myself,” she replied. “Engaging the spellwork will be taxing and perilous. I require breakfast, and a visit to the bathroom. Unless you prefer that I relieve myself here?”

  “I’ll take her,” said Darla.

  “Wait until Gertriss and her scattergun are back,” I said.

  Mrs. Krait sighed. “Has it not occurred to you, Mr. Markhat, that I fear the shade of the Playful to a far greater degree than I fear you and your weapons? I am not a fool. If this contrivance is my only hope of survival, then I will certainly not compromise my chances on some ill-advised attack on you.”

  “You’ve put three men in the grave since breakfast yesterday,” I said. “Pardon me if I seem reluctant to hold hands and admire the dawn. Which by the way never came. Any thoughts on that?”

  She shrugged. “We are at the center of—” She paused, searching for words.

  “An arcane loci,” I said. “Defined by the Playful, the whatever-it-is, and your precious chest, with the train in the center. I know all about that. Skip the first-year apprentice lesson.”

  That gave her genuine pause. I didn’t grin in triumph. I kept my face blank and I waited, and if that gave her something new to worry about while she fiddled with her tubes and wires, fine.

  “The radius of the loci is shrinking,” she said. “By the moment. We are, in effect, sinking out of our world, passing quickly through others as we fall. As long as the three points you described remain separated, we may yet return to the prairie. Once contact is made between any two, the membrane of the loci will collapse, and at that point, further conjecture is useless.”

  “You have an idea how long we have before that happens?”

  Gertriss and Evis came barging back through the door, dragging a wheeled cart loaded down with plates and carafes and cups. The scent of fresh bacon and hot coffee and scrambled eggs filled the car.

  “Morning, boss,” chirped Gertriss, who somehow retained her smile and bright eyes. “We brought breakfast.”

  “So I see,” I replied. “Would you mind accompanying Darla? Mrs. Krait needs a trip to the head.”

  Gertriss took up her scattergun, aimed it squarely at Mrs. Krait’s chest. “Be a pleasure,” she said. “Also be a shame if she got herself killed before breakfast.”

  Mrs. Krait sighed. “There is never an excuse for rudeness,” she remarked, as she swept grandly toward Gertriss and the cavernous maw of her scattergun. “Excuse me.”

  Darla followed. Evis and I wrangled coffee cups and filled plates.

  We didn’t speak. I was too groggy and if Evis had anything to say, he was saving it. The skull in the center of the mess of glass and wires did clack its jaw a time or two, and I was tempted to teach it a ribald old marching song, but coffee and bacon beckoned.

  We sat.

  “Hell of a thing,” remarked Evis, putting the cup to his lips.

  “That it is.” My coffee was good.

  “We got married while you slept,” said Evis.

  Coffee spewed. I sputtered and mopped at my shirt.

  “What? How? Here?”

  “Married. Dame Fabbers is an actual Justice of the Peace. In our compartment. The service was small, intimate one might say. I was disappointed in the catering staff, which consisted of Dame Corniss with a single biscuit. Gertriss has several complaints about the honeymoon venue, which appears to be Hell itself. Still, neither of us will ever assert that our wedding was bland.”

  “What the hell, Evis?”

  “What the hell indeed.” He put down his cup. “You and I both know there’s a good chance this won’t end well.”

  “We’ve been in tougher spots. Lived to tell the tale.” The coffee hit my brain, started things turning. “Angels, Evis, Mama Hog will be livid.”

  He grinned. “Won’t she though? For the record, Gertriss wanted to wake you and Darla. I talked her out of it. We’ll have a real wedding once we’re home. This was—in case.”

  “So you’re going back to Rannit. Going back married to an unturned woman. Damn, Evis, why not also march up and down the halls of Avalante smacking them with a dead fish and daring them to say boo?”

  “I may do just that,” he said, his eyes gleaming with mischief and no small portion of stupid bravado. “We’re going home, Markhat. Going home, come what may. She is my wife now, and if the House takes exception? Well. Perhaps then I shall take exception to the House.”

  “You, sir, are a fool. But don’t you dare go blowing up any Houses without sending me an invitation to join you. You hear me?”

  “I hear you,” he said quietly. “And I am honored.”

  “Cussed out is what you’re about to be, when Darla finds out,” I said. “Married not fifty feet from her? Oh, you think Mama Hog is unforgiving, wait until—”

  Mrs. Krait came barging back inside, encouraged along by the barrel of the scattergun. Darla and Gertriss followed, both grinning so wide I knew Gertriss had shared the news.

  Without a word, Darla pulled Evis to his feet and bear-hugged him. He endured it with bemusement.

  “Your husband was convinced you’d be angry,” he began.

  “I am,” she replied, letting him go. “But I understand. You two did the right thing, and you have our blessing. Don’t they, dear?”

  “They do indeed,” I replied.

  “Fools,” offered Mrs. Krait as she poured herself coffee. Gertriss exercised un-Hog-like restraint and did not cut her down where she stood. “The likelihood that any of us survive to see Railsend is miniscule.”

  “Hard to see how you managed to remain single all these years,” I said to Mrs. Krait. “Eat your breakfast and get to work.”

  She bit back a retort, opting to shove bacon in her mouth instead.

  We all dug in, eating in silence. The smell of breakfast soon brought the remaining passengers back to the bar car, and I saw no point in sending them back to their compartments. Chairs were righted. Tables were shoved back into place. In a few moments, the far end of the car was full of people dining, as though the aft end didn’t house a sorcerous machine and a murderous amateur wand-waver.

  Jiggles the bridge clown put on a show, pouring hot coffee into a broken mug and scalding his lap. Even Mrs. Krait cracked a smile when he pulled down his pants to reveal button-flap long johns emblazoned with the Regent’s unsmiling face.

  “Not quite the honeymoon I planned,” said Evis.

  “You can have a fancy one when we’re off this tub,” I said. “Speaking of which, Mrs. Krait. What’s next?”

  She dabbed at her lips with a napkin and drained her cup. “I use the apparatus to determine the precise nature of the arcane volume we occupy,” she said. “That done, I shall determine its weaknesses, if any.”

  “Ever the optimist.”

  “One of the first lessons taught by the Playful concerned the fate of optimistic sorcerers,” she said. “‘They smile all the way to an unmarked grave,’ was her summation, I believe.”

  “Which is just where she wound up.”

  Mrs. Krait shrugged and rose. “One can hardly argue that point. I suppose asking for the contents of my bag would be an exercise in futility?”

  “It would,” I said. “That’s your murder kit. You’re not getting it back.”

  “Then pray get out of my way,” she said, weaving through the tables and chairs. “We might as well get this over with.”

  I stepped aside. Darla aimed her revolver at Mrs. Krait. So did Evis. I kept my hand on the butt of mine, handy in my pocket.

  “What do we do?” I asked.

  Mrs. Krait stepped in front of the polished skull held captive in its scaffold of wires and tubes. “Stay away,” she said. “Leave me alone. This is magic. I would much prefer being shot to being interrupted by peasants.”

  Jiggles gave his nose a loud sour honk.

  “My sentiments precisely,” I said. “We, the gathered peasants, bid you to proceed. But know this, Mrs. Krait. One red imp. One paper angel. Just one, and we’ll help
you exercise your preference regarding gunplay. Do we understand each other?”

  She nodded, not looking at me.

  “Get on with it,” I said.

  She lit a few small lamps. Turned a pair of copper wheels until they began to spin on their own. Sparks and arcs of bright lights crawled up and down various devices, while liquids started bubbling and steaming in the flasks and tubes.

  The polished skull whispered.

  “None of that,” I said. “Everybody speaks in a nice loud voice, in Kingdom.”

  The sorceress rolled her eyes, but spoke, and after that, the skull’s muttering became loud and clear.

  “….arcs of moment,” it said, followed by a string of letters and numbers arranged in no fashion I could determine. “Bounded volumes given by variables x, y, and z determined by tensor arguments defined as—”

  I gave up trying to follow the skull’s running dialog. Instead, I watched the sorceress. Especially her hands. What little I knew about wand-wavers left me sure she’d give away any attack with a gesture even before she tried to speak the first syllable of a spell.

  But all she did was scribble on a notepad, nodding now and then, sometimes interrupting the skull’s narrative to demand a clarification.

  The bar car fell dead silent while the skull talked. Jiggles even forgot to drink. The Star rattled on as strange lights played outside her shuttered windows, and I was glad I couldn’t see what might lay beyond.

  The air in the car took on the smell of burnt hair. The sparks and lights that played amid the machine grew brighter, lingered longer. A ghostly phosphorescence gathered about the skull, gradually coalescing, slowly hinting at flesh and hair and the curve of a shoulder.

  The skull fell silent. Mrs. Krait looked up from her pad, scowling. She waited a moment, poked at her machinery, and then tapped the skull’s forehead with her pen.

  “YOU DARE STEAL FROM ME?” demanded a woman’s voice, at a volume that nearly knocked the breath out of me. “YOU DARE TEMPT MY WRATH?”

  Mrs. Krait dropped her pen. Her mouth opened and her lips moved, but no words came out.

  “YOU WILL BEG FOR DEATH,” claimed the voice. Teeth flew, ejected from the skull’s upper jaw with each deafening utterance. “YOU AND ALL OF YOURS.”