by Alex Acks
“Or you could just, I don’t know, finally take a look at Lord Mastern’s house, the one with the safe just sitting in the front room? The one I told you about weeks ago? Then we could buy all the lenses you’d ever want.”
Marta laughed, leaning back in her chair. “I could, it’s true. But where would the fun be in that?”
Jun’s story was easily confirmed with a few discreet inquiries around the nicer tea parlors in Denver, accomplished by Captain Ramos disguised in a hideous magenta dress, her back kinked in a way most unnatural to make her appear nearly a foot shorter. Lord Pike’s return was the talk of society, good for juicy gossip about just what bit of crockery he’d thrown at the Grand Duke during their last, explosive dinner.
Messages sent by telegraph had to be obtuse by necessity, but within two days, they knew that Lord Pike had chartered a private train and supplied it with a small private security force. Even more important, they were given details of the train’s departure time by the secretary to the Station Master in Salt Lake, whose dignity had been affronted by the notoriously rapacious Lord’s demands.
Thus, Simms came to be driving the smallest of their rail cars through the Rocky Mountains at an uncomfortable speed, with no headlamps. Captain Ramos, who had told him only to wake her three hours beyond the continental divide, was asleep with her feet propped on a corner of the control panel. Her expression was so peaceful that Simms felt an unbearable urge to grab a handful of her curly hair and shake her head back and forth until she was awake and just as tense as him.
It was—sadly—an urge he’d long since learned to ignore.
Three hours after beginning the descent from the continental divide, his hands white-knuckled on the controls and his fingers beginning to ache with fatigue, the little wind-up timer he’d set let out a quiet ding. With no small amount of glee he peeled his fingers from the brake lever—all but useless at these grades anyway—and shoved the Captain’s feet off the control panel.
Only she was already awake, eyes glittering faintly in the backlights of the dials. “Really, Simms, was that necessary?”
He clutched the brake lever again, to comfort himself. “Next time, say something.”
She dismissed the complaint with a flick of her fingers. “We haven’t yet passed through the canyon, have we?”
“I haven’t been in a hurry.”
There was a rustle as the Captain pulled a bit of paper from her pocket. “What’s our average speed been?” She consulted the paper after Simms answered. “In twenty-five minutes, we ought to be by Dotsero. Do you remember the switch there?”
“The track’s terrible and the road’s worse.”
“Still. It will get us to the top of the canyon. There’s a bridge that I’ve a date with.”
The bridge in question was a rickety affair of wood and not nearly enough iron bolts; it had once been a railroad bridge before being cannibalized of its useful parts. It was still stable enough to bear the weight of cattle, as attested to by the bits of dung strewn across the weathered boards.
Simms gave the bridge a dubious glance. “How long before our train passes by?”
Captain Ramos checked her pocket watch. “Twelve hours if there aren’t any delays.”
“Except there are always delays.”
“Of course. You’ll have plenty of time for those sandwiches you packed after you get back up to the divide. The train shouldn’t be that far until well after dark”
“At least they’ll be running with headlamps,” Simms muttered.
She waved him off. “A little danger is good for the spirit. I left that anatomy text I picked up last week under the seat if you fancy some reading.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been that bored.”
Marta busied herself rigging the bridge for a safe descent onto the tracks fifty feet below. A few fitful catnaps on the wind-swayed boards followed in the warm afternoon, though she woke instantly as the rumbling of a train echoed through the canyon.
The train, a short one with only seven cars, came around the curve slowly; the narrow, winding canyon made for relatively safe speeds for jumping a train. Unhurried, Marta pulled on her leather gloves. As the engine, belching soft clouds of steam and smoke, slid under the bridge, she kicked the rope over the side.
With economy of motion, she slid down the rope, letting her gloves bear the brunt of the friction. Less than a foot above the top of the moving cars, she stopped, took a deep breath for timing, and then let go.
Even at low speeds, the impact was unpleasant. She threw herself into a controlled roll to keep from tumbling backwards, bruising her shoulder in the process. The thick leather gloves squeaked against metal as she flattened herself to the roof and clung.
Letting out a breath she hadn’t been conscious of holding, Marta crawled to the escape hatch built into the roof. She pried up the hatch using a metal wedge and dropped into the car. It was filled with crates, part of Lord Pike’s household packed up for transport to Denver. Marta paused to pull a small mirrored lamp from the satchel hidden under her coat, folding the contraption together and lighting it before she closed the hatch.
“Well,” she informed the crate she crouched on, “I’ve several hours before the passengers sleep, so I suppose I might as well have a look around.” She didn’t think Lord Pike the sort to keep something so valuable in with his luggage—he was far too grasping for that—but one never knew.
After a fruitless search, she made her way back up to the first freight car. The sky had grown quite dark in the meantime, though she hunkered down to wait for another hour for safety’s sake.
The first two passenger cars were plainly for the household members and guards, retained against a general attack. She froze once to sleepy murmurs as she opened a door, but after just a little stirring of the curtain across the berth, the sound subsided.
There was a guard in the third car, standing at something approximating attention.
He opened his mouth to shout; she sprinted down the short length of the hallway, feet silent on the rich carpeting, and drove her fist into his throat. That stopped any sound and he toppled. She snatched the lapels of his coat before he could crash to the floor and dragged him to the lavatory. There she dosed him with a bit of chloroform, just to be certain he wouldn’t wake at an inconvenient moment. “Thank you for marking the room I want, by the way.” She gave his face a light pat.
Opening the unlocked door a crack allowed a fascinating array of horrible snores into the hall. Marta listened for a few moments to find their rhythm, and then let herself into the room. The snoring gentleman was no doubt Lord Pike, a man with coal-black hair and a mustache that made him sneer even in sleep. Marta freshened her handkerchief with more chloroform and dangled it near his face.
An array of drinks glasses, their insides thinly coated with the remnants of sticky liqueurs, covered the top of the safe. Marta rested her ear against the front of the safe, eyes half closed as she felt her way through the lock.
The safe contained an array of rather overdone jewelry and a wooden box filled with the treated calcite lenses, each wrapped in a scrap of silk. She stowed that in her satchel, and then as an afterthought added a pearl necklace, the nicest piece of the bunch. A little nod toward money would make Simms happy, since he was always concerned about such practical things.
Behind her, the door opened.
Marta spun, drawing her pistol. Down the blacked-out barrel, she found herself looking at a teenaged girl. The girl did not look wholly Asian, but there was a fineness to her features that Marta found familiar; an instant later she caught sight of the necklace she wore, a pendant of jade and gold shaped like a tiger.
She quirked one eyebrow at the girl, who had covered her mouth with white-gloved hands as if holding in a scream. “You’re Mistress Xing’s daughter?”
Hands still covering her mouth, the girl nodded, eyes flicking toward Lord Pike.
“He shan’t wake up for a few minutes.” Marta lowered th
e pistol. The girl was fully dressed despite the late hour, a small satchel in a heap at her feet. “You’ve been in contact with your mother, I take it?”
The girl nodded again.
“And what horrid thing is your father intending to do with you, which will no doubt tug at my heart strings?”
“I’m to be married,” the girl whispered.
Marta ran a hand through her hair, an annoyed sound caught in her throat. Well of course, what other torment would await a young lady of a noble house? And of any option, it was the one most likely to catch the attention of Captain Ramos, known for her peculiar ideas about women. While no one had any idea what horrors filled her past—not even Simms—Marta had strong feelings on the subject. “Well played, Mistress Xing,” she murmured.
“I’m sorry?”
Marta shook her head. “I suppose you’ll be coming with me?”
“I’d very much like to.”
She holstered her pistol. “Two conditions: you’ll never tell anyone I did anything but kidnap you cruelly, and if you fall behind I will leave you.”
“I promise, Captain Ramos.”
“And what is your name?”
“Fei.” The girl smiled. “Fei Xing.”
“Fly away. Appropriate. Come along.” Marta shut the safe, and then led the girl to the freight cars.
Fei’s face was pale as Marta boosted her up onto the roof, but she bit her lip and remained silent. She hugged the roof fiercely as Marta climbed out and shut the hatch.
“You needn’t fear, the train’s not going to buck like a horse and throw you off. Though I’d recommend you remove your shoes.” Marta paused while the girl did so. “Just walk along the roof as it was a bridge.” She led the girl to the end of the train, taking care to help her across the gaps between the cars.
“Do we jump?” Fei asked, staring at the darkness with horrified fascination.
“Not quite yet.” Marta removed a flare gun from her satchel and fired. Yellow-orange light threw the rough terrain—and more importantly, the shape on the tracks a few hundred feet behind them—into relief for a brief moment. “There’s my lieutenant, Simms. He’ll be picking us up.”
Fei clutched her arms around herself, shivering. “How?”
“We’ll jump.” Marta caught the horrified look the girl gave her. “It’s perfectly safe so long as you jump straight. He’ll be going the same speed as the train. It’s simple physics.”
Fei’s expression said that she had little faith in physics.
Simms pulled the rail car up close to the train—on an uphill grade, the speed was predictable. A steady stream of steam flowed from the car’s steel stack. A moment later, a platform padded with a few thin cushions slid forward from the roof of the car.
“Go on then,” Marta said. She grasped Fei’s arm, but the girl leaned back, setting her heels against the roof.
“I don’t think I can.”
“Of course you can.” For a moment, Marta considered reminding her of the second condition she’d agreed to, but knew it would do nothing to assuage the girl’s fear. Instead, she leaned down and whispered: “The first time I did this, I was only your age. And it was terrifying, yes, but also exhilarating. That’s how freedom is. If you’re not prepared for that, it might be best for you to stay put and let your father make your decisions.”
Fei shoved her hands off with a narrow-eyed glare. “He blacklisted my mother when she told me who she was. I want nothing to do with him!”
“Then I think you’ve made your choice.”
Fei made a sound suspiciously like a snarl. An instant later, her feet made a hollow thump thump on the roof of the car and she jumped the short distance with an undignified scream.
Marta grinned. While she’d never admit it, the first time she’d jumped off a moving train, she’d screamed far louder.
Jun waited for them at the small rail depot in Silver Cliff, huddled under a shawl against the cold.
Fei tried to run to the woman. Marta caught her arm, ignoring the girl’s startled yelp. “Mistress Xing, I must thank you for your information. Or rather, my microscope will thank you once I’ve installed the new lenses.”
Jun’s eyes never left her daughter’s face. “I’m only glad I could be of assistance, Captain.”
Marta hooked one finger under the pendant Fei wore around her neck. “And I stole something else, as you can see. I’ll be keeping this, but you’re welcome to the bit that tagged along.”
“Mother!”
“Give her your pendant, Fei.” Jun smiled. “If you’re too greedy about pretty things, you’ll turn into your father.”
Fei couldn’t pull the pendant off quickly enough. Marta released her arm, the bit of jewelry dangling from her fingers as daughter and mother embraced. When Jun looked up again, Marta gave her a mocking bow, her face set in dispassionate lines. “Well played, Mistress.”
“It wasn’t a game.”
“It’s always a game.” Marta tucked the pendant into her pocket. “But in this one, I think we can both count ourselves the winner.”
The Ugly Tin Orrery
The lantern wobbled faintly, caught by the low thrum of the engine, boilers banked and waiting. The lantern was also at an odd angle relative to the ceiling.
This was due to the fact that the Engine, fondly called Diabola, currently sat at a severe twelve percent grade. The commonly used tracks through the Rocky Mountains rose much more gently; such steep grades were limited to hidden ramps cut into the side of the mountain.
It wasn’t the most comfortable of angles for a person to work at, let alone rest, but Marta Ramos managed it with the ease of long practice. She watched the lantern through slitted eyes, her feet, clad in black leather cavalry boots, propped on a weapons locker. Thanks to the boilers, the air inside was close and heavy. She had her linen sleeves rolled up, revealing slim brown forearms pocked with shiny pink-white scars. Her normally wild, curly brown hair was pulled tightly into a braid that had been coiled into a bun and secured with several pins far thicker and sharper than those traditionally seen in a lady’s hair.
“Captain?”
“Hm?” She glanced up at the tall man framed in the doorway, head ducked and shoulders hunched to keep from bumping the ceiling. In silhouette his face looked strange, thanks to his carefully tended gingery muttonchops.
Meriwether Octavian Simms—known by preference as simply “Simms” to friend and foe alike—stepped fully through the doorway and poked at her feet until she dropped them from the locker. “Lights sighted on the ridge. They should be heading up the incline in about five minutes or so.”
“Excellent.” Marta stood, adjusting to the strange tilt of the floor with ease, and pulled on her coat. Scarlet velvet, the frock coat was both her signature and her one bit of flash. If she was to commit acts of robbery across the Rocky Mountains, she wanted her marks to know that they’d been seen to by a true pirate. “Do you have the new calculations from Masterson?” She took the slip of paper he offered and read it over quickly. Elijah Masterson had taken over the more annoying duties of engineer from her, thankfully freeing her up for the more interesting work of the actual raid.
“Don’t know why you don’t just do them yourself.”
“We won’t be a one ship operation forever.” She nodded and returned the slip. “No math errors this time. We’ll hit the rails properly.”
“You’re certain?”
“When have I ever led you wrong?” She flashed him a grin and popped open the weapons locker. Saber, machete, three pistols, were briefly checked and soon all arrayed on her person.
“I seem to recall an occasion near the Duchy of Missoula that involved jumping entirely over the rails…”
She waved a hand. “Technicality. No one had bothered to tell me we were running seven tonnes light. I’ll not be held responsible for that. My calculations were perfectly sound.”
“Took two years off my life and an inch off my height.”
“T
he height you can afford. You’re a monstrosity. Don’t tempt me to do it more often.” Captain Ramos was quite tall for a woman, enough so that it made most men uncomfortable. Simms topped her by a few inches; some found that comforting before it was made abundantly clear that he was her lieutenant, not the other way around.
She handed Simms his own set of weapons, snapping her fingers at him when he tried to wave off the machete. “Required, Simms. Do stop complaining. It doesn’t suit a man of your years.” She sincerely doubted that any Infected would be encountered on a train, but stranger things had happened in her lifetime. She preferred to not be surprised, all told, and she’d found that it was always best to have a diverse array of tools, whether for engineering a solution or fighting off a ravening horde of Infected.
“My advanced years, yes, not much more advanced than yours.” He hung the heavy, thick blade from his belt.
“Always advancing, never in retreat.”
“Lights even with our position, sir!” the lookout, Gregory Kinzer, called back.
“Excellent, Mister Kinzer.” Captain Ramos took up her hat and slapped it onto her head. “Mister Cavendesh, sound the general alarm!”
“Aye, sir!” Amelia Cavendesh caroled back from the front of the engine. She had once confided in Marta that her original goal had been to gain acclaim as an opera singer. While she had never been entirely clear what had scuttled that ambition, she was still quite dedicated to the cause of keeping her voice in training.
A moment later the lights dimmed, power rerouting entirely to the engine itself as the generators labored, spinning up the automated coal conveyers and bringing the boilers back to full roar. The brass alarm bells pealed down the length of the engine, alerting the crew to secure themselves immediately.
Simms slammed the weapons locker shut, secured it, and hurried to the front, Marta hot on his heels. In the short hall between aft rooms and the cab, the rest of the crew had secured themselves to walls with leather harnesses there for that purpose. Marta and Simms slipped into the last two open spots, hurriedly buckling themselves in place.
