Cold Copper aos-3

by Devon Monk

  “Yes,” Rose said quickly. “We are.” She walked off to the back of the wagon, a smile set on her face in hopes it hid the fear clogging up her throat.

  Please don’t start a fight, she thought desperately. They were outnumbered, outgunned, and so far outside of any civilized part of town, they could be shot and kicked down that shaft, which would put a short end to all their adventuring days.

  She had a lot of the world left to see, and watching Hink get killed over whether or not he should get in a wagon was one sight she intended to avoid.

  He finally turned and walked after her, his boots crunching through the layer of tamped snow. Wicks was ahead, between the two men who stood at the back of the wagon. He nodded to the men and stepped up into it.

  Rose climbed into the wagon next. It was dark, windowless, stank of old beer, sweat, and leather. The floor was wood, and there were benches along two walls. Wicks sat on one side and Rose settled across from him.

  The wagon springs dipped as Hink climbed up the step. His wide bulk blocked out what little light there was coming in from the open doors. He ducked low and swung onto Rose’s bench, nearest the door.

  The doors slammed shut behind them, punctuated by the slide and clank of a bar being thrown across to keep them locked.

  “We could have taken them,” Hink said quietly. But there was no chance anyone would hear him. The steam boiler kicked up, starting the wagon to squeaking and rocking over the uneven ground. He could probably yell and not be heard by anyone outside the vehicle.

  “No,” Mr. Wicks said. “We couldn’t. You may be a fast draw, Marshal, but we were outgunned in close quarters. And besides, this suits our needs all the better.”

  “What needs?” Rose asked.

  “There has been information coming out of these parts that the Vosbrough family is gearing up to make a move against the United States government. We don’t know how, and we don’t know when…”

  “. . .or where, or who, exactly,” Captain Hink added, “or even why. So basically, we know squat. And squat ain’t nearly enough to die for.”

  “What we know,” Wicks said with cool disapproval, “is that the Vosbroughs are involved, and are likely the figureheads and money behind the unrest. They are gathering glim, through legitimate and illegal suppliers.”

  “I shut down Alabaster Saint’s operation,” Hink said.

  “I read the report. Nasty business. Torture.” Here he went silent, and Hink just returned his look with his single, remaining eye.

  “Yes,” Hink said, “it was.”

  “Don’t you see?” Wicks said, leaning forward a bit and using his hands as he spoke. “This is a perfect chance for a face-to-face meeting with the mayor, Vosbrough.”

  “Because he’ll think favorably of us trespassing in his warehouse. A warehouse that contained more than a thousand trapped Strange?”

  “What?” Wicks asked.

  “Did you look at those glass-and-copper globes?” Hink asked.

  “Well, it was dark.”

  “They were filled with Strange. Each and every one of them.”

  Wicks didn’t say anything for a moment. Outside the wagon, the sounds of the working city grew louder and quieter as they made their way through streets. The yells of a news hawker and of a fishmonger, the hammering of a smithy, the clanging chains of horses and wagons, and the puff and bells of steam matics all navigated in such a tight space made Rose wish there was a window in the wagon. Des Moines would have been the largest city she’d ever seen. If she could have seen it.

  “Why?” Wicks finally said. “Why capture the Strange? And how, for that matter?”

  “Maybe you can ask the mayor,” Hink said. “I’m sure he’d be happy to just spill it all out for you.”

  “Batteries,” Rose said. “That’s what the man on the train told us it was. Somehow the Strange and the glim in those globes make batteries.”

  “Power storage for glim?” Wicks shook his head. “I don’t understand that at all.”

  “Think of it as a watch that doesn’t need winding because glim sees to the powering of it,” Rose said.

  “Watches?”

  “No. I don’t know what the batteries are powering, exactly.” Here she glanced at Hink.

  They had an idea: the battery fit in the puppet man they had pieced together. If the Strange could be somehow used to power that creature. To work as a heart or drive a spring…

  Rose wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold. She’d seen what Strange did when they took over dead bodies. They killed, devoured, tortured. And if they had puppet bodies, would they do the same?

  Why would anyone want to use the Strange as a power? Or maybe the use of the Strange drained them and killed them.

  “What have you heard about the Vosbroughs raising forces?” Captain Hink asked.

  It looked like he’d given up on believing Wicks was lying about being on the same side of the law. Either that or he was doing what he always did: gathering information on the glim trade, the Strange, and other unlawful things.

  “Not much,” Wicks admitted. “We know Alabaster was raising men and dealing in glim trade he transported by air. One of the main drop points was Cedar Falls, just west of here and easy rail to Des Moines. If those copper globes were filled with glim, it likely came from the western mountains to Alabaster, then by airship to train, and train to here.”

  “Are all the Vosbroughs set up in this town?” Hink asked.

  “No. Killian is here. His brother is in Chicago and sister is in New York.”

  Hink nodded. That was something he seemed to already know. Rose wondered why he didn’t tell Wicks about the puppet, the possible homunculus, but maybe he was smart not to do so. Wicks had fooled her before; she wasn’t feeling favorable to trusting him again so quickly.

  “Any news on what the Vosbrough siblings are doing, specifically?” Hink pressed.

  Wicks shook his head. “Nothing the papers wouldn’t print.”

  The wagon jerked and came to a full stop. Moments later, the bar was lifted from the doors, and when the door was opened, the full light of dawn freshened up the darkness. Rose held her hand over her eyes to block the worst of the glare.

  And saw the row of men outside the wagon, all armed, all wearing green and gold with armbands embroidered with the initials VB. A personal guard? Or maybe just the town police? She didn’t know.

  “This way.” It was the same dark-eyed man from the warehouse.

  Hink sighed, as if tired of the whole thing, slapped his thighs, and then stepped out of the wagon, being sure to stretch up to his full six-and-a-half feet.

  The men in the line below gripped their guns a little tighter. Hink could be an intimidating presence when he wanted to be.

  “Fine city you got here,” Hink said. “Real nice welcome a fellow gets, plus a free ride to town.” He stepped down to the ground and held his hand out. Rose took his hand and walked down the steps. She tried to smile, but couldn’t hide her worry.

  That was a lot of firepower pointing at them. She heard Wicks climbing out of the wagon, but her eyes were suddenly too full of the sights to pay him much attention.

  They were standing on a lovely street with brick buildings that reached high enough to scratch the underbelly of heaven. Windows lined the buildings in neat rows, trimmed with scrolling edges and woodwork. And all the way down the street, she could see people in winter coats and bright scarves hurrying here and there. Some stopped to stare at them curiously. Women in fine wool and furs, men in sharp hats, and lots of working folk too, in heavy boots and practical headwear to ward off the cold.

  At the farthest end of the street, hovering over the building like a child’s kite, was a plump little airship. It was tied by cable to the street, and its open-deck gondola showed cargo being lowered by rope and pulley—bags of grain and barrels of oil or maybe wine—to the building below it.

  It was a loud, busy, exciting place, and even though she should fear for h
er very life, she couldn’t tamp the thrill out in her heart. This was such a grand sight; something she’d never seen before, never known before. The giddy rush of it warmed her like a fire against the winter.

  A city. She, Rose Small, was standing in a city.

  “Rose,” Hink said softly.

  She looked away from the wonders and to him. He spared her a slight raise of eyebrow and smile. He knew how much this meant to her. He knew how much she loved seeing the world. And would willingly spend her whole life seeking out and unwrapping new bits of it to savor.

  “This way,” he said.

  That’s when she noticed Wicks and four or so men were already walking into the building they had stopped in front of. Hink started off toward it, and she went with him.

  “What did I miss?” she whispered as the men closed in behind them.

  “Just that we’re to meet the mayor.”

  “Oh,” she said. And the wonder and excitement went cold under that notion.

  She stepped through the door and into a carpeted room with walls painted cream and blue, broken up a bit by oil portraits framed in gold. The ceiling was made entirely of copper, and buffed to an ember shine.

  It appeared to be a large meeting room or a place where official business might be conducted. A slab of wood the color of rubies filled the center of the room, with ornate chairs set around it. A small desk rested in the corner of the room, and from that desk, a twist of copper cables the size of her arm attached to the wall near a window. A telegraph station was set up on the desktop and a box with other levers and curious switches stood nearby.

  But for all the grand nature of the room, it was the man who sat at a kingly desk at the far center who caught her eye.

  “Well, well. What do we have here, Sheriff?” he asked in a friendly tone.

  The man was of medium height, blond hair caught in a curl beneath his ears, and nose broken and healed at least once. He smiled from behind his desk, and leaned forward a bit in his chair, propping his elbows across a spread of paperwork. One of his hands was bandaged and it appeared his other was rather badly bruised.

  Looked like he’d recently been in a fistfight, even though he was dressed in a fine brown pinstripe suit with fur trim at the lapels that probably cost more than all the belongings Rose could call her own.

  “Mayor Vosbrough, we found these people in the warehouse by the ship fields.”

  “Really? Where exactly?”

  “Underground.”

  The mayor’s friendly smile tightened along with his eyes.

  “Who are you, friends, and why were you on my private property?” he asked.

  “Sir, Mayor, sir,” Wicks said, walking forward and offering his hand to shake. One of the sheriff’s men stood in front of him, blocking his approach.

  “I am Thomas Wicks,” he said, dropping his hand and giving a nervous smile. “Very pleased—no, honored—to be in your presence.” He bowed.

  “I like your manners, Mr. Wicks,” the mayor said. “Thomas, was it? But I don’t stand on such formalities here. Come on up closer. We’re all friends.”

  The gunman moved aside and Wicks pulled off his hat and held it in front of him. “I do hope we haven’t offended you in any way,” he said. “We just came into town, and got turned around by the weather while looking for lodgings.”

  “It has been cold out, terribly so,” Vosbrough agreed. “And I suspect you only dashed into the warehouse to duck the wind. Is that the story you’re going to tell me, Mr. Wicks?”

  Vosbrough was still talking like they were the best of friends, but there was a hard glitter to his eyes.

  “Well, it’s…it’s the truth,” Wicks said, doing a damn fine impression of a man who was flustered and confused and nervous.

  Rose might hate that he had fooled her with his acting, but right now she sincerely hoped he could do the same to Vosbrough.

  “And you, sir? What’s your name?”

  “Captain Hink, of the airship Tin Swift.”

  The mayor paused. “I’ve heard of the Swift. Rumor is she’s fast.”

  “There isn’t a ship faster that burns the sky.”

  “What are you doing in my fine city, Captain?”

  “We ran into some trouble back out Oregon way,” Hink said. “Looking for some parts to repair my ship.”

  “You’ve come a long distance for a bolt or cog,” Vosbrough noted.

  “Don’t need a bolt or cog. I need a deal.”

  Wicks frowned, looking genuinely confused this time. Rose tried not to bite her bottom lip or otherwise look concerned. She had no idea where Hink was going with this.

  “A deal? With whom?”

  “You, Mayor. I’ve got the fastest ship in the western sky, can harvest more glim in one haul than any of the bigger blowers, and am in need of money for repairs.”

  Vosbrough sat back and a grin spread wide on his face. “You came here to ask me for money?”

  “I came to make a glim deal. Heard it’s the sort of business a smart man like you might be interested in.”

  Vosbrough’s grin remained, but he pressed all his fingertips together while considering Hink over the top of them. “Am I to assume you intend to trade via legal channels?”

  “Not all the men who fly the skies are pirates,” Hink said.

  “Rather high percentage, I’m given to understand,” Vosbrough said.

  “Takes all sorts to make the money go round,” Hink said. “So are we doing business?”

  “True. So very true,” Vosbrough said. “You know what? I like you too, Mr. Hink. But I’m afraid I can’t do business with glim pirates. Sheriff, lock them up.”

  “What?” Wicks said. “In jail? Hold on, Mayor. You must understand I am in no way associated with that man.”

  “I do not care, Mr. Wicks. You were trespassing on my property with intent to do harm, I can only assume. Be happy it’s only jail time you’re serving. We have a brand-new gallows built in the central square. And people do enjoy a good hanging.”

  The sheriff’s men moved in and Rose glanced up at Hink, then over at Wicks, to see if they had some kind of plan she didn’t. Neither of them said anything. So she did.

  “Who is the gallows for?”

  The mayor turned and looked at her. Maybe for the first time. She had to admit that her coat was loose, having lost her belt, and her skirts were dirty and tattered at the hem. She wore a practical hat a cowboy might find himself comfortable doffing.

  She was no vision; that was certain.

  Still, his eyebrows went up, as if he’d just noticed two things: that she was in the room and that she was, indeed, a woman.

  “My apologies, miss. But I doubt you know them. Set of murderous brothers. Real rough lot. Go by the name of Madder.”

  Rose was very careful not to let her shock show. “Well, God be with them,” she said quietly.

  Vosbrough looked between her and Hink, who stood closest to her. Hink’s arms were crossed over his chest. It didn’t take a genius to read what he was thinking while he glared at the mayor.

  “God gave up on them years ago,” Vosbrough said with a sigh. “Pity to see three lives wasted. Still, it’s my place to see that justice is done and they are sent down to the fires they crawled out of. Take them,” he ordered.

  Hink and Wicks exchanged one brief look, and then neither of them put up a fight as they were pushed back outside. The lawmen didn’t touch Rose. They simply pointed to the door, as if she were a child who needed instructions on how to get out of the place.

  Once outside, they were shoved back into the steam wagon.

  “Do you have a plan?” Rose asked.

  “Escape sounds good to me,” Hink said. “When they open the door, I’ll take the first one and get his gun.”

  “You’ll die.” Wicks sighed. “Sometimes the best plan isn’t to attack directly.”

  “Was your plan working any better?”

  “Got a look at him at least,” Wicks said. “Got a l
ook at his forces, the setup of communication. He’s wired the entire town with cables. Also noticed he’s a bit roughed up—that’s interesting. So I wouldn’t say it was a complete loss. But as for our escape, we’ll watch for a chance and we’ll take it. But our chance does not involve rushing a half-dozen armed men. Do you understand me, Cage?”

  “You are not my boss,” Hink said.

  “What about the Madders?” Rose asked.

  “What about them?” Wicks asked.

  “They’re friends of ours.”

  “Friends?” Wicks sat up straighter.

  “Acquaintances,” Rose corrected. “We have to save them.”

  “That’ll be a mite hard if we’re behind bars,” Hink said.

  “Maybe not,” Rose said. “Do you still have the copper battery?”

  “Think so.”

  “Battery, what battery?” Wicks asked.

  Hink pulled the glass-and-copper device out of his pocket.

  “You have a battery?” Wicks said again. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a battery?”

  “Because it is none of your business.”

  “That’s stolen property. And it’s proof. What part of that isn’t my business?”

  “The part where I said it ain’t.”

  “Let me carry it,” Rose said. “They might search you, but there’s less of a chance they’ll make me strip to my underdress.”

  Hink tipped his head down just a bit. “So. You’re going to strip now?”

  “No.” Rose was busy unbuttoning her coat, and then the back of her collar so she could stuff the thing down her blouse.

  When Hink didn’t say anything, she glanced up at him. “Well?”

  “I was just waiting to see where you were going with this,” he said, giving her a knowing smile.

  “I’m going to drop it down my blouse. It should…fit.” Rose was blushing madly now, her cheeks so hot they stung. She just hoped the dark interior of the wagon didn’t show it.

  “Maybe I can be of some assistance? I’m a deft hand with buttons.”

  “No.”

  Wicks snorted.

  Hink handed Rose the copper device and she was once again caught by the song of it, by the cold of it, by the possibilities of what it could be. Glim and cold copper and Strange, bound by witch’s spells. Her hand was shaking, though she’d only been holding it for a moment.