by Brad R. Cook
Hendrix’s dry cackle sent shivers through me and drew my attention away from Genevieve.
He sat at the table, surrounded by his soldiers. “That’s a good one,” he said as he tipped his Stetson. “I ever tell you about Atlanta?”
Several of the younger soldiers leaned closer to the colonel.
“I was in charge of a gun battery outside Atlanta. It was almost Thanksgiving when General Sherman came to town. One company turned tail and ran. Said they were trying to lead Sherman away, but he didn’t take the bait.” Hendrix drank the last of his whiskey, and slammed his glass on the table. “We tried to hold out, but he was fixing to roll over us.” Then, with audible venom he added, “Sherman and his men had no supplies. They took what was needed. Scavengers, the lot of ’em, and they didn’t leave nothing.”
Hendrix’s men nodded, enraptured by the story. “We fought tooth and nail for days. At one point, we were running low on black powder. I snuck off to procure some from a battery destroyed earlier that day. None survived, and since it weren’t no good to them any longer, I brought it back. One of them pouches rips open as we’re loading the cannon, spilling powder all down my side.” Hendrix ran his hand down the bronze plates. “In our sights, Sherman marched on our position. Before I could command the attack, his artillery found its mark.”
“An exploding shell hit the cannon and obliterated my crew. The powder ignited, along with my uniform, as shrapnel kissed every inch of me.” Hendrix’s words escaped through a low grumbling roar. “I’m on fire, flailing, my arm ripped to shreds, and those damn Yanks just rode on by, laughing.”
The room was eerily silent. Finally, Hendrix whispered, his voice barely audible, “Sherman burned Atlanta, and spent every day to Christmas driving his army to the sea. We were those people’s only defense and we failed ’em.” Hendrix stood and shoved the table away from him, as his men scattered. “I vowed that day I would get my revenge. Never again would I lack the power to defeat my enemies.”
His men cheered.
Hendrix rubbed the intact side of his face, and stood. “You want more stories, find a storyteller.” He pointed toward us. “Keep an eye on those whippersnappers. Make sure they don’t leave this car.” Then he stepped out of the car.
One of the soldiers dropped two pillows and blankets on a chair beside Genevieve and me. His hand ran back and forth over the fine linen, but with a snort, he spun on his heel and returned to the table with the other soldiers. They joked about the trip, and argued over the order of who would watch us. As we slipped deeper into night, they yawned and struggled with boredom.
I leaned into Genevieve and whispered, “We should go lurking.”
She pulled away from the window. She nodded, but turned to see what the soldiers were doing.
“They keep dosing off.”
“Except that one,” she nodded.
“He won’t be long.”
“How do you know?” she whispered.
“Head bobbing.”
She smiled, but stifled her laughter.
Genevieve grabbed her blanket and pillow, and we both lay down on couches across from one another. We moved slowly, quietly, so the soldier would think we were settling in for the night. Eventually, the soldier, too, nodded off, his snoring drowning out the drone of the engine.
It was time; we nodded to each other. She slid over to me and whispered, “We should leave pillows in our place, provide the illusion we are sleeping.”
“Sounds like you’ve done this before.”
“Mrs. Hinderman only opens the door to check on me.”
I got up and piled the cushions and pillow along my couch and covered them with a blanket. Genevieve did the same, and we slipped quietly out of the door toward the car behind us.
A rush of icy wind stung my skin as I opened the car door and we stepped outside. We rushed into the next car to escape the crispness. Inside, we stood on small landing. A couple of steps led down to the gun deck, which was filled with cannon, shot, and sleeping soldiers. They were crammed into the spaces all around the cannons. One even cradled the rounded iron like a pillow.
We climbed up another set of steps to the catwalk, spanning the length of the train car, and slowly made our way across the car. From there, a soldier could climb into the turret mounted on the roof, or shoot out of a number of arrow loops arranged in the armored walls. Thick armor plating covered every inch of the interior, too. This train had been built like one of the Iron Knights. Impenetrable. With a hundred times the firepower. “This isn’t good,” I said to Genevieve. “I don’t know if the Black Knight could stand up to this behemoth.”
“One cannot judge what the armors are capable of. With the Bronze Knight and Iron Templar at your side, you might be surprised.”
About halfway along the catwalk, we looked down and saw a table with maps and other papers arranged in proper order. Three different maps of Africa lay beside one another, along with a diagram of the different vehicles they might encounter, like cars and airships, and a diagram of the Sparrowhawk marked with a red ‘X’ indicating the most vulnerable spots. The third was a topographical map of the African continent. I leaned over the railing in an attempt to read the map and find our final destination, but the lines only showed where we’d been.
Genevieve tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to a fourth map labeled ‘Mineral Deposits’ that lay partially obscured by other papers. “That map shows gold deposits.”
I nodded and pointed to an attaché case lying against one of the legs. It had the seal of Eton College on the front. I pulled Genevieve close and whispered, “They didn’t just kill the professors, they confiscated what they were working on.”
Reaching the end of the catwalk, we slipped out into the night air and into the first cargo car. Large doors ran along either side of the interior. Wooden crates were stacked to the ceiling with a maze of corridors winding between them. Although we didn’t see any soldiers, I overhead a couple of the men discussing their farms back in the Carolinas. These were Hendrix’s men, soldiers who had probably been following him since the war. A war that ended over a decade ago.
As the door clattered open on the other end of the train car, Genevieve and I jumped. My heart rocketed into my throat. Several soldiers entered, and we ducked behind some crates. Genevieve stepped back and pressed herself against me. I wrapped my arm around her waist and we squeezed into the shadow. Her energy mixed with mine, and thoughts of her kiss flashed in my mind.
“This way,” one of them said, “the colonel wants that leather case from the gun car. But like I was saying … don’t be asking too many questions. That’ll be nothing but trouble for you.”
As the soldiers passed, Genevieve pulled away from me and stood up. I reached out to pull her back in, but as she turned and could see me, I pressed my palm against the crate as if getting ready to pull myself up. We slipped into the third car, another passenger car, partitioned by a small entryway. I peeked through a small break in curtains that covered the window in the door. Unlike the Victorian parlor at the front of the train, three cabins lay at the front of this car, with seats arranged in rows at the back. Several soldiers slept curled up on the seats.
We slipped into the corridor and peered through the curtain of the first cabin. Hendrix sat in a chair with his legs crossed on a velvet-covered ottoman reading over some papers, a couple of candles burning nearby. My intrigue at the mechanics of his body never ceased to amaze me. Although I’d been close to Hendrix, I’d never just had a chance to watch how the mechanics of his arm worked. As he read, he stroked his chin, stopping at times to tap his metallic finger along his bronze-plated cheek. The gears connecting his fingers to his arm turned in clicks with each tap of his finger. The part of his scarred face that remained seemed to seamlessly wrap around the metal and make it a natural part of him. Even so, after hearing his story, I almost felt sorry for him.
A soft snore rumbled inside the second cabin, which was dark. Peering into the third room,
I saw a woman in a silk robe brushing her short hair.
Genevieve slid up next to me to peer inside. As she stared intensely through the glass at the woman, I wondered what in the world we were doing, sneaking around on an overly-armored train traveling across Africa—and once again trying to save the world. We should be committed to an insane asylum.
My stomach tightened. The telltale ache, again, like someone reached inside me and twisted my guts. I glanced over at Hendrix. He hadn’t move, so, he wasn’t the cause. The soldiers who were sent to retrieve the attaché case, they would be coming back any minute. This minute.
I pulled on Genevieve’s sleeve. “We need to get out of here. Now.” She yanked away from me, keeping her focus on the lady assassin. I tapped her on the shoulder, grimaced, and pointed to my stomach. Understanding, she looked for a place to escape, but I pulled her backwards into the darkened cabin. I slowly shut the door so as not to awaken the person sleeping within. We hunkered down by the door and remained as quiet as we could, the rhythmic breathing continued to echo behind us. I turned and found Kannard on the fold down bunk. My heart pounded and I only hoped the soldiers wouldn’t knock on this cabin door.
I held my breath as the soldiers knocked on Hendrix’s cabin. Trapped between a sleeping rock and Hendrix’s hard bronze, I thought we be captured for certain, but this was our only hope of hearing the soldiers.
A voice seeped through the door. “The leather case as ordered, sir.”
Hendrix sneered. “Set it down next to my desk and return to duty.” His heavy steps walked passed Kannard’s door. Genevieve and I pulled back, even though the room was dark. Hendrix knocked on the third cabin.
“What?” the lady assassin said.
“Reports are in; more Templars are coming.”
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” she said harshly.
“You betcha,” he said with a raspy chuckle. “Get ’em off their cobblestones and see what good they are? I’ve fought in the muck of swamps and the fine grasses of open fields, so let’s see how they’ll handle the savanna.”
“Then we just have to find Captain Zerelda before the Templars find us.”
“You mean, when the baron finally finds us. You’re always so proper to say Templar, but I hear another word every time. We ain’t going have issues once he catches up to us, are we?”
“That’s not what I mean.” Her voice lowered and sharpened. “Now, let’s go over the plan for tomorrow before the old man gets up.”
Hendrix stepped into the lady assassin’s cabin and closed the door, because we couldn’t hear anything but a low murmur. Behind us, Kannard rolled over and grumbled.
Genevieve dug her nails dug into my shoulder, which was good; it reminded me we weren’t safe where we were and needed to move. I opened the door and we slipped down the corridor. Genevieve stopped in front of Hendrix’s room. I motioned toward the exit, but she shook her head and darted into his cabin.
I rushed in behind her, my heart racing ever faster. Energy pulsed through my body. Every creak from Hendrix’s footsteps echoed through the walls. I hadn’t been this close to death since the Battle of the Thames.
Genevieve quickly searched the room, starting with the table. She picked up a notebook; one edge was stained red, and the writing was in German. She handed it to me and I skimmed the notebook.
“Whose notebook?” she asked.
“A guy named Schoenbruster. It’s his field notes from his third African expedition.” I checked the passage marked with a piece of cord, and quickly read it over. “It’s his report of a strange find in Africa. A large chunk of jade buried thousands of miles from where it should have been found. Wait.” I paused, at first unable to say the words I was reading. “The stone was in the shape of a heart; it was fractured like broken glass but remained intact.”
Genevieve’s voice trembled. “Another heart of the horsemen.”
“I’m afraid so. Come on, we’d better get back.”
CHAPTER 29
DREAMS OF THE FUTURE
We raced back to the forward car, climbing over crates in the cargo car and crawling along the catwalk of the cannon cars. I peered through the window of the Victorian parlor car and saw the soldiers still slept. I turned the handle, and Genevieve grabbed my arm.” Hurry! Hendrix just entered the cannon car.”
I closed the door behind us quietly. We tossed the pillows from our seats, and dove under the blankets. The door opened and Hendrix entered. I stirred and sat up, squinting my eyes as if just waking up. Genevieve remained covered and still.
Hendrix eyed me, but kept moving toward his men. He smacked one soldier in the back, knocking him from his chair, and smashed his mechanical hand on the table to wake the rest. “Did I say sleep?”
“No sir,” they all replied, scrambling. Some of the men stood up. Others rubbed their eyes.
He pointed toward the two of us. “If either of them leaves this car, I’ll tie the lot of you to the back of the train and you’ll hope to hell to keep up.”
I lay back down as if I didn’t care. Hendrix stormed off. Some of the men started playing cards, but soon fell asleep again.
Genevieve peeked from beneath her blanket, got up, and walked over to me. She picked a pillow from the floor and placed it on me. “I want to be close to someone, but decorum …”
“No need to explain.” I scooted back against the cushions, and she lay down with the pillow between us. “I’d appreciate the company.”
She fell asleep quickly, but I couldn’t. Having her close was unnerving, wonderful. However, I hardly wanted my moments with her to be under guard in the Milli-train.
At some point I drifted off.
I found myself flying through jungles and a narrow fissure in the rock, which expanded to reveal the remains of a caldera, the remnants of long dead volcano. Inside lay the hidden city of the sky pirates. I flew as if I was an aero-dirigible. Below, steel clashed with steel. Looking down, I saw Genevieve in a sword fight with a mysterious figure in black. As she cut down her opponent, a second enemy slashed at her, and as she dispatched the foe, a third stepped forward to face her. I wanted to race down and help her, but I was being pulled away from the city until I could no longer see her. I landed in an open field with undulating grassy hills all around. The ground rumbled, and the horsemen pushed up through the soil around me, their iron hooves clawing to get out. Fire rose around them as the wind began to howl. I heard the call of a distant horn. A long note rang from a range of tall, jagged peaks. The biggest mountains I’d ever seen. Dark clouds gathered above and Colonel Hendrix reached through them to seize the Earth in his mechanical hand. He squeezed and the world began to crumble.
When I opened my eyes, I jerked up and flung my legs over, planting them on the floor. I leaned my sweat-soaked brow in my hands and rested my elbows on my knees, trying to regain my composure. After a minute, I realized Genevieve was back on her couch, covered and sleeping soundly. I sighed, thankful I hadn’t disturbed her.
Genevieve popped up. “Are you okay?”
“I had a dream … a vision. Like last year.”
“What did you see?”
“You, fighting three duels.”
“Me?”
I nodded. “You defeated the first two.”
She smiled. “And the third?”
“I don’t know. But, I think the horsemen are back.” I gripped the edge of the couch and looked over at Genevieve, questioning. “What if the oldest source of the horsemen’s power wasn’t the most powerful?”
“What do you mean?”
“What if Schoenbruster found a horseman’s heart more powerful than the urns on Malta?”
Terror filled her eyes. We’d barely defeated the horsemen last year. In truth, we’d only defeated one of the four when Genevieve thrust her Iron Knight’s sword into the Iron Horseman of Plagues, destroying its cannon and exposing the urn within—the heart of the horseman. If they’d found a more powerful source of the horsemen’s power, we w
ere in even more trouble.
Genevieve let out a deep breath. “Terrifying.”
All I managed was to nod in agreement.
Then, as if trying to lighten our mood, she said “Three duels, you say? I suppose I should start practicing.”
I chuckled. Only Genevieve and the baron would look forward to duels.
The soldiers never brought breakfast, but shortly after midday, Hendrix came in and sat at the table on the other end of the car. The lady assassin joined him, and then slaves entered with trays of food and set them down. Every tray that passed by me smelled more delicious than the one before, and my stomach protested loudly.
Hendrix waved his hand. “You two come and join us.”
I hesitated, despite my stomach growling.
“I know you’re hungry,” he said. “There ain’t no strings attached. You’re my guests; I’ll not let you starve.”
Genevieve stood and bowed. She walked over and sat down, choosing a seat opposite and as far away from the lady assassin as possible. I slowly approached the table and had to choose one of the last two remaining chairs. One next to the lady assassin. The other beside Colonel Hendrix. Not much of a choice. I either sat within easy poisoning distance of the woman, or next to the man who kept trying to kidnap me. I sat beside Hendrix.
A buffet of sliced meats, cheeses, and breads, along with dishes of chicken and beef lay before us. And pie. There were no less than five choices. I ate a piece of each.
In between bites, the colonel asked, “So, what do you think of my Milli-train, Mr. Armitage?”
“It is fearsome,” I said, then quickly added, “at least what I’ve seen of it.” Genevieve shot a wary glance in my direction. “I must commend your ingenuity.”
