“This won’t be the last of this,” he said angrily. He turned to leave, but Kale reached out and caught one of his men by the scruff of the neck.
“Your weapons,” Kale said. “Leave them.”
“But…”
“Do it,” Thane said. “You don’t want to see my friend when he’s angry.”
Again, they looked to their leader. With a grimace, he tossed his baton on the ground. The others followed his lead, and then all four went stomping off across the tracks.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Micah said, sticking his head out of the tender car. Kale raised an eyebrow.
“Oh? And why is that?”
“They’ll come back,” Micah said. “There will be more of them…”
“Let them come,” said Kale. “We’ll be ready.” He turned his attention to the others. “Good job, crew! Let’s get things cleaned up. River could be back any minute.”
They scattered to their assigned duties and left Micah standing in the doorway, shaking his head. “No good will come of this,” he mumbled to himself. “No good at all.”
When Micah finally returned to the library car, he found that it was completely unmolested. Apparently, Burk and his thieving friends had seen no value in the Horse’s collection of books and maps. Micah didn’t know whether to thank his lucky stars or shake his head at Burk’s ignorance.
The halfling climbed the ladder leading into the attic. The trap door opened with a squeal, and he crawled inside. Micah found everything just as he had left it. His papers and drawings were all safely stowed in his desk. His books rested on the shelves, and his bed was tidily made. He doubted Burk and the other scoundrels had even stuck their heads in to see what was there.
Micah opened the bottom drawer and saw a small canister of sweet tobacco leaf resting where he had left it to age. He stared at it a moment, thinking about all that had happened, and then decided what he needed was a nice walk and a good smoke.
“She shouldn’t have gone alone,” he said under his breath. “Anything could happen to her out there…”
Micah tucked a box of matches into his pocket and left the train. He wandered around the rail yard for a while, puffing on his pipe. When he had finished his smoke and still no news from River, Micah decided to explore the depot. After all, what could it hurt? The place was abandoned, and it wasn’t as if the rest of the crew needed his help. They were all just doing busy work, waiting for River’s return.
Micah approached the rear of the building and found a row of tall metal doors standing ajar. It was dark inside, but Micah just happened to have a small, collapsible lantern in his pocket. Normally, he kept the lantern in the bottom drawer of his desk, but after his experiences with the Forgotten, Micah had decided it was a good idea to keep the device with him.
Micah twisted the small metal knob at the top, unscrewing the cap to reveal several circular wire-mesh rings, a base full of kerosene, and a loose wire handle. He pulled upward, expanding the rings into a cone shape. He replaced the top, attached the wire handle, and lit the wick. In a matter of seconds, Micah had a functioning lantern ready to go.
The halfling stepped through the doorway with his miniature lantern held high. The dark, ghostly shapes of locomotives and railcars rose up all around him, and the acrid scent of ancient diesel fuel and rusted metal filled his nostrils. The place was dark and ominously quiet. Crisscrossing railroad tracks lined the floor, and plants sprouted up through the widening cracks in the concrete.
The trains here were different from the Iron Horse, Micah realized. The Horse’s railcars were slightly rounded across the roof and corners, making them aerodynamic and capable of shedding rain and snow. These boxcars were literally boxes. It appeared as if they had been designed for fast and simple construction, with no other considerations whatsoever.
Micah walked closer, examining one of the locomotives. It had a plow at the front, like the Horse, but it was smaller. Then again, the horse was the size of any four regular trains put together. That was why it required two sets of tracks. Micah reached out and wiped away the layer of thick dust, revealing a reflective yellow stripe laid over the once-glossy black paint. Dust wafted through the air, tickling his nostrils, and Micah sneezed.
Micah spent the better part of an hour exploring that massive room. He peered inside the railcars, climbed up onto the locomotives, and even searched a few of the tool cabinets. He found that they were mostly full, though he didn’t know much about tools and couldn’t be sure whether they would be of any use to River or not. Regardless, Micah made a mental note to tell her of his discovery the first chance he got.
Eventually, the sound of raised voices outside put an end to his search. Micah had a sinking feeling in his gut as he crept up to the windows on the outside wall. The windows were just out of reach, so he set the lantern on the floor and clambered up onto an old wooden bench. From there, he leaned up against the windowsill and wiped away the layer of dust and grime from the smooth glass. He leaned in close, just touching the tip of his long nose to the cold glass, and was rewarded with a hazy glimpse of men on horseback with torches surrounding the train.
Micah pressed his lips together. I knew it! he thought. I knew something like this would happen!
He heard the commander of the police force shout an order for everyone to leave the train. He heard Kale’s response, telling the commander to do something with his horse that didn’t sound very comfortable or safe. The commander’s response was to count backwards, from ten to one. Micah wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen after that, because nothing did. The commander shouted out “One!” and then they all sort of sat there on their horses, waiting quietly for something to happen.
Ultimately, the situation was clear. Kale and the others refused to leave the train, and the police had no way of forcing them to do so. At least, not without great risk to themselves. Evidently, the two groups had reached a standoff.
“That’s it,” Micah grumbled under his breath. “I’m going to find River.”
He hopped down from the bench, snatched up his lantern, and went racing through the depot.
Micah weaved in and out between the trains until he came to another room at the front of the building, this one filled with long steel benches and ticket counters that were covered in cobwebs and dust. Micah froze. The spider webs were everywhere. They covered the walls like a film of silk. They stretched across the benches and counters, smoothing the sharp angles and smothering the shapes into grotesque caricatures. They dangled from the ceiling, glinting in the light of his lantern.
Micah didn’t see a single spider anywhere. He had no idea if that was bad or good. Possibly, it meant they were all gone. Or, perhaps it simply meant that they were very good at hiding. The longer he thought about it, the more he wanted to turn and flee.
“Just spiders,” he mumbled under his breath. “I’m sure they’re not the venomous kind.”
Micah had read in one of the Horse’s library books that there were many kinds of spiders in the world. Some had venom, but most did not. Others had venom, but were incapable of delivering enough to harm anything larger than an insect. That didn’t make him feel any better.
In Micah’s home village, in the mountains southeast of Sanctuary, there had been only one notable kind of spider. It was a large, furry brown arachnid with legs the size of Micah’s pinky finger and fangs like a rattler. This particular brand of spider lived under stones and burrowed into holes in the dirt, and it was one of the many reasons that Micah’s people had always lived in trees. One bite from a Brown Lurker was enough to kill three men, and it wasn’t a pleasant death.
Micah had no way of knowing what sort of spiders lived in New Boston. His books didn’t make any specific mention of the place, but then his books were all very, very old; possibly even older than either New Boston or Sanctuary. They were old enough that they made no mention of the Brown Lurker, which made their information suspect. After all, if starfall could turn humans an
d animals into mindless monsters, what might it do to spiders? Was the Lurker the result of such mutations?
Micah took a deep breath to steel his nerves, and took a few steps forward. The cobwebs grazed his face and his clothes, sticking to him, tugging like invisible strings against his skin. He batted them away and pressed on, trying not to look at anything but the doors up ahead. A particularly strong section of webbing latched onto Micah’s hat and pulled it off. As he bent down to retrieve it, his face plowed right into another set of invisible strands. A chill ran down his spine as he wiped the sticky clinging tendrils from his face.
“That’s enough!” he said loudly. He replaced his hat, squared his shoulders, and broke into a run. Micah immediately crashed through one of the dangling webs. The sticky silken threads tugged at his skin and his face, and horrifying visions of spiders creeping up his sleeves and pant legs raced through his mind. Micah put on an extra burst of speed.
After an interminable amount of time (which had probably amounted only to a few seconds in reality, but which seemed like a lifetime to Micah) he finally reached the front wall. This wall was made up of tall windows and glass doors, most of which had been broken, some boarded up. He leapt through one of the broken windows and landed awkwardly on the boardwalk outside.
Micah stumbled, tripping over his own feet as he landed, and went sprawling into the middle of the street. The frozen mud scratched his palms and knees painfully, and the lantern slipped out of his hand and began dripping kerosene. The halfling snatched up the lantern before the flames could spread, and he blew out the flame.
Micah took a moment to catch his breath. He pulled off his jacket and checked himself for spiders as he cleared away the webs. Satisfied that he had made it out alive, confident that he would stay that way for at least a while longer, he put the lantern back in his pocket, donned his jacket, and began his trek into the city.
The sky was already aglow with the light of dawn when Micah reached the alley where River had encountered her attackers. There was a great commotion going on in the area, with several constables investigating the crime scene and a crowd of onlookers who had apparently discovered the scene on their way home from the saloon down the street. Micah steered clear of the area, going down an entirely different street in order to avoid the attention of the officers.
Like River, it wasn’t long before Micah discovered the cobbled streets and wrought iron gas lamps of New Boston proper. Also like River, the simple beauty of the city struck him. It was charming, cultured, genteel. It was unlike anything Micah had ever seen before.
With dawn, the city came alive. Shops and markets opened up. Horse drawn carriages and steam powered coaches rattled up and down the frost-covered streets. Gentlemen dressed in fancy suits and top hats walked arm in arm with ladies wearing long dresses and fur coats.
Eventually, his hunger overwhelmed him, and Micah stepped into a bakery. It was a cozy little place on the corner of a busy intersection. Two men in long-tailed jackets sat at the table by the front window, discussing some sort of business plan. A woman stood at the counter, deep in conversation with the baker.
“I just don’t know what things are coming to,” she said, her accent giving the words a somewhat strange inflection, at least to Micah’s ears.
“Southside has always been like that,” the baker said. “The place is a blight on our city. Something should’ve been done about it long ago.”
“But it’s not just that,” chimed in another woman who had been perusing the bread loaves nearby. “I heard Isaak’s Toy Store was robbed this very morning.”
“No!” the first woman exclaimed.
“Yes, it’s true. Some crazed foreign woman broke in there first thing this morning. She was screaming at poor Isaak, calling him a thief and trying to walk out with that giant blue gorilla he has on display. Rumor has it that she had something to do with that murder Southside last night, too.”
“This is horrible. How can the mayor let this go on, right under his nose?”
“He’s a busy man,” said the baker. “I’m sure he’s working on a solution.” The baker glanced at Micah as if just then realizing he had come in. He looked the halfling up and down with a frown.
“You must be new around here,” he said. “I haven’t seen your type before.”
“Yes, I uh… I just got into town,” Micah said nervously. He glanced back and forth between the baker and the two women, all of whom were staring at him as if they’d just discovered something horrible under a rock.
“Do you need something?” said the baker.
“No… no, thank you,” Micah said, backing towards the door. “I just realized I forgot… something.”
He rushed out the door and then hurried up the street. Micah came upon an elderly gentleman sitting on a bench. He paused to ask, “Which way to the toy store?”
The man pointed him in the correct direction and then glared at him as Micah hurried off. Micah suppressed a shiver as he disappeared around the corner. Regardless of how pleasant New Boston had seemed at first, Micah was beginning to feel unwelcome.
It wasn’t long before he located Isaak’s Toy Store. Like everything else in New Boston, it was big and fancy. It also happened to be quiet. Apparently, there weren’t many toy shoppers midmorning. Micah pulled the door open, and a tiny bell rang.
“I’m in the back,” the old man called out. “Feel free to look around.”
Micah stepped inside. He stood there a moment taking it all in: trains, machinery, automated dolls and animals. In this one aspect at least, New Boston was very much like Sanctuary. Not that Micah had ever actually seen Sanctuary. He’d only heard stories about the wondrous place from the other crew members, but from the stories he’d heard, Sanctuary was filled with similar mechanical wonders, many of them -like Socrates- completely autonomous. Although, unlike Socrates, none of the other machines could actually think like a real person.
Micah wandered through the store, following the sound of the old man’s tinkering to the back room. The door was open, and Micah saw the elderly man sitting at a workbench with his back turned. Sitting on the workbench, was Socrates. The man turned and realized Micah was standing there, watching him.
“Oh!” he said. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen one of your race before. May I ask what you call yourself?”
“I call myself Micah. My race… I don’t have a name for that. I always considered myself human I suppose, but smaller. Some of the others call me a halfling.”
“Yes, of course. My apologies. I don’t mean to be rude. Excuse me for a moment. I’ll be right with you. I’ve just been trying to repair this mechanized ape. It seems he had a rough go of it, before he ended up here.”
“Maybe this will help,” Micah said. He reached into his vest and pulled out the vial of starfall. The old man glanced at it and frowned.
“I don’t understand. What is that?”
“Here, I’ll show you.”
Micah stepped into the room, around the old man. He reached up to touch the hidden lock at the edge of Socrates’ torso, and the gorilla’s chest popped open. The old man’s eyes widened.
“How did you do that? I’ve been searching for hours, trying to figure out how to disassemble this contraption.”
Before Isaak could stop him, Micah extracted the internal fuel cell and emptied the contents of the vial. “He’s not a thing,” Micah said, replacing the canister. “His name is Socrates.” He slammed the chest cavity shut and stepped back.
“Socrates!” Isaak shouted. “You’re with that woman, aren’t you? That crazy young lady who came here this morning. I should have known...”
A quiet hissing sound came from the chimneystack behind Socrates’ ear. A moment later, a puff of steam rose up from the column. The old man’s eyes grew wider. The ape’s eyes made wild back and forth flicking motions and suddenly, he sat upright. From somewhere inside of his body came the sound of a large gear grinding back and forth, followed by a sharp click-cl
ick-click!
Isaak backed away with terror in his eyes. He bumped up against another workbench, and flinched. Socrates turned his head slowly, his dark unfocused gazing staring right through the old man.
“Socrates?” Micah said. “Are you all right?”
Socrates turned to look at him, the irises of his eyes rotating, first left and then to the right. A warm smile washed over his simian features.
“Socrates!” Micah cheered. “I knew you’d be okay!”
Socrates grinned for a split second and then his face went blank. His pupils dilated. He opened his mouth, and Micah heard a whirring sound in the gorilla’s throat.
“Process seven dash four,” he said, staring unblinking into the distance. “Crossbleed redpepper halftrow. Stir twice.”
Micah’s smile vanished. His face fell. “Oh no,” he whispered. “Socrates-”
“Process ninety-nine. Spiral twist pan entry. Red yellow blue. Hello, Micah. Process one twenty-eight, bright grease pumpkin star. How are you?”
Micah blinked. He leaned closer, gazing into the gorilla’s eyes, searching desperately for some sign of intelligence or awareness. The irises spun wildly, the pupils growing and shrinking erratically.
“Process cold star blinking. Process unwind, victory three…”
Chapter 21
River spent her day locked in a jail cell on the second floor of the police station. The cramped space was furnished only with a narrow cot, one blanket, and a chamber pot. The cell had a tall window with iron bars looking out across the city park, toward the courthouse. River spent much of the day looking out that window, watching city workers hang candles and decorations on the trees and lampposts all around the park. They installed a huge red banner at the park entrance that had been decorated with silver snowflakes and an elegant script that declared the words “Happy Solstice!”
Killing the Machine (Aboard the Great Iron Horse Book 2) Page 18
