Cold Copper: The Age of Steam (25 page)

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 her 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 look 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.

Then Hink’s hand was under hers, supporting it. “Are you sure, Rose?”

She pressed her lips together and was surprised to feel a tear at the corner of her eye. Maybe she’d been sitting there, unbuttoned with the odd device in her hand for more than a moment.

She didn’t know why she heard this metal so loudly in her mind. She only hoped that when she placed it between the cloth of her blouse and her underdress it would be dampened enough—and not touching her skin—so she didn’t hear it at all.

It wasn’t easy, but then, she’d done plenty of other difficult things. Finally, she got the copper tucked into her blouse and the back of her collar buttoned up again. The wagon had already stopped moving and she wasn’t done buttoning her coat.

Her fingers flew through the closures, hoping she lined the holes and buttons up straight.

“How do I look?” she asked Hink.

He visibly swallowed. “Beautiful.” And then he bent down, and right there, in front of Mr. Wicks, he made to kiss her.

Just then, the door was thrown open and Hink pulled away.

It took Rose more than a bit to get her breathing under control, and all the heat in her cheeks had migrated down her chest and stomach, even though he hadn’t even kissed her.

“Get out,” the man outside ordered.

“You sure your mind’s made up?” Hink asked Wicks. “There’s only five of them.”

“Quite sure,” Wicks said a little stiffly.

And then Wicks ducked out of the wagon, and Rose was right behind him. Hink was last out and, true to his word, went with the men peacefully.

The jail wasn’t as large as Rose had expected. She’d never been to a big-city jail before, but had hoped it might be several stories tall, and trimmed up with all the bric-a-brac the rest of the city seemed to be dripping with.

No, this was a short, square brick building, with narrow windows and a door made out of metal.

They were brought inside and quickly marched past several cells occupied by rough-looking men who hooted and whistled as she passed by.

Hink and Wicks were shoved into one cell, and when Rose went to step in, the sheriff pulled on her arm.

“You’ll be in a separate cell,” he said.

“Plenty of room for her in my cell, Sheriff,” one of the prisoners yelled. “You know you want me, pretty thing. Come on in and let me get a good look at you.”

“Touch the lady and I’ll be shoveling you into your grave before sunset,” Hink said calmly.

The bars slammed shut behind Hink, and Rose was pushed down the hall farther.

To her left was another cell with a big brute of a man who paced and mumbled what sounded like the Lord’s Prayer to himself; then the next cell held a man lying on a crude cot.

He seemed to be of native blood, though he wore the styles of a white man. He appeared shirtless beneath a blanket tossed across the middle of his body. He also looked pale and sick, and there was a pool of blood at the side of the cot.

He was dying.

But before she could even see the all of him, she was shoved into the next cell and the bars were snapped shut behind her.

“Wait,” Rose said. “Please.”

The guard had taken several strides down the hall, but turned and looked at her. “What is it?”

“The man in that cell we passed. I think he’s badly hurt.”

“He is,” he said. “But if I were you, I’d worry about your own business.”