Rebel Fire (23 page)

“Depends on what happens,” Virginia replied. “Why do you think they ran for the train so fast?”

“That's my fault,” Sherlock admitted. “One of them saw me on the street but I managed to hide so he headed back to their hotel. They must have decided to clear out. That's when Matty managed to tell me where they said they were taking him.” He paused, looking around. “There's two spare seats over there. Let's sit down at least.”

The seats were facing backward, away from the group of men who were holding Matty captive. An elderly conductor came by and collected their fares. As they sat, Sherlock glanced out of the window. The train was heading around a curve up ahead, and he could see the engine that was pulling them. Naïvely, he'd expected it to look like the ones back in England that ran from Farnham through Guildford to London, but this one was different. The basic cylindrical boiler shape was the same, but the small funnel that British trains had was replaced with a massive thing with sloping sides, sticking up from the front of the boiler. And there was some bizarre object attached to the front of the train: a metal grille with a pointed front that seemed to be designed to sweep things off the tracks.

“Buffalo,” Virginia said succinctly, following his gaze.

“What?”

“Buffalo. And cows. They wander across the tracks and sometimes just stay there. The train has to slow down and that thing pushes them out of the way.”

“Oh.” He thought for a moment. “What about telling the ticket collector?”

“Telling him what?”

“That Matty's being held hostage.”

“What's he going to do?” Virginia shook her head, copper-coloured hair swirling around her. “The ticket collector's an old man coming up to retirement. He won't be able to do anything.”

The train pushed on. As Sherlock watched, the buildings and roads outside the window gave way to open ground and patches of trees. The bright sunshine made the green vegetation seem to glow of its own accord.

“How long does the journey take?” he asked.

“To Richmond?” She thought for a moment. “The better part of a day, maybe. Depends if we stop anywhere. And we might have to change trains somewhere.”

“A
day
?” This country was
big
. “What about food?”

“There might be a restaurant car at the back. If not, there'll be people selling food in the stations we stop at. The train stops for long enough that we can get off and grab a bite to eat. And we might even be able to send a telegraph message to Pa at the hotel, or via the Pinkertons, especially if we write it out first and just hand it in. Most stations have a telegraph office attached.”

“We'll have to be careful we're not seen,” Sherlock pointed out.

“We'll manage,” she said reassuringly.

Sherlock glanced over his shoulder to check that the men hadn't moved. One of them was coming towards him, down the aisle. Sherlock quickly turned back, hoping the man hadn't seen him. It was Berle, the balding doctor. He passed by, and Sherlock watched his back as he moved off down the carriage. He'd have to watch out for the man coming back in the other direction. He'd be facing them then, and he would certainly recognize Sherlock if he saw him again.

It occurred to Sherlock that the most obvious way to disguise his face would be to turn around and kiss Virginia when Berle came back. That way, all Berle would see would be the back of his head. He turned to Virginia and opened his mouth, ready to propose the course of action. She glanced at him, her eyes bright and violet in the sunshine.

“What?” she asked.

“I was just thinking…” he said hesitantly.

“Thinking what?”

It was a simple thing to say—“I might need to kiss you so we don't get recognized, so don't be surprised if I do”—but for some reason he couldn't get the words out. Her face was just a few inches away from his, close enough that he could count the freckles. Close enough that he could just lean forward and touch his lips against hers.

“Nothing. Don't worry.”

She frowned. “No, what?”

“Really, it's nothing.” He turned away, keeping an eye out for Berle's return. If he saw the man he would just look out of the window or something. He realized he was still wearing the flat cap he'd bought in the notions shop. He could just slide it down over his eyes and pretend to be asleep. That would work. Probably.

He glanced out of the window again. Telegraph poles were flickering past, one after the other, paralleling the track. Idly, he counted seconds between the poles—one, two, three, four—and then again—one, two, three, four. The poles were spaced equally apart, as far as he could tell. If he knew how far apart they were, then he could use the information about the time between them to work out how fast the train was travelling. Not that the information would be any more than just interesting, but it would pass the time.

A small town flashed past, gone as soon as it appeared. All Sherlock had was a sense of low wooden buildings and four-wheeled carts, and lots of horses.

The movement of the train was making him sleepy. He'd used up a lot of energy in running back to the hotel earlier, and the constant tension was beginning to get to him. His body craved rest.

He might have dropped off to sleep for a while, because the next thing he knew he was looking out of the window onto a long drop down to the glittering water of a river. The train was on a bridge, crossing a ravine. From what he could see, the bridge was made of wood, and barely wider than the train.

Virginia sensed his sudden tension. “Don't worry,” she said, “it's perfectly safe. These bridges have been around for years.”

Shortly after that, the train began to slow down.

“Coming into a station,” Virginia said.

“Or there's a buffalo on the line,” Sherlock responded. His mind started sorting through possibilities. Arriving at a station gave them a whole series of options, from just getting a bite to eat, through sending a telegraph message to Amyus Crowe, and all the way to making an attempt to rescue Matty. If they could get him off the train somehow, then they could either wait in the town until Amyus Crowe got to them or they could just get a train back again—assuming they ran more than one a day, or one a week. It occurred to him that he had no idea of the timetables in this country.

“We need to get out on the platform,” he said. “If we get a chance, we need to separate Matty from those men.”

The train slowed down even more. They were passing a huge field of tall plants with bulbous tops. The only fence Sherlock could see stretched from the train line to the horizon. The sound of the train's steam whistle suddenly cut through the air: a mournful hoot like the call of some mythical creature. They passed by a smattering of barns and houses, then more houses, and then a whole town materialized as the train gradually heaved itself to a halt alongside a boardwalk that was barely raised above the ground.

“Let's get off,” Sherlock said as the voice of the distant ticket collector bellowed: “This is Perseverance, New Jersey. Ten-minute stop, ladies and gentlemen; ten-minute stop. This is Perseverance.”

Sherlock pulled Virginia out of her seat and towards the door. Someone outside opened it, and the two of them jumped to the boardwalk.

“You get food,” he said. “You've got the money. I'll check that they haven't got off here.”

The boardwalk was crowded with people in dusty clothes made of denim, cord, or some kind of patterned cotton that looked a bit like a summer tartan. Sherlock pushed his way through them and moved into the shade of a wall. Some people were leaving the train for good, some were just leaving for a few moments, and some were getting on.

Ives exited the train with Matty. Berle, the doctor, was probably looking after the half-mad John Wilkes Booth. Matty was looking pale, but Ives seemed to be treating him reasonably well. He wasn't pushing him around or hitting him at least, but his hand was resting on Matty's shoulder. He pushed the boy towards a row of small wooden buildings, little bigger than a garden shed, that sat off to one side of the track. Toilets, Sherlock assumed. Probably just holes in the ground, shielded for privacy.

Ives pushed Matty into one of the outhouses and closed the door. He stood there for a moment, then walked away, grimacing and holding his hand across his face. The smell was obviously driving him away.

Sherlock ran around to the back of the outhouses and counted along to the one he thought Matty had gone into. The wood at the back was almost rotted away at the bottom. Ives had been right. The smell was nauseating.

“Matty!” he hissed through the cracks in the wood.

“Sherlock!” Matty's voice shouted. “I saw you and Virginia on the train!”

“Did
they
see us?”

“No. They would have said.”

“Right.” Sherlock tested the wood at the base of the outhouse. “Help me make a hole.”

Together, with Sherlock pulling and Matty pushing, they snapped enough bits of wood off to make a hole big enough for Matty to scramble through. Sherlock grabbed his hand and pulled. Within moments the two boys were standing together.

“Are you all right?” Sherlock asked breathlessly.

“Better now.” Matty frowned. “I was scared on the ship, but they treated me pretty well, and they fed me. And I knew you'd come for me.”

“Let's get out of here.”

Together they snuck along the back of the outhouses. Sherlock peered around the side. Ives was still standing off to one side, waiting.

“Where's Virginia?” Matty asked.

“She's getting food.”

“What about Mr. Crowe?”

“He's back in New York,” Sherlock admitted.

“How did that happen?”

Sherlock shook his head. “A whole set of circumstances, all coming together at the same time. It wasn't part of the plan.”

Ives wandered away, holding his nose. While his back was turned, Sherlock grabbed hold of Matty's arm. “Come on!”

Together, the two of them ran across the open ground to the simple clapboard building that housed the ticket office and waiting room. Sherlock led Matty around the side, out of sight if Ives turned around. Virginia was there waiting for them. She handed Sherlock two twists of paper with something hot inside, then grabbed Matty and gave him a huge hug.

“I'm so glad to see you again!” she said.

Matty squeezed her back. “Me too,” he said, heartfelt.

Sherlock peered around the edge of the building. The crowd was thinning out now—people who were getting on the train there had already boarded, and people who were getting off there had already dispersed. Only a few passengers who had got off to stretch their legs and grab some food were left. The conductor was standing beside the train, looking up and down its length and checking his pocket watch. Up at the front, the driver was refilling the engine with water from a tank by the side of the track, raised up on stilts.

“All we have to do,” Sherlock said, “is wait here until the train goes, then we get the next train back to New York.”

“It's not going to be as easy as that,” Virginia warned.

“Why not?”

She pointed back towards the outhouses. “Look!”

Berle and Ives were standing together. Ives was obviously explaining something, and Berle was looking furious.

“They've realized Matty has gone,” Sherlock said. “They'll start searching.”

He was right. Berle and Ives split up, heading off in different directions. Berle went back down the length of the train, looking underneath to see if anyone was standing on the other side, while Ives stalked towards them. No, in fact he was stalking towards the station. He went inside, checking the waiting room.

“Quick!” Sherlock said. “This way!”

He led the other two back towards the train.

“We can't get back on there!” Virginia protested.

“We have to,” he said. “Ives and Berle will check all around the station and the outhouses. If we can get on the train and then off the other side, we can make a run for it, then come back when the train has gone.”

He scrambled up the steps leading onto the train. Virginia and Matty followed. He could sense their reluctance.

Sherlock quickly moved across to the other side of the carriage and tried the handle of the door.

It was locked.

He twisted harder. No result.

Virginia was at the other door. “They're coming back!” she called.

Sherlock glanced down the carriage. “We can get to the next door,” he said urgently. “Come on.”

Fortunately they had boarded a different carriage from the one they had left. As they pushed through the central aisle, past people who were standing up, checking their luggage, or just wandering up and down, they didn't see any of the men they were trying to avoid.

At the far end, Sherlock checked the door leading off the train and away from the station. This one was unlocked, but as the door swung open and he prepared to jump off, he caught sight of the burly, blond Ives standing on that side of the train. He was looking away from Sherlock, out into the countryside. Sherlock pulled the door closed quickly.

Virginia was checking the station side. “The bald man is still there,” she called. “He's checking both sides of the train.”

Outside, the conductor blew his whistle. “All aboard!” he called.

Sherlock's brain was whirling. There was no way off.

“We'll just have to try again at the next station,” he said decisively. “At least we've got Matty off them.”

The conductor's whistle blew again, and seconds later the train jerked and began to move, slowly at first but accelerating gradually. Virginia glanced out of the window. “The bald man has got back on,” she said.

Sherlock checked out of his side. “So has Ives.”

“So everyone's back on,” Matty pointed out. “Great. And I didn't even get a chance to go to the toilet like I needed to.”