The Flux Engine (18 page)

“You were right about her, Bill,” he said to Hickok. “She’s sharp.”

Robi seemed startled by the praise, but drove the expression from her face quickly.

“You’re right, of course,” the Prophet went on. “That crystal of John’s puts out a strong harmonic signal when it’s used. Ever since it was stolen, my equipment has detected a persistent, low-level reading. Yesterday, that reading spiked right off the dial. Whatever happened yesterday drew five hundred times the power John used to affect all those Tommys.”

John felt a cold lump in the pit of his stomach. The accident with the Tommys had done a lot of damage and it was a miracle no one had been killed. He couldn’t imagine the kind of damage that someone could do with fifty times that amount of power.

“What happened?” he asked, sure he didn’t want the answer.

“I don’t know,” the Prophet admitted. “The reports that have come in say that the northern Dakota area was hit with something, but the reports are garbled at best, incoherent at worst, and what did come through didn’t make much sense.”

The Prophet got up and walked to the Chinese cabinet along the wall. With a practiced flick of his fingers, he touched a hidden catch and the entire front of the cabinet opened up, revealing something that resembled an Etherium Telegraph, but without the big spool of tape to record the dots and dashes. Apparently the device was connected to the house’s steam line, because the moment the Prophet engaged a lever on its side, the device began to shudder and turn.

Whatever the device was, it was far more complex than a simple telegraph. John could hear the crystals as they began to warm up, each coalescing into at least five different harmonic tones. Or at least that’s what it sounded like they were trying to do. About half way along, one of the crystals let out a screech like a rusty nail being scraped across a pane of glass.

The sudden intensity of the sound forced John’s hands over his ears in a partially successful attempt to block out the noise. No one else noticed the ear-splitting racket, but John didn’t expect them to. It seemed that his ability to hear the vibrations of crystals was a unique cross only he could bear.

“I have an agent in the area,” the Prophet was saying, his back to them. “I’ve been trying to make contact with him, but the regular channels are so clogged up that interference is spilling over into my private frequencies.”

He turned to the device, picking up a wand-like device with a mesh of metal on one end and began speaking into it. John couldn’t really hear what he said over the din of the device, but a moment later there was a halting, out of key response.

“Damn it,” the Prophet said, turning an array of knobs attached to the front of the device. Each of them changed the pitch of the harmonic chords, but nothing came close to stopping the screeching from the bowels of the machine.

“I think you’ve got a bad crystal,” John yelled over the noise no one else could hear. All at once, everyone’s eyes were focused on him.

The Prophet stared at him intently, then looked to Hickok. The big enforcer just shrugged noncommittally.

“Can you fix it?” the Prophet asked, his voice barely intelligible over the din.

John didn’t know if he could fix it, but this didn’t seem like the time to show any weakness, so he took a deep breath and nodded. The Prophet pulled the lever that stopped the inner workings of the machine and then pulled open a side panel in the cabinet, revealing the crystal array within. Once he finished, he stepped back and motioned for John.

The shrieking noise stopped when the machine lost power, but John’s ears rang for a good minute afterward. He stepped to the cabinet, trying not to wobble on his feet as the pain in his head subsided.

The crystal box held four distinct arrays along with a number of stationary crystals. It only took him a few minutes of prodding the crystals to find the one that sounded a sour tone when he touched it.

“This one’s bad,” he said, pointing out the offending crystal. The Prophet looked over John’s shoulder at the damaged component and frowned.

“We don’t have a replacement for that one,” he said. “Is there any way you can fix it?”

John wasn’t sure. He’d never tried to fix a broken crystal before, much less make one work in a machine. Still, this wasn’t the time to give up. He needed the Prophet to stay on his side, to convince Hickok that he needed to go along when the enforcer went after the Flux Engine and John’s crystal.

He turned on the machine and waited for the crystal arrays to begin spinning in and around each other. As the broken crystal began its screeching howl, he put his finger on it, attempting to trace the source of the problem. It was a strange experience, like nothing he’d ever done before. As his finger brushed the smooth face of the crystal, he suddenly became aware of the lines of energy running through it. He couldn’t see them, but he knew where they were, nonetheless.

John slid his finger up the side of the crystal, following the lattice of energy as it pulsed through it. It only took a minute to find the problem. A small impurity had formed when the crystal had been grown, so small the Thurger would never have seen it. Despite its small size, the impurity lay right on the spot where several lines of harmonic energy converged, causing it to grow and crack with use, shifting the crystal just enough to render it useless.

If he’d thought about it rationally it would never have made sense, but John suddenly felt that he should try to push those lines of energy. Just nudge them a bit. If he could make them flow around the impurity, the crystal should work. He thought about how it should look and then shifted his touch on the crystal. There was a momentary pressure against his head and then suddenly he felt the energy lines shift.

The crystal shuddered and a ringing crack echoed through the room. When the echoes died away, the screeching of the broken crystal was gone and tight, harmonic tones swelled within the crystal box.

The Prophet looked suddenly shocked but before he or John could say anything, a clear, calm voice spoke.

“Castle Rock,” it said. “This is
Sparrow Hawk
reporting. Please respond.”

Chapter 19

Tactics

The thick Persian rug in the Prophet’s sitting room muffled Robi’s steps as she paced back and forth. His house was exactly the kind she’d have picked for a job under different circumstances. The furniture, the brass, the carpets—everything was of the highest quality. A brief examination of the writing desk had revealed a treasure trove of valuable things: silver pens, a mother-of-pearl snuffbox, a letter opener with an emerald the size of a nickel in its handle. All things decidedly valuable, eminently portable, and easily sellable.

She let her eyes wander around the elegant room and down the various hallways, sweeping finally across the tall bank of windows that let the light come pouring in to fall in vertical shafts on the floor.

Slightly yellow,
she thought, observing the light more closely.
The window’s not glass. Something else. Crystal maybe? Most likely shatterproof—or bullet proof.

Clearly the Prophet took security seriously. She might have enjoyed the challenge if things were different.

But things weren’t different.

Two days had passed since she arrived here and now, in a few short hours’ time, the Enforcer would be leaving to go after the men who’d murdered her father.

Leaving without her.

She’d never been this close to finding them. She couldn’t let this chance to avenge the old man slip away. She had to think.

Take stock of your assets
, his voice echoed in her mind.
Use what you’ve got.

Robi’s eyes swept the room again, finally coming to rest on the white, enameled door of the Prophet’s study. He and Hickok had been in there for an hour, going over what they knew. First, she thought, ticking the idea off on her finger, someone had blown a big hole in the ground of the Dakota wastes and a volcano had sprung up.

Second, that person was on their way here to do the same thing to Castle Rock unless the government turned over a big chunk of wasteland to them.

Third, they were doing all this with something called a Flux Engine that used John’s crystal and presumably a great deal of Flux.

There was more, of course. This morning, the Prophet had been excited about something, but he’d been careful not to let Robi overhear him talking with the big enforcer. Twenty minutes later Hickok had sent orders to Crankshaft to have his airship ready to leave by noon. If she didn’t think of something fast, it would be leaving without her.

You’re not looking hard enough
, the old man said.
Use your assets. Turn the situation to your advantage
.

Robi ground her teeth in frustration, but cast her eyes around one last time. As she swept past the windows, she saw through them this time to the stone balcony beyond. John sat out in the morning sun, the wind whipping his sandy hair, churning it like waves on the sea. Gone were the ratty clothes Robi had stolen for him, replaced by a rust-colored jacket and vest the Prophet’s man had procured.

Her eye lingered on the straight cut of the jacket’s shoulders, then wandered up to the profile of John’s face. Now that he was clean and dressed in decent clothes, she thought he was fairly good looking. She felt the urge to look away, but stopped. The stolen crystal was the only link John had to his past.

He understood what it would mean to her to be left behind.

Her lip twisted into a snarl. John was also the one who wanted her to stay behind so she wouldn’t get hurt.

That’s good. It means he sees you as a woman.

True, but maybe she could make him see her as something more. Morgan and Sira were formidable enemies, to say nothing of their enigmatic leader. Finding them and then relieving them of John’s crystal wouldn’t be easy.

She crossed to the crystal-glass door and stepped out onto the windswept balcony. Her hair, which she usually kept up, flowed away from her like a black ribbon of silk. The breeze was cold and she pulled her close-fitting jacket tighter about her shoulders. John sat at a small table that presumably allowed the Prophet to eat his breakfast out of doors in good weather.

The hard heels of her high-button shoes clacked on the stone floor of the balcony as she approached. John looked up as she came toward him, smiling as he caught sight of her face.

She liked that smile. It was open and genuine, without the least bit of guile or falsehood. John would never make it as a thief; he wore his emotions too plainly on his face.

“Hi,” he said with enthusiasm.

His expression soured a bit as she sat down and Robi made an effort to force the frustration she still felt with him off of her face.

Apparently he isn’t the only one wearing their feelings openly
.

Robi ignored the old man and focused on John. She had to be careful, let him come to the idea himself. If he thought for an instant that she was manipulating him, the jig was up.

“You’ll be leaving soon,” she said.

He nodded but made no other response.

A flash of white-hot anger surged through her and she struggled to keep it from her face. Why were men so difficult?

“And just what do you plan to do?” she asked.

John looked suddenly tired, as if he were carrying a great weight around with him and just now decided to set it down.

“Stop him,” he said simply, leaning back in his chair and rubbing the bridge of his nose …

“Who, Derek Morgan?”

“Whoever’s behind this.” John shrugged. “He’s using my crystal to threaten people, maybe kill people. It’s my fault.”

At these words, anger replaced the weariness in his face and he slammed his fist down on the table.

“If I hadn’t—”

“Hadn’t what?” Robi cut him off. “Hadn’t tried to use that crystal to find your mother? Hadn’t got shot in the chest trying to stop Sira? You’re not responsible for what Derek Morgan or anyone else does with a crystal that they stole from you.”

She reached out and put her hand on his, gripping it tightly.

“What I want to know,” she said, catching his eyes and holding them, “is what you’re going to do now?”

He looked up at her, a strange calm in his eyes. The calm of certainty. She hadn’t expected that. He turned his hand over and clasped hers.

“I’m going to go get my crystal back,” he said. There was a tone in his voice, a tone of power and of ability. “I’m going to make sure no one can use what’s mine to hurt people.”

“Tall order,” she said. “Can you handle it?”

He smiled. A sly, almost crafty look slid onto his face.

“Well,” he said. “The Prophet and Hickok reckon this weapon uses a lot of flux.”

“I kinda guessed that when they named it a Flux Engine,” Robi said with a chiding smile. John’s grin widened and he nodded.

“That’s why there’s been a shortage,” he said. “The Prophet did some checking and found out that the only fluxer whose supplies have dried up is this fellow in Piston Falls, New Georgia. He’s a major supplier, but he hasn’t shipped a drop in almost a month. Now all that flux has to be going somewhere.”

Robi smiled, seeing where Hickok and the Prophet’s train of thought was going. “You think that whoever has your crystal will need more Flux before they can use their weapon again.”

“Right,” John nodded. “All we have to do is find this fluxer and follow his shipment to the buyer.”

“Then what?”

John seemed to suddenly remember that he was holding Robi’s hand, pulling his free a little too quickly. He blushed for a moment, then looked up at her again.

“I was thinking,” he said, pausing as if choosing his words carefully, “that whoever stole my crystal isn’t going to just leave it lying around. If it’s not integrated into a crystal device, it’s likely to be locked up and protected.”

“Quite likely.” Robi nodded.

“I was thinking that I’m going to need a professional to help me get it—maybe even someone trained by the world’s greatest thief.”

Robi’s grin turned into a radiant smile.
The big dope figured it out all by himself.

“Hickok will never let me come,” she said.

“I was thinking Hickok didn’t need to know, strictly speaking.”

“It’s not a very big ship,” Robi said, “and you remember what happened last time I tried to sneak aboard.”

John’s look turned conspiratorial and he leaned forward.

“You talked with Sylvia a lot on the trip here, didn’t you?” he asked.

She nodded.

“All right, here’s what I want you to do.”

She listened intently, her smile of approval growing with every minute that passed. When he finished, she nodded her head in approval.

“All right,” she said. “I like it.”

She pulled a bag of iridescent blue silk from the pocket of her vest and, after opening the knot at the top, dumped its contents onto the tiled surface of the table. Two round cases about an inch in diameter rolled and bounced free, coming to rest in front of John.

“What’s this?” he asked, picking up one of the cylinders and peering at it.

Each one was identical, resembling nothing more than a tiny compass with a crystal needle in it, mounted on a colorful card showing the direction it pointed.

“Do you know what sympathetic crystals are?” she asked, knowing that he did. No Thurger worth his salt hadn’t heard of them, though few possessed the skill to make them. Grown as one solid piece, sympathetic crystals were literally pulled apart into two distinct pieces, each sensing its twin.

John picked up the second compass and watched with wonder as the two tiny needles pointed at each other as he moved them.

“I’ll take one,” Robi said, plucking the nearest compass out of his hand and replacing it in the silk bag. “You take the other. I wouldn’t want to lose you on this trip.”

She rose, tucking the bag back into her vest pocket. “I’d better get going. Thank the Prophet for his hospitality.”

John rose and regarded her solemnly. It was a gesture of respect and concern melded together in a form of chivalry. Whatever it was, it seemed appropriate, so she winked at him over a sly smile and turned, leaving the balcony to the same staccato clacking of her boots that had announced her presence.

O O O

Ten minutes after Robi left the balcony, Alistair emerged from the apartments to inform John that she had taken her things and departed. Half an hour after that, Wild Bill had summoned him and they too had departed. John got a cold chill when he saw that Sylvia had brought the
Desert Rose
up from the town below to a dock on the spire, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

“Piston Falls,” Hickok said in answer to Sylvia’s request for a heading, and within five minutes, the airship floated free of its skydock and headed out into the open air, her propellers churning furiously.

“So what, exactly, is in Piston Falls?” John asked, sitting at the big table in the galley.

“Trouble,” Hickok said, laying a soft cloth on the table on which he placed his gun. He followed the cloth and the gun with a small wooden box, intricately carved and stained and oiled to a dark luster. Tiny brushes, phials of oil, and cleaning rags were contained in the box and Hickok laid them out with practiced precision.

Almost as an afterthought, he removed a similar box from one of the galley cabinets and placed it in front of John.

“Watch me and do as I do,” he said, removing the slug cylinder from his weapon.

“I meant, what are we going to do when we get to Piston Falls?” John asked, starting to clean his gun in a pale imitation of the sure moves and swift strokes of the enforcer.

“Well, there’s a man there,” Hickok said, scrubbing at some bit of filth that lay deep in the workings of his weapon. “Calls himself Professor Tobias Solomon. He runs a clinic for victims of Flueric Hemophilia and he funds it by producing and selling flux. Or at least he used to,” Hickok said after pausing to drizzle oil on a polishing rag. “Solomon hasn’t shipped any flux to his buyers in six weeks.”

“And you think it’s going to fuel the Flux Engine?” John said.

“The Prophet reckons that making volcanoes must use up flux by the gallon.”

“What’s Fluorescent Hemophilia?” John asked.

“Flueric,” Hickok corrected him. “Leakers.”

John shuddered. He remembered the leaker back in the drunk tank in his home town. The leaking disease was a remnant of the great war with Britannia. The poor souls who contracted it slowly lost their own blood as it seeped through the surface of their skin. No one knew what caused it, only that there was no cure.

“Why are there Leakers at a Flux Mill?” John asked.

“Piston Falls is the rail end,” Hickok said. “Razorhorn cattle, sheep, and even hogs are brought there to be transported throughout the Alliance.”

John’s lack of understanding must have shown on his face.

“It’s easier and more profitable to ship them as meat in refrigerated cars,” the Enforcer said. “Piston Falls has a slaughterhouse. It’s small, but there’s enough work to keep it going year round.”

John’s stomach rose up in his throat and slowly rolled over. To replace their lost blood, Leakers were required to drink blood. They could always be found near slaughterhouses, canneries, and glue works.

“So when we get there?” he asked, desperately trying to scrub the image of drinking blood from his mind’s eye.

Hickok opened his mouth, but before he could answer, Crankshaft emerged from the ladder leading down to the engine room.

“We’ve got a full head of steam, but New Georgia is almost a thousand miles from here. If we catch the trade winds, we should be there the day after tomorrow. And we’ll have to stop for water and coal somewhere along the way as well.”

“Good,” Hickok said. “Maybe by then, John will finish cleaning his gun.”