The Nine Pound Hammer (13 page)

Ray curled his brow quizzically. “I don’t think it was a
steam drill, Conker. I think that’s just the story people tell about John Henry because they don’t know about the Ramblers. Remember what Hobnob told me? I think your dad and Li’l Bill were trying to destroy the Gog’s Machine.”

“Conker!” Nel’s voice called from outside the passenger car.

Conker smashed around as he stood and opened the door. “Be right there, Nel.” Then Conker turned back to Ray and said, “It still don’t explain why that lodestone led you here.”

“Yeah, I know,” Ray mumbled.

Conker paused as he squeezed through the doorway. “You going back to see that siren?”

“I’d better give her a little time. She was pretty upset when I told her about that Hoarhound getting Li’l Bill. But yeah, I’m going back.”

After a while, Ray’s brain was too heavy, and he left his room. Stepping out into the bright sunlight, he wandered over to where Redfeather was helping to make a repair on the
Ballyhoo
. Because of Redfeather’s skills with fire, Mister Everett had asked him to fix a driving rod that had cracked. Using a piece of burning coal from the locomotive’s firebox, Redfeather could increase the heat simply by palming the coal and holding his hands around the broken driving rod.

Ray was growing accustomed to seeing Redfeather’s
extraordinary ability to handle heat, and he looked about as the boy worked. Si was reading a book on the vestibule above them. Marisol and Seth whispered together nearby, sitting barefoot in the grass. Seth had his sword case open by his leg, the scimitar and the other two blades sparkling in the late day sun. He had begun carrying it around more and more, wearing his turban and caftan even when it wasn’t showtime.

“Here comes Eddie,” Redfeather whispered. Eddie strolled down the side of the train from the caboose.

“So? What’s wrong?” Ray asked.

“He’s been pestering me for my copper.”

“Yeah, I remember Eddie mentioning your copper.”

“I bet he did.” Redfeather shook his head.

“What is it anyway?”

Redfeather motioned with his wrist to a thin, wedge-shaped piece of copper hanging from a necklace. “It was my great-uncle’s. He got it years ago during a potlatch in my village—it’s like a party where if you’re hosting it you give lots of stuff away. Anyway, this copper is how I learned how to handle fire. Protects you from being burned. I’ve learned the magic now. Don’t really need it.”

Ray eyed Eddie coming closer. “He just wants it ’cause he’s always getting burned shoveling the coal up in the locomotive.”

“I know,” Redfeather sighed. “It’s just that Seth …” But his voice trailed off as Eddie reached them.

“Hey, Ray. Hey, Redfeather. Fixed that rod?” Eddie asked. Eddie seemed to have made a valiant attempt to scrub the soot off his face and hands. But even the starched white shirt and crisply creased derby could not hide the greasy film on his skin from the coal fire.

“Not yet,” Redfeather answered dryly.

“Oh. Hey, Redfeather, I was wondering if you’d thought some more about what I asked you, about—”

“Cindereddie!” Seth laughed from Marisol’s side. Eddie winced sharply but didn’t turn. Seth stood and swaggered over with a cocksure glee. Marisol followed him, smiling a little tentatively.

Seth asked, “You think that Kwakiutl copper’s going to keep you clean?”

“It’s the burns,” Eddie said, looking at Redfeather pleadingly, trying to ignore Seth. “Sparks get me when I open the firebox. I get a hundred burns every time we drive the train.”

“I don’t know why you bother to wash,” Seth said, plucking the derby from Eddie’s head. “Just let the grime build up. Maybe a little protective layer of dirt is what you need—”

“Why don’t you shut up?” Eddie said, snatching back his hat. His voice shook and his eyes glowed with anger.

Marisol grabbed Seth’s elbow as he lurched toward Eddie, his shoulders reared back. “What did you say, Cindereddie?” Seth threatened.

Redfeather was concentrating hard on the burning rod in his hands. “I’m trying to work here!” he shouted.

“You—you’re always—putting me down. I—I keep this train going. I can’t help that I’m—I’m covered in this—coal dust. I’m tired of you talking to me like that.” Eddie was shaking visibly and took a step back.

Seth kept coming until he was nearly chest to chest with Eddie. Ray pushed his hands between them. Seth lunged forward again, and Ray shouted, “Enough, Seth! You’re always tearing everybody down all the time.”

Seth looked back and forth between Ray and Eddie, his eyes narrow and steady. Redfeather refused to look up, his concentration seemingly fixed on mending the rod. Si walked slowly down the steps from the platform, her eyes trained on Seth. Seth watched her for a moment and then let Marisol lead him away.

Before he left, he glared back at Ray, saying, “You grunts are just jealous. We get the limelight and you have to watch them applaud for us—for me! You’re nothing. You’ve got no talents. You’re nothing but dirty grunts.”

When Seth and Marisol had disappeared into the passenger car, Ray put his hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “Don’t listen to him,” he whispered.

Redfeather opened his hands from around the rod. The skin glowed white-hot for a moment before returning to a normal pink color. The driving rod had a slight bubble, like an old wound. “Well, I suppose it’s fixed, strong enough at least to get the
Ballyhoo
back on the tracks after tomorrow’s
show.” Redfeather looked up at Eddie, his eyes blinking. “Come see me before we leave. You can borrow the copper for a bit.”

Eddie pulled his shoulder sharply out from Ray’s grasp and rushed off.

Redfeather stood as he watched Eddie leave. “Try to offer a fellow a favor …” He frowned in Eddie’s direction before carrying the rod back to the locomotive.

Left alone in the setting sun with Si, Ray looked at her. Si nodded slowly to him and then went back to her book.

The medicine show performed in Spencer. The show did not meet Nel’s expectations, and he hoped their luck would be better in Georgia and Alabama. After packing up that night, Ray decided to visit Jolie again.

“I was sure you would not come back,” Jolie said, after Ray had closed the door behind him. She sat on the floor with her back against the dresser and her chin resting on her knees.

“I wasn’t sure you’d want me to,” Ray said, sitting down tentatively across from her. “I’m sorry about Li’l Bill. He was important to you?”

“Yes.” Jolie jutted her jaw and nodded. “Like a father.”

“You said Li’l Bill was the last Rambler?” Ray asked.

“After Ferrol and Sanderson died,” Jolie said. “They protected me, along with Little Bill. But they were not around as often. Buck would come and visit, too.”

“But Buck’s not a Rambler, is he?” Ray asked.

“No,” Jolie said. “A Rambler draws his power from the wild. They are skilled in hoodoo magic. They can speak to animals and call upon the elements. Buck has powers, the way he can see even though he is blind. But he does not have powers like Little Bill or Ferrol or Sanderson. Little Bill said once that Buck could have been one, except he lives by his guns. The Rambler has no need for guns.”

Ray thought about that a moment before asking, “What happened to the other two? Ferrol and Sanderson? Did the Hoarhound kill them?”

“No,” Jolie said. “The Gog has many agents. Men who serve the Gog tracked them down and killed them.” Jolie hunched forward, pulling her legs tighter to her chest and letting a dripping tangle of hair fall across her face.

Ray peered through the veil of hair covering Jolie’s expression. He could see the gaunt look about her eyes, as if she had not slept for several days.

“Are you feeling any better?” Ray asked. “Buck said you were sick.”

Jolie pushed back the hair and dropped her knees to the floor. “A little better. Mister Nel is giving me his potions.”

Ray stammered as he asked, “D-do you sleep … in the water? Do you have to be … in there?”

Jolie smiled slightly. “A true siren must always sleep in water. She can never be from it for more than a few hours. Since I am not a full siren, I do not have to always be near
water. I can go longer. I do not know how much longer. I have never really tried.”

Ray felt his shoulders relax, glad he had not offended her. “Jolie, I’m not just asking about the Ramblers because I want to know. My friend Conker, his father was John Henry. Have you ever heard of—?”

“The son of John Henry is here!” Jolie gasped. “On this train?”

“Yeah,” Ray smiled. “So you have heard of him?”

“Little Bill talked about him all the time. He was there when John Henry died. Little Bill helped lead him to the Gog’s Machine.”

“So John Henry did fight the Gog’s Machine,” Ray said. “I told Conker that. See, Conker doesn’t really know what happened to his father. Nel doesn’t want him to know, and he made Buck promise not to tell either.”

“It is wrong that I am telling you? Will Buck be upset?”

“No,” Ray waved his hands. “I think he wants you to tell us. But what I still don’t understand is who this Gog is! You only said he wasn’t really a man. Something about him being made of clockwork. What’s he after?”

“To complete his Machine.” Jolie’s eyes flashed as she spoke. “I will tell you what others have told me. Little Bill and siren elders. They spoke of a time, years and years ago, when sirens lived in many of the wild places, swamps and lakes and rivers. Then the world began to change with machines. Machines running on steam and coal—such devices
that a siren would never understand. As men started clearing land for farms, finding new places to settle, the sirens began to leave for the open water, out to sea, maybe even out of this world altogether. My sisters raised me in the swamps of the Terrebonne, protected, we hoped, from the changing world.”

Ray was listening intently. He glanced down a moment to Jolie’s crossed arms, and saw her fingernails digging against her skin as she spoke.

“Before I was born, years back, word began to spread of a man known only as the Gog, who built machines, but not just ordinary machines. There have been many ordinary machines that have brought no harm to the sirens. They have been a benefit to your kind. And there have been many ordinary machines that have led to our worsening, siren and human. But this Machine that the Gog built was for an evil purpose. It does not just kill. This is a Machine to ruin one’s soul.”

“I thought John Henry destroyed the Machine?” Ray asked.

“He did,” she said. “With Little Bill’s help, John Henry found the Gog’s Machine. He broke it open with his weapon—the Nine Pound Hammer. John Henry died doing this. But the Gog was not destroyed. He has begun rebuilding his Machine. He is making a new and far more terrible Machine.”

“So why is he after you?” Ray asked.

“I do not know,” Jolie replied, fear twitching at her brow. “He wants a siren for some purpose, but I do not understand why.” Jolie leaned forward on her hands. “Bring your friend. I want to meet John Henry’s son. Will you do that?”

“Of course,” Ray said.

Jolie stood and turned to go to her tank. Ray had reached the door when Jolie said, “Thank you, Ray.” She was perched on the top of the glass.

“For what?” Ray asked.

She smiled before plunging into the dark waters.

As he reached the sleeper car, Ray stopped on the vestibule and looked out at the moon rising through the trees. The Gog was after Jolie. They were in danger: all of them aboard the
Ballyhoo
, all these performers in the medicine show, these children of Ramblers.

Ray took out the lodestone. His father had told him it would guide him. It had. He had discovered so much. But what was he to do? His father was dead. The Ramblers were all dead.

An image of the Hoarhound flashed in Ray’s mind, its terrible jaws, the grinding of the machinery beneath its frost-armored hide. Ray shoved the lodestone back in his pocket. The train would set off in the morning, continuing the medicine show’s tour of the South. And somewhere out there the Hoarhound was looking for Jolie.

*  *  *

The
Ballyhoo
reached the tobacco warehouses and factories on the outskirts of Atlanta the following afternoon. Ray helped the others set up for the next show. As he was carrying another crate from the boxcar, Si met him half way to the tent.

She looked around to make sure nobody else could hear her. “Conker says you’re taking him with you to talk to the siren.”

Ray adjusted the heavy crate in his arms. “Yeah.”

“I want to come with you.” She held his gaze firmly.

“Okay,” Ray said. “Tonight. After supper?”

Si’s mouth twitched a moment before she muttered, “Thanks.” Then she turned, whipping the long braid around from the top of her head and heading back to the boxcar.

After supper, Conker and Si waited for him as Ray got the key from Buck’s room. Thunder echoed in the distance, and a spattering of warm rain began to fall. Coming down from the vestibule, he heard the whine of Ox Everett’s fiddle, the
clunk
and
twang
of Shacks and Eddie playing banjo and guitar. The others would be listening to the music in the mess car.

“Come on,” Ray said, and went up the steps to Jolie’s door. As he opened the door, he called inside, “Jolie?”

There was a splash and Ray heard Jolie land on the wooden floor. “Ray,” she said.

“I’ve brought Conker,” Ray said, peering into the dark. “And Si.”

Jolie lit the oil lamp as Conker and Si came in after Ray, their eyes curiously darting around the car. Jolie backed a step away from them, her chin tucked.

Ray said, “Jolie, this is Conker and Si.”

Jolie smiled at Si and then up at Conker. Her eyes lingered on the giant a moment longer, and she said, “You … you are very large.”

Conker laughed his easy laugh. “Yes, I reckon I am.”

“We’re glad to meet you,” Si said, sitting on the floor. The others followed her lead.

“So,” Jolie began. “You are performers?”

“Not Ray,” Si said. “Did he tell you he was?”

“No, I didn’t,” Ray said.

Conker said, “Unless we count that show he put on for Marisol.”