Dead Iron: The Age of Steam by Devon Monk
Rose walked back to where Cedar Hunt slept, and pulled her canteen from her belt and sloshed the water a bit. She uncorked it, took a long drink to soothe her smoke-burned throat, and steady her nerves.
“It’s time we be going, I think,” she said, though she didn’t know who among them was listening. “We’ll need to get little Elbert back to his family and the rest of you somewhere out of the town folk’s eyes.”
Cedar Hunt stirred.
He slowly sat, and Rose watched as a cool breeze brought him to realize he was naked, except for the blanket she had covered him with. He situated the blanket around himself so it covered him in a more civilized manner.
Rose did the proper thing and looked away until he got himself decent. When she looked back, Cedar Hunt had one hand on the wolf who was still drowsing, and was looking out across the rubble, taking in the damage around them. He looked sorely exhausted. Sounded it too.
“Clothes, and food, if we have them,” he whispered hoarsely.
“I can find that for you. You’ll be all right, then, here with the wolf?”
Cedar looked back at the wolf and a serene sort of ease crossed his face. “I’ll be fine. The boy?” he asked, as if dredging deep dreams.
“Shook, but breathing. And Mae’s whole too. Mostly.” Rose nodded. Cedar Hunt’s gaze followed to where she still stood near the water barrels, face tipped to the sky. He swallowed hard and looked away.
Then: “The Madders?”
Rose shrugged. “Ran off into the night as soon as that device flew into bits.”
“Ah,” he breathed. Cedar closed his eyes, and drowsed, sitting.
Rose shook her head. There was no one but herself to take care of things. It wasn’t easy, but she managed to round up a horse and wagon and hitch them up, while still juggling little Elbert. Mae wasn’t in her full senses, but climbed into the back of the wagon, and thank God and glim, Elbert was content to curl up with her.
It took a little more coaxing, but Rose got Mr. Hunt and the wolf into the wagon too. As a last thought, Rose set the railcar on fire—just the one that had held the doorway and those wicked Strange. She wasn’t sure if there was enough fire in the world to destroy that evil, but wasn’t about to leave it out here for folk to find.
She climbed up into the wagon, kicked the brake free, and flicked the reins, guiding the horse away from the rail. The wide cleared area up and down the rail looked like a battlefield. Broken metal, steaming piles of gears, coils, and tubes, carved eerie shadows in the early-morning light. The still forms of dead rail workers sent a chill up her spine. That could just as well be her on the ground, could be Mae or little Elbert. She held tighter to the rifle and headed up the tracks and around the slight curve in the hill. She’d go to Mr. Hunt’s cabin, figuring it was the only home among them that was still standing, and not in plain sight.
Birdsong, late to the morning, had started up slow, but now filled the air. Rose took a deep, full breath, wishing the new morning could clean her of the long night’s pain and fear. But it would take more than a clear dawn to take away this horror. It had been a hard night. Still, her friend was alive, and so too were Mr. Hunt and Elbert. She was grateful for that. Grateful she had lived to see the day.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Cedar Hunt swung down off his horse with a grunt, Elbert in his arms. The bullets had not been properly dug out, but Mae Lindson had done what she could to clean his wounds of the Strange black bugs and oil. There wasn’t time for more. They’d all decided to leave town and head east together, but they’d gone first to Cedar’s house to give Mae Lindson and Wil a roof while he brought Elbert back to town.
Well, while he and Rose Small brought Elbert back to town. The girl had refused to stay behind and had instead ridden alongside him, saying she’d stand up for his character against the crowd if needed. It had not gone beneath his notice that she brought along her shotgun and her goggles fitted tight against her bonnet.
Though she’d been cheerful about it back at the cabin, she’d had no choice but to cut her hair just below her ears, evening the ragged edge the fire had left behind. He couldn’t help but notice how often her fingers wandered to tuck it behind her ears, or drop it forward to try to hide the burn on her cheek and neck, which had thankfully not blistered.
The townsfolk were riled up and skittery, holding to clumps in the street and talking about the happenings of last night—from the witch burning to the rail explosions, likely caused by some sort of malfunction of the strange matics and tickers under LeFel’s lock and key. The townsfolk had quickly cleared out of Cedar’s way once they saw him come riding. Word of the night’s fight with the matics out on the rail had come to town, probably from the surviving railmen.
Cedar didn’t know whom they had painted as in the right or the wrong, nor if any of the men had spotted Rose, the Madders, or Mae, and truth was, he didn’t much care. He’d be riding east. East to see Mae Lindson safely to her sisters she’d left at the coven. Then east to find the universities, the scholars, the devisers, who might know of a way to break the curse he and his brother still carried.
Rose Small stubbornly insisted she wanted to go east too, and when both women had stood side by side against him, he knew there wasn’t a man born who could convince her the road was no place for a lady such as she.
But looking around the town at the suspicious gazes the men and women cast at him, and in equal measure Miss Small, he got to thinking Hallelujah might not be a place for a lady like her anymore either.
They had ridden straight through to the blacksmith’s shop, and word had preceded them.
The blacksmith strode down the main road, his wife beside him.
At the first sight of Cedar and the bundle in his arms, Mrs. Gregor cried out with joy.
Cedar was careful to hand the boy to her, after he dismounted, but Mr. Gregor interrupted his intent, and took the boy his own self. He unwrapped him and pulled up his shirt to reveal his back, scratched and weeping with small punctures, but not bearing the mark of the pentagram Rose Small had told Cedar had been carved into the Strange changeling.
“Papa!” the boy cried, catching the big man in a hug. It was the first word Cedar had heard out of him.
Mr. Gregor pushed him back gently and looked up at Cedar, then Rose. Then he looked quickly away.
“Elbert,” the big man said gently. “This is important, now. Tell me your middle name.”
“James. Like Uncle.”
Mr. Gregor nodded. “That’s right, son. That’s right.”
Mrs. Gregor sobbed, and pulled her son into her arms.
“Go on and take him inside, Hannah,” Mr. Gregor said. “I’ll be there soon.”
Mr. Gregor waited until she was gone, the door not only closed but locked behind her.
“The boy doesn’t seem to remember the last few days,” Cedar said. “A blessing, I think.”
“I can’t be more grateful,” Mr. Gregor said around a catch in his throat. “Mr. Hunt. Name your price and I’ll give it to you gladly.”
“I’m not a man who needs many things. And I’m set well enough.”
“You must take some payment,” he insisted.
Cedar didn’t want to take anything for a job he had already gained so much from—finding his brother. “What happened to the changeling Shard LeFel brought you?” he asked.
Mr. Gregor looked down at his hands clenched together in front of him. “In the middle of the night, it was tearing through the house, wild. Crazy. When it struck Hannah and made her bleed, she thought it possessed by devils and began reading Bible verses while I held it tight and still. When daylight poured in through the window and touched him—it—he turned to a stock of wood.”
He held Cedar’s gaze, as if knowing how mad that sounded.
Cedar adjusted the hat on his head, catching his breath against the wound in his side and the other injuries that had not healed. They likely wouldn’t heal any faster than a normal man’s pains, since th
“Well, then how about you pay me by giving me that stock of wood?”
If the blacksmith seemed surprised, he hid it well. “Follow me—I put it in the shop. I wasn’t sure what else to do.”
Cedar glanced at Rose Small. She shrugged. “I’m going with you.” She marched off after Mr. Gregor, her horse following behind her.
Cedar walked after them, keeping a keen ear out for any sounds of trouble. But all he heard was the sounds of townsfolk, and the hammering of the men who worked for Mr. Gregor.
Mr. Gregor stepped into his shop, where four young men worked hammers and vises. “Take a break,” Mr. Gregor said. “Take your supper early if you want. I’ll tend the fires.”
The men looked over, and gave Cedar Hunt a wary eye.
“Go on, now,” Mr. Gregor said. “Before I change my mind and you’ll get no break at all today.”
The men caught up their lunch buckets and hurried out with little more than a nod to Rose Small, whom, Cedar realized, they must know nearly as well as Mr. Gregor.
Once the workers were gone, Mr. Gregor strode to the back of the shop and pulled the stock of wood from the corner shelf. It was wrapped in waxed cloth, a Bible pressed tight against it. He handed it to Cedar.
Cedar unwrapped the cloth, gave Mr. Gregor the Bible, and tipped the wood to the sunlight to study it.
It didn’t look like a child at all. It looked like a branch that had been debarked and rubbed smooth with oil.
“What do you plan for it?” Mr. Gregor asked.
Cedar nodded at the blacksmith’s forge that was hot enough to heat the sun.
“I think that fire will make sure the Strange can never use it again.” Cedar held Mr. Gregor’s gaze. Most folk didn’t believe in Strange.
But sometimes, some folk opened their eyes and saw, harsh and clear, that the Strange were real. And saw the damage they could do.
“I’ll tend the bellows,” Mr. Gregor said.
He walked to the forge and pumped air over the fire until the coals stoked ruby hot.
Cedar threw the stock into the fire and watched as it burned as quickly as if it were made of paper. The blacksmith stirred the ashes, making sure there were no lumps of wood left.
“Do you think we’ll have worries?” Mr. Gregor asked. “From those sorts again? That they might want my boy again?”
Cedar shook his head. “Don’t reckon you will. Mr. Shard LeFel and his man, Mr. Shunt, are dead. They were the bringers of such things to this town. Make sure word of that gets told. He had dark things locked up in those railcars—any man can go on out and see what’s left of them for himself. Those devices and matics were meant to kill. Now that Shard LeFel is dead, I think Hallelujah will continue on apace with no Strange happenings, though the matter of the rail will be something this town will have to decide.”
Cedar pulled a tuning fork from around his neck and struck it against the heel of his palm. A sweet pure note sang out. “I’ll be on my way, out of Hallelujah, out of the Oregon Territory. I’d like to give this to your son.” He held out the tuning fork. “If ever this note turns sour, you’ll know you and your family are in the company of the Strange.”
“Mr. Hunt, I am the one who should pay you.” Mr. Gregor walked across his shop and, on a high shelf, drew down a cast-iron safe. He worked the lock, then withdrew an item. He locked the safe, and turned.
“This is the Gregors’ seal. Any who are friends of mine will be a friend to you, Mr. Hunt. Any who are family to me will be family to you.” He held out a ring, cleverly carved with words upon the center, and a great bruin bear breathing fire across the outside.
“I don’t think—,” Cedar began.
“You’ll take it,” Mr. Gregor said. “It is the least I can give you for my son’s life.”
Rose Small, who had been silent all this time, spoke up. “It’s a fine gift, Mr. Gregor. I’d wager you have family and friends scattered far and wide.”
Mr. Gregor glanced at Rose and looked like he was going to say something else. But instead said, “That is the truth, Rose Small. You’ve always told the truth.” He took the tuning fork and tucked it in his pocket, while Cedar placed the ring on his left thumb.
“I’m sorry for the way I treated you the other night,” Mr. Gregor said.
Rose smiled. “We were all riled up. It’s not a matter to me now, though I was sore angry at you then.” She laughed. “But thank you.”
“Suppose you’ll come around the house for dinner?” he asked as they walked out of the heat of the shop into the cool afternoon light.
“No, Mr. Gregor,” Rose said. “I’ll be traveling too.”
“Ah,” he said, his hands behind his back. “Send me a postcard when you’ve piloted your first airship.”
At those words, Cedar watched Rose Small light up. “I promise you I will. Might even drop it out of the hatch as I float over the top of your house on my way to China.”
Mr. Gregor chuckled and glanced over his shoulder at his house, restless.
“Well, then,” Cedar said. “We should be on our way, and I’m sure your son wants to see you. Good day, Mr. Gregor.”
“You’re a fine and decent man, Mr. Hunt. And always welcome in the Gregors’ home for generations to come.”
Cedar shook Mr. Gregor’s hand, surprised at how that offer brought a smile to his lips. It had been a long time since he had thought he had a place he belonged in this world. A place he was welcome.
“Thank you, Mr. Gregor.”
Cedar swung up onto his horse, holding his breath against the shot of pain in his side. He pressed his elbow against the bandage bound there beneath his coat, hoping to stem the weeping of the wound.
Rose Small gave Mr. Gregor a huge hug. He patted her fondly on the back and looked up at Cedar. “See that you take care of her for me, Mr. Hunt.”
Cedar nodded. “I’ll do what I can. Though she’s done a fair job minding her own self.”
Rose Small hitched up into her saddle and gathered the reins. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll be enough trouble to keep us both busy, Mr. Hunt.”
“No doubt,” he drawled.
They turned and rode down the main street a bit.
“Did you want to say good-bye to your parents?” Cedar finally asked.
He watched as Rose Small’s smile went from a sparking hot flame down to a lantern’s dim glow. “No, thank you. We’ve had our say. A whole lifetime of it.”
As they passed in front of the mercantile, Rose’s mother came out of the shop with a broom and started sweeping. When she noticed Rose riding past, she stopped and held one hand up, as if to wave. But Rose Small kept her gaze on the horizon, curiosity bright in her eyes, and a small smile curving her lips.
Cedar Hunt was glad it didn’t take long to gather supplies, including Mae’s mule, Prudence, whom they had found contentedly foraging in the forest. He wanted to start on the road today and get a ways from town before the people there decided they were to blame for the rail disaster.
His only concern was Wil.
Cedar finished checking on the mule, his horse, and the horse Rose had taken from the rail. They were on long leads beneath the trees, near enough they could make acquaintance, and far enough they wouldn’t foul each other’s lines.
That done, he stepped into his cabin, pulling his hat from his head as if he were entering a church instead of his humble shack.
There had never been so many people in his house. He paused just inside the door, not wanting to get in the women’s way. Rose was packing the last of the foodstuff from his cupboard and Mae was sitting on the chest she’d dragged over to his cot, checking on one of Wil’s many wounds.
Wil was still in wolf form and sleeping on the cot.
“I think this is about all that’ll take to the road,” Rose was saying.
“Not much for herbs and medicine, though we can probably gather some as we go. Perhaps we can stop in a t
Mae looked away from Wil, and over at Cedar.
“I have,” Cedar said. “They’re about set to go.”
Rose hefted up the two satchels of food. “I’ll just take this out, then. Unless you need me for anything?” she asked Mae.
Mae was still staring at Cedar, though he pretended not to notice.
“Mrs. Lindson?” Rose said.
Mae seemed to come to. “No. I’ll be fine. I’m fine. Go on ahead.” Rose nodded and walked up to Cedar, who stepped aside so she could use the door. She gave him a look as she walked past, maybe a warning, maybe an encouragement. Since she also rolled her eyes toward Mae, all he figured was she was telling him to not bother the widow too much.
Mae had gone back to lifting and replacing the compresses on Wil’s side. The cloths were not as bloody as last he’d seen them.
“How is he?” Cedar walked a short bit across the room and stopped halfway. The memory of her hands soothing his own wounds washed through his mind.
“Recovering more quickly than I’d thought,” Mae said. “The curse at least gives him that.”
She stood and Cedar could see the red line of scratches along the back of her neck, and the stiffness in her shoulders that hinted at more injuries beneath her long-sleeved dress. She’d spent the day working herbs to see to all their wounds, her own included, but it was clear she was near exhausted.
“Do you think he’ll be up for travel today?” Cedar didn’t know why he asked that. They’d already talked it over and decided they’d head out, even if it meant wrapping Wil up and putting him on a sled behind one of the horses.
“I think he’ll be up in the next hour or so. To eat. Then we’ll see how much more he can endure.” Mae finally turned.