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Authors: Gail Z. Martin

Tags: #Urban Fantasy

Iron and Blood (56 page)

BOOK: Iron and Blood
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“W
ELL, WHAT DO
you know about that?” Nicki mused aloud in the parlor of the Desmet home. She set aside the newspaper and looked to Catherine and Jake. “They’re calling it the Great Vesta Strike of 1898, and by all accounts, everyone says it will be one for the record books.” She chuckled. “Amazing how people can just un-see the supernatural things they can’t explain. There’s not a word anywhere about killer ghosts or hell hounds. Imagine that!”

“Good thing we were nowhere nearby,” Jake replied, leaning back in his chair. Days later, he was still sore, and all the scotch in the world was not going to erase the nightmares.

“I wager Richard Thwaites wishes he hadn’t been in town,” Nicki said.

“Imagine getting caught in the middle of a deal with such disreputable buyers—and by the Department, no less,” Cady added.

“That’s something we won’t be reading about. But the muckraking reporter who ran so many articles on the Night Hag murders and the ‘Totems and Idols’ exhibit at the museum did manage to get a solid scoop on some real criminal activity,” Nicki continued. “Seems he was a friend of Ida Tarbell’s, and when Miss Tarbell visited Aunt Catherine—while we were off doing everything else—she happened to meet him, and she had the clout to get the reporter’s story taken seriously. What with all those charred bodies at the mine, and documents suggesting Thwaites had those unsavory Tumblety and Brunrichter characters on a hidden payroll and records of payoffs to the police…”

“Don’t forget the miners picketing his house and the feeding frenzy of reporters and photographers that kept him pinned inside, until the government filed their unlawful mining charges,” Catherine said with dubious innocence, as she reached up to secure the hairpins in her chignon.

“You put Ida Tarbell onto Thwaites, didn’t you?” Jake said, unsure whether to be proud or horrified.

The ghost of a smile touched Catherine’s lips. “What are old friends for?” she replied with a sidelong glance at Wilfred. The butler’s expression was utterly unreadable. “I just dropped a few hints, and passed along some typed notes recalling some of Thwaites’s scandalous behavior, things everyone in our circles knew but no one said aloud.”

“Aren’t you worried someone will trace it back to you?” Rick asked.

Catherine chuckled. “Hardly. Thwaites was a bully and a womanizer; if every jilted suitor and wronged young lady’s father were asked to stand in line for a shot at him, the queue would go around the block. It’s just that the gossip hadn’t traveled outside of certain social circles.”

George and Rick occupied two of the other parlor chairs, and like Jake, they each had a glass of fine scotch to celebrate the occasion. The bottle of expensive scotch sat on a side table, a gift from Adam Farber, in thanks both for his new secret lab and for the stash of tourmaquartz Jake and Rick had managed to grab just before they had fled the mining compound.

“Veles and the Oligarchy really hung Thwaites out to dry, didn’t they?” Rick said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “The gossip rags have made a hash of his reputation, the photos are there for all to see, and now that the government has pressed charges, odds are he’ll be occupying a cell at Western Penitentiary for a very long time.”

“Everyone’s talking about it,” Nicki said. “Poor boy. I suspect his career prospects have dimmed—not to mention his marriage prospects.”

“Tesla-Westinghouse and their clients are beside themselves now that Adam Farber turned up alive,” Rick noted. “Seems they also found a trail of paperwork implicating Adam’s supervisor and that shady assistant in Thwaites’s schemes. And if the Department saw or suspects anything about the Tesla ray incident at the mine, well, they’re not saying.”

Jake took a sip of his scotch and let it burn down his throat before he replied. “Actually, Adam filed a police report as soon as he got back to the Castle. Said he went through the rubble and found that several of his experimental machines had been stolen.”

“Imagine that,” Catherine remarked with a sly smile, not looking up from her needlepoint.

“Oh, and Dr. Nils sent word to the office that his staff found a couple more Brand and Desmet boxes that were delivered to the museum by mistake… all from the Krakow-to-Paris run,” Jake said, shaking his head.

“Did Cullen get the
Allegheny Princess
patched up?” George asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Rick replied. “Good as new. After all, the
Princess
is his baby. If he hadn’t been able to outrun those Department airships, I think he would have rammed them.”


Mon Dieu
!” Nicki exclaimed, fanning herself with exaggerated horror. “I thought we were goners.”

“Danny Maguire sure came out smelling like a rose,” George observed, pointing to the newspaper Nicki had discarded. News of the mine disaster had dominated headlines for days, and speculation about the cause of the blast fueled rumors each more fantastic than the last.

George picked up the paper and pointed to a large photograph of ‘Dynamite’ Danny Maguire, with a headline proclaiming him ‘New Pittsburgh’s Little Giant’.

“Seems like Maguire is getting credit for setting the Pinkerton boys back on their heels,” George continued. “He’s won a blow for labor, and folks are predicting it might take him to the governor’s mansion—maybe even the White House.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to have friends in high places,” Rick noted with a hint of a smile. The deep scratches inflicted by the
gessyan
’s attack were healing well, thanks to Renate’s magic.

“Certainly might be good for business,” Jake added. “Changing the subject a bit, did you read Drostan Fletcher’s final report?”

George nodded. “The carriage was empty when Mitch and Jacob went back for Tumblety and Brunrichter. They never did find them, and Drostan guessed that the two mad doctors must have fled on foot.” He sighed. “On a brighter note, with the mine destroyed, the river murders and the rest of the monster sightings have stopped.”

“Sad they didn’t find Tumblety or Brunrichter,” Rick said with a sigh. “I imagine Mitch is steamed about that. He figured they would be his trump card with the Department.”

Jake walked to the window. Despite the triumph at the mine, he had not been able to shake a feeling of melancholy. Nicki slipped up beside him. “You’re thinking about your father,” she said.

He nodded. “I guess we got justice for him—sort of,” he said. “Thwaites is going to jail—not for arranging Father’s murder, but it’s punishment all the same. Veles lost lots of money on the deal, and a high-society business partner, and came out looking like a fool. That’s some kind of payback.” He sighed. “Neither one is very satisfying.”

Rick joined them and put his arm on Jake’s shoulder in silent support. Nicki looked at Jake, and for once all mirth was gone from her expression. “It won’t be, Jake,” she said. “Your father is gone, and revenge can’t bring him back. But the men who were behind it paid a price. It’s not fair, or satisfying—but sometimes, it’s all you get.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Jake said after a moment.

“But you never know what opportunities tomorrow will bring… and we are a creative bunch,” Rick said, letting Nicki steer them back to where the others were still regaling one another with details from the big fight.

Wilfred appeared a few minutes later holding a clockwork pigeon. “Excuse me,” he said, “but this flew into the kitchen a few minutes ago and refuses to leave.”

Rick and Jake exchanged glances. “Mitch,” they said in unison.

Jake rose and took the mechanical carrier pigeon out of Wilfred’s hands, placing it on the writing desk and looking the bird over for a message capsule. Inside was a small note.
Press button by tail feathers,
it read in cramped handwriting.

“Next he’ll want you to pull its finger—” Rick abruptly fell silent, remembering that ladies were present, but Catherine chuckled quietly and Nicki just grinned.

Jake found the button and pressed it, then stood back.

“Glad you got out,” a scratchy Edison cylinder recording of Mitch Storm’s voice said. “That was close. Wanted to tell you, all’s good with the Department. They already had spies in the mine and think Veles and Thwaites blew it to cover their trail. They were thrilled to catch Thwaites in the middle of a deal and nab the crystals he was selling. The offer to work with you still stands. Drostan knows how to find us. Oh, and we won’t tell about the
other
crystals. You owe us one.”

The recording stopped and smoke began to seep from the hinges and joints of the mechanical pigeon. It began to rock back and forth violently. Then with a muffled thump, the metal bird ballooned to the size a turkey and fell to pieces, leaving nothing but a smoking pile of twisted tin.

“I guess Mitch got the last word,” Jake said, staring at the ruined mechanical bird.

“Not exactly,” Wilfred said from the doorway. “We’ve just received a telegram from your brother Henry in New York.” Henry had retreated to New York for an extended convalescence after his injury in the gunfight at the cemetery.

“Henry? I’d nearly forgotten about him—and I was enjoying that,” Jake said. Catherine gave him a reproving glance, but the half-smile suggested that she did not altogether disagree.

“What does he say?” Catherine asked.

Wilfred cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Shall I summarize, or read it word for word?” He paused. “It is a bit… intemperate.”

“I’ll spare you,” Jake said, walking over and taking the telegram from Wilfred’s hands. He read it over, and shook his head. “Oh, this is classic,” he said, barely containing a laugh.

“Come on—share it with the rest of us!” Rick urged.

Jake sighed. “You asked for it. Here it is: ‘Deal with Thwaites fell through. Stop. Is this your fault? Stop. Your office says paperwork is late because of plumbers. Stop. I knew it was a mistake to put you in charge.’”

“Stop!” Nicki begged. “Please—stop!” She was laughing so hard that tears ran down her cheeks. Catherine hid her laughter behind her needlepoint.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t tell Henry about the new project,” George said, wiping a tear from his eye as he chuckled.

Jake frowned. “Project?”

George nodded. “Andreas Thalberg was most impressed with the three of you. He wants to send you out to bring back a very delicate acquisition…”

“Fabulous!” Nicki said, clapping her hands. “I can have my trunk packed in an hour.”

“Here we go again,” Rick said with an exaggerated sigh, downing the last of his scotch.

“Tell Cullan to get the
Allegheny Princess
ready,” Jake said. “We’re good to go.”

 

D
ROGO
V
ELES LEANED
against the railing of the steamship. The Atlantic Ocean stretched to the horizon, dark and ominous in the moonlight. Far away from New Pittsburgh, but not yet far enough.

Idiots. All of them, idiots.
Getting a ticket to England at the last moment had not been difficult, especially not with his large number of useful acquaintances, most of whom owed the dark witch some type of personal debt. He moved quickly enough that he was well on his way before the Department of Supernatural Investigations could have the government looking for him.

A private airship took him to New York, and an ocean liner seemed the most discreet way to leave the country. After that, a false name and a falsified passport did the rest. The ship’s captain had once asked Veles’s help in destroying a rival’s business. Veles had supplied the magic necessary, and the captain found himself forever entangled. He was one of many who discovered, too late, that money is the least costly way to pay for what one wants.

A man in a sailor’s coat walked up to the railing near Veles, leaned against it and casually rolled a cigarette. He took a deep draw and released it, with an air of satisfaction. “Message sent,” he said.

“Good,” Veles said, casually handling over a folded bill, easily a week’s salary. “I may have a few more messages before we reach port.”

“Fine by me.”

“Was there a response?” Veles asked.

The sailor nodded. His manner told Veles the man was no stranger to deals done under the table. “Nightshade. Stop. Fell minus two. Stop. Passage arranged. Stop.”

Veles met the man’s gaze. “Not a word to anyone,” he said, extending a flicker of magic to assure his will would be done. “Cross your heart and hope to die.”

The sailor gave him a wary look, as if on some level he realized he had just been placed under a geas. “Sure, guv. Whatever you say.” With that, he sauntered away, and Veles leaned against the rail once more, sure that the man would have no memory of their encounter, and a deep aversion to ever speaking of him to anyone.

The telegram had been most informative, for one who knew the code.
Mandrake Club, ten p.m.
the first part said. The Mandrake was one of London’s many prestigious members-only clubs, though one regarded by most people to be mere fiction. Veles knew for a fact that the club was very real, and its membership of powerful practitioners made sure its existence and whereabouts remained quiet.

‘Passage arranged’ was clear enough, though only Veles and his patron knew where. An ambitious Hungarian noble had beseeched Veles to help him with some thorny business dealings. The man had been very happy to find his invitation suddenly accepted, even on short notice.

BOOK: Iron and Blood
11.3Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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