Hellfire (25 page)

Husk had to take several breaths to calm himself. The thing was as bad as the monster in the bayou. He looked back at the hunchbacks, who stood far beyond the salt threshold. If that was what stood beneath their hats, masks, and coats, he was glad they wore them.

He finished and rolled backward to the men at the table. “They are a strange kin, but we have found a good use for them policing our rails. Inhuman strength and near invulnerability! And now we have a new stage for our explorations.”

The body on the table that would lead to the last oven was tall and slim with blond hair that was streaked black with soot. His piercing blue eyes gave a vacant stare. The men had drawn strange signs on his body and were sprinkling him with a greenish sort of crystal powder.

Kemp let out a horrified scream. “Jones!”

He seemed to lose his footing, but Ozzie held him up.

“Ah, yes, your engineer,” Burr said. “While the soul is gone, do not worry, we will make something of the body.”

Kemp’s scream turned into an angry cry. “You’re a monster!”

He dove toward Burr with his chained fists raised. Just before he hit him, Marshal Davies made a flying leap to intercept him. The two men fell to the ground and fought. Ozzie screamed and grabbed Davies around the neck with her shackles.

“That’s why you didn’t search for him,” Blake cried at Ticks. “You already had the body!”

Before Ticks could reply, the sheriff jumped him, too.

Husk froze. Even though they were shackled, they had numbers. He could help Blake disarm Ticks; once they had the guns the day was theirs. Then what? Hold Burr hostage? We’re three layers into a secret vault inside the capitol.

Husk took a step backward and turned his head away. He couldn’t bear to watch. Shouts flowed through the rooms, and the soldiers in the odd uniforms burst inside. Burr wheezed out an order to take them away. The fight lasted only a minute more, and then Kemp, Blake, and Ozzie were dragged out. Their shouting continued for a few more minutes until all that was left was the dull roar of ovens and the whirring of Burr’s machines.

“Some people don’t understand,” Burr said. He coughed. “You, Master Husk, you do, don’t you?”

Husk tried to take in a deep breath to calm himself, but the air was too putrid. He took in as little as he could to carry on. “I do my best, sir.”

“Good, good,” Burr replied. “Master Kemp was correct; it is the engineer from the train. We want to see what the effects of being intertwined with the thing from beyond the flames might be upon our catalyzing process for brutes.”

Husk nodded, even though he did not begin to understand. His head swam. He hoped it was just the combination of the foul air and his injuries. Otherwise, he might be losing his grip on reality.

“Now, then, Master Husk,” Burr called. “Shall we have an interview? The festivities for the Jubilee begin tomorrow with our grand display that night. I am certain the populace will be hungry for details the next morning. I have a few questions about your adventure in Shreve’s Port as well, but we can get to those after.”

Husk blinked. Burr was still alive. Everyone would want to know why. He wanted the truth. “Yes. Whenever you are ready.”

Burr led him out of the laboratories, and Husk was glad to be back in the enormous room with the windows showing the nighttime in Lake Providence. It was as if he’d just crawled out of a cavern leading to hell. He took a few minutes to breathe the stale, odorless air, and then a man appeared at his side with a pencil and a folder of paper.

Husk looked up to see Burr back sitting in his throne. His hands were shaking, but he forced them to work enough to pull out a sheet of paper for notes.

Burr began without a prompt. “It has been fifty years since I first signed the deed for Baron de Bastrop’s tract of land.” His bony free hand pointed out the webbed window. “Look out there.”

Husk turned toward the view. Lake Providence stood with its towers and factories shining under a sickly orange canopy of clouds. In the distance, Burr Bridge sparkled as it spanned the mightiest river in the nation. Even at night, it swarmed with activity.

“When I arrived, that was nothing but swampland,” Burr said. “Look what I’ve created.”

Husk hummed and nodded. “It’s unprecedented in history.”

“And there are those who would have taken it all away. Wilkinson, Jefferson, backstabbers the lot of them. But I showed them, didn’t I? At Washington?”

Husk nodded again.

“I did.” Burr chortled. “I humiliated them all. We New Yorkers retook the party, and that lackey Madison was ousted in ‘08. That gave me enough clout to win Gloriana a territory of its own, breaking from Orleans. After statehood, Presidents Jackson and Clay were proud to have my advice on the development of our nation’s rails.”

Husk perked up his ears. Something rang in the one the monster had roared in, and he quickly rubbed a finger in it. “The Rail Agency. You’ve been in charge since the beginning, using it as a way to expand your power outside of the state. That’s why the hunchbacks ended up there!” He hurriedly scrawled notes on his paper.

“A good use of my many resources,” Burr replied.

“And that’s why the catalyst was in the trains. You put it there!”

Burr sat quietly for a moment. “You are a very astute man. We needed a testing ground for our newest catalyst experiments, and trains are the perfect disguise. People would be aghast if the capitol exploded with the early attempts that were seen in Faber’s Bluff and Shreveport, but no one would bat an eye at a train wreck. Those early ones were far too explosive for their good. When the report came from Master Kemp, it was clear that we had accomplished our goal. If the locomotive hadn’t fallen into that bayou, the gate might have stayed open as long as we fed it fuel.”

Husk stopped writing notes. “Kemp said that the fire caused monsters to come out. First small, and then a huge one.”

Burr did not reply.

“Is that what you want? More monsters?”

The ancient man’s eyes narrowed. “What I shall be receiving is an army.”

Husk dropped his pencil. “An army?”

“An army unlike the world has seen since the Nephilim before Noah,” Burr said firmly. “Hunchbacks are few and costly, but they make useful enforcers. Tomorrow night at Midsummer, we shall open a doorway that will grant me a force to make my power unquestionable.” His thin face pulled back into a sinister smile. “There is an election this fall. I don’t see how I could lose as I march toward Washington… then a true American empire can begin as my army storms Mexico, Canada, Granada, Brazil, anywhere I choose.”

Husk’s hands shook. As he tried to stop them, he noticed his shoulders were quaking as well.

“Master Husk? Have I shocked you?”

“You can’t,” Husk began. He swallowed against a lump in his throat and had to begin again. “You can’t do this, Governor Burr. The things that come from that catalyst are evil. I faced one today. It killed men out of the joy of it.”

Burr rolled his dull eyes. “The first hunchbacks were a troublesome lot, but we’ve managed to train them up. Besides, you’ve proven they can be killed if problematic enough. Thank you for that! I must learn more if I am to assure my control.”

“I’ve seen what comes out of that fire, and I killed it only by the grace of God. It’s uncontrollable evil.” Husk raised his hands and clasped them together. “I’m begging you, sir. Reconsider. Don’t let this happen. You cannot make any kind of deal with the things on the other side of the fire!”

Burr stared at Husk a long moment. When Husk lowered his hands, Burr said, “I’ve bargained with them for five decades.”

Husk’s mouth fell open. He drew up his chained hands close to his chest. “No.”

“Yes,” Burr said quickly. His mechanical voice hissed. “Everyone knows the stories that voices whisper from the flames. Few know that you can whisper back.

“It was 1807 when I first heard the voices. I was desperate, called a traitor to my country for seeing a future in the West. The voices soothed me, assured me, told me to march directly on Washington and call for support from the floor of Congress rather than meekly going into the courts. They counseled me on how to speak, whom to attack, whose greed to appeal to. They liberated me, and I fulfilled my end of our deals by opening the flow of catalyst into Gloriana, stamping out resistance, encouraging a land of mammon and lust.

“My work requires resources; they granted them. The voices wanted more, too, and so we traded. The igniting of the City Center’s vast furnace will create a gateway large enough to bring me a military of giants into my command!”

“No,” Husk whispered. He pressed his hands against his ears. “No, you can’t do this. You’re making a deal with the devil!”

“So be it,” Burr replied.

“I can’t be a part of this,” Husk said. “I saw the truth today that there is great evil in the world. You’re saying there’s even more beyond, and you want to work with it? This is insanity!”

Burr shifted on his throne. “You won’t be writing my story, then? A pity. I could use a man like you, a man with a story of his own about fighting and killing a creature, to serve as my Minister of the Press.”

Husk lowered his hands from his ears. It would be a position alongside Burr, not just as a secretary in the state government but in a new world order. Every one of his needs, desires, and whims could be met. His stories would be read by millions.

He stopped. He couldn’t write those stories. The millions would be enslaved, or worse if the armies of evil broke free of Burr’s leash.

Husk blinked. There were more leashes, ones held by the denizens of hell. They were manipulating Burr as a human puppet.

“Absolutely not,” Husk said at last. “You’re serving evil, and I believe even you know it. You keep the laboratories locked away. You yourself are using an electric motor, not a catalyst-laden steam engine!”

Burr’s face sank. Husk couldn’t tell whether he was angry, disappointed, or afraid. After a moment, he said more than asked, “Perhaps you would prefer to spend your days in the dungeons with your friends?”

“I killed that creature in Shreveport because it was evil, and I cannot abide any more on this Earth. If you—”

“So be it,” Burr interrupted.

Soldiers descended from every direction to grab hold of Husk.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Clancy Blake awoke swinging his fist at the air. He couldn’t remember what he was trying to hit, but his heart was pounding in his chest. His black hair, silver at the edges, was plastered to his head with cold sweat.

Blake swung his legs down so he could sit on the wooden shelf that served as a bed in his cell. He had never been in a jail before, outside of a few times when he stayed so late at the office he decided to sleep there on one of the rough bunks in a free cell instead of trekking home in the dark. Even then he left the iron-bar door wide open. It was unnerving being so enclosed.

The room rested in twilight, catching indirect sunlight from a window set too high on the wall for him to see out. The air was dank, but it was thankfully free of the sulfurous smell that seemed to permeate Lake Providence. He had no idea which part of the capitol he was in, but he doubted that too many citizens knew the jail was there.

They had each been thrown into different cells the night before. Blake had fought with Ticks the entire way through the corridors, but the combined strength of hunchbacks and the soldiers in old-style military uniforms forced him inside. He had tried to wrench the door open from several different angles, but it would not budge. At least there was a barred window in it that let him see into the hall. He could see the others when they came to their own windows, except for Kemp, who was in the cell next to his.

It was Midsummer, the beginning of the jubilee. He wasn’t sure when he had fallen asleep, and he wasn’t sure what time it was, but he heard the crowds and music echoing from the city mall. The light was already fading. If what Husk had said about Burr’s plans were true, few of them might be alive come the next morning.

Even though he had been there himself, part of Blake couldn’t believe it was actually Aaron Burr who’d ordered him there. The governor had died years ago. Blake himself had been part of the funeral train that made a tour through Bastrop before burying him at the plantation where Gloriana began.

Blake let out a long sigh. All of that had been a ruse covering a man’s descent into a secluded world of machines and the powers of darkness.

A door opened on squeaking hinges. Blake jumped up from his bunk and ran to the door. The window rested just low enough that he had to stoop.

Two hunchbacks dragged a battered Tom Husk back to his cell. They noisily tossed him inside. The door slammed, the lock clicked, and the disguised monsters set the keys dangling from a ring on the inside of the door. A soldier had been on watch on the other side.

When it was quiet, Blake called. “Husk? You all right?”

A wet cough sounded. “I’ll live. It was just a little torture with a red-hot poker.”

Blake winced. At least they left him his sense of humor. “Did you tell them anything?”

“I told them everything, even before they brought the poker out!” Husk cried. “I’ve got nothing to hide, but they went to town on me anyhow!”

Blake winced again. Men were cruel simply for the enjoyment of it. “I’m sorry.”

“They wanted to know how I killed the monster. Ticks didn’t much like the fact that all of the answers came from the Good Book.”

“Not too many of those still around Gloriana,” Kemp called from down the hallway.

Blake scratched his chin. His old family Bible probably had dust on it.

He heard Husk sigh. “Right now, it’s a little hard to imagine being out of this dungeon.”

Blake rested his head against the door. He wished he had some words for Husk, but nothing came to mind. Things were bleak.

“It’s all right,” Kemp said. “We’re meant to be here.”

Blake raised his head. “What’s that?”

“It’s God’s will.”

“God certainly has a funny way of doing things,” Husk muttered.

“He works in mysterious ways. That’s what they told me at my father’s funeral. The words have haunted me for twelve years now, and it took all of this to have them make sense.”

“What do you mean?” Ozzie asked.

“He had to die. It was his time. I don’t know why it was in his own life, but at least I can see it in mine. When he was alive, I only thought about myself. It got me into a lot of trouble, stealing, fights. But typhus took him away, and all I could think was, what about Ma? Who’s going to take care of Ann? It had to be me. All the energy I spent on fighting turned to working, and it brought me here.”

“To a dungeon,” Husk added.

“For now.”

Blake squinted and thought back over Kemp’s words. He could see the effect of a loss like that impacting a life, but to say that this was a part of the Good Lord’s will? Why would He do this to us?

He bit his tongue and didn’t want to question the young man’s theology.

Ozzie did it instead. “Why would a loving God leave us locked up? I’ve been locked up before. This… this isn’t a good place for me. The walls are playing tricks on my eyes.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Jacey,” Kemp said. “I don’t know.”

The squeaking door opened again. Hunchbacks shuffled past Blake’s door. He wished the bars were spaced wider, enough for him to have taken a swing at them.

They opened Kemp’s door. Scuffling sounds followed. Blake could only imagine the fight. At last it ended, and the hunchbacks came back through the hallway dragging Kemp.

“Stay strong you all!” Kemp shouted. “Two nights ago I was thrown out of an airship. That’s what it took for me to see the light!”

The squeaky door slammed.

The cells were quiet for a long moment. Blake wanted to say something, but he couldn’t think of anything worthwhile. He supposed he could say whatever string of words he wanted; supposedly even that would be God’s will.

He shook his head. Even if bad things caused good to happen in the end, there were bits of life that couldn’t possibly be part of a heavenly plan. Did God determine what socks he chose to put on? What did it matter what he had for breakfast?

Blake’s stomach rumbled, empty since the night before when they raided the pantry on the Rail Agency airship. He shouldn’t have thought of food.

The squeaking door opened again. Blake pressed himself against the stone to peek around the corner enough to see the soldier on duty hold it open for a moment before shutting it back. Soft footfalls padded down the hallway.

Someone very short was coming. He thought of Parvis and shuddered.

Instead, it was a familiar dark-headed boy, carrying several metal bowls. His face was cleaned up and he had on a new green coat without a split seam, but it was the same one who’d tried to pick his pocket yesterday.

“That’s impossible,” Blake mumbled.

The boy carefully set the first bowl down below Blake’s door. He pushed it with the tips of his fingers beneath the edge. It fit just under and appeared at Blake’s feet.

“Boy!” Blake called.

The boy’s big eyes looked up and then went wide. “It’s you!”

Blake smiled.

“Why are you in jail?” the boy asked. “I thought you were a sheriff.”

“I am a sheriff,” Blake told him. “Some very bad men are planning to hurt a lot of people, and they put me in here.”

He didn’t think it was possible, but the boy’s eyes became even wider. “Wow, really? I better go tell the guard!”

“No!” Blake shouted. He lowered his voice. “No, you can’t. He works for the bad men.”

The boy turned his head to the side. “He does?”

“He does,” Blake confirmed.

“I thought he worked for Mr. Rassey. He’s a good guy. He gave me this job after I shined his boots.”

Blake blew out frustrated air. He had told the boy to get a job, and sure enough, he had found one right in the jail where they would need him. If this wasn’t a miracle, he didn’t know what he’d call one.

“It’s hard to explain, but I think Mr. Rassey is working for a bad guy. He may not even know how bad. My friends and I have to stop him.”

The boy stared at him.

“Please. Get the keys and let us out.”

The boy stood still. “Am I going to get into trouble?”

Blake sighed. “I certainly hope not, son.”

“I don’t want to lose my job.”

“There will always be more jobs. Don’t ever let your job get in the way of doing what you know, deep down, is right.”

The boy stood still a moment longer, and then he set the bowls of gruel on the floor. He walked softly to where the keys hung, stretching to get them off their hook.

“Attaboy!” Blake called.

The boy unlocked the door. Blake patted him on the shoulder, took the keys, and freed Ozzie and Husk. He tried the keys on his shackles, but none of them fit.

Ozzie hugged the boy. “You’ve done a very brave thing.”

Husk grabbed one of the bowls of gruel and drank deeply from it. He wiped his mouth with his filthy sleeve. “Whew, I needed that.”

“You should wait here,” Blake told the boy. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

The boy nodded and slipped into Blake’s cell.

Blake crept quietly to the heavy door at the end of the hall where the guard stood. He knocked and ducked.

The guard turned around. “What is it?”

Blake knocked again.

“Hands full or something?” the guard asked. He opened the door.

Blake pounced on him as quickly as his stiff body would let him. The guard wrestled back, trying to grab a whistle from around his neck. Blake tried to squeeze harder, but his old grip shook. Just as the younger man overpowered him, Husk’s long, thin arms came from around his back and start strangling the guard.

The guard let out a gurgling cry, and his hands dropped the whistle. Blake got around him, grabbed him around the waist, and pulled him back into the hallway. Together, Blake and Husk managed to pin him on the floor. They peeled his coat off his shoulders and used the lengths of the arms to tie his hands behind his back.

They stripped him of his rifle, a knife, and two sets of whistles, then threw him into Husk’s cell, locking it tight. When Blake turned back around, Ozzie was holding the rifle out to him.

“You should carry this,” she said. “You’ve got a good record so far of shooting people.”

He twitched. The nurse had practically burned him with her glares while she mended the wounds of the airship’s engineer.

Then, she winked.

He winked back.

“You shot someone?” Husk blurted.

“I did,” Blake admitted. He took the rifle from Ozzie. “But he’ll live, thanks to this young lady.”

Husk led the way out of the dungeon. Ozzie followed closely, but Blake held back a moment. He peeked back into the cell where the little boy now sat on the wooden platform bed.

“Thank you,” he said.

The boy nodded. “You’re going to stop the bad men?”

“Lord willing,” Blake told him.

Blake nodded and then dashed after Ozzie and Husk. “Where are we going?”

“We have to rescue Nathan,” Ozzie whispered.

“This way,” Husk said. “If they took him to the same place they worked me over, it’s just a few doors down.”

Blake didn’t know how the newspaperman could keep the different doors clear in his head, but Husk seemed to find the right one immediately. He laid his hand on the doorknob, but Blake stopped him with his own hand.

“We don’t know what’s in there.”

“I know what’s in there,” Husk whispered, almost hissing. “A bunch of maniacs probably getting ready to tear Kemp’s fingernails out.”

Ozzie gasped and then clapped both hands over her mouth.

Blake pursed his lips. “I’ll reconnoiter.”

He pushed Husk’s hand away and opened the door himself. Blake moved so slowly and gently that there was no click from the latch. He pushed until a sliver appeared in the doorway and peered, moving his head to see the corners of the room.

It was a torture chamber right out of one of Edgar Allan Poe’s gothic stories. On the far wall, an open fireplace burned, casting sinister flickering light across the room. Nate Kemp was bound to a chair in the center of the room with shackles on his wrists and ankles. The little hunchback, Parvis, stood next to him with a red-hot poker. Ticks leaned against the far wall beside the fire.

“I told you!” Kemp said. “There was a blinding white light! Maybe it slowed me down!”

Ticks rolled his dark eyes, and Parvis made a disgusted squeak. The next sound was Kemp screaming.

Blake gripped the rifle in his hand. He whispered, “The marshal’s by the fireplace. The little one is by Kemp in the middle of the room. No sign of Biggs.”

“This’ll be easy then.” Husk kicked the door in.

Blake winced, but he charged in after the newspaperman nonetheless.

“What is this?” Ticks shouted.

Husk flew out from behind Blake and tackled the marshal.

“It’s the end of your torturing career!” Blake said. He drew up the rifle and shot. He had been tempted to aim at the marshal, but Parvis was more pressing now that Husk was in the mix.