Iron and Blood (14 page)

Henry nearly fell over himself to greet Mellon, but the elderly man favored Henry with only the briefest of nods before making his way down the stairs to a waiting carriage. Henry glowered at Jake, but said nothing.

Jake was still staring after the banker, so he did not see Veles approach until the man was already in the receiving line. Henry spotted him, and fawned over Veles until the man had to extract his hand from Henry’s to move on. George gave Jake a nudge with his elbow to bring back his attention. “Mr. Veles,” George said, added nothing to suggest the nature, if any, of Veles’s relationship with Jake’s father or the company.

“So you’re the one who spends his time chasing shadows,” Veles said in a quiet voice. He fixed Jake with a gaze that seemed to see down to his bones. “My condolences about your father. It’s a dangerous business.” Jake felt a sudden gut-level wariness, but saw no way to avoid shaking the man’s hand. “I wish you good fortune working with the
powers
-that-be.”

Henry opened his mouth to speak, but Veles gave him a cold, level stare that made him clamp his lips together and shrink back. Without another word, Veles swept down the steps toward one of the many black carriages below.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jake saw Fletcher slip out by a side door.
Curious.

Richard Thwaites hustled through the receiving line like a man in a hurry to be elsewhere. New Pittsburgh’s fair-haired boy, Thwaites was frequently in the society pages with a famous singer or actress on his arm, and just as frequently the topic of gossip when those liaisons went awry. Somehow, he managed to emerge from every scrape unscathed, though the trust fund his father’s will had provided undoubtedly had something to do with it.

Henry greeted Thwaites like an old friend, and though Thwaites responded, there was a difference in enthusiasm that spoke volumes.
Leave it to my brother to be courting someone like Thwaites as a prospect,
Jake thought disdainfully.

After a long conversation with Henry that backed up the line, Thwaites finally moved on. His manner with George was decidedly more formal. “Sorry for your loss. Tricky business, what you do, isn’t it?” Thwaites remarked, a comment that to Jake sounded suspiciously like he was blaming Thomas for his own murder.

“And you’re the son who goes adventuring,” Thwaites said, bypassing Rick without a word and eyeing Jake from head to toe. “Well, well.” He gave a smile that did not reach his eyes. “Your father was quite the businessman. I hope his luck rubs off on you.” He gave Jake a perfunctory handshake and strode out the door.
For a well-wisher, that had a rather threatening undertone,
Jake thought.

Several more business associates and neighbors shuffled through the line in a numbing parade. Finally, Cullan Adair and Adam Farber worked their way to the front.

“Sorry again about your dad,” Cullan said, clapping Jake on the shoulder.

“So am I,” Adam added. There was no mistaking Jake’s friend as anything but an inventor. Adam stood several inches taller than Jake but probably weighed twenty pounds less, with straight, sandy brown hair that was always in his eyes and silver-rimmed spectacles that were constantly smudged.

“I know you’ve got a lot going on, with everything,” Adam said uncomfortably, “but when things settle down, I’ve got a couple of new pieces in the lab to show you.”

Cullan leaned in so that only Jake could hear his comment. “I’ve told Adam about the ‘incident’ on the way back from London, given him some ideas for improvements. Maybe even using a tourmaquartz crystal to power the Tesla cells, if we can get our hands on one. Probably a good thing for you and Rick to stop by sooner rather than later, if you know what I mean,” he said with a wink.

It was time to follow the hearse to the cemetery. A light rain had begun to fall. The ostrich plumes atop the hearse and on each horse’s bridle drooped, and the gray skies seemed utterly appropriate for a burial.

The rain deterred many of the attendees from following the hearse to Homewood Cemetery. Despite the weather, Henry insisted the procession take a roundabout route through the best neighborhoods to reach the memorial gardens. The carriages drove at a walking pace, and the mutes followed, maintaining their somber guard beside the two passenger carriages. Homewood was the newer of New Pittsburgh’s large cemeteries. The sprawling lawns and gardens were quiet as the carriages rolled through the wrought-iron gates.

Jake felt his throat tighten at the sight of the canopy over the opened grave. Pastor McDonald was already awaiting them. Once more, the mutes lined up to form a cordon as the mourners alighted from their carriages. Only a handful of attendees besides Jake, Henry, George, and Rick followed to the graveside. Cullan and Adam were present, as was Dr. Zeigler, the Desmet family physician. Kovach stood to one side, as much on guard as paying his respects. Jake noted that neither Veles nor Thwaites were among those present. A movement to one side caught his attention, and he saw a figure in a dark cloak standing just close enough to be able to observe the proceeding, and realized it was Fletcher.

Kovach went over to speak quietly to two of his men. Jake watched as the pallbearers moved the casket beside the grave, laying it across two poles that would help them lower it into the earth. Nearby, covered by a tarpaulin, was the empty grave and the mound of dirt that would fill it in, along with a metal cage fashioned from iron spikes.

Henry followed his gaze. “Damn resurrectionists,” he muttered. “Mortsafes like that aren’t cheap, but it’s a damn sight better than finding out the body’s been stolen.”

Jake looked around the rolling hills of the cemetery. It was a beautiful place, with tall trees and abundant plantings. He could understand why some families brought picnic lunches out to eat near the graves of their departed family members. The grounds had a quiet graciousness that made it a place of peace for the dead and of solace for the living.

Not far from where Thomas Desmet’s casket lay, Jake could see one of the cemetery’s newest landmarks, a giant white pyramid. It was a work in progress, not yet completed, but the outer walls of the pyramid were standing, topped by a large steel crane to move the massive stone blocks into place.

To their left, just far away enough to be out of earshot, another cluster of mourners hunched over a new grave. Their hearse and horses stood at right angles to the Desmet party, so that the back of the hearse opened toward Jake’s group. Jake wondered who they mourned. This was the priciest section of the cemetery, earning it the name ‘Millionaire’s Row’. Jake frowned, trying to recall who among the circle of New Pittsburgh’s elite had recently passed, aside from his father.

The domes of large black umbrellas formed a somber circle around his father’s open grave. Kovach’s guards kept up their guise as mutes, and had stationed themselves around the edges of the group, while Kovach himself stood just behind the mourners on a slope that afforded him a good view of the main approach. Cullan was nowhere to be seen, and Adam Farber had wandered off, deep in his own thoughts as usual, poking around the half-built pyramid.

Reverend McDonald cleared his throat and began to read Psalm Twenty-Three. The handful of mourners joined in, voicing the familiar words in a low rumble. Henry fidgeted, but whether it was out of grief or boredom, Jake could not tell. Jake recited the words, but he was distracted. His sixth sense told him that something was wrong.

Just then, the mourners at the nearby grave turned to face them. Dropping their umbrellas, they drew shotguns from beneath their cloaks and opened fire.

Henry cried out and dropped to his knees, clutching his shoulder, blood oozing from between his fingers.

“Stay down!” Jake commanded, dropping the umbrella and drawing his own gun. Another shot barely missed Reverend McDonald, ricocheting as it hit one of the nearby tombstones.

Reverend McDonald yelped as Rick grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him into the open grave.

“Sorry,” Rick said. “You’ll be safer in there.”

Kovach’s men had shouldered their rifles, firing through the gauzy disguise of their ‘wands’. Drostan Fletcher came running, a revolver already in hand, shooting at the attackers. The cemetery resounded with the fusillade, and all around them, Jake heard the ping of bullets and shot striking granite.

Under covering fire, four of their guards hustled George, Henry, and the handful of remaining guests to their carriages. There was no way for the guards to get to Jake and Rick without stepping directly in the line of fire. Giving a slap to the horses and a shout, the guards sent two of the carriages galloping away.

Jake and Rick had already taken up positions behind nearby markers, and were returning fire. Anger channeled Jake’s grief, clearing his head and sharpening his aim. A shot grazed his left arm and he dropped and rolled behind a monument. Blood trickled from the wound, though the gash was not deep. Jake tied his kerchief around it to staunch the bleeding, cursing under his breath at losing a good suit. He scanned the land around them, but the tombstones and mausoleums provided far too many places to hide.

Jake took cover behind a tomb; larger than a headstone, smaller than a mausoleum, the grave had a solid base of carved stone blocks, with small obelisks on each corner, topped by a miniature Parthenon, crowned by a cornice and cupola.

Jake signaled to Rick and dodged from behind the monument to squeeze off shots at the nearest ‘mourner’ before moving to a better position. Rick and he had a well-established routine and Jake knew that his friend would cover him as he moved. Kovach’s men and Fletcher had taken up positions surrounding Thomas Desmet’s open grave.

The sham mourners’ hearse flew open and more fighters poured out, even as additional men climbed from their hiding place inside the open grave around which the group had gathered.
Had they dug the grave themselves
, Jake wondered briefly, returning fire,
or commandeered a new grave dug on someone else’s account
?

Gunfire echoed across the rolling hills. Jake could see Rick hunkered down behind a large basalt obelisk, methodically taking out assassins as they came within his sights. Jake poked his head around the edge of the tomb, and a shot cracked just above his head, sending stone chips into his hair. He was safe for the moment, but pinned down, and Rick appeared to be running low on ammunition.

By the look of it, their opponents were equal in firepower and forces, presenting the nasty likelihood of a bloody battle fought across Homewood’s serene hills. From what Jake could see, one group of assassins was holding down the area near the pyramid, which sat between Jake’s friends and their carriages. Another group had taken a position behind several graves on a slight rise, giving them an advantage. Scattered between the groups, Jake spotted several of Kovach’s men, but Cullan and Adam were nowhere to be seen.

Jake swung out from his hiding place long enough to get in another shot; this time, he saw his bullet take a man through the chest.

“One more down,” Jake muttered, reloading.

The rain was now a fine mist, casting a haze over the cemetery. Fog had rolled in, hanging in ghostly wisps low to the ground, making it even more difficult to see well enough to get a clean shot. On the other hand, Jake thought, it made it that much easier for his side to stay out of the line of fire.

A new noise sounded among the gunshots; a strange, high-pitched, ululating whine. Jake caught a glimpse of motion out of the corner of his eye. As he watched in amazement, a black-shrouded shape rose from the roof of one of the funeral carriages and hovered in the air, trailing its gauzy covering. Two more revenants joined the first, pausing for a moment before they fanned out.

Jake could hear shouts and curses from their assailants as the strange shapes moved in their direction, and several of the false mourners broke from cover, giving Jake the chance to squeeze off a few shots and fell one man as he ran from the apparition.

A low hum countered the high-pitched noise and grew rapidly louder. Jake could see Rick glancing around to find the source of the noise, as the whine reached an ear-splitting crescendo.

“What the hell is that?” Jake breathed. Sparks of blue light were running up and down the crane that stood poised over the pyramid.

At that moment, the ghostly things opened fire.

Fire blazed from the floating specters, sparking from what Jake could now see were the muzzles of Gatling guns. The gauzy coverings burned away in seconds, revealing the ‘ghosts’ to be three automated flying saucers, the same type that had saved their necks over the Atlantic. The Gatlings laid down a deadly spray of bullets. Emboldened by the sudden reprieve, Jake and Rick ran to new positions, the better to harry their opponents.

A crack like thunder rattled the glass in a nearby mausoleum. Jake turned to see a brilliant flare of blue-white light erupt from the tip of the crane. Ozone filled the air like the aftermath of a lightning strike.

The bolt touched down between the pyramid and a row of headstones. A blinding streak sizzled across the ground, leaving a scorched line in the grass. Three of the assassins were caught in the conflagration, screaming as the brilliant light cut through their bodies and left only charred remains.

The remaining assailants ran for their lives as a new volley of rifle shots from Kovach’s men felled all but the swiftest runners. Jake saw Kovach signal several of his sharpshooters and take off on foot after the last of the assassins as the rest of the men, now divested of their guise as mutes, swiftly secured the area before giving the all-clear. Fletcher appeared to be searching the sham burial site for bodies and going through the pockets of the fallen attackers.

Warily, Jake rose from his hiding place, his revolver still at the ready. Rick carefully rose from his crouch, gun in hand. “What in the name of God was that about?” Rick asked.

“Did you see that?” Cullan Adair jumped down from behind one of the bullet-scarred carriages, beaming with victory. “Did you see those babies fly?”

“Were you trying to frighten the life out of us?” Rick looked as if he could not quite decide whether to be angry or relieved.