Ferromancer_Iron Souls Book One Read online

  Briar had only a rudimentary understanding of how a steam engine worked. She couldn’t even fathom how something could operate without one. Well, that wasn’t true. There was a way, but she wasn’t about to attribute the railroad’s success to magic.

  Not certain if she’d even recognize this new engine if she saw it, she wove her way through the train yard, eyeing the locomotives she found. Evening was approaching, and the activity seemed to be winding down.

  Only one train looked ready to go. The boxcars were closed up, and the iron behemoth at the front of the line belched black smoke into the sky. Soot coated most of the locomotive and streaked several of the closest boxcars. Even the nearby warehouses had a light coating of the stuff. Why would anyone choose this over the clean travel along the canal?

  Maybe that wasn’t completely accurate. The canal itself might not be pristine, but her boat was spotless. She and her crew scrubbed it down each day.

  Leaving the locomotive and its busy workmen behind, Briar made her way across the last section of tracks. The sun was dipping toward the horizon. She’d need to hurry so she wouldn’t be late, but the lure of a set of tracks that entered a small warehouse drew her attention. Large doors on rollers stood open, and she could see the gleam of what might be a locomotive inside.

  The building looked approachable—there were no guards or signs to order her away—so she walked inside. Evening light shone through the open doors, illuminating the front of what was indeed a locomotive. But this one was different. The streamlined exterior looked nothing like the awkward box-shaped monstrosities she had seen outside. There was something strangely attractive about this engine’s smooth lines and sleek appearance. She didn’t need to note the lack of a smokestack, or read the word Martel along the engine’s flank to know she had found what she sought.

  She gripped the knife, but couldn’t bring herself to remove it from her pocket. It was clear to her creative heart that this engine was more than just function. It was art.

  “Fool,” she told herself. It was a railroad locomotive. This was the enemy.

  The sound of voices drew her attention before she could force herself to deface the locomotive in some way. A trio of men was walking toward her building. By their overalls, they appeared to work here.

  “…supposed to be locked,” a man was saying to his companions.

  “I didn’t leave it open,” another said.

  “What’s the big secret?” the third man asked.

  “You haven’t seen Martel’s new engine?” The first man glanced back over his shoulder. A quick look around, and he led the other two toward the building.

  Briar stepped back behind some crates, not wanting to be caught snooping in a building that was supposed to be locked.

  The three men entered the building, the two newcomers voicing their surprise and awe.

  “It actually works?” one man asked.

  “I hear it runs on that new electricity all the papers have been going on about. It’s supposed to work better than steam.”

  “But it’s so delicate and… pretty.”

  The other men laughed at the description, though Briar found it accurate.

  Taking advantage of their distraction, she crept back the way she had come, staying behind the crates. When she ran out of boxes, she crouched behind the last and peered out. The men had moved a little deeper into the building.

  She took a deep breath, then sprinted the last ten feet to the open door.

  Expecting a shout at any moment, she rounded the door, and keeping close to the wall, slipped around the corner. The building was at the end of the line and apparently meant to be an enclosed space to work on, or perhaps store trains. The back of the structure was bordered by a narrow road with the city streets just beyond.

  Crossing the road, Briar ducked into the nearest alley. No shout had come. Stopping, she bent over to grip her knees and regain her composure.

  The sound of voices carried to her down the narrow alley. She was no longer concerned about being caught where she shouldn’t be, but this wasn’t the best part of town. It would be better to cut back across the train yard.

  “You don’t have the power to kill me,” one voice said, making no attempt to speak softly.

  Briar was turning away, but hesitated. The speaker didn’t sound all that concerned if his life was indeed threatened.

  “He’s coming for you, you know?” the same man said, his tone smug. “I’ve already told him you’re here. Killing me won’t change th—”

  Whatever he was about to say cut out in a gurgle.

  Briar froze where she stood.

  Suddenly, a bright silver-white flash of light lit up the alley that intersected hers.

  What the hell? It was far too bright to be the strike of a match or the unshuttering of a lantern. For that matter, it wasn’t dark enough for the light to show up that well.

  She bounced on the balls of her feet for a couple of heartbeats. Eli liked to remind her that curiosity killed the cat. She liked to point out that a cat had nine lives. Hopefully, she wasn’t about to risk one, but she had to see what had made that light.

  Walking on her toes, she approached the corner where the two alleys met. Her heart beat quicker, but it wasn’t in fear. This was like stepping up to the edge of a great height and looking over. Or going toe to toe with a foe twice her size. Eli would have a fit, but the truth was, she lived for moments like this.

  Muscles tense, she crouched a little and peeked around the corner.

  Whatever had made the light was gone now. A man in a long black cloak had his back to her, squatting beside something on the ground. He shifted a little, and she saw that the something was another man.

  The cloaked man leaned back, lifting an object in his hands. Was he robbing the fallen man? The item he had taken glinted silver in the evening light.

  He rose to his feet, his back still to Briar’s position. She couldn’t see what he did, but she suspected he might be tucking away what he had stolen. A golden nimbus suddenly shone before him. Was he lighting a pipe?

  In the golden glow, Briar had a better view of the man on the ground. His coat and shirt had been pulled open, but where there should be a chest was a gaping hole—as if his heart had been cut out.

  Chapter 2

  Briar jerked back around the corner, pressing her back to the wall and a hand to her mouth. She’d once seen a man killed in a tavern fight, but this was different. What kind of man cut open another after he had killed him? She didn’t want to stick around to find out.

  Turning, she ran back the way she had come, careful to keep her step light and soundless. She skirted the train yard, running behind a series of warehouses until she reached the houses beyond.

  Slowing to a jog, she rounded a corner and collided with someone. Hands seized her shoulders to keep her upright. Imagining that the cloaked man had found her, Briar prepared a scream, then looked up into Eli’s frowning face.

  “Miss Briar?”

  She gripped his arm and after a quick glance over her shoulder, pulled him along with her. “I just saw a man murdered.”

  “What?” Eli looked back the way she had come. “Were you seen?”

  “I don’t think so, but I didn’t stick around to find out.”

  “What happened?” Eli asked as they walked, his long stride keeping up with her rapid pace.

  “I found the Martel locomotive, but I didn’t get a chance to get a look up close because some railroad workers showed up.”

  “You mean, you didn’t get a chance to vandalize it.”

  “Honestly, I don’t know if I could. You should have seen it. I swear it was more art than locomotive.”

  Eli looked over, his brow raised in amusement. He had never understood her artsy leanings, but he humored her. H
is expression quickly sobered. “And the murder?”

  “I took an alley to avoid being seen and came upon two men, just after the deed was done. I got a good look at the body. It had been cut open.”

  “It was a knife fight?” Eli asked. “A deep gut shot would lay open a man.”

  “I didn’t witness the killing blow.”

  “Let me guess. You heard the commotion and snuck closer for a better look.”

  She decided not to tell him about the light. “I thought it was just an argument.”

  Eli fell silent, and when she glanced up, she could see the hardening of his jaw. He wasn’t happy with her.

  “I don’t need a lecture,” she said, hoping to cut him off before he got started. “What are you doing here, anyway?” She tried to turn the focus on him. “You came looking for me, didn’t you?”

  “You’re a magnet for trouble, Miss Briar.”

  “Admit it. Your life would be boring without me.”

  “True.” A smile broke through his stony expression, but he quickly sobered. “Shouldn’t we report this murder?”

  Briar frowned. “I didn’t actually witness it. I heard voices, and saw a body and a man in a cloak. That wouldn’t be much help.” It certainly wouldn’t be worth the trouble Andrew would give her for drawing such unsavory attention to the family.

  “The murderer is still at large,” Eli pointed out.

  “Those men knew each other. It was an argument gone wrong. I doubt the cloaked guy is out seeking another victim.”

  “Unless he saw you.”

  Briar sighed. “He didn’t. Stop worrying about it.” She might as well be talking to Big Red, the most stubborn mule on her boat; telling Eli not to worry was wasted breath. He excelled at seeing mountains where there were only molehills.

  They walked in silence, moving away from the banks of the Ohio River, climbing the town’s rolling hills. The streets were now cobblestone, and the houses larger. They turned down Andrew’s street, and Briar could see the oil lamps glowing to either side of his front door, as well as every window in the house.

  A carriage had stopped before the house, and Briar watched a well-dressed man and woman exit the carriage and start up the walk toward the house. This was going to be a miserable evening.

  “I guess I’d better use the back door,” Briar muttered. Andrew would have a fit if she showed up in her everyday clothes, even though this pair of pants bore no holes.

  “I reckon so,” Eli agreed and started down the alley between Andrew’s house and the one next door.

  The stable yard behind the house was a busy place. Briar stepped up on the back stoop, eyeing the commotion. What she wouldn’t give for a quiet evening on her boat. A smooth glass of whiskey and her fiddle would have been all the company she needed.

  “I’ll wait for you here,” Eli said, taking a seat on the stone steps.

  “This has the look of a long wait.”

  “You were almost murdered this evening.”

  “I was not. No one even saw me.”

  “Are you certain?”

  She wasn’t, but she didn’t want to admit it. “Fine. Suit yourself.” She pushed open the door and stepped into the back hall. Eli’s sigh followed her inside, making her want to sigh in exasperation. She was already over her brush with death, why wasn’t he?

  Shaking her head, she toed off her boots and went in search of Molly. Unfortunately, the toe of one sock had a hole large enough to show one big toe, but there was nothing to be done for that now.

  She found Molly in the kitchen, deep in conversation with her housekeeper. But the conversation came to an abrupt end the moment Molly saw her.

  “Bridget! Where have you been?” Molly grasped her arm and immediately steered her into the hall. “Mr. Rose has been beside himself with worry.”

  Briar’s annoyance at Molly’s use of her given name was momentarily overridden by her amusement at the woman’s insistence on calling her husband by his sire name. But then, Molly had a very different upbringing from Briar’s. The vexation on her face made their differences clear.

  “You haven’t bathed or—”

  “I bathed this morning,” Briar said.

  “There’s a smear of mud on your cheek.”

  “It’ll wipe off.” Briar rubbed her cheek.

  “This is a disaster,” Molly moaned the words, her smooth forehead wrinkling with dismay. “Dinner will be served in half an hour and you’re not dressed.” Judging by Molly’s elegant gown and how elaborately her light brown hair was styled, Briar knew this would be more than just a matter of changing clothes.

  Molly pulled her to the back stairs. “Come on. Time slips past while you argue.”

  “I can change in minutes.”

  “This is a very important evening for Mr. Rose,” Molly said over her shoulder as she guided Briar up the stairs. “His prospective business partner arrived last night, and will join us shortly.”

  “What exactly is this new business?”

  Molly opened the door to Briar’s room. “If you had gotten here sooner, Mr. Rose could have explained it to you. I have no head for such things.” She walked to the closet and dug through the sparse collection of dresses hanging inside. Briar tried to spend as little time as possible here. Unfortunately, the canal froze in the winter, forcing her to spend several long months beneath Andrew’s roof.

  “You must have some idea,” Briar said, following her.

  “It’s a manufacturing job, I understand.” Molly selected a gown and turned to face her. “This one, I think.” She laid the emerald green gown on the bed. “It goes well with your eyes.”

  Briar ignored that, her attention on the travel trunk pushed against the far wall. She stepped closer, eyeing the odd silver lock hanging from the hasp. “What’s this?” She prayed it wasn’t more dresses.

  “Oh dear. I forgot to have that sent downstairs. Mr. Martel got in late last night, and Mr. Rose had him installed in this room. He’s supposed to take a room downtown tonight.”

  “Mr. Martel?” Briar asked. No, it couldn’t be. “Mr. Martel, the railroad engineer?”

  “Yes.” Molly’s face brightened. “You know him?”

  “He’s the designer of the new smokeless locomotives.”

  “Locomotives, that’s right.” Molly smiled. “That’s what Mr. Rose wants to build.”

  Briar stared at her cousin’s wife. Didn’t she understand that the railroads could put the canal industry out of business? Especially with these new engines?

  “Well, come on.” Molly waved a hand at her. “Disrobe.”

  “I can dress myself.”

  “Last time I left you to dress for dinner, you climbed out the window.”

  “Molly.”

  She crossed her arms. “I’m not leaving until you change. Mr. Rose gave me explicit instructions.”

  Briar was half tempted to tell her what Andrew could do with his instructions, but stopped herself. Molly was all about proper etiquette and being a good wife. She truly got upset when she failed to live up to those expectations. Molly drove Briar a bit crazy, but the truth was, she genuinely liked the woman. Molly was a good person. How she ended up with Andrew was the part Briar would never understand.

  “Please don’t make me disappoint him.” Molly’s brow wrinkled.

  “Fine.” Briar tried to ignore Molly’s grateful smile as she crossed to the bed, unbuttoning her waistcoat. It would have been so much easier if Andrew had married an ass like himself.

  “Will that do, miss?” the maid asked, giving Briar a nervous glance in the mirror. After seeing Briar into her gown, Molly had left her with the maid, instructing them both to hurry.

  “Yes, yes, that’s fine.” Briar waved away her concern before she could start
back in with her brushes and ribbons. Briar’s red hair was now piled atop her head in some intricate fashion with long tendrils left to curl around her face. Briar would be surprised if she lasted the entire dinner before she was pulling it down.

  “Will you be needing anything else?” the maid asked, still looking a bit nervous. She must have also fallen prey to Andrew’s instructions to make Briar presentable. Poor girl.

  “You may go,” Briar told her. “I’ll be right down.”

  The girl dropped her an awkward curtsy and hurried from the room, probably to report to Molly that she had finished.

  Wasting no time, Briar closed the door behind her. She wanted to nose around inside the travel trunk, but the lock looked daunting. Selecting a couple of hairpins from the vanity table she had just left, she squatted beside the trunk and eyed the lock. This wasn’t going to be easy.

  It took a few minutes to bend the hairpins, but she soon formed one into a serviceable pick and the other into a makeshift tension wrench. She slid one hand beneath the lock, surprised by its weight and odd warmth. She had been expecting a heavy iron lock, but this seemed to be made of something different.

  Sliding the pick into the narrow hole in the lock’s face, she felt for the tumblers, just to get an idea of what she was up against. Jimmy had taught her to pick locks last fall when an early freeze had stranded them for almost a week just south of Columbus. She hadn’t questioned him on how he had acquired such a skill, and he hadn’t asked her why she wanted to learn it.

  Now, that skill was going to come in handy. Maybe.

  The pin tapped against something in the bowels of the lock. The lock Jimmy had taught her on hadn’t felt like this. She pushed a little harder. Were the inner workings laid out differently? What if—

  The pick slipped free without warning and bit into the heel of her hand.

  “Damn it,” she whispered. Blood welled from the minor wound, and she brought it to her mouth, hoping to lick it away before it got on her dress. Molly would have a fit.