Steamborn (22 page)

A tall, iron-wrought horse hung above the door. Its mane looked caught in a breeze as the horse reared up on its hind legs. A gust of wind sent the sign swinging slowly on its anchor. The metal rungs squeaked as they shifted on the pole.

“This is it,” Charles said. He mounted the short staircase to the front door and put his hand on the equine handle. “It’s time you saw the Wild Horse.”

Sound exploded from the entryway when Charles pushed the door open. Jacob had been to taverns with his father in the Lowlands, but as he stepped inside the Wild Horse Inn, he knew this was a different world.

“They welcome everyone at the Wild Horse,” Charles shouted over his shoulder. “You won’t need to keep your head on a swivel here.” He paused and bent down to Jacob. “Of course, they probably should be watching out for you, eh?” He laughed and thumped Jacob on his back.

“Men,” Alice said, exasperated. She crossed her arms and followed close to Charles.

The bar was off to the right, a bizarre mix of the grandest, most run-down, most elegant thing Jacob had ever seen. The bar back stood at least fifteen feet high and some fifty feet long. One of the bartenders slid along the back on a copper and steel ladder set up on rollers. He flipped two bottles down to another bartender, who caught them without looking.

The second bartender poured both bottles with one hand. A blue liquid and a yellow liquid splashed together and merged into a thick green syrup. He repeated the pour four more times in four separate glasses. He added a splash of seltzer water to thin them before sliding them out to a patron with a nod and a mustached smile.

Another bartender hit a square panel by the shelves, and the shelves began to rotate. The top shelf of bottles slid back, and the bottom shelf rose until the top finally reappeared at the bottom.

Steam and smoke came out of a large window in the corner. A man in a tall white hat slammed a mallet into a gong and yelled, “Order up, fourteen.”

Jacob laughed as he watched a bartender put a basket of food on a tray beneath what looked like a child-sized steam locomotive. He pulled a long-handled switch on a panel below the train, and Jacob saw the track above their heads shift. The bartender pushed a button that dropped the gate in front of the locomotive and sent it powering around the track.

Jacob couldn’t look away while the tiny engine puffed and chugged around the track. The tray slammed into a pillar above a table, and one of the men stood up to pull it down while the train continued back to the bartenders, only to be corralled by its gate once more.

“Jacob!”

He looked away from the train, and Charles motioned him over. Alice sat next to Samuel in a high-back booth with another Spider Knight and a small group of repairmen. Her eyes were stuck to the train too.  The repairmen were quiet, and some were clearly shaken.

Above all of the chaos and whispers and drunken bellows, an organ played in the corner opposite the bar. It was a mad assembly of horns and whistles and brass and ivory that bent to the organist’s every whim. Flaps and valves opened at seemingly random intervals to fill the room with a lively, sweeping jig. A few of the more intoxicated patrons danced on the small stage by the far wall.

“Jacob,” Samuel said, standing up to let Jacob and Charles slide in next to Alice.

“You all want a drink?” Samuel asked.

“Do I need a drink?” Charles rolled his eyes up to meet Samuel’s.

The Spider Knight frowned, and then nodded.

“Then I’ll have a drink.”

“You kids want something?”

“I’ll have a Sweetwing Tea,” Alice said.

Jacob almost gagged. “They make that out of Sweet-Flies.”

“How many times have you had my mum’s stew? I know you know she puts Pill-Bugs in it.”

“That’s different. They aren’t Sweet-Flies. Give me honey any day.”

Alice narrowed her eyes. “Grow up.”

Samuel laughed and turned around. “Bartender! Three Dragon’s Bane, a Sweetwing Tea, and a Sweetwater.”

One of the bartenders held up five fingers to confirm the order.

“How bad were the walls?” Charles asked when Samuel settled back down.

Ambrose swirled his drink and blew out a breath. “Before that new wave of Red Death did some more damage, they were already gone to Hell and back. It’ll take months to straighten those walls out, if not longer. Need a battalion of knights just to hold the damn things off so we can work.”

“How long will it take to put up some temporary blockades?” Charles started folding a cloth napkin over and over again.

“For what?”

“Cordon off part of the city. Build the wall back in stages.”

The repairman beside Ambrose shook his head. “Too long. Just getting the lumber together and building the barrier for one city block could take weeks if we’re under attack.”

Charles nodded. “I have something that might help with that.” He awkwardly removed his backpack in the narrow booth, elbowing Jacob in the head and Samuel in the ribs. “Sorry, sorry.” He pulled out the glove made of mesh and metal.

“What is
that
going to do for us?” Ambrose asked as he leaned forward. “They’re great, but they’re slow to reload.”

“We improved the loading mechanism. The new gloves are going to let you build faster than you thought possible.” Charles slid the glove on slowly and flexed his fingers in the mesh, forming a fist. “Hmm, angle’s a little awkward here, but …” He slammed his fist into the stack of thick boards he’d made.

Jacob could barely make out the whine of the springs above the organ in the background when the glove sent three nails deep into the wooden blocks with a snap. Charles pulled a lever across his wrist, and another round of nails slid up into the springs. He turned the wood over and slammed his fist into it again.

The repairmen all stared at the little block of wood. Six nails, fully driven to their heads, decorated the pale wood. Ambrose picked it up and ran his fingers over the nails.

“Is this ironwood?”

“It is.” Charles pulled the mesh glove off. Its brackets hung limply beneath the nail-driving mechanism when it wasn’t attached to a hand. “I’d like to see you buy a few of these. I’m sure the city would subsidize it for you. It’s one of the better inventions I’ve had in a while, if I do say so myself.”

“It’s brilliant,” Ambrose said.

“I should have a model that can drive rivets through steel in a few days. The run we made to my old lab in the Lowlands gave me the heavy springs I needed.”

“Charles, we could build the walls in half the time with these tools,” Ambrose said. “Do you think the new glove you’re building will penetrate stone?”

Charles didn’t hesitate before he said, “Easily.”

Ambrose nodded slowly. “We could use it to drive the anchors. Use this to build the temporary walls. Rebuild a block at a time, as you suggested. This could actually work. Even our best carpenters take at least three hits to drive a nail.” He shook his head. “This takes all of that away. I’m telling you, it could actually work.”

“Take this one,” Charles said as he pushed it toward Ambrose. “I’ll make more, but before you buy them, make sure it will do what you want it to do. What you need it to do. Hold on a second.”

He raised his hand to stop one of the bartenders making their rounds of the tables. The man was dressed in a roughly stitched leather jacket made to resemble one of the Highlanders’ suits.

“Sir?”

“Is Baddawick in?” Charles asked.

“I believe so, sir. Would you like me to fetch him?”

“I jolly well would.”

“As you say.” The bartender tipped a hat he wasn’t wearing and continued on to the next table.

“‘Jolly well’?” Alice said with a hint of amusement in her voice.

Charles smiled. “I love this bar.”

“Who’s Baddawick?” Alice asked. “That’s an unusual name. The only Baddawick I’ve ever heard of was the man that designed one of the big steam locomotives.”

“One and the same. He does like to take all the credit, but he didn’t do it alone.”

Samuel leaned forward and lowered his voice, so only their group could hear him as he interrupted. “I know you have the same question we have.”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “The transmitters?”

Samuel nodded. “The attack wasn’t natural, which means someone planned it.”

“I’m sure Parliament knows that by now,” Charles said. “They have a ready culprit in Dauschen. Who better to blame than the city that laid an embargo against Ancora?”

Samuel blew out a breath. “Between that and the transmitters, who wouldn’t suspect Dauschen of trying to start a war? Do you think it
could
be them?”

Charles shook his head. “I doubt it. There’s only one other living man I know of who’s seen the design for those transmitters, and he’s not in Dauschen. However, I doubt that fact would be enough to dissuade Parliament from taking action.”

“What are they planning?” Ambrose hissed. “Could they be stupid enough to attack Dauschen?”

“Frightened people do stupid things,” Alice said.

“You’re damn right,” Charles said. He sighed and looked in the direction of the man walking toward them with a tray on his shoulder. “I do hope those are ours.”

“Gentlemen,” the bartender said, sidling up beside the table. He glanced at Alice and added, “and miss.” He hit a button on the edge of the table and a pillar rose out of the wood. The bartender set the square tray down on top of it, said “Enjoy,” and walked away.

Jacob started to reach for the Sweetwater, but Charles stopped him.

“Just wait.”

Jacob was going to ask why, and then the tray broke into smaller trays. The pillar beneath extended a dozen mechanical brass arms, each with a precariously balanced drink or section of tray on top.

“How in the …” Jacob’s words trailed off as everyone picked their drinks up. When the weight lifted, the arms retracted until the tray was whole once more. It leaned a bit to one side, and then some more, until the tray stood vertical.

“That’s amazing!” Alice said.

“Not done yet,” Charles said.

Jacob wondered why Charles was leaning away from the tray, until it launched into the air.

“Incoming!” one of the bartenders shouted.

Alice laughed and slapped Jacob’s arm as the nearest bartender caught the tray and set it on the shelf.

“Baddawick’s a madman,” Ambrose said, but his smile betrayed his words.

Jacob watched the post vanish into the tabletop while he tried not to look at the long, thin wing sticking out of Alice’s drink. He focused on enjoying his Sweetwater and leaving Alice to enjoy her tea. At the Wild Horse, Sweetwater was dark and bubbly and tasted more like candy than the watered-down version in the Lowlands.

“This city isn’t prepared for war,” Charles said.

“War?” Ambrose asked.

Charles nodded. “The Lowlands must be reclaimed, and the walls rebuilt, if Ancora is to stand a chance. If those plans are for maneuvers against Dauschen, their designer is risking war. Ancora isn’t ready for war.”

“Maybe a skirmish,” Ambrose said between sips of his Dragon’s Bane. “I don’t think it would escalate to war.”

“No one thought the trade embargo with Dauschen and banishment of the Forgotten would result in the Deadlands War, either.”

Jacob and Alice exchanged glances. They’d both read
The Dead Scourge.
They knew how the Forgotten had forged their own city in the Deadlands. The Forgotten had used the resources Ancorans once thought impossible to harvest to start trading with Dauschen. The embargo had drawn a line in the sand, and the Forgotten had taken their reparations in blood.

“Before my time,” Ambrose said. He swirled his drink and set it down before he laced his fingers together. “War isn’t my concern, and I think you know that. I want to repair the walls and keep the Lowlands as safe as they can be.”

“I think some men want to watch the Lowlands burn,” Samuel said, glancing between Ambrose and Charles. It made Jacob think back to the conversation he and Alice had overheard in the catacombs.

“You’re both right,” Charles said as he leaned forward. “But either way, the Highlands can’t support the sheer quantity of refugees it’s harboring. Ambrose, this is why I want you to use the gloves, and rebuild the walls faster than anyone thought possible. If Samuel’s right, and this was some twisted ruse to eliminate the Lowlands, the walls are their best hope. If you’re right, Ambrose, and I’m just a paranoid old man, they still need the walls to keep the Lowlands safe. The sooner the better.”

Ambrose nodded slowly and crossed his arms. “It’s reasonable, Charles, and it’s a perfect excuse to fortify the Lowlands without raising suspicions about your own suspicions. I’ll put in the request to have Parliament pay for the gloves, too.” He slammed the rest of his cocktail and winced. “Gods, but I hope you’re wrong.”

The table grew silent for a time while everyone finished their drinks. Jacob watched the bartenders move around the room. He’d come to realize that each table had its own built-in surprises.

One shot little arcs of water over the inn’s patrons at random intervals. The streams of water seemed to vanish right into the woodwork. Jacob figured there were funnels or pipes or something catching the streams, but he couldn’t see anything.

Alice bumped him with her elbow and pointed at a far booth, closer to the bar itself. A post, not unlike the post in their own table, rose and extended half a dozen arms. This time though, each arm had a hose connected to it that moved forward until it bumped a glass, rose slightly, and dispensed refills without the bartenders having to lift a finger.

“I love this place,” Jacob said.

“I thought you might,” Charles said before he sipped the last bit of his drink.

“Jacob, look!” Alice tugged on his sleeve and pointed across the room again. “They have a picture man.”

It wasn’t every day they saw a working camera. In the Lowlands, maybe they’d see a picture man on Festival days, but that was usually about it. This camera was set up on a tripod, not far from the booth that automatically refilled the drinks. A painting hung on the wall of the old Hall in the Lowlands. Jacob recognized some of the founders of Ancora. Miss Penny had drilled the history of their city into his head well enough to remember a little bit.