The Nine Pound Hammer (29 page)

“Keep looking,” Si said.

A moment later, Ray said, “Got it!” and held up a key triumphantly.

A sharp click sounded, and Si turned the handle and opened the door. “Never mind.”

Jolie was waiting behind the lead-plated door as it opened; she rushed out into the hallway, a bundle in her hands. Si held her hand over Jolie’s nose and said, “Wait. Hold your breath. Ray, give Jolie some of the herbs.” Ray ran down the hallway, digging them out of the satchel before handing them to Jolie. As she ate, he noticed how ornately decorated the dark hallway was: the detailed paneling on the walls, the unlit brass lamps lining the corridor.

“Eat them quickly,” Si said to Jolie. Her eyes fell to the bundle in Jolie’s hands. “What’s that?”

“A book,” Jolie mumbled as she chewed the leaves. But before explaining further, she asked, “Ray? What is it?”

Ray frowned. “Something about this train …”

Giving Ray a shove, Si took Jolie’s hand and pulled her along. “No time for admiring the sights. Let’s move!”

The three of them ran down the hallway and jumped from the vestibule. Si pushed them back into the gap between the cars. “Agents!” she hissed.

Ray took a quick peek around the car. From the front of
The Pitch Dark Train
, a group of men was charging through the smoke down the gravel right-of-way.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Ray said.

Ray looked for Redfeather. He was standing out in the field between the Gog’s train and the edge of the fire. Silhouetted against the flames and wearing the bowler hat, Redfeather looked just like one of the Gog’s mercenaries. Ray could not see the bottletree and figured Redfeather had it hidden in the tall, unburned grass.

Redfeather waved at the running guards. “Over here!” he bellowed through the smoky air. The guards looked over at Redfeather and turned his way. As they were nearing him, Redfeather knelt to pick up the bottletree.

One of the guards shouted, “That’s not—” and aimed his pistol. Ray nearly cried out. A shot erupted.

Redfeather had just driven the bottletree in the earth
when the bullet flipped him sideways and threw him to the ground.

Light flashed from the bottletree, and the guards were sucked in a vaporous swirl into the colored glass.

Ray began to scramble from between the cars toward Redfeather when Si grabbed his arm.

“What are you doing?” she said, terror breaking in her voice.

“I’ve got to help him.” Ray pulled the copper from his pocket and handed it to Si. “Take it. You and Jolie get away.”

Si pushed the copper back to Ray. “No, you keep it. I’ll get Jolie to the front of the train. We can follow the track to get through the flames.”

“How will you get past the guards?” Ray asked.

Jolie tucked the bundled book under her arm and said, “I can use my song.”

“Only on one—!” Ray started.

“Let us worry about that!” Si took another phial from Ray’s satchel. “Go help Redfeather. You’ll need the copper if you’re going to get him back to the
Ballyhoo
.”

“Okay,” Ray said, and sprinted toward Redfeather, his legs ripping through the tall grass. Ray looked over his shoulder. A breeze parted the smoke momentarily, and he saw more guards coming from the locomotive. Ray also saw the train more clearly. The locomotive was elegantly painted—a powerful, sleek ten-wheeler.

He reached the bottletree and found Redfeather lying
facedown. Ray turned him over and his hand grew wet and hot from blood covering Redfeather’s shirt.

“Redfeather!” Ray cried.

Redfeather’s eyes flickered, and he uttered a moan. He was barely conscious, but he was alive.

“I’ll get you out of here,” Ray said. He hoisted Redfeather onto his shoulder. He was heavy, and Ray stumbled as he stood. With his free hand, Ray pulled the bottletree from the ground. Nearly a dozen unconscious men materialized on the ground around him as they were released from the bottletree’s spell.

Ray could not run, but he trudged as fast as he could toward the edge of the fire.

Shouting voices sounded nearer to him and several rifles fired. Although none hit him, Ray fell to the ground under Redfeather’s weight.

“Redfeather, you still with me?” Ray asked, touching Redfeather’s face.

Redfeather answered with a painful groan.

Lying in the grass with the waves of smoke rolling all around Ray and Redfeather made it hard for the Gog’s men to see them. The way their shots scattered all over the field, Ray knew they were not certain of his location.

Through the smoke, he caught glimpses of other guards running in his direction and several more men in bowler hats coming from other train cars, searching the field. With grim satisfaction, Ray thought that at least this was providing the distraction Si and Jolie needed.

Then Ray saw another figure among the mercenaries.

He was not wearing a bowler hat, nor was he carrying a rifle. He was tall and wore a stovepipe hat and a long flowing coat. While the others ran, this man walked with a deliberate stride, punctuating his steps with a short walking stick.

Setting eyes on the tall man froze Ray deep into the marrow of his bones. The shadowy man sucked the hope and will to escape out of him, until all he wanted to do was lie on the ground and never get up. There was no doubt in Ray’s mind: this was the Gog. And what terrified and confused Ray the most was that the man looked strangely familiar. But from where?

As the first group of guards neared Ray, he fought against the terrible urge to quit, to surrender. He had to get Redfeather to safety. Ray fingered one of Nel’s potions.

“There he is!” one of the guards shouted. It was Mister Horne. Ray sat up and aimed the phial at him. Horne shot the phial in midflight, and it sprayed the soporific over all the guards. They tumbled en masse.

“Hold your fire,” the man in the stovepipe hat—the Gog—called. “Don’t kill the siren.”

Ray was afraid he could guess what they would do when they discovered the siren was not with him.

The other guards began to close in on Ray, rifles all leveled on their target. The Gog followed behind, his features still shadowy.

Ray threw another phial at a pair of guards nearing
him. They dropped, one after the other. Then, growing brave with the hope that these men would follow orders and not shoot him, Ray stood up with the bottletree. Several of the men—possibly Mister McDevitt among them—seemed to understand what the bottletree could do. They turned to run, but Ray drove the cedar pole in the ground. He watched as nearly half a dozen were sucked into the colored bottles.

But there were still more coming, along with the Gog.

Ray took the copper necklace from his pocket and dropped it over his neck. He bent to pick up Redfeather. It was not more than forty feet to the edge of the fire. The bottletree had bought them some time, but Ray was not sure if it would be enough. Mustering all the strength he had, Ray pumped his legs. Twenty more feet.

Just as he neared the fire, Ray stumbled and fell. He grabbed his ankle. It had twisted painfully. Feeling at it with his fingers, he hoped he could still walk on it.

Ray looked back at his pursuers. The bowler-capped men were afraid to go near the bottletree and scattered in a wide path around the charm. But one among them was not afraid of it: the Gog.

The tails of his coat sweeping out around his legs, the Gog walked up to the bottletree and knocked it over with his walking stick. The guards trapped in the bottles spilled around him. The Gog stepped over the unconscious men, marching toward Ray. His agents joined him as he came nearer.

Ray had only one of Nel’s phials left. The Gog was still pretty far, but Ray thought he could make the throw. Winding his arm around and throwing his weight into the pitch, Ray sent the phial straight at the Gog. It was a perfect throw.

The Gog held up a gloved hand to keep the phial from striking him in the face. The phial shattered as it hit his finger, spraying a fine sparkle of glass and potion over his coat and stovepipe hat. Four men at the Gog’s side tumbled to the ground. The Gog kept striding toward Ray, his even, deliberate steps unbroken.

Ray’s heart sank. He squatted to pull Redfeather over his shoulder. He was so exhausted and sore and terrified that he could barely lift him. A wave of pain shot from his ankle as he stood. There were only a few more feet until he reached the fire.

After he had gotten several yards into the fire, Ray turned to see if the Gog would follow him. The elegantly dressed man had not been affected by the bottletree, nor by Nel’s soporific. Would the Gog be able to enter the fire as well?

The Gog stopped just as he reached the fire’s edge. Half a dozen guards spread out behind him. They shielded their faces from the blistering heat and smoke and waited for orders.

The Gog’s features were illuminated by the swirling orange flames. He gazed in Ray’s direction with a ferocious iciness. The light danced off the Gog’s dark coat and
reptilian-green and black striped suit beneath it. His nostrils flared above his curly silver mustache.

Ray felt a wave of horror. He knew the Gog.

“He doesn’t have the siren,” the Gog said. “It’s a trick. She’s escaped in another direction.”

With a swirl of his long coat, the Gog turned and pointed back to his pitch-dark train with his walking stick.

Redfeather groaned, and Ray’s attention returned to his friend. He had to get him back to the
Ballyhoo
. Ray hurried, staying at the edge of the field fire nearest to the tracks.

But Ray could not tear his thoughts away from what he now realized. He had met the Gog before.

The pieces came together in his mind. The train, that elegant pitch-dark train. Ray had hardly noticed its exterior when he and Sally boarded the wonderful train that was leading them from the city.

The finely dressed man in that green and black striped suit. The Gog. It seemed so obvious now. It was not just a name. They were the initials of G. Octavius Grevol. The man who had been so generous, who had brought Sally and all those other orphans to new homes. Mister Grevol was the Gog.

R
AY LEFT THE FIRE
. F
OR A MOMENT HE WAS DISORIENTED
and worried that he had come out in the wrong place. But he heard the clang and shouts of the Gog’s men working on the broken track. Through the swirling orange and black smoke, he managed to spot the dark rise of the hill where Buck and Conker waited.

“Redfeather, can you hear me?” Ray asked.

Redfeather did not respond, but Ray could hear his breathing and hurried toward the hill.

Within a few minutes, he reached the tree-crowned hilltop. Buck had his pistol leveled on Ray, but he lifted it as he realized who it was. Startled, Conker said, “Ray, you’re back—” And then seeing Redfeather, he stammered, “Is he—is Redfeather …”

“Blood!” Buck barked. “What’s happened?”

“He’s shot,” Ray panted. “But he’s still alive.”

Ray lowered Redfeather to the ground. Conker pulled open Redfeather’s dark, wet shirt. Searching with his hands across the film of blood, he found the wound on Redfeather’s stomach. The bleeding seemed to have slowed, but he needed help fast.

“I’m getting him back to Nel,” Conker said. He slid the Nine Pound Hammer into his belt and lifted Redfeather easily in his arms. “Where’s the others?”

“Jolie?” Buck urged. “Did you rescue her?”

“We were separated,” Ray began. “They were coming down the track. They’re trapped down there by the men working—”

“Redfeather can’t wait,” Conker said. Ray took off the copper necklace and put it around Conker’s neck.

“Keep it for him,” Ray said. Conker nodded and left, running swiftly down from the hill toward the
Ballyhoo
.

“Can you see them down there?” Buck asked after Conker was gone.

“I don’t know.” Ray squinted hard. “There’s so much smoke.”

Buck turned toward the sound of the hammers coming from below. “If they’re trapped, we’ve got to draw those men’s attention.”

As he said this, the rhythmic trill of the hammers stopped. One of the men—Ray recognized him as Mister McDevitt—was waving his hands at the other agents, motioning them over.

“What’s happening?” Buck growled.

“I … I can’t tell …,” Ray mumbled.

He looked closer and saw Jolie and Si moving from the smoke and shadows behind Mister McDevitt. Jolie’s mouth was moving—she was singing. The other men were looking curiously at the girls and seemed confused by McDevitt’s odd behavior.

Before the agents could react, Si smashed a pair of phials at their feet. There was a clatter of falling hammers, tools, and rifles. McDevitt turned, smiling placidly at Jolie, as Si smashed a phial on his forehead. He toppled backward.

“They’re coming!” Ray shouted.

Jolie and Si ran from the smoky tracks up the hill. Buck holstered his revolver and threw the rifles over his shoulder. As soon as Si and Jolie reached the crest of the hill, Buck ordered, “Let’s go! Down the other side. We’ll follow the track and make for the
Ballyhoo
.”

Jolie and Si gasped at the blood covering Ray’s shirt. “Where’s Conker? Where’s Redfeather?” Si asked.