Charlie woke to the rhythmic striking of Daniel’s hammer against the anvil. It was uncomfortably warm in the loft, and it had to be late into the morning if the Blacksmith was already shaping metal. “Shit,” she hissed, scrambling for her clothes and not bothering to braid her hair before practically sliding down the ladder from the loft. Brutus looked up form where he lay in front of the hearth, giving her a wide, doggy smile of greeting. Charlie blinked. A small pot hung over the embers of the fire, and a jug sat on the table next to a note and an unfamiliar hat. Warily, she picked up the note:
No training today. Eat up and get the mail from the train. You need a better hat. This was your mother’s. Nate.
My mother’s hat? Charlie re-read the note in confusion. Why would her uncle have one of her mother’s hats? She examined the hat itself. It was made of soft black felt, with a wide brim and a shallow, flat crown. She didn’t remember her mother wearing this kind of hat, but then she caught sight of the decoration on the band: a wooden bead carved into a fox’s head. Charlie gingerly touched her mother’s totem, her throat constricting slightly. My mother’s hat. Her grief was no longer as sharp, thanks to last night, but it still lingered.
She ate her breakfast, taking the time to braid her hair before putting on her new hat. She liked the way it felt: not too high and not too heavy. Brutus stood up and gave a long stretch before following her up the short flight of stairs and out the door. The street was fairly quiet at this time of day. Most of the men and a few women were likely already in the mine. Some would be at the Quartermaster’s platform to help unload the supplies from Wichita Falls. The children were in school or at their apprenticeships, and the rest of the women would be working in the communal kitchen or tending the gardens. Charlie passed the smith’s shop, waving briefly to Daniel, who raised his hammer as a way of greeting. She was surprised not to see Marcus beside his father at the forge, but had her own chores to handle.
The Quartermaster and the men scheduled to help unload the train stood waiting. She spotted Marcus towards the back of the group, burly arms crossed over his chest. Charlie walked up to him. “Didn’t think you’d be on cargo duty,” she said by way of greeting.
Marcus looked down at her, and snorted slightly. “Nah. Pa’s expecting some iron and steel from back east. Needs it to repair some of the cart track into the mine. Sent me to make sure it’s brought straight to the forge.” He glanced back as the piercing whistle echoed from the distance. “Didn’t expect to see you here, either. Thought you’d be with your Uncle.” He looked at her curiously, one dark eyebrow raising.
Charlie shrugged, not really wanting to talk about last night’s events. “Decided to let me have the day off, I guess. Just sent me to get any mail.”
Marcus’ lips twitched in a slight smile. “Well… if you’ve got some time, I might have something to show you. Something you might like.”
Charlie smiled slyly. “Oh really?”
The blacksmith’s son just gave her a smug grin, conversation cut off as the train rolled in. She would have to wait to see whatever it was he had in mind. The train came to a screeching halt. Charlie saw a small car squeezed between the engine and the boxcar. She grimaced: the passenger car she should have been on… right. A young couple came out, and immediately presented their papers to the Quartermaster. Behind them was a group of men in fancy suits with tall top hats. They didn’t seem to be in any rush to give paperwork to Davidson, and instead turned to watch as the boxcar was opened.
There was an immediate cry of dismay that caught Davidson’s attention. He handed the paperwork back to the couple and marched over. “What the hell is this?” he demanded.
Charlie got up on tip-toe to peer over the men in front of her. The massive door to the boxcar was open, revealing a huge crate that took up the entire opening. One of the suited men, who had a canary-yellow band on his hat, came forward. “My good man,” he said affably, his accent crisp but quite foreign. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Professor Percival Conright, of Her Majesty’s Royal Academy.”
Quartermaster Davidson jerked his thumb at the massive crate. “Is this yours?” he demanded.
“Why, yes,” Professor Conright said, smiling. “There are several more as well. You see, we’re here to…”
Davidson started swearing violently. “Several more? All this big? The hell was Wichita thinking?”
“Now, my good man, there’s no need for such language.” Professor Conright’s smile dimmed a bit. “My associates and I are here to oversee the testing of some very specialized equipment. We need to take extra care with it, as it is a bit delicate but…”
“Look, mister,” Davidson said, scowling. “Your crate is currently blocking the town’s supplementary rations for the next week or two. There’s perishable things in there that we need to get outta the sun before we deal with your delicate doodads.”
Conright puffed up a bit. “Doodads! Of all the impertinent… I assure you, my machinery is quite valuable! And it must be handled very carefully!”
Charlie sighed, frowning. “They’re going to argue like this for hours,” she muttered. Marcus nodded, scowling himself. Davidson and Conright went on for another five minutes before she had enough. “Hold this,” she said, handing Marcus her hat. Charlie elbowed her way through the crowd of men waiting to unload the train. Good. She had a little running room.
Without waiting for either men to stop and see her, Charlie sprinted forward and leapt from the platform. Her left arm windmilled over her head and actually managed to catch the top edge of the boxcar itself. She could hear the gears and clockwork of her prosthetic tick furiously as she pulled herself up a little. Through the soft leather soles of her boots, she managed to find purchase against the side of the crate.
“Young lady! What are you doing!?!”
Ignoring the professor, Charlie levered herself up and squeezed into the narrow space between the top of the crate and the roof of the boxcar. With a wriggling crawl, she scooted forward, kicking a hand off her foot in the process. Carefully, she crawled over top the crate. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light, but when her hand touched burlap, she stopped. The crate was taller and longer than it was wide, just long enough to block the entire opening. Other crates of various sizes, each stamped with what looked like a many-legged insect twisting around on itself, were stacked along the back wall.
She smiled. The Quartermaster at Wichita Falls didn’t strike her as the type to leave Davidson in a lurch. He had neatly and carefully piled the settlement’s supplies behind this one crate, which might fall over and crush someone if it were the last crate to be pulled out of the car. Satisfied with the situation, she managed to turn and crawl back over crate towards daylight.
When she reached the opening, she twisted around and grabbed hold of the edge of the boxcar with both hands, pulling herself out from the tight space before dropping neatly back onto the platform. Professor Conright looked aghast, but Davidson was looking at her expectantly.
She smiled, dusting off her hands. “It’s all right. Quartermaster at Wichita took care of us. This is the only crate blocking our goods. If you can get it out of the way, you can unload our supplies, then the rest of the Professor’s machinery.”
Davidson smiled at her. “Thanks, Charlie. Right, boys! Let’s get the rollers…” Charlie walked back towards Marcus, getting out of the Quartermaster’s way.
Marcus came to meet her, handing her hat back. “Nice jump.”
Before she could thank him, Professor Conright came bristling over. “Young lady! Just what were you thinking?! That equipment is quite delicate, you know!”
Charlie tipped her head at him. “Mister, if your equipment could handle the ride in that boxcar from Wichita Falls to Cordan, it could handle me climbing over the crate.” She adjusted her hat so it perched comfortably on her head. “If it’s so delicate, why’d you come out this way anyway?”
Professor Conright puffed up a little. “This was the best place to make a suitable test on the equipment. Also, this is the only area where one of you Master Trackers is actually in the field.”
Charlie’s eyes narrowed at she looked at him. “What do you want with Uncle Nate?” she demanded sharply.
Conright blinked, nonplussed. “Nathaniel Willows is your uncle? My goodness… well… perhaps you can help arrange a meeting with him!” He smiled, suddenly delighted. “You see, we wish to discuss the local dragon population with him. We’re looking for an exemplary test subject.”
“Test subject.” Charlie stared at him, anger suddenly bubbling in her gut. “You want to test whatever it is you’ve built. On dragons?”
“Well… yes.” Professor Conright seemed confused at her anger. “You see, we believe it might be possible to actually trap them and-”
“Trap a dragon?!” Charlie demanded. “Why the hell would you want to do that?” Her exclamation made several of the men moving to unload the boxcar stop and stare at them.
“Why, to train it of course,” Professor Conright said.
Charlie stared at him, dumbfounded for only a second before the anger returned. “Mister, you don’t have to wait for my Uncle. He’ll have no part of whatever it is you’re planning. Only an idiot or a crazy person thinks they can domesticate dragons.” With that, she turned on her heel and marched away.
Marucs caught up with her after a little while, putting a hand on her shoulder. “C’mon. Let me show you what I built.” For a second, she fought the urge to slap him away, then took a breath and nodded, letting the anger bleed from her as she relented.
The two walked back to the blacksmith’s shop, leaving the Professor and his crazy notions behind them for the moment. Marcus went to a worktable beside the forge. “I’ve been working on this for a while. Showed it to your Uncle, but he said you might like it better.”
The piece he held out was not like anything she ever saw before. She recognized the stock of a rifle, and the trigger mechanism, but beneath where the barrel should have been were rectangular blocks of metal about six inches wide stacked on top of each other. Charlie looked at it for a moment, then looked at Marcus. Marcus just grinned and picked up the contraption. He flicked a switch along the underside of the stock and swung the gun lightly. The segmented barrel unfolded accordion-like and then snapped into place, creating a much longer barrel than she had seen on similar rifles. Eyes wide, Charlie took the gun and just held it.
“It’s lighter than I thought it would be,” she said, surprised.
Marcus nodded. “Meant to be carried on the side of your pack,” he said. “Specialized bullets, too. Also, there’s this.” He reached out and attached what looked like a simple brass tube on the first segment of the barrel.
Charlie pulled the gun to her shoulder and looked through the tube, then gasped. “A telescope! But it’s so small…”
“Figured I’d just call it a scope,” Marcus said, shrugging. “It doesn’t collapse or anything like that. Just fits along the sight of the gun so you can see. The range is pretty long.”
Charlie lifted her head and looked at him. “Have you tried it out yet?”
Marcus shrugged again. “Just to get a feel for distance, and to make sure it would work. I’m not a good shot though, so I still need a benchmark accuracy test for it…” He was grinning at her now.
Charlie grinned back and collapsed the barrel again. “Come on. I know a place.”
It took them about twenty minutes to climb to her little ledge on the other side of the mountain housing the copper mine. Charlie unfolded the rifle, smiling when she saw the two little legs that flipped out from one of the central sections of the barrel. She lay flat on her belly, balancing the rifle on its little stand and looking down into the valley. Marcus stood beside her, an actual telescope in his hands. “What’s your target?” he asked.
Charlie took a moment to look through the valley. “See the big cactus with the red flower? About five hundred yards in?” She waited for him to find it, before slowing her breath and steadying herself. Another five heartbeats, and then she squeezed the trigger.
The resounding crack of the shot ricocheted off the stones, and the rebound from the gun kicked the stock hard into her shoulder, lifting the muzzle of the barrel just a little. She looked back through the scope, and whistled. The arm of the cactus that once held a lovely red flower was simply gone.
“Nice shot,” Marcus commented, holding a hand down to her. She took it and hauled herself up, picking up the rifle as she did. “Round’s too big for a precision shot like the flower, but you still hit the target.”
“I’ll have to remember it kicks like a mule,” she said, gingerly rubbing her right shoulder. “The hunters would love these.” She trailed her fingers over the stock, looking closer at the intricate carvings worked into the wood. A detailed rendition of a dragon in flight dominated the body of the stock, with a fox in the lower corner carefully watching its path.
“Not for them,” Marcus said gruffly. Charlie looked up, and the look in Marcus’ dark blue eyes caught her breath. “This’uns just for you.”
They stood for a moment, simply staring at each other. Charlie could faintly hear the buzz of insects and the distant cry of some bird, but it seemed faint and distant compared to the sudden pounding of her blood in her ears. Marcus raised his hand, trailing rough fingers along her jaw: the sensation sent a pleasant hum through her nerves to settle just below her navel. The heady feeling spun out a moment longer, and Charlie’s eyes closed as those surprisingly gentle fingers traced from her chin to her left ear. Then they began to wander down her throat…
Charlie took a step back, almost instinctively, before he could reach her shoulder. Heart pounding in her ribcage, it took her a moment to catch her breath. “We…” she started, pausing to swallow thickly. “We should go back.”
Marcus looked at her for a long moment, hand still outstretched. Then, he let it fall to his side. “All right.” His expression was a slightly sad, and Charlie hated herself in that moment for causing it, but then his face shifted to its natural, neutral expression. “Come on. They’ve probably got the mail and the ore out by now.”
Charlie nodded, and led him back down the mountain and into Cordan.