forward and then began to rumble out of the clearing. Dag swung out of the open door, holding onto the side railing, but Emily caught his hand one last time.
“Thank you, Dag,” she murmured. “Thank you for everything.”
He pulled her close and kissed her with bright, brief intensity. Then he leapt from the train, disappearing into the darkness.
Emily stood in the vestibule for a long time. The conductor reached past her to close the door, making a sound of weary disapproval. She touched her lips where Dag had kissed them. They felt strange indeed. Then, shaking her head, she went back to Stanton.
The cheapest seats were in the emigrant cabin—a large drafty car with a coal stove at each end and hard wooden benches. Given the late hour, most of the seats had been folded down so that passengers could stretch out to sleep. The coal-oil lanterns that swung in gimbaled fittings in the ceilings were turned down low. The faint yellow light made everything seem dingy and mysterious at the same time.
Emily slid into the seat next to Stanton, elbowed him softly.
“We’ve made it, Mr. Stanton,” she whispered to him. “We’ve made it!”
But Stanton did not reply. His head lolled against the window. She shook him again. The train was gathering speed now, rattling and jolting.
“Mr. Stanton?” she said. He did not wake. She shook him harder, giving him little slaps on the cheek. He still did not wake.
He’s just tired, Emily assured herself, swallowing hard. She laid a hand on his chest to feel if he was breathing. He was. Well, that was a good sign at least. Looking at her own hand on Stanton’s chest made her remember the way Caul’s hand had pressed the alembic there, just over where Stanton’s heart was, and the sizzling wires of magic, blood red and rot black, that had surrounded him …
Just tired, she repeated to herself, letting her hand drop and closing her eyes.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Mother Roscoe’s Eye-Opener
Her own exhaustion made it easier for Emily to convince herself that there was nothing sinister about Stanton’s abrupt slide into unconsciousness. Almost as soon as she closed her eyes the train’s soothing clatter rocked her into a deep, dreamless sleep. She was jolted awake by words that seemed to be shouted directly into her ear:
“Fresh candy! Candy and cigars!”
Bolting upright from where she’d slumped against Stanton’s shoulder, she found that the train had stopped. Brilliant sunshine streamed through the dusty windows of the car. A glance out the window at the name on the station indicated that they were someplace called Wadsworth. Young boys were walking up and down the aisle.
“Nice oranges from California, last you’ll get!”
“Papers, getcher papers! Books just a dime! Full-color covers, gents! Thrilling exploits, madcap mayhem, wild adventure …”
“Can I see?”
The request came from a girl sitting in the seat across from them. She was plump and blond, with smooth skin and bright brown eyes. She wore a poke bonnet and a clean white apron over a cream-colored dress that was sprinkled with tiny pink rosebuds.
The newsboy lifted the flap on his battered canvas satchel so that she could paw through his assortment of brightly colored pulps.
“Have it … read it … thought it was awful dull …” she muttered to herself as she discarded one after another. Finally, she seized on one with a happy cry. “Oh! Haven’t read this one before! I’ll take it!”
Clutching the treasured find to her chest, the girl dug into a little woven purse and pulled out a dime. When the girl saw that Emily was watching, she blushed.
“It’s a Jack Two-Fist,” she said, as if Emily should know what that meant. Then the girl looked away shyly, but not before letting her eyes linger on Stanton with some concern.
Emily glanced at Stanton. She nudged him with her shoulder, hoping he’d stretch and groan. She laid a hand on his cheek; his skin, always quite warm, was now burning hot.
Her first impulse was to grab him by both shoulders and give him a really tooth-rattling shake, but the girl was right there. So, Emily went to address herself to more immediate concerns.
Being dressed as a man, she certainly couldn’t use the “ladies’ rest,” so it was with great apprehension that she picked her way back to the “gentlemen’s rest” at the rear of the car.
It was as disgusting as she expected. There was a dicey-looking chamber pot, and a trapdoor in the floor through which said pot was supposed to be emptied.