The Flux Engine by Dan Willis

Author:Dan Willis [Willis, Dan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781614753339
Amazon: 1614753334
Publisher: WordFire Press
Published: 2015-09-04T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

The Prophet

John watched as the door opened before Bill Hickok’s hand could descend to knock, opening smoothly as if expecting them. A short, portly man in a matching red waistcoat and jacket stood in the doorway. He had thick, iron-grey hair and mustache with intense, hazel eyes that seemed to shift as he looked the enforcer up and down, changing colors like storm clouds. His face was round and his cheeks puffed out a bit, hemming a broad, pug nose between them, and the tips of his mustache were curled upward in delicate spirals. It was a face that could have been jovial, should have been, but instead, it wore a look of haughty indifference tinged with disapproval. After giving Hickok a hard look for a long moment, the man stepped back from the opening.

“He’s been expecting you.”

“Thank you, Alistair,” Hickok said. He nodded and entered.

John hesitated, allowing Robi to go first and earning him a frosty glance from the dark haired girl, then went in.

“I trust,” Alistair said, shutting the door, “that there will be no uninvited guests this time.”

Hickok flinched at the comment and looked sheepish, something John had never seen before. The expression flickered over Hickok’s face and just as quickly vanished, his usual hard mask replacing it.

“You know I had no way of knowin’ those boys had followed me,” he said, forcing extra gruff into his voice.

“Yes,” Alistair replied in an unconvinced sort of voice. “Fortunately, I’ve taken precautions to prevent such things from happening in the future.” As he said it, the portly man dropped an iron bar the size of Robi’s wrist down into a heavy bracket on the back of the ornate door.

“Now,” Alistair said, turning to face them all. “The master is awaiting you in the library, and—”

“I know the way,” Hickok cut him off. “Why don’t you see if the young folk want something to eat whilst I go and have a quick word.” He waved at John and Robi, introducing them in turn. “John’s an apprentice Thurger who sent a bunch of Tommys on a rampage through Sprocketville and Robi here is the daughter of the Cat, you know, the famous thief.”

Alistair looked suddenly ill and Hickok beamed him an amused smile before walking away.

“Well,” Alistair said once Hickok had gone. “Make yourselves comfortable while I pop into the kitchen and see what Cook has available.”

He gave Robi a look that suggested he would also instruct the cook to put away the good silver, then he left.

Hickok had gone through a large door at the end of a short hallway. As soon as Alistair was gone, John moved quickly to it and pressed his ear to the lacquered wood. Muffled sounds of talking reached him but nothing as distinct as words.

“Amateurs,” Robi’s exasperated voice came from behind him.

He turned and found the girl calmly rolling up a sheet of paper she’d taken from a nearby writing desk. She rolled it such a way that it had a small, narrow end that expanded out like the cone of a phonograph.

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