“Captain,” she said.

If he’d been wearing a hat, he would’ve removed it. “Wilkes,” he replied.

“I’m glad you’re home.”

Later, while Troost, Fang, and Houjin helped Lucy O’Gunning load the spoils of her wish list into the carts, Cly and Briar went downstairs—into the train station, to pass beneath its unfinished ceilings, and to walk the prettily marbled floors with their natural patterns swirling underfoot. All was alight with lamps both gas and electric; the hissing burn of one complementing the crackling fizz of the others, creating an underground chamber that was every bit as bright as a cathedral, and at least half so lovely.

Briar would not have chosen the station for a romantic walk, but Cly had promised Yaozu a report upon his return, and an accounting of both his money and the supplies it had purchased. So together they ambled, not in any real hurry, down a caged shaft via a mechanical lift, and through passageways that had once been meant to shelter incoming rail cars—which had never arrived, and never would.

This station, never completed or used for its intended purpose, now served as headquarters for what Briar considered a nefarious criminal empire … or at least the second incarnation thereof. Yaozu might prove better than Minnericht, or he might not. Regardless, to lend credit where it was due, she could be compelled to admit that King Street Station was a surprisingly clean and comfortable place.

“But that says nothing about the men who keep it that way.”

“I never said it did,” Cly noted. “It’s nice down here, that’s all. Looks downright civilized—like something you’d find on the outside.”

“Except for the lack of windows, I’d say you’re right.” Her mask hung off her belt now—affixed to a leather loop she’d stitched in place for the purpose. It dangled against her thigh, tapping her pants as she walked.

“And Yaozu might not be so bad. In the long run, he’ll be good for this place.”

“That’s what you think?”

“Maybe I’m wrong, and you’ll get to say ‘I told you so.’ But he’s helping me stay here. It was his money, mostly, that made the trip possible … and makes it possible to start up the dock I want, there in the fort.” He did not mention that the rest of the money had come from Josephine, who had paid him—good as her word—upon his departure from the delta.

“Then he’ll want something in return. Men like that, they never give anything away for free.”

“He’ll get something in return. More commerce. Easier access, coming and going.”

“Well. I suppose we’ll see.”

“No one’s asking you to like him.”

“Good,” she said. “Because I don’t. And I don’t trust him, either.”

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

“More than I ought to,” she said.

“Good. Then trust me to handle my end of things all right, and to keep the bargain from biting me in the ass later on.”

“All right. I’ll do that. Whatever it takes.”

His forehead wrinkled. “What do you mean, whatever it takes?”

“I mean, whatever it takes to keep you down here. If all you need is a little bargain with the devil, it’s not the end of the world. Not yet. And anyhow,” she added, with a toss of her hair that was almost girlish, and almost made him laugh, “you’re the one signing in blood, not me.”

He took her hand so he could hold it while they walked, even though it made him feel big and clumsy to grasp something so small in his oversized fingers. He liked it anyway, how she trusted him, and how she only looked delicate—when he knew for a fact that she was not, and for that matter, had never been any of the things everyone else had assumed.

He leaned into her like a lion drawing close to a fire. He removed his hand from hers and instead, wrapped it around her shoulder, pulling her against him so he could hold her that way, and be warmed by her.

She slipped an arm around his waist.

When they reached the wing where Yaozu lived, Briar extricated herself without any reproach. She said only, “I’ll go back to the vaults, and maybe I’ll see you there in a bit. But I’m not interested in consorting with you-know-who.”

“Who’s consorting? Good Lord, woman. You make it sound worse than it really is.”

“Time will tell how bad it really is. Until then, I’ll stick to my concerns, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t. And I’ll be back at the vaults in an hour or two. Is … um. Is Zeke around?”

She looked at him with a flash of something sharp and bright—a wink of intensity that she didn’t show him for long. She told him, “No, he’s not around. I’ve sent him off to Chinatown with Mercy. His leg’s all but healed up now, and he’s paying her back for stitching him up by helping on her rounds with Dr. Wong.”

“Helping?”

“I think he’s sweet on her, and it’s a shame. You can get almost anything down here in the underground, but girls his own age are hard to come by. Mercy doesn’t have ten years on him, so I guess he thinks that’d be all right. Anyway, she’s put him up next door to her father’s place, and I didn’t have to bully him too hard to stay out there with them.”

“For the night?”

“For a night or two.” Again, that spark of … invitation? It flashed, and returned to a simmer. “As long as I feel like locking him out. He’s a big boy. He’ll find something to occupy his time.”

“That’s … good to know.”

She walked away from him then, and without looking back, she disappeared down the corridor that would take her back into the open areas beneath the streets, and back to the vaults.

It scrambled his thoughts and made him reconsider how badly he needed to talk to Yaozu, but those reconsiderations were undone when he heard the man’s voice behind him, thereby settling the matter.

“Captain Cly, I see you’ve returned. I got your telegram. Angeline sent it down a few days ago, though she obviously didn’t bring it herself. You know, I don’t think she likes me much.”

“She’s … finicky about who she likes.”

Ignoring the polite deferral, Yaozu said, “Perhaps that’s one more thing I should put on our wish list, when it comes to citywide improvements. A set of taps.”

“Do you think we can set one up? I don’t know if it’s even possible, down here.”

Yaozu shrugged, the lines of his clean white outfit shifting and settling again. “I do not yet know what would be required, but I am interested in learning. Is there any chance Houjin would have any idea?”

“I don’t know. But if you tell him to go find out, he’ll report back within a day or two, putting one together with a couple of tin cans and a drawer full of spoons.”

“Yes, I hear he’s prone to such improvisations. And how was your excursion down to Texian territory?”

“It was fine. Brought back all your goodies, and everything on everybody else’s list, too. It weighed us down like crazy, all the things everyone wanted. If we hadn’t been so heavy, we might’ve missed that storm in Denver. But that’s just how it goes.”

“There’s nothing to be done about the weather,” Yaozu said graciously. “At any rate, if you’re not otherwise occupied, I’d appreciate your company up at the fort. I’ve summoned a handful of men to help with the loading and unloading, but you’re the one who knows what’s what in your cargo bay.”

Cly echoed his phrasing. “Otherwise occupied? Uh, no. Not right this second. I can take an hour or two to help you get all your gear in order.” That’s what he’d told Briar, after all. An hour or two. Though he determined on the spot that he was not going to hang around and be helpful for even one minute longer than that.

“Excellent. Walk with me, Captain.”

“Sure. Listen, there’s something you should know. Maybe you’ll care, and maybe you won’t,” he said, adjusting his pace to walk with the shorter man, whose legs could not comfortably match his long stride. “It’s about the sap, and what it’s doing outside the city.”

“I already know about the gas, and those Mexicans in Utah.”

“Sure. But have you heard about the zombis in New Orleans?”

Seventeen

Josephine held her breath and aimed.

She exhaled slowly as the zombi moseyed behind a stack of crates outside the warehouse down at the river’s edge. This was the same warehouse she’d visited once before, following the two Texian officers—and then, of course, she’d been saved from potential disaster by Marie Laveau, may she rest in peace. But Marie could not save her now. Marie was beyond saving anyone anymore, and it was almost as if the zombis knew it.

Josephine would not have said it out loud, but it was hard not to notice, and not to wonder at how the riverbanks were more dangerous now than before the Queen had passed on despite Texas’s efforts to the contrary. Patrols ran every night, in three shifts. Texian soldiers and Texian guns picked off the dead men by the score, leaving everyone to wonder just how many of the things, precisely, had been running around all this time.

Every morning there were more bodies, more corpse-corpses. Some of the zombies were recognized, named, and taken away. Most were not. Most of them were burned down to charred black scraps, and if anything was left, it was buried. Or else, the nasty remnants were dumped into the ocean—where everything eventually rusts, or warps, or is eaten away by carrion-seekers small and large.

They must be managed now, before they become unmanageable.

These days, or at least these curfewed nights, Josephine had started lighting candles and praying to no one in particular that it wasn’t already too late.

Then she’d pick up Little Russia and don unfancy clothes, adding a dark brown cloak. She’d meet her escort downstairs at the door, and he’d flash his badge again and again to see them both past the anxious watchmen who kept the Quarter under lock and key between dusk and dawn.