Wild Cards and Iron Horses Read Online Free Page A

was bright yellow, a startling contrast to the other colors in the room. Of course, after his washing it darkened considerably, more evidence that Prosperity Ridge was well on its way to matching or surpassing the sootiness of the larger cities back East, if not overseas.
    The black gloves went back on easily, the fabric soft and comforting. The gloves had come through the war with him, their latest assignment nothing more than providing protection and comfort to his hand.
    A quick check that the derringer was still hidden, a brush of his fingers through the thick black hair that defied combs and gravity, and he bounded down the steps, key in hand, ready to continue searching for a solution to his spring problem.
    The urchin hopped off a wooden crate near the entrance, snapping to attention again as if he’d never moved. “Sir, I waited for you like you said.” He touched his forehead with an index finger. “I forgot to introduce myself earlier. Gil Grassfeathers, at your service, sir.”
    “And I am Jon Handleston.” He shook the hand of the young boy, leaning down to make the connection. “Now then, please take me to this engineer.” Jon smiled. “I’m looking forward to meeting this woman of yours.”
    “All the men usually do.” Gil allowed himself a smirk as he led Jon down the sidewalk.
    The dense air, spotted with dark flakes floating in all directions, began to clear as they traveled outward along the spokes towards the fringes. Fewer smokestacks spitting out darkness, more wooden buildings that reminded him of all those newspaper drawings of what the American West was supposed to look like. The pedestrian traffic continued to ebb and flow, everyone on their way to or from someplace with the same sense of urgency. It was as if everyone had a timetable to keep and they kept falling behind.
    The only people Jon saw strolling along the wooden sidewalks with any ease were seniors, and most of them, he suspected, were only held back by their infirmities from bounding along like the rest of the town’s inhabitants.
    “Why does everything lead back to the station?” Jon asked Gil. The kid skipped ahead of him on the sidewalk, deftly sidestepping the pools of spit and saliva on the rough wood. “I understand the town’s design, sort of, but why make the train station the center of activity?”
    “Well, some towns got the railway to build by them. We got built on the railway instead.” He jumped over a large puddle with a laugh. “So we’re built around the station ’cause that’s how we all got here.”
    “Ah. I see.” Jon shook his head at the shaky logic, but he couldn’t deny the truth of the matter. While other towns had raced to seduce the railroads into laying down tracks nearby and expanded to the stations, Prosperity Ridge had literally been born out of a single train station and an airship tower.
    “Here we are.”
    The brick building stood out from the other wooden structures, the double chimney spewing dark smoke into the air. A set of large double doors heralded the entrance instead of the usual single shop door, both firmly closed. The sign over the door read “Weatherly” and nothing else, no title or description of what lay within. Two windows sat on each side of the doors, covered with soot and dirt. There was no chance of light getting in through that mess and no hope of anyone spying what was going on inside the mysterious shop.
    Gil lightly knocked on the left door first, waited a minute, and then pounded with the side of his fist.
    “Sam? Sam? I got you a customer here.”
    A small slot in the first door slid open, revealing a pair of dark blue eyes surrounded by black. “Gil?
    You in trouble again?” The gruff voice reminded Jon of his own father berating his son after yet another argument.
    “I’m fine. This gentleman here…” a sooty thumb jerked over his shoulder at Jon, “…wants to see Sam.”
    “Hmph.” The grunt was loud and unforgiving. “Whatever you’re