Wild Cards and Iron Horses Read Online Free Page B

selling, we’re not interested.” His eyes raked over Jon’s fine waistcoat and jacket, right down to the new shoes now stained with various fluids. “Not. Interested.”
    “Sir…” Stepping past the kid, Jon peered into the slot. “I wish to engage your daughter’s services in a delicate matter.”
    The dark eyes widened.
    “I mean…I need a piece of machinery repaired. A very sensitive and delicate piece that is rather unique.” Jon lowered his voice. “I will pay handsomely for the work.”
    “Hmph.” The eyes blinked rapidly for a second before the lid slammed down.
    The door edged open slowly, just enough to allow Jon in. A meaty hand pointed down the street over the child’s head.
    “You, go get us some more coal. And food. One of Mrs. Kettishire’s pies, and be quick about it. Tell
    ’em to put it on our bill, as usual.”
    “Yessir!” Gil looked up at Jon, his right hand outstretched. The thin fingers curled up slightly, twitching with energy “The rest of my payment?” His lower lip trembled for a second before standing firm.
    “Please?”
    “As I promised.” The coins dropped into the tiny palm. The child grinned, making the pay vanish like the best street magician.
    “I’ll be around if you need any more help, sir.” Before Jon could respond, Gil melted into one of the dark alleyways bordering the street.
    “He’ll be back. After he buys some sweets, gets sick and then decides to get our items.” The hand gestured him in. “Don’t be wasting our time standing out here, man. The air’s horrible today.”

    Jon stepped inside the building, his eyes slow to adjust to the different lighting of the workshop. The thick wooden door swung shut behind him with a resounding thud. His imagination brought up the image of a gladiator walking into the Roman arena about to meet his doom.
    Squinting as his eyes watered yet again, he could just make out the man standing by a table. He waved Jon over with his left hand. As Jon got closer he saw the empty right sleeve pinned down on the heavy leather coat. A cold chill ran down his arm at the sight, the wartime memory of a hundred men crippled in the same way rising and falling in his mind’s eye. Forcing his thoughts back to the present, Jon looked around the workshop, using the exercise to anchor himself.
    The large room seemed to be a mixture of a blacksmith’s shop and a mechanic’s storeroom with gears of various sizes and shapes spread across some of the many worktables set against the walls. A heavy black anvil stood by a well-fed fire, the hammer and tongs ready to be used. The large air scrubber sat against the far wall, wired into what had to be the local electrical grid. It chugged away, adding the whir of the fan to the rumbling noise of the fire. The man waved him over again more frantically, as if he wanted Jon out of the way of any possible explosion.
    “Don’t be afraid. We don’t bite.” He laughed at his own joke.
    Another person worked nearby, upper half hidden while he bent over and into a huge piece of machinery, devoured by the metal monster. Handleston gazed at the large mechanical horse.
    It was a disfigured stallion, the metal head and neck remaining the same as its natural ancestor, the rest of the body deformed and reshaped to a cylinder. The hooves had been replaced by four huge wheels.
    Each metal wheel had small spikes imbedded around the rim and in the tire itself, enabling it to travel across rough terrain. Where the saddle would be, a hatch stood open with the worker’s top half tucked inside the darkness. Up on the neck sat a series of gauges and dials, the small metal hands twitching and moving back and forth.
    The body itself coughed and belched dark smoke both out of the horse’s mouth and the rear area, the latter discreetly covered by a limp tail made of horsehair. As Jon watched, the eyes of the creature turned a brilliant orange and then dimmed.
    “Darned thing doesn’t want to go into first