CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Shard LeFel’s crew boss had the men up before
sunrise. The constant clang and chug of workers setting the rail,
punctuated by an occasional blast or ground-shaking thump from the
matics pounding the land into shape, was music to Shard LeFel’s
ears.
This would be his
final day in this land. Tonight, beneath the power of the waning
moon, before another dawn could rise, he would open the door and
stroll back to the land where he rightfully belonged.
He was so close to
his goal, he could taste it like heavy wine on his tongue, could
feel the burn of it beneath his skin, stirring his hunger in ways
he had all but forgotten over the centuries.
Death. All he needed
to complete his crossing was the three mortals’
deaths.
Shard LeFel sat
within his train car, a fine breakfast spread out before him.
Caviar, cheeses, fruits and meat from the far lands, all set upon
solid gold plates thin as rose petals and fine lace.
A silk napkin lay
upon his knee, but LeFel had touched none of the food, had taken
not even one drink. He was content to look out the window and down
upon the rail, the iron that lay like prison bars upon the land.
But they were not prison bars—they were roads of freedom. Freedom
for the Strange.
Before the last iron
was laid down, before the last spike was hammered into the earth,
LeFel would have the witch—the last death he needed to open the
doorway. Then he would have his way home and his
revenge.
When his gaze finally
wandered from the rail, he looked upon the beautiful Holder, set as
it was, glowing like seven shards of seven precious gems fused
together as one, upon a gilt pedestal in the corner of the room.
After three hundred years of finding each piece, the remarkable
metal ingenuity was his now and would be triggered to its best
use.
He did not know how
long Mr. Shunt had been standing inside the arched doorway that
separated this car from the others. But finally, LeFel noticed he
was there.
And standing next to
him, holding on to the cuff of his coat as if not quite steady on
his feet, was the changeling.
“Are you finished,
then, Mr. Shunt?” LeFel asked.
“As you demanded,”
Mr. Shunt whispered through a serrated smile.
“Good. Ready my
carriage. And wait for me outside.”
Mr. Shunt bowed and
exited the room, leaving the changeling behind.
“Come to me,
Strange,” LeFel commanded. “Show me the child you pretend to
be.”
The creature shuffled
across the floor, one leg dragging a bit, its eyes wide and blank,
no smile on its sweet, pink lips.
No skipping or
laughing this time. Whatever it had taken to make this thing whole
again had also dulled it, changed it. But that was no matter. So
long as it lasted through the day, it would have outlived LeFel’s
use.
But to the Strange he
said, “You have done well to sink back into this broken body, this
flesh. Does it pain you?”
The Strange focused
glossy eyes on LeFel and nodded.
“Not much longer,”
LeFel said. “I will reward you richly. Give you a new body to plant
yourself within.” He leaned forward just a bit. “Give you the boy’s
body.”
The Strange’s eyes
lit with an unholy hunger. It glanced over at the blacksmith’s son,
who lay in drugged sleep, curled upon the wide seat of a
chair.
“Would you like
that?” LeFel asked. “A young, firm, fresh body to walk this world?
To grow in, to breathe in, to taste all the flavors of pain and
fear and joy a mortal has to offer?”
The Strange nodded
again, and this time it mustered a smile.
“Turn around and show
me your back.” Shard waited as the Strange obeyed him. Then, with
the tip of the diamond-encrusted dinner knife, he carved a symbol
into the creature’s flesh. It wriggled and whimpered but did not
cry out.
The clock tower
whistled the noon hour, and the hammers and matics slowed and
silenced while the laborers took their midday meal.
Shard LeFel sat back,
inspecting his work on the Strange. A star burned there. Five
points with the horns up at the creature’s shoulders, flames
already dying, tendrils of smoke that smelled of charred wood
rising in the still air of the car.
“Yes. This will
do.”
Pleased, LeFel lifted
the silk napkin and rubbed it over his lips, then placed it back
upon his knee. “Go, rest in the shadows, Strange. The time is near.
When you help me snag up the witch, your hunger will be
sated.”
He turned to the
table in front of him, picked up the gold fork, and cut a deep
bloody chunk of meat off the plate. Then Mr. Shard LeFel savored,
slowly, his last mortal meal.