The Boiler

(copyright 2012  J. Paul Roe - All Rights Reserved)

I - THE BOILER

         Ettie struggled against her captors as they pulled her by her arms, her wrists bound by what felt like leather straps. With a burlap sack drawn over her head she was blind and the sounds of boots hitting the deck came muffled and distant. The sack was rough against her cheeks, and each strained breath that she pulled through it brought smells of sweat and sick that weren't her own.
         Her attempts to break away from the meaty grip of the men was futile. Many years of physical labor in the Airship Corps had made her strong, but she may as well have been a rag doll in a bench vise. Ettie struggled nonetheless. She would drop from exhaustion before she showed an ounce of complicity. At least one of the bastards might hurt his back if he had to carry her the rest of the way.
         The hands on her arms tightened and she was jerked to a stop. She listened to the sound of a wheel turning followed by the metallic creak of a hatch swinging open in front of her. 
         Without warning one of the thugs ripped the sack from over her head and shoved her forward in one brute motion. She clenched her eyes shut and stumbled, fighting at once against gravity and the blinding glare of light against her unadjusted eyes. She heard the hatch shut and seal behind her, and scanned the small room now coming into focus.
         She wasn't inside a room at all, rather the inside of a large boiler; like part of a massive steam engine. It was seamless and cylindrical with a domed ceiling, comprised of solid iron like a giant cauldron or cooking pot. The boiler wasn't fit for use, though. The steam pipe in the ceiling was closed off with a brass plate, from which a gas lantern hung and provided the room's only source of light. She briefly wondered what monster of machinery could require such a large boiler. Even the Union's massive “Sumner” Class airships didn't have cookers that large.
         Her curiosity drifted from the makeshift cell and found purchase on the other occupants of the boiler. With slowly improving focus and clarity, she began to make out the shapes of the four others the room.
         “What's going on? Who are you people?” she asked, her voice reverberating from the thick iron walls.
         “I was hoping you'd know. The answer to the first one, that is. I'm pretty sure I know who I am,” a man said too casually.
         He was squat but fit, and garbed in a Union military uniform, sans the blue wool coat. In his shirtsleeves, he displayed scars and muscle enough to make it clear he was a fighting man. His face showed a day's stubble around a phony grin. 
         “Of course she doesn't know, she's just another piece of the puzzle,” said a woman in brown leather as she began to circle Ettie with an appraising stare.
         The woman was lithe and moved like a hill cat. She was yet another out-of-fit element in the room; far too comely to be wearing the garb of a frontiersman, with locks of curling red hair falling past her leather-fringed shoulders. 
         “Oily coveralls and nasty burns on your hands,” the woman continued, “I'm guessing you're an engine mechanic?”
         “Crew chief, Airship Corps,” Ettie replied, noting the woman wore a thick belt with a pistol holster and a sheath for a large knife.
         Both were empty, of course.
         “So we have quite the troupe here,” the woman in brown chuckled, “A mechanic, a land baron, a miner and a soldier.”
         She stepped behind Ettie and untied the bonds holding her wrists.
         Ettie looked about the room and stretched her arms to her sides. A man in formal attire stood silently away from the others, his top hat cocked arrogantly atop his head. He was clearly the baron, and looked both out of place and disinterested. At the other side of the boiler, a man in dirty clothes with heavy boots and a dusty hat, the miner presumably, was speaking in hushed tones with the muscled soldier.
         “All we need now is a tumbler and a fire-eater. We might have a worthwhile show.” the woman in brown chuckled under her breath.
         “Who are you, then?” Ettie asked.
         The woman stepped away and leaned tensely against the wall before answering.
         “I'm a hunter and tanner. Family business.”
         Ettie cocked her head curiously. She was accustomed to being regarded odd as a female airship mechanic, but for such a striking woman to be a hunter...
         “It's not all wilderness and beasts, girl. I'm actually quite wealthy. My family has a monopoly on contracts with the Union.” 
         The boiler became silent. It seemed as if everyone was considering the puzzle simultaneously. What did a dapper gentlemen, the daughter of a wealthy businessman, a mechanic, a miner and a soldier have in common? And why lock any of them in an old boiler?
         A sound came from the hatch and the wheel began to creak again.
         “Hot damn, we're running out of room in here!” the soldier yelled.
         Ettie stepped back as the door swung out revealing two huge men, probably the same who dragged her to the boiler. She was surprised to see them wearing fine-cut trousers and waistcoats in brown, with crisp white blouses and bowlers perched low on their intense brows. Well-dressed goons?
         After a moment, the two thugs stepped aside and a slender man in identical garb stepped up to the open hatch. A heavily filigreed revolver rested in the holster at his hip and the room fell deathly silent as the man scanned the occupants within.
         “Ladies. Gentlemen. I don't have much time, so let's keep the introduction brief.”
         The man waited a split second as if encouraging a rebuttal, but the room had filled with an air of implacable fear that kept everyone's mouth firmly shut.
         “My name is Mr. Gregory and I'm an associate of the Pinkerton Detective Agency, of whom I'm sure that you're all quite familiar.”
         Ettie's heart sank at the mention of “the agency,” and it felt as if the flickering lantern light dimmed for the words. The Pinkertons were infamous mercenaries and assassins tied directly to the Federal government. They were unofficially linked to the Union's dirtiest bits of bloodletting, especially those that didn't happen on a battlefield.
         “One of you has recently been contacted by agents of the Confederacy and is guilty of conspiracy, treason and espionage.”
         Several of the room's occupants gasped audibly at the accusation. Ettie only watched the man in silence, as his emotionless eyes slid from person to person like a coral snake over dead grass.
         “Whichever of you is guilty, step forward and you will spare any further suffering of the others in the room.”
         Every occupant looked at the others as if waiting for one to take a step. No one moved. After a moment, Mr. Gregory clenched his fists at his side, the crack of his knuckles breaking the silence.
         “You have two minutes. If the guilty party is not prepared to step forward when I return, you will all be summarily executed for conspiracy,” his voice was even, a statement of fact with no trace of embellishment or threat.
         The slender man stepped out, the hatch sealing behind him with a metallic groan.
         “Hmph,” the man in the top hat grunted softly to no one in particular.
         “Sweet lord Jesus!” the soldier cut him off as he threw his arms in the air,  “I ain't no Copperhead! I've been in the cavalry for six years! The UNION Cavalry! I took a slug in Missouri, almost cost me my leg!”
         The woman hunter looked over at the man sharply.
         “Sounds like a damn good reason to be upset at your government. Must be why they suspected you.”
         “Oh to hell with you, missus!” the soldier returned her glare, “I'm wrathy because the damn Pinkertons got me locked in boiler, not because of my battle hurts! Some damned Grey Back put my brother in a hole and I been too busy gettin' shot and sewed back together to find a wife...the Army's all I got goin'...”
         The soldier held his eyes locked on the woman for a moment before heaving a sigh and taking a seat against the wall.
         “Doesn't matter anyhow,” he continued, his voice low with resignation, “damn Pinkertons got us. Might as well be dead already, every damned one of us.”
         Ettie looked about the room. No one was showing signs of guilt. If no one was going to step forward, they would all be dead in less than two minutes.
         “Well?” she said, looking at each of the others in turn, “who's going to step forward?”
         The gentleman laughed.
         “Something funny?” the hunter cut in sharply.
         The man only tipped his hat before recomposing himself to a state of arrogant disinterest.
         “Well it wasn't me,” the miner chimed in with a rough voice, “I know fer damn sure. Whoever it was, I hope ya be enjoyin' yer stay in hell. I'm not too good at ma numbers, but yer condemning at least one innocent woman to her grave by not ack-gnawledgin' the corn.”
         “One?” Ettie said.
         “No offense, ma'am,” the miner nodded cordially, “but there's still a chance that one of ya is the Copperhead.”
         Ettie glanced at the odd woman hunter.
         “Good point.”
         The room returned to tomb-like silence when the hatch swung wide and Mr. Gregory slithered into the light.
         “Your time has elapsed, I'm afraid. Confessor, you may now step forward and spare the others.”
         Once again, no one moved. After a moment, the dapper gentleman removed his top hat and approached Mr. Gregory.
         “I'm your scoundrel,” he said with a smile, “Do with me as you will.”
         Mr. Gregory studied the man's eyes for a long minute before speaking.
         “It's brave of you to volunteer yourself as the guilty party, Mr. Chambers. You are a true gentlemen.”
         “My gratitude for your words, sir. Shall we finish this then?”
         “I'm afraid you're not the traitor, though your sacrifice has been noted.”
         Like a flash of lightning, Mr. Gregory drew his ornate revolver and fired a single shot. The boiler resonated with cordite thunder, and the gentleman crumpled to the floor in a heap. Ettie's knees weakened, and someone yelled in shock. The iron wall dripped with blood and something thicker.
          “This will only continue until you step forward,” hissed Gregory's voice through the fog of wracked eardrums.
         “Look, ya bastard,” the miner shouted, drilling his index finger towards Gregory as he stood, “ya said it wasn't him and ye killed him anyway! Why in the blazes...”
         The miner's rant was cut short by another shot. Ettie covered her ears as she watched the miner fall to the ground, but the ringing in her head had already set in.
         Ettie looked back at Mr. Gregory just as he raised his revolver again, firing at the soldier and sending him toppling against the wall with a grunt.
         Before the man's body had even hit the floor, Gregory had turned on his heel and pointed the revolver directly at the leather-fringed huntress.
         “Confess,” he hissed.
         Ettie could only watch and think she would be next. Tears began to well in her eyes and she coughed with lungs full of gun smoke. The revolver thundered and the huntress slumped unceremoniously against the far wall.
         Mr. Gregory stepped carefully over bodies and around spreading pools of blood as he moved toward Ettie. He looked inhuman as he raised the revolver to her eye.
         “It was you.”
         “No...”
         Ettie trembled. She could hardly stay on her feet as she watched the man's finger tighten on the trigger.
         “Confess!”
         “No!”
         She shut her eyes tightly and waited for death. At least, she thought for an instant, it would be quick.
         A loud snap echoed in the boiler as the revolver's hammer fell.
         “Very good,” whispered Gregory. 
         Ettie opened her eyes, now streaming with tears, and watched the revolver slip back into its holster. She desperately wanted to ask what was happening, but she couldn't form the words.
         “Miss Ettie Glass. Airship mechanic and...loyal Union citizen?” Gregory flashed a serpentine smile as he pulled a wad of cotton from each ear.          
         Ettie wiped away tears with her sleeve and nodded.
         “We know that you were contacted by Confederate agents.”
         Gregory raised his index finger before she could speak.
         “We know because we are the Confederate agents, Miss Glass. We first contacted you two weeks ago.”
         Ettie straightened, indignant for the murder that had just occurred around her, but relieved that she wouldn't be slaughtered like the others. Would she? She had questions, but the words wouldn't come.
         “This regrettable mummery was necessary. I'm certain you will come to understand, in time. Suffice it to know that we had to be certain of a strong will and a still tongue under... pressure, as it were.”
         Gregory flashed his teeth through thin lips and rapped his knuckles on the clock-sized face of the boiler's atmosphere gauge. Could anyone but a madman find fertile ground for humor in a killing field?
         “Murdering a few Union folk was just a bonus, right?” Ettie rasped.
         “Certainly couldn't hurt the war effort,” Gregory said as he absently kicked the land baron's body, “especially this one. But the greater payoff is knowing you can abide the spilling of Union blood.”            
         Ettie could only look at the bodies and quake, her arms wrapped defensively around herself. Could she abide? How far would she go? The thought made her want to double over and retch. 
         “Compose yourself and steel your resolve. Our time continues to grow short, Miss Glass, and we must still prepare you to carry out the orders. They come directly from President Davis. You, my dear, are going to play a most instrumental role in ending this war.”
         Ettie clenched her eyes tightly shut. It was too much to bear, too quickly. Moments ago she was an animal to be slaughtered, and now...what was going to be asked of her? What could merit this murder and madness?
         “In one week, the Union president will be flying in an airship to Illinois,” the slender man smiled, his tongue sliding over his upper teeth, “and we've arranged for you to be aboard with him.”