Ganymede (The Clockwork Century 3)

Kirby Troost, still mostly unblinking, said, “I can see it. ”

“See what? Andan and me?”

The shadow of a smile tugged at the corner of his lip. “Yeah. I can see it. Not exactly two of a kind, but I suppose—given what I’ve heard—he’s got a certain type he prefers. ”

“And you think I fit that type?”

“Smart and tough. You’re taller, though. Taller than Miss Wilkes. ”

“I thought you said she was a widow. ”

“I did, but it’s complicated. ”

“So complicated, you call her miss?”

“Complicated enough. We mostly call her ma’am. She’s a yitty-bitty thing. A little smaller than me, even. But I don’t know too many men who’d argue with her, push come to shove. That’s what I mean, about him having a type. Not many men argue with you, either. ”

The back door squeaked open, and before Josephine even noticed him reaching for it, Kirby Troost was holding a six-shooter primed and ready. Upon seeing Cly and Houjin, he lowered it and tucked it back into his belt.

“Cap’n,” he said. “You’ve got a visitor. ”

“Josephine,” he greeted her with a nod. “Something I can do for you?”

“A word in private, if you please. ”

The oriental boy’s face constricted into a sneaky grin, as if he looked forward to embarrassing the captain with this moment later on—but it would wait. He opened his mouth to say something, but Cly didn’t give him time.

“Huey, you and Kirby stay close. ”

Kirby Troost said, “Great. ”

To which the captain said, “You can teach him to play cards if you want. Just keep each other out of trouble, will you? Josie, how about we go out back and walk along the river. ”

“That sounds fine,” she told him stiffly, and she followed him as he we

nt back out the way he’d come in, holding the door for her and—like his engineer—shutting it firmly and quickly as soon as they were through it.

Down along the river, there was a path built on old railroad ties and bleached-bone boards pounded into the mud. They walked slowly along this, going nowhere in particular, unwilling to look at each other.

After a minute or two of unhurried shuffling, he finally asked, “What do you want, Josie? Or what do you need? Why’d you come all the way back out here from the Quarter?” His words were tense, like he was afraid to hear the answer.

“It’s about the zombis, Andan. ”

That caught him off guard. Whatever he’d been expecting or fearing, this wasn’t it. “The what now?”

“Zombis. That’s what we call them here, though you must have a different word for them in Seattle. ”

“In Seattle?”

“The walking dead, Andan. ”

“Yeah. ” He scratched at the back of his neck, feeling the sweat already gathering there, from the warm wet air by the river and from the company, as well. “We’ve got some of those. We call them rotters. I don’t think there’s any real word for them. They aren’t like animals, or bugs—we don’t have scientists falling all over themselves to catalog ’em. ”

“Madame Laveau calls them zombis, and she’s the only woman on earth who seems able to control them at all. ”

“Laveau? The Queen? Hot damn, is she still alive?”

“Yes, dear,” Josephine said without thinking; the phrase simply fell out of her mouth. “She’s still alive, and she’s brought me a Texas Ranger who thinks he knows what’s making them. She wants me to work with him. ” She sighed.