The copper wire tugged gently, and she followed the draw of it as the Madders spooled it in.
Alun’s hand appeared out of the snow and caught her wrist. “Are you all right, Rose?”
She nodded. “Fine. I don’t know what you did, how you talked the rocks into letting them go, but it worked. Look.” She pointed back at the line of children who each steadfastly held the next child’s hand and followed behind her like a string of beads.
Alun Madder touched her cheek gently, in a very fatherly sort of gesture. “You are a delight. This couldn’t have happened without you, Rose. Now let’s take these children home.”
They followed the tug of copper as Cadoc Madder gently reeled it in, each step growing a little easier, the pain lifting and fading the closer to town they traveled.
Bryn held up one hand in welcome when they reached his side, and fell into step with them until they reached the road, where brother Cadoc stood on the other side, winding the spool of wire in his hands, solid as a mountain in a storm.
Alun, Bryn, Rose, and all the children crossed the road. As soon as Rose’s boots were firmly on the other side, the pain in her legs, arms, and chest were finally gone.
The snow lightened and then stopped altogether.
“Odd weather,” Cadoc noted.
“Odd town,” Bryn said.
“We’ll let the weather and town be,” Alun said. “We’ve got our hands full with children who need returning.”
“Something’s wrong,” Rose said.
“Plenty’s wrong.” Alun unlatched the copper rose from her wrist. “Strange stealing children and stacking them like cordwood in a cavern under a dust of stone doesn’t make a lick of sense. Mr. Hunt seems incapable of fulfilling a promise we’ve given him days to do, and Vosbrough, well, Vosbrough has been a very naughty man.”
“I mean something’s wrong with the children,” Rose said.
Alun paused, and took a hard look at the children, who had gathered silent and uncomplaining as ghosts around Rose.
None of them were crying. None of them were speaking. None of them were running off toward their homes. They just stood there, staring blankly up at Rose.
“They’re quiet?” Alun asked.
“They’re more than quiet,” she said. “They’re dazed. Almost as if they can’t think for themselves. Like a part of them is still dreaming.”
He knelt and looked at a boy of about six years straight in the face. The boy did not move. Did not even blink.
“Do the stones still have something of them?” Rose asked. “Is the waking part of the children back in that cave somewhere?”
“Bryn?” Alun asked, standing away from the child.
Bryn walked up and dug a jar out of the pouch at his side. He also withdrew a fine horsehair paintbrush. He opened the jar and dipped the brush into it. Red dust clung to the brush tips. “Turn your hands up, son,” Bryn said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
The child did not appear to hear him.
“It’s okay,” Rose said. “You can turn your hands up now.”
The boy turned his hands so they faced skyward.
Bryn drew the brush across each of his tiny palms.
The dust in the boy’s hands turned black.
“Strange touched,” Bryn said, as he replaced the brush and jar into his pack, then used a cloth to wipe the boy’s hands clean.
“We knew that, didn’t we?” Rose asked. “That a Strange somehow put them in that cave?”
“Yes,” Alun said. “But the child is still Strange touched, under Strange influence. This isn’t a spell, this isn’t a daze. A Strange is doing something, at this moment, to keep these children dreaming.”
“Can we find it?” she asked. “Use that dust to track the Strange?”
“The dust won’t work on anything but skin,” Bryn said. “We’d need Mr. Hunt.”
“No,” Cadoc said. “His brother. I believe his brother may have answers we need.”
“We can’t take all these children rambling around looking for Mr. Hunt,” Rose said. “They’re in their nightclothes and most of them don’t have shoes. We need a safe and warm place for them to rest while we sort out how to undream them.”
“The church?” Bryn suggested.
“Too far,” Alun said. “And likely under gunfire or burning down.”
Those casual words hit Rose like a hammer at her chest. “Lee,” she breathed. “Lee is in there.”
“We passed a warehouse a while back,” Bryn said, mostly ignoring her. “Room enough for the young folk.”
“Quickly,” Cadoc suggested. “Winds are changing. Men are coming.”
Alun’s head snapped up, as if he too had suddenly sensed a change riding the breeze. “Let’s get them out of the weather,” he said. “Rose, are you coming?”
She took a step or two away, but the little girl clung tightly to her hand. “You can take the children,” Rose said. “That’s what you promised. And now we’re in town.” She shook her hand, trying to dislodge the little girl, but the girl would not let go.
“Please,” Rose said. “I have to go to him. I have to know if Lee is all right.” She took a few more steps and all the children walked with her, surrounding her like hands trying to warm to a fire.
“They’re following you, Rose,” Alun said. “They see you, they hear you. They don’t hear us. It was your hand that freed them, and they must know it. Wherever you go, they will follow.”
A hundred children. No shoes, thin shirts and pants, some in only nightdresses. No hats. They were shivering, though they didn’t seem to notice and did nothing to warm themselves.
Hink, at least, had a gun and a quick wit to defend himself with. The children were completely defenseless.
“Where is the warehouse?” Rose asked.
Bryn pointed toward the buildings a ways off behind them. “Just about a block that way. Saw it from the rooftop.”
“Far enough into town the law will find us?” Rose asked.
“Probably,” Alun agreed.
“Good,” Rose said, setting her shoulders. “Let’s go. Now.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
Cedar was cold, bootless, hurting, and angry. None of that got in the way of his aim. The hard crack of his rifle fire slapped against the snow-covered stones.
Vosbrough threw himself to the side. Too late to dodge it completely, he fouled the shot and took the bullet in the shoulder instead of the head. He grunted and stumbled over stone, then fell to the ground.
Which was fine with Cedar. He didn’t want to kill him. Yet.
Cedar strode over to the mayor. “Don’t make me unload this into your head,” he said. “Keep your hand away from your gun and release Mae. Now.”
The matic stood still. The Strange inside the globe of glim in its chest was a ghoulish tatter of white smoke with two mouths and no eyes. It was also frozen.
The matic and Strange were bound by the spell Mae had cast. It was all that was keeping the matic from firing its weapons.
Vosbrough leaned on his knees and one hand, the other still fisted, clenched around the spell that was choking Mae. Killing Mae.
“It would be no disappointment for me to see your guts spread across this snowy ground,” Cedar said. “Drop the spell.”
Vosbrough stared up at Cedar and the hatred that creased his face spread out into a smile even more vicious. “You do not know whom you threaten,” he said, “nor what you have walked into, Mr. Hunt. I have seen to your death. You just don’t know it yet. Step away from this fight. Now.”
“This gun,” Cedar raised the barrel even with Vosbrough’s head, “is all the wisdom I need. Release her.”
Vosbrough looked between Cedar’s eyes and the muzzle of the gun. He uncurled his fingers.
Mae gasped and took several long, grating breaths. Cedar didn’t turn to look at her.