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approached. His eyes were wide, staring at the hunchbacks that looked over the ruined engine.
    “You’ve already questioned him?” Ticks asked.
    “I have,” Blake said.
    “May I?”
    “Go ahead.”
    Ticks smiled thinly again. “If you will oblige me, I feel it best to interview him alone, to refrain from any crossover influence in the questioning.”
    Blake cocked an eyebrow. “No, I should listen in. It might be useful in my investigation.”
    Ticks cleared his throat loudly and called, “Parvis!”
    The shorter of the two hunchbacks ran forward. His striped coat flapped around his stocky legs. His arms looked too long for his squat body, leading to gloved hands that dug into deep coat pockets and returned with a folded document. He held it out to Ticks at arm’s length. The short hunchback stank of sulfur. Blake tried to be polite and not sneer.
    Ticks took the paper and unfolded it. It was covered in the careful print of a press and signatures alongside an embossed stamp. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the Railroad Act, which reads, ‘In matters of investigation, marshals shall have primary jurisdiction…’”
    Blake held up a hand to stop him. “I’m aware.”
    Ticks folded the paper up again. “Then I’m glad we’ve come to an understanding.”
    Without a word, Blake stepped back toward Husk, who waited with his notepad at ready. Ticks turned to the fireman. Kemp sat frozen, staring at the short hunchback and murmuring.
    “Sorry to see that happen, sheriff,” Husk mumbled.
    Blake nodded. He hated to step away when work was to be done, but the men from Washington had say over the railroads, commerce, and all that.
    “You know this is the third one this month in Gloriana,” Husk said.
    Blake looked up. “Third what?”
    “Runaway locomotive. One was last week up at Shreveport, and then there was one a week before in Faber’s Bluff.”
    “Is that usual?”
    Husk shook his head. “I’d need to read more on it, but I don’t think so. Maybe we should ask—”
    There was a loud whack, and Kemp fell sprawling into the back of the wagon. Ticks had his hand up, still wide from the slap.
    Blake ran forward. “Hold it, Ticks!”
    The man in black turned with a wearied expression. “What now?”
    “You can’t just strike a man like that!” Blake shouted. He threw himself between Ticks and Kemp. Looking down at the man in the wagon, he asked, “Are you all right?”
    The fireman didn’t reply.
    “His memory needed some jogging,” Ticks said.
    Blake held up a finger into Ticks’s waxed face. “You may have precedence on railroad matters, but I will not stand by while a man is assaulted in my jurisdiction.”
    Ticks squeezed a hand into a fist.
    Blake leaned forward and narrowed his eyes.
    Muscles twitched under Ticks’s thin cheeks. He turned away. “My interrogation will need to continue under the supervision of a physician to judge Mr. Kemp’s mental wellbeing. What I see here is a classic case of Stoker’s Madness. The boy inhaled too much smoke, went nutty, and crashed the train. Probably killed the engineer, too.”
    Blake gritted his teeth. Through them, he made himself growl out, “We don’t know that.”
    “We’ll find out for you,” Ticks said a mock-gentle voice.
    Blake lowered his hand. “I’m not through—”
    “No, you are,” Ticks said. “Biggs!”
    The monstrous hunchback still standing by the ropes from the airship by came forward with long strides. His huge hands held up a pair of shackles.

 
    Chapter Five
     
    Nate’s face hurt. His vision was dim outside of flashing stars. His ears roared.
    He’d been in fights before, plenty of them growing up. Not all of them went his way, but he’d always sent the other boys home looking worse than he did. When his father died, he made himself settle down. Fighting wasn’t as important as taking care of Ma and Ann.
    Nate blinked until the stars faded away. They weren’t from getting hit; they were real. The first