Tin Swift

  He strolled out from behind Alabaster and offered him a wide, jagged smile. “Your grave hungers for the taste of you. If you do not kill my enemies, if you flee…I will pull the knots on your strings. Piece by piece, you will all fall down.”

  The general pushed up onto his feet, holding the edge of the table and locking his knees. “I will not be threatened, Mr. Shunt,” he said. “And I will not bow to blackmail.”

  “I do not threaten, Alabaster Saint. I make dreams come true. You took yours willingly. I gave you everything you desired. Dark wishes.”

  “The witch for your bones, the deviser for mine.” He opened his coat and revealed the hole where his chest should be. In that ragged space was a terrible work of blood and bone and eyes and hands and mouths and things that should never be strung together. All of it moving, grinding, pumping.

  In that strange work, dead center, was a gold and crystal clockwork dragonfly. So beautifully fashioned, Alabaster couldn’t help but be caught by the glory of it.

  “This vessel,” Shunt said, “will fail me without the witch’s blood, without her magic, without her binding. But it will last many years beyond you and your men. Decades. The deviser can make me new again. I want her. I want them both. Now. And you want them now too.”

  He bared his teeth and spat. His spittle landed on the table in front of the general’s hand and burned into the wood.

  “Now.”

  Mr. Shunt walked around the table and lifted the beautiful tin cup. He took a sip, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment before he began picking up the instruments of his torture, the instruments of his craft, one by one, as if no one else were in the tent with him.

  He drew a cloth over each bloody blade, rubbing it clean and humming like a child with his favorite toys.

  “General?” Lieutenant Foster said quietly.

  “Out,” Alabaster barked. “All of you.”

  Everyone left the room except for Foster, who lingered near the door.

  Alabaster straightened and took a moment to don his shirt and coat, thinking through his actions. If what Mr. Shunt had said was true, he and a third of his men were at death’s door.

  He refused to give in to the reaper so easily.

  “We don’t know where the hunter and wolf are, Mr. Shunt,” Alabaster said. “It could take us a lifetime and more tracking these wilds for a man, and still leave him unfound. If you want him killed, you had best tell me where he is. You know. Don’t you?”

  Mr. Shunt said nothing for a long stretch of silence. Alabaster buttoned his coat and waited. For all that Mr. Shunt had proven to be an unholy monster, in doing so, he had given a shred of advantage to Alabaster.

  Shunt was failing. Dying. Perhaps the strange man was failing faster than he admitted.

  Finally, Shunt inhaled a breath that sounded like leather bellows pulling full.

  “In the air. In the sky,” Mr. Shunt whispered. “This—” He reached into his pocket and Alabaster readied himself for a gun.

  But all that balanced in Shunt’s palm was a small wooden coin with a tiny tin hole in the center of it.

  “Money?”

  “A compass,” Shunt said. “A beacon. To the hunter, the wolf, the deviser, and the witch.”

  He stretched out his overly long arm. The same arm that had just crawled about on the floor under its own power. Shunt waited for Alabaster to take the coin from his palm.

  The general set his jaw. “And what will I owe you for that coin?”

  “The coin is my promise,” Shunt said. “It will show you the way to the deviser. Like a tin lock to a tin key.” He gave a dry chuckle, as if that statement were a great amusement to him.

  His hand remained steady, palm flat, as if offering a treat to an animal.

  Alabaster Saint took the coin. It was cool, light wood with a tin plug in the center. In the middle of that was a ragged little hole. Just like a key would fit.

  “This is what will happen, Mr. Shunt,” the general said. “I will kill the hunter, kill the wolf. The witch and deviser will be under my hold. When you have reversed this evil you have brought upon us, then I will give you the witch and deviser to do with as you please. Do you understand the order of things here on my mountain, Mr. Shunt?”

  Shunt had gone back to polishing his instruments. He paused, a corner of bloody cloth pushed between the teeth of a saw.

  “Of course, General,” he murmured. “I am but a servant to your every wish.”

  “See that it remains so, Mr. Shunt.”

  He walked out of the tent, resisting the urge to pull his sword to see if Mr. Shunt would remain ticking without his head attached. Watching him die would almost be worth the gamble on whether or not his life really balanced on finding the witch and the deviser.

  Almost.

  “With me, Lieutenant,” he said.

  Foster strode up behind him. It was an odd thing to hear the even rhythm of his pace, the slight drag of his prosthetic gone.

  Just as strange as to be seeing the world again clear and sharp from two strong eyes.

  General Saint had no intention of giving up these gifts Mr. Shunt had given them. But he’d be boiling in hell before he let another man rule over him.

  “Have Les Mullins and Captain Dirkson left to find Marshal Cage?”

  “Yes, sir. Several hours ago.”

  “Good. Take this coin, and man the Devil’s Nine. Find the witch and deviser and bring them to me.”

  “What about the hunter and wolf, sir?”

  “If you find them, leave them behind. Alive. If Shunt wants them dead, he’ll have to do it himself.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Lieutenant Foster turned toward the shed to ready the scout ship, leaving the heavier armed ships behind for General Alabaster Saint and the troops if they needed them.

  “Sir?” Foster asked before he’d gone more than a step or two.

  “Yes?”

  “What about Mr. Shunt? What will you do with him?”

  “I will break him to my will, Mr. Foster. Follow the compass, and set a flare when you’ve found the witch and deviser. Then we will discuss Mr. Shunt’s fate when we have what he most wants in our hands.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Rose Small dreamed she was swimming in tea and honey. It was a lovely dream, warm and comforting.

  “Rose,” Mae’s voice said as she drifted. “Wake up. You need to drink this.”

  She wanted to tell Mae she didn’t need anything to drink. She was surrounded by tea. Then something cold and wet pressed against her forehead, and her lips, making her very thirsty.

  All the tea around her tasted like dust.

  “Wake up, Rose,” Mae said again. “Time to wake up.”

  It took Rose several tries, but she finally lifted her eyelids.

  Pain rolled through her back and chest, and made her stomach sour. She was cold, hot, and raw from the top of her head, hurting the most down the left side of her face, shoulder, and arm. She bit her lip but could not stifle a moan.

  Mae sat next to her. She leaned in and Rose could see her better in the low light of the room.

  “Hey, there now,” Mae said. “This will help the pain. Just take a couple drinks.”

  Mae held the cup to Rose’s mouth, which was good. Rose didn’t think she had enough strength in her whole body to lift even one hand, much less support a whole cup.

  The tea came on bitter and green at first, and then was sweet and strong with the hot burn of alcohol.

  “Water?” she asked after taking down as much of the tea as she could. She didn’t want to cough, didn’t want to jangle her body so harshly, but the burn of the tea was too strong in her throat.

  Mae pulled the cup away, then held another at her lips. Rose swallowed several gulps of water until the fire in her belly cooled and her throat soothed.

  “I’m going to change the compress on your shoulder,” Mae said softly. “I have a new stock of medicines, and it’s going to help you feel better.??
?

  The warm numbing of whatever Mae had put in that tea was already spreading sweetly through her. She felt more awake, and although not completely out of pain, it was at a much more tolerable distance.

  “That helped,” Rose said. “I’ve never tasted anything like it.”

  “It’s coca leaves,” Mae said. “From Peru.”

  “Sounds fancy,” she said as Mae spread a greenish-black paste onto a clean cotton cloth and then poured what looked like tea over the top of the cloth.

  Mae whispered something, and the words made Rose’s head itch and her nose tickle. She wondered if Mae’s words held magic, or a blessing.

  Rose always did like the idea of Mae having magic at her fingertips. Seemed like such a handy thing to keep around.

  “Is that helping yet?” Mae asked.

  “The pain is better,” Rose said. “We’re not on the airship, are we? With Captain Lee Hink?”

  “No,” Mae said, pulling the covers down to Rose’s waist.

  From the coolness, Rose suddenly realized she was mostly naked.

  Mae gently slipped Rose’s shift out of the way so she could place the compress over her shoulder.

  Rose sucked in a breath and blew it out between her teeth to try to keep from screaming. But it was only a few breaths more before her shoulder stopped hurting so. And then a few breaths after that Rose actually felt…well, not better, but not quite so torn up.

  “…so we are in a mountain, a cavern, carved out by the man—Old Jack,” Mae was saying as she gently lifted and turned the cool wet rag on Rose’s forehead. “Who has us as his guests, but only through the generous and constant payment of Captain Hink.”

  “Is he here still?” Rose asked.

  Mae’s hands stilled a moment and then she looked down at Rose and smiled. “Captain Hink? Yes, he is. And he’s asked after you.”

  “The captain?” Rose asked. “The airship captain?”

  “That’s the one,” Mae said. “He’s out in the main room eating a meal. Everyone is out there—his crew, Mr. Hunt, and a crew from another airship.”

  “Another airship?” Rose said as a flush of warmth spread out to the tips of her fingers and toes. “How wonderful. Could you help me sit? I’d like to see this place.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “Please? I feel so much better right now. I’d like to see this place. I’d like to see everything I can.”

  “Let me get a few things.” Mae walked a little ways off.

  Rose turned her head to watch and pain bit down hard enough to make her stop breathing.

  She was still under a lot of hurt. But at least she could see a few cots lined off in one direction. The walls were unhewn stone, dark, with clever shelves chipped into them and lanterns set here and there. It almost made the place look like a night sky broken by stars.

  “What mountain are we inside, and how did we get here?” Rose asked.

  Mae came back with a blanket rolled in her arms.

  “We are north of the Bitterroots. I’m not clear as to our exact location. Captain Hink said this is Old Jack’s place. Jack takes in airships for supplies and repairs.” Mae reached down and quick as a wink lifted Rose by her waist and tucked the blanket behind her to prop her up a bit.

  It hurt, and Rose let out a whimper, but got over it quick enough.

  “How exotic,” she said.

  “I think it’s damp, dark, and not nearly as warm as I prefer,” Mae said. “But it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. Apparently, Mr. Jack has blasted a labyrinth of tunnels and rooms in the hills.

  “I have been informed, in no uncertain terms, that I am not to go wandering off down any random tunnel just because my curiosity takes hold of my feet. Apparently, if I do, I’ll lose all sense and be lost forever.”

  Rose smiled. “Sounds like you. Always with a whim in your eyes.”

  “Well, there’s some truth to that. Lately.” She paused and took some time to make sure Rose’s blanket was tucked in properly.

  Rose stretched the fingers on her good hand, touching Mae. “You’ve done fine. More than fine. I saw you on the ship. We were going to crash. You…you gave us a blessing and saw that we landed properly, didn’t you?”

  “I wasn’t in my mind. I don’t think I should have…I didn’t ask the captain if he wanted…”

  “I’m sure he wanted to see us all back to land safely. You did right by us. Thank you, Mae.”

  “It’s done,” Mae said. “If I can undo the harm, I will. But not until I return to the sisters.”

  “Do you hear them here? The sisters?” Rose asked.

  “No.” Mae frowned. “It’s something about these mountains. The silence is thick. Not that I’m complaining. The spell set on me to return me home is…”

  Rose would have said “punishing,” but Mae just set her shoulders straight a bit and said, “Insistent.”

  “And we’re not flying,” Rose said. “Did we stop to supply or repair?”

  “A little of both, I suppose,” Mae said. “You haven’t had a bite to eat in far too long. Let me see if there’s something left for you.” Mae patted her hand gently and made a motion to move.

  “I’m dying, aren’t I?” Rose asked.

  Mae stopped as if she’d suddenly been caught by ropes.

  “No.”

  “I never did think you lied very well, Mae,” Rose said softly. “I can feel it. The thing that is inside my shoulder is digging under my skin, twisting. I can taste it in the back of my mouth. Like hot, sour ashes.”

  “You are not dying,” Mae insisted. “We need to get you to the sisterhood. I’m sure they’ll have a spell, a magic, a way of helping you heal, of keeping you strong. Many of the sisterhood are far better with herbs and tinctures than I am—why, sister Adaline alone is an amazing healer.”

  Rose studied Mae’s face. “You are the strongest witch to ever come out of that coven,” she said gently. “It’s why they fear you, you know. Why they are tugging so hard on the reins to get you to turn back to them. They know how powerful you are, Mae.”

  “Rose…”

  “If you can’t break this pain, send healing to this wound, then I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but I can’t think of another witch capable of doing more for me.”

  Mae’s eyes were sad, but there was that determined set to her. Rose had seen her plenty of times like that before. Times when Mae refused to give up on someone she cared about.

  “I’d like to know,” Rose continued, “as one friend to another. Am I dying?”

  Mae hesitated, before she nodded once.

  “Yes. You are not well. But there is more than just the sisters or my skills to hang our hopes upon. The Madders told Cedar that if we find the Holder we’ll be able to extract the tin key in your shoulder. And I am positive that once we remove the key, you will mend up and be good as glim again.”

  Rose managed a smile even though she didn’t think Mae believed what she was saying. Still, hope was hope, and it did the soul good to hold to it. Even if it was a lie.

  “Rest while I get you some food. You need to keep your strength up.” Mae patted her hand once again and then walked out of the room.

  The tea and compress had done a welcome job of pushing the pain far enough away that Rose didn’t much care about it. Though she probably should. It was strange to think that right here under the cover of a mountain she couldn’t find on a map, she might be living one of her last days.

  She drew the fingers of her good hand along the rough blanket edge, wishing she had something to touch, to turn, to keep her hands and her mind busy and away from dark thoughts.

  There were so many things she had wanted to see—the big cities, New York, Philadelphia, Paris. There were people she’d wished she had met, family out there, somewhere she’d run out of time to find. And so many things she had wanted to experience. Flying her own airship, falling in love with a man who loved her back, adventures.

  She took a deep breath and let it
out slowly. Probably wasn’t going to have any of those things now. The look on Mae’s face had told her what she suspected. She had only a few days left, and likely she’d spend each of those getting weaker and weaker.

  Such a thing. Here she had set off on the trail looking forward to each new wonder she would discover, all the while not knowing she was just riding hard and fast toward a meeting with her death. Wasn’t at all how she’d expected her life to turn after leaving Hallelujah.

  The sound of footsteps stirred her from her thoughts.

  “Didn’t think you’d be awake, Miss Small,” Captain Hink said as he strolled toward her cot.

  Well, she could be certain of one thing. It wasn’t just the low light of the airship that had given the man a handsome swagger. He was just as good-looking now as then.

  “Mrs. Lindson woke me to see to my shoulder,” Rose said. She realized that her shoulder, neck, and a good portion of her chest were bare except for where bandages wrapped around them.

  She was sitting half naked in front of an airship captain. It was such a thing she’d only secretly dreamed about. But not like this. In her dreams she’d been bathed, fresh, and certainly not wounded.

  The captain’s gaze roamed briefly over her bare skin before lingering on her bandage and then returning to her eyes. “It’s nice to see you feeling good enough to be sitting,” he said as he walked off into the shadows of the room a bit, then returned with a chair into the warm wash of lantern light.

  He put the chair next to her cot and sat there, next to her. “Sorry for the landing. Not the smoothest flight I’ve ever offered a passenger.”

  “Oh, no, it was wonderful.”

  “Wonderful?” he asked. “That medicine Mrs. Lindson gave you must be clouding your memories a bit. Maybe I ought to give it to all my passengers.” He smiled and it put light in his eyes, and an ease in all the rest of him.

  Captain Cage was wide at the shoulder, with hair the color of gold and a face that looked like it would fit in just fine with those heroes of Nordic myths. He looked like he hadn’t shaved in a few days, which only gave him a sort of devil-may-care air, which she should not find so heart-stoppingly handsome.