Tin Swift

by Devon Monk

  “I require silence from all my subordinates, Mr. Shunt,” the general warned.

  Mr. Shunt folded his fingers together. They made an eerie clacking sound, as if he was more metal and bone than flesh and blood.

  “I require the witch,” Shunt said, quiet as a beast stalking prey.

  “If,” the general replied, his voice rising, “you will not fall in line, then you will be escorted out. This is my land, my rule. Do you understand?”

  There was a pause. Hink had tried his bindings while the men postured, but there was no slack in them. Alabaster’s men knew how to keep prisoners kept.

  “I understand every piece of you,” Mr. Shunt said.

  It was a threat. Hink held his breath, waiting for weapons to be drawn. Hoping they would be.

  “Then you understand my need to destroy this filth,” the general said.

  To Hink’s surprise, Mr. Shunt gave a sort of hissing laugh. “Yes.”

  Whatever hope Hink had of finding a way out of this hell was crushed with that one small word.

  Alabaster paced away. Hink could just make out the table forge in the corner of the room. It smelled hot.

  “You took my men, Mr. Cage,” the general said. “You took my rank. You took my career, and my eye.” There was a pause while he scraped coals, and then there was the pop of his lips sucking flame into the pipe tobacco.

  “I never forget those who die for me,” he said, “and I never forgive those who don’t.”

  The scrape of metal tongs stirring coals filled the tent.

  “So now you have a choice, Mr. Cage.”

  Hink strained to hear anything beyond the tent, anything that would tell him where he was. But all he heard was the scratching of something metal stirred in the hot coals, the puff of Alabaster’s pipe, the tick and click of Mr. Shunt, and the rush of the wind outside.

  “Do you want me to dig your eye out of your skull?” General Saint asked.

  He turned and paced over to Hink, standing above him. “Or do you want to do it yourself, Marshal Cage?”

  Sweat rolled down Hink’s neck and he swallowed hard. The general gripped a pair of tongs in his hand. Clamped in those tongs was Hink’s tin badge. It was red-hot, the wicked points of the star dusty white and smoking.

  Hink had no weapon, no plan. He’d told his crew to run and they damn well better have run. He was tied down in his enemy’s parlor.

  There was no bargaining with the Saint. No forgiveness and no negotiation. Hink knew the general wasn’t offering him a choice so much as just wanting to watch him squirm.

  “How about your man, Mr. Shunt?” Hink asked. “Aren’t you going to offer him a go at me?”

  “This is between you and me,” the general said.

  “Then hand me that poker,” Hink said. “And you’ll have my answer.”

  The general puffed on his pipe and smoke curled up around his head, like some kind of devil come elbowing up out of hell.

  “I disapprove of your tone, Marshal.” The Saint leaned over him. The heat from the poker lashed a hot shadow over his face. “Struggle. It will make this all the more memorable for me.”

  Hink was breathing hard. He clenched his teeth, steeling himself for the pain.

  “I’m going to push this through your eye. Then I’m going to stir it in the coals and push it through your other eye. After that, we’ll see how long you can stay alive while I cut off every other part of you, bit by bit.

  “But first, let me make it clear to the world just whose man you are.” The general pressed the hot star into the center of Hink’s forehead.

  Hink screamed as his skin crisped and burned, pain flaying his nerves.

  The Saint removed the star and turned to place it back in the coals.

  Blood dripped down into Hink’s ears and eyes, and the rancid smell of burned hair and meat choked his throat.

  “Marshal Cage,” the general said, puffing on his pipe. “Now no one will forget exactly who and what you are.”

  Just past the rattle of his own heartbeat, the Saint’s words, and the sizzling metal dropping wet into the coals, Hink heard a sound. It was the hum of an engine in the sky.

  He knew that engine. He could feel that ship in his blood.

  The Swift. She was coming for him.

  The general turned with the star in tongs again. “Now, I will have your eyes.”

  Hink smiled up at the Saint. “Go to hell.”

  “After you, Marshal Cage.” General Alabaster Saint clamped his teeth on the stem of his pipe and then stabbed the poker down.

  Hink screamed as agony burst through him and swallowed him whole.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Cedar knew it wasn’t much of a plan. But they’d drifted over the base, seeing what they could make out in the darkness, then fired engines low, just long enough to put them in a position to strike.

  Captain Hink was somewhere down there. Mae knew that for sure. Cedar didn’t doubt her instinct. He just didn’t know how they were going to extract a man from a well-guarded and well-armed hold.

  “Three ships,” Molly Gregor pointed out before they glided the last turn around the ridgetop. They’d have to fire engines to set into place, and when they did, everything needed to happen fast if they were going to have any chance to get out of this alive.

  “All tied down,” she continued. “Double boilers. Won’t be able to stoke them and get them up into the sky faster than the Swift can run.”

  “We hit the hangar first,” Cedar said. “Take out the ships. That should keep them busy. We’ll go in under the chaos, quiet if we can. Shouldn’t take long to check each of the structures for the captain.”

  “Teams of two,” Seldom said.

  Cedar nodded. “Molly and Miss Dupuis, Seldom and Guffin, and I’ll go in alone.”

  “I don’t think that’s wise,” Miss Dupuis said. “You should have cover. Molly and I will go with you.”

  “We need to cover as much ground as quickly as we can,” Cedar said. “Three teams.”

  “I go where you go,” a familiar voice said.

  Cedar spun and looked at the shadows of the ship by the crates.

  Wil, his brother, stood as a man, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders covering him to his knees. His hair was wild and brushing past his shoulders, and he was in need of a shave, but he smiled. “But I’ll need pants first.”

  For a wild moment, Cedar wondered if Mae had somehow broken his curse. But then he remembered the new moon was tomorrow. The curse made it so Cedar changed to wolf form for the three nights around the full moon. Wil, however, changed to man form for three nights around the new moon.

  Cedar had hoped they would have made it to the coven by now. He had lost track of the moon over the last few days.

  “Wil,” Cedar said, crossing the ship to him.

  “Holy blazes,” Guffin said. “Where the hell’d you come from?”

  “Wil is my brother,” Cedar said. “The wolf. His curse lifts around the new moon.” He put his hand on his brother’s shoulder and Wil smiled.

  “It’s good to see you,” Wil said.

  “And you,” Cedar said. Then, to Guffin, “He’ll be walking on two legs until dawn.”

  “I’d rather walk with pants on,” he said. “And a gun, if we’re going on down there to save the captain.”

  Wil and Cedar had spoken while on the road, Cedar staying up the nights so he could spend every moment asking Wil about the years they’d been apart. Those talks had been rushed and far too few. But Wil had told him that even in wolf form, with the instinct of the beast full upon him, he could understand plain English and more or less think like a man.

  Guffin wasn’t moving. No one was moving.

  “Outfit him,” Seldom said to Guffin. “We need all the guns we can get.”

  Guffin shook his head and muttered his way back to his trunk, where he dug out a spare pair of breeches, shirt, and boots.

  “Here.” He handed the clothes to Cedar. �
�I understand he’s your brother, Mr. Hunt, but I ain’t willing to get all that close to him.”

  Cedar took the clothes and handed them to Wil. They didn’t have time for niceties or further explanations.

  “Unarmed, naked, and a man, I’m a threat,” Wil said as he moved off to one side to shuck into the clothes. “Yet when I was clawed and fanged, you didn’t complain that I watched you while you slept. What kind of people you traveling with, brother?”

  “Good people,” Cedar said, missing this, missing Wil’s sly humor and wit.

  Guffin opened his mouth, closed it, then just shook his head again and set himself to rechecking the weapons he’d already checked a dozen times.

  “There’s a lot of strangework down there,” Wil said.

  Cedar nodded. “I know.”

  “But all we’re there for is pulling out the captain, right?” Wil shoved his feet into the boots, then bent and tied them tight.

  “That’s right.” Cedar knew what Wil was really asking. If he would be able to keep his head, keep his reason about him when he was dropping down into a hive of strangeworked men.

  “Rose doesn’t have time for us to clean the place out,” Cedar said. “And Mae…” He looked over at her. She was standing by the cannon, one hand resting on the metal barrel, oblivious to what was happening in the ship around her.

  “I won’t lose her just so I can kill a few strangeworks.”

  Wil nodded. “Then let’s get this done.”

  Cedar handed him his Walker and a pouch of bullets. “We spend as little time as we can searching, and pull back fast.”

  He turned to the rest of the group. “Search your building, then head for the ship. One of us is bound to find the captain.”

  “Keep an eye skyward,” Seldom said. “Ansell will fire a flare when the captain’s on board. Ready men?”

  Everyone called out their affirmatives.

  “Mr. Ansell,” Seldom said. “Tell Mr. Theobald to bring her on line.”

  “Aye, sir,” Ansell said from the pilot’s position.

  The big steam boilers chuffed, fans catching and roaring. And the Swift came singing out of the mountaintops down toward General Alabaster Saint’s stand.

  Cedar checked his harness as Wil was strapping his on. Heavy rope attached to the belt of each of their harnesses was tied around one of the metal support bars of the ship.

  Ansell would bring them in as low as he could. They’d jump out on ropes, and unlatch so the ship could climb to get out of range.

  The ship tore toward the ground.

  Seldom was at the cannon, having loaded it with some kind of devised artillery they’d liberated during the escape from Old Jack’s. Guffin told Cedar they were the same kind of charges they’d dropped on top of the Devil’s Nine.

  Which meant it was going to blow through the hangar and catch everything inside it on fire.

  “Ready?” Ansell yelled.

  “Ready,” Seldom yelled back.

  “We’re coming over it…now!”

  The Swift pulled up hard, her nose sticking into the air and wings snapping to catch her suicide dive.

  Cedar held tight to the overhead bar as ground, sky, ground sped past in a wild blur.

  Seldom didn’t say a thing. He waited, spotting the structure and holding his fire until he had his aim. Then he let the cannon fly.

  The head-breaking explosion of cannon fire rattled the ship and set her tin bones ringing in response.

  Ansell slipped the ship sideways like a sled on ice. “This is your stop,” he yelled. “Jump for it. I’ll hold as long as I can.”

  The explosion from their firebombs was massive. The Swift bobbed like a boat on the sea from the concussion of air and heat coming off the hangar.

  The hangar wasn’t just going up in smoke, it was a raging bonfire burning down to dust. Whatever munitions, oils, or compounds they kept stored in the place were touched off. From the successive rumbles and blasts, a lot of gunpowder, and probably a goodly bit of dynamite, had been packed in the place.

  Miss Dupuis was the first over the side of the ship, and Molly Gregor was right behind her. Then Guffin took the jump, and Seldom after him.

  Wil was at the door. He quickly double-checked his harness, then jumped from the ship, letting out a whoop that was swallowed by the explosions.

  Cedar was last. He shoved himself out of the ship, and felt the sickening free fall twist his guts like a fork through stew before the line caught and nearly knocked all the wind out of him. He dangled for a second, getting his bearings as to what was up and what wasn’t.

  Mr. Ansell had a good eye for distance. Cedar was maybe six feet off the ground. Wil pulled the lever to unlatch the rope, hit the dirt, and stood right back up. The others already had weapons drawn and were running toward the buildings as smoke—so much smoke and fire—rose up and further fouled the night air.

  Cedar pulled the lever on his harness, relaxed for the landing and came up out of a roll.

  Wil had his gun drawn and motioned toward the wooden building.

  Cedar slipped a shotgun off his shoulder and they started at a jog toward the structure.

  Men were yelling. Gunshots clattered through the night. Smoke and flame turned the compound into chaos as the Swift fired down into the crowds.

  Cedar jogged beside his brother, who was grinning with anticipation, opening and closing his left hand as if thrilling in the sensations of being a man again.

  And then the wind shifted, carrying with it the scent of the Strange.

  No, a Strange.

  Mr. Shunt.

  Cedar stopped, turned on his heel. The world slowed. Then he ran toward that scent, Wil pounding step-in-step beside him.

  Mingled with the foul odor of Mr. Shunt was the scent of Captain Hink, his blood, his pain.

  But not his death. Not yet.

  The soldiers were quickly realizing the assault they were under, and turned to guns and cover, taking aim at the Swift and abandoning the ships in the hangar.

  Molly and Miss Dupuis were pressed up against the shadow of the low, long building that was probably a barracks, shooting, reloading, shooting, as they made their way toward the door.

  Seldom and Guffin were lost to the smoke and flashes of gunfire. A separate explosion rocked the building behind Molly and Miss Dupuis.

  Seldom must be that way.

  Cannons from the Swift aimed at the artillery shed. The world flattened into a silent roar of red as the munitions blew a hole in the hill.

  Blood everywhere, screams in the darkness. Men dying. Strangework pulled apart as if the strings had suddenly been cut.

  And then another cannon fired. Not the Swift. This was a much bigger gun.

  The hillside bloomed with a white-hot flash as the Saint’s heavy artillery aimed at the Swift. The Swift’s fans roared, carrying her higher, but not out of range. Not nearly out of range yet. She’d been repaired, as much as they could do in the air, but she wasn’t up to full muster.

  The scent of Mr. Shunt was stronger. Cedar’s mouth watered. He wanted to taste that creature’s blood. He wanted to tear him into so many pieces there wouldn’t be enough of him left to smear the sole of a shoe.

  Wil beside him laughed as they tore across the rocky ground, Cedar only half a step behind him.

  Shunt was in the tent just ahead. Hink was in that tent. That, Cedar knew for sure. What he didn’t know was if there were more men in the tent, more prisoners.

  They rushed into the tent, fingers on triggers.

  The world went slow, so slow around him. And the scene in the tent clicked like the flash pan of a camera in Cedar’s mind.

  Three tables. Covered in blood. Low light from lanterns glossing the hooks and blades of surgical tools, a pile of discarded body parts and bones stacked in one corner.

  In the middle of the room, strapped down to a table, Captain Hink. Unconscious, his face a gory mess, still breathing.

  Two men in the corners. Strangework,
but not Shunt.

  Behind those men, the doorway Mr. Shunt must have just run out through.

  Son of a bitch.

  Cedar leveled his shotgun and blew the man on the left off his feet. Wil took aim with the Walker and plugged the other man right between the eyes.

  Both men tumbled to the ground. But they were Strangework. They’d get right back up again if Wil and Cedar didn’t tear their throats out.

  No time.

  He’d come to save Hink. That was his promise to Rose. That was what they were all putting their lives on the line for.

  He drew his knife and cut Hink’s straps. He tossed Wil the shotgun and caught the Walker Wil threw at him in trade.

  Then Cedar leaned down and pulled the captain across his shoulders.

  Captain Hink was not a small man. Cedar snarled under the weight of him. Walking out of here was not going to be a pretty thing.

  Wil came up beside him. “You got that?” he asked.

  “For now,” Cedar said. “Go.”

  Wil pushed through the tent flap and back into the night.

  There were enough buildings on fire now that it was easy to see the row of soldiers, all aiming weapons at them, standing just a few yards away, blocking their route to the ship.

  Mr. Shunt stood behind them, tall and ragged and far too alive.

  A burly man paced forward. He was in uniform, wearing the rank of a general, a sword at one side, gun at the other. His eyes were strangely mismatched in the wavering light, so much so that one seemed to be nothing but a metal ball with a black hole in it.

  “Well, then, I see Mr. Cage has his uses after all,” he said. “Mr. Shunt, is this the hunter and wolf?”

  “Yes,” Shunt hissed.

  “Where,” the general asked, “is the witch?”

  Cedar couldn’t fight with Hink on his shoulders. Twelve men held guns on them.

  Shunt stood behind them, letting the strangework bodies guard his own. But even with all the flesh and fire and blood between Cedar and Shunt, Cedar could smell his fear, he could hear the ticking of whatever he was using as a heart, each tick minutely slower than the last, and he could sense the Holder. Singing the high, slow song that set the hair on his arms rising.

  It was near here. No, it was near Shunt.