by Devon Monk
HANG FIRE
The Age of Steam - A Short Story
Devon Monk
All rights reserved. No part of this story may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 Devon Monk
Cover Art Copyright © 2013 by Odd House Press
Additional Graphics Copyright © 2013 Deanne Hicks
Chapter 1
They were being followed. Cedar Hunt thumbed the gear at the edge of his goggles, flipping a darker lens into place. He scanned the high, rocky hills, looking for a glint of sun off a gun barrel, listening for the shift of horse and leather against the scrub here on the eastern curve of the Oregon territory.
His curse would do him no good today. The beast the Pawnee had planted in his bones only came out at the full moon, and was no more than an unsettled anger now.
Still, it might be a fair bit easier to hear if an ambush were imminent if the Madder brother's wagon wasn't making enough noise for an entire troupe of tinkers. At least the brothers weren't drunk and singing. Yet.
"Trouble, Mr. Hunt?" Alun, the eldest Madder called out over the clatter of oddments stashed inside the big wagon pulled by their two draft horses.
"Not that I see," he answered.
All three of the brothers were miners. Short, bearded, bull-shouldered and tougher than the mountains they blasted their way through. They were rich too, with all the silver they dug out of Hallelujah, though a man wouldn't know it from the state of their clothing or belongings.
But only a fool would mistake them for anything other than clever. They had an eye for the Strange, a knack for measuring a man's soul, and a way with the wild sciences that had gotten Cedar out of–and into–too many tight spots.
He'd made them a promise to find a very dangerous weapon. Of course, he'd made a lot of promises lately.
"Mr. Hunt?" a softer voice called out.
Mae Lindson, the beautiful, sad-eyed widow urged the mule she was riding up ahead of the Madder's wagon so she could better talk to him. He'd promised to take her to the coven of her witch sisters, off Kansas way. He hoped to do so before she lost her mind to the madness the sisters had set upon her.
At the sight of her, his heart hammered hard and reckless. She was a need he'd found no fix for, a thirst he couldn't quench. And his desire had only grown stronger all their days on the trail.
"Mrs. Lindson," he said as she stopped just short of a comfortable distance. "Where's Rose?"
Rose Small, the young woman who rode with them looking for adventure in the big cities beyond the small town of Hallelujah, was often at Mae's side. Even horseback, Rose tended to tinker with a bit of metal, cog and spring, making whimsical curiosities of metal. She had a deviser's quick fingers and quicker mind.
"I don't know," Mae said, her eyes gone cloudy with concern. "Rose disappeared."
Chapter 2
"Rose is missing?" Cedar Hunt asked Mae Lindson.
"We were down by the river." Mae stared over his shoulder toward the same hill he'd been scanning for signs of movement, her eyes unfocussed as if she heard a song calling her in soft tones.
"Mae," he said gently, bringing back her wandering mind. The sisterhood had bound her to coven soil and would drive her mad if she didn't return soon. He was used to these lapses, but they were getting worse each day.
"Yes," she said quietly. But not to him, to the sister's voices only she could hear.
"Mae," he said again, this time bringing his horse closer to her. He pushed his goggles down so they hung at his neck, then reached over and put his hand over hers where it rested on the pommel of her saddle. "Rose is gone?"
At his touch, her eyes cleared. Mae licked her lips and nodded, her hand flying to the tatting shuttle she wore on a string.
"We were by the stream," she said slowly as if plucking her thoughts from amongst too many others. "Rose said she saw some kind of metal device. Thought it was moving. And then she was gone."
"Into the brush?"
"I was watching her, Mr. Hunt," Mae said with a bit of fire, though her voice held steady. "She took a step, and when she took another, she was not there."
Mae's thoughts might be slipping, but she was very, very clear on this.
Things didn't just disappear. People didn't just disappear–unless the Strange were involved.
The wind lifted and pushed a cold chill down between his duster and spine. He had an uncommon ability to find the Strange, an ability given him by the curse he carried. If there were Strange nearby, he'd know. And yet, he sensed no inhuman creature out in these fields and scrub. Certainly nothing that would make this kind of mischief.
"Stay here with the wagon and the Madders, Mrs. Lindson," Cedar said, turning his horse away from the brother's wagon rumbling up the trail toward them, "until I return."
"No," she said.
"Is that all you have to say?" Captain Hink squinted against the dust blowing down off the east side of the Cascade Range. The steam boiler fans on his airship, the Swift chugged to life, picking up the beat of his heart.
"Ain't more than good-bye left to say, is there?" George Rucker said over the sound of the airship.
Hink grunted at the young man. "This is not good-bye. We'll be riding the air for glim, harvest up a pot or two, then come on back this way when winter closes the sky."
George was not yet fifteen. Dark-haired and light-eyed, he had a stubborn streak two lots wide. He was also the brother of a soldier Hink had served with, a soldier who had died far too young. Hink had taken care of the boy the best he could these last few years.
From the thrust of his chin, Hink knew George did not believe a word he said.
Hink gave him his widest grin. "I'll be boots on dirt before the first snow falls, you have my word."
"I reckon," George muttered.
Hink pushed his breathing gear and goggles–both of which were hanging just below his collarbones–out of the way and dug beneath the buttons of his heavy coat for the inside pocket.
He withdrew a small tin star. George's eyes got big as dinner plates.
"You keep hold of this for me now." Hink pressed his US Marshal's badge into the boy's hand. "I will come back. I promise you so."
"Captain!" his boilerman, Molly Gregor hollered. "Wind's on the shift."
Hink clapped the boy roughly on the shoulder, then turned just as the breeze pushed up hard enough to knock the Swift off her moorings. "Pick it up, Captain!" Molly yelled, "or we'll be leaving you dirt-side."
Like hell they'd leave him behind. The Swift was his ship. Captain Hink took off at a run toward the ship, about to tell Molly just that. But he knew it'd be a waste of air to argue with the woman.
Chapter 3
Cedar Hunt knew better than to argue with the woman. It didn't keep him from it, though. "You'll be safer if you stay with the Madders. I don't want to lose you."
Mae Lindson's eyes narrowed a bit and Cedar held his breath, hoping she hadn't heard the need behind his words. There was no time for those kinds of feelings–not on this trail with winter on the way.
The beast within him turned and pressed, wanting him to say more. Wanting him to take Mae as his own. Cedar pushed back against the Pawnee curse. He still had a man's mind, and he wasn't about to lose it to the beast.
> "I won't stay behind," Mae finally said. "Arguing with me, Mr. Hunt, only wastes time. Ours and Rose's."
Logic. For all that Mae's mind drifted from the coven calling her home, she had not yet lost hold of her reason.
"Show me where you last saw Rose."
Mae turned her mule toward the river.
Cedar glanced over at the Madder brothers. Each of them dark-bearded and squat as bear, but the youngest, Cadoc, had a knit cap on his wooly head, and the middle brother, Bryn, wore a brass monocle over his ruined left eye. They rode alongside the bulky wagon that the eldest brother, Alun, drove behind the big draft horses.
"We're seeing to Rose," Cedar called. "She's gone missing."
Alun, in the driver's seat, raised his hand in acknowledgment, then dug in the pouch at his belt for tobacco and pipe. "I'm sure she's fine," he said.
Cedar did not share his confidence.
Wil, Cedar's brother, slipped through brush to follow Mae with the silence and speed particular to a wolf. He, too, carried the Pawnee curse, but only wore the skin of a man during the dark moon, whereas Cedar only wore a wolf's skin each full moon.
"Up river just a bit more," Mae said. "By the shallows."
She pushed the brim of her bonnet back and stopped her mule just short of the bank, so she could scan the narrow strip of water. "She was there by those standing stones. Said she saw something move. Thought it was metal and went to go see. You know how she is."
"Feet that can't stay still and more curiosity than a pack of cats." Cedar pulled his goggles up from around his neck, setting them in place over his eyes and thumbing through the various lenses.
No horse, no movement, no trace of Rose–not even a wet footprint on the opposite bank. Even the stand of trees beyond didn't hint to a rustle of life. The forest was silent, as if suddenly all living things had found a need to cower.
And then a scream broke the air.
Chapter 4
"Screaming at me won't make me run faster." Captain Hink caught the deadman's grip inside the Swift's port door and hauled himself inside the airship. None too soon. The Swift was already off anchor and lifting to the wind.
Molly Gregor stood just inside the door holding one of the brace beams, her shirt sleeves rolled up, and her breathing gear hanging in the other hand. She kept her dark hair cut short at the ears, and insisted on wearing men's boots and breeches, not that Hink or any of his crew cared to argue her out of it. She was stubborn, loyal, and the best damn boilerman in the skies.
"I was not screaming at you," she said.
"Some reason you're not at my fires?" Hink asked, stomping up toward the helm of the small ship. "Wind's on the shift. This ain't going to be an easy launch."
"If you'd said your good-byes last night, like I told you to," Molly said, heading the other way, "we'd have been gone before sun up. On good winds. Starting to think you got some kind of affliction for flying hard."
She slammed the metal door behind her, and Hink grinned. Molly might talk up a storm, but she had a heart wide as a prairie range. He knew she would miss the boy, George Rucker, too. For all that Hink had stood in as his father of sorts since George's brother died, Molly, in her way, had stood in as a mother.
"Mr. Seldom," Hink said to his second while stomping his boots into the belts on the floor in front of the wheel. "Give me headings to the east glim stake above the Sawtooth Range. Mr. Ansell, Mr. Guffin, pull anchor and ready to pound sky."
"Aye, Captain," his crew said at once. Well, except the Irish, Mr. Seldom. That man conserved words like a camel holding water.
As soon as they were up anchor, the Swift lifted like a bird off her fetters. She leaped to the edge of the canyon, sails spread to catch the updraft as steam and a hint of glim punched her up, hard and fast, through the clouds.
Hink laughed as the tin ship sang up through the sky angling toward the glim fields that flickered like soft lightning above the clouds over the Cascade Range. It was a good day for harvest. 'Course any day with glim in the sky was a good day for harvest.
"Captain," Mr. Seldom said. "Ship lifted right behind us. Orders?"
"Run."
Chapter 5
Cedar Hunt urged his horse into a run. Wil, beside him, darted through the shallow of the river just steps ahead, wolf eyes and ears following the trail more easily than Cedar could, even with his vision augmented by goggles.
Mae Lindson was right behind them.
That scream had been Rose Small, there was no doubting it. And Rose was not the kind of woman to raise her voice in fear.
Why had she gone wandering off for a bit of metal, anyway? Wasn't like they had time for her to set up shop. They had to get Mae to the coven in Kansas before her witch sisters drove her insane, and get the all of them through the Cascade Mountains before winter hitched down tight.
A deer trail broke the underbrush beneath the trees. That was the mostly likely path Rose had taken. Cedar pulled his horse up short and scanned both up and down river for any other sign of her.
"It sounded like the scream came from the trees," Mae said.
Cedar nodded. There wasn't a glint of metal anywhere along the bank. If Rose had gone off looking for a matic of some sort, there was no sign of it now.
"How big was the thing you say she went after?" Cedar asked.
"Almost her height. Why?"
"Big or small, it's not here. Which means it either moved on its own, or someone moved it."
"And took Rose?" Mae glanced over her shoulder, then down river too. "Natives?"
"Haven't seen nor heard them."
"We're going in there after her," Mae said.
"Yes," Cedar said, "we are. But not blind."
Wil was already at the edge of the trees. Cedar waited until the wolf picked a path and started into the shadows before swinging down off of his horse.
"You're not going in there on foot are you?" Mae asked.
"I hunt best on my feet." As soon as his boots hit the forest floor, the beast beneath Cedar's skin rolled with pleasure. He took a steadying breath against the feral need.
He was cursed to hunt Strange, cursed to kill Strange. But that curse, and the beast it turned him into, had been growing stronger–so strong that even now, in full daylight, he had to swallow against its hunger to kill.
He jogged into the brush, pulling his goggles down around his neck again. In the uncertain shift of shadow and light, he kept one eye on Wil and listened for Mae behind him. He needn't have worried about her. She stayed tight on his heels.
The brush opened up suddenly, and Cedar squinted against the blast of light pouring down through the trees.
In that light stood Rose. She had a walking stick in one hand, her boots and the hem of her skirt wet. She was bleeding from a wound on her head.
A metal contraption the size of a small horse rolled across the forest floor toward her, fast enough and heavy enough it was sure to crush her.
"Rose!" Cedar yelled. "Behind you!"
Chapter 6
"How far behind us is she, Mr. Seldom?" Captain Hink called out.
His second jogged to the rear port door, threw it open and, latching his harness to the metal-worked beam, leaned out on the running board to get a look at the tailing airship.
Mr. Seldom shrugged back inside just as quick and pulled his breathing gear down off of his thin face. "You want to see this, Captain."
"Don't think there's a ship that can surprise me, Mr. Seldom." Hink glanced over his shoulder and noted that Mr. Seldom was making busy with the canon.
The man didn't have a predilection for gunpowder when unnecessary. Something in the sky had set him reaching for a gun. A rather big gun.
"Mr. Guffin, the helm."
"Aye." Mr. Guffin had hound-dog eyes and a mop of yellow hair shaved up the sides and flopped over at the top, giving his whole head the appearance of a French tassel in a cheap bordello.
Hink pulled his boots out of the floor bracers and walked himself down slope
, hand holding and releasing the overhead beams as he went.
"We under fire, Mr. Seldom?" He pulled his breathing gear up over his nose and mouth, goggles over his eyes. They weren't so high up he'd run out of air to breathe, but it was damn cold over the range, and the force of wind could unlung a man.
Seldom, as was his way, didn't say anything, just lifted his chin toward the door.
Hink latched his harness on a side beam, then spun the lock on the door and leaned out on the running board. Icy air slapped him so hard he didn't have enough breath left in him to cuss.
He squinted against the hard whiteness reflecting off the clouds scudding just above them. And above that, soft green veils of glim caught the curve of those clouds with just a brush of the strange rose and gold that only showed here in the cold upper.
It was a damn fine day to harvest glim and catch a fortune in the sky.
Which was probably why the two ships behind him were coming on strong, and coming on fast.
Claim jumpers. Those ships were geared with more guns, harpoons, and ramming gear than any glim harvester would carry. A heavy ship was a slow ship, and you had to be light enough, or strong enough, to reach the glim fields above the clouds.
Those two beasts were both three times the size of the Swift. Each had four stacks that pumped black smoke into the sky and a line of fans down each side of the open-air gondolas. The ships had more than enough fire and firepower to blow the Swift out of the sky.
If they got close enough.
He had a sudden determination to make sure that was not going to happen.
"Jumpers!" he yelled, ripping his breathing gear off of his face. "Cool the stacks and ready the guns, boys. I want them in our sights."
Chapter 7
