by Devon Monk
“We ran into some trouble back out Oregon way,” Hink said. “Looking for some parts to repair my ship.”
“You’ve come a long distance for a bolt or cog,” Vosbrough noted.
“Don’t need a bolt or cog. I need a deal.”
Wicks frowned, looking genuinely confused this time. Rose tried not to bite her bottom lip or otherwise look concerned. She had no idea where Hink was going with this.
“A deal? With whom?”
“You, Mayor. I’ve got the fastest ship in the western sky, can harvest more glim in one haul than any of the bigger blowers, and am in need of money for repairs.”
Vosbrough sat back and a grin spread wide on his face. “You came here to ask me for money?”
“I came to make a glim deal. Heard it’s the sort of business a smart man like you might be interested in.”
Vosbrough’s grin remained, but he pressed all his fingertips together while considering Hink over the top of them. “Am I to assume you intend to trade via legal channels?”
“Not all the men who fly the skies are pirates,” Hink said.
“Rather high percentage, I’m given to understand,” Vosbrough said.
“Takes all sorts to make the money go round,” Hink said. “So are we doing business?”
“True. So very true,” Vosbrough said. “You know what? I like you too, Mr. Hink. But I’m afraid I can’t do business with glim pirates. Sheriff, lock them up.”
“What?” Wicks said. “In jail? Hold on, Mayor. You must understand I am in no way associated with that man.”
“I do not care, Mr. Wicks. You were trespassing on my property with intent to do harm, I can only assume. Be happy it’s only jail time you’re serving. We have a brand-new gallows built in the central square. And people do enjoy a good hanging.”
The sheriff’s men moved in and Rose glanced up at Hink, then over at Wicks, to see if they had some kind of plan she didn’t. Neither of them said anything. So she did.
“Who is the gallows for?”
The mayor turned and looked at her. Maybe for the first time. She had to admit that her coat was loose, having lost her belt, and her skirts were dirty and tattered at the hem. She wore a practical hat a cowboy might find himself comfortable doffing.
She was no vision; that was certain.
Still, his eyebrows went up, as if he’d just noticed two things: that she was in the room and that she was, indeed, a woman.
“My apologies, miss. But I doubt you know them. Set of murderous brothers. Real rough lot. Go by the name of Madder.”
Rose was very careful not to let her shock show. “Well, God be with them,” she said quietly.
Vosbrough looked between her and Hink, who stood closest to her. Hink’s arms were crossed over his chest. It didn’t take a genius to read what he was thinking while he glared at the mayor.
“God gave up on them years ago,” Vosbrough said with a sigh. “Pity to see three lives wasted. Still, it’s my place to see that justice is done and they are sent down to the fires they crawled out of. Take them,” he ordered.
Hink and Wicks exchanged one brief look, and then neither of them put up a fight as they were pushed back outside. The lawmen didn’t touch Rose. They simply pointed to the door, as if she were a child who needed instructions on how to get out of the place.
Once outside, they were shoved back into the steam wagon.
“Do you have a plan?” Rose asked.
“Escape sounds good to me,” Hink said. “When they open the door, I’ll take the first one and get his gun.”
“You’ll die.” Wicks sighed. “Sometimes the best plan isn’t to attack directly.”
“Was your plan working any better?”
“Got a look at him at least,” Wicks said. “Got a look at his forces, the setup of communication. He’s wired the entire town with cables. Also noticed he’s a bit roughed up—that’s interesting. So I wouldn’t say it was a complete loss. But as for our escape, we’ll watch for a chance and we’ll take it. But our chance does not involve rushing a half-dozen armed men. Do you understand me, Cage?”
“You are not my boss,” Hink said.
“What about the Madders?” Rose asked.
“What about them?” Wicks asked.
“They’re friends of ours.”
“Friends?” Wicks sat up straighter.
“Acquaintances,” Rose corrected. “We have to save them.”
“That’ll be a mite hard if we’re behind bars,” Hink said.
“Maybe not,” Rose said. “Do you still have the copper battery?”
“Think so.”
“Battery, what battery?” Wicks asked.
Hink pulled the glass-and-copper device out of his pocket.
“You have a battery?” Wicks said again. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a battery?”
“Because it is none of your business.”
“That’s stolen property. And it’s proof. What part of that isn’t my business?”
“The part where I said it ain’t.”
“Let me carry it,” Rose said. “They might search you, but there’s less of a chance they’ll make me strip to my underdress.”
Hink tipped his head down just a bit. “So. You’re going to strip now?”
“No.” Rose was busy unbuttoning her coat, and then the back of her collar so she could stuff the thing down her blouse.
When Hink didn’t say anything, she glanced up at him. “Well?”
“I was just waiting to see where you were going with this,” he said, giving her a knowing smile.
“I’m going to drop it down my blouse. It should…fit.” Rose was blushing madly now, her cheeks so hot they stung. She just hoped the dark interior of the wagon didn’t show it.
“Maybe I can be of some assistance? I’m a deft hand with buttons.”
“No.”
Wicks snorted.
Hink handed Rose the copper device and she was once again caught by the song of it, by the cold of it, by the possibilities of what it could be. Glim and cold copper and Strange, bound by witch’s spells. Her hand was shaking, though she’d only been holding it for a moment.
Then Hink’s hand was under hers, supporting it. “Are you sure, Rose?”
She pressed her lips together and was surprised to feel a tear at the corner of her eye. Maybe she’d been sitting there, unbuttoned with the odd device in her hand for more than a moment.
She didn’t know why she heard this metal so loudly in her mind. She only hoped that when she placed it between the cloth of her blouse and her underdress it would be dampened enough—and not touching her skin—so she didn’t hear it at all.
It wasn’t easy, but then, she’d done plenty of other difficult things. Finally, she got the copper tucked into her blouse and the back of her collar buttoned up again. The wagon had already stopped moving and she wasn’t done buttoning her coat.
Her fingers flew through the closures, hoping she lined the holes and buttons up straight.
“How do I look?” she asked Hink.
He visibly swallowed. “Beautiful.” And then he bent down, and right there, in front of Mr. Wicks, he made to kiss her.
Just then, the door was thrown open and Hink pulled away.
It took Rose more than a bit to get her breathing under control, and all the heat in her cheeks had migrated down her chest and stomach, even though he hadn’t even kissed her.
“Get out,” the man outside ordered.
“You sure your mind’s made up?” Hink asked Wicks. “There’s only five of them.”
“Quite sure,” Wicks said a little stiffly.
And then Wicks ducked out of the wagon, and Rose was right behind him. Hink was last out and, true to his word, went with the men peacefully.
The jail wasn’t as large as Rose had expected. She’d never been to a big-city jail before, but had hoped it might be several stories tall, and trimmed up with all the bric-a-brac the rest of the city seemed to be drippin
g with.
No, this was a short, square brick building, with narrow windows and a door made out of metal.
They were brought inside and quickly marched past several cells occupied by rough-looking men who hooted and whistled as she passed by.
Hink and Wicks were shoved into one cell, and when Rose went to step in, the sheriff pulled on her arm.
“You’ll be in a separate cell,” he said.
“Plenty of room for her in my cell, Sheriff,” one of the prisoners yelled. “You know you want me, pretty thing. Come on in and let me get a good look at you.”
“Touch the lady and I’ll be shoveling you into your grave before sunset,” Hink said calmly.
The bars slammed shut behind Hink, and Rose was pushed down the hall farther.
To her left was another cell with a big brute of a man who paced and mumbled what sounded like the Lord’s Prayer to himself; then the next cell held a man lying on a crude cot.
He seemed to be of native blood, though he wore the styles of a white man. He appeared shirtless beneath a blanket tossed across the middle of his body. He also looked pale and sick, and there was a pool of blood at the side of the cot.
He was dying.
But before she could even see the all of him, she was shoved into the next cell and the bars were snapped shut behind her.
“Wait,” Rose said. “Please.”
The guard had taken several strides down the hall, but turned and looked at her. “What is it?”
“The man in that cell we passed. I think he’s badly hurt.”
“He is,” he said. “But if I were you, I’d worry about your own business.”
“You’ll just leave him here to die?” For some reason Rose was shocked about that. She shouldn’t be, not after everything she’d seen. Cruelty was all too common in this world. “What did he do?”
“He broke the law, miss. Just like everyone else on your side of the bars.” The man walked away.
“I haven’t broken a law,” Rose said quietly, knowing he wouldn’t hear her. “Not yet, in any case.” She put her hands on her hips and turned to assess just what she had to work with in the tiny cell. Not much: bars, a cot, a blanket, two buckets—one filled with water, the other empty. That was all. Certainly not much to plan an escape with.
And then a voice drifted down from the end of the line of cells. A very familiar voice.
“Rose Small?” Alun Madder asked. “Is that you, girl?”
Cedar took a deep breath, savoring the warmth and ease of the soft bed. Nothing hurt. He could sleep all day and not be the worse for it.
But the soft bed was rocking enough he began to wonder if he were still aboard Captain Hink’s airship, or maybe in the back of the wagon forcing its way through the blizzard toward Iowa.
That—a moment of sheer fear that he was still trapped in the blizzard, drowsy from the cold, and possibly on the edge of death—sent him rushing up through the warmth and comfort to wakefulness.
He was indeed in a wagon, the back of their traveling wagon, bundled beneath several layers of blankets. Wil lay next to him, sleeping in wolf form.
Cedar shook his head, trying to shell reality from dream. Wil had been a man, and so had Cedar. The curse was temporarily lifted by Father Kyne.
And then the curse had fallen upon them again, leaving Cedar a beast until the sun rose and Wil a beast until the next three nights of no moon.
Dawn must be upon them. And with dawn, Cedar had once again regained his man’s body.
Which explained why he was naked.
Other memories tumbled through his mind, a chaotic mix of double images he could hardly put reason to. A few stood out clearly. He had followed the Strange with the pink ribbon. He had heard the children trapped in the icy river, and sensed the Holder down in that black watery grave. He had watched the Strange steal away that sleepwalking child, and had felt the pain of Father Kyne being beaten by someone.
Vosbrough. Father Kyne had been beaten by Vosbrough.
He rubbed his face. There was more: the children in the rock-tumble cave. Wil thought they might be alive, but how could they be after all this time, stashed away behind rocks?
The Holder, though—that he knew was beneath the river. He knew it like he knew his own heartbeat. He had to find a way to pull the deadly device free. He had no idea how to do that.
The wagon hit a bump, and he realized they were driving somewhere. Mae. He hoped she was holding the reins. He searched the wagon for clothing, found a pair of breeches and a spare shirt, not as heavy as his other shirt. He’d probably lost his clothes when he’d shifted shapes.
These would have to do. He had an extra pair of boots with a hole in the heel, but a wad of cloth would keep them mostly watertight.
Wil was going to be so disappointed his favorite boots had been left behind. Cedar combed his hair back with stiff fingers and paused at the pain tightening his chest. He inhaled too quickly, which set him to coughing. His lungs hurt, his back hurt. Usually when he took the form of the beast, all his injuries were healed. But the spell Mae and Father Kyne had laid upon him must have changed that.
When his cough was settled, he scrubbed the sweat off his face and blinked to clear his eyes. He took several short, careful breaths to test that his lungs were still whole. Breathing hurt, but his cough was the least of their worries.
He gathered himself and swung out the back of the wagon, leaning wide so he could see their surroundings.
He was surprised to see the tall buildings and crowded street of the city. A quick look at the shadows told him it was just an hour or two past dawn. With his heightened senses from the change, he knew the two voices at the head of the wagon were Mae and Miss Dupuis.
Mae was there. Mae was safe. His heart seemed to unclench as relief flooded through him.
The wagon turned down a side street. Cedar recognized it as the alley that ran beside the courthouse. Mae called the mules to a halt, and then he heard her and Miss Dupuis jump down from the driving seat to the snowy ground.
They walked around the wagon and Cedar called out softly to Mae, “Good morning.”
She glanced up at him, the worry slipping away for a moment as dawn brushed her soft features with the watery tones of spring roses.
“You’re awake,” she said.
“I am. Why are we in town?” He jumped down to the ground beside her.
“Because,” Miss Dupuis said, coming up from the other side. “I have very bad news. The Madders are scheduled to be hung this afternoon.”
“What? Have I lost days? There was to be a court hearing. You were to defend them. To stay the hanging.”
“You’ve only been asleep a few hours,” Miss Dupuis said. “The mayor has changed his mind. He has decided the charges against them are too egregious and numerous against the nation for a jury of peers to decide their fate. He has declared them guilty and the judge agrees. The jury hadn’t even been assembled. But the court clerk was there and made note in the record.”
“Is there no way to stop this?” Cedar asked. “Legally?”
“I sent a wire to the attorney general of the United States, but I don’t believe I will receive a response before noon.”
“And the mayor?”
Mae spoke. “He’s set to kill them, Cedar. No matter what the law says. The Madders said it was an old rivalry between them, an old hatred. And for Vosbrough there was only ever one way to end this: with the Madders’ death.”
“They’re still in jail?” he asked.
“Yes,” Mae said.
“So we break them out.”
“I agree,” Miss Dupuis said. “But there is more you must know. Father Kyne is injured. And he too is in jail.”
Cedar nodded. He remembered the injuries from his visions last night. “Can he walk?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Mae, could you help him with that? Heal him enough for us to free him?”
“I could try, but healing is gentle and di
fficult to speed along. And if we’re running from the law, it will be even more difficult.”
“What weapons do we have at our disposal?” he asked.
“The things you see here,” Mae said. She pulled open the back of the wagon, and drew away an extra blanket that he didn’t recognize. Beneath that blanket were rifles, pistols, and a couple sticks of dynamite.
“Where did you get these?”
“Some from the church, some from the Madders’ supplies,” Mae said. “I took you and Wil to the church first. Miss Dupuis met me there and told me the news. I assumed we’d need guns to work our way out of this.”
“You are a practical woman,” Cedar said with a smile.
“I can hold my own in a pinch.”
“They’re set to hang at noon?” Cedar asked.
“Yes,” Miss Dupuis said. “We have a few hours.”
“And no plan.” Cedar rubbed his face again. Hunger and a lingering ache were stealing his thoughts away. He needed food. “Do we have water?”
“Yes,” Mae said. “I’m sorry, Cedar. I should have told you that first. I brought you some food.” She walked around the front of the wagon and returned with a saddlebag. He could smell the hardtack and jerked meat even through the leather.
“I didn’t have time to make anything,” she said, opening the bag.
“It’s fine,” Cedar said. “More than fine.”
Mae handed him the bag. His hands were shaking from the hunger, but he managed to chew before he swallowed. Mae also gave him a canteen of cold water in which she had steeped some dried tea leaves. It was a humble meal, but more than a feast for his needs.
He saved half the meat and water for Wil, but finished all the hardtack, which he knew Wil wouldn’t eat in wolf form.
His hunger temporarily abated, he went through the things at their disposal: guns, dynamite, the wagon, horses.
“Maybe in the middle of the night,” Cedar said, “we’d have a chance. But to break them out in broad daylight, just the three of us, and somehow make it to the wagon with an injured man, and then get out of a town this size without being stopped…I don’t know.”
“Perhaps Wil could be a distraction?” Miss Dupuis suggested. “A wild wolf in the middle of town is sure to draw attention. And the law.”
