by Devon Monk
“I…why?”
“I can always tell.” His hand slipped down to rest on her hip, casually, as if it belonged there. She could feel the heat of his palm, even through the heavy coat and her layers beneath.
“You can? Tell what?” she asked.
“When you’re thinking about my ship. You get this dreamy look in your eyes.” He leaned in close over her. “Always makes me want to kiss you.”
“Oh?”
He placed his other hand on the wall above her head. “What about that, Miss Small?”
“Kissing?” she said a little out of breath. “I…you do remember we just broke out of jail? Men are probably headed out here to kill us right now.”
“I remember jail. All those long minutes without you beside me. Stirs up a fire in a man.”
Rose grinned. “Minutes? It only takes you minutes away from a woman for your fire to get stirred up?”
“Well, not just any woman,” he said. “You.” And then the talking was over because his lips were against hers, in a most inappropriate and public display.
By glim, she didn’t care. She had almost died today. She’d been thrown in jail. And Hink could act as relaxed as he liked; she knew there were men on the way with guns to make sure one or the other previous events were carried through. She kissed him back with abandon. If this was their adventure, their horizon, she didn’t want to live it without him. Without his passion.
She was so busy with that kiss she figured she was missing most of the spell Mae was casting.
She finally pressed her palm against Hink’s chest, telling him without words that the kiss was as far as this moment was going to go.
He pulled back, and for a quick moment she saw something more than humor and fire in his eyes. She saw pain.
“Come with me to the kitchen. I want you to take off your shirt,” she ordered.
His eyebrows hitched up. “Go on. I like where this conversation is headed.”
“I’m going to look at that hole in your side.”
“I stand corrected. There’s no time for that, Rose.”
“I don’t care. Paisley Cage, don’t make me pull rank on you.”
“You don’t outrank me.”
“I’m your boilerman, aren’t I?”
He paused for a moment. “If you still want the job,” he said hesitantly.
“Then I have the right to tell you when your ship is flying and when it’s not. Right now, we’re not going anywhere until the captain is taken care of.”
“And just like that, I’m back to liking where this conversation is headed.”
“Out,” Rose said with one last glance at Mae, Cedar, Wil, and the Madders. Mae had stopped singing and Cedar swayed a bit on his feet, groaning like a mule had just kicked him in the chest. Bryn Madder was there to steady him, and Alun nodded, as if approving of the work Mae had done, work Rose could not see with her bare eyes.
They were nothing but in the way here, and Mr. Hunt would likely be needing the chair Hink had been occupying.
She started down the hall, and Miss Dupuis looked up. “Is it done?” she asked.
“I’m not sure. It might be. I’m going to tend Captain Hink’s wounds. Are there clean cloths in the kitchen?”
“Yes, there’s a cupboard with everything you’ll need. We’ll be right in.”
We. She was already talking for Thomas now too?
Rose tried not to let it bother her. She had made up her mind about Thomas long before now. It was just that his falling in with Miss Dupuis was so sudden it stung a bit.
Although it shouldn’t. She had just spent the last few minutes kissing another man.
“Sit,” she said as she crossed the kitchen and began searching cupboards.
Hink made some noise getting settled in a chair.
Miss Dupuis entered the kitchen next. “Can I help, Rose?”
“No,” she said a little too quickly, then, “I think I’ve got it. Do you know what we’re going to do next?”
“The Madders will have only one desire,” she said.
“The Holder?” Rose walked over to Hink. Instead of taking off his coat, he’d just unbuttoned it and tugged up the shirt beneath it to mostly reveal his side.
The makeshift bandage she’d put there from the train was soaked through with blood, not a stitch of white remaining.
This was worse than she’d thought.
She knelt and slid the kitchen blade up beneath the cloth, cutting the wrapping free as carefully as she could.
“Cold,” he noted.
“It’d be easier if you took your clothes off. Just coat and shirts, down to skin,” she clarified.
“All right, then.” He shrugged out of his coat and then shirt. Rose was close enough to see that he held his breath through it all, his jaw clenched tight. It hurt. A lot. But he refused to show his pain.
Swinging from a chain at the center of his chest was the finder compass she had given him.
“You kept it?” she asked, surprised.
“What?”
Rose touched the necklace.
“Of course I did. It’s the first gift you’ve ever given me.”
“Oh,” Miss Dupuis said, coming over to look at the wound more closely. “That does need some tending.”
“It’s a scratch,” Hink said.
Rose looked away from the tenderness in his face, and assessed the wound. No, the wounds. Somewhere in that struggle he’d gotten the worst end of a blunt instrument across his ribs. From the black bruise and tears in his skin, it was probably one of the cell-door bars. From the lumpy look of his side, he had several broken ribs.
“Miss Dupuis,” Rose said, “I think I could use your help.”
“Of course. More hot water?” she suggested.
“Yes,” Rose said. “Do you know how to make a compress? I saw comfrey on the shelf.”
“Yes.” She got busy putting that together and Rose looked up at Hink.
“You’ve got a bullet wound open and bleeding, and broken ribs. Someone also appears to have decided to tenderize all the meat on your bones. It’s a mess, Lee. And you’ll do as I say so that I can see it all doesn’t go to rot and kill you.”
“Pleased to see you so concerned for my welfare,” he said.
“Of course I’m concerned. Not much use for a boilerman if there isn’t a captain to fly the ship.”
He grunted and then slouched back a bit and stared at the door. He was breathing with a hitch, and his skin was hot to the touch, though he shivered. Fever, for certain. Not a good sign.
Rose lost herself to cleaning his wounds and trying not to make him flinch. Miss Dupuis proved to be invaluable, and handed her fresh water, wraps, and compresses just as she needed them. Even Thomas was helpful in finding a shirt from Father Kyne’s things that fit Hink well enough.
Once she was sure she had done everything she could think of, she helped him put his coat back on.
He was shivering still. “Rose,” he said.
“Mmm?”
“You still have that copper bit on you?”
“Yes.” She’d wanted to take it out of her shirt ever since they’d fled the jail, but there hadn’t been time.
“Good. Give it to Mr. Wicks. He’ll get it in the hands of someone who might know what to do with it.”
“We can do that. You and I can do that.”
“I’d rather cover our bets.”
“You’re not going to die, Lee Hink.”
“I know that,” he said.
She wasn’t sure if he was going to say something else, but right then, the Madders strolled into the kitchen.
“You up for this dance, Captain?” Alun asked Hink.
“Still got my boots on, don’t I?” he answered calmly.
“Do we have a plan?” Rose asked.
“We?” Alun helped himself to a hunk of cheese from the round Cedar had brought out, then poured himself a cup of the plain tea brewing on the stove. “I think we might have several
plans.”
“And what would those be?” Miss Dupuis asked.
Alun had a mouthful, so Bryn picked up the conversation. “Cedar Hunt, of course, will retrieve the Holder. We Madders will search for the lost children, and the rest of you.” He narrowed his eyes, as if working hard to see just who he had fallen in league with.
“Mr. Thomas Wicks!” Bryn declared. “It’s been a year or two, hasn’t it?”
“Or five.”
“Just so. Did you decide which side of the law suited your needs?”
“The right side, Mr. Madder. I am the Chief Territorial United States Marshal now, appointed by the president himself.”
“Why, that puts you”—he turned and made a show of looking at Captain Hink—“in a position directly above our good captain here, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” Wicks said, giving Hink a look. “It does.”
Alun slurped his tea. “Would love to know what the chief territorial marshal is doing in this town. Some kind of trouble you’re following, Mr. Wicks?”
“Something like that.”
“Then we’ll leave you to it.” Alun handed his tea to Cadoc, who had finished off a chunk of bread, and swigged the tea to chase it.
“Mr. Hunt,” Alun said as Cedar walked into the room. “It’s time you bring us the Holder. We are done waiting.”
“Under ice,” Cedar said.
Rose glanced up at the hoarseness of his voice. He looked like he’d gained a year in just the few moments since she’d last seen him. She’d seen pain age a man like that, but not so quickly.
Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and he held his shoulders back and to the side as if any other position just set off more pain.
Wil, beside him, walked carefully. He too looked to be in pain, but not nearly as bad as Cedar.
“Aye, Mr. Hunt. So you’ve said,” Alun agreed. “You’ll find a way to draw it up from that river and quickly, before the life you’re giving to Father Kyne gets in the way of your promise to us.”
“Unless you have a device that can do that for me, Mr. Madder,” Cedar said, his voice little more than a low rumble in the room, “then the Holder stays right where it is until spring melt.”
“I’ll do it,” Mae said.
Alun’s eyes went wide, and he leaned so he could see around Cedar to Mae standing in the doorway.
“I can…there are spells that might bind it. Cedar, I’ll go with you and Wil. We will find a way to retrieve the Holder.”
“Good,” Alun said. “It’s all settled then.”
“Settled? How?” Cedar moved across the room—slowly, Rose noted—and poured himself a cup of hot water.
“You, Wil, and Mae will retrieve the Holder,” Alun said. “Brothers Bryn and Cadoc and I will search for the children, which is what we’ve promised, and the others will do”—he waved his hand dismissively—“whatever it is they choose to do.”
“We know where the children are,” Cedar said after he took a long drink.
“What’s that you say?” Bryn Madder asked.
“The children,” Cadoc echoed. “Where have you found them?”
“There’s a stand of woods just east a ways. The road past the tinker’s shop leads to it after a fact. About a half mile in, there’s a tumble of stones with a small opening. A Strange pocket. Wil went into that tumble and saw the children sleeping—he thought they were sleeping—in a chamber beneath those stones.”
“Outside of town?” Alun asked.
“That’s what I said.”
Alun and the other two Madders all nodded once at the same time. “Done,” they said. Then they buckled coats and pressed hats tighter over bushy hair.
“Farewell to you, one and all,” Cadoc Madder said.
He stepped out the door and Bryn simply gave a half salute, half wave and was out on the heels of his brother.
Alun was last to leave. He paused at the door. “Rose,” he said. “Hurry up now; there isn’t time to waste.”
“Excuse me?” she asked.
“We’ll need a spare pair of hands. And you’re just the person for it. Grab your coat. We’ll be waiting in the wagon.”
Rose looked over at Cedar, who gave her a shrug, then at Hink, who was still slouching in the chair.
“I should stay with you. Mae told me children were missing,” she said, “and it’s part of a promise between the Madders and Father Kyne, but I don’t know how I’m going to be any good in finding them.”
“If the Madders find the children,” Hink said, “and they’re alive, do you think they’re going to follow those old coots back to town? I’d say the children might take comfort in a woman being there.”
“But if I leave, leave you…”
He raised his eyebrow. “Rose Small. Go find that horizon and stop worrying about me. I’m in the middle of a church with plenty of people and plenty of guns. What could possibly go wrong?”
“Father Kyne and fellow fugitives,” a voice bellowed from the front of the church. “This is Sheriff Burchell. I’ve got all my lawmen and half the town out here. We know you’re in there. We have the church surrounded. Come out with your hands up, or we will burn this place down.”
“Well,” Wicks said, putting on his bowler hat and pulling a gun out of the satchel he carried, “that could possibly go wrong.”
Cedar knew the sheriff wasn’t intending to negotiate with them. Half the people in the room, including the Madder brothers, had fought their way out from behind his city’s bars. He was most likely hoping they’d walk out, hands up, so he could shoot them in cold blood and not have to worry about stringing the gallows.
Alun held the back door open for Rose. “Now’s the time to decide. Wagon’s rolling.”
Rose grabbed her coat and rushed across the room. She must want to say good-bye to Mae and Mr. Hunt. She must want to say good-bye to Hink. But the entire kitchen was in a jumble of people hurrying up to either run for the back door or take a stand.
“What about Father Kyne?” Mae asked as she snatched up a cloth tied around a bundle of herbs for her spell casting.
“We’ll stay with him.” Miss Dupuis walked into the kitchen with her rifle and sidearm. “We’ll protect him.”
“I’ll stay with you, Miss Dupuis,” Mr. Wicks said. “See if I can talk some sense into the men out there. Either with words or bullets. Whichever seems to get more results.”
“Go,” Hink said as he stood. He wavered a bit and planted his palm on the table to keep himself steady. “Get the children. Get the Holder. Get whatever it is we need so we can get the hell out of here. We’ll be fine.” Then he added a little more gently, “I’ll be fine, Rose. Go.”
Cedar wondered if she heard the good-bye in his tone.
Cedar strode to the door and put his hand on Rose’s shoulder. She pressed her lips together, then let out a breath. And with that look of determination she often wore, she turned and ran after Alun Madder, who was already on the slowly rolling wagon, his hand held down for her to catch. As soon as Rose was safely up in the wagon, Bryn Madder snapped the reins and set the horses to galloping. Straight at three mounted lawmen who stepped out from behind the barn to stop them.
Cedar knew what the Madders were doing. They were causing a distraction so he, Mae, and Wil could reach the barn, the horses, and hurry out to the river.
Mae had her gun drawn and so did Cedar as they made a run for the barn. The sheriff had been stretching the truth a bit. The church wasn’t completely surrounded, and there were no other men around the barn.
The horses inside the barn were saddled. He didn’t know who had taken the time to see to it, other than maybe Miss Dupuis and Mr. Wicks. Whoever it was, he silently thanked them. There was an ax hanging on the wall, and he took that before swinging up into the saddle. Mae was already astride her horse.
Then they rode as quickly and quietly as they could out of the barn and across the field through spindly trees and shadows, Wil leading a winding path to the river.
> Cedar was breathing hard. Everything was more difficult with the tie between him and Father Kyne. He felt Father Kyne’s pain, felt the draining weariness of his wounds as if they were his own. And the aches and pains he’d been enduring since he came to town felt even worse. Wil felt Kyne’s pain too, but seemed to tolerate it much better than he did.
Cedar could bear this pain for a few hours, maybe for a day or two if he could spend them in a sickbed, but if Kyne didn’t begin to mend or heal in that time, Mae would have to break the spell. Cedar felt a need to repay the debt of Kyne carrying their curse, but both of them, or all three of them, dying wouldn’t do the world a bit of good.
They urged the horses into a slow lope, following Wil as he carved a path through trees and brush toward the river.
The crack of gunfire broke across the cloud-heavy sky. Then return fire rolled out.
“The church,” Mae said.
Cedar nodded. Leaving Hink, Miss Dupuis, and Wicks back to guard Father Kyne was really no more than a gunfight waiting to happen. They’d be wise to surrender. As far as he knew, the three of them weren’t on the mayor’s hanging list.
Even though he wasn’t a praying man, he found himself wishing there was more he could do, more any of them could do, to turn that fight in their favor.
The gunshots were constant, then became more sporadic, but did not cease.
Wil, panting, stopped short of the river, which lay on the other side of a thin line of trees. He lifted his head and looked up at Cedar.
“Is this the place?” Mae asked.
Cedar dismounted, throwing the horse’s reins over a low branch and drawing the shotgun out of the saddle holster.
“River’s just that way,” he said. “It rushes between two rocks, but is iced full over.”
“And you are sure the Holder is beneath it?”
“I am sure. And there’s more. When we came out this way last night, following that Strange, it stood on top of the ice, pointed at the river, and said one word: ‘help.’”
Mae frowned. “So you think it wants the Holder too?”
“I don’t know what it wants. I don’t know what help a Strange thinks I’d be willing to offer. But it wasn’t the call of the Holder that brought me to the river. We followed the Strange, and as soon as we were near the river, we could hear the voices of children.”
