Devon Monk - Tin Swift

“Listen up,” Captain Hink said.

All eyes turned to him. Even Lum shoved his hat back, awake and sharp, his hand drifting to the knife at his hip, as it always did before he was fully awake and taking a straighter sit.

“Looks like we have a cat come prowling,” Captain Hink said. “Or more like a bear. Captain Barlow’s on the sniff.”

“Barlow?” Molly frowned. “What’d we do to stuff his flue?”

“Figure it has something to do with Les Mullins and his idea that I’m Marshal Hink Cage.”

Guffin sucked on the tobacco tucked in his lip. “And?”

“And near as I can tell, Les Mullins is doing General Alabaster Saint’s business. Since that includes seeing that I’m hung and strung, I’d say that puffer out there is looking to kill me.”

“Could be they want our glim stake,” Lum Ansell rumbled in his deep baritone.

“Could,” Hink agreed. “Except for this.” He pulled the tin star out of his pocket.

Molly took in a breath and let it out on a soft curse. She’d met George Rucker, the boy he’d given the star. Hell, all of them had met George.

“So Les Mullins knows you’re Marshal Cage,” Guffin said. “Think he’s gonna hire out Barlow and his big tug out there to take you in?”

“ Black Sledge has the boilers and the guns for it,” Hink said.

Guffin shook his head, that hair of his stirring like a tassel in the wind. “Still don’t make no sense to me. Takes money to put a ship up. Your head ain’t worth it. No offense, Marshal.”

“Well, if it ain’t me,” Hink said, “I’m still plentiful curious as to why they’re flying. No glim in the heavens today, and last I heard, Barlow was pulling lines and headed to Texas to weather out the cold.”

“It is strange to find him prowling the west side of the range,” Molly said, “at the same time Stump Station happened to empty out to see us off with their guns this morning.”

“I say it’s time to shut up and hunt bear,” Hink said with a grin. “Molly, bring the boiler on line. Guffin, man the rudders. Seldom, strap up the hooks and ready the ropes. And Lum, see that the cannon’s set to burn.”

He probably didn’t need to tell his crew what to do, they fell to it so fast. Ride the windy trail together long enough and people knew what was what and how to see to getting it done.

After all, there was nothing but their skill, hands, and trust in each other between touching the heavens and being crushed by the earth.

Hink readjusted his gear and knew his crew was doing the same. Then he set his feet in the straps bolted to the floor in front of the helm. He didn’t intend to take her out hot. No, he’d rather the Swift slip up behind the old steamer, and follow in the Black Sledge ’s wake.

Caution was half of what kept a glimman alive.

The other half was plain foolhardy luck.

The crew of the Swift had both, ace-high.

Molly Gregor pushed her goggles over her eyes and strode off to the boilers, shutting the blast door behind her.

Hink waited for the bell to ring, indicating that the Swift was steamed and ready to burn sky.

The cord tugged and the bell in the ceiling frame rattled once. The Swift was powered to go.

Guffin, Seldom, and Lum all pushed their feet into floor braces. Hink studied the eastern sky, getting a visual on the Black Sledge .

There she was, a bulk against the intermittent clouds, coming in and out of sight like a barge slipping through fog down a white river.

“All right, then,” Hink said, his words muddled by his breathing gear. “Let’s go see what plunder the sky has for us today.”

He signaled Seldom to pull anchor, and the Irishman set to releasing the catch and cranking up the line.

Captain Hink let out the throttle. Like a living thing, the Swift came awake beneath his feet. He could feel her shudder, feel her lift to the wind, feel her strain to go higher, faster. Built to take the air, the Swift pumped up quick.

“Above her,” Hink said.

Guffin adjusted the trim and Hink steered her, up and up through the white and gray wall of clouds, until he was well behind the Black Sledge , the shadow of his ship pushed behind him by the western setting sun.

The winds were picking up, that squall on the northern horizon headed their way, but not before cooling off between the teeth of the range. If it brought rain or freeze, it’d take as much fuel as they had on hand to fight their way down to a survivable landing.

They were running out of time to get answers.

“Bring her up close,” Hink said. He hit the toggle for the bell back in the boiler room, giving Molly the go-ahead to bail it in. “We’ll swing by and have a look at where she’s lashing for the night.”

They maneuvered the Swift up close and tight to the Black Sledge , bucking riptide winds.

It was hard to get a bead on her with the roil of clouds, but when she veered to the southeast, Hink was right on her trail.

“She’s hopping the peaks,” Hink said as the big blower chugged along the ridge but didn’t fly over. Didn’t make sense. If she was trying to move out of the way of the storm, all she needed was a place to hold up—a difficult proposition with a ship her size—or land. And either of those options would be found at lower elevations.

Why would she ride the ridge?

A flash of yellow bloomed out the side of the Black Sledge and swept across the peaks below them. Then another flash, and another, like beams of sunlight bursting through the clouds.

Mirrors. Goddamn it all, she had mirrors.

She wasn’t hopping the peaks, she was scraping the sky and hills with light. Looking for a flash, looking for a reflection off something metal.

Like, say, a tin ship.

“Back and up!” Hink ordered.

Guffin and Seldom scrambled to work the controls, and the Swift jumped to obey. But it was too late. A wide swath of light, bright and hot as summer off a river, swept across the clouds they’d been holding to, and near as much blinded Hink, even through his goggles.

“Son of a mule!” he swore.

Run or fight? The world seemed to pause for a second, to slip away and slow as he thought through the possibilities, spinning through his mind.

The Sledge outgunned them, outpowered them. It would be a dead man’s gamble to take her on. The Swift could outrun her, but running wouldn’t answer his questions. Why was Alabaster Saint suddenly going so out of his way to kill him? Who was working for the general, and how deep into the western glim trade had Alabaster entrenched himself?

Answers to all of that might be a thing of national security. There’d been talks of uprisings since the war. There’d been talks of the west, with her mountains and glim defecting from the east with her money and matics. Talks the president was keenly interested in getting to the bottom of.

And on most all of those rumors, Hink had heard General Alabaster Saint’s name traded, hand to hand, like coin of the realm. Whatever plans were being made out here in the west, he was fair certain the Saint was a part of them.

“Hellfire,” Hink swore, having made up his mind before the mirror’s light had reached the tail fin. “Take her on!”

They dove for the Black Sledge , pounding sky to beat the devil.

The Black Sledge angled up, catching a hard tailwind. Not so much making a run for it as getting up and into more maneuverable sky to avoid being rammed into the ragged cliffs.

“Watch her guns,” Hink said. “Seldom, ready the hook and torch.”

Guffin pulled his breathing gear off his mouth. “We’re boarding her?” He didn’t sound so much worried as maybe a little too excited about the prospect of dangling feet in thin air.