Devon Monk - Tin Swift

Cedar leaned on the inside doorway of the wagon, keeping an eye toward the darkness, looking for Wil. He reloaded his gun. His rifle was strapped to Flint. As soon as they got far enough out of town and on their way to the next, Cedar would mount up, take the guns and go looking for Wil. The wagon traveled slow enough he should be able to catch up with them soon afterward.

If he found Wil.

“Not well.” Mae knelt next to Rose and was pressing something that smelled of comfrey over her wound. “I need to boil water. I need fire. She needs fire, Mr. Hunt.”

“She’ll get it,” he said.

The wagon rumbled along at a bone-shaking pace before pulling up sharp and hard just a short while later. They were on the outskirts of town, near opposite to where they’d first ridden in.

“Mr. Hunt!” Alun yelled. “A word with you, please.”

Cedar swung out the side of the wagon again. Only this time his gun was loaded.

“You think maybe the Holder’s closer to us now?” Alun asked, completely nonplussed by the gun pointed at his head.

“Move this cart and get us out of town,” Cedar said. “All the way out of town.”

“So we’re close, you think?”

Cadoc Madder cocked back that big shotgun of his and casually aimed it at Cedar’s chest. Bryn, atop his horse, had on his shooting goggles. His rifle, also aimed at Cedar, rested across the saddle.

Cedar could kill one, but not three before he was taken down.

“That explosion you heard a while back?” Cedar said. “The one that blew a house apart? Rose and I were in that house when it happened. She’s injured, Mr. Madder, and I’m not going to argue away her life.”

“Then tell us where the Holder is,” Alun said. “Don’t know why we can’t impress upon you how important it is that we find it.”

“More important that a young woman’s life?”

Alun sighed and nodded. “Aye, Mr. Hunt,” he said sadly. “I’m afraid so.”

All three brothers looked more like battle-hardened warriors than crazy miners out on a lark. He’d seen them get this look about them before. Where they suddenly seemed much older, much wiser, and much more world-weary.

“It wasn’t the Strange that killed these people,” Alun said. “It was the Holder. Or a piece of it at least. We think tin.”

“One piece of the Holder—”

“Tin piece,” Bryn corrected.

“—killed this entire town?” Cedar finished.

He knew the Holder was a weapon that could do a lot of harm. But this?

“And its poison will spread,” Cadoc said softly. “To the forest, to the streams, poisoning, destroying. Then it will reach the next town. And do the same again.”

It was a terrifying thought. That a single piece of tin could poison a land. He didn’t know if they were telling the truth, but it was clear there was no arguing them out of their hunt.

He put his boot on the edge of the wheel, then dropped down to the ground, landing in the mud. “This way.”

He stalked off down the street, following the call in his bones. The wagon rattled along behind him, and Bryn urged his horse up close so he could pace Cedar.

Wasn’t hard to find the building where the pull was coming from. It was only about five buildings down from where the Madders had stopped.

“That’s it.” He pointed at the square adobe and brick building. It wasn’t a house. It was the jail.

“Isn’t that something?” Bryn asked. “The jail.”

“Might be in a safe,” Cedar said.

Bryn tipped his head so he could look at Cedar through his good left eye. “Probably isn’t locked up tight. Most folk don’t know the value of it when they see it. Could just as much be down the privy hole.”

Cedar hadn’t thought about that. The Madders knew the Holder was a weapon whether in all seven of its parts, or connected to make it whole. But since each of the pieces had flown off on its own, just one bit of it wouldn’t look threatening enough, or likely valuable enough, to note. Well, maybe the bits made of gold, silver, or copper would turn a person’s attention, but not the plainer pieces of tin, iron, or lead.

“This the place?” Alun asked.

“Yes.”

“Good.” He set the brake, then kicked free the coupling on the horses, separating them from the wagon. The gear between the wagon and the horses fell to the ground with a squish and thump, and the horses whickered and jostled forward a bit. They were unhooked from the wagon, but still harnessed to each other.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Cedar said.

“Taking care of our needs, Mr. Hunt.” Alun swung down off the wagon and landed with enough force to shoot mud up to his elbows. “We need the Holder. If it’s here, we get it, and all leave town together.”

“Mr. Hunt?” Mae said. “Are we stopping now?”

Cedar walked up to Alun and grabbed his shirt. “If Rose dies because of this stop, I’ll dig out your guts with my hunting knife. Understand?”

“The day that you and I come to cross odds won’t end in both of us breathing,” Alun said without an ounce of fear. “Is that day today, Mr. Hunt?”

“When that day comes,” Cedar said, “you won’t have a chance to ask me, Mr. Madder.” He took a step back. “Re-hitch the horses. Now.” He turned toward the jail and strode to the door.

It opened easily. Seemed the whole of the town had been left unlocked when the Holder had killed them all.

He placed his palm on the wood of the doorframe. The echo of Mr. Shunt lifted beneath his fingers. Shunt had been here. The song was stronger than he’d felt before, which meant Mr. Shunt had spent some time here. Maybe a day, maybe three.

Bryn sauntered in behind him with a lantern and the big open room shot full of light.

In that light was a wide desk. And on top of that desk were fist-sized clumps of flesh, several piles of bones sorted by size, and a wide, bloody stain blooming out dark across the wooden floor.

“Think this is where the Holder’s hid up?” Bryn asked, as if a desk full of body parts wasn’t anything of note.

“That way.” Cedar pointed toward the hall. Bryn started off and the lantern light stretched bars of shadows across the ceiling. The jail cells must be down there.

“Here we are now,” Alun said, coming up behind him. Only it wasn’t just one pair of boots Cedar heard crossing the floor.

He turned. Alun was carrying Rose and Cadoc was helping guide Mae, who looked near exhausted on her feet, into the room.

“What are you doing?” Cedar said.

“Giving the witch what she needs to tend to Rose,” Alun said. “You didn’t tell me she’d been struck by a piece of the Holder, Mr. Hunt. If you had, I would have given a stronger ear to your complaints earlier.”

“The Holder?”

Alun laid Rose down on a cot by the wall.

He shook his head slowly. “She should have died from this wound by now. Even a sliver of the Holder will strip a mortal soul from the body easy as shucking corn. There’s something more to our Miss Rose Small,” he said with something close to pride in his voice. “I think she’s got a bit of the old blood in her.”

“Old blood?” Mae asked. “What old blood, Mr. Madder?” She had allowed Cadoc Madder to help her sit on a chair near the foot of the cot.

All of them were mostly ignoring the gore-covered desk.

“The sort of blood that still flows in the veins of a few people who walk this land. Rare. A gift from the El.”

“El? A people like the Strange?” Mae said.

“As much as light is like shadow, I suppose,” Alun said. “There isn’t much crossing of their kind to this world, but sometimes, sometimes. Makes me a tad more curious as to who, exactly, her parentage is.”