Devon Monk - Tin Swift

Any one part of him might not be extraordinary, but taken all together, he was quite fetching.

Maybe it didn’t matter if he danced with his elbows out.

She supposed she might be staring.

She supposed she didn’t care.

“Take a sip, Miss Small,” Cedar Hunt said. “It will help.”

Rose looked away from the man’s face and paid attention to the cup Mr. Hunt held before her. She took a sip, placing her right hand under it so Mr. Hunt didn’t have to support it.

The tea was weak, but bitter with laudanum. She’d be asleep again soon for sure.

“Where are we?” she asked, the tea having put more of her voice back in her words.

“In the mountains,” Cedar said. “This is Captain Hink, and we’re aboard his airship.”

“Airship?” Rose’s heartbeat pumped a little faster, and she glanced again at the metal beams and as much of the room as she could see.

Of course, a ridged skeleton to carry the gondola. Above that ceiling would be the airbags—no, they were called envelopes. She wondered how many boilers she had on her, and how many fans.

“The Swift ,” the man, Captain Hink, said. “She’s small, fast, and—”

“Beautiful,” Rose said with a sigh.

Captain Hink smiled and pride lit his eyes. “Yes, she is. Have you flown, Miss Small?”

“Only once. But not in a ship.” Rose’s neck was beginning to hurt from looking up at his eyes, but she found herself not wanting to look away.

She had so many questions. About flying, about the ship. She wondered if they had to use glim to power her like the Madders had used glim to augment the power of the balloon.

But the tea was already starting to make her tired. She reluctantly looked away from Captain Hink and held the cup out for Mr. Hunt so she wouldn’t spill.

Medicines were scarce and expensive.

“I’m filled with questions,” she said. “But my eyes are so tired. Is Mrs. Lindson well?”

Cedar placed the cup on a nearby shelf. “She will be. She overexerted herself.” That last bit he said with a deep growl in his voice. Rose had noticed that when Mr. Hunt talked about Mrs. Lindson, he often had a bit of the wild behind his words. Especially since she’d been so whimsical in the brain lately.

She didn’t think he noticed it, but he felt very protective of her. Likely felt more for her than he’d yet admitted to himself.

Funny how a scholar could lose all sense and logic when falling in love with a woman.

She had found it to be most entertaining on the trail so far. Well, except for the day she’d found Mr. Hunt covered in blood with that man dead at his feet. There was a difference between losing your mind when falling in love, and just plain losing your mind.

“…be in the air before dawn, if we’re lucky,” Captain Hink was saying.

Rose opened her eyes. She must have slipped off to sleep. The lantern was doused, and there were other voices, farther off, men. Maybe two or three, talking over fuel and lift and steam and something about temperature and rivets and tin.

She heard Mr. Cedar Hunt shift on the floor near her, and got a look at him. He sat, his back to the wall, his hat tipped down to shadow his eyes. Wil sat next to him, his bronze eyes aglow in the darkness, ears twitching to sounds in the ship she couldn’t hear. Mr. Hunt’s hand rested on Wil’s back, and Mr. Hunt was asleep.

The men at the end of the ship sounded like they were bedding down. She even heard the soft breath of a snore muffled by something like a pillow or an arm over a face.

And then Captain Hink was standing above her hammock, looking down at her.

She was startled to see him there.

He appeared just as startled to see her awake.

They held still, caught in a stare they could not seem to break.

He opened his mouth, closed it, glanced over at Cedar Hunt, who as far as Rose could tell hadn’t stirred, then finally back at her.

“My apologies,” he whispered. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I was,” Rose whispered back, enjoying his discomfort more than she probably should. He looked like he’d swallowed a prickly pear and didn’t know how to get it down proper.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” He lifted his hand and showed her the pillow he was holding.

“What did you mean to do with that, Captain Hink?” Rose asked.

“Lee,” he said. “Please, call me Lee.”

“I’m not sure that I’m on first-name familiarity with you, Captain Lee Hink.”

He looked down at the pillow in his hand, then back at her with a smile. “Maybe that’s not my first name,” he said. Then, “Would you be on first-name basis with a man who was going to offer you his feather pillow?”

Rose held her breath for a second. Was he just teasing her, or had he really come back here to try to give her a little comfort? Why would a stranger do such a thing?

“Is that what you were doing, Captain Hink?”

“Lee,” he said. “And yes. I just wanted to see you…just wanted to see if you were comfortable.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” a man grumbled from somewhere toward the head of the ship. “Just give the woman the pillow, Lee, so we can all get some sleep.”

Captain Hink looked like he was trying hard to count to ten before yelling.

Rose didn’t want to wake everyone on the ship, most of all Mrs. Lindson. “Yes,” she said quickly, “a pillow would be very nice, Captain Lee Hink. Thank you for your thoughtfulness.”

He stepped the rest of the way up to her hammock and then seemed to realize there would be a bit of situating to get the pillow under her head.

Rose held out her right hand. “Just don’t jostle my left shoulder.”

He leaned down. Instead of taking her hand, he placed his palm against her back and helped her sit, while simultaneously tucking the pillow down behind her head.

This close to him, Rose could smell the grease and oil and soot on his clothes. His breath carried the sharp honey-burn of alcohol, all of it made warmer by the very nearness of him.

For a flicker of a second, Rose wondered what it would be like to kiss his lips. And then the very thought of that, with him leaning over her in such an intimate manner, made her busy mind start thinking other things and asking other questions.

What would it be like if he just crawled into this hammock with her? What would it be like if he took his shirt off, if they were all alone on this airship with nothing but the darkness of the sky to shelter them? How would he feel, heavy and naked against her?

She blushed so hard, her head hurt.

“Are you all right, Miss Small?” he asked, pulling back enough that he could see every inch of her blush.

What was wrong with her? Thinking such things. And blushing!

“Fine,” she managed. “Thank you, fine.”

Captain Hink paused and studied her face, which only made her blush until her stomach stung.

“It’s just, I’m not used to a man’s pillow…I mean, I haven’t seen a man’s kindness so, um, personal lately.” The last word sort of died on a whisper as she realized she was just babbling, and doing more to embarrass herself than to explain herself.

He bit his bottom lip, but couldn’t keep the smile from turning into a grin.

“Well.” He looked down at his boot for a second as if trying to decide something, then looked straight back at her. “Well.”

His eyes were piercing in the low light of the lantern, the angles of his face like something out of a fine art museum. And that half smile curving his lips let her know he knew exactly what she’d been thinking, and approved.

Good God and glim. If she’d been in a more embarrassing spot in her whole life, she didn’t know what it was. Still, Rose knew the best way to deal with a man was to step up to the dance. Stand up to him, and match him, move for move. Elbows out.