Devon Monk - Tin Swift

She raised one eyebrow, and held his gaze, daring him to call her out on her inappropriate thoughts.

“It’s a pity,” he said softly, “that you’ve not seen, personal, a man’s kindness , lately,” he said, keeping his smile down to something that looked platonic, though his eyes blazed with mischief. “If I’d known—”

“Good night, Captain Hink,” Rose said firmly. She glanced past him to indicate he could just turn that smirk around and get to walking now.

“Good night, Miss Small.”

He was still standing there. Still smirking.

She turned her head away and closed her eyes. After what felt like an eternity, he walked away, the sound of his bootheels against wood more and more distant. She opened her eyes again and watched as he moved out of the low lantern light.

The slight bell-tone sound of his palm gripping and releasing the metal overhead bars as if he were in the air instead of on the ground sang a soft counterpart to his retreating footsteps.

How could she have acted like such a fool? Maybe it was the laudanum muddling her mind. Or maybe she could blame it on the pain in her shoulder, which seemed to be getting worse.

The memory of his eyes, the angle of his jaw, that soft smile, the smell and nearness of his body all came rushing back at her and made her skin go tingly with itch.

It wasn’t her injury that made her lose her wits around the captain.

It was the captain.

And now he’d had a good old laugh at her expense. She didn’t know why it bothered her so much. She usually didn’t give a hog’s heel for what a stranger thought about her.

But there was something different about Captain Hink.

Maybe it was his airship. Maybe she was the kind of girl who turned into a doe-eyed fool when she met a man who could fly.

Rose considered that for a moment. It was possible. But they weren’t flying, and she certainly didn’t want to be moving off the ground right now. It was entirely possible it was just the man himself that tightened her spring.

She wasn’t thinking straight, that was for sure. The pain was interfering with any logical thought. She needed the tea. She reached out for the cup on the shelf, but that only kicked everything up to hurting more.

She bit back a little groan and decided holding still was much better than trying to reach the tea.

“Would you like some tea, Rose?” Cedar asked quietly.

Had he been awake this whole time?

Of course he’d been awake this whole time. She and the captain had practically had their entire conversation on top of him. He must have heard it all. Every stuttering, embarrassing word.

“Yes,” she said, miserable with pain, and now with a whole new kind of embarrassment.

Mr. Hunt got to his feet. He didn’t make any noise at all moving in the dark. She’d always wondered about that. He had a way of fitting into his surroundings and taking on the silence of them, much like the natives of this land.

Maybe it was his wolf self that made him like that. Or maybe that was one of the reasons the Pawnee gods had chosen him to carry their curse.

He stood beside her, almost in the same place the captain had been standing. She hesitated to meet his gaze, but when she did, she discovered he wasn’t smirking at her. His eyes were kind, searching her face and then taking the measure of the wound on her shoulder.

She didn’t think she had the strength to hold out her hand again, but she didn’t have to. Cedar Hunt brought the cup to her lips and helped her drink.

The tea was cold and so bitter she almost couldn’t swallow it down, but she managed.

“How’s the pain?” he asked, replacing the tea on the shelf.

“Not so bad I want to claw out of my skin, but not so good I want to stay in it so much either. What happened, Mr. Hunt?”

“Someone rigged explosives to the girl. The dead girl. I tripped some kind of spark. The whole house went up. And you were hit. I tried to block the blast—”

“I remember,” she said. “Do I still have a piece of…” Her eyes went wide as she considered what might be embedded in her shoulder.

“…tin,” Cedar said.

“Tin,” Rose said, relieved. “Do I have tin in my shoulder?”

“Yes. It’s a very small key. The Madders think it’s a part of the Holder.”

“Oh.” She tried to work that through. The medicine was already starting to rub the edges off her brain, sanding her thoughts down to dust. “Do you think it is?”

Cedar nodded. “If we had the device, it would draw the key out quick. But we don’t yet. So we’ll need to try and dig it out. Mae has the steadiest hand, and she’s…” His voice tightened up on a growl, but he managed to breathe that down and continue in his scholar’s tone. “She’s unable to do that just now.”

“What happened to Mrs. Lindson? Are the Madders here?”

“She used magic, cast some sort of spell on the captain. She’s the reason we landed in one piece. But she fainted and hasn’t come to. As for the Madders…” Cedar rubbed at the bridge of his nose as if weary from too many hours spent reading a difficult text.

“Last I saw, they were fighting their way through the unalives in Vicinity. Do you remember them rising?”

Rose nodded. She’d likely be nightmaring on it for years.

“The Madders said they can track us and find us. Captain Hink and his crew pulled us out of that mess.”

“How…” Rose searched for the word. Couldn’t quite find it. “Nice,” she finally said. Her eyes were staying closed longer and longer between each blink. She didn’t think she had much more time being awake. “Thank you, Mr. Hunt,” she said softly. “For…keeping us safe.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Small.”

For a second, Rose thought she heard a man in the distance curse, and then sleep came and took her to gentler lands.

Cedar knew Wil would keep watch during the few hours between night and dawn, but sleep did not come easily to him.

They were in trouble. No horses, no supplies, and winter coming on. Everything they’d had, they lost when the crew of the Swift pulled them on board. Cedar had some money and his guns. But they didn’t even have a change of clothes, a scrap of food, or a spare pair of socks.

He’d been encouraged by Rose’s waking and being mostly clearheaded, though in pain.

But Mae hadn’t stirred since she’d cast that spell to bring the ship down softly. He didn’t know when she would wake, and when she did, he had no idea what kind of condition she would be in for travel.

The captain had assured him that he would take them to the nearest town after the ship was repaired. Captain Hink didn’t seem to be a man who’d likely prey upon the misfortunes of others. He’d seemed amiable enough in following Molly Gregor’s instructions that they be treated as guests and passengers. But there was something more to him than just a man skimming the western glim fields.

He asked a lot of questions. About the Madders, about the railroad in Hallelujah, and was curious as to any rumors Cedar had heard about men dealing glim in these parts. Many of his questions pointed squarely to the Strange and roundabout to the Holder.

The Madders had said most people wouldn’t recognize the Holder. Cedar bet Captain Hink would. Might even have been looking for it. Not that he’d exactly said as much.

Cedar’s ability to sense the Holder gave him an edge on those others looking for it. Whether his sensitivity to the weapon was a product of the Pawnee curse in his bones, or pure bad luck, he didn’t know and didn’t care.

Being able to track it gave him a position of power if it came down to bargaining for their lives.