Devon Monk - Cold Copper

The freight car leveled somewhat, and she stood with the help of the ropes tied around the freight.

She couldn’t see anything. But she heard someone breathing heavily. Then a groan.

“Rose?” It was Hink.

“I’m all right,” she said. “The gunman?”

“Out cold. Find a light, will you?”

He groaned again, then moved off to her left, probably toward the man. Maybe to tie him up.

Rose felt her way along to a wall, and then felt for the lantern that should be hanging there. Found it. It only took a moment to bring the wick to a cheery yellow fire.

Hink sat back on his heels, looking down at the man, who was not moving. She didn’t think he was alive.

“Is he dead?” Rose asked.

“Hope to hell he is,” Hink said. “Don’t feel like breaking my knuckles on his face again.”

Hink stood, and lifted his hands out to the side for a second, gaining his balance. But the car was level and smooth at the moment.

That’s when Rose noticed the blood on his shirt.

“You’ve been hurt,” she said.

“Not my blood,” he said.

Rose got around in front of him and pulled his coat open. Steam from the heat of his blood wafted up from his shirt, which was soaked. “Yes, it is,” she said. “Sit down and let me try to stanch it.”

“Stanch what? I said I’m not wounded. I feel fine. We need to knock out one of these boards so we can see where this crate is flying.”

Rose pressed her fingers against his ribs and he hissed in a hard breath.

“Good God, woman. Why you have to be jabbing at me like that?”

“Let me take care of the bullet hole in your hide.”

He shook his head.

“Paisley Cadwaller Hink Cage, “she said sternly. “Sit down before I kick out your kneecaps.”

He blinked hard, then gave her half a smile. “You would, wouldn’t you?”

“Faster than you could say Nelly.”

“Don’t know what I did to deserve the likes of you,” he muttered as he made his way over to a stack of crates and carefully—very carefully—lowered himself to sit in the dust.

“Well, it wasn’t all those years of you being an altar boy,” she said, kneeling beside him.

He chuckled and pressed his hand over his side. “Never quite got the hang of spiritual purity. Or any other kind of purity for that matter. Too many interesting things that needed being done.”

“Move your hand.” Rose set the lantern down and dug in her satchel. She didn’t have much in the ways of medicine, but had kept the black salve Mae used on her shoulder wound when she’d been hit with that piece from the Holder, and she had her sewing kit.

“Hold this.” She placed the jar of salve in his palm and then unbuttoned his shirt.

“Had dreams about this sort of thing,” he said in a soft drawl. “Me, you. A dark train car. You ripping off my shirt…”

“You’re delirious,” she said.

“I’m clear as a bell.”

“Well, then your bell is cracked,” she said. “A fact I’m willing to ignore since you are also bleeding. Oh.” She lifted the lantern to better see the wound. A wet, stone-red gash in his side was pouring blood rather freely.

“I think it went straight through,” she said.

“Told you it was just a graze.”

“You said no such thing.”

“Huh. Did I mention me dreaming about you pulling off my clothes?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Wouldn’t want to die without you knowing that. The things I think about you.”

“You are not going to die.” She twisted the lid off the jar and dipped her fingers into the mixture. “And I know exactly what you think about me.”

“I really don’t suppose you do.”

She spread the salve on as gently as she could, and he held his breath through it. Even though there was no bullet buried in his gut, that gash had to hurt. She pulled out her sewing kit, grateful she’d left the needle threaded.

“You think I’m young, untested in the world, and innocent,” she said as she pushed the needle through the skin as quickly as she could.

Hink winced, but remained silent, watching her.

“You think I don’t know what a man can have on his mind when he looks at a woman. Or visits them in their parlors for weeks at a time.”

She tied a knot and then cut the thread with her sewing scissors. The stitches should help slow the bleeding. But this was not a minor wound. She reached over for another fingerful of the salve.

He caught her wrist gently. “Rose Small. There aren’t many people who bring the truth out of me, but you are one of them. I did not sleep with those women. There’s only one woman who has the key to my heart. Only you.”

This close, she knew he was not lying. Knew he meant every word he said.

But she wondered if she could give as fully her heart to him. She’d just barely begun to see this great and wild world. Tying her star to this man would mean not meeting any others. It would mean settling for the sort of life he intended to lead, just as much as it would mean him settling for the things she intended to do.

Of course, given the chance, they’d both jumped on a train car being stolen off the rail by a massive and unidentified airship, without so much as a pause. Maybe their intentions were compatible.

“At least you’re smiling,” he said, letting go of her wrist so she could spread the salve. “I prefer my doctors to be in a forgiving sort of mind-set when they’re jabbing fingers in my innards.”

“Hush,” she said as she reached into her satchel for a clean handkerchief. She pressed that against the salve-covered wound. “Do you think you can hold this here while I try to make a window we can look out of?”

“I’ll help.”

“You’ll help by staying right here and concentrating on not bleeding.”

He took a deep breath to argue, but must have thought better of it since he stopped with a wince, halfway through. “Might be something in the crates you can use,” he said.

“My thought exactly.” Rose swung the strap of her satchel off over her head and left it there next to Hink. She took the lantern and first walked over to check on the gunman. She placed her hand over his mouth, felt no breath, then placed her fingers on the side of his neck, searching for a heartbeat there.

Nothing. Rose tried not to let his death bother her. He’d been more than prepared to kill her and Hink. And she didn’t think he’d have any regrets if he’d done just that. She lifted the lantern, spotted a sheet of canvas, and pulled it over the man’s prone body.

Then, with more delight than she should probably be feeling, she started digging into the boxes and crates to see what sort of useful thing she could build.

The road to the copper mine didn’t appear to be much used. As soon as it wound out beyond the edge of town, it became a narrow path that snaked off to a small hill a short distance away. In that hill was an iron door that stood slightly ajar, revealing a narrow mine entrance.

He didn’t see any workers coming or going, though there were carts and a rail spur on which small steam matics about the size of a pony rested, coal black and covered in snow.

Wil paused next to his stirrup, ears peaked high. He whined, took a step, then glanced up at Cedar.

“Don’t like the look of the place,” Cedar said. “It almost looks abandoned. I thought it’d be a larger operation. Some kind of working site.”

Wil turned his wide head toward the mine and waited. This was Cedar’s call. To decide if instinct was leading him the right way by checking out the copper mine, or if instead he should head back into town to find Mae and Father Kyne so they could break his curse.

He glanced up at the sun, already on its slow decent to the horizon. The moon would rise in a few hours. Night would be on them. And so would his curse.