Devon Monk - Cold Copper

“Mae, I don’t want you binding Wil’s life to this.”

Mae pressed her lips together, her hand on the tatting shuttle she wore around her neck. She only held that shuttle when she was very uncertain or frightened. But right now she looked like she was working a complex formula in her mind, or going through an unfamiliar dance to set each step in her memory.

“It might be better,” she finally said. “No, it will be better. Two lives, two men’s strength and health will lighten the burden. And he is also bound to Wil. Yes.” Her soft brown gaze rested on him. “This is right. This is the best choice we can make.”

“Then let’s get it done.” Cedar didn’t hear anyone approaching the church yet, but it was only a matter of time. The faster they dealt with Father Kyne, the faster they could come up with a plan that included getting Mae, Miss Dupuis, and Rose out of this city.

Cedar strode off to Father Kyne’s bedroom, and found the Madders gathered there, staring down at him. Captain Hink had found a chair and was sitting in it, his head resting against the wall. He didn’t look in top shape.

The beast gave Cedar sharp senses, and in this room he could smell the deep, old blood weeping from Father Kyne’s wounds, and also the fresh blood dripping out of Captain Hink. From the sweat on Hink’s face and stink of pain, he knew the airship captain hadn’t come out of that jailbreak unscathed.

“So, Mr. Hunt,” Alun said. “We’ve returned the man to his own bed to die. A decent gesture. And now it’s time for you to fulfill your promise to us.”

“You’ll have your promise,” Cedar said. “But you’ll wait.”

“I grow tired of waiting, Mr. Hunt.” Alun turned, and so did the other two Madder brothers, as if they were all soldiers in a line.

“We are all tired of waiting,” they said with one voice.

There were times, like this right here, when Cedar questioned just what, exactly, the Madders were. They’d once told him they could talk to stone. They’d parlayed promises with him that cut deep as any metal shackle, and they seemed bent on a mission to retrieve the Holder, no matter the man, creature, or law that stood in their way.

But they did not go about their business as ordinary men might.

Cedar turned away from them. “What do you need from me?” he asked Mae.

“Just a drop of your blood,” she said. “Please, brothers Madder, if you’ll move aside, I’ll do this quickly.”

The brothers didn’t move, didn’t exchange a single word, but then, all at the same moment, they seemed to exhale, losing that intensity they had just possessed.

“You are a man made of steel will, Mr. Hunt,” Alun said. Then, “What have you cooked up now, Mrs. Lindson? Some spell to get us our Holder, I hope.”

“No, a spell to bind strength and health to Father Kyne, Mr. Madder.”

“You think it a kindness to prolong a man’s death?”

“I think it a kindness to save his life.”

The Madders moved out of the way and Cedar stepped up by the bedside along with Wil. Cedar used his pocketknife to nick his finger, drawing a red bead there.

“And Wil,” Mae said.

Wil put his left paw on the edge of the bed and Cedar drew blood near his claw.

Mae had a white handkerchief with pretty blue and yellow flowers embroidered in the corners. She dabbed the cloth in Wil’s blood, then pressed it against Cedar’s finger.

“This won’t hurt,” she whispered to him. She stood so close all thoughts were washed from his mind, replaced with only the need to hold her, to have her.

“I know,” he whispered back.

And then Mae turned to Father Kyne.

She began humming, then singing a soft song with words Cedar did not understand. They caught at him and carried him along, and the room, the danger, the worry of the world was, for one blessed moment, lifted from his shoulders and mind.

The song was Mae, her voice, her soul, her love, and he wanted to lose himself in her forever.

Then she pressed the folded handkerchief with their blood into the wound over Father Kyne’s heart.

And all the world came back to Cedar, bringing with it pain.

Rose stood just inside the bedroom door. There wasn’t a lot of room in there with all the people gathered around the bed. Miss Dupuis and Mr. Wicks waited in the hall, talking softly. She even heard Miss Dupuis laugh once, a rare sound from a woman who had lost her longtime companion and lover only a few months ago.

Thomas was charming. She’d certainly fallen for his smooth manners. Rose glanced down the hall. Thomas and Miss Dupuis leaned on opposite sides of the hall, drinking tea. Miss Dupuis was a beautiful woman. Refined, poised, elegant. Somehow, even with all the wind and dirt, and running from the law, she had remained composed, not even a ruffle out of place or smudged.

Rose sighed. She’d just have to face that she’d never have that kind of grace. She was dirty, tattered, and her hair had come undone from its pins. She had other skills, though: metal and steam and cog. She didn’t worry about her abilities in that area. She had a hands-on knack for the tinkering and devising things of the world.

Those skills were just as worthy as being able to stroll comfortably though social situations or remember which fork you were supposed to stab your vegetables with. Weren’t they?

She looked back in the bedroom, and found Hink staring at her. He was sitting in the only chair, his arms crossed over his belly, his hat on his thigh, leaning back with both legs out, taking up the walking space. He looked a little pale, his hair slicked with sweat from the run he’d just taken.

He must be in pain from the bullet wound he’d gotten on the train, but he just raised one eyebrow and gave her a smile. “How do you like the horizon so far, Miss Small?” he asked. “Adventurous enough for you?”

She nodded. “Plenty, thanks. Maybe I should see to your wound.”

“Don’t worry. I’m just catching my breath.”

She took a step into the room. “You are an incorrigible liar, Captain Hink.”

“Call me Lee.”

“All right, then. You are an incorrigible liar, Lee.”

That made him smile a little more. “Aren’t I just?”

He stood and closed the distance between them. She was caught once again by the sheer mass of the man, tall enough he had to duck doorways and with shoulders wide enough to send him at a tilt through hallways, corridors, and other tight spaces.

No wonder he loved the sky. There was all the space a man of his construction could want for.

“You’re thinking about the Swift , aren’t you?” he asked as he stopped in front of her.

“I…why?”

“I can always tell.” His hand slipped down to rest on her hip, casually, as if it belonged there. She could feel the heat of his palm, even through the heavy coat and her layers beneath.

“You can? Tell what?” she asked.

“When you’re thinking about my ship. You get this dreamy look in your eyes.” He leaned in close over her. “Always makes me want to kiss you.”

“Oh?”

He placed his other hand on the wall above her head. “What about that, Miss Small?”

“Kissing?” she said a little out of breath. “I…you do remember we just broke out of jail? Men are probably headed out here to kill us right now.”

“I remember jail. All those long minutes without you beside me. Stirs up a fire in a man.”

Rose grinned. “Minutes? It only takes you minutes away from a woman for your fire to get stirred up?”

“Well, not just any woman,” he said. “You.” And then the talking was over because his lips were against hers, in a most inappropriate and public display.