Devon Monk - Cold Copper

By glim, she didn’t care. She had almost died today. She’d been thrown in jail. And Hink could act as relaxed as he liked; she knew there were men on the way with guns to make sure one or the other previous events were carried through. She kissed him back with abandon. If this was their adventure, their horizon, she didn’t want to live it without him. Without his passion.

She was so busy with that kiss she figured she was missing most of the spell Mae was casting.

She finally pressed her palm against Hink’s chest, telling him without words that the kiss was as far as this moment was going to go.

He pulled back, and for a quick moment she saw something more than humor and fire in his eyes. She saw pain.

“Come with me to the kitchen. I want you to take off your shirt,” she ordered.

His eyebrows hitched up. “Go on. I like where this conversation is headed.”

“I’m going to look at that hole in your side.”

“I stand corrected. There’s no time for that, Rose.”

“I don’t care. Paisley Cage, don’t make me pull rank on you.”

“You don’t outrank me.”

“I’m your boilerman, aren’t I?”

He paused for a moment. “If you still want the job,” he said hesitantly.

“Then I have the right to tell you when your ship is flying and when it’s not. Right now, we’re not going anywhere until the captain is taken care of.”

“And just like that, I’m back to liking where this conversation is headed.”

“Out,” Rose said with one last glance at Mae, Cedar, Wil, and the Madders. Mae had stopped singing and Cedar swayed a bit on his feet, groaning like a mule had just kicked him in the chest. Bryn Madder was there to steady him, and Alun nodded, as if approving of the work Mae had done, work Rose could not see with her bare eyes.

They were nothing but in the way here, and Mr. Hunt would likely be needing the chair Hink had been occupying.

She started down the hall, and Miss Dupuis looked up. “Is it done?” she asked.

“I’m not sure. It might be. I’m going to tend Captain Hink’s wounds. Are there clean cloths in the kitchen?”

“Yes, there’s a cupboard with everything you’ll need. We’ll be right in.”

We. She was already talking for Thomas now too?

Rose tried not to let it bother her. She had made up her mind about Thomas long before now. It was just that his falling in with Miss Dupuis was so sudden it stung a bit.

Although it shouldn’t. She had just spent the last few minutes kissing another man.

“Sit,” she said as she crossed the kitchen and began searching cupboards.

Hink made some noise getting settled in a chair.

Miss Dupuis entered the kitchen next. “Can I help, Rose?”

“No,” she said a little too quickly, then, “I think I’ve got it. Do you know what we’re going to do next?”

“The Madders will have only one desire,” she said.

“The Holder?” Rose walked over to Hink. Instead of taking off his coat, he’d just unbuttoned it and tugged up the shirt beneath it to mostly reveal his side.

The makeshift bandage she’d put there from the train was soaked through with blood, not a stitch of white remaining.

This was worse than she’d thought.

She knelt and slid the kitchen blade up beneath the cloth, cutting the wrapping free as carefully as she could.

“Cold,” he noted.

“It’d be easier if you took your clothes off. Just coat and shirts, down to skin,” she clarified.

“All right, then.” He shrugged out of his coat and then shirt. Rose was close enough to see that he held his breath through it all, his jaw clenched tight. It hurt. A lot. But he refused to show his pain.

Swinging from a chain at the center of his chest was the finder compass she had given him.

“You kept it?” she asked, surprised.

“What?”

Rose touched the necklace.

“Of course I did. It’s the first gift you’ve ever given me.”

“Oh,” Miss Dupuis said, coming over to look at the wound more closely. “That does need some tending.”

“It’s a scratch,” Hink said.

Rose looked away from the tenderness in his face, and assessed the wound. No, the wounds. Somewhere in that struggle he’d gotten the worst end of a blunt instrument across his ribs. From the black bruise and tears in his skin, it was probably one of the cell-door bars. From the lumpy look of his side, he had several broken ribs.

“Miss Dupuis,” Rose said, “I think I could use your help.”

“Of course. More hot water?” she suggested.

“Yes,” Rose said. “Do you know how to make a compress? I saw comfrey on the shelf.”

“Yes.” She got busy putting that together and Rose looked up at Hink.

“You’ve got a bullet wound open and bleeding, and broken ribs. Someone also appears to have decided to tenderize all the meat on your bones. It’s a mess, Lee. And you’ll do as I say so that I can see it all doesn’t go to rot and kill you.”

“Pleased to see you so concerned for my welfare,” he said.

“Of course I’m concerned. Not much use for a boilerman if there isn’t a captain to fly the ship.”

He grunted and then slouched back a bit and stared at the door. He was breathing with a hitch, and his skin was hot to the touch, though he shivered. Fever, for certain. Not a good sign.

Rose lost herself to cleaning his wounds and trying not to make him flinch. Miss Dupuis proved to be invaluable, and handed her fresh water, wraps, and compresses just as she needed them. Even Thomas was helpful in finding a shirt from Father Kyne’s things that fit Hink well enough.

Once she was sure she had done everything she could think of, she helped him put his coat back on.

He was shivering still. “Rose,” he said.

“Mmm?”

“You still have that copper bit on you?”

“Yes.” She’d wanted to take it out of her shirt ever since they’d fled the jail, but there hadn’t been time.

“Good. Give it to Mr. Wicks. He’ll get it in the hands of someone who might know what to do with it.”

“We can do that. You and I can do that.”

“I’d rather cover our bets.”

“You’re not going to die, Lee Hink.”

“I know that,” he said.

She wasn’t sure if he was going to say something else, but right then, the Madders strolled into the kitchen.

“You up for this dance, Captain?” Alun asked Hink.

“Still got my boots on, don’t I?” he answered calmly.

“Do we have a plan?” Rose asked.

“We?” Alun helped himself to a hunk of cheese from the round Cedar had brought out, then poured himself a cup of the plain tea brewing on the stove. “I think we might have several plans.”

“And what would those be?” Miss Dupuis asked.

Alun had a mouthful, so Bryn picked up the conversation. “Cedar Hunt, of course, will retrieve the Holder. We Madders will search for the lost children, and the rest of you.” He narrowed his eyes, as if working hard to see just who he had fallen in league with.

“Mr. Thomas Wicks!” Bryn declared. “It’s been a year or two, hasn’t it?”

“Or five.”

“Just so. Did you decide which side of the law suited your needs?”

“The right side, Mr. Madder. I am the Chief Territorial United States Marshal now, appointed by the president himself.”

“Why, that puts you”—he turned and made a show of looking at Captain Hink—“in a position directly above our good captain here, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Wicks said, giving Hink a look. “It does.”

Alun slurped his tea. “Would love to know what the chief territorial marshal is doing in this town. Some kind of trouble you’re following, Mr. Wicks?”

“Something like that.”