Devon Monk - Cold Copper

“Out!” Bryn yelled as he pushed her away just a bit.

Rose readied herself for the landing. Just like falling out of a tree. Just like falling off a fence. Just like falling off a cut rope from the bottom of a cable airship .

She hit the roof on feet, then knees, lost all contact and rolled, caught by Bryn’s larger mass and momentum until she lost track of which side of her was up and which was down.

Pain shot through her arm, and she screamed.

Then the world stopped.

And she was still on it.

The airship fans faded away off to her left. She opened her eyes.

She was lying flat on her back, scuffed, bleeding, and sore, her stupid skirts untucked from her belt again.

A shadow moved next to her: Bryn, pushing up on hands and knees and shaking his head to try and clear it. Somehow he had unhooked his arm from the harness that bound them together in enough time that they fell separately and landed, mostly, whole.

“Miss Small?” Bryn asked in a dusty voice. He coughed, tried again, “Rose, dear?”

Dear? In all the time she’d known the Madders, she’d never heard one of them address her with such familiarity.

“Is she all right?” Alun asked from farther off. “Is she breathing?” He was concerned. Truly concerned.

On the one hand, it warmed her heart to hear the Madders’ worry for her. On the other hand she had knocked her noggin pretty hard. She could just be imagining their concern.

“I’m fit as a fine,” she slurred. That wasn’t right, was it? Fine as wine? Fiddle fine? “Whatever is fine, I’m that,” she said.

She blinked several times to get the focus back into her eyes. Sky up there, heavy with unspilled snow. Then a round, bearded face with a round nose and round eyes that were clearly narrowed in pain.

Alun Madder bent down over her.

“Rose, are you all in one piece?” he asked.

“I am. I think.” She moved to sit and yelped again.

“What is it?” Alun asked.

“Her arm,” Cadoc said from far enough away she didn’t know how he had guessed at her injury.

“Can you bind it, brother Cadoc?” Alun asked.

“No,” Rose said. “It’s…”

But then Cadoc was there, helping her sit. And then Cadoc gently took her arm in his big, wide calloused hands, as if lifting a bird’s broken wing.

She whimpered, but he was as careful as could be, assessing the break. He withdrew two smooth wooden dowels from inside his coat, steadied her arm with both sticks, wrapped a length of cloth around it all, then used a wider, soft cloth that smelled of lemon balm to sling her arm against her chest.

“Now, you will not want to move your arm, Rose Small,” he said kindly. “Well, you may want to move it but you should not. There is healing that must be done, bones that must latch and clasp and mend. It has been a fine arm for you. It will be a fine arm again. If you let it rest. If you let it heal.”

“Thank you,” she said, still feeling a little woozy.

“Always happy to help one of our own.”

He was standing and walking away before she could really get her thoughts in order about that statement. She was one of their own? How?

“How much farther?” Alun asked.

Rose glanced over at Alun and Bryn, who were standing at the edge of the rooftop.

“Just there.” Bryn adjusted the monocle over his eye, then pointed. “Far as we’ll go.”

“It will have to be good enough, then,” Alun said. “Do you have your breath, Miss Small?”

“I can walk.” She proved it by strolling over to them.

“I hope you’ll consider a jog or two,” he said as he pointed to the iron ladder that clung to the edge of the building, “once we hit the ground.”

“I’ll be fine,” Rose said.

Bryn nodded, and started down the ladder.

“You next, Miss Small,” Alun said.

Rose walked to the edge, tucked her skirt back into her belt so the ruffles wouldn’t be in her way, then crouched and eased her foot down to the first rung.

It took more effort with one bad arm, but Rose knew how to climb a ladder and did so swiftly.

Once her boots were on solid ground, she took several deep breaths to steady her heartbeat. She had never minded flying. Falling, she didn’t enjoy.

“Come, now, Miss Small,” Alun called as he started down a dark alleyway at a slow lope. “We’re almost there.”

“Where?” she asked as she tried a few faster steps and mercifully found that her arm could bear the jostling.

“Edge of town. Beyond that if you’re willing.”

“Willing? To find the children?” she asked.

“Yes, that. Which we can do if you make us a promise.”

The alleyway opened up onto the unpaved road that cut across the north end of town.

“Brother Bryn?” Alun asked.

Bryn flipped the spread of lenses up and away from the monocle, then snicked them into place, one by one.

“Promise?” Rose asked. “Why do you need a promise from me? You’ve already promised Father Kyne you’ll find the children, haven’t you?”

“Oh, yes, that promise remains exactly as he stated it. We are not to leave the city until we find the lost children. It’s a problem.”

“A puzzle,” Cadoc said distractedly.

“A predicament,” Bryn added.

“And we Madders have discovered, over time, that even the most devious problems are quickly solved by a simple promise,” Alun said.

“Right,” Rose said. “Just as this Small knows that no promise is simple when it’s made with a Madder.”

Bryn laughed and Cadoc chuckled.

Alun gave her a wide smile and a wink. “You are a clever girl, Rose Small.”

“It’s there,” Bryn said. “A hollow, the Strange pocket, on the other side of those trees.”

“Can you tell if there are children within it?”

“No.”

“It will be our risk then. Do you see that stand of trees, Rose Small?” Alun asked.

“Of course.”

“On the other side is our best guess of where the lost children of this city might be held.”

“All right,” she said. “Why aren’t we going there right now?”

“Because this,” he pointed at the side of the road beneath his feet, “is where the city ends.”

Rose stared at the road, then looked back to Alun. “I don’t understand.”

“We are bound to not leave the city until we find the lost children.”

“You are locked here? By a promise?”

“It is an old promise,” Alun said.

“Made of blood,” Bryn added.

“Sealed in faith,” Cadoc said.

“Unbreakable,” Alun finished. “So we’ll need another promise, from you, Rose Small.”

“Will it help us find the children so we can all leave this place?”

“Yes.”

“Will it do any harm to the people I care for?”

“No.”

“Then what do you want from me?”

“Your word,” Cadoc began.

“Your blood,” Bryn added.

“Your body,” Alun finished.

Cedar shifted his grip on the ax, set his feet, and swung at the icy river.

The ghost children cried and screamed, reaching for the ice, reaching for the ax blade as if it alone could pull them free.

He swung the ax again.

Again.

The river cracked. The children slapped and pounded at the ice.

And then the ice broke free.

Wil dove into the water, narrowly missing the blade of the ax as he did so.

Cedar swore, then swung the ax one last time to bury it in the ice. Diving into the river was easy. Getting out was going to be much more difficult. The ax would serve as something solid to grip so they could pull themselves up.

Cedar bent and reached down for the child who floated just beneath the surface, eyes wide and blank, staring at the sky. But as soon as Cedar’s hand closed around the boy’s arm, the boy was gone, as if he were made of nothing but water and light.