Devon Monk - Cold Copper

Rose was glad the children did as they were told and were silent about it, to boot. She had managed to round them all up and lead them into the warehouse, which stored leather. It stank of old hides, the strong solutions it took to soften them, and the odd hickory smoke of meat and burnt hair curing.

But at least it was warmer in the shed. Rose gathered the children in a huddle close together on the sawdust floor. She wished they’d found a wool or cotton warehouse, or even a hay barn. Any of those would be warmer by far. Still, this was better than standing in the snow.

She brought over some of the supple pieces of leather, which were carefully folded and tied with twine, and draped them around the children to keep some of their warmth near their skin.

“Still mighty quiet,” Alun said as he helped drape some of the softer and warmer folds of leather over the children.

“So,” she said, putting her good hand on her hip. “How do we wake them up?”

“We’ll need to find the Strange that’s put them sleeping,” Alun said. “Could take days.”

“Months,” Bryn added.

“Minutes,” Cadoc said.

Rose turned to the youngest of the Madder men. “Minutes? Do you know a way to find the Strange?”

“No,” he said. “You do.”

“I can assure you, Mr. Madder,” Rose began, “if I knew how to fix all this, I’d be right about doing it—”

Cadoc tipped his head to one side, as if waiting to see if she caught on to the sense in his words.

She still didn’t understand what he was saying, but she suddenly didn’t care.

“The ship!” she said, tipping her face to the ceiling as if she could see through the boards and bracers there. “It’s the Tin Swift !”

She turned and ran toward the door.

“Thought the Swift was in pieces in a barn in Kansas,” Alun Madder said.

“She was,” Rose called back, already breathless with hope. “But you can’t keep her out of the sky for long. I’d know her fans anywhere!”

Rose ran out into the street and scanned the section of sky slotted above the buildings. That was the problem with a city grown so tall: it put its teeth into most of the sky.

She couldn’t see the ship, but she heard her.

And her heart soared with hope. Hink had said he sent a wire when they were on the train. He must have told Seldom to bring the ship.

If they had the Swift , they’d have a way out of this town. They’d have all the wide sky trails to ride, and the men and Strange in this snowed-down city wouldn’t be able to touch them.

The Swift could save Hink.

Rose ran. Ran toward the sound of that beautiful ship. She didn’t know, and didn’t care, that the Madders were shouting at her. She didn’t know, and didn’t care, that the children followed behind her, running as she ran, heedless and determined to save the man she loved.

Hearing the Tin Swift screaming through the sky was enough to make Cedar Hunt laugh, but the trouble with airships was trying to get their attention from the ground.

He didn’t have any of the bright orange flares Captain Hink always carried, and he was certain the sparse tree cover they were galloping through wasn’t helping their visibility any.

“Can you signal them?” Cedar asked Mae.

“Yes.” Mae urged her horse to the left, out of the cover of trees. Out where she’d be an easy target for their pursuers. An easy target for the crew of the Swift too, if they thought she was trying to shoot at them.

She tugged on the reins, pulling her horse up into a hard stop. Then she turned and lifted her hands toward the ship.

A small but bright yellow light flickered in her hands, growing larger until her entire hand shone like a small sun.

The Swift cut fans, swiveling in the sky until the port door, filled by the ship’s cannon, was bobbing just above Mae.

“Mae!” Cedar yelled.

A voice called down from the ship—the operatic baritone of one of Captain Hink’s crewmen, Mr. Ansell: “Howdy, Mrs. Lindson! Care for a ride?”

“Yes,” Mae yelled back. “The men behind us—”

“Don’t worry about them.”

The Swift wobbled in the air again and gunfire from the ship hailed down on the trail behind them. The rope basket dropped from the port door and Mae helped Cedar get Wil into it.

Then the ladder was lowered while the basket was being cranked back into the ship.

“Go,” Cedar said.

Mae started up the ladder and Cedar was right behind her.

Before they reached the wooden floor of the ship, before the sound of return fire from the men on horseback had finished its echo, the Tin Swift ’s fans roared to life and the ship climbed sky, out of the bullets’ reach.

“Good to see you, Mrs. Lindson.” Mr. Ansell was short, rounded, and dusky-skinned. He was also the most nimble and sure-footed man in the air Cedar had ever seen. He offered his hand to help Mae safely into the ship. The basket with Wil in it was already stowed and latched tight. Wil rubbed his face, as if coming up out of a hangover.

“Even more pleasant for me to see you and the crew, Mr. Ansell,” Mae said. “How did you know to come here?”

“Got a wire from the captain a while back. Mr. Seldom put the last rivets in the Swift and we came right away. Didn’t expect to find you on the run. Welcome aboard, Mr. Hunt,” he said, offering Cedar a hand for the final step into the ship.

“Thank you, Mr. Ansell. Wil, are you all right?”

Wil nodded. “That was a hell of a thing.”

“Don’t suppose you’d mind manning the port guns?” Ansell asked. “We’re running a thin crew.”

Cedar glanced at the crewmen. The Swift was a small ship and usually ran on a skeletal five people, including the boilerman and captain. Aboard the ship there was only Mr. Seldom, Hink’s second at the helm; Mr. Guffin, a thin, pale, sad-eyed man with a mop of unruly yellow hair, who was locking the starboard door and stowing the guns; and Mr. Ansell.

“Happy to help,” Cedar said. “We know where Captain Hink is,” he added.

“So do we,” Mr. Seldom called back from the front of the ship. “Have a tracker locked on him.”

“Tracker?” Mae asked. “I don’t understand.”

“Some thing Miss Small cobbled together.” Ansell made his way to the navigation gear at the helm.

Mr. Guffin nodded his tousled mess of hair and stomped his way up toward the front too. “That finder compass has held straight as an arrow for fifty miles. Hell of a way to keep track of a person. Not surprised Miss Small thought it up. She’s got a head full of clever.”

“Doesn’t she just?” Cedar said with a smile as the ship shot through the air, over the town and dead set toward the church.

When Hink could hear again, the first sound that reached his ears was a double-barreled shotgun racking a round about two feet from his head.

“You are under arrest,” the sheriff said. “All of you. Drop your weapons and get on your feet.”

The cannon blast had done just what Hink thought it might do. It had torn half the building off and left the other half of the church sagging dangerously. The stink of gunpowder, smoke, blood, and burning wood filled his nose and lungs.

They had been thrown out of the church and had landed in a heap about twelve feet behind it, wood piled on top of the four of them.

That made it easy for the sheriff and his men to surround them, and to point a rather impressive array of guns their way.

“I said, get on your feet.”

Hink looked for his companions. Wicks was already helping Miss Dupuis stand, but Father Kyne was unconscious again.