K. Weiland - Storming

He chewed on that. “So something up there did make that big storm?”

“Yes. But yakor is there to hold it back. I think it was made in caution of someone like Zlo being strong enough to take Schturming from our leaders. That is why he wanted it. They would not allow him to be Forager anymore, because he is not following laws about staying away from Groundsmen.” She bit her lip. “So he was coming to work for Nestor in engines.”

“Your boss who died?” More than a boss, judging from her tone. A sort of adopted father maybe.

“ Dawsedometer too was belonging to Nestor’s charge—and yakor . Zlo wanted it. Because of its power.”

“Because it can make these storms—and the lightning?”

She nodded. “He needed yakor . That is why he jumped after me on night when I fell in front of your plane.”

“But what’s the pendant do exactly?”

“It is like… anchor. Dawsedometer can have no power without it. When it is more than fifty mili away from it, there can be no storms. Without dawsedometer , Schturming can have no purpose for Zlo.” She drew her knees up to her chin. She sat on top of the upturned pail, his blanket around her like she was a sad old Indian. “There was—what you would call—mutiny.”

“You mean Zlo took control? So you grabbed the pendant before he could get it. And then you both parachuted out?”

“Yes.”

“Let me get this straight. Zlo’s in charge now. He’s killed the only person up there you really care about. And now there’s no way he’s getting his hands on the yakor because it’s who knows where. What possible reason do you have for still going back?”

“He still has dawsedometer . He could cause much trouble.”

“But he doesn’t have the pendant—which I thought you said he needed to make the thing work?”

She shrugged. “He does not need yakor to turn it on. He needs it only when he is ready to move away from here.”

He thought back to approximately where Jael had lost the pendant. It was definitely within fifty miles of Scottsbluff, probably closer to twenty. So… that put a new light on things.

Between them, the fire clicked and popped. Sparks bounced high and winked out. Across the field, a guitar strummed faintly. Nearer, Earl’s and Rick’s voices grumbled, as they argued over the bottle of gin. A coyote yipped up by the river, and another wailed a long answer.

“It’ll be all right,” Hitch said at last. He looked over at her. Sitting on the bucket as she was, her face was a little higher than his and he had to tilt his head to look up at her. “We’ll figure out a way to keep Zlo from causing trouble. I promised you that.”

“Maybe there is no way.” She turned to him, her chin cradled against her shoulder. “But I thank you.”

He inhaled deep—wood smoke and gasoline fumes—then out again. Right now, all these ground smells were downright reassuring.

“Thank me when I’ve done something.” He pushed to his feet. “Maybe I better go help Earl talk to Rick. You should get some sleep. The competition starts bright and early tomorrow. If your hands are up to it, we’ll need you.”

“Then you will have me.” She tilted her head back to look at him. “And I thank you because you have already done something. I have no knowledge what would have happened to me if you had not helped.”

Of course, he had almost not helped her—several times.

In the firelight, her eyes were soft and big. “You are good man, Hitch Hitchcock.”

It’d been a long, long time since anyone had said that to him.

THE FIELD WOKE up in a buzz of excitement. Pilots, mechanics, and performers ran all over the place, borrowing screwdrivers and pocketknives, topping off fuel tanks, and polishing their ships ’til they dazzled in the golden morning light. The dry air, already hot, carried the sounds of shouting, laughing, and plane engines revving. Motorcars had packed the incoming road two full hours before the show’s start time.

Earl went over the engine once more, and Hitch did a walk-around, checking every surface. Today was not the day to have something fall apart on him.

Livingstone, wearing white jodhpurs and dapper red-striped suspenders, ambled over with his walking stick. “Well, my boy, here we are.” He looked at the Jenny and smoothed his mustache. “She’s mighty pretty, I’ll say that for her. You’ve got her shined up brighter than a shoe button. Clip-wing, eh?”

Hitch nodded. Last year, he and Earl had swapped out the standard top wing, with its three-foot overhang, for another bottom wing. It made her a little wilder than even most Jennies, but on days when she was in good temper, she could outmaneuver a hawk.

“Well,” Livingstone said. “I won’t mind giving that a try after you’ve lost her to me.”

Hitch hooked his thumbs in his pockets and flashed his most confident grin. “Maybe after you’ve made me your partner, you can talk me into giving you a free ride.”

“Maybe, indeed.” Livingstone pointed his stick toward where Jael was sitting cross-legged next to the fire pit, staring at the sky. “Your lovely wing walker seems a mite distracted this morning.”

“Oh, that’s just something she does. Helps her focus.”

“Indeed. Well, good luck to you. You’ll need it.” Livingstone touched the brim of his hat and strolled on.

Hitch glanced at Jael.

She’d shaken off the squigglies since last night, and her hand seemed in good shape. But she’d woken up with a dark, almost desperate look in her eyes. Knowing her, that probably wasn’t a good thing.

Behind him, a dog barked, and he glanced back.

Taos bounded up, Walter running after him. Bottom lip between his teeth, the boy grinned as wide as he possibly could.

Hitch grinned back. “So you got to come after all?” He leaned down to rub Taos’s ears.

Walter nodded.

“Did your mama find out about yesterday?”

The nod became a shake.

That could only mean Griff hadn’t told on them. That was something, anyway.

“How’d you get her to let you come today?”

Walter shrugged, then pointed at Taos. His eyes sparkled.

“Ah.”

Nan probably thought Hitch sent the dog home on purpose to manipulate her into letting Walter come. Hitch looked up for her, but something else caught his eye: a green sedan bumping across the field and parking twenty feet off.

Through the driver’s open window, Campbell watched him. That almost-smile played on his mouth.

Hitch guided Walter forward a step and pointed toward Jael. “Why don’t you go say hi? Cheer her up a bit. She’s had a rough night of it.”

Walter lit up at the sight of her and ran off without questioning.

Hitch put on his best unconcerned look and ambled over to Campbell’s window. “Heard from last night’s satisfied customer yet?”

“I have.” Campbell twisted in his seat, his broad shoulders almost too big to let him turn and face Hitch. “You did a good job. Much better than the last time.” His eyes were bright and black, like a starling about to decapitate a worm. “Considering how well this job went, I might end up having another for you before you leave town.”

“Nah, I don’t think so. We’re even now.”

“Are we then?” Campbell kept on watching him. “And what about that thing”—he twirled his forefinger—“up in the sky. Any sign of that?”

“All that’s up there is clouds—and not too many of them.” Today, only a big thunderhead drifting in from the west marred the astounding blue of the sky. “Anything more is crazy talk. You and I both know that.”