by Devon Monk
“I don’t suppose you have a spell that might help us out, Mrs. Lindson?” Alun asked.
“No, Mr. Madder. Magic doesn’t work to harm people. Not even the undead.”
He laughed and madness rode the rise of it. “Oh, magic can do terrible harm, Widow Lindson. To dead and the living alike. But only in certain hands.”
“Bryn,” Cedar said, “did you see a back door?”
“Nothing by the cells.”
“Then we fight, make a path to the wagon,” Cedar said. “Mae, take Rose there near the desk. When I yell for you to run to the wagon with her, you do that.”
“Wagon’s unhitched,” Cadoc Madder said as he reloaded his gun, unconcerned about the undead hands scraping the air just inches in front of his face.
Cedar swore. He’d forgotten. If the women made it to the wagon, they couldn’t drive it safely out of here. And Rose couldn’t sit a saddle to ride out on her horse, even if the horses were unharmed.
“The Holder?” Alun asked again. “Are you sure you have no idea which general direction it got off to?”
Cedar knew, had known from the moment he touched the burned patch where the Holder had smoldered.
“East. It’s not near. Not within a day or two. But east. Now,” he said, “can we put our attention to getting through that mob?”
“With pleasure.” Alun unhooked the hammer from his belt and swung it with bone-breaking force.
The growl and steam of a matic, something big and coming closer, was so loud, Cedar almost couldn’t hear the screams and moans of the unalives.
He’d heard that sound before. Not lately. Not in the last few years. But he’d heard it. He just couldn’t place what sort of matic it came from.
The window over the stove broke and a woman crawled through. She stumbled across the room toward Rose and Mae.
Mae shot her clean in the head and the woman fell to the ground, twitching.
Cedar stepped up and fired another bullet into her brain.
The Strange that had been inhabiting her pulled up out of the body, a ghost with teeth where its eyes should have been. Insubstantial as fog, it clawed at Rose, but had no more effect on her than a cool breeze.
That was why the Strange wanted bodies. Crossing into this world, they were spirits with no form. They couldn’t hurt, couldn’t rightly touch the world around them, except for small nuisances—a bite or a pinch. But certainly nothing near to the damage a physical form could provide them.
“Let’s blast our way out of here, brothers,” Alun yelled. “Put these people to their rightful rest. Mr. Hunt, I suggest you get the women out and away from here. Far and fast as you can. We have ways to find you. You still have that chain we gave you?”
Cedar reached up and touched the necklace hanging around his neck. The Madders had told him it would keep the thoughts of a man in his head when the moon turned him to wolf. And it had done just that.
“I have it,” Cedar said. “I won’t leave you to these monsters.”
“Our paths divide here, Mr. Hunt. I am trusting you to do anything you must to see Rose gets medical attention, understand? We’ll find you no matter how far you roam. Believe in that.”
“But—,” Cedar started.
It was too late. Alun kicked the hinges off the door, which was already buckling with the press of bodies. Six people tumbled into the room and fell down flat.
Bryn and Cadoc shot them till they weren’t moving anymore.
Alun rushed out the door with a roar, swinging that big hammer of his, sending body parts flying like a man mowing down wheat.
The thrum of a steamer working hard poured in through the door.
“Nice working with you, Mr. Hunt,” Bryn yelled as he pushed his goggles over his eyes and pulled an ax out from under his coat. He followed his brother out into the night. “We’ll see you again real soon.”
“The Holder wants what Rose has,” Cadoc Madder said. “Remember that. The key.” He unhooked a wrench the size of a small child from off his back and strolled out after Bryn.
Cedar rushed to the door. The brothers smashed the undead with hammer, ax, and wrench, holding them off the building just enough for Cedar and the women to escape.
The wagon was turned on its side. No way out there. The horses were gone.
A racket of fans grew louder and a flash of light swept across the Madder brothers as they laughed and bashed their way through flesh and bone.
The light wasn’t coming from a low angle. It was coming from somewhere up high. The roof? Cedar leaned out a bit and looked up.
The entire night sky seemed to be filled with the bullet shape of an airship. Her fans were working to keep her steady, her nose up into the wind that gusted down from the hills surrounding the town. Lanterns held to what appeared to be mirrors were the source of the light.
And then a rope ladder dropped down, just a few paces from the door.
“Ho there, strangers!” a man’s voice called out. “This is the airship Swift. If you want a way out of that tussle, grab hold.”
Cedar glanced at the Madders.
“Go on!” Alun yelled. “Get Rose medical attention. We’ll find you!”
Running was not an option, not with Rose so wounded. No horses, no wagon. They might be jumping out of the griddle into the fire pit, but it was the only way out.
Cedar ducked back into the building. Mae was already helping Rose walk to the door.
“I’ll take her,” Cedar said, putting his arm around Rose. She leaned against him, weak and heavy, but still standing on her own. “Climb the ladder, Mae. We’ll be out of this soon.”
Mae glanced outside, and her mouth set in a determined line. She jogged for the ladder, which was now being held by a lean redheaded man standing on the ground. He had a pile of scarves around his neck and breathing gear hanging by one strap at his shoulder.
He steadied the ladder as best he could and Mae started climbing.
“I’m sorry for this, Miss Small,” Cedar said. “But I’m going to have to carry you.”
“My hero,” she whispered with a weak smile.
Cedar picked her up and made fast for the ladder. When the man holding the ladder caught sight of the two of them, he hollered up to the ship. By the time Cedar had reached the ladder a slinglike net had been lowered and the redheaded man held it ready.
“Put her here,” the man said. “We’ll pull her up.”
Cedar set Rose as gently as he could into the sling. She was already groggy from the run he’d taken, and breathing hard.
The man stuck his fingers to his teeth and whistled. Then he gave the rope a tug and the sling cranked upward.
“Up!” The man nodded at the ladder.
Cedar grabbed hold of the ropes and climbed. He glanced above him. Mae was nowhere to be seen, already having stepped into the ship.
“The others?” the man called up.
“Go!” Alun yelled. “Get on out of here!”
Cedar was a half dozen rungs up the ladder, and the man below started up, giving out another whistle.
The ship rose and the rope ladder shifted and swung, nearly clipping the edge of the building. It was dizzying, confusing. The night filled with a roar of fans above him, the yell and cry of the undead below, mixed with the hot stink of gunpowder and the Madders’ wild laughter. He thought one of the brothers, maybe Bryn, was singing.
In a night too black, in a town too alive for itself, beneath a ship that was built to ride the skies, not cherry-pick the earth, Cedar climbed.
Halfway up the ladder he suddenly remembered. Wil. He had left Wil behind.
His heart fisted like a lead weight and panic froze him in place.
“Problem?” the man below yelled.
“My brother’s down there,” Cedar said.
“Which one?” He looked over his shoulder to peer down through the darkness at the Madders.
“Not them,” Cedar said.
“Up.” The man pointed at the ship. “Up.�
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He couldn’t go down unless he kicked the man in the face, and even then he wouldn’t be able to dismount the ladder without killing himself from this height, since all the while he’d been climbing, the ship had been climbing too. Cedar hauled himself up the ladder.
He’d make them land. He’d make them turn around. He wouldn’t lose Wil after just barely finding him again.
Cedar topped the ladder and strong hands grabbed hold of each arm, pulling him the rest of the way into the ship, leaving him kneeling on solid wood.
“Welcome to the Swift,” a man said. Yellow-haired, windburned, he looked to be in his twenties and built like he wouldn’t break a sweat wrestling a wild bull to the ground. “I’m Captain Hink. Whom do I have the pleasure of rescuing today?”
CHAPTER SIX
Captain Hink watched the man take in his surroundings with one quick glance. He figured him for a hunter of some sort—a man with one eye always set toward survival. Figured he knew they were glim harvesters just from the way his gaze lingered over their breathing gear.
The man also took note of, but didn’t seem to worry about, the rest of the crew: Guffin and Ansell up front flying, and Molly helping the two women, one of whom was injured and being settled into a hammock.
Then the man’s eyes slipped back to him. There was something wild in that gaze. Something that made Hink want to have his gun in his hand.
Captain Hink did his own sizing up. Figured he could take him in a fair fight, though he likely wouldn’t be walking away afterward.
“My name’s Cedar Hunt,” he said. “My brother’s been left below.”
“One of those madmen?” Hink asked. Wasn’t every day he saw three men take on a town full of people gone crazy. He’d only once before seen a town rise up so. They’d been bedeviled by the Strange, and there wasn’t a one of them who survived the rising of the next day’s sun.
“No. A wolf.”
Hink pursed his lips and nodded. “A wolf.”
It wasn’t quite a question. But it was most certainly an observation as to Mr. Cedar Hunt’s mental capacities.
“Yes.” Not a glimpse of a smile, not a spark of madness. Nothing but sober hard truth in his voice. “A wolf.”
Captain Hink tucked his wide hands into his belt. “Don’t know that we have fuel enough to stop for him, I’m afraid,” he said. “But if he’s a wolf, as you say, I’m sure he’ll find his way through the countryside without much trouble.”
“That won’t do,” Cedar said. “I won’t leave one of mine behind. You’ll turn this bird around, or I will.”
He didn’t reach for his gun. Neither did the captain. But they got themselves into staring and taking the measure of the other man.
Cedar Hunt did not look like a man that took naturally to laughter. No, he looked like a hard man, driven, with too much sorrow lining his face. He came aboard this ship with two women whom he seemed intent on helping out of a tight situation.
There might be honorable intentions in his actions toward the women, but Captain Hink didn’t think Mr. Hunt would cry a tear over spilling another man’s blood.
He was the sort of man Hink respected. And usually employed.
“You’re serious,” Captain Hink said.
“Always.”
Molly was done getting the injured woman settled and stood right up close to the captain and Mr. Hunt, taking a good hard look at Cedar. Hink appreciated her take on a person’s mettle. He hadn’t thought it much possible, but she was even more jaded than he as a judge of people.
“It’s a pity I can’t help you with your brother—,” Captain Hink began.
“What’s that ring you’re wearing?” Molly asked.
Cedar frowned and lifted his hand, looking down at his finger as if he’d forgotten anything was on it. “Gift from a friend,” he said.
“Your friend have a name?” Molly asked.
“Gregor. Robert Gregor.”
“And where’d you run into this Robert Gregor?” she asked.
“Molly,” Captain Hink said, “I don’t see as it makes any nevermind.”
“Hallelujah, Oregon,” Cedar said. “Blacksmith there.”
Molly turned to her captain. “We let him look for his brother.”
“Like hell we do.”
“He’s got a reason, Captain, and we let him look before we fly out of here.”
“I don’t care if he has an entire encyclopedia full of reasons,” he said. “Who do you think is the captain of this ship?”
“You are, Captain,” she said. “But I ain’t running your boilers if you don’t turn her around and give the man a chance. And you won’t make it over the next hill if the fuel ain’t parceled out right.”
“Oh, for the love of glim,” he said. “Give me one damn reason why you’ve taken such a shine to him.”
“That’s a Gregor ring.”
Captain Hink looked a little closer at the ring. Seemed to have a bear and the mark of flames behind it etched into the gold. It was indeed Molly’s family marking, and looked an awful lot like the ring she wore on her thumb.
One thing about the Gregors. They were a people true to their word, all the way to the last period carved on a gravestone. If someone was wearing their seal, they’d take them in like kith and kin.
It annoyed him to no end.
“Don’t much care if it’s the ring of the president himself,” Hink muttered, rubbing his fingers through his hair, sticking it up before giving it a swipe to smooth most of it down.
He glanced at Molly, who crossed her arms over her chest and stuck her chin out at him.
No arguing with her when she was digging her heels. He growled and turned, striding toward the navigation center, as the ship yawed in the wind.
“Mr. Guffin, Mr. Ansell,” he said. “Turn us due west.”
“Aye, Captain,” both men said.
Seldom just gave him a knowing smile that said Hink had gotten himself whupped by a woman. Again.
“I’ll circle over town and give you one chance to spot this brother of yours,” Hink said to his passenger. “Because Molly Gregor there has taken a like to you and is vouching for your worth. But that’s all I’m going to give you, Mr. Hunt. Stand up here by the windows where you’ll have a view. If you can spot a wolf at this height in the dead of night, you’ve a head full of eyes far better than mine.”
Molly nodded, satisfied. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Hunt. Don’t mind the captain, he just has a stick stuck up his rudder tonight.”
Hink opened his mouth to protest, but she had already strolled off toward the women. The fair-haired petite woman stood next to the amber-haired younger woman who was lying in the hammock. The fair-haired woman was pressing a compress over what looked to be a shoulder wound.
Mr. Hunt strode up to the windows. He got his air legs surprisingly quickly and by the time he reached the window knew how to compensate for the motion of the ship. He’d likely spent some time on a riverboat, or at sea.
That was interesting.
“Molly,” Hink said, “how about you seeing to those boilers?”
She glanced away from the woman in the hammock, and the blonde nodded her permission. Well, wasn’t that a kettle of fish?
“Aye, Captain.” That was all Molly said with her mouth. But with her eyes she was telling him to mind his manners and treat their unexpected guests properly.
They didn’t have time for guests, was how he saw it. They had time for hunting down the Saint’s plans. That crewman he’d liberated from the Black Sledge had said something about a holder.
There were stories of a weapon called the “Holder.” Hadn’t been proved that it existed, but the president was interested in finding out who, or what, it might be. And Hink was just as interested if General Saint was connected to it.
If Cedar Hunt hurried up not finding his brother, they might be able to lash and land in some hidey-hole before dawn. Maybe check out the surrounding area for men willing to offer a little inform
ation on the Saint.
Mr. Hunt leaned up close to the window and slid his goggles down over his eyes, adjusting the lens. Captain Hink hadn’t seen that particular sort of lens setup and wondered if it helped him see through the darkness.
Captain Hink glanced out the open door and watched as the town of Vicinity rocked and pitched below, passing by like lumps of stone along a riverbed. They were high enough above the roofs, everything seemed to be a miniature of itself.
That sailor they’d plucked off the Black Sledge had babbled all through the night.
Course, could be true that old General Alabaster Saint was on the prowl out these ways. If the Black Sledge had fallen under his employ, didn’t take much to think there might be other ships, other captains, willing to lend their wings to the general. Especially if he put a stranglehold on how glim was caught and sold. And trading towns near the ranges, such as Vicinity, stood as ideal locations for the Saint’s business.
“See anything, Mr. Hunt?” Hink asked as he took out his knife and got to work digging a sliver out of the side of his thumb.
“No.”
Hink leaned a bit out the door to gaze at the land. They were outside of town now, just over the western rise of ridge covered in scrub and trees. Close enough to the trees that Hink could reach out and pull off a branch if Guffin were any worse of a pilot.
Nothing moved in these woods. Well, nothing natural. There was the occasional glimpse of the Strange fading from ghostly form to mist to night wind.
Hink shivered despite himself. He had a keen dislike of the things that walked this world in inhuman clothing.
Most men didn’t believe in bogeys and ghouls. But he’d spent a lot of the worst days of his life in darkened forests and bloody fields where the dying were going about it loudly and slowly.
He’d seen the things that came to watch. Sometimes with ragged teeth, ragged bone, ragged smiles. Things that found the suffering of mankind as attractive as an opera house play.
Below, a creek ran just north of town, a cold slate ribbon snaking through the night. He didn’t see the Strange anymore. Nor did he see a wolf. Looked like Mr. Hunt was on a cold trail.