Mr. Hunt seemed to take that suggestion with more than a lick of salt. He unlatched and started rummaging through some of the shifted contents near him and the womenfolk.
“Something one of my men can provide you with, Mr. Hunt?” Captain Hink asked, perturbed that he hadn’t listened to his advice.
“Just making Miss Small more comfortable.”
And that’s when Hink realized the soft sound on the edge of his hearing wasn’t the wolf whining. It was Miss Small moaning.
“We’ll be on solid ground soon,” Hink said. “Just a little farther now.”
He didn’t know why his heart had suddenly sped up, nor why he felt anxious for the wind and glim to hurry and bring them quickly and safely to Old Jack’s.
Could be just the thought of Miss Small in pain bothered him. Could be Molly was right about his feelings.
Could be he couldn’t afford to worry about that right now. Not flying this kind of terrain.
He poured his concentration into flying. Watching for the rise and fall of cliff and valley, skirting the edge of plains and urging the ship to hold on and hold strong until he got them down safe and whole.
He was so wrapped in the shift of the
“Ladyfinger Falls.” Seldom pointed.
The glitter of white among the shadow of the cliff was the clear marker that Turnback Junction was just below. Hink nodded. He’d been flying by instinct, flying by feel, more of his thoughts upon the ship around him than on the destination he was headed for.
He could have missed that marker. Could have traveled the wind until there wasn’t glim to keep her afloat or land her soft. It was a startling realization.
Lost in a mountain range with winter coming on and almost no supplies was no way to end a flight.
“Mr. Seldom,” Hink said, his voice sounding odd, as if he’d forgotten to use it for days instead of just the handful of hours they’d been in the air. “How far out would you think we are from Old Jack’s?”
Guffin stopped swearing: Chinese, now, and Ansell stopped singing. Both men looked over at him like he’d just turned into a toad.
He was the captain. He’d never once asked Seldom where he was in the air in all the years they’d run together.
The Irishman didn’t hesitate. “Twenty miles due northeast. Don’t think the rain’s going to let up.”
Hink nodded. That’s what he’d thought too, but he needed to hear another man’s judgment. “Then see to it the torches are ready. And see to our passengers’ comfort in any way you can.”
Seldom paused a moment.
“Yes?” Hink asked.
“Two bells rang about five miles back.”
Two bells meant they were nearly out of fuel. He’d need to coast the
“Thank you, Mr. Seldom.”
“You losing your mind, Captain?” Guffin called out. “’Cause I’ll fly this tub if you ain’t right-headed.”
“I’m plenty right in the head to know I’d never turn the wheel over to you, Mr. Guffin,” Hink said. “We’re cutting speed. Earn your keep and mind the gears.”
Hink chewed on the inside of his cheek to try to keep more of his thoughts out of the ship, and into the flying of her. Every time he felt his mind slipping, wandering off like it was dreaming itself into the wind, he’d shift his grip on the wheel, wipe his face, or bite at his lip.
Twenty miles seemed to crawl by below. It was heading into evening now, and raining hard. There hadn’t been enough sunlight in the whole day to stretch a thimble’s shadow.
“We’re close enough,” Hink finally said. “Seldom, Lum, light the torches and set them strong. There’s a hell of a lot of rain. We don’t want to be missed.”
Seldom and Ansell each grabbed up three torches from the overhead rack near the doors and lit them. Greasy fire that stank of creosote lit up the interior of the ship, flickering glint and glow across the walls.
Then each man opened a door on the side of the ship, latched harness lines to the hand bar and stepped out on the running board to set the torches tight in the exterior clamps.
Three torches on each side was a sign to Old Jack that the ship coming in was friendly, broken, and willing to pay for repairs and shelter.
Seldom and Ansell ducked back into the ship, dripping with rain. They shut the doors tight. All of the crew looked out the windows. They needed to see a torch go up to say they could land. If there wasn’t a torch somewhere in the hidden tumble of stone and flats of the maze Old Jack called home, they’d have to move on.
Old Jack only had two ways to greet a ship. A torch to wave it in to land, or a cannon to drop it from the sky.
“There!” Ansell pointed. “Torch at eleven o’clock, Captain.”
“Good eyes, Mr. Ansell.”
A second, third, and forth torch lit up, creating a square. That was where they’d need to land and lash.
“Reverse engines, men,” Hink said. “Bring our lady down soft and easy.”
There wasn’t much steam left in the boiler. They’d been drafting glim vapors for the last five miles at least. Which meant there was no easy way to put the ship down. But Hink intended to get her rested with the least amount of injury to her, and to those on board.
The wind let off a bit, but the rain was aiming to make it a dangerous proposition. None of Old Jack’s landing fields were generous in size. Though the
With more pitch and yaw than he’d like, Hink tucked the
“Lash her tight, men. We don’t want to dive the cliff by morning.”
Guffin, Ansell, and Seldom were already out the door before the ship had more than a heartbeat on the ground. Usually Hink would be right behind them, making sure his ship was secure.
But instead he stood there, transfixed, his hand on the wheel.
The sensation of the ship around him was still there, but not as strong as when he was in the air. He felt Molly dousing the flumes, and the cooling of the boiler and pipes like a slowing heartbeat, as if he were breathing from a hard run and sleep was waiting just around the corner for him.
“Captain Hink,” Cedar Hunt said, from close enough that Hink knew he’d been standing there a while, “I think you’re wanted outside.”
Hink let go of the wheel, one hand at a time, his fingers lingering just a second longer against the smooth wood before he was no longer touching the ship. The feel of her around him, the sensation that he and the ship were tied together closer than skin to bone, slipped away with the contact.
He turned. For a moment, he was just a man again. Hot in his damp clothes, weary on his feet, and much more tired than he usually was after a flight.
Whatever the witch had done to make him aware of the ship, it took something out of a man to endure it.
Mrs. Lindson stood near Miss Small, who sat, her eyes closed, at the rear of the ship. The wolf was untied and pacing in front of them.
He didn’t see Molly.
The rain spit like gravel against the ship, and over that, he heard his name.
“Captain Hink, you’ll come out of your ship with your hands up, or I’ll blow that bucket out from under your feet.”
Hink would know that rusted voice anywhere. It was Old Jack.
“Do you want me to go with you?” Cedar asked.
“No need,” Hink said, unbuttoning his coat and pulling a small bag that might hold tobacco or coins out of his pocket.
