Tin Swift

slow me a bit on the climb.”

The others headed to the rockfall. Wil was already halfway up the stone tumble and Theobald was shortly behind him, helping Miss Dupuis and Miss Wright along the rough spots.

Hink put off climbing until they were nearly at the top, then limped over to the stones. This was not going to be any kind of pleasant.

He sighed and took the first step up. He hated caves, hated being on the ground, hated worse being underground. For just this sort of reason. Give a man the sky, and he could soar in the heavens. Stick him in a hole and all he did was crawl over rocks.

He cussed and sweated his way through the climb, and when Mr. Hunt offered him a hand about a third of the way from the top, he did not let pride get in his way of accepting.

Finally at the top of the pile, the cave opening slanted up a bit. He’d need to hike that, shoot the flare, and keep an ear out for the Swift. He took a breath, steeling himself for the rest of the walk.

Cedar came up on one side and put his shoulder under his arm.

“Getting pretty tired of you picking me for your dance partner,” Hink said.

“Don’t get shot next time.”

“Next time?” Hink said. “I don’t believe Old Jack will ever let us cross his dirt again.”

“No great loss,” Cedar said. “A man who can call a ship full of Strange is a worrisome thing.”

“You sure that’s what those men had been afflicted with? Strange?”

“They stink of it,” Cedar said. “They stink of the only…man I know who could have done that sort of work.”

“He got a name?”

“Mr. Shunt. Strange walking in flesh. Nightmare. Haven’t found a way he stays dead yet.”

“Like the men out there with too many holes in them getting back up?”

“I doubt they’ll stitch back together now,” Cedar said. “Can’t say the same for Mr. Shunt.”

“You have caught the attention of an odd sort of creature, Mr. Hunt,” Hink said. “I’ve seen a few in my days, but none so dead set on killing a man.” They stopped a ways out from the opening to the tunnel, and Cedar let him go. “This should do.”

Not quite dusk yet, and the clouds were taking on a clay-colored darkness. The wind was unsettled, blowing up over brush, going dead, then rushing down over the tips of the peak. It wasn’t raining or snowing, but the heat of the day was gutted and gone.

Both men scanned the sky and listened.

Hink thought he heard an engine, but it didn’t sound like the Swift. Could be any number of ships out this way looking to land at Jack’s for supplies.

Could be Old Jack had signaled in more than just Mullins and his crew. Could be a fleet of ships, a fleet of Alabaster’s ships hovering in dusk’s arch.

“You hear that?” Hink asked.

“One engine?” Cedar said.

“It’s not the Swift.”

Cedar nodded, his gaze still on the sky.

“Flare’s going to let everyone in the sky know right where we are,” Hink said.

“Going to be night soon,” Cedar noted.

Not approving or disapproving. This was Hink’s call.

“It’s worth the risk,” Hink said. “Jack knows these hills. He knows where we got sealed in, and he’ll know where we’re bound to pop out. Could be aiming his guns on us right now.”

“Then stop talking and fire the flare, Captain,” Cedar said. “Your ship is carrying people I’ve made promises to. Promises I intend to keep.”

Hink couldn’t help but smile. Cedar didn’t seem the smallest bit concerned that they might be inviting another firefight down on their heads. “You are a reckless and fearless man, Mr. Hunt,” he said. “It’s a wonder you’re still alive.”

Cedar drew his gun and pulled his goggles over his eyes. “No wonder to it,” Cedar said. “Just skill.”

The captain laughed. “Miss Dupuis, Mr. Theobald, Miss Wright, be prepared to run if the Swift comes over. But don’t go jumping like a fish on a hook at any rope that lowers. We might have unfriendly vessels looking for us. Are we of an understanding?”

Miss Dupuis pulled the shotgun off her shoulder. “Perfectly, Captain.”

Hink drew the flare gun from where it was holstered low on his hip. He took aim straight up, and fired into the clouds.

A bright orange-pink flame burned a trail up and up, then blew open like a Chinese firework.

The sound of an engine grew louder. Whatever ship was out there, they’d seen the flare. And they were on the way.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Mae was trying not to listen to the sisters. Ever since they had run out of Old Jack’s mountain, the voices had come back in force. Furious. They no longer sang, but screamed for her to return home, clawing at her sanity, stabbing at her mind.

She didn’t know how she had endured it before.

When Mr. Guffin had told her they were anchored and she could take off her harness and step away from the wall, she just shook her head. The need, the push to be home at the coven, was so strong she didn’t trust her own feet.

It would be too easy to listen to the voices that told her to come, walk, run to them. No matter that there was nothing but hundreds of feet of empty air between her and the ground—if she weren’t harnessed, she just might step out into the wind.

The sisters’ voices had come on so gradually since Jeb’s death that she hadn’t realized just how much of a torment they had become. Her marriage vows to Jeb had taken the place of her vows to the sisters. But now that he was dead and that vow was broken, her earlier vows, made of magic and blood, were demanding her return.

And she knew the sisterhood wasn’t so much calling her home as calling for her death.

They feared her magic. Feared the curses and bindings, oaths and vows she so easily drew upon.

They feared her. Probably always had.

Once she returned, if she returned, she would ask them to break this binding that tied her to the soil of the coven.

She should have never let them throw such ropes around her, but she had been young and afraid of her own abilities. They had told her the bindings would hold her safe, like a net. A way to assure that she never fell into using magic for ill causes. That she never harmed anyone.

Even though magic could easily lean toward dark results in her hands, she had only wanted to use it for good, for love, for mercy. And the sisterhood could not tell her she had ever done so wrongly. Not without admitting that what they were doing to her now was also wrong.

Rose was awake, silent, lying on the hammock and staring at the ceiling. Her color was so pale and gray, it was almost as if her skin were turning into tin. Even her lips had a bluish cast. But when Mae brushed her hair back from her forehead with shaking fingers, she blinked and smiled.

“Have we seen the signal yet?” she asked.

Mae had to hold her breath against the screaming in her mind and focus on Rose’s lips to understand the words.

Signal? Oh, yes. They were waiting for a signal from Captain Hink so they could find him and Cedar and those other people. So they could rescue them. If they were still alive.

“Not yet,” she said. “Soon. I’m sure soon.”