Tin Swift

CHAPTER THIRTY

Cedar balled his hands into fists. It was everything he could do to stand and watch Mae as she whispered over Rose.

He could smell Mae’s fear, he could smell the sweat of her pain. Her entire body trembled with the effort of casting the spell to bind the Holder.

He didn’t know how long she could endure. Didn’t know how long before he grabbed her up in his arms, broke her spell, took her away from Rose. It’s what the beast in him wanted to do—protect Mae at any cost.

And it would seal Rose’s death.

Wil shifted and stood next to him, facing the opposite direction, watching the people in the ship and the door at Cedar’s back where Miss Wright stood.

Cedar could look nowhere else other than at Mae.

Suddenly Mae stopped whispering.

The air became soft and burred, as if lightning were just about to strike. But it was not lightning. No, what Cedar tasted on the back of his tongue was the scent of the Strange. Of the Holder.

And then, like a star tearing through the sky, a piece of metal broke through the floor and hurtled into the ship. A song, huge and tempered by an otherworldly chorus, filled Cedar’s ears.

The Holder ricocheted off the walls of the ship, scorching wood, bending metal.

The people in the ship each had their own reactions to it, but Cedar took scant note of Hink’s crew’s startled disbelief, the Madders’ wild laughter, or Miss Dupuis’s and Miss Wright’s wonderment.

He was watching Mae. And Mae said one word, her lips trembling around it, nearly unable to give the word breath enough to form.

“One,” she whispered.

And then the Holder shot toward Rose. Too fast for him to stop it. Too fast for Mae to block it. Too fast.

It struck her chest and spread out like liquid, bending to fit over her shoulder, flowing down to her collarbone, and up to her ear, like some kind of medieval armor.

Rose gasped, a huge, labored breath, her entire body arching.

And then she lay still in the hammock.

Cedar had run toward Rose as soon as the Holder entered the ship and only now reached the hammock. Everything had happened in a split second.

He caught Mae as she fainted.

Wil rushed up, half a step behind, and Alun and Miss Dupuis were on his heels.

“I’ll be damned,” Alun Madder said. “She did it! She called the Holder.”

“Are they well?” Miss Wright asked from where she stood near the door. “Are they both well?”

Rose was still breathing, easier than she had been. Her color was better too, at least in her face, some of the natural pink and freckles appearing on her forehead, nose, cheeks.

The Holder looked like someone had melted it down to pour a liquid sheet of tin across Rose’s shoulder and chest. He wondered if the key had gone liquid inside her body, if that was why her skin and eyes had been turning gray.

“Don’t touch it,” Alun Madder said. “It might take some time for the Holder to draw all of the key out of her blood and bones.”

Cedar didn’t wait around to watch. He carefully unclasped Mae’s hand from Rose’s and carried Mae over to one of the crew’s cots toward the front of the ship, where he eased her down gently. He tucked a blanket up around her shoulders and brushed her hair away from her face.

She was breathing, but didn’t stir.

A startled cry filled the room, and was quickly smothered out.

“Joonie!” Miss Dupuis said.

Cedar turned, but his nose, his ears told him what was happening before his eyes confirmed it.

Mr. Shunt stood in the doorway, Joonie Wright’s back pressed hard against him. Three of his long, knobby fingers pressed over her mouth, the razor-sharp point of his index finger poised over her eye.

He must have climbed the anchor line, even though that was nearly an impossible thing.

But then, Mr. Shunt himself was a nearly impossible thing.

They had called the Holder, and Shunt had followed.

Cedar and Mae were the only two people at the head of the ship. Of the people toward the rear of the ship, Wil stood nearest Shunt, hands loose at his side, head bent, so he looked up through his hair at the monster. He might be standing in a man’s skin, but it was wolf and rage that filled him now.

Cedar knew exactly what Wil was going to do. He was going to kill Shunt.

But not if Cedar killed Shunt first.

“Give the witch to me, Hunter,” Shunt crooned. “Or this woman will die.” He twitched his pinky and Joonie gasped as blood spilled down her neck.

Cedar didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. If he did, Shunt would slit her throat.

“The witch,” Shunt hissed. “Now.” He jerked his ring finger across Joonie’s mouth.

She screamed as he sliced her lips open.

Miss Dupuis already had her hand on her gun. So did Ansell, Seldom, and Guffin.

But no one could shoot Shunt without hurting Joonie.

“You want the witch?” Cedar said, shifting his shoulders so that Shunt could better see Mae lying helpless and unconscious in the cot. “Come take her from me.”

Shunt was fast.

So was everyone else on the ship.

Cedar felt like time wound down, slow, slow, slow.

Wil, faster even than Cedar, leaped at Shunt, gun already firing at his head.

Shunt flicked a silver blade from his cuff. The blade struck Wil in the chest.

Thread spooled out of Shunt’s other hand to cinch around Joonie’s neck. Then he shoved her at Wil.

Joonie, eyes wide, collided with Wil.

As Shunt ran for Mae.

Shunt yanked the thread. Joonie’s head snapped back just as Wil caught her in his arms and they both went down.

The crew of the ship unloaded their guns. Into the doorframe, into the shelves, into the wall where Shunt had been just an instant before.

Shunt always one inch ahead of each shot.

The three Madders each pulled out devised weapons. Light blew through the ship. Sound rocked the sky and deafened. Lightning licked across metal lashing for Shunt. Any one of those weapons was enough to kill him. And not one of them could.

Shunt was too fast.

And besides, Shunt was Cedar’s to kill.

Cedar ran straight at him.

He pulled his gun as Wil yelled his name. As the Madders reloaded their weapons. As the crew cursed and fired again.

Cedar caught the lapel of Shunt’s coat. Yanked so hard, Shunt spun sideways toward him. Cedar muscled him into the gun in his fist.

Cedar was still running, pushing Shunt back toward the door. He shoved the barrel of the gun into Mr. Shunt’s chest as far as it could go.

And pulled the trigger.

Shunt staggered back, too many arms, too many joints, too many blades and fingers and teeth cutting, digging, squirming to try to get away from Cedar.

But Cedar would not let go of the monster.

Shunt smashed his fist into Cedar’s face, fingers digging for his eyes.

Cedar fired again. Shunt’s hand jerked away from his face.

Wil was moving. Almost on his feet. He had no weapons.

Cedar glanced at him. He was bleeding, his arm hanging broken at his side. Cedar knew his brother had a plan. And he knew it would be suicide.

Shunt shoved his fingers up under Cedar’s ribs, slicing, stabbing through muscle and scraping against bone.

Cedar yelled at the pain, but did not let go. He pushed. Ran. Pounded toward the door. Squeezed the trigger again, the gun slick with Shunt’s blood and oil.

With his blood too.

Wil yelled something, a strangled cry. But Cedar would not let his brother die.

This was his fight.

Shunt threw a vicious kick at Cedar’s leg.

Cedar felt bone crack.

Two more steps to the door.

One more.

Then there was no ground beneath his feet.

There was nothing but wind and night and the monster, Mr. Shunt, squirming and flailing beneath him, his eyes, his inhuman Strange face filled with fear.

Cedar laughed and fired every bullet in the gun.

Shunt screamed as bullet after bullet tore holes through him faster than he could stitch them up.

They fell. Together. Forever. The ships spun above them, the ground spun beneath them, the wind burned like frozen blades.

Cedar ran out of bullets. He let go of his gun and drew his knife instead.

Shunt sliced at him, biting, tearing at Cedar like a wild animal.

Shunt was very much not dead yet. But Cedar was going to make sure he accomplished that one thing before they both hit the ground.

He stabbed the knife into Shunt’s chest, digging for something vital, something fatal he could cut off, pry loose, destroy.

The blade struck something in the center of his chest and Cedar jimmied it loose.

It popped free and metal wings, gold and crystal, like a clockwork bee or dragonfly zipped past his face.

Mr. Shunt stilled, stiffened. His eyes were no longer filled with fear. They were filled with hatred. “Die,” he exhaled.

Cedar just kept stabbing, digging, pulling out cog, bone, and flesh.

Until Mr. Shunt suddenly lay into the wind, arms spread wide, head thrown back.

And even though Cedar was holding on to his coat, Mr. Shunt shattered, blowing apart into a thousand oily pieces that sifted like pebbles through his fingers.

Cedar yelled out his rage, wanting Shunt’s blood, wanting to snap every bone in his damn body, wanting to feel him die again and again.

A cannon blast from high above him clapped across the mountains.

Then a thousand whips, no, ropes, flew past him. He heard the fans of the ship roar, as if the vessel were turning hard and fast. Then those ropes were right below him, forming a net with bolos weighting it. A net that pulled open and created a wall between him and the ground rushing up at him.

Cedar hit that net like a man striking stone. The ropes lashed around him, closed tight, and slammed his fall to a stop so quickly he heard his nose break, felt his ribs snap, heard his neck crack. And then he blacked out.