Tin Swift(113)

The sound of boot soles over stone and dirt somewhere off over his right shoulder caught his attention.

He turned his head that way.

A tall man in a long coat and stovepipe hat stood in the corner of the room with a doctor’s bag open on the table in front of him. He was drawing knives, saws, and clamps out of the bag, inspecting them, before setting them down in a neat, straight row.

Even though Hink didn’t say anything, the man paused, and swiveled his head so that his eyes, lost in shadows of the hat and scarf around his neck, fixed on him.

“You,” he breathed, a strange sound that made the word seem foreign on his lips. “Have touched the witch.”

Hink had no idea what the hell he was talking about and opened his mouth to say so.

The man skittered across the room. Fast. So fast that Hink didn’t have time to close his mouth before the man was above him, his fingers stuck between Hink’s teeth, prying his jaws open.

Hink yelled a bit, trying to shake the man’s fingers free from his mouth, but the man just clamped his other hand down over Hink’s forehead and pressed down to hold him still.

Then the man leaned in so close, Hink felt the spiderweb tickle of his scarf brush against his cheek. Something inside that man was ticking, clicking like a cog with a broken tooth. Whatever it was that kept that man together, it wasn’t of God’s design.

He was Strange. Like Mr. Hunt had said the other men were. Made of bits, made of something rotting, something ticking.

The man ratcheted Hink’s mouth open a little more, then placed his face so near Hink’s lips that Hink could taste his moist, hot exhale. The man sniffed at Hink’s mouth, then inhaled deeply.

“You are sweet with her,” he cooed. “Sweet with her magic.” He lifted away just enough to peer down into his eyes. “Shall I bleed her magic out of you?”

“Mr. Shunt,” a voice said from somewhere near Hink’s boots. “Step away from my prisoner.”

Hink knew that voice. General Alabaster Saint.

Mr. Shunt held still, making his decision. Then he slipped his fingers out of Hink’s mouth, revoltingly slow, stroking the inside of his cheek, the side of his tongue and finally his lip as he pulled his fingers away. He straightened and licked Hink’s spittle from his fingertips.

“Your prisoner,” Mr. Shunt said. “And the witch? My witch. Where is my witch?”

“I have ships out looking,” Alabaster said as he paced nearer, but not near enough Hink could see him yet. “You’ll have your witch soon enough. And the heads of the hunter and wolf. For now, leave me.”

“Will he scream?” Shunt asked.

“Yes,” General Alabaster Saint said, stepping up nice and close now, so Hink could see him, and his two eyes, one flat brown, the other the color of old tin, but both of them working. “He will.”

Shunt gave the Saint a nod and Hink heard him retreat to the corner of the room but didn’t hear him leave. Of course his heart was pounding so hard in his ears, he was surprised he could even hear the Saint’s words.

“After all these years gone past,” the Saint said, “you and I are finally at the table of negotiation.”

Hink kept his mouth shut. He knew he wasn’t getting out of this in one piece.

“Nothing to say?” the Saint asked. “As I recall, you always had a smart mouth. Testified against me on every charge. Had me dismissed from my command, from the army. Dishonored. All for trading weapons, profiteering, and disobeying orders of retreat. So many things you had to say about my character then. And now? Silence.

“Perhaps you fully realize your situation. You know I intend to make you pay for all you have taken from me, Mr. Cage.”

“Marshal,” he said.

“Marshal Cage,” the general agreed. “The president’s man. Charged to speak with his law and act on his honor. When you die, Mr. Cage—for I am going to kill you—it will almost be as if I am killing the president himself. Such pleasure.”

“What about that spook?” Hink asked. “You his man now?”

The general pulled his pipe out of his pocket and tamped tobacco into it with his thumb. “You talk too much. Assume too much. You think I’m threatening you, when I am simply stating facts. I’m going to kill you, Cage. But not before you beg at my feet.”

“The witch,” Mr. Shunt whispered from the corner.

The general’s eyes flashed with anger.

He and the abomination didn’t get along. Good. That might be something Hink could use to his advantage. And if he survived this—not damn likely, but still, he wasn’t the kind of man who gave up—he’d want as much information on the general’s plans as he could get.