Tin Swift(116)

Cedar handed him his Walker and a pouch of bullets. “We spend as little time as we can searching, and pull back fast.”

He turned to the rest of the group. “Search your building, then head for the ship. One of us is bound to find the captain.”

“Keep an eye skyward,” Seldom said. “Ansell will fire a flare when the captain’s on board. Ready men?”

Everyone called out their affirmatives.

“Mr. Ansell,” Seldom said. “Tell Mr. Theobald to bring her on line.”

“Aye, sir,” Ansell said from the pilot’s position.

The big steam boilers chuffed, fans catching and roaring. And the Swift came singing out of the mountaintops down toward General Alabaster Saint’s stand.

Cedar checked his harness as Wil was strapping his on. Heavy rope attached to the belt of each of their harnesses was tied around one of the metal support bars of the ship.

Ansell would bring them in as low as he could. They’d jump out on ropes, and unlatch so the ship could climb to get out of range.

The ship tore toward the ground.

Seldom was at the cannon, having loaded it with some kind of devised artillery they’d liberated during the escape from Old Jack’s. Guffin told Cedar they were the same kind of charges they’d dropped on top of the Devil’s Nine.

Which meant it was going to blow through the hangar and catch everything inside it on fire.

“Ready?” Ansell yelled.

“Ready,” Seldom yelled back.

“We’re coming over it…now!”

The Swift pulled up hard, her nose sticking into the air and wings snapping to catch her suicide dive.

Cedar held tight to the overhead bar as ground, sky, ground sped past in a wild blur.

Seldom didn’t say a thing. He waited, spotting the structure and holding his fire until he had his aim. Then he let the cannon fly.

The head-breaking explosion of cannon fire rattled the ship and set her tin bones ringing in response.

Ansell slipped the ship sideways like a sled on ice. “This is your stop,” he yelled. “Jump for it. I’ll hold as long as I can.”

The explosion from their firebombs was massive. The Swift bobbed like a boat on the sea from the concussion of air and heat coming off the hangar.

The hangar wasn’t just going up in smoke, it was a raging bonfire burning down to dust. Whatever munitions, oils, or compounds they kept stored in the place were touched off. From the successive rumbles and blasts, a lot of gunpowder, and probably a goodly bit of dynamite, had been packed in the place.

Miss Dupuis was the first over the side of the ship, and Molly Gregor was right behind her. Then Guffin took the jump, and Seldom after him.

Wil was at the door. He quickly double-checked his harness, then jumped from the ship, letting out a whoop that was swallowed by the explosions.

Cedar was last. He shoved himself out of the ship, and felt the sickening free fall twist his guts like a fork through stew before the line caught and nearly knocked all the wind out of him. He dangled for a second, getting his bearings as to what was up and what wasn’t.

Mr. Ansell had a good eye for distance. Cedar was maybe six feet off the ground. Wil pulled the lever to unlatch the rope, hit the dirt, and stood right back up. The others already had weapons drawn and were running toward the buildings as smoke—so much smoke and fire—rose up and further fouled the night air.

Cedar pulled the lever on his harness, relaxed for the landing and came up out of a roll.

Wil had his gun drawn and motioned toward the wooden building.

Cedar slipped a shotgun off his shoulder and they started at a jog toward the structure.

Men were yelling. Gunshots clattered through the night. Smoke and flame turned the compound into chaos as the Swift fired down into the crowds.

Cedar jogged beside his brother, who was grinning with anticipation, opening and closing his left hand as if thrilling in the sensations of being a man again.

And then the wind shifted, carrying with it the scent of the Strange.

No, a Strange.

Mr. Shunt.

Cedar stopped, turned on his heel. The world slowed. Then he ran toward that scent, Wil pounding step-in-step beside him.

Mingled with the foul odor of Mr. Shunt was the scent of Captain Hink, his blood, his pain.

But not his death. Not yet.

The soldiers were quickly realizing the assault they were under, and turned to guns and cover, taking aim at the Swift and abandoning the ships in the hangar.

Molly and Miss Dupuis were pressed up against the shadow of the low, long building that was probably a barracks, shooting, reloading, shooting, as they made their way toward the door.

Seldom and Guffin were lost to the smoke and flashes of gunfire. A separate explosion rocked the building behind Molly and Miss Dupuis.

Seldom must be that way.