“…tin,” Cedar said.
“Tin,” Rose said, relieved. “Do I have tin in my shoulder?”
“Yes. It’s a very small key. The Madders think it’s a part of the Holder.”
“Oh.” She tried to work that through. The medicine was already starting to rub the edges off her brain, sanding her thoughts down to dust. “Do you think it is?”
Cedar nodded. “If we had the device, it would draw the key out quick. But we don’t yet. So we’ll need to try and dig it out. Mae has the steadiest hand, and she’s…” His voice tightened up on a growl, but he managed to breathe that down and continue in his scholar’s tone. “She’s unable to do that just now.”
“What happened to Mrs. Lindson? Are the Madders here?”
“She used magic, cast some sort of spell on the captain. She’s the reason we landed in one piece. But she fainted and hasn’t come to. As for the Madders…” Cedar rubbed at the bridge of his nose as if weary from too many hours spent reading a difficult text.
“Last I saw, they were fighting their way through the unalives in Vicinity. Do you remember them rising?”
Rose nodded. She’d likely be nightmaring on it for years.
“The Madders said they can track us and find us. Captain Hink and his crew pulled us out of that mess.”
“How…” Rose searched for the word. Couldn’t quite find it. “Nice,” she finally said. Her eyes were staying closed longer and longer between each blink. She didn’t think she had much more time being awake. “Thank you, Mr. Hunt,” she said softly. “For…keeping us safe.”
“You’re welcome, Miss Small.”
For a second, Rose thought she heard a man in the distance curse, and then sleep came and took her to gentler lands.
CHAPTER TEN
Cedar knew Wil would keep watch during the few hours between night and dawn, but sleep did not come easily to him.
They were in trouble. No horses, no supplies, and winter coming on. Everything they’d had, they lost when the crew of the Swift pulled them on board. Cedar had some money and his guns. But they didn’t even have a change of clothes, a scrap of food, or a spare pair of socks.
He’d been encouraged by Rose’s waking and being mostly clearheaded, though in pain.
But Mae hadn’t stirred since she’d cast that spell to bring the ship down softly. He didn’t know when she would wake, and when she did, he had no idea what kind of condition she would be in for travel.
The captain had assured him that he would take them to the nearest town after the ship was repaired. Captain Hink didn’t seem to be a man who’d likely prey upon the misfortunes of others. He’d seemed amiable enough in following Molly Gregor’s instructions that they be treated as guests and passengers. But there was something more to him than just a man skimming the western glim fields.
He asked a lot of questions. About the Madders, about the railroad in Hallelujah, and was curious as to any rumors Cedar had heard about men dealing glim in these parts. Many of his questions pointed squarely to the Strange and roundabout to the Holder.
The Madders had said most people wouldn’t recognize the Holder. Cedar bet Captain Hink would. Might even have been looking for it. Not that he’d exactly said as much.
Cedar’s ability to sense the Holder gave him an edge on those others looking for it. Whether his sensitivity to the weapon was a product of the Pawnee curse in his bones, or pure bad luck, he didn’t know and didn’t care.
Being able to track it gave him a position of power if it came down to bargaining for their lives.
All he wanted was to get Mae back to her sisters before she was driven insane, and to see if the witches had a way to break his and Wil’s curse. Along with that, he felt obliged to see that Rose Small was safe as she found her place in the world.
He hadn’t thought much about his future past those things. Maybe he’d find a place in this world where he could start a life again with Wil. Help his brother rebuild a life he’d been cheated out of all these years.
They’d need land, home, and income of some kind.
He could turn back to his scholarly pursuits, or stay outside the hub of civilization and make his living bounty hunting for farmers and ranchers. He could marry.
The image of Mae Lindson came to him. He found himself savoring the memory of her touch as she tended his wounds in Hallelujah, remembered the warmth of her leaned full against him, his arms around her as she wept for her dead husband.
Like counting precious coins, he rolled through the moments he’d caught her, gathering herbs, or gazing at the sky, her face gentle and kind, her voice bent to song. He recalled the sweet sound of her all-too-rare laughter.