Before they reached the wooden floor of the ship, before the sound of return fire from the men on horseback had finished its echo, the Tin Swift’s fans roared to life and the ship climbed sky, out of the bullets’ reach.
“Good to see you, Mrs. Lindson.” Mr. Ansell was short, rounded, and dusky-skinned. He was also the most nimble and sure-footed man in the air Cedar had ever seen. He offered his hand to help Mae safely into the ship. The basket with Wil in it was already stowed and latched tight. Wil rubbed his face, as if coming up out of a hangover.
“Even more pleasant for me to see you and the crew, Mr. Ansell,” Mae said. “How did you know to come here?”
“Got a wire from the captain a while back. Mr. Seldom put the last rivets in the Swift and we came right away. Didn’t expect to find you on the run. Welcome aboard, Mr. Hunt,” he said, offering Cedar a hand for the final step into the ship.
“Thank you, Mr. Ansell. Wil, are you all right?”
Wil nodded. “That was a hell of a thing.”
“Don’t suppose you’d mind manning the port guns?” Ansell asked. “We’re running a thin crew.”
Cedar glanced at the crewmen. The Swift was a small ship and usually ran on a skeletal five people, including the boilerman and captain. Aboard the ship there was only Mr. Seldom, Hink’s second at the helm; Mr. Guffin, a thin, pale, sad-eyed man with a mop of unruly yellow hair, who was locking the starboard door and stowing the guns; and Mr. Ansell.
“Happy to help,” Cedar said. “We know where Captain Hink is,” he added.
“So do we,” Mr. Seldom called back from the front of the ship. “Have a tracker locked on him.”
“Tracker?” Mae asked. “I don’t understand.”
“Some thing Miss Small cobbled together.” Ansell made his way to the navigation gear at the helm.
Mr. Guffin nodded his tousled mess of hair and stomped his way up toward the front too. “That finder compass has held straight as an arrow for fifty miles. Hell of a way to keep track of a person. Not surprised Miss Small thought it up. She’s got a head full of clever.”
“Doesn’t she just?” Cedar said with a smile as the ship shot through the air, over the town and dead set toward the church.
Chapter Forty
When Hink could hear again, the first sound that reached his ears was a double-barreled shotgun racking a round about two feet from his head.
“You are under arrest,” the sheriff said. “All of you. Drop your weapons and get on your feet.”
The cannon blast had done just what Hink thought it might do. It had torn half the building off and left the other half of the church sagging dangerously. The stink of gunpowder, smoke, blood, and burning wood filled his nose and lungs.
They had been thrown out of the church and had landed in a heap about twelve feet behind it, wood piled on top of the four of them.
That made it easy for the sheriff and his men to surround them, and to point a rather impressive array of guns their way.
“I said, get on your feet.”
Hink looked for his companions. Wicks was already helping Miss Dupuis stand, but Father Kyne was unconscious again.
“The priest is hurt,” Miss Dupuis said. “He cannot stand.”
“Wasn’t talking to the priest, ma’am. You,” the sheriff said, “move. Now.”
Hink spit some of the dust and grit out of his mouth, poked at a loose tooth with his tongue, then pulled himself up to standing. Blackness closed down around him as the world decided to set up shop out there at the end of a tunnel. He took a deep breath and the darkness pulsed back with the beat of his heart. He was pretty sure he wasn’t going to be conscious for long.
“Problem, Sheriff?” Hink asked.
“You broke out of my jail, tore it down, and released every criminal in custody. Then you beat up my men and spent the last hour shooting holes in the good people of this town. So, yes, I have a problem. But it ain’t no kind of problem I can’t solve with a trip to the gallows.”
“We are allowed due process of the law,” Miss Dupuis said.
“Law says I’m the due process,” the sheriff said. “And I say there’s plenty of room on the gallows for all of you.”
“Fine,” Wicks said. “We’ll walk. But if you plan to hang the priest, you’ll need to provide him safe transport there.”
Hink knew what he was trying to do. He was buying time. Maybe time for one of them to come up with a plan. Only Hink didn’t have a plan, and from the look on Miss Dupuis’s face, she didn’t either. While a long walk might jog some idea out of his head, more likely he’d just pass out halfway there.
Father Kyne groaned and lifted one hand, then somehow managed to get himself sat up. He glanced at the sheriff and guns, then up at Hink, Wicks, and Miss Dupuis. He seemed to put two and two together, and found a way to stand.
“Look at that,” the sheriff said. “Now we have all our ducks in a row. Walk.”
Hink took a step, saw Father Kyne nearly stumble, and reached out to steady him, but Wicks was already there.
“We’ll fight when the chance presents itself,” Wicks said quietly as Hink and he got Father Kyne walking again.
Hink grunted in agreement.
By the time they’d picked their way through the wreckage to stand in front of the sheriff, there was a buzzing in Hink’s ears he could not shake.
Not a buzzing, more like a high-pitched scream coming from somewhere far off.
They were shoved toward the road into town and got to walking. Hink was surprised the sheriff hadn’t just shot them yet. He must really want to give those new gallows a try.
Then he figured it out. Alongside the road stood long lines of people. It looked like half the city had turned out to gawk and stare at the escaped criminals. Women and men, reporters and workers, poor and old all drawn up tight together to see how the great jail escape ended, to watch the shootout, and probably clap and cheer the sheriff on while that beast of a cannon shot the old church to sawdust.
As a matter of fact, they started clapping now.
Beyond the clapping, that far-off buzz was getting louder. Annoying.
Hink lifted a hand to his ear, cupping it and frowning at the noise.
And then he knew exactly what that noise was.
“Oh,” he said quietly. “This is going to be nice. Real nice.” He grinned and lowered his hand, then stopped walking.
“Told you to walk,” the sheriff said. “Not stand there grinning.”
“Now why would I want to walk,” Hink asked. “When I have wings?”
And just like that, the Tin Swift swung down out of the sky, a quick silver bullet skimming the tops of buildings and threading the city like a needle through a patchwork quilt.
The ship came to a stop overhead, and Cedar Hunt’s voice boomed out over the growl of her fans. “Put your guns down and release them. Or we will open fire.”
Hink glanced up at the ship. Looked like Mr. Seldom had done the girl some good, and put in the flamethrowers they’d been talking about. Flamethrowers that Cedar Hunt currently manned at the starboard door, aiming downward.
“Problem with a ship like that,” Hink said to the sheriff, “is she can be out of your range before you pull a trigger, but that flamethrower doesn’t have to be close in to do serious damage to all these nice folks gathered here. And neither do the cannons, dynamite, and guns her crew keeps on board.”
“How do you know what’s on board that ship?” the sheriff asked.
“Because I am that ship’s captain.”
“That so?” The sheriff spit to one side. “Then I know your crew isn’t about to kill their captain on the way to killing me.”