Free Tin Swift by Devon Monk

Barlow was pulling lines and headed to Texas to weather out the cold.”
    “It is strange to find him prowling the west side of the range,” Molly said, “at the same time Stump Station happened to empty out to see us off with their guns this morning.”
    “I say it’s time to shut up and hunt bear,” Hink said with a grin. “Molly, bring the boiler on line. Guffin, man the rudders. Seldom, strap up the hooks and ready the ropes. And Lum, see that the cannon’s set to burn.”
    He probably didn’t need to tell his crew what to do, they fell to it so fast. Ride the windy trail together long enough and people knew what was what and how to see to getting it done.
    After all, there was nothing but their skill, hands, and trust in each other between touching the heavens and being crushed by the earth.
    Hink readjusted his gear and knew his crew was doing the same. Then he set his feet in the straps bolted to the floor in front of the helm. He didn’t intend to take her out hot. No, he’d rather the
Swift
slip up behind the old steamer, and follow in the
Black Sledge
’s wake.
    Caution was half of what kept a glimman alive.
    The other half was plain foolhardy luck.
    The crew of the
Swift
had both, ace-high.
    Molly Gregor pushed her goggles over her eyes and strode off to the boilers, shutting the blast door behind her.
    Hink waited for the bell to ring, indicating that the
Swift
was steamed and ready to burn sky.
    The cord tugged and the bell in the ceiling frame rattled once. The
Swift
was powered to go.
    Guffin, Seldom, and Lum all pushed their feet into floor braces. Hink studied the eastern sky, getting a visual on the
Black Sledge
.
    There she was, a bulk against the intermittent clouds, coming in and out of sight like a barge slipping through fog down a white river.
    “All right, then,” Hink said, his words muddled by his breathing gear. “Let’s go see what plunder the sky has for us today.”
    He signaled Seldom to pull anchor, and the Irishman set to releasing the catch and cranking up the line.
    Captain Hink let out the throttle. Like a living thing, the
Swift
came awake beneath his feet. He could feel her shudder, feel her lift to the wind, feel her strain to go higher, faster. Built to take the air, the
Swift
pumped up quick.
    “Above her,” Hink said.
    Guffin adjusted the trim and Hink steered her, up and up through the white and gray wall of clouds, until he was well behind the
Black Sledge
, the shadow of his ship pushed behind him by the western setting sun.
    The winds were picking up, that squall on the northern horizon headed their way, but not before cooling off between the teeth of the range. If it brought rain or freeze, it’d take as much fuel as they had on hand to fight their way down to a survivable landing.
    They were running out of time to get answers.
    “Bring her up close,” Hink said. He hit the toggle for the bell back in the boiler room, giving Molly the go-ahead to bail it in. “We’ll swing by and have a look at where she’s lashing for the night.”
    They maneuvered the
Swift
up close and tight to the
Black Sledge
, bucking riptide winds.
    It was hard to get a bead on her with the roil of clouds, but when she veered to the southeast, Hink was right on her trail.
    “She’s hopping the peaks,” Hink said as the big blower chugged along the ridge but didn’t fly over. Didn’t make sense. If she was trying to move out of the way of the storm, all she needed was a place to hold up—a difficult proposition with a ship her size—or land. And either of those options would be found at lower elevations.
    Why would she ride the ridge?
    A flash of yellow bloomed out the side of the
Black Sledge
and sweptacross the peaks below them. Then another flash, and another, like beams of sunlight bursting through the clouds.
    Mirrors. Goddamn it all, she had mirrors.
    She wasn’t hopping the peaks, she was scraping the sky and hills with light. Looking for a flash, looking for a