It was a woman. She appeared on the staircase below, racing up the stairs two at a time. She was about Shayla’s age, dressed in plain skirts, with an apron and soft leather shoes. A long hood concealed the features of her face. Judging from her appearance, she was probably a servant. Shayla waited an extra second to be sure no one else had followed, and then stepped out into the woman’s path. She cried out and fell back a step, clutching at her skirts.
“You have nothing to fear from me,” Shayla said in a low voice.
“I’m… I’m sorry,” she said breathlessly. “You frightened me.”
“Why were you calling me?”
The woman licked her lips and averted her eyes. She started to say something, but then hesitated. “No,” she said at last. “It’s not important. I’m sorry.” She turned to leave, but Shayla reached out to her, catching her by the wrist.
“What is your name?”
“Dinah.”
“And why were you seeking me, Dinah?”
She shifted uncomfortably. “I wanted to ask for… for your help.”
Shayla raised an eyebrow. “How do you think I could help you?”
“It’s about… it’s Smitty, Miss Shayla. I know what he did to you.”
The eyebrow went even higher. “How do you know?”
“Because… because you’re not the only one he did it too, ma’am.”
Shayla pulled Dinah closer and lowered her voice. “Smitty is dead, Dinah. Whatever he did to you, he’ll never do it again.”
“I know that. I know, but…”
“What is it?”
“Smitty, he wasn’t the only one.”
That sense of despair was back, clutching at her guts. Shayla stared into the woman’s eyes, glittering in the shadows of her hood, and searched them for the truth. It was not beyond a woman to lie about such things, she knew. Shayla had seen it happen before. But in those eyes, Shayla recognized something. Perhaps it was desperation. Perhaps it was fear. Perhaps it was something reflected from within herself; a hope, a chance at redemption. She tugged on Dinah’s wrist.
“Come to my chambers,” she said. “Tell me everything.”
Chapter 28
Long after midnight, when the humans had wandered off to their beds and a heavy silence had fallen over the halls of Dragonwall, one lantern continued to burn late into the night. Somewhere deep in the heart of the mountain, Socrates continued his work.
The mechanical ape made very little noise, save for the occasional plink! of a hammer driving a carriage bolt home, or the ratcheting noises of his wrench set. He did not hum or talk to himself as a human might, for although Socrates possessed all the intellect of a human and more knowledge than anyone could even imagine, he was still a machine of solitary habits. In fact, Socrates took great pleasure from quiet moments such as this, when he could work at a methodical pace, without the constant interruptions he usually faced throughout the day. It was a chance to reflect, to let his memory circuits sort through and store information, to allow his internal gears and pistons to cool down.
So the night would have gone, if not for the sudden unnerving shriek of an alarm. The noise startled the ape, and he instantly alerted, ready for battle with a long torque wrench in his hand. In the distance, he heard shouting. He followed the sound to a tunnel nearby. There, he found a group of Dane’s men armed with spears and swords racing for the main tunnel.
“Is something wrong?” he said as they ran by.
“Dragon!” one of the men shouted. “Northeast quadrant.”
In a flash, they were gone. Socrates found himself standing alone in the tunnel, the echo of their boots and the rattle of their weapons fading into the distance. For a moment, he considered joining them. After all, even if it was another small creature, he was sure they could use a hand. Then he remembered that this was how the people of Dragonwall had been living for hundreds of years. Fighting dragons in the middle of the night was part of their lifestyle. It was as ordinary to them as hunting the beasts during the day.
With a sigh, he returned to his work. The silence returned, and Socrates found himself alone again in the dimly lit armory, accompanied only by the clicking sound of his ratchets and wrenches.
Early the next morning, he had finished rebuilding the pistons and had restored the pressure lines and valves to their proper places. He returned his tools to their boxes and then settled down on a bench to let his inner gears and springs cool while he waited for Dane to return.
An hour later, the king and his new friend Kale arrived to find Socrates in some sort of meditative state. The ape didn’t seem to hear their conversation as they approached, so Kale put a hand on his shoulder and gently shook him awake. The ape’s eyes snapped open and he gave them a disconcerting grin.
“Were you asleep?” Kale said, perplexed at witnessing this seemingly unusual behavior for the first time.
“Just resting,” Socrates said. “Perfectly natural, I assure you. I have been waiting for you. Dane, your Bonecrusher is finished.”
“Already?” said Dane. “Is it ready to move?”
“As soon as the boiler is hot.”
“Kale, start the fire. I’ll alert the men to open the main gate.”
Dane disappeared into one of the hallways. Socrates helped Kale stoke the firebox with coal, and they lit it with the flame of a torch. As they watched the flames begin to grow, Socrates glanced at Kale.
“The king seems to think very highly of you,” he said.
“Dane reminds me of my father,” said Kale. “He died when I was young, but I remember him well. He wasn’t a warrior like Dane -just a farmer- but he was strong, and brave. He killed half a dozen Vangars the night he died. Dane seems very much like him.”
“I can understand your feelings. I must ask, since you have spent more time with Dane than anyone else, do you believe he is an honorable man? Do you believe his intentions are noble?”
“Absolutely,” said Kale.
“How can you be sure?”
The warrior leaned close and lowered his voice. “Yesterday, I saw Dane throw one of his own men off the balcony for trying to rape Shayla. There were no witnesses to the crime. Shayla accused him, and Dane reacted. Somehow, Dane knew the man was lying.”
The ape’s eyes widened. “Dane killed him? Considering the man had no trial, that seems excessive. Technically, no crime had been proven.”
“Well, he’s technically dead, that’s for sure,” Kale said, grinning. “I guess Dane doesn’t approve of rapists, whether they’re successful or not. All I know is that I would have killed him, too, if I found out what he’d done.”
They cut their conversation short as Dane returned to the armory. “Is the fire ready?” the king said. “The gate will be open by the time we get down the mountain.”
“It’s nearly up to pressure,” said Socrates.
Dane looked at him a moment, considering something. “Socrates, would you care to drive this thing? I’m not sure I even remember how it works.”
“I have been looking forward to it,” the ape said. He closed the firebox, secured the steel plate that protected it, and climbed up into the cab. Socrates didn’t bother closing the protective doors. This gave him room to stand while operating the tank, and a better view of where he was driving. With the twist of a few valves, the pull of a lever or two, and a loud hiss of steam, the Bonecrusher began to roll.
Despite being well-stored, the steering mechanisms had acquired some rust over the years and the Bonecrusher’s wheels had sunk into the stone floor. As the tank began to move, they heard an ear-shattering screech. There was a crash as the wheels broke free, followed by the grating, cracking sound of the steel spikes tearing into the stone.
Dane guided Socrates through a tight reverse turn, and then they proceeded through the great arched hallway at the back of the armory. The stone floor gave way to a steep slope of mixed soil and coarse granite. Socrates noticed an improvement in the machine’s handling characteristic
s. The spiked steel tracks worked much better on a terrain they could bite into, and the resulting ride was far less jarring.
The tunnel hadn’t been used in decades, and cobwebs crossed back and forth along the path, dangling down from the ceiling in fine strands that tore apart as the tank ran through them. Socrates made it to the bottom of the slope in short order. Here, the tunnel joined the main ramp at the mountain’s entrance. The soldiers had already pulled both doors wide open, and daylight came streaming in, casting a wide rectangle across the ramp. Socrates drove out onto the main road and his companions followed, blinking in the bright sunlight.
Socrates paused just outside the entrance to discuss their plan with Dane. They agreed the test should continue. This being decided, Socrates took the controls again and guided the Bonecrusher down the road and right through the middle of Stormwatch. Kale and Dane had both climbed up onto the rear of the tank. They sat there, taking in the fresh morning air and sunshine as they pulled into Stormwatch and went rattling through town. Hundreds of spectators came out to watch. Some followed after them, and the procession soon grew into a parade.
As they passed through the north end of town, Socrates shifted gears and gunned the throttle. The tank surged ahead, and Kale lost his grip. Thankfully, the king caught him by the jacket and yanked him back before he fell. After Kale was safe, the two men cautiously rose to their feet and climbed up to the top of the Bonecrusher to see what Socrates was doing. Kale’s face fell as he saw thick black columns of smoke rising up from the Iron Horse.
Socrates brought the tank to a screeching halt near the front of the train. The Horse was a disaster. Shredded sheet metal and broken glass littered the tracks. Smoke rolled up from several boxcars. At the far end of the train, the last two railcars had been overturned, and a third sat perched across the tracks at an awkward angle. Several more cars had sustained major damage.
The three of them leapt to the ground and rushed forward. At the same time, River and Thane came stumbling out of the passenger car behind the tender. Their clothes were torn, their faces bruised and bloody.
“What the devils happened?” Kale shouted as he ran up to them. “Are you all right?”
“We’re fine,” River said. “A few scratches, nothing major. The dragons gave up just before dawn.”
“Dragons?”
“Two of them. The big black was here, and a big green female, too.”
“I don’t understand,” said Dane. “Why would they attack your train?”
“They went after the starfall,” River said. “It wasn’t much, but they must have smelled it.”
“Did they succeed?” said Socrates.
“No, the weight of the locomotive held the tender car in place, and they couldn’t get inside. Thane and I tried to distract them, but you can see how that turned out.”
“When they couldn’t get the starfall, they took it out on us,” the bard said with a grimace. “I thought we’d never get out alive.”
“At least you’re both safe,” Socrates said. “Everything else, we can repair. Did the attack disrupt the distillation process?”
River shook her head. “The tanks were sealed, and the pump was bolted down. We have almost ten gallons of pure starfall.”
“That, at least, is good news. The concentration of starfall appears to have been much higher than I expected. This bodes well for Sanctuary.”
“And what about the dragon?” said Dane. “You haven’t forgotten our agreement?”
“Not at all. In fact, the dragon’s attack on the train has inspired me. I believe I now have a plan.”
The king narrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“Although we have been here for several days, last night was the first time the dragon attacked the train. I believe River is correct. He was, in fact, after the starfall.”
“You think he’ll try again?” said River.
“I don’t know for certain, but I mean to give him every reason.”
“You want to lure him to the fight,” Dane said thoughtfully. “That just might work. We can have the tank ready for him… The only problem with that plan is that he won’t come until after dark. By then, the dragon’s breath will be everywhere.”
“The mist won’t affect me,” said Socrates. “The rest of you would need respirators. Unfortunately, we only have one, and it’s a prototype.”
“Show us how to build them,” Dane said. “My engineers will make as many as you need.”
“It is not a perfect solution,” said Socrates. “The respirators require an oxygen tank. They’re somewhat cumbersome. The men wearing them won’t be able to engage in open combat.”
“We won’t need to,” said Dane. “We have the tank for that, and we can mount ballistae on steamwagons, as Kale suggested earlier. The dragon won’t stand a chance.”
Socrates glanced at the sun, already climbing high in the sky. He turned to River. “Take your respirator to Dane’s engineers and show them how to build it. Dane, I will need you to oversee the ballistae project. I’m going to assess the damage to the train and then retrieve another load of starfall. The more we have, the more certain we’ll lure him back here.”
“Consider it done,” Dane said with a grin. “Kale, are you with me?”
“You know it,” Kale said.
River stood next to Socrates with her arms folded across her chest, watching the two of them walk away. “What is that all about?” she said in a low voice. “Those two have been inseparable since we got here.”
“Kale seems to have found a father figure,” Socrates said. “However, I’m not sure what Dane is after.”
River considered that. “I never met Kale’s family,” she said absently. “They died before I was born. He was very young. I suppose it makes sense. He never had a father to look up to; to learn from.”
“Nor did you,” said Socrates. “You were an orphan, just like Kale, and like your mother.”
“Nothing special about that,” River said distastefully. “Thanks to the Vangars, we’re a whole generation of orphans.”
Socrates wandered off, his heavy footfalls and clicking gears fading into the distance. River stood watching as Kale and Dane disappeared into the city. When they finally vanished, she shook herself out of it and turned her attention to the task at hand.
River hurried back to Engineering to retrieve the respirator, only to realize after several minutes of searching that Micah had left it in the attic during Thane’s flamethrower episode. She climbed on a stepladder and poked her head into the narrow space. Unfortunately, it was far too small for her to fit inside. She cursed under her breath.
River could have used Micah’s help, but he hadn’t returned from the mountain yet. She wasn’t even sure if he had been back to the train at all. She’d hardly seen the halfling during the last two days. Both times he had been on his way to the top of Dragonwall, with his satchel full of sketchpads and pencils. That was probably where he was right now.
River located a length of steel bar long enough to retrieve the mask. She bent a hook into one end and then climbed up onto the ladder. It took a good deal of time and maneuvering to get the bar into the narrow space. Once she had it up there, it was another matter entirely to twist the bar around and get a grip on the respirator. After some time, River finally managed to pull the mask back within reach, but the oxygen tank still wouldn’t budge. Somehow, Micah had wedged it into the outside edge of the narrow compartment. It was stuck between the ceiling and the floor.
The hook of the bar wouldn’t fit around the tank, so River poked and pried on the ends. She tried jabbing it, hoping the pressure would force it to pop out. Nothing worked. No matter how she tried, the thing wouldn’t move. In the end, she decided to leave the tank behind so she could get the mask to Dane’s engineers as soon as possible.
River didn’t have the luxury of taking a steamwagon back to the mountain; they had been left behind that morning during the excitement. Her motorcycle -the steam-power
ed Boneshaker- was an option, but the amount of time needed to heat the boiler made it useless. She began the long trek on foot, with the mask tucked into a bag over her shoulder. It was noon, and the hot sun burned her skin. River was sweating by the time she made it into Stormwatch. Once there, she found the streets strangely quiet, almost empty. It wasn’t until she turned onto the main drive that she realized where everyone had gone.
Crowds had formed in the center town, outside the palace. At least a thousand people had gathered there, and as she approached the area, she saw that some of them were weeping and screaming while others shouted at the soldiers guarding the palace, threatening to riot and overrun them. River caught the arm of a freckle-faced boy in his teens who was running by.
“What’s going on?” she said.
“The baron is dead,” said the boy. “I heard a dragon killed him.”
“That’s a lie!” said another boy a few yards away. “My dad said he died in his sleep.”
“Poisoned,” said another voice behind her. River turned to see a middle-aged merchant with a long gray moustache. “The word among his staff is that Lord Fenn was poisoned last night.”
Chapter 29
River spoke with the man a bit longer, but it quickly became obvious that he had no more information beyond what he had already shared. She thanked him and went on her way. She moved through the crowd, listening to all the conversations going on around her. She heard accusations of murder and suicide, along with more dramatic stories that the baron was dispatched by the spell of an evil witch, or attacked by a monster that grew out of the dragon’s breath.
This last suggestion, as ridiculous as it sounded, was in River’s opinion entirely plausible. Not that a monster had literally grown out of the dragon’s breath, of course, but perhaps it had seemed so to Lord Fenn. River believed it was likely that the dragon’s breath had found a way into the palace, perhaps through an open window forgotten by a servant… or left open intentionally, as the case may be. After being exposed to the fog, the baron would have begun hallucinating, and quite likely suffered a heart attack. He hadn’t been in particularly good health after all, and it wouldn’t have taken a great deal of strain to stop the man’s heart.
The Dragon's Breath (Aboard the Great Iron Horse Book 3) Page 19
