River continued on her way.
The fastest way to the top of the mountain was in the trolley, so once back inside Dragonwall, River located one of the loading points and climbed aboard. She activated the system using the lever, as Dane had done previously. This all came off flawlessly until she missed the shutoff lever for the Engineering lab. The platform continued on its way, with River frantically searching the path ahead for another lever. She finally managed to stop it somewhere on the next floor. From there, she located the stairs and made her way back to Engineering on foot.
Dane had already sent one of his men to warn the engineers about his special project. They were waiting for River when she arrived. She showed them the respirator, and briefly explained how it worked.
“The mask is simple,” she said. “The one-way valve only allows fresh air in from the oxygen tank.”
“Oxygen tank?” said one of the engineers. She was a middle-aged woman with a round, freckly face. River looked her up and down and then looked at the others. None of them had a clue what she was talking about.
“You don’t have oxygen tanks?” she said. They shuffled their feet. River groaned. Even with all their technology, Dragonwall’s engineers had never had a reason to compress air into tanks. They hadn’t even realized it could be done. This left River with the choice of adapting their existing technology to her design, or coming up with something entirely new. Either way, it wouldn’t be easy.
“Show me what you have,” River said. “Do you have water pumps? Do you have a press to form hot leather?”
From that moment on, it was a scramble. The rest of the day was a blur. River did eventually find a way to build the masks and oxygen tanks, but it took a good part of the day just to get the process started. By the time River reached a point she could leave the engineers to finish the work on their own, it was late afternoon. She decided to head back to the Iron Horse and check on the status of the train’s repairs.
On the plateau outside Dragonwall’s entrance, River found Kale and Dane mounting the ballistae onto the steamwagons. When River saw that they were doing this without reinforcing the floors, or even bolting support brackets to the frames, she nearly blew a gasket. It took another hour to straighten the situation out. She had to teach Kale and Dane the proper way to mount heavy weapons on rolling platforms. Without her help, the ballistae would have fallen through the floors, or toppled off the steamwagons’ sides without ever firing a shot.
When River finally made it back to the Iron Horse, Socrates was just returning from the cave with several barrels full of unrefined starfall. Inside the tender car, the first vat was already half full of the pure, distilled element. River took a moment to explain everyone’s progress, and then told Socrates about the death of Lord Fenn. The gears in his chest whined softly and puffs of steam rose up from his chimney as the ape listened to her story.
“Your conclusion seems probable,” he said when she had finished. “Lord Fenn’s health was failing. I was sure of it the moment I saw him. The question is whether or not it was murder. And if it was, who would have wanted him dead?”
“I can think of a few hundred people, right off the top of my head,” River said with a grim smile.
“Indeed. Dane and his followers in the mountain, certainly.”
“The strange thing,” River said, “is that so many people in town were upset by his death. I didn’t realize so many citizens were loyal to him.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Socrates. “The baron has been waging a war of intrigue for years. It seems Lord Fenn was particularly adept at sabotaging Dane’s plans, all the while blaming the failures on his brother. Many people in Stormwatch believed this propaganda. After all, we believed it ourselves until we met Dane in person.”
“I suppose you’re right,” River said. “What do you think will happen now?”
“That all depends. If the people of Stormwatch decide the baron’s brother murdered him, we may be caught in the midst of a civil war.”
River’s eyes widened. “We won’t let that happen, will we?”
“I’m afraid we don’t have much choice in the matter. It is not up to us to tell these people how to react, or what to believe. If they believe Dane killed his brother, who are we to say they are wrong?”
“No!” River said. “You can’t seriously believe Dane would kill his own brother?”
“He threw one of his own men into the volcano, did he not?”
“Yes, but that was different. That was a punishment for a serious crime.”
“Perhaps. Unfortunately, punishment without due process is no substitute for justice. Regardless, it would be wise to exercise caution. After all, we are strangers here, and I doubt they would welcome our meddling. Should these people suddenly decide to take us prisoners and salvage our supplies, we could do little to stop them. For now, we must allow events to take their natural course.”
“So we do nothing?”
“We focus on completing the job to which we are committed. I will return to the cavern and extract more starfall. In the meanwhile, I would like you to familiarize yourself with the Bonecrusher’s controls.”
A smile crept over her face. “You want me to drive it?”
“Drive it, shoot it, learn how fast -or slow- it moves, and how accurate the cannons are. If we are successful in luring the black dragon back here, we will need an expert driver.”
“I thought you’d never ask!”
Socrates climbed back onto the steamwagon and drove off to retrieve more starfall. River wandered over to the Bonecrusher, just a dozen or so yards from the locomotive, and began her initial inspection. She checked the tank’s firebox and found the embers from that morning still warm. She stoked the fire with fresh coal, and climbed aboard. While she waited for the boiler to get up to pressure, River acquainted herself with the controls.
The tank’s very small cockpit had a single seat for the operator, and a narrow space to his right for the gunner. The tank was outfitted with a single-shot cannon of a design slightly more advanced than what River was familiar with. Instead of using a powder charge and a large ball, both units had been integrated into a single shell approximately two feet long and ten inches in diameter. The outer shell was made of brass, and the ammunition at the end of the shell was conically shaped, rather than round. The back end of the shell was flat, and it had an integrated percussion explosive of some sort.
If she understood the mechanism correctly, a spring-driven hammer would drive into the back of the shell, setting off the explosives inside. Firing the round would automatically discharge the empty shell behind the tank, leaving the chamber empty for the gunner to insert another round. Extra rounds were stored on shelves to the left and right of the cockpit. River counted a dozen of them, apparently ready to fire. She also noted a tool box, a length of rope, and several pairs of thick earmuffs hanging from hooks behind the seat.
River checked the gauges and saw that the boiler was up to temperature. Before firing her first shot, she drove the Bonecrusher out onto the plains, a few miles west of Stormwatch. This was a calculated risk. River knew that if there was a misfire, the accident could be deadly. Being so far from the city, it was likely no one would get there in time to save her. On the other hand, the tank’s cannon appeared to be an extremely powerful weapon. Until River learned how to use it properly, she didn’t want to risk hurting any innocent civilians. It was best to take that risk herself.
Before firing the cannons, River drove the tank for some time, testing its limits. She wasn’t sure how fast it had been before the modifications Socrates had performed, but it certainly seemed faster than what Dane had described. Not as fast as a steamwagon, and certainly not as fast as the Iron Horse, but she estimated that it went at least twenty miles per hour. That was more than a person could do on foot and almost as fast as a horse could gallop.
Of course, the ability to go that fast and the desire to do so were two separate things. River quickly learned t
hat the tank had no suspension whatsoever. It was a steel frame sitting on heavy steel axles, mounted to solid steel tires. The only cushion at all was the spring under the seat, and it was dangerously erratic. She hit a large pothole at one point, and the seat bounced her right into the ceiling. She narrowly avoided a concussion by throwing her arms out to catch herself, which of course left the tank speeding along with no one at the controls.
After that heart-stopping exercise, River decided it was best to keep her speed down. She decided it was time to try out the cannon. Parking the Bonecrusher at a safe distance from the city, River moved out of the pilot’s seat and into the gunner’s platform. With a little experimentation, she found that, using a hand-crank, it was possible to raise the level of the barrel and aim for greater distance, or lower it to fire at close-range targets. Unfortunately, since the turret was welded onto the chassis, the only way to aim the cannon horizontally was by turning the entire vehicle back and forth. In battle, this would make it impossible for one person to operate the tank and fire at the same time.
River spun the Bonecrusher around to face the north, the opposite direction of the city. She put on a pair of the earmuffs and said a few words aloud, listening to the muffled sound of her own voice echoing in the tiny space. Satisfied that she was adequately protected, River loaded a round, locked the chamber, and peered through the scope.
She saw a large rock protruding from the soil a little over half a mile in the distance. She lined up the cannon using the rock as a target. She cranked the handle a bit, raising the barrel to meet the indicator at one thousand yards. This left her target exactly at the center of the scope’s viewfinder.
“Time to see if this thing works,” she said.
River took a deep breath, braced herself, and squeezed the trigger. There was a massive explosion. The barrel next to her recoiled, shaking the entire tank. The firing mechanism flawlessly ejected the empty shell from the chamber, pushing it out through a hole in the rear of the tank. River let out a cheer.
She put her eye back to the scope. Judging from the large crater the explosion had left in the ground, River had missed her target by about twenty feet. She quickly loaded another round, adjusted her aim, and fired again. The second shot was dead on. It obliterated the rock she was aiming at, and left another nice round crater off to the right of the first.
River was satisfied that she could operate the tank as well as anyone, but she couldn’t resist firing one more shot before leaving. She loaded up another round. While setting up her shot, she noted how warm the barrel had become from the first two firings, and how that warmth had already started creeping into the cockpit. She could imagine that after firing ten or fifteen rounds, the inside of that tank would be sweltering.
River took a minute to get her next shot lined up. She chose something closer this time, so she could dial in the settings on the tank’s viewfinder. She decided on a tree stump about two hundred yards in front of the tank. She figured this was a reasonable distance, and probably the closest she would get to the dragon anyway. When she had the shot lined up, River braced herself and pulled the trigger. She heard a click, followed by… nothing.
Her heart sank. For some reason, the missile had misfired. No, it hadn’t misfired… the thing hadn’t fired at all, which meant it was still jammed in there, potentially waiting to explode at any second. River turned her head. She stared at the cannon next to her, silent, motionless, the device inside taunting her.
With a sigh, she went to work on the firing mechanism. River pulled back on the lever at the rear of the barrel, trying to force an ejection. With a loud click! the chamber partially opened, revealing the unexploded round inside. A sense of dread gnawed at her guts. River pulled back on the lever again, trying to force it out, but the thing was jammed in tight. Her eyes narrowed, half-expecting the thing to explode the moment she touched it.
When it didn’t, River forced herself to take a breath before she started -very carefully- twisting it. The round resisted at first, but after a few gentle attempts, the shell began to move. River directed it back, sliding the round out of the chamber. The danger increased exponentially as the tip appeared. It had been primed to explode, and if the round went off now, it would destroy the tank and River along with it.
She started to lift the round out of the barrel, but as it turned, the rear part of the housing caught on the edge of the barrel. River gave it a tug, but it was wedged in tight. She pushed it, trying to move it back into the barrel to restart the whole process, but even that didn’t work. She continued in this manner for several minutes, pushing and pulling, trying to twist it as gently as possible, but no matter how she tried, the round refused to give up. River located the tool box under the seat. She dug through it, looking for a pry bar or a long screwdriver; anything that might allow her to remove the device. What she found was a hammer.
“No,” she said aloud, as if the sound of her own voice might somehow banish the thought she had been thinking. She held it up, staring at it. “I’m not going to do it. That would be suicide…”
River tossed the hammer back in the box. She stared at it for a minute, and then put her hands on the unexploded round and gave it another tug. Just as before, it refused to move. She lifted the hammer and felt the weight of it in her grip.
“It’s not my problem,” she said. “I’ll make Socrates deal with it, or Dane…”
River swung the hammer, wincing as she struck the end of the round. It was a gentle strike, but the metal rang loud and hollow inside the tank. Surprisingly, it didn’t explode. It also didn’t move. River held her breath and hit it again, this time a little harder. To her surprise, the round moved. She set the hammer down and gave it a tug, expecting it to come free at last. The device remained stubbornly locked in place.
With a snarl, River lifted the hammer and hit it a third time. This time, she hit it hard enough to either guarantee it would come out or explode. One way or another, something had to happen. She couldn’t take the suspense any longer…
The hammer struck the end of the missile and bounced back, nearly striking her in the face. She twisted, regaining control as the round clattered back inside the chamber. River leapt back to the rear of the cannon, locked the chamber, and pulled the ejection lever. This time, it moved. The lever swung back, the round clattering around inside as the ejection mechanism lifted it out and dumped it unceremoniously on the ground under the tank.
River dropped into the seat, panting. Beads of perspiration had formed on her forehead, her chest, and on the back of her neck. Now the air was suddenly cool. She looked down at her shaking hands and felt a chill crawl down her spine.
Now what? she thought. She had to get the tank away from the unexploded round. It wasn’t safe sitting there, parked right on top of the thing. Then again, she also couldn’t just leave the device there. What if an animal came along, and touched it? Or a child?
Devils! she thought. She couldn’t just leave it there. She had to do something. She had to get out and pick it up…
Chapter 30
River located the unexploded round just a few feet from the Bonecrusher’s rear wheel. For a few minutes, she just stood on the rear of the vehicle, staring down at the explosive, considering her options. She couldn’t take the shell inside the tank with her. River didn’t have a death wish. Frankly, she didn’t want to touch the thing at all. Unfortunately, leaving it where it was wasn’t an option either.
River ducked back inside the tank. She snatched up the coil of rope hanging from the back of the pilot’s seat and hurried back outside. She climbed down the ladder at the rear of the Bonecrusher, lowering herself swiftly to the ground. She knotted a loop into the end of the rope, painfully aware that the slightest movement could activate the device like a bomb. If it went off, the explosion would probably tear her to pieces. If she was lucky, it would happen fast. The thought of lying there with her body ripped in half, waiting to die, made her stomach churn.
River reached
out and put her hands on the cold, smooth brass. Very carefully, she lifted the end of the unexploded shell and secured the loop around its base. Still holding her breath, she placed the shell back on the ground and rose to her feet. Slowly, she backed away. At last, she exhaled. She uncoiled the rest of the rope and took the end of it, climbing up onto the Bonecrusher as fast as she could. She was in the middle of knotting the other end of the rope to one of the handrails when a voice cried out:
“River!”
She gasped, jerking upright, striking her head on a metal bar. She grunted, rubbing at the pain and muttering a string of curses under her breath. Gritting her teeth, she turned and saw Micah running across the plains, halfway between the Bonecrusher and Stormwatch. He appeared rather distressed, which was the only thing that saved him from getting a serious talking to.
River was about to climb down to meet him when a sudden explosion of dirt and rocks ten yards behind the halfing stopped her in her tracks. Micah lost his footing and went tumbling across the rough terrain. River frowned. She straightened up, putting a hand to her forehead to shield her eyes.
“Micah!” she shouted. “What’s going on?”
The diminutive man lurched to his feet and broke into a full-out run. Behind him, the ground erupted and a massive wormlike creature burst into the air. The alabaster-fleshed worm rose straight up to a height of almost thirty feet. It froze there momentarily, extending up out of the earth like a monolithic ivory tower thrusting into the sky. Then it went limp and began to collapse, falling straight towards the halfling.
“Micah, run!” River shouted, waving her arms. “It’s going to crush you!”
Micah put on a burst of speed. He ran with one hand extended up to hold onto his hat, the other clinging desperately to the strap of his precious satchel.
The Dragon's Breath (Aboard the Great Iron Horse Book 3) Page 20
