Dawn Bringer

by E J Kitchens

“Probably not the half of it. Turn it around, Bertie. They found the iron.”

  Marianna gasped, her hand going to her mouth. Bertram turned the cart around.

  “My crew?” Marianna asked.

  “Being rounded up from the homes they were just dispersed to. The Time Keepers can’t prove the iron was heading for here, since the crate was smashed up and the manifest lost, but they suspect. They’ll question the crew. Would any of them know?”

  “Just me. I had some new crew members and so didn’t want to risk it. A few others knew we had Sky Keeper goods, but not what. I trust those, but the Time Keepers are good at knowing when someone’s hiding something.”

  And hiding something was tantamount to a confession in their eyes. And her crew were almost all Sky Keepers, and that was enough to get them in trouble if the Time Keepers felt like it, which they probably would with iron involved. She had to help them, but how?

  “For your sake as well as ours, you’d better not be found.” Robert eyed the gunnysack in the rear of the cart, for neither she nor Bertram wanted to be parted with it and had brought it along. His eyes flared wide. “Were you planning on sneaking off island with the captain, Bertie? And why does that sack reek of the faerie?”

  “Open it and see. Just keep your exclamations down.”

  Robert’s exclamations were silent, but more from a lack of ability to produce sound in his shock than in obedience. “You’ve got to get this off island and to the other Sky Keepers,” he said as soon as he could talk.

  “We are,” Bertram said firmly.

  “We need to get my crew off island to safety,” Marianna said with all the fierceness and determination she felt.

  “I’m not sure we can, Marianna,” Bertram said gently. “There are a lot of them, and the Time Keepers already have them. We’ll be lucky to get ourselves off now.”

  “I’m getting my crew off.” Somehow. With or without help.

  Bertram and Robert both looked at Marianna, then each other, and sighed.

  “We’re getting your crew off,” Bertram said with another sigh.

  Some of the stiffness eased from her shoulders. Thank you.

  “We might as well,” Robert added with a shrug. “The island’s in trouble anyway. The crew’s in trouble anyway. You know they can’t just leave and return to their normal lives, right?”

  Marianna cradled her cut arm, already considering who might hide them, how families could be reunited. “Yes. But at least they won’t be imprisoned, or worse.” Executed or enslaved in the mines.

  “But if your crew simply runs away,” Bertram said, not in argument, more in the manner of one bringing up something to consider, “that would endanger the entire Bowditch family and shipping line. It would shout complicity and guilt on a large scale.”

  Marianna didn’t respond for a moment, then asked, “Where do you think they’ll take them? I don’t want to endanger my family, but nor would my father want me to abandon my crew. He would tell me to save them.”

  Bertram gave her hand a quick squeeze, then urged the horse into a faster pace. “My guess is the warehouses next to the Time Keeper station at the airship port—the official one. The merchant ships are in at the seaport, and those warehouses will be full.”

  “We’ll have to use the bridge—we’ll have to let them die.” Robert’s grin was devious, and the gleam in his eyes decidedly malicious.

  Marianna’s heart leapt to her throat and refused to beat for several seconds. “I’m very tired and in a lot of pain,” she said crisply once she could speak again. “You might not want to make jokes like that around me.”

  She caught a strangled laugh from Bertram and turned briefly to glare at him before shifting that look to Robert.

  He cleared his throat, and that gleam disappeared. “Sorry. Forgot. You don’t know about the bridge.”

  “No.”

  “It’s something we rigged up in case the Time King came for a visit,” Bertram explained. “There was an old lady who swore he would come, said he was partly the island’s fault and it was our responsibility to do something about him. So when it came time to rebuild the bridge going out to the airship port, we designed it to collapse—when desired.”

  Marianna’s eyebrows shot up, and then she grinned a wicked grin. “I like you Sheffielders.”

  8

  The inhabitants of Sheffield-on-the-Sea were prepared for anything. Which is why Bertram was sitting in the sitting room of one of the remotest cottages wearing a bushy fake beard and a borrowed airman’s jacket and cap. And why he had two sleeping darts loaded into the gauntlet of the PullLine Philip had given him years before and that he’d loaned to Robert and almost forgotten about, and that, along with a knife and additional darts, hidden under his clothes. The islanders were always prepared, and so now was he.

  The airman he was impersonating, Marianna’s third mate, was hiding in the shed. Marianna and Robert were off gathering aid for the rescue, Lydia securing their escape with the circus. His niece and nephew were at the circus with their aunt. He’d miss saying goodbye to them.

  To keep himself from pacing the room, Bertram propped his bandaged leg—the one with the gash from the fall into the cave—on a chair his understanding hostess set out for him and reminded himself he was supposed to be an injured airman with a missing captain. He adopted a brooding attitude as he stared about him. He affected surprise and alarm when the Time Keepers arrived. And with a genuine thanks for the kindly Mrs. Nells, he grimaced and limped his way to the Time Keepers’ truck, a long, broad thing with a long bed covered in a brown canvas top, and which rather reminded him of a brown beetle that smoked.

  He hauled himself inside and took a seat on a bench toward the middle. Marianna had a crew of twenty men and women, and they were all crammed into that one truck. He was the last to be picked up. Two Time Keeper guards were in the back with them, and one rode with the automaton in the cab.

  The man Bertram shared the exact middle bench with fit the description Marianna had given him of the first mate—even in his sitting choice. From that position, the man could easily see all his crew and be near them all. He looked Bertram up and down, his expression turning from suspicious to downright dangerous. Bertram got the same feeling from all the crew he’d passed getting in. He didn’t fool anyone except the Time Keepers. He could relate to men and women who cared for their own, and as he glanced up and down the rows again, meeting those dangerous gazes, he found his thinking shifting from the rescue being something he was doing for Marianna to something he was doing for them, these strangers who currently wanted to toss him overboard for impersonating and, for all they knew, harming one of their own.

  “Gilded crystals, Sawyers,” Bertram said roughly as he inched nearer the man with the deadly glare and the rank of first mate. “Must you take up the entire bench?”

  The officer’s eyes widened. He looked Bertram up and down again, and the glare melted away. “Gilded crystals” was apparently a magic phrase to the Bowditch crew. Strange choice, but as long as it got him their loyalty—and kept them from reporting him to the Time Keepers—what did it matter?

  The tension in the truck bed dropped to a tolerable level, curiosity taking its place. After checking the attention of the two guards, Bertram sank a little lower in the seat and cautiously tugged up one sleeve to reveal the PullLine gauntlet. Since Philip had given it to him, it had the mark of the Bowditch shipping line on it. He slipped a couple of the sleeping darts from a hidden pocket in his jacket and gave them to Sawyers, indicating one was for the rear guard.

  Sawyers nodded curtly and loaded a dart into his PullLine, also hidden under his jacket. That done, he looked back to Bertram, his expression cautiously hopeful in the light of the lamps hanging from the metal skeleton giving shape to the canvas. What of my captain? he seemed to ask.

  “In honor, not memory,” Bertram said softly, and at the man’s visible relief, Bertram felt a twinge of jealousy. Just what kind of esteem did the first mate
have for his captain?

  Chagrined at his foolishness, Bertram quietly explained the plan to Sawyers, then settled in to listen and watch. At the waterfall’s roar, it would begin.

  Before long they were speeding down the winding coastal road to the airship docks. The truck bed was quiet, Sawyers having ordered all his men to silence. They sat alert and ready, though for what they couldn’t know. Not with the two Time Keepers sauntering up and down the aisle between the parallel rows of benches, preventing even a wave of whispers from traveling the truck bed.

  Over the flapping of a loose end of the canvas cover came the roar of a waterfall. Bertram nudged Sawyer’s arm and scooted forward in his seat, addressing the men ahead, leaving a clear path between the first mate and the rear guard. Tugging his own sleeve back enough to expose his gauntlet, Bertram tapped his foot against his companion’s and aimed the sleeping dart on his gauntlet to the front guard. One, two, three! He fired the sleeping dart.

  The guard in front hit the floor as the rear guard fell into a seat. Bertram and Sawyers jumped from their bench, Sawyers directing two nimble airmen to roll back the canvas covering and Bertram collecting the spent darts. The lamps hanging from the truck’s frame would light them up perfectly to those above.

  “We’ve got to get the guard in the cab. They must all be unconscious before we leave.” Standing next to Sawyers again, Bertram strained to be heard as the crew started to sing to cover the sound of them scrambling about, pairing up, an injured airman with a fit airman.

  Sawyers nodded, then tapped two young men on the shoulder and leaned close to talk to them. He gave them his extra sleeping dart, and as the pair started toward the front of the vehicle, Bertram moved to follow. Sawyers caught his arm. “You don’t have to do everything yourself, Orren.”

  Bertram started to protest, then nodded in thanks, common sense and relief washing away the vestiges of pride. “Climbing around on fast-moving vehicles isn’t really in my usual line of work,” he admitted.

  Sawyers gave him an understanding smile. “It’s not a job I’d recommend taking up at our age.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Bertram replied in mock gruffness. “I’m still in my prime.” He looked to the sky at their rear and pointed to the yellow lights outlining a glider soaring toward them. “Young enough to enjoy flying.”

  The airman’s face lit up with a grin as he followed Bertram’s gaze. “I’ve missed being in the air.” He sprang into motion, another officer joining him in lining up the pairs of airmen under the open top, two pairs on the left, two on the right. The officers watched the approaching glider, then signaled the first set of pairs to deploy their PullLines to the wings near the body of the craft, then the next set to the wings near the tips. The ship dipped as the lines attached and the eight men flew up, but the ship rose again, veering away and soon clearing the cliff top ahead. Thanking the Maker for the nearby hanger and the flying club of brave Sky Keepers willing to take a risk, Bertram turned his attention back to the sky behind.

  “Here’s the next one!” he cried a moment later as the two young airmen climbed back into the bed with the unconscious guard held between them. Bertram collected the stun dart as Sawyers and the other officer directed the exit of eight more men and women. One set of lines missed the wing, and the ship listed to the side, but the airmen fired again, hitting the wing this time and rising up.

  Bertram’s heart beat faster anyway, knowing the bridge was coming up fast. They couldn’t slow or stop the truck without exploding the automaton, for that’s what happened when one messed with a navigator.

  “Group up, Orren,” Sawyers yelled at him as the last three lined up. The lights of the third and final glider grew closer.

  “Sorry, Sawyers,” Bertram said, watching the narrow roadside now. A single headlight flashed on ahead. “I’ve got my own ride.” He looked back over at the officers. “The people of my island will take care of you and hide you from the Time Keepers until they can get you all off.”

  Sawyers’s eyebrows rose, and he grinned, a pleased kind of confirmation in his eyes. “Captain’s orders?” he inquired as the men rearranged themselves.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, you won’t be needing us then.” He winked back at Bertram. “Captain Bowditch will take good care of you. May the Maker be with you both.”

  “We’ll take care of one another,” Bertram retorted as the three men shot up. He picked up one of the unconscious Time Keepers as the motorcycle neared and dragged him to the side of the truck. He could just hear the roar of the second waterfall ahead, whose torrent poured under the cleverly designed bridge and into the sea.

  Driving the motorcycle with all the confidence he’d expect from her, Marianna pulled up alongside the truck, bringing the small trailer she towed even with him and as close to the truck’s side as she dared, and she dared pretty far. Fortunately for him. Grunting, he lifted the Time Keeper onto the railing and dumped him over and onto the trailer.

  “Hurry!” Marianna cried. “Bridge coming up!”

  Bertram hefted the next one, wondering how much the Maker cared about them caring for their neighbors. He dumped him overboard, figuring it would be best to assume the Maker cared a lot.

  “Bertram!” There was panic in Marianna’s voice.

  Bertram grabbed the last man and threw them both over the railing. He landed on a guard and rolled off the pile of unconscious men as Marianna slammed on the brakes. Bracing his feet against the railing, he used his body to wedge the guards into place as the trailer whipped around faster than he liked and they raced away from the bridge. The truck rattled as it crossed the boundary between road and bridge, then, with a crack and a roar of water, the bridge collapsed. Chunks of metal and stonework hit the rocks below, some catching on the boulders, some breaking away and flowing out to sea. The truck toppled over, the bed breaking away and washing further out than the cab. Perfect for losing passengers.

  Marianna brought the motorcycle and trailer to a halt and backed them up. Robert and Bertram’s neighbor Thomas sprinted from their place of concealment near the waterfall and helped Bertram unload the guards and, after dunking them in the water, place them near enough to the road and watercourse for them to assume, when they woke, that they must have jumped just before reaching the “already collapsed bridge” or had somehow swum to safety from the wreckage. Bertram had convinced a few sailors to give up their hats to be found in the water to further support their story of a bridge that washed out due to the recent storms and all the airmen aboard the bus perishing due to their previous injuries and inability to swim to safety.

  That done, Thomas left them on Aishling and Robert took over the motorcycle and headed them toward the circus.

  One motorcycle ride up a winding coastal road, one trip on an officially-illegal-but-Time-Keeper-used toll lift up the cliff side, and one wagon ride later, the glittering, many-hued lights of a circus fought the dullness of the sky crystals’ uninspiring illumination and won.

  They parked behind the circus, and Lydia soon found them. A man a little bigger than Bertram, some fifteen or so years older than him and well-muscled, with a selection of knives strapped across his chest and guns on his belt, walked beside her. There was a keenness to his gaze and confidence in his expression that suggested his strengths weren’t all in muscles and weapons. Bertram wasn’t easily intimidated, but he had a feeling this man could do it, if he wanted.

  With him was a young, dark-haired woman about twenty, her lithe build and costume suggesting a trapeze artist. Something about the way she carried herself and studied them hinted she took after her father quite a bit. Despite the dim lighting, the girl’s eyes were concealed behind dark goggles.

  Though he trusted his sister’s judgment, Bertram couldn’t help reaching out a hand to the stuffed gunnysack resting on the ground between him and Marianna. He found Marianna’s hand there too, and she smiled at him in shared laughter at their over-protectiveness.

  As the stranger
s reached them, the man held out his hand with a friendly smile. “Cal Andrews, knife thrower, sharpshooter, Sky Keeper smuggler.” He gave the girl beside him a look of affection and pride. “And this is my daughter, Abigail. But we call her Prism because she sees many colors where others see only one.”

  “And that’s not nearly as fun as it sounds,” the girl said with a smile as she shook their hands. “But it has its uses.” Bertram caught a hint of a secret in that softly spoken statement and wondered about this pair of entertainers and smugglers.

  “So,” Cal said meaningfully as he looked them over with a teasing light in his eye, “I’m told the great smuggler captain of the cloud paths needs the help of a landlubber.”

  Marianna shot Bertram a wicked grin, and he was somehow both enchanted and alarmed. “Why yes. Bertram is afraid of heights.”

  The adventure continues…

  THE STAR CLOCK CHRONICLES, BOOK 2

  * * *

  Airship captain Davy Bowditch wants to build a Star Clock so man won’t be dependent on the Time King and his automaton navigators, but to do that, he’ll need the help of one very unusual woman—if he can convince her he didn’t kidnap her on purpose—and an airship pirate—if he can convince him he didn’t kill his son. But in a world where sun and stars are myths, the truth of their existence long hidden behind a faerie veil, trying to build a clock is tantamount to treason.

  * * *

  Coming November 28, 2020. Available for pre-order. Sign up for my newsletter for a special release edition with fun facts and activities related to the story.

  A Free Novelette

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  Janawyn Stahl is convinced there’s a connection between her godfather’s suspiciously talkative automaton named Theo and his lost nephew, but can she protect Theo from the evil Mouse King long enough to find out?