The Dragon's Breath (Aboard the Great Iron Horse Book 3)

by Jamie Sedgwick

  “We need to distill it,” she explained. “If I start the process now, we should have a gallon or more by morning. Besides, I’ll feel better keeping an eye on it myself.”

  Socrates was fine with this. Thane offered to keep her company. “Dragonwall is nice,” he said, “but I’d like to sleep in my own bed tonight. Besides, I need to tune my lute.”

  “Maybe I should stay, too,” Kale said, giving the bard a suspicious look.

  “Nonsense!” King Dane clapped his hand down on Kale’s shoulder. “I insist you return to Dragonwall with me. You and I have many stories yet to tell.”

  “It’s settled then,” said Socrates. “River, keep the doors and windows sealed, and don’t forget to pressurize the oxygen system. We’ll see you first thing in the morning. The rest of you, move out.”

  They filed out of the room and shuffled off to the steamwagons and Dane’s coach for the ride back to the mountain.

  As soon as the others were gone, River went to work. Gentleman that he was, Thane was quick to offer his assistance. Between the two of them, they managed to carry the barrel of starfall from the steamwagon to the tender car by hand. Once they had it in place, River installed a hand pump through the barrel’s bung and began pumping the fuel into one of the large copper storage vats.

  “It’s getting dark,” Thane said. He was standing in the door of the tender car, looking up towards the mountain. The fog was creeping down the backside of Dragonwall in long, fingerlike tendrils. Overhead, puffs of mist drifted by like clouds, twenty or thirty feet off the ground.

  “Just a few more minutes,” River said. “Why don’t you wait for me in the next car?”

  Thane turned to stare at her. Beads of perspiration had begun to form on her face and throat, but she continued working the pump furiously. The sleeve of her loose-fitting blouse slid from her shoulder, exposing River’s bare skin. Thane watched her for a moment and then forced his gaze away, trying not to stare at the exposed cleavage where her blouse parted beneath her glistening throat. He cleared his throat.

  “I suppose I should go make sure the door is unlocked,” he said, averting his gaze. “So we don’t accidentally get locked out.”

  River watched him jump off the platform and disappear out of sight. A smile came to her lips. She spent another minute pumping the barrel until it ran dry. She released the valve on the pump and lifted it out of the vat, careful not to spill any on her skin. As she pulled it out, the end of the pipe grazed something inside the vat. River couldn’t be sure, but she thought a piece of debris might have fallen into the tank. She made a mental note to clean it out later.

  River connected the valve at the bottom of the tank to a length of pipe that ran into the distiller Socrates had built. She had already started a fire in the steam engine’s firebox, so she turned down the oxygen and released the pressure into the pump. It began to turn, forcing the starfall-imbued water through a boiler and a series of filters. At the end of the process, pure starfall dripped into a second vat, while a mist of steam occasionally spurted out

  The invention was an improvement on an old design that Socrates had invented. The extra pressure that the pump provided made the process much quicker. Unfortunately, it also meant that if the fire ran low, the pump would shut off, and River wouldn’t be there stoke it. There was no avoiding that possibility. She closed the vats, returned the hand pump to its proper storage place, and then locked up the tender car on her way out. She found Thane standing outside, staring nervously at the fog as it hovered ever closer to the ground.

  “I told you we’d be fine,” River said. “Let’s get inside!”

  “Not a moment too soon,” the bard said under his breath.

  Safely inside the train, the couple made their way through dark and eerie corridors to the dining lounge, near the halfway point. They lit the lanterns hanging over the bar and then Thane, who had stepped behind the bar, leaned over the bar top and said, “What’ll you have, ma’am?” imitating Vann’s simple country dialect.

  River chuckled. “I have to activate the oxygen pump, she said. And I probably shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach.”

  “Excellent point,” the bard said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “I’ll see what we have stocked in the kitchen.”

  River hurried back to the Engineering car to perform the simple task of opening two valves. She hadn’t even realized how exhausted she was from her long day of work until she had to climb back up the hill to the dining car, which was located at the top of the slope just outside of Stormwatch. When she got there, she was panting.

  The delightful smell of food washed over her, and River’s stomach rumbled. She pulled up a barstool and glanced through the opening behind the bar into the kitchen. She saw Thane working at the stove. He was wearing a chef’s coat. Flames and smoke leapt up around him, and she heard pots and pans clanging against the cast iron cook top. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled as he caught her watching him.

  “Just a few more minutes!” he called out.

  River smiled. She looked down and realized that Thane had already poured a cold tankard of ale for her, and left it on the counter. She lifted it gratefully to her lips and took a long swig. The warmth of the alcohol seeped out into her limbs, and a deep sense of relaxation overcame her. She inhaled deeply, savoring the smell of food wafting out of the kitchen.

  It didn’t smell like Vann’s cooking. Vann was a decent chef, but he was a simple farm boy at heart. Most of his recipes involved copious amounts of butter or lard and very little in the way of seasoning or complexity. His biscuits and gravy were second to none, but nothing Vann made could hold a candle to the bread Socrates made. Now, smelling the wonderful aromas of Thane’s cooking, River suddenly experienced the guilty feeling that she might be the only person on the train who couldn’t cook a meal to save her life.

  Thane came out a minute later, still wearing the chef’s shirt, and carrying two plates. “Dinner is served!” he said. River clapped her hands, and Thane took a bow.

  “I had no idea you could cook,” she said. “Is this chicken?”

  “It was part of my training. And yes, it’s chicken. It’s one of my favorite recipes.”

  “What training are you talking about?”

  “At the fort…”

  River frowned.

  “I’ve never told you about this, have I?”

  River shook her head. Thane reached under the bar and pulled out a bottle of wine. He poured two glasses, and then walked around the bar to settle onto the stool next to her.

  “The soldiers at the fort where Shayla and I grew up taught us certain survival skills. As you know, Shayla was the true heir to the throne of Astatia, but with the kingdom in turmoil, they knew she might never safely return. In order to guarantee her safety, they taught us the skills we would need to survive discreetly, should the fort ever be attacked. That way, if we had to flee, we could find work in a tavern or inn just about anywhere.”

  “That’s why you became a bard?”

  “My instruction began as survival training at first: self-defense, hunting, cooking, and so forth, but I excelled at the arts. I had an affinity for music. With Shayla’s natural beauty and charm, it was an obvious choice to teach her to accompany my music with singing. She’s quite good. Naturally, we also learned the codes of etiquette and chivalry befitting the royal family. And of course, they also gave us weapons training, and many other useful skills.”

  “I had no idea you were so… complicated.”

  “I’m not,” Thane said with a wink. “I’m just a bard, trying to make a living.”

  “Sure you are,” River said, taking a sip of her wine. She lifted her fork, sampling the meal Thane had prepared. He watched her as she took her first bite, measuring her reaction. River’s eyes lit up.

  “The meat is so tender… and moist! What is that flavor? It’s sweet.”

  “I can show you how to make it, if you like,” Thane said.

  “I don’t kn
ow about that. The last time Socrates asked me to watch his bread, I burned it to a crisp-”

  They heard a loud crash in the distance, and the railcar shook ever so slightly. River’s senses went on full alert. She glanced at Thane.

  “What was that?” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

  River leapt off the stool and drew her revolver. She crossed over to the windows and leaned across a booth, gazing out into the darkness. Thane came up behind her, leaning close as he strained for a better view. River felt his warm body press up against her, and his hot breath on the back of her neck.

  “It’s too dark,” she said. She stood upright and turned to face him, and found their bodies pressed indecently close.

  “Thane-” she started to say, but was cut short by a bone-chilling screech. River twisted and pushed Thane out of her way. She broke into a run towards the front of the train. The door made a hissing sound as she pulled it open. The canopy between the boxcars was airtight, but it wasn’t pressurized. She ignored this, and raced into the next car. Thane ran after her.

  As they approached the locomotive, the noises grew louder and the boxcars began to shake violently. At last, just a few cars back from the tender car, River finally got a glimpse of what was going on outside the windows. She stopped in her tracks. Thane nearly plowed over the top of her. River’s hand flashed out, latching onto a vertical pole as she caught her balance.

  “What is it?” Thane said, blinking. “What happened?”

  “We have company,” River said in a low voice. She turned, staring out the window. Thane followed her gaze and saw a shimmer of movement in the fog. There was something large out there… something large and black.

  “It’s the dragon!” he said in a whisper.

  Outside the window, the fog churned and swirled, blocking out their view of the massive creature. They caught a glimpse of movement; something smooth and glistening that could only have been part of the creature’s wing. They leaned over the seat, pressing close to the window, trying to separate shape from shadow in the darkness outside.

  “What does it want?” Thane whispered.

  River glanced at him. “He’s attacking the tender car. He must be able to smell the starfall.” She straightened up. “We need to distract him.”

  Thane narrowed his eyes. “Distract! Are you crazy?”

  River bit her lip. The revolver in her hand suddenly seemed impotently small. She considered the possibilities: The Iron Horse didn’t contain any weapons big enough to hurt that dragon. Not in any significant way. She might possibly be able to lure the creature away from the train, but she would have to wear her respirator and carry an oxygen tank while doing it. The thought of trying to outrun a dragon while carrying all that gear made her stomach flip.

  At that moment, a huge serpentine eye appeared outside window. They froze. Only a thin sheet of glass seperated them from the massive creature. It blinked, and the inner membraneous eyelids slid back and forth vertically. For a few seconds, they didn’t move. They didn’t even breathe. Then the head turned away from them, and River realized that the dragon staring through the windows at them was not the big black. It was a smaller, emerald green dragon.

  She took one step back and the creature swerved its head, ramming the side of the passenger car. The chassis shook violently. River and Thane both lost their balance and fell to the floor. As they scrambled to regain their footing, the emerald dragon swung its head back and rammed into the car again. This time, it managed to bash in several windows. Shards of broken glass rained down around them, and fog began flooding into the car. River leveled her revolver and fired a shot point blank into the dragon’s eye. The creature stepped back, wailing, lurching erratically from side to side. River leapt to her feet, dragging Thane up with her.

  “Run!” she shouted, pushing him towards the door. “Find a place to hide!”

  Chapter 26

  At that very moment, just a few miles away, Socrates was in the mountain’s armory getting his first look at Dane’s massive Bonecrusher. Large blankets and canvas tarps still covered most of the enormous vehicle, so Kale climbed up onto the chassis and began pulling them off and throwing them down on the floor. Dane stood back, advising Kale where to safely step and gauging the ape’s reaction as the machine was revealed.

  Socrates stood with his arms folded across his chest, motionless except for the wisps of steam rising from the smokestack behind his ear. Clouds of dust puffed up in the air as Kale yanked on the tarps and then tossed them down. Yard by yard, the coverings fell away, exposing large sections of shining black steel, copper pipes, and glittering brass and bronze fittings.

  “What do you think?” Dane said, eyeing the automaton. “She’s a beast, isn’t she?”

  “Quite,” said Socrates. “The overall design is not wildly different from that of a locomotive. With heavy armor plating, of course, but I can clearly see the location of the cab and the boiler inside.”

  That, however, was where the similarities ended. Rather than the smooth steel wheels of a locomotive, or the banded wooden wheels of a carriage, the Bonecrusher’s wheels were massive iron disks wrapped in studded bands. These were driven by means of solid steel axles linked to some sort of gear drive underneath, which worked as a transmission to convert the steam engine’s power to movement.

  “You see now how heavy it is,” Dane said, pointing at where the tracks had sunk into the stone floor. “That was the flaw in my grandfather’s design. He became so obsessed with building a machine a dragon couldn’t hurt, that he lost track of its real purpose.”

  “He succeeded in that much, at least,” Socrates said. “I can’t imagine a dragon doing any real harm to this thing.”

  The gorilla hunkered down, bending at the knees, and then leapt ten feet in the air in one swift, sudden movement. Socrates landed on the platform over one of the tracks with a loud kathud! He immediately began inspecting the Bonecrusher’s turret. Dane’s jaw dropped. He stood staring for a moment and then hurried around to the back of the tank, where he clambered up the collapsible ladder that was bolted to the chassis.

  Dane joined Socrates on top of the tank. He explained that the Bonecrusher had doors on either side of the cab, which could be opened by twisting a recessed handle. The king demonstrated, and then held the door open to display the cab inside. The tiny space appeared barely large enough for one person, but Dane insisted that there was room enough for two: a driver and a gunner. After taking a look at the controls, Socrates moved along the chassis, pulling open the panels to reveal the steam engine inside.

  “Your armor plating is impressive,” Socrates said. “However, I am certain that I could improve upon the engine.”

  “The technology is dated,” Dane admitted. “We are several generations beyond that basic design, but I’m afraid it would be easier to build a new tank than to replace the steam engine in this one.”

  “Perhaps we need not replace it,” Socrates said, stroking the deep blue fur on his chin. “If we increase the compression, and replace the flywheels with heavier ones, we could double the torque output.”

  “It’s impossible to run the compression that high,” Dane said. “You’ll blow the pistons right out of the cylinders.”

  “Not if we balance the compression with funneled relief valves.”

  Dane’s eyes lit up. “I think I understand! This will equalize the exhaust pressure!”

  “Exactly,” said Socrates. “Tell me, where do you keep your tools?”

  Chapter 27

  After her first night in the mountain, Shayla had been understandably reluctant to spend a second. It was the thought of the dragons that changed mind. Shayla had seen one up close, just a small one at that, and the creature had been terrifying. The knowledge that there were in fact thousands out there in the wild was enough to convince her to stay inside Dragonwall, despite her misgivings. Ever since making that decision, Shayla had regretted it.

  She ate in silence in the great hall that even
ing. She did her best to ignore the stares and whispers behind her back, but it was easy enough to know what they were talking about. Shayla had been responsible for Smitty’s death. As ridiculous as it sounded, there was no denying the fact that if she had never entered Dragonwall, the man would still be alive. The fact that she was an outsider while Smitty had lived his entire life among these people automatically made her suspect.

  Worse yet, Shayla had compounded her difficulties with the Iron Horse’s crew. Already, they hadn’t trusted her. Now that they had begun to make friends with their hosts inside the mountain, she suddenly found herself at the heart of another difficult controversy. Such things, it seemed, had ever been her plague.

  Shayla ate sparingly, a few bites of meat, a sip now and then of her wine. In between, she stole glances at the others. Vann and Micah were the center of attention at a table across the hall, and equally so the Tal’mar, with their strange eyes and long, pointed ears. They had all made friends, except for Shayla. She was ever the outcast, and without her friend Thane to offer her solace, she couldn’t fight the feeling of despair welling up in the pit of her stomach.

  Shayla pushed her food away. She rose from the table and silently flitted out of the room. In the hallway outside, she paused to make sure she hadn’t been followed, and then hurried to the stairs leading to the upper level, where her room was located. Halfway up the staircase, a voice halted her.

  “Lady Shayla!” said a whispering voice. “Are you there?”

  Shayla melted back into the shadows between two stone pillars. In a swift, silent motion she drew her fan from the inside of her sleeve. She held it in her right hand, still folded but ready. The poison on the blades was mild, barely more than a sedative, but she had another fan coated with something far more deadly just in case.

  “Lady Shayla, wait!” the voice called again. “Please, I beg you.”