Dominion Rising: 23 Brand New Novels from Top Fantasy and Science Fiction Authors

by Gwynn White

  Benji was already looking back at her from the towpath, and she waved him on. Their loaded boat had the right of way. With only one towpath along the length of the canal, there were well-established rules of right of way. Loaded boats had right of way over empty boats, and if both boats were equal in terms of cargo, then the boat heading upstream was in the right.

  “They’re not pulling over,” Eli said a moment later.

  Briar was already observing the same thing. “Certainly they can see that we’re loaded.” They were hauling timber, the wood stacked several inches above the rooflines of the cabins.

  “Lower your towline,” a voice shouted from the other boat. “We have the right of it.”

  Briar exchanged a frown with Eli, then cupped her hands around her mouth. “We’re fully loaded,” she shouted back. “Let us pass.”

  “We’re headed upstream,” came the answer.

  “Looks like things are about to get interesting.” Briar exchanged a smile with Eli. “See what you’d miss if you became a townie?” She waved to Benji to stop the mules.

  Eli chuckled and steered the boat toward the towpath, allowing it to gently bump the soft earthen bank to slow them to a gradual stop.

  She watched the other boat do the same, though their steersman wasn’t as adept and bumped the shore with considerably more force. An older man moved to the bow of the boat.

  “No wonder,” Briar grumbled, recognizing the man. “It’s Dale Darby.”

  Eli grunted in understanding.

  Briar crossed the catwalk to the bow of her boat and stopped beside Jimmy. With only a few feet now separating the two boats, she could easily converse with the other captain.

  “What are you about?” she demanded, now close enough to be heard. “You can see we’re running full.”

  “We’re headed upstream.” He glared at her, the wrinkles on his weathered face deepening. “Every one knows the upstream boat has right of way.”

  “Loaded boats take precedence. Are you getting senile, Captain?”

  His face turned red, and he turned to the lanky man beside him. “Put the mouthy wench in her place.”

  “Here we go,” Jimmy said, laughing as he left her. He thumped on the roof of the stable as he passed, calling for Zach. Eli had already leapt to shore.

  Briar chewed the inside of her cheek in a futile effort to maintain a disapproving frown as the decks of both boats cleared. In a matter of seconds, the canal towpath became the scene of a fistfight to rival any the Guard Lock Tavern could boast. The mule team from each boat watched with indifference, waiting for the question of right of way to be settled.

  Briar had no doubt who the victor would be, especially when Eli sent the other boat’s champion flying into the canal with a single punch. Eli was an accomplished brawler. It didn’t hurt that he was over six and half feet tall and built like an ox.

  A smile escaped her lips with the accompanying splash, and she noticed Captain Darby staring at her with a disapproving scowl from the deck of his boat. He had to be over sixty—which was probably why he avoided the fisticuffs with her considerably younger crew.

  Darby’s daughter-in-law stood behind him, wringing her hands in her apron. She wouldn’t be joining the fray. Without a woman in the fight, Briar was relegated to watching as well. A shame.

  The contest on the bank was already tapering off. No surprise. Every member of her crew could hold his own, though Eli’s large stature tended to deter prolonged engagements. Frequently, he prevented fights altogether.

  “Lower your towline, Captain,” she called to Darby. “We have the right of way.”

  A gesture, and Darby’s driver, his nose bleeding and lip already swelling, urged their mules into motion, back the way they had come. With the boat moving, Darby’s steersman was able to maneuver the boat to the heel path on the other side of the canal. His bowsman hurried to unhook their towline and let it sink to the bottom of the canal so Briar’s boat could pass over it.

  Her own crew returned to their duties, and soon, they were underway. Briar joined Eli on the tiller deck as their boat drew even with Darby’s.

  “Ain’t fittin’,” Darby declared, making no effort to keep his voice low.

  “What’s that, Captain?” Briar called to him.

  His disapproving stare remained on her, and his gaze swept over her trousers. “Back in my day, the sideshows stuck to the show boats.”

  “Back in your day, you were sweeping out the stables,” she told him, knowing her age bothered him far more than her gender. He hadn’t become captain of his own boat until he was almost forty. She had been captain since she was twenty.

  “Upstart wench.”

  “Watch your mouth, old man,” Eli called to him.

  “That’ll do.” She laid a hand on his thick forearm. “I’ll kick his ass myself, if I’m so inclined.” She turned away from Darby. “Hop to it, boys. Home awaits.”

  A small cheer went up, and they picked up speed, leaving a grumbling Darby behind.

  “You should have let Eli pound him,” Jimmy said, stopping beside her.

  “And how would that look? Me, letting Eli beat up that old fool.”

  Jimmy grinned, the split in his lip gaping open. “I could of done it.”

  “That wouldn’t be much better. Now go tend that lip. If I bring you home looking like that, Mildred is going to pound me.”

  Jimmy grinned again at the mention of his new wife. They had set up housekeeping this past winter, and he could hardly sit still the closer they got to home.

  Briar grinned up at Eli. “No, nothing beats this life.”

  He chuckled at her exuberance. “It’s certainly not dull.”

  The sun was well past its zenith when they tied up at the dock in Portsmouth, but there were still plenty of men available to unload the boat and transfer the timber to her cousin’s warehouse. At least she wouldn’t have to listen to him complain about that.

  “Captain?” Eli met her beside the gangplank, a rucksack of dirty laundry over one shoulder. He spent his nights at home with his sister and her family. “You’re going home?”

  “Unfortunately.” She pulled the telegram from her pocket and waved it.

  “Did Andrew say why he wanted you home?”

  “He’s got some kind of business situation to discuss. Why he feels the need to host a dinner party for such a matter is beyond me.”

  “No offense, Captain, but your cousin likes to put on airs.”

  “Don’t I know it.” She tugged her waistcoat straight.

  “Shall I walk you to his door?” Eli offered.

  “I can manage. Besides, it’s a little early. I thought I’d walk by the train yard and see these new locomotives everyone has been going on about.”

  “What are you up to Miss Briar?” Eli often dropped the captain when the crew wasn’t around—or when he was attempting to temper some impulse of hers.

  “I just want to see what’s so great about them.”

  “Vandalizing a single locomotive is not going to stop the railroad from poaching our business.”

  “I’m not vandalizing anything. Where would you get such an idea?”

  “Hmm.” Eli pursed his lips. “There was that time old man Sweeney’s boat sprung six different leaks—”

  “His steersman bottomed out on a sandbar outside of Rushtown.”

  “Or when the Anderson Mill tried to cheat us, and their water wheel came loose from the side of the building.”

  “A pin worked itself loose, though it sounded to me like they got what they deserved.”

  Eli was trying not to smile. “How about the hornet’s nest in Noah Cooper’s outhouse? Or the rat that found its way into Eunice Walker’s stew pot?”

  “I have no control over nature.”

  “Uh-huh,” Eli said. “I’m fairly certain that Herbert Johnson’s fall into that empty lock wasn’t an accident.”

  “Of course it wasn’t. You punched him—after he tried to kiss me.”
r />   “Oh. Right.” Eli shrugged his wide shoulders. “You were still involved.”

  She rolled her eyes. It would probably surprise him if he knew that was the closest she’d ever come to being kissed. Or maybe it wouldn’t surprise him. Eli knew her well.

  “I’m not going to vandalize a locomotive,” she told him. “As you said, that would be pointless. Besides, I don’t know enough about them to damage one properly.”

  Eli sighed.

  “Now please, go see your sister,” Briar said. “She’ll need to get started on those clothes if she’s to have them by tomorrow.”

  “Very well. I guess me and the boys can get you out of jail before we depart.”

  “Since when do I get caught?”

  He gave her a knowing look.

  “By someone other than you.”

  He grunted. “Good point.”

  She waved him on, and he finally walked away, smiling.

  Eli. He was her oldest and best friend. He’d been keeping her out of scrapes since she was a kid. It was a role he fell back into very easily, but she was an adult now. She didn’t need a guardian.

  Briar stuffed her hand into her pocket to make certain her penknife was still there. Eli was right; it would be futile to vandalize a single locomotive. That didn’t mean she had to pass up the opportunity.

  The train yards were a busy place, and by the look of things, still expanding. A new warehouse was under construction, and a large stack of cross ties and rails suggested more track was soon to be laid.

  Sighing, Briar stuffed her hands deeper into her pockets and gripped the knife for comfort. For years, she’d heard grumblings from her fellow boatmen that the railroad was eating away more and more of their business.

  At first, she had shrugged it off. She never had trouble finding work. There seemed to be plenty to go around. But in recent years, the railroad had been expanding at an alarming pace, and she was beginning to notice that some of the more lucrative jobs were drying up. Transporting cargo by train was faster and often cheaper, but that wasn’t anything new. What was new was the Martel locomotive. Supposedly, it didn’t run on steam.

  Briar had only a rudimentary understanding of how a steam engine worked. She couldn’t even fathom how something could operate without one. Well, that wasn’t true. There was a way, but she wasn’t about to attribute the railroad’s success to magic.

  Not certain if she’d even recognize this new engine if she saw it, she wove her way through the train yard, eyeing the locomotives she found. Evening was approaching, and the activity seemed to be winding down.

  Only one train looked ready to go. The boxcars were closed up, and the iron behemoth at the front of the line belched black smoke into the sky. Soot coated most of the locomotive and streaked several of the closest boxcars. Even the nearby warehouses had a light coating of the stuff. Why would anyone choose this over the clean travel along the canal?

  Maybe that wasn’t completely accurate. The canal itself might not be pristine, but her boat was spotless. She and her crew scrubbed it down each day.

  Leaving the locomotive and its busy workmen behind, Briar made her way across the last section of tracks. The sun was dipping toward the horizon. She’d need to hurry so she wouldn’t be late, but the lure of a set of tracks that entered a small warehouse drew her attention. Large doors on rollers stood open, and she could see the gleam of what might be a locomotive inside.

  The building looked approachable—there were no guards or signs to order her away—so she walked inside. Evening light shone through the open doors, illuminating the front of what was indeed a locomotive. But this one was different. The streamlined exterior looked nothing like the awkward box-shaped monstrosities she had seen outside. There was something strangely attractive about this engine’s smooth lines and sleek appearance. She didn’t need to note the lack of a smokestack, or read the word Martel along the engine’s flank to know she had found what she sought.

  She gripped the knife, but couldn’t bring herself to remove it from her pocket. It was clear to her creative heart that this engine was more than just function. It was art.

  “Fool,” she told herself. It was a railroad locomotive. This was the enemy.

  The sound of voices drew her attention before she could force herself to deface the locomotive in some way. A trio of men was walking toward her building. By their overalls, they appeared to work here.

  “…supposed to be locked,” a man was saying to his companions.

  “I didn’t leave it open,” another said.

  “What’s the big secret?” the third man asked.

  “You haven’t seen Martel’s new engine?” The first man glanced back over his shoulder. A quick look around, and he led the other two toward the building.

  Briar stepped back behind some crates, not wanting to be caught snooping in a building that was supposed to be locked.

  The three men entered the building, the two newcomers voicing their surprise and awe.

  “It actually works?” one man asked.

  “I hear it runs on that new electricity all the papers have been going on about. It’s supposed to work better than steam.”

  “But it’s so delicate and…pretty.”

  The other men laughed at the description, though Briar found it accurate.

  Taking advantage of their distraction, she crept back the way she had come, staying behind the crates. When she ran out of boxes, she crouched behind the last and peered out. The men had moved a little deeper into the building.

  She took a deep breath, then sprinted the last ten feet to the open door.

  Expecting a shout at any moment, she rounded the door, and keeping close to the wall, slipped around the corner. The building was at the end of the line and apparently meant to be an enclosed space to work on, or perhaps store trains. The back of the structure was bordered by a narrow road with the city streets just beyond.

  Crossing the road, Briar ducked into the nearest alley. No shout had come. Stopping, she bent over to grip her knees and regain her composure.

  The sound of voices carried to her down the narrow alley. She was no longer concerned about being caught where she shouldn’t be, but this wasn’t the best part of town. It would be better to cut back across the train yard.

  “You don’t have the power to kill me,” one voice said, making no attempt to speak softly.

  Briar was turning away, but hesitated. The speaker didn’t sound all that concerned if his life was indeed threatened.

  “He’s coming for you, you know?” the same man said, his tone smug. “I’ve already told him you’re here. Killing me won’t change th—”

  Whatever he was about to say cut out in a gurgle.

  Briar froze where she stood.

  Suddenly, a bright silver-white flash of light lit up the alley that intersected hers.

  What the hell? It was far too bright to be the strike of a match or the unshuttering of a lantern. For that matter, it wasn’t dark enough for the light to show up that well.

  She bounced on the balls of her feet for a couple of heartbeats. Eli liked to remind her that curiosity killed the cat. She liked to point out that a cat had nine lives. Hopefully, she wasn’t about to risk one, but she had to see what had made that light.

  Walking on her toes, she approached the corner where the two alleys met. Her heart beat quicker, but it wasn’t in fear. This was like stepping up to the edge of a great height and looking over. Or going toe to toe with a foe twice her size. Eli would have a fit, but the truth was, she lived for moments like this.

  Muscles tense, she crouched a little and peeked around the corner.

  Whatever had made the light was gone now. A man in a long black cloak had his back to her, squatting beside something on the ground. He shifted a little, and she saw that the something was another man.

  The cloaked man leaned back, lifting an object in his hands. Was he robbing the fallen man? The item he had taken glinted silver in the evening light.r />
  He rose to his feet, his back still to Briar’s position. She couldn’t see what he did, but she suspected he might be tucking away what he had stolen. A golden nimbus suddenly shone before him. Was he lighting a pipe?

  In the golden glow, Briar had a better view of the man on the ground. His coat and shirt had been pulled open, but where there should be a chest was a gaping hole—as if his heart had been cut out.

  2

  Briar jerked back around the corner, pressing her back to the wall and a hand to her mouth. She’d once seen a man killed in a tavern fight, but this was different. What kind of man cut open another after he had killed him? She didn’t want to stick around to find out.

  Turning, she ran back the way she had come, careful to keep her step light and soundless. She skirted the train yard, running behind a series of warehouses until she reached the houses beyond.

  Slowing to a jog, she rounded a corner and collided with someone. Hands seized her shoulders to keep her upright. Imagining that the cloaked man had found her, Briar prepared a scream, then looked up into Eli’s frowning face.

  “Miss Briar?”

  She gripped his arm and after a quick glance over her shoulder, pulled him along with her. “I just saw a man murdered.”

  “What?” Eli looked back the way she had come. “Were you seen?”

  “I don’t think so, but I didn’t stick around to find out.”

  “What happened?” Eli asked as they walked, his long stride keeping up with her rapid pace.

  “I found the Martel locomotive, but I didn’t get a chance to get a look up close because some railroad workers showed up.”

  “You mean, you didn’t get a chance to vandalize it.”

  “Honestly, I don’t know if I could. You should have seen it. I swear it was more art than locomotive.”

  Eli looked over, his brow raised in amusement. He had never understood her artsy leanings, but he humored her. His expression quickly sobered. “And the murder?”

  “I took an alley to avoid being seen and came upon two men, just after the deed was done. I got a good look at the body. It had been cut open.”