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

by Gwynn White

  “You are Mr. Martel, are you not?”

  “Do I look like a railroad engineer?” he demanded, his words accented. Was he British?

  “Then who are you? His servant?”

  His eyes flickered to Eli before returning to her.

  “Eli, would you leave us?”

  “Captain, I don’t think—”

  “He’s bound. I’ll be fine.”

  Eli studied her for a moment, then nodded. “I’ll be up top.” His gaze held their prisoner’s as he spoke. The pair stared each other down before Eli turned and entered the bow cabin, which served as the crew’s bunkhouse. Using the ladder inside to reach the upper deck, Eli gave them some privacy.

  Briar turned back to her prisoner. She could tell by the movement of his shoulders that he was testing his bonds.

  “The tying of knots is a skill honed by all boatmen,” she told him. “You won’t be slipping those.”

  He rose to his feet. The man was easily half-a-head taller than she was. He hadn’t seemed all that big when lying down last night. “You will give me the property you stole.” His soft, accented voice was so cold a chill slid down her spine. “And you will allow me to alight from this barge.”

  “Boat,” she corrected. “And no, I will not.”

  His cold gaze moved over her as if he sized her up—and came away unimpressed. “Solon must be desperate indeed if this is the best thief he could secure.”

  “Thief?” she demanded.

  “I assume Solon agreed to some reimbursement for your trouble. How else would you describe this dark errand you have clearly agreed to do?”

  She’d had enough with his cold, condescending tone, and his implication that she took money to commit a crime. This was a valiant effort to save the livelihood of thousands of canal workers like herself.

  “If you’re not Mr. Martel, then why do you care about what becomes of his property?” Was he the thief?

  “His interests are my interests.”

  “You do work for him.”

  He didn’t confirm or deny the accusation.

  “Who the hell are you?” she demanded.

  He regarded her a moment in silence. “John Grayson. My friends call me Gray.”

  She remembered the name and monogram inscribed on his watch. Perhaps he was telling the truth. “Well, Mr. Grayson,” she emphasized the name, letting him know that he sure as hell wasn’t her friend, “I have no clue what you’re rattling on about. My intentions are noble. I’m not going to sit by and let the railroad destroy my way of life.”

  He frowned, but didn’t comment.

  “I’m sure the public will feel the same when they learn that Martel is a ferromancer.”

  Mr. Grayson visibly stiffened.

  “I see I have your attention.”

  “What would you know of such things?” His tone remained cold.

  “I’ve seen his plans.”

  “How would you manage that? The trunk was locked, and I hold the only key.”

  “You mean this lock?” She pulled the silver lock from her pocket.

  “How—” He didn’t get to finish his question before the lock transformed into the little automaton. With a squeal of some internal mechanism, it leapt from her hand to his upper arm, scampering upward until it balanced on his shoulder. It moaned, the sound oddly forlorn, then rose up on its rear legs to sniff the wound above Grayson’s eyebrow.

  Grayson turned his head, muttering something.

  The little dragon dropped back to its perch on his shoulder, emitting another soft moan. Then rubbed its nose against the side of his neck.

  “I see you are familiar with Mr. Martel’s security device.”

  “I’m the one who procured it, in London.”

  She eyed him. Was that where he hailed from? “You can buy such things there? Openly?”

  “Before the Scourge, yes. Since then, it’s not so easy.”

  She frowned, wondering what he knew of such things. Being near her age, Mr. Grayson couldn’t have witnessed the destruction of the ferromancers, even if he did hail from that part of the world.

  “So all of it, the Scourge, the ferromancers, it’s true?” she asked, marveling that he had traveled so far and had seen so much.

  “You’re the one who claimed that Mr. Martel is a ferromancer.”

  “And you’re the one with the little metal dragon cooing in recognition on your shoulder.”

  “Perhaps he is a wonder of mechanical design.”

  “He’s a creature of independent thought and movement. Aren’t you, Lock?”

  The little dragon cooed.

  “You do not name a construct!” Mr. Grayson looked furious.

  Briar lifted a brow, pleased by the break in his cool, controlled demeanor. “Why not?”

  He opened his mouth, then closed it, seeming at a loss for words. “You just don’t.”

  “Good reason.”

  “Do not meddle with what you don’t understand.” He spoke between clenched teeth.

  She smiled at his evident agitation. “Come here, Lock.” She held out her hand, and the little dragon leapt across the space that separated them. A flap of his wings, and he landed lightly on her palm. Could he really fly?

  Briar was tempted to ask, but the muscle ticking in Grayson’s jaw made it clear that he wasn’t in the mood to entertain questions.

  “Captain?” Eli called out.

  Lock gave a little squeak and once more scampered down her waistcoat to disappear into her pocket.

  “What is it?” Briar answered.

  Eli stepped up to the edge of the hold. “We’re about to lock through number forty-four. You still want to stop in Waverly?”

  “I do. I didn’t get to restock in Portsmouth.”

  “Waverly?” Grayson asked, still frowning.

  “Twenty miles north of Portsmouth,” she answered.

  His dark brows ticked upward, and a speculative look entered his eyes. Was he planning to try an escape?

  “Eli, would you be so kind as to secure our passenger? Perhaps out of sight in the bunkhouse?” Briar asked. “Then you’d best get to the tiller.”

  “Yes, Captain.” Eli jumped down to join her, then turned to their passenger.

  Briar left the hold without looking back.

  Leaving Eli on the boat, Briar sent Zach and Benji over to Emmitt’s Store for supplies while she and Jimmy visited the mill and the distillery to see if anyone had some cargo that needed to go north. They might as well make the trip a profitable one.

  Her inquiries met with success, and she left Jimmy to oversee the loading of the cargo while she walked to the post office to mail her package to Uncle Liam. She didn’t miss the irony that the package would travel by rail to reach him.

  Finished, she headed back to the boat, cutting behind the train station. A train had arrived recently, and the streets around the station were busy with horses and carriages, picking up or dropping off passengers.

  Briar stepped into the street, stopping behind a stationary carriage while she waited for a loaded wagon to pass. She leaned out to see if anything else was coming and glimpsed a pair of men leaving the train station. She pulled back behind the carriage with a gasp. One of the men was Andrew.

  Taking a deep breath, she peeked out again. She released the breath when she saw Andrew walking away with the man. Apparently, he hadn’t seen her.

  Her gaze shifted to the other man, noting his long dark cloak. She stood straighter. Could he be the one she’d seen murder that man in Portsmouth?

  “Stop jumping at shadows,” she muttered. Half the men in the country probably had a cloak like that. Besides, none of this was her concern. She needed to get back to the dock and get out of here before Andrew realized she’d taken the boat. But what was Andrew doing in Waverly, and who was that man? Could it be Mr. Martel? But what were they doing here and not in Portsmouth?

  Briar leaned against the back of the carriage, considering her next move. She couldn’t just
leave. Not with so many unanswered questions.

  Looking out once more, Briar watched Andrew and his companion round the corner at the end of the street. She hesitated, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Unable to deny her curiosity, she hurried after them. It was risky. If Andrew saw her, she’d lose access to her boat, but she had to know what he and Mr. Martel—if that was Mr. Martel—were doing.

  She kept her pace to a rapid walk and stopped at the corner. Leaning against the wall, she looked into the next street.

  Andrew and his friend had stopped midway down the street beside a hired carriage. They discussed something, but she couldn’t hear their words from here. If she could get closer…

  She eyed their surroundings, noting a stack of crates near a vegetable stand, and behind that, a narrow alley. If she circled around and came in through the alley, she could hide behind the crates and listen. The distance wasn’t too great, so she should be able to eavesdrop without trouble.

  Her plan in mind, she hurried back the way she had come, breaking into a jog when she turned down the street that ran parallel to the one where Andrew currently stood. She found the alley she sought, the crates visible at the far end. Rushing forward, she reached her destination without incident.

  Fortunately, the vegetable vendor must have stepped away from his stall. She squatted beside the crates, smelling the earthy scent of produce within. If the vendor returned, he would certainly view her with suspicion and demand to know what she was doing.

  Briar quieted her breathing and strained her ears in an effort to hear any conversation from the street. She was about to lean out and verify that Andrew was still there when he spoke.

  “I had no idea, sir,” Andrew said. “It was a business venture, to build locomotives.”

  “Do not trouble yourself. I believe you,” the man answered, his accent much like Grayson’s.

  “You said you had a counter offer,” Andrew continued, the eagerness heavy in his tone. “I came as requested.”

  “Indeed you did.” A soft chuckle followed.

  Briar frowned. Was he Martel or not?

  “If you would accompany my associate,” the accented voice continued, “I will join you shortly to discuss my offer.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Solon,” Andrew answered.

  Briar’s breath caught. Wasn’t that the name of the man Mr. Grayson had accused her of working for? And the bigger question: How did Solon know Andrew?

  The sound of a carriage step being lowered carried to her, followed by the squeak of the springs as someone climbed aboard. Andrew? Damn, she had missed the conversation.

  She waited, listening for the carriage to pull away.

  A scuff of a shoe on pavement was the only warning she got before someone stepped around the crates. Had the produce vendor returned?

  She rose to her feet, ready to explain that she was searching for a dropped coin, but took a hasty step back instead. A well-dressed man stood before her, his dark hair just beginning to gray at the temples. But he wasn’t a random stranger. She recognized the dark cloak Andrew’s companion had been wearing. This was Mr. Solon.

  “What have we here?” he asked, his accent confirming who he was. Fortunately, the crates hid her from view of the carriage should Andrew look out.

  She looked up into Solon’s slate-colored eyes. Something like a smile curled his lips, but the coldness in his eyes gave it a sinister twist. Her ready excuse died before she could utter it.

  “You shouldn’t have left the safety of the convent,” he continued. “And certainly not with a souvenir.”

  She opened her mouth to demand what the hell he was talking about when he laid a hand over her lower ribcage. For an instant, she thought he was attempting to grope her, then she realized he had placed his hand over her pocket. The pocket where Lock was hidden.

  “Do you mind?” She reached out and gripped his wrist. Cool metal met her fingers and she glanced down, expecting that he wore some kind of bracelet. He didn’t. His wrist and most of his hand were covered in, or maybe made of metal. The same shiny silver metal that made up Lock.

  She jerked her hand from his cool wrist. Oh dear God, a ferromancer.

  “I know this soul,” he whispered. His cold eyes narrowed. “You cannot have him, witch.” He took a step closer.

  “If you mean this poppet in my pocket, I stole it fair and square. Get one of your own, metal ass.” She stepped toward him and brought her knee up. Hard.

  For a split second, she feared his man parts might be made of metal, as well, but he doubled over with a grunt an instant later. His bizarre metal hand left her ribs for his crotch.

  Briar didn’t stick around for the obligatory cursing that was sure to follow. She turned and ran.

  The business district was in full swing this morning. She darted through the busy streets, forcing herself to take the most congested and roundabout path back to the docks. If the ferromancer gave chase, she hoped to lose him in the crowd.

  A few glances over her shoulder revealed that no pursuit had come. At least, not one she could see. Could he track her in some other way? Lock? She’d have to ask Mr. Grayson. He seemed to know a few things about ferromancers. But if he knew, would he tell?

  When she felt certain she hadn’t been followed, she slowed to a fast walk and hurried to the docks. No need to have folks talking about the crazed canal boat captain sprinting to her boat and setting off. That would certainly make her easier to follow.

  Arriving at the boat, she jogged up the gangplank and hopped on board. She found her crew securing the cargo in the aft hold.

  “Prepare to cast off,” she told them between deep breaths.

  “Captain?” Eli turned to face her. “What’s wrong?”

  She didn’t want to alarm them. “My cousin is in town.”

  “Looking for you?”

  “I don’t think so.” She wiped her damp brow. “But should he pass the docks, I don’t want him to see the boat.”

  “We’ll hitch the team,” Benji said, hurrying from the hold with Zach on his heels.

  “Is our passenger still comfortable?” she asked Eli.

  “Last I checked.” A frown wrinkled his brow. He no doubt realized that there was more to this.

  She gave him a small shake of the head to deter any questions. Jimmy would freak out if he even suspected there was a ferromancer around.

  “If you would be so kind as to see us underway, I’ll go speak with him.”

  “What is your business with him, Captain?” Jimmy asked. “He works for the railroad, right?”

  “I’m trying to puzzle that out.” She gave him what she hoped was a confident smile. “Get us underway, Jimmy, so my cousin doesn’t stop me from solving this mystery.”

  Jimmy grinned. “Aye, Captain.” He turned and hurried from the hold.

  Eli still watched her with suspicion. “What are you up to, Miss Briar?”

  “I’m just trying to make it so we can buy this boat. Nothing more. Get the boys moving?”

  Eli didn’t look convinced, but he gave her a nod and moved off to do as she asked.

  Glancing toward shore, but seeing neither Andrew nor the ferromancer, Briar made her way to the bunkhouse in the bow of the boat.

  Mr. Grayson looked up when she stepped into the narrow confines of the cabin, a frown shadowing his eyes and the cold stare once more in place.

  “I just met your friend,” she told him, her breath still coming a little quickly.

  Grayson frowned.

  “Mr. Solon,” she clarified.

  Grayson came to his feet, his brows lifting. He tried to step away from the trunk he’d been seated on, but Eli had tied a rope around his bound hands and secured it to the support post.

  “You failed to mention that he was a ferromancer,” she said.

  Grayson demanded something, but she couldn’t make it out around the gag.

  “Sit,” she said.

  He glared at her.

  “Sit and I’ll remove t
he gag.”

  He huffed—or tried to through the gag—and dropped back to his seat on the trunk.

  She stepped forward and tugged the cloth from his mouth, allowing it to drop around his neck.

  “You’re certain it was Solon?” he demanded.

  “He was addressed by name. And…he has a metal hand.”

  Grayson sighed, his shoulders dropping. “Damn,” he muttered.

  “He knew I had Lock with me.”

  “Do not call constructs by name, and why are you walking around with it?”

  “I forgot he was in my pocket.”

  Grayson leaned back and muttered something to the ceiling. It wasn’t English.

  “What language was that?”

  “Latin.”

  “Do you know a few phrases or do you actually speak it?”

  “That’s hardly pertinent. What did you say to Solon? Did you tell him I was here?”

  “No. I kneed him in the nuts and ran.”

  Grayson stared at her. “You what?”

  “In case you were wondering if ferromancers have iron balls, question answered. They don’t.”

  Grayson blinked, then tipped back his head and laughed. Up to this point, he had been so remote and cold that his mirth threw her. Of course, judging by his clothing and speech, he probably wasn’t used to such coarseness—especially from a woman.

  Her cheeks heated. “Since you work for one, I thought you might want to know.”

  “You still insist that Martel is a ferromancer?”

  “My instincts say yes, but I’ve sent the plans to a friend—

  “You mailed the plans?” His tone was somewhere between outrage and disbelief.

  “Yes. My friend is knowledgeable and can help me make the determination.”

  “He’s an expert in ferromancy?” The sarcasm was heavy in Grayson’s voice.

  “He lived in Europe, but his expertise is in the area of mechanical design.”

  Grayson leaned back against the support post.

  Briar eyed him. “Are you worried?”

  “That this friend of yours will reveal Martel to be a ferromancer, no, I’m not worried.” A small smile played at the corner of Grayson’s mouth.

  It was Briar’s turn to frown. Did he think so little of Liam’s knowledge, or was Martel really not a ferromancer? Had she kidnapped a man and stolen a famous engineer’s plans for no reason?