Clockwork Legion (Aboard the Great Iron Horse Book 4) Read online

  Aboard the Great Iron Horse #4

  Clockwork

  Legion

  By:

  Jamie Sedgwick

  Published by Timber Hill Press

  Prologue

  Engineer’s Log

  The jungle beyond Dragonwall is a world lost in time, populated by thousands of remarkable species and virtually untouched by modern civilization. Here, in the epicenter of one of the impact craters that nearly destroyed life on this planet, we have discovered a land teeming with it.

  Upon our initial descent, we encountered a race of playful winged humanoids not much larger than doves. They were remarkably intelligent beings, if somewhat devious, and possessing limited speech capabilities. My crew called them “fairies” based upon their resemblance to the mythical creatures. While hovering overhead and eavesdropping on our conversations, these fairies picked up on a few words of our common tongue. Regrettably, they developed an immediate affinity for the worst sort of profanity -the exact sort at which my crew seems to excel- and I’m afraid the next explorers to encounter these delicate, fanciful creatures will be shocked by their uncomely utterances.

  One additional note on these fairies: During our initial encounter, several landed on the rooftop and rails of the Iron Horse, and immediately dropped dead. A quick analysis of their corpses proved that their tiny bodies contained extremely high concentrations of starfall. Much like the dragons on the rim of the crater, these fairies have evolved not only to tolerate the effects of the element, but to require it in order to survive. The sudden leeching effects of the train’s iron overwhelmed their delicate systems and killed them. So appears to be the situation with many of the beasts that populate the crater.

  Our survey of the pools and deposits of starfall here has hindered our progress, as have our constant run-ins with numerous new and deadly species. It is at these moments that I become acutely aware of the dwindling numbers of my crew. The absence of Kale is particularly felt, along with Thane’s long-time companion, Shayla. The pair were not only valuable crewmembers, but also close friends. I had been worried about the effect their absence might have. Thankfully, we all seem to be adjusting to the changes as well as can be expected. Suffice it to say that Kale’s strong arm is missed, even if his brash temperament is not.

  My cartographer Micah has been of immense help lately, spending most days atop the train, sketching his maps and drawings with exceptional skill. He’s a fast worker, and conscientious, and thanks to his records, I can now say with a high degree of confidence that the starfall we have discovered in the crater should adequately power Sanctuary for at least a century. However, one cannot gauge with any certainty how the reserves will meet the needs of a rapidly expanding population, nor should one underestimate the challenges presented in extracting the fuel from this wild, unpredictable environment. For the moment, I remain hopeful.

  Chapter 1

  Socrates entered the Engineering car and found River gazing intently through one of the microscope lenses mounted on the tabletop. She leaned close to the lens, moving a small soldering iron back and forth, just outside his field of vision. As he gazed at her through his dark wire-rimmed glasses, Socrates heard a brief hissing noise, and a puff of smoke went up from the table. The acrid scent of burning rosin filled the room. The mechanical ape stepped closer, trying to get a glimpse of the project she was working on.

  “Is there anything I can help you with?” he said in a deep rumbling voice.

  River leaned back on the stool. She turned her head to stare at him, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the change in focus. Thin wisps of smoke curled up from the soldering iron still in her hand.

  “What?” she said with a blank look. “Did you say something?”

  Socrates chuckled, and his internal mechanisms made clicking noises as his shoulders shook. “I stopped in to check on an experiment,” he said. “I didn’t realize you would be working in here.”

  “Where else would I be?”

  He gave her a weak smile. “Excellent point.”

  River had little interest in things outside of engineering. She was a wonderful mechanic -in fact, the train seemed to get better and better under her supervision- but Socrates was concerned about her relationships with the crew. “You really should get out of Engineering once in a while,” he said. “Human contact is… important.”

  “If you say so,” she said dismissively. River turned, and over her shoulder, Socrates caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a large metallic butterfly wing. He leaned closer. “What are you working on?”

  River rotated the lens back toward the wall, moving it out of the way. She climbed off the stool, offering Socrates a clear view of her project. His simian features lifted as he stepped closer.

  “A mechanical fairy?” he said. “River, it’s ingenious! Tell me, how did you form the wings? You couldn’t possibly have forged that brass by hand.”

  “I’m not giving away my trade secrets,” River said.

  Socrates reached for it and then paused, mid-movement. “May I touch it?”

  “Of course. It’s finished, but please be careful. It’s very delicate.”

  “I can see that.” The gorilla gently slid two massive fingers under the wings, and lifted the device for closer examination. He peered over the rims of his dark glasses. “Spring-loaded, double reverse hinges. Full-spread articulation. River, this design is absolutely brilliant. It might actually even fly!”

  “Do you think?” she said with a sly grin. She took it from him, and Socrates watched in glee as River placed a key into a tiny hole in the fairy’s back. She wound the internal spring, and after removing the key, pressed a hidden switch. A look of pure delight swept over the ape’s features as the wings began to flap. They built up speed until they were a blur of brass and steel, and the gossamer fabric that made up the surface of the wings became all but invisible.

  A gust of air hit Socrates in the face, like the wind from a tiny fan blowing back the midnight-blue fur on his cheeks, and the fairy took flight. It lifted horizontally from River’s palm and rose several feet in the air. It hovered near the ceiling for a few seconds, and then zoomed over their heads, toward the far end of the room.

  “Incredible!” Socrates exclaimed. “How do you control the creature’s flight?”

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. The controls are mechanical. I’ve programmed the dimensions of this room, so the fairy can fly back and forth without hitting the walls-” the fairy zoomed by, and River reached up to snatch it out of the air. “Unfortunately,” she continued, “I haven’t figured out a way to make it react with the environment. It’s not intelligent. If an unmapped tree got in its way…”

  “I see. So you want this creature to be semi-autonomous, then?”

  “Sort of… something like a steamscout, I guess. I thought it would be a handy tool for surveying, possibly even for studying some of the species we’ve discovered, but without risking our lives.”

  “Agreed.” Socrates folded his arms over his chest and tapped his chin with his forefinger. “I may have an idea. I’ve been studying some of the early steamscout technology. The more primitive versions were controlled using program cards; thin sheets with commands written into them using combinations of hole punches.”

  “Holes?”

  “Yes, I know it sounds strange, but it’s possible to store information this way. Think of the scroll in a music box or player piano. Reduced to its simplest form, all information is merely a switch that is on or off.”

  River blinked. “You’ve completely lost me. Anyway, that’s why I wanted your help.
Do you think you could come up with some sort of… punch card? A system of commands that could teach her to respond to her environment?”

  “Perhaps,” said the ape. “It would have to be very small. It would be limited by the amount of weight she could carry. And of course, multiple layers of commands would be necessary. Then there is the matter of recording information-”

  A timer went off across the room, interrupting the ape. Socrates hurried over to the corner. River followed after him. Using a pair of tongs, the deep blue primate carefully removed a small pebble of ore from a glass vial. He placed it on the bench, and reached into an adjacent drawer, searching for his dyes.

  “Is that iron?” River said, leaning over him.

  “Yes… I’ve been trying to calculate the absorption rate of starfall into raw ore.”

  “Why?”

  “As you know, starfall affects everything it comes into contact with, but it has a particularly unusual effect on ore.” Socrates opened the vial of red dye and released a tiny drop onto the pebble. The dye ran in rivulets down to the tabletop, changing from red to violet as it touched the ore.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you understand what happens when a living creature -say a human- is subjected to high concentrations of starfall?”

  “It alters her body,” River said. “It changes her at a molecular level. Everybody knows that.”

  “Exactly. Hence the Tal’mar, the Vangars, the Kanters, and even our own cartographer. All of these races began, thousands of years ago, as humans.” He paused to move the sample into a container. He dropped a spot of dye on the next ore sample, with the same results. As he worked, Socrates continued to explain:

  “Obviously, stone is not living and cannot mutate in the way that other living creatures do. Starfall’s reaction to the ore is entirely unique. The element somehow bonds with the ore at a molecular level, changing its properties in the process.”

  “Like Blackrock steel,” River said. “In Astatia, where I grew up, the deposits of starfall in the Blackrock Mountains soaked into the ore. When forged into steel, it made unbelievably powerful springs. That’s why my mother’s planes were able to fly so far, and why she could rewind the springs by landing and taking off again.”

  “Yes, with diminishing returns of course, but nonetheless marvelous. The starfall stored in Blackrock ore made it somehow stronger and more energetic… and yet strangely stable.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A pebble of ore like this one,” he said, holding it up with the tongs, “has absorbed the energy equivalent of a stick of dynamite. Yet we can put it in a fire and heat it. We can forge it into useful tools, or springs. I’m sure you’re aware of what would happen to a stick of dynamite inside a forge, or under the pressure of a blacksmith’s hammer.”

  “It would explode.” River stared at the small black piece of metal. “So would starfall.” Her eyebrows suddenly shot up. “You’re saying starfall becomes more stable when it soaks into iron?”

  “Precisely, but I don’t know why, or if there is a tipping point. It may be that at certain levels, the iron is safe, while at higher concentrations it becomes unstable. Only a theory, of course. One which I have so far failed to prove.”

  The shriek of the Iron Horse’s steam whistle interrupted their conversation. River tilted her head as she heard the sound. She stared at her companion curiously.

  “Socrates… who is driving the train?”

  The ape gave her a nervous smile. “Micah. It seemed safe enough. The train is only rolling at ten miles per-”

  Before he could finish, the brakes locked up. The screech of metal against metal assaulted their ears, and the floor seemed to go out from under them. River fell backwards, landing flat on her back. She slid helplessly towards the front of the car as glass vials and tools crashed to the floor around her. Socrates fell sideways, tumbling as he threw his arms out in an attempt to catch himself. He slid after her, and they ended up in an awkward pile at the front of the car.

  River grunted, trying to extricate herself from the tangle of arms, legs, and engineering tools. Socrates rolled aside, giving her the room to free herself. Micah’s shrill voice came reverberating out of the communication pipes:

  “Socrates! Socrates are you there? I need you!”

  The couple leapt to their feet and dashed out the door.

  Chapter 2

  Kale tapped the heel of his boot against the kick-plate of his spring-powered horse, and it took a step to the right. The coil springs and pistons made a whining sound as the charger followed his command. The steel hooves clacked against the paving stones, and its ears perked up, almost as if it were a living creature. Kale knew that in reality, the ears were just sensors that helped maintain its balance and navigate through a complex landscape, but the effect was nonetheless convincing. In some ways, the mechanical charger behaved just like a real horse.

  “It just doesn’t feel like a regular horse,” he mumbled. “It doesn’t steer right.”

  Kale’s companion, the aging knight known as Sir Gavin, snorted at the comparison. He ran a hand over the stubble of his close-cropped silver hair. “Few would know the difference,” he said. “Real horses are rarer than diamonds in these parts.”

  Gavin’s voice was deep and gravelly, possibly due to the bright red scar across his throat. Kale had a few scars of his own, not the least of which was the large red patch on his cheek that had been there since childhood. His were not as numerous as Gavin’s perhaps, but Kale was less than half the elder knight’s age. Gavin was in his sixties; the oldest of the knights at Dragonwall, and also one of the keep’s oldest inhabitants. Kale had learned that men did not tend to grow to a ripe old age in Dragonwall.

  That might change now, he thought. Now that the black dragon is dead…

  “There must have been horses before,” Kale said. “I’ve seen them in Dragonwall’s tapestries. What happened to them?”

  “Dragons, of course. That was long before my time, but my ancestors had a devil of a time keeping any livestock until they figured out how to camouflage their corrals. The serpents scattered the herds, driving them down with fire and then snatching them up into the air. Even now, we can’t keep many around. Good thing we have plenty of dragons to eat.”

  Kale wrinkled up his nose. “I don’t know how much more dragon I care to eat,” he said. “I’d kill for some chicken, or a slab of beef.”

  Sir Gavin let out a hearty laugh. “I know a butcher on the outskirts of Stormwatch. I’ll see what I can do. A few bites of meat shouldn’t be too much to ask for the queens’ First Knight.”

  They reached the gates to Dragonwall on the plateau overlooking Stormwatch. Kale dismounted and handed the care of his spring-powered mount to one of the guards. Sir Gavin followed after him.

  As they entered the long stone passageway, a page came running up to them. He was only twelve years old, but already had the broad shoulders and bulging biceps that were so common of the men in Dragonwall. The people here weren’t particularly tall, but they were strong from learning to work the forges as soon as they could walk. Even the women were just as comfortable swinging a hammer as rocking a cradle.

  “Sir Kale,” the page said breathlessly. “The queen requests your presence in her chambers immediately.”

  Kale frowned. “Is something wrong?”

  “I don’t know sir, she didn’t say.”

  Sir Gavin nudged him. “Bet I know what’s wrong,” he said with a sly grin. “The queen must he getting lonely up at the top of the mountain, without a man there to take care of her.”

  Kale ignored the jab. The other knights had been teasing him about his close relationship with Queen Aileen almost since they day she’d knighted him, which was not long after her husband’s death. There had been no shortage of whispering on that account, either.

  Kale chose to turn a deaf ear to their conspiracies. Though he had only known King Dane a short time, he had considered the king a gre
at friend, perhaps even a father figure. Kale missed Dane, and he felt an overwhelming sense of compassion for the widowed queen and her twin daughters. Perhaps even guilt. Since Dane’s murder, not a day had passed that Kale hadn’t wondered about whether he might have been able to save the king. If only he had been faster… if only he had paid more attention…

  Dane’s tragic and sudden death left the kingdom in a lurch. When Dane died, the power of the monarchy passed to his wife, a situation not without precedent, but this arrangement had always been considered temporary. According to custom, Aileen was supposed to choose the next king by marriage. Since Dane’s death, the weeks had stretched into months, and still Aileen had given no indication of a prospective replacement for her spouse. Other than Kale, of course. His frequent visits to her chambers were completely platonic, but the busy minds and wagging tongues inside Dragonwall had their own ideas on the matter. The queen was in mourning, and had every right to be, but the people were growing impatient.

  Kale entered the queen’s apartment a few minutes later. He didn’t bother knocking. The two were familiar enough that Aileen knew better than to expect much in the way of courtly manners from Kale. Besides, she had requested his presence. It wouldn’t make much sense to summon him and then be surprised when he actually arrived.

  When Kale burst through the door, he was surprised to find that Aileen wasn’t alone. She sat on the sofa near the veranda, the sun shining in behind her, casting a warm glow about the room. Next to her stood Sir Lyndon, Aileen’s personal advisor. He was a heavyset, mostly bald man who wore the elegant robes of a noble but had the demeanor of a spoiled prince. Though technically still a knight, he had retired from anything resembling real work.

  Lyndon glanced disapprovingly as Kale entered the room, and then quickly drew his gaze back to the queen. Aileen said something to him in a low tone and then dismissed him. Lyndon gave her a slight bow before leaving. He made every effort not to look Kale in the eyes on his way out. When the door had closed, Kale approached the queen. She beckoned to him, and gestured for Kale to have a seat in the armchair across from her.