Killing the Machine (Aboard the Great Iron Horse Book 2) Read online

  Aboard the Great Iron Horse

  Book Two:

  Killing the Machine

  By

  Jamie Sedgwick

  Chapter 1

  Engineer’s Log, Day 90:

  After our brief delay at Blackstone Castle, the Iron Horse has continued on an easterly course, skirting along the border of the Wastelands. The retreating glaciers have scrubbed out every remnant of the civilizations that came before us, leaving a barren, shifting landscape with no resemblance whatsoever to the maps in my archives.

  While journeying through these remote and hostile territories, we have encountered fierce bands of trolls, living zombie-like corpses animated by the lingering effects of starfall, and numerous mutant creatures that I can scarcely describe. I have attempted to record these encounters to the best of my ability, but it grows clearer to me day by day that we won’t understand the full effects of starfall on our world for centuries to come. Suffice it to say that whenever possible, I have endeavored to minimize these contacts.

  Four weeks ago, we discovered a steamscout buried in ice, the victim of an apparent avalanche. This escapade alone cost us nearly a week, but I am happy to report that the recovery was a success, and we now have two fully functional scouts in our possession. Two weeks later we discovered the idyllic fishing village of Port Haven, located on the shores of the Forgotten Sea. The crew begged for an extended stay, and I could hardly deny their requests without risking a mutiny.

  It would be remiss of me to lay the blame solely at the feet of my companions, for I have taken at least as much pleasure in this sojourn as my crew. I have enjoyed studying this fascinating culture, from their marvelous wooden fishing vessels to their extensive library, to -perhaps most of all- their unique approach to the culinary arts. I have capitalized on every opportunity to fill my cookbook with new recipes, and the people of Port Haven have been most generous in this respect.

  Unfortunately, the generosity of our hosts notwithstanding, it is time for us to leave. I confess a certain reluctance to proceed on this venture. I have guided the Horse through inhospitable terrain, through tunnels of rocks and ice -sometimes for days at a stretch- yet I know that these experiences cannot compare to the ordeal we face ahead. Our steamscout has verified the integrity of the tracks before us. Intellectually, I know that the Iron Horse was designed and equipped for such a journey, but still I worry about the welfare of my crew.

  The train’s boxcars are watertight, and compressed oxygen tanks will store enough air to keep us traveling underwater for several weeks if necessary. My primary concern lies with the crew, all of whom are relatively new to the Iron Horse. I have yet to assess their ability to cope with stressful situations. Regardless, I can no longer delay our inevitable plunge into those dark and chilly waters. I can only hope for a swift and safe journey for the Horse and her crew.

  Chapter 2

  “How much?” demanded the short, broad-faced merchant as he stepped into Mayor Cronwyn’s path.

  It was nine a.m., one hour before the Iron Horse’s scheduled departure, and Socrates had been strolling down the Port Haven boardwalk enjoying a pleasant conversation about local history with the mayor. The man who leapt out in front of them was heavyset, with a girth nearly equal to his height. His breathing was labored and he leaned heavily on a thick brass cane. A fancy silk coin purse dangled by a thong from his neck, and he fondled it with fingers like sausages, the flesh plumping out between his shiny jeweled rings.

  The mayor glanced sideways at Socrates and gave the ape an uneasy smile. Mayor Dael Cronwyn was a tall man who never left the house in less than a tailcoat and top hat. He always kept a monocle secured to his collar by a length of fine silver chain. Although Port Haven was the sort of town where few men wore clothes made of anything finer than sail canvas, and most men went shirtless most of the time, the mayor refused to lower himself to the standards of the community. Generally, he looked as out of place on the docks as a fish with wings.

  By way of comparison, Socrates stood a full head shorter than the mayor. Though he appeared to be an upright-walking gorilla, Socrates was in truth a steam-powered machine. Dense blue-black fur covered his entire body, except for the missing patches on his arm and the side of his head, which revealed an intricate framework of brass and bronze gears and machinery… not to mention the tiny smokestack that protruded out from behind his left ear, continuously belching out tiny puffs of steam. Socrates wore his usual dark blue vest with a pair of round, red-tinted spectacles resting on the bridge of his broad simian nose. He tilted his head slightly, and the gears whirred and clicked inside his body.

  “How much?” the merchant repeated. “Go on, name your price.”

  “How much what, good man?” the mayor said, somewhat uncomfortably.

  “How much for the machine?” said the merchant, nodding at Socrates. “I’ll pay any fair price.”

  “You must be kidding, man! This is no trinket or windup toy. Be off with you!” The man began to protest but the mayor lifted his cane and struck the merchant soundly on the shoulder. “Off, vagabond! And learn your manners or you won’t be selling on my boardwalk anymore!”

  The merchant hurried off, wheezing and cursing under his breath as he disappeared into the crowd. Mayor Cronwyn turned to face Socrates.

  “My apologies, that was most regrettable. I’m afraid these peasants and commoners can’t appreciate what a truly remarkable creature you are. They only see the chance for profit and exploitation.”

  “I understand,” said Socrates. “Humans find it… difficult to understand me. Before we were interrupted, you were telling me about the Forgotten Sea.”

  “Ah, yes! If you look to the north past that carrack, you’ll note the stretch of icebergs floating in the distance. When I was a child, that field of ice covered this entire sea, from the southern plains right up to the mountains. Even in the summer, one could traverse on foot all the way out to that chain of islands you see on the horizon. Not that one would, with the legends and all, but he could.

  “It seems the seasons are changing. With solstice but a few weeks off, the cargo ships and fishing vessels are as busy as ever. Lately, we have seen clear sailing all the way to the open ocean year round, hundreds of miles.”

  “Remarkable. To what do you attribute this change?”

  The mayor shrugged and tapped his cane on the ground. “It would hardly seem fitting to hypothesize on such a thing, nature being the fickle creature she is, and my experience in such matters being limited to a few decades, mostly spent in New Boston, where I was born. Now that, my friend, is a fine city. I hope you will take the time to visit if you can spare it.”

  “And the islands?”

  “Ah, the Forgotten Isles. Just a few patches of land, really. Once there was an island there, a true island, covered by a great city. Legends say that during the cataclysm, the sea swallowed the city, and now the ghosts of the forgotten citizens haunt those isles. They prey on the flesh of humans, particularly of sailors and fishermen who stray too near the isles, never to be heard from again. Silly stories of course, told to frighten children in their beds at night and to lend supernatural credence to the more mundane aspects of a sailor’s life -and death- on the sea.”

  “Hence you name it the Forgotten Sea,” said Socrates.

  “Exactly, after those poor forgotten souls who once inhabited that long lost city. If they ever existed it all,” he added with a wry grin. The mayor glanced through the crowd and his face lit up.

  “Come, dear lady!” he called out. “Join us for a pleasant morning stroll before you embark on your jour
ney.”

  Socrates glanced in that direction and saw River hurrying towards them. She wore her long blonde hair pulled back in a tail tied with a strip of leather, and she was dressed in her usual leather breeches with boots and a red blouse. The only thing missing was the spring-powered revolver she so often wore on her hip. Apparently, even River had grown comfortable in the quiet village.

  “Are you prepared for your departure?” the mayor said as River joined them. I see it’s less than an hour.”

  “Not a moment too soon,” River said. “No offense, Mr. Mayor, but staying in one place too long makes me restless.”

  “None taken,” the mayor said with a tip of his hat. “Port Haven is pleasant enough, but it is not for everyone. I myself dream of one day returning to my home city of New Boston, far across the sea. It is a place of vast wealth and technology, not unlike the way you have described Sanctuary.”

  “It sounds like a wonderful place,” River said.

  “Wonderful indeed. Wondrous in many ways, but like all cities, one must still be careful to avoid the seedier neighborhoods and the street ruffians. I’m afraid that wherever civilization goes, the criminal element is quick to follow. Speaking of criminals,” he added with a clever smile, “have you come to the boardwalk for one last shopping trip?”

  “I’m afraid if I start, I won’t be able to stop.”

  The mayor bellowed a hearty laugh. “An understandable predicament, my dear. In that aspect, merchants are the worst sort of criminals.”

  The group began walking along the boardwalk, and shortly they came to the table of a vendor who had a caged animal on display. River paused, absently fingering the slave collar at her throat. It had been almost one year since her escape from the Vangar overlords in Astatia, and the memories of her suffering still pained her. The small furry creature she saw in that tiny cage sparked something inside of her, and she bent closer for a better look.

  “Is that a coon?” she said, straining to get a look at the creature’s face. At the sound of her voice, it raised its head and yawned lazily.

  The vendor, a man with dark skin, large gold earrings, and one missing front tooth, looked horrified. “Never say such things!” he said with a dramatic flourish. He lowered his voice and whispered, “You must not allow him to hear that word, or he may believe it, and all will be lost!”

  River frowned. She tapped the cage, trying to get the creature to look at her again. “He looks an awful lot like a raccoon,” she said.

  The man produced a canvas cloth and tossed it over the cage, hiding the creature from view. “Milady, please… It takes years of hard work and training to teach a fine creature like this properly. If you persist, you’ll undo me in one fell swoop!”

  The mayor laughed uproariously. River and Socrates exchanged a confused glance.

  “This is not a… raccoon,” the merchant said in a barely audible whisper, leaning closer. “He’s a pirate!”

  “I’m sorry,” River said. “I don’t understand.”

  Mayor Cronwyn cleared his throat.

  “Allow me to explain: This man is a sailor, and this beast is, as you say, a raccoon. The men catch these creatures in the hills to the north and train them to manage their sails. They clear the lines, tie off knots, and so on. They’re truly clever creatures, and quite helpful shipboard. That is, when they’re not busy pilfering everything that’s not nailed down. They’re worse thieves than this so-called merchant you see before you.”

  The man began to object, but Cronwyn silenced him with a wave of his hand. The mayor lifted the canvas from the cage, and the raccoon turned to stare at them. He sat upright, pawing at the bars and made a cooing sound.

  “Must you keep him in there?” River said. “It doesn’t look very comfortable.”

  “I’m afraid I have no choice,” said the man. “After all the years of training I have invested in this creature, I dare not risk letting him escape.”

  “Years?” scoffed the mayor. “More likely hours. You probably caged that beast just yesterday.”

  “Not at all sir,” the man said, sounding highly offended. “Pirate here is the most experienced, well-trained of his kind that you’ll find anywhere on the sea.”

  “Ahem,” said the mayor. “And what are you asking for him?”

  “Five silvers.”

  “Five?” roared the mayor. “That’s ridiculous! He’s worth two, if he’s worth anything!”

  “You offend me, good sir. Surely, you can see that this fine creature is worth even more than I ask. However… as it is late in the season, and I must make a speedy profit before winter sets in, I would be willing to part with the beast for say… four silvers?”

  “Three,” said the mayor grumpily.

  “Deal!” exclaimed the merchant. “Three silvers. He’s all yours. A finer bargain you’ve never seen, sir!”

  The mayor produced his coin purse and dug out three silver coins. He handed them over, and then nodded at River. “There you go, young lady. I can see that you are smitten with this animal. Do with it as you will.”

  River glanced at the mayor. “What? No, I couldn’t-”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, dismissing her concerns with a wave. “It is our custom to offer a parting gift to our guests. This creature is my gift to you.”

  “But I don’t know what to do with him! I don’t even know what he eats.”

  “He’ll eat anything you put in front of him,” said the merchant. “And he’s not temperamental at all.”

  River hesitated, so the man decided to hurry things along. He opened the cage and pulled out the raccoon. The creature gave him an unhappy little hiss, but then settled right down as he handed it to River. She awkwardly accepted the coon in both arms, holding it against her chest. The creature burrowed into her neck, sniffing at her, and River couldn’t help giggling. The coon put both front legs around her neck in a childlike embrace, and began to purr like a housecat. River glanced at Socrates and found him grinning from ear to ear.

  “It’s settled,” said the mayor.

  “Thank you,” said River. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “There is nothing more to say. This is my parting gift to you.”

  “Don’t wander off yet,” said the merchant. “Before you leave, I must give you instructions. If you don’t learn the commands correctly, I won’t be held responsible for whatever results may occur.”

  “We’ll leave you to it, then,” said the mayor. He and Socrates went wandering off into the crowd, leaving River standing at the table with her newfound pet.

  Chapter 3

  Micah hadn’t exactly been trying to eavesdrop, but he still couldn’t help overhearing the conversation that took place at the Seaside Inn on the morning of the Iron Horse’s departure. The halfling had been minding his own business, sitting quietly at a table in the corner with his nose tucked in a book when Burk and several companions entered the inn and settled down just a few tables away.

  Like all of the buildings in Port Haven, the inn was a rustic place built of hand-hewn timber and furnished with similarly crude tables and chairs. Even so, the windows faced the south and west, allowing ample light to come streaming in all day long, and providing the guests with an impeccable view of the sea. It was thus a popular place, and when Burk and his companions took their seats, they didn’t even seem to notice the diminutive halfling seated in the corner.

  Micah had just finished a plate of buttery sweetcakes for breakfast, and he was trying to get through one more chapter before heading back to the train. At first, Micah simply ignored the burly, bald-headed blacksmith and his small band of ruffians. After all, Micah didn’t care much for Burk. The man was as mean as he looked, and had been nothing but trouble for the crew ever since their mission started.

  Burk had picked several fistfights with other crewmembers, and had been caught stealing rum at least twice. Rumor had it that he’d even threatened Socrates personally. For the life of him, Micah couldn’t unders
tand why their leader hadn’t expelled Burk from the train weeks ago. As far as Micah was concerned, keeping Burk around was like keeping a time bomb for a pet.

  On the other hand, Micah was not a complicated person. He still had much to learn about humans, and he was nowhere near as wise or studied as Socrates. The steam-powered gorilla seemed to know just about everything, so it took no stretch of the imagination to surmise that perhaps the autonomous simian knew something Micah didn’t. Maybe Socrates and Burk had come to some sort of agreement. Or maybe Socrates had some other plan for Burk, something Micah hadn’t even guessed at…

  “Everything is ready,” said one of Burk’s companions. “Now we’re just waiting for your command.”

  Micah’s ears perked up. He couldn’t help peeking over the top of his book to steal a glance at the speaker, a middle-aged man with long silver hair and a thin, malnourished build. He wore a beaded bracelet around his bicep and a long antler-handled dagger in a sheath that was tied to his leg. He looked like Port Haven stock, but there was something different about him. He was too pale, too thin to be of pure mariner blood, and he certainly hadn’t spent much time fishing out under the sun. Perhaps he’d come from one of the surrounding villages.

  “Well done, Skoch,” said Burk in a deep voice. “The train leaves in an hour. It won’t be long now.”

  They laughed, and Micah couldn’t help thinking there was something sinister about their laughter. The sound sent a cold chill through his blood.

  “What about our friends to the north?” said Burk. “Will they meet our demands?”

  “What choice do they have?” said Skoch. “Don’t worry about them. They’ll pay.”

  Suddenly, Burk’s head swung around and he locked gazes with Micah. The halfling’s blood froze. It was almost as if the blacksmith had felt Micah staring at him. Skoch started to say something, but Burk silenced him with a wave of his hand.