Tiboluminator

By Reid Minnich

As the son of a Duke, Jace must marry and serve at court. This is a precarious position in a country at war and on the brink of revolt. He hides his family name to pursue his passion of being an inventor. When one of his inventions, a safe lighting device called the Tiboluminator, catches the eye of the military, everyone around him is in mortal danger.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Byrnas Books
• Release date: Feb 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9781540128836

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

The salty breeze and the calming slap of the waves against the pier steadied Jace’s nerves. Glad that there was no one up or down the beach and no boats visible out to sea, he pulled gently on the reigns, backing the wagon until its wheels submerged. Nita released the catch and the boat that the wagon carried floated free beside the pier. The back of the boat sat low in the water where the large metal cylinder surrounded by pipes sat above the rudder. It looked like a large squid, not that Jace would dare plant that image in Nita’s mind.

He climbed down from the driver’s seat, pulled the supplies from the storage chest at the front of the wagon, and piled them at the foot of the pier.

Nita stood at the end of the pier and tied the boat to a weathered support. Her long skirt could be mistaken for a baggy pair of men’s pants. No doubt, this was why she favored these clothes. The thin fabric of her white blouse could be mistaken for a man’s shirt until the morning sun over the ocean revealed her form. Worn with a straight-haired black wig, she could blend in with the Asian women. By putting her hair under a man’s hat, she looked like a boy. On this secluded beach, she wore neither hat nor wig but let her golden curls dance in the sunlight.

Jace listened for the sound of cracking as Nita jumped into the boat. He examined the hull for leaks as he walked beside it. Not as pretty as a wooden boat, tarwood’s shiny, mottled brown color looked like the skin of a dead whale. He gingerly stepped into the boat. Hearing no cracking, he hopped up and down. It seems strong enough.

What are you so worried about? Nita climbed out of the boat onto the pier. She kicked off her shoes, exposing her white feet. Her face and arms, pale after the rainy season, made her green eyes twice as shocking. You did the calculations. At this thickness, the hull is twice as strong as wood and half the weight.

She hurried to the supplies. Tarwood is a marvelous invention by itself. You turned the black goo that fouls mines into a strong, light, water-proof building material. Why not tell the world about it? You don’t have to prove its worth by building an airboat. She returned with a large glass bottle in each hand.

He climbed out of the boat and they crossed paths. The Inventor’s Society will not see tarwood as an invention unless I show it in application.

He thought about her oft asked question as he tethered the horse in the shade of a tree at the edge of the beach. As he returned to the pier, his thoughts evaporated, seeing Nita unfasten her skirt, exposing her thin, form-fitting under-garment. Her skirt, with its many hidden pockets full of tools, fell to the pier with a muffled clank.

Unable to pull his eyes away, he stumbled trying to get into the boat as she filled the fuel tank.

Then how about this rocket engine?

It surprised him she didn’t call it a Squid. Rocket? You mean the Reactant Oxidation Combustion Kenetic Energy Transfer engine?

Nita put the empty bottles on the pier and crossed her arms. No one is going to say all that.

He could afford to give in to her on this one. Fine. Rocket, it is. But it’s not ready. We have to determine the best fuel-coolant ratio and improve the combustion chamber to handle greater pressure.

Even with her face turned, he knew she was scowling.

We have to make it perfect. We can only do that with rigorous testing.

Then it’s time for a real test. Nita stood at the back of the boat where the engine was bolted above the rudder, opened a valve on the front of the engine, and pushed the ignitor. The muffled thump from inside the cylinder signaled the fuel was burning in the reaction chamber. When smoke poured from the metal tubes, Nita sat down, took the rudder in one hand, and put her other hand on the engine controls fastened to the sides of the boat. Ready? Without waiting for his response, she nudged a lever forward.

He crawled over the bench in the center of the boat toward her and reached for the controls. We should check the pressure.

Nita slapped at his hand and pointed to the gauges bolted near the lever. I am watching the pressure and the temperature. Have some faith in your science and my building skills.

Jace sat back and clenched his teeth as she inched the lever forward. The hiss from the thrust tube turned to a shrill whistle which lowered in pitch but grew in volume. The smell of hot metal mixed with burning fuel. A thick black cloud obscured the peer as they slid out toward the reef.

Flames popped from the ends of the tubes and lengthened as Nita nudged the lever forward again. The boat bucked as they broke through the larger waves past the reef. Despite the bumpy ride and the pain in his ears, the boat was already moving faster than any standard steam engine. He let himself enjoy the ride until Nita swung the valve to the quarter mark.

What are you doing? The flames roared out of the tubes and the pitch lowered to where the sound was more in his stomach than his ears. We’ve never gone that high before.

It’s fine. Her bright smile did little for his confidence.

How’s the pressure?

Nita’s only response was whooping laughter as the tiny boat crashed through the larger waves spraying water onto the back of his neck.

The rhythmic thump of the waves breaking against the bow became a continuous hissing sound, and the spray stung his arms as he gripped the sides of the boat. The boat shimmied as she turned north and sped along the shore. Slow down. His voice was barely audible to his ears. Nita.

Her gaze was fixed on the shore.

Watching the familiar landmarks speed by was mesmerizing.

She pointed forward. Jace turned and saw the top of Dragon Tooth Island peaking over the horizon. Even an overpowered boat would take twice the time to get this far up the coast. I can’t believe it. The engine is a success.

We are almost out of fuel. Nita squealed in delight when she swung the boat around in a tight turn that almost threw them out. She made several more sharp turns, laughing at Jace’s complaints. Her amusement was cut short when smoke erupted from the engine followed by a deafening explosion. The boat bucked to port and almost threw them overboard.

Even before it righted itself, he jumped into the cloud of smoke that obscured the back of the boat. Nita? His hands met hers as she fanned the fumes from her face. Are you hurt? He strained to hear her over the ringing in his ears. A piece of the side of the boat was missing, leaving a jagged hole near the controls where her hand had been.

She coughed and looked over at the engine. A steaming chunk of twisted metal, the engine hissed and crackled. A smile spread across her face and she let out another whoop of laughter.

He pointed at the hole. How can you laugh at that? We could have been killed.

In response, she laughed all the harder. If you had your way, we’d be measuring for a hundred years. We have to take risks if we’re going to accomplish anything. With a swing of her wrist, she caught a dangling rod on her bracelet and pressed it into the seam of the buckled engine cover. The top flipped back, and she peered inside.

Jace looked to the shore. How are we going to get this back to the pier? I took out the oars to reduce weight.

Nita turned and smiled. With a kick of her foot, the plank that was the middle seat popped up. Another push with her foot slid it from the notches in the side of the boat and it chattered at Jace’s feet. I guess you’re going to have to row.

Nita inspected the damaged engine. Looks like the pressure regulator melted.

Jace fumbled with the board, trying to hold it steady while paddling. I could have avoided this if Mr. Boyle answered my letter asking about his thermal transfer equations. I even requested information from three inventors I don’t care about. Why is it no one answers my letters? He angled the boat, pointing it to shore and let the current push them back toward the pier.

Nita twisted free a valve cover and tossed it from hand to hand to let it cool. It’s probably the war. Mail is slow even with neutral countries.

Jace worried that the other scientists didn’t take him seriously. Even the few who had answered his earlier letters were silent. His arms ached by the time the boat ran aground.

Nita hunched low and surveyed the beach before climbing out and sprinting for her clothes on the pier.

He called after her, I’ll bring the horse. It seemed odd she was so cautious of being seen undressed by others but not him. She was a flat-chested kid when he first apprenticed with her father. Three years younger than him, her skills were always much better than his. Perhaps that is why her father let her work in his tinker shop despite the anger her appearance stirred in the townsfolk.

As he returned with the horse, Nita drained the last of the fuel from the engine into the glass bottle.

I think we should submit tarwood to the Inventor’s Society. She tossed him the tow rope before climbing onto the pier.

Jace couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. We haven’t had word on my first submission yet. The Tiboluminator is far more practical and has the better chance of acceptance. He pulled the tow rope and the injured craft slid easily through the water to rest against the wagon. He tied the rope as Nita attached the horse to the wagon.

The horse strained to climb the beach with the boat in tow. He let the horse rest when it reached the road. When they came here at sunrise, the roads were empty. It took an hour to get from the shop to the pier. With people and horses filling the street, it would take much longer before they were back at the shop. He checked that the tarp covered the damaged boat. His failures were far more well-known than his successes, in part due to the slanderous comments of the rival tinker shops. Through it all, Nita’s father never asked him to stop, even letting him run the shop for weeks at a time.

The road was little more than a beaten path through the sandy soil as it passed in front of the small, close-packed houses of the fishermen.

Nita sat with him in the front of the wagon. She was comfortable in this part of town where she was known and respected. She smiled and shook his shoulders playfully. Cheer up. I think this test went well.

It almost got us killed. Maybe we should give up on this idea. I’m beginning to think I should give up on inventing. The Inventor’s Society didn’t even answer.

It has only been a month since we sent the application. We could hear any day now. You’ll be famous soon.

Jace let the dream linger. He looked at the windows of the tiny homes imagining them lit with the warm glow of his Tiboluminator. Not that anyone would call it the Calenbray Tiboluminator. He would have to sell them apart from his family name. That didn’t matter to him. Other men dreamed of having their name recognized, unaware of the cost. Being the fourth son of a duke, Jace lived with that burden every day. He would content himself with acceptance from the people he admired, the members of the Inventors Society.

When they approve your invention, we’ll be busy.

Jace tried to keep the smile from his face. You’ll be busy. I can’t make the crystals, and my skills at making the clockwork are poor compared to yours.

The road improved as houses gave way to shops. Tackle stores were most common here with the occasional grocery. Few people walked the street in this part of town. Fisherman were up with the sun and back at nightfall. There were no tailors nor tinkers here. What little money flowed through here was wrested from the sea. As the king’s quotas for men to fight the war increased, the young men from fishermen’s families grew scarce, leaving daughters to help on the boats. Despite the new enlistment incentive, the merchant class was not so quick to sell their sons to the war effort.

The cannon installations along the road marked the transition from the poorer section to the industrial area. Nita adjusted her scarf and checked that her hair was hidden as they passed soldiers. Their uniforms were blackened by gun powder and stained by machine oil. These were battle-hardened soldiers too wounded and broken to serve on the front lines, proven by the occasional empty shirt sleeves and stiff legs. Their hatred of Brits ran deep. Nita kept her head down as they passed. If they stopped him and noticed her, his name and his ring bearing the family crest might not keep the guards in check. The soldiers they passed were intent on watching the sky rather than the road as was their job.

Past the cannon emplacements, they entered the industrial complex. An odd collection of buildings filled a grid work of beaten dirt roads, the original cobblestones crushed to dust beneath heavy wagons. Some buildings bore faded signs advertising wines, but they produced only alcohol. Newer buildings gave no hint what they produced. The foul smell made his eyes water. He pushed the horse into a trot to leave this area.

The road became smooth and bordered by walkways. The shops in this part of town were butchers, grocers, tailors, livery, post office, and Nita’s father’s tinker shop. Several women on their way to one shop or another hurried along under the shade of their parasols to protect their golden skin from being darkened by the sun. Even at the end of the dry season, Nita’s skin was paler than any woman in the town, but the shape and color of her eyes and her curly, golden hair marked her as a Brit.

A man on horseback approached from the other direction. His clothes marked him as a prosperous merchant. As their eyes met, Jace put his hand to his hat, but the man’s face turned away. Jace ground his teeth. The man assumed Jace was giving respect to his betters. Jace examined his hat and let the sun beat his head and shoulders. Many years out of fashion among the nobles, it had faded from its original maroon, but it was comfortable and less gaudy than most. His high neck white shirt was still common among the merchant class but Jace had cut the sleeves back to the elbow to make it practical for his work.

He adjusted the hat back on his head. Buying new clothes would avoid people’s displeasure but would cost as much as a new engine casting and regulator. Perhaps the man was right. He was neither noble nor merchant, and therefore undeserving of courtesy.

Jace drove the wagon down the alley behind the tinker shop, unhitched the wagon, and he and Nita pulled it into the wide doors at the back of the workshop.

Jace climbed onto the horse bareback. I’ll return the horse to the livery stable.

He lamented his most recent failure as the horse plodded home. His best work had been the Tiboluminator. The Inventor’s Society was filled with men whose inventions were less noteworthy. He spotted the delivery wagon coming to town, and the hope that he would finally hear good news spurred him to get back to the shop. He paid the livery attendant and raced down alleys to get there ahead of the delivery wagon.

When he got back to the shop, he saw the delivery wagon at the far end of the street. Still a block away, he remembered scampering after a delivery wagon as a child, trying to peer beneath and learn the machine’s secrets. There was no mystery in the device for him now, but it still had a certain beauty. As it came near, he squinted at the many bags hanging from hooks below the wagon’s umbrella shaped carrousel. The delivery-man veered toward the pole in front of the general store, catching its hanging chain in the spokes of the carrousel. As the horse ambled along, the chain pulled tight and turned the carrousel, causing wires to remove the empty bag from the pole and attach the new delivery. As the pole slipped out of the spokes, the carrousel turned the opposite way, lifting the next delivery into place. Unusual bulges revealed this bag contained long awaited castings and engine parts. The short parallel wrinkles told him there was a bundle of books inside. As much as he loved new books, it was not what he was hoping to see. Jace stood near the pole as the wagon deposited his bag. As he lifted it from the hook, the wagon came to an abrupt stop.

One more bag. The driver growled and slapped his hand on a bag behind his seat. He reached behind him and pushed the bag with the protruding wooden box to the open side of the wagon. The horse stamped and whinnied its frustration at the delay. Despite the hot sun, Jace felt a sudden chill as he pulled the bag into his arms.

Hugging the box to his chest, he staggered into