Cinderborn: A Red Sabre Novel

By K.J. McFadyen

In the sequel to the Clockwork Caterpillar, rail mercenary Felicity Metticia is trying to live by the laws that rule Athemisa. When a simple job transporting gentile passengers lands the crew in the middle of a train battle, Captain Metticia must seek shelter in the port of Mount Royal while repairs are completed.Unfortunately, Mount Royal is anything but a safe port and the crew find themselves besieged on all sides by corrupt officials, brutal gangs and a sinister sect in this second Red Sabre novel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: K.J. McFadyen
• Release date: Apr 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9781775313144

K.J. McFadyen

Kevin McFadyen is a world traveller, a poor eater, a happy napper and occasional writer. When not typing frivolously on a keyboard, he is forcing Kait to jump endlessly on her bum knees or attempting to sabotage Derek in the latest boardgame. He prefers Earl Gray to English Breakfast but has been considering whether or not he should adopt a crippling addiction to coffee instead.His love for stories started way back in his distant childhood when he enjoyed the classics: J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, Robert Aspirin and Lynn Abbey, Ursula Le Guin, Stephen King, Piers Anthony, Clive Cussler, H.P. Lovecraft and a slew more that aren’t currently on the nearby bookshelf. While video and boardgames may have supplanted some of his reading time, Kevin has committed his life and sanity to the crafting of his own narratives.Having accumulated a number of short stories, this persistent scribbler has published his first book – a steampunk fantasy titled Thyre: City of Smoke and Shadow. His second full length novel – The Clockwork Caterpillar – is coming soon. Kevin continues to share his ideas on writing, media and life in the jointly own blog: Somewhere Post Culture (www.somewherepostculture.com).

Book preview

This one’s for you Kait. Now you can’t say I never give you anything.

Prologue

"O Domine da nobis in fortitudine labe et piaculo. Da nobis viribus ferox enim et adversus nos in perfecta forma vestræ concinnant. Nam et nos infirmi sumus in cordibus nostris, nisi fluxum et fragile. Wall nos in tentationem, et lavit nos in flamma purgata.

Flamma purgata.

The warmth of the flame was an addictive thing. Its memory was imprinted on her entire body. Even when she was not before a candle, she could still feel the heat across her skin. And now, it called to her. Its sinewy form wavered in all manners of enticement. She longed for its enveloping caress. She ached for the pain of its embrace. She craved it like nothing else before. And the acrid smoke she breathed deeply was cloying in the way it tickled her throat and choked the pure air from her lungs.

Flamma purgata.

Abbitassa?

The word stirred the candle. It was as though the flame had whispered it. Her eyes filled with that flicker of orange and red. Deep in its smouldering heart, she could see a form as dark as it was seductive. Arms unfolded and beckoned. That pitch grew in her vision, twisting to a form both familiar and pleasing. It blossomed so large as to envelope her. And she welcomed it.

Abbitassa?

She turned from the flame with utmost reluctance. She could, if allowed, stare at it for hours. Her sisters insisted she had. But they did not question her. For there was power within the spark. It was a conduit that led back to the divine. And only she could hear it. The sibilant sound of its undying hunger took on syllables both alluring and horrifying. Within the crackle lay the voice of the Lord. And it spoke only to her.

The sisters recognized the truth. They may not hear but they still saw with eyes frail to the distractions of this world. If there were one thing that life feared, it was unbridled power.

Abbitassa? The men are here.

Honora turned.

Sister Decima waited. She clasped hands beneath the long sleeves of the covenant’s dark robes. Her head bowed in reference. To outsiders, she embodied the stoic practices of the Abominarii. But Honora could read her. She could see the woman in a light that none else perceived. And beneath that unblinking gaze, she saw the hideous weakness. Her skin, though dark as char, lacked the marks of strength and fury. She was untested. Meek. Her heart wavered in the ignorance of craven thoughts.

But Honora saw even more. She saw what she could be. She saw the beauty that would sear her flesh and curdle her skin. It was a form divine. The sister needed but time. She could bear the trials of the Lord—of that Honora was certain.

She smiled to the sister. But her gaze was fleeting. For out of the corners of her eyes, Honora saw the shadows waver. Their dark arms wrapped about the bare timbers and scorched stone. They wavered into a comforting blaze, filling the hall with a smoke too dark to pierce. The roar of their voice filled her ears as the fire spoke to her of promises. Promises delivered and those that had yet to come. She could smell the blood and, oh, how it did boil in the heat.

In the moment, Honora knew not whether it was past or future that spat and hissed at her. She just knew the fires spoke of their touch and she wanted for nothing more than to extend her arms and welcome the little sparks to her sleeves, her robe, her wimple and ultimately to the scarred and fatty flesh beneath. Her nostrils filled with the stench of cooked meat and it smelled… sublime.

Honora raised her hands.

Sister Decima’s gasp cut through her thoughts. When Honora opened her eyes, the inferno was gone. But her skin sweated from the memory. And she still smelled the coppery tang of cruor. Though it lacked the sweetness of a gentle broil.

She felt her fingers sticky with ichor. Honora watched the blood trickle down her palms. It warmed her flesh with its passage—a warmth that tickled and pleased even as faint as it was. She wanted to press it against her cheeks.

But Sister Decima’s concern drew Honora’s attention. Curiosity piqued her heart and she tried to peer around Honora. The Abbitassa turned. There, across the cracked stone altar lay the small, black feathered body. It was spread supine across the uneven top. Its flesh was peeled and its organs extracted with care. Several bones were snapped. And the twisted knife which had done the work was driven so hard through the creature that it stood upright, wedged in the crevice of the altar through sacrifice.

And it took longer for Honora than for the sister to realize who was responsible for the deed.

Is… ah… Sister Decima bowed her head. Your grace, what is your command?

Honora ignored the urge to lick the blood from her fingers. Yes.

I-I am sorry, Abbitassa? I don’t understand. Have you… have you heard?

Honora stepped to the altar. She caressed one of the black pinions. Here lay the proof of her devotion. The message had been unfurled and the words laid bare. In all of us burned the flame. In some, it crackled hotter and shone brighter. But that merely meant that others needed extra kindling.

Course, everyone knew that the greater the flame, the greater the hunger.

I see great things for you, sister, Honora whispered. She lifted the entrails. Thick was the smell of the expired bird. I see the rise of your sun upon the horizon. It shall be a great challenge but you have in you the strength to bear the glory which awaits. The Lord has noted your duty and piety. The hour draws near. We shall banish the dark with unyielding light.

Sister Decima wavered upon the bare earth. That-that is truly marvellous. But, what of the men? They wish to see you.

Honora dismissed her with a wave. Of course. Prepare yourself. Recite the psalms. Know that the Creator’s light shines brightly upon you. You may go.

But Abbitassa… the petitioners?

Her words were but hollow things. Honora hardly recognized she spoke. She looked over the sprawled, broken bird.

This will need to be cleaned. I am expecting guests.

The Abbitassa looked at the crooked tree which twisted overhead. No leaves grew on those scorched branches. The plant had shown no life for the last several years. It was as dead as the sanctum within which it resided. But though no life coursed through its great veins, Abbitassa could see that it was strong. It still held its weight. She reached up and snapped a stray twig from its bough.

Shall I direct them to the Hall of Contemplation while you prepare?

A smile broke Honora’s austere face. Yes, the wood was still of use. It could still bear his torch. She split the twig between her fingers, tossed the stray ends aside then bowed her head in prayer. She heard Sister Decima take her silence as an unspoken command. The sister’s robes scratched across the earth in her retreat.

Honora whispered an apology.

Forgive her Lord, she does not see. She will never see.

The candles about the altar sputtered. Honora reached out her hand, holding steady her palm above the nipping flame. The heat enveloped her and she could feel it dry the blood on her fingertips. It was comforting. It told her that she was blameless in the strife to come. Sister Decima’s fate had been determined long ago. All that was left was to perform the pageant.

She closed her eyes. In the dark, she saw Sister Decima’s broken body sprawled upon the cobble. Not unlike that of the avian before the Abbitassa.

And Honora smiled.

Yes, my Lord, she whispered.

For she, above all others, heard the voice. And she knew what others could not.

I shall light the way.

Chapter 1

Gentlemen and most genteel ladies, may I have your attention! Your attention please! The silver spoon sang against the thin contour of the fine crystal glass both held aloft in matching white silk gloves. May I impress upon your cherished attention for just a moment. I promise I shall not take too much of your time.

Schroeder commanded the attention of the passengers. With the pressed charcoal morning coat and meticulously trimmed coiffure, Schroeder was ignorant of a greater model for the New World gentleman than he. Pinstriped black and steel blue trousers, gleaming silver cufflinks and polished boots marked him as the civilized tastes that could blossom in the wilds. But Athemisian sensibilities were not lost as he bore a vest and cravat fashioned from exquisite Jader cloths with entwining dragons surrounded by luscious red peony embroidery.

First, I wish to thank you profoundly for your choice of Libertas Serena Express as your means of travel. I, Walter Samuel Schroeder II hope that you have found the accommodations and fare to your exacting tastes. It has been both my and my colleagues’ greatest pleasure to deliver the finest experience upon the expansive rails of our prestigious colonies. Several heads nodded and Schroeder offered his most captivating smile. It was the smile of a man studiously cultivated in the art of charming disarmament. It was also a smile that could not support that great shudder as the train car rattled violently.

A few cries rose from the assembly but Schroeder tapped his glass for attention. My apologies for the sudden start. As you are aware, my desire is to provide a luxurious environment at the most cutthroat rate. To see so many brave souls recognize value is heartening. As such, I would kindly request that you open those generous hearts and tables to accommodate as many kindred spirits amongst your fine selves.

He waved over the already crowded dining booths. A low babble rose once more as neighbours consulted one another. Schroeder did not wait on their deliberations, beckoning the last passengers gathered about the door into the car and directed them to every available scrap of spare cushion. Ladies shifted bustles and gentlemen pulled satchels over their knees. The train car heaved upon its wheels again. Mr. Taff fell from his feet.

What a testament to the charity and grace of the Thyrian people you all are. Truly, there is no greater hospitality than that of honest colonials! Schroeder held onto the back of a booth while Hope hurried to Mr. Taff’s side. The little girl was hardly half the tall gentleman’s height but her footing was far surer. She provided the support the gentleman needed to slip into the slim space Schroeder made beside him. And the timing couldn’t have been better as the chandeliers overhead threatened to shake loose from their holdings.

What is the meaning of this! Mrs. Betucius declared from her squashed pillows. She looked like a pink mound of corn sacks with the way her dress squeezed out between the apologetic shoulders of her neighbours. I had been promised a calm and relaxing trip up the coastline!

Well, it is our full intention to deliver just that, Schroeder smiled. This is merely a temp—

He stumbled as the floor beneath him tilted at an angle most disconcerting. Several guests spilled from the corners of their benches. Glasses tripped on slim bases. Wine and water combined upon polished tops and sloshed into the laps of started ladies. Many drew to their feet while Schroeder shouted them down. Please! Please! I beg of you to keep your seats. We… ah… shall fetch you some handkerchiefs. My humblest apologies!

He snapped his fingers and Hope scampered along table edges towards the dining car’s cabinets. While most passengers gripped tightly to table or chair, the girl balanced on her toes handling the violent challenges of her footing better than any other. It was the sort of skill polished from one who had spent too many years on the precarious rails.

She was a meek creature of less than ten years. Hope averted her hooded eyes from her suspicious guests as she passed. This close to the east coast, and few of these colonials would have interacted with the western Jaders. But the wastes were not an impenetrable barrier and the minute differences that separated the two coasts were exaggerated by those who braved the distance to create fantastical tales of their cities and peoples.

As such, Schroeder instructed her to wear her faded red jacket over the cotton shirt patched with bright squares of competing textures and design. Both garments had nearly lost all the delicate embroidery of its western heritage. But the hooks which held the front closed were still hidden beneath pleated red chrysanthemum threads. And the long sleeves could still roll back to form two wide yellow bands as cuffs, as wrinkled and stained as they were.

Schroeder figured the garment would offer passengers a taste of the exotic. Though the girl’s obsidian hair, faint honeyed complexion and rounded face seemed sufficient given the stares of the ladies to whom Hope passed fresh towels.

I demand to know the reason for this unseemly velocity, Mrs. Betucius continued, once the car had achieved a modicum of equilibrium. Look at this! I can scarcely make out wood from knoll at this pace!

She pulled back the curtain. And while the landscape beyond was a smear of green foliage and grey rock, what was most dramatic about the display was the sudden cracking glass at the pane’s top which spread out like ripples across a pond.

I did indeed make such assurances, Schroeder said, hurrying to Mrs. Betucius’ side and drawing the curtain closed. As the cracks grew larger, he could see the approach of a dark engine upon the adjoining rail. He fastened tight the curtain, despite Mrs. Betucius’ objects. But I also promised a timely arrival. As such, we thought that—ah—yes we could provide both for you. Let me assuage your worries that this stretch of rail is truly unremarkable. There was the soft pop as further holes were punctuated in the curtains. Shafts of traitorous light drew the intrigue of those There’s a lovely little lake not far from the Allegheny station from which you can observe the setting sun. The braves prescribe to it the navel of the turtle for surely this is where all the universe were born.

What by the untamed hosts is all these? Mr. Taney asked stupidly. He put his finger over the sudden light before him as though it were spilt honey.

As though to further punctuate the perforated curtain, the hull of the car began to sing as though it were being struck by a flurry of stones.

I am certain it is nought but a few stray branches. It was a most generous season for the forest’s growth, Schroeder smiled. Though quickly, he added, I would advise everyone lower their heads. Just for… well… for your own health.

The buzz of discontent grew even as several passengers obediently slouched in their seats.

Unfortunately, Schroeder’s efforts were not simultaneously enacted across the whole carriage.

Is that another vessel? Mr. Cobbleton asked from across the aisle.

I would not recommend peering from the panes! Schroeder said, hurrying over to address this new curiosity. I have heard from surgeons that… the eyes can be strained by the rapid passage of scenery at accelerated speeds. Hence our luxurious curtain hangings for your safety!

And with that, more holes spotted the length of the dining car’s luxurious curtain hangings.

Xià lăozi yī tiào! Schroeder exclaimed. Course, only Hope balked at the statement. She fell to the floor of the train car just as the locomotive struck a bank. Horrific screeching drowned out the gunfire as metal ground against metal and the chandeliers clattered against the ceiling.

Is that gunfire? Mrs. Betucius declared. Have you forfeit our lives to burglary?

Panic spread like fire as passengers lowered their heads from the windows. Several persons crawled beneath the tables, clutching to legs of either fellows or table to keep from rolling across the aisle as the train clattered along.

Not but Albionorian gnats! Schroeder tried.

Fate contradicted him as a great tear pulled from the roof in the rear of the carriage. The thunder of a cannon echoed through the hole as the wind howled and hats fled the heads of their owners. Ladies decided now was the appropriate hour for their screams.

Gather them in the dining car, Schroeder grumbled. He pushed to his feet, shouting at the few paralyzed travellers to get down before they lost their heads. Mercifully, someone snatched Mr. Hornsby by the elbow and pulled him against the cushions just moments before the window burst inward. A shower a glass scattered across the scarred tabletop as a metal ladder slammed against the window’s edge. Two metal hooks swung from its end, latching securely to the wall. But before the automatic lock could slide into place, Schroeder fell upon the ends and snapped back the metal fasteners. The curtains beat his face as, with a sweaty grunt, he pushed the end back from whence it came.

The boarding ladder caught a passing birch tree and bent with a shriek before it was torn from its parent’s bosom.

That is no tree branch, Captain Schroeder! Mrs. Betucius cried.

Several other windows broke along the beleaguered port side beneath boarding tools. Schroeder was simply outmanned. He ran to the next, greeting the stray shots with the pistol tucked in his coat pocket.

As he fell upon the closest ladder, he spied a brigand perched upon its shaking frame. Whitened knuckles gripped the rungs against the pull of wind as the invader scrambled to reach the dining car before another tree dashed the attempt against white bark. Schroeder caught the foolhardy man square in the shoulder with his shot. The pain overcame the enemy’s strength and they fell into the brush. In that moment of vacancy, Schroeder was afforded his first look at their adversary.

A full locomotive with twisted pikes protruding from its hull rumbled along the neighbouring track. Chains added to the choir distressing this stretch of woods while the attacking vessel pumped thick plumes of smoke from its chimney to keep steady with their speed. More than a dozen disguised men and women stood at open doors or started upon the ladders and ramps for the breach.

But the most distracting accoutrement were the pair of cannons primed and pointed in Schroeder’s direction.

Get down! Everyone get down!

The paired artillery discharged, rocking the carriages upon which they were mounted. One ball struck several trees, severing spindled tops from their thick trunks. The second smashed through the dining car wall and passed right out the other end. A clean hole threaded through the train car. But as Schroeder marvelled at their luck for not receiving worse from the attack, he saw through the starboard gap an even more fearsome sight.

A second vessel sped along the elevated rail. They were truly flanked on either side by these two trains. Yet this new train was much smaller than its compatriot. By Schroeder’s estimate, while the vehicle wove about stone and truck, it was no more than an engine and three carriages. Its slimmer composition gave it an advantage in matching their pace. And its higher elevation and closer running track, made it much easier for assaulting.

Schroeder heard the patter of foreign objects across the already battered roof even as he called out for Hope to warn the front of this attack. But his commands were all but futile as the port side train unleashed yet another salvo from their artillery.

Stop shooting my ship! Schroeder called out the hole. But this salvo smashed uselessly in the boughs overhead and the stone above.

Make this stop! Mrs. Betucius screamed from her booth.

By your command, Schroeder gritted. He hurried to Hope’s side, drawing close so his words were only hers to hear. Inform the captain we are pincered. We must get the front cannon primed for retaliation. Elsewise we are most certainly doomed. You understand?

Hope nodded even as fear swelled in her dark pupils. Schroeder gave her a reassuring squeeze.

Be brave. I know you are capable-

The carriage shook as another shot found purchase into its port side. Almost immediately, grapnels poured through the gap even as a symphony of missed throws rang against the carriage’s iron side.

Go now!

Schroeder stumbled to his feet with pistol in hand, ready to confront those that would spill in through this new perforation while Hope made to escape.

But it was the steel door between the dining car and sleeping carriage that parted. An unfamiliar man filled the frame. He wore a simple jacket and wrinkled trousers. But despite the gleam of the brass buttons and the thick belt around a wide gut, this was no soldier. He clearly had no right to wear the crimson uniform of the Thyrian guard but his poor facsimile made clear his intention to exude that same authority.

From behind, he pulled a long pole. The head bore no blade but formed a semi-circular device with a spring locked mechanism at its tip. The purpose of the weapon was made immediately clear as the man took but a moment to focus on Hope. The pole lashed forward; the girl gave a vicious shout. The weapon clasped around her arm, the latch securing her limb and pinning her to the ground.

Hope! Schroeder called. Terror gripped the car as the passengers backed from this blatant invader. Schroeder raised his pistol at the kidnapper but knew far too well that a shot now had a greater chance of ricocheting into a passenger than felling the villain. Release her at once—!

By the powers invested unto me by the jurisdiction of New Eboracum, I am here to apprehend the fugitive slaves who have unlawfully abandoned their master’s ownership! The kidnapper declared. He twisted his polearm and Hope gave a shout. All those aiding and abetting such desertion will rightfully be brought before the magistrate for their role in this criminal enterprise! Stand down now before you commit further grievances against your persons that will be tried at the magistrate’s judgement!

Wait! Mr. Taff said. We are not carrying slaves!

Are we? Ms. Rochford asked.

Unhand her immediately! Schroeder declared. You have no right nor power to step foot on this vessel! I demand you withdraw immediately!

You had been warned, the kidnapper said. He pulled Hope to her feet, drawing him close to her even as Schroeder brought his firearm to bear. But while he debated his shot on the rocking floor of the carriage, he could not ignore the noise from the new cannon hole.

There was a shout and several screams of passengers as a diminutive dark man tumbled through hole. He was a colourful sight with corded hair and three necklaces made of brilliant checkered cloth, a clattering string of beads and the last an intricate bone inlaid with thin streaks of dye and gold filigree on a strap of leather. A thick reptilian belt cinched his waist and from it he drew a curved cutlass. Its steel quillons were short and ended in engraved ball finials that bore an anchor and crossed crown.

Behold, fair folk! For you have been graced by the terror of the Thyrian coast! The uncatchable ladron! The elusive amante! He who takes hearts as easily as denarii! It is I, the famous El Corazon Sombreado! The most revered and dastardly Rogelio Diego Joaquin—

Out of the way, biter! From behind the braggart El Sombreado tumbled yet another rogue with dark hair smoking from several imbedded waxed candles and leather apparel poorly stitched and dyed with blood. The man practically barreled El Sombreado over as she scrambled in after him. You trying to get the rest of us killed out there!

You’ve ruined my entrance, Howel! El Sombreado declared.

Howel drew a knife thicker than his face. Just get the loot!

There will be no looting! Schroeder shouting, discharging his firearm out the already shattered window. Nor will there be any kidnapping! All of you are to abandon my ship immediately!

El Sombreado and Howel exchanged a look. El Sombreado smiled. I’ll take the bigger one.

What? That’s not fair! Howel shouted. But El Sombreado ignored his protest as he leapt into the air. Curling himself into a tight ball, Schroeder hardly noticed the two small contraptions discharged from his tumble. One flew by his ear, the crackle of pent electric charge popping in his ear. The second, however, came directly for him.

Schroeder twisted his thin frame and the contraption struck his shoulder, rebounding at an unfortunate angle and right into Mr. Knott’s lap. The young man gave a cry as arcs of thin lightning cascaded out, causing his body to convulse while he sputtered. Ms. Gamble, by his side, shrieked as she pressed away from his tensing form.

The second ball caught the kidnapper in the chest. Much as its twin behaved towards Mr. Knott, the pole-armed man shouted as electricity conducted from the device into his body. He fell against the frame of the door, his grip tightening against his pole and wrenching Hope with him. The clever girl, however, noted his distraction and stomped on the man’s foot. The kidnapper gave no indication he felt the girl’s attack but as he twitched against the wall, Hope wrestled the polearm from off his hands.

Away, gilipollas! You know nothing of whom you tango! El Sombreado declared. He leapt over shrieking heads and scattered quivering top hats as he bounced from booth to booth. Schroeder attempted to intercept, but the short man jumped over him, grabbing tight the chandelier above and swigging effortless past Schroeder’s flailing arms. As his boots hit the other side, Schroeder heard his fellow advancing on him from behind.

I like your coat, cutter, Howel grinned, licking cracked lips. Do me kindly and keep from bleeding too much on it.

He tossed his curved knife between eager hands as he looked at Schroeder with violent intent.

This suit was made for finer men, Schroeder dared, keeping the villain at bay with the lips of his firearm. Course, their momentary standoff was ended as the train shook violently once more. The impact of the cannon blast upon their flank tore yet another great gash in the dining car’s roof with the projectile’s passing. The car teetered on its wheels, rising to one side so gravely that both Schroeder and Howel tumbled from their feet. Patrons spilled from the port booths.

Howel landed in Mr. Cobbleton’s lap. The older man shouted. Striking out with limb and worry, dislodging the man’s knife. Perhaps Howel would have found himself enough orientation to land a grievous strike against the gentleman however the car righted itself, causing both men to flop upon the floor. The dislodged knife clattered mere feet away and Howel’s eyes alit upon it. He scrambled for his weapon.

Until a rather fashionably laced boot landed heavily upon the handle.

Howel looked heavenward. There, standing imperious and most unforgiving, was a very displeased Mrs. Betucius.

I have paid good denarii for a pleasant jaunt upon the Queen’s coast! Mrs. Betucius declared. I shall not allow common brigands to ruin my journeys!

She raised a rather handsomely bejeweled clutch over her head. Howel, simple as he was, watched the glittering handbag with rapacious distraction. It was only when the coveted affect slammed down upon him that he grew to appreciate the Prisian craft’s reinforced design and iron tipped framed structure.

Again and again Mrs. Betucius brought it upon the man’s head. Howel’s cries were a rallying call to the cabin’s occupants. In seeing Mrs. Betucius’ courage, Schroeder’s guest came upon a sudden realization. The invaders merely numbered two. They, however, exceeded the attack’s strength by more than a fivefold factor.

Mr. Cobbleton was the first to scramble to his feet, throwing his arms about Howel’s legs. Release me, you old codger! Then it was Ms. Beedle who pinned the man’s left arm. Ms. Rochford and Mr. Certus collaborated to tame his wild right. But it was Mrs. Tubb leveraging her prestigious girth upon the man’s torso that convinced Schroeder they had the situation well and truly handled.

But wherein Howel’s shrieks were ignored by the paying members of the melee, El Sombreado kept back the bay of tentative arms with wide sweeps of his blade. His strange target, his fellow kidnapper, had regained his composure. The kidnapper had torn El Sombreado’s contraption from himself, tossing the device aside. He looked at El Sombreado with an anger that ill-fit a man caught by mistaken friendly fire.

I shall relish watching you dance beneath a thick pine, you gator-baiting sambo!

But to Schroeder’s surprise, El Sombreado laughed the man’s taunt aside. If there is one that would make a good meal for el caimán, I present that it is you and your lard which would be more satiating! And he lunged with his blade. But it was not cruel death which El Sombreado sought. With a flick, he caught but a thin beading cut across the kidnapper’s chest. The kidnapper’s coat peeled easily and his braces severed with an audible thwap!

The kidnapper’s trousers drooped and he staggered while his own clothes conspired to trip up his feet on the shaking carriage floor.

Now, where is that sweet child? I shall not leave until she has her freedom.

You will not be taking Hope anywhere! Schroeder cried. He threw himself towards El Sombreado, fuelled with desperate determination.

El Sombreado turned. Ah, ta-ta! Let’s wait our turn, shall we? His blade flashed before Schroeder. I shall deal with your slaving soul in due time.

I am no slaver! You are! Schroeder cried. The two of you.

You shall be apprehended! We board your ship now runner! the kidnapper said from the floor. El Sombreado delivered a swift kick to silence him.

We have precious little time! El Sombreado declared. Come, precious freedom awaits all you who are chained… El Sombreado looked at the finely clothed people pressing away from him in the booths. Who are imprisoned? He looked at the passengers pinning down the howling Howel beneath him. The sound of the polearm clattering drew his attention to Hope who had crawled beneath a table. Come, niňa, salvation has arrived.

But Hope retreated from his hand.

El Sombreado frowned. Where are your manacles? He looked at Schroeder. What sort of patrol ship is this?

In his confusion, the kidnapper upon the floor struck the back of his leg. El Sombreado called out, staggering to a knee. Schroeder took upon this opportunity and swung with a sharp left hook against the man’s cheek. He splayed upon the ground. El Sombreado looked up to see Hope finally manage to twist her small fingers into the polearm’s head and release the clasp.

Schroeder?! she whispered.

Ay de mi.

Schroeder lunged forward. But El Sombreado was slippery. He pushed himself to his feet. Striking out in opposite directions with sword and foot. The blade caught Schroeder in the arm, stinging flesh as it pierced cloth and skin with equal ease. His heel planted in the kidnapper’s face, crunching nose and spraying blood. As the dual attack on him stumbled back, El Sombreado used the space to kick off the table, catch the chandelier overhead, and swing upon the mass pinning his compatriot.

His body was enough to dislodge Mrs. Tubb and Mr. Certus. And the further threat of violence scattered the rest.

Save for the vulnerable Mrs. Betucius.

Be wary, senorita! This blade is no more for show than that cheap bodice of yours!

How dare you! Mrs. Betucius bellowed. But Schroeder was able to grasp the woman’s wrist before she could throw herself upon the villain’s jeers and blade.

En guardia! El Sombreado lunged at his resistance. Schroeder was able to throw Mrs. Betucius ungracefully aside. The blade slipped past, finding purchase in the high back of the booth. El Sombreado grunted as he pulled it free, a wad of shellac coloured beeswax. ¡Dios mío! Of what is this ship made?

It would be in better repair if people stopped boarding through the windows! Schroeder called back. He threw himself at the brigand but El Sombreado easily danced from his reach. He slapped Schroeder’s rear with the flat of his blade as he passed by him again.

Ha! Your legs are as stiff as a timber cutter in the dead of midwinter! El Sombreado swayed with each shudder of the car. Schroeder lunged again, but this time the carriage shook and he toppled into Ms. Taney’s unexpected arms. The girl ended up entangling him in her fright.

I would declare you a worthy adversary, mon amigo, but my mamá told me to never spread a lie. Fare thee well, imperialist!

There was the high pitched crackling of shattered glass. El Sombreado turned with a howl to see Mr. Taney having taken to a bout of heroism. Though he was clearly reconsidering his bravado with nought but the broken stem of his drinking glass in his hand. Of what are these dishes made? he lamented.

El Sombreado cried out at this cowardly attack. But there was, truly, no direction in which he could turn where his back wasn’t exposed. Mrs. Betucius brought her reticule against his already tenderized and sopping skull, driving the man to the floor with further shouts of indignity and rage.

Schroeder pulled himself from Ms. Taney and threw himself quickly upon the fallen foe. With several swift jabs, he was able to drive consciousness from the man for a fleeting moment. Having pinned him beneath his weight, he looked up to the still stunned Mr. Taney.

If you would be so obliging, kind sir, I could be sorely use the length of rope in our cupboards.

Mr. Taney nodded. He only paused at the sound of a clear bugle cry. The noise pierced the wail of wind through the numerous broken windows and great holes punctured into the carriage’s hull. Twice more its brothers sounded and the passengers looked at each other with renewed horror for what they may signify.

But it was Mr. Cobblestone who spoke first. What happened to that other ruffian?

Indeed, both him and the kidnapper had made themselves remarkably scarce. Hope stood by the open carriage door. The fat one went out here.

Schroeder felt the body beneath him writhe. Get your detestable hands off me! El Sombreado shouted. He spat in Mr. Tabb’s face as the gentleman reached down to restrain his arm. Squirming, the brigand scrambled for freedom. Schroeder called for the cutlass to be kept from the man’s grasp. But the passengers were hardly possessed of combative reflexes.

However, Schroeder heard a sharp whistle and saw Hope fetch his firearm that had tumbled loose in the scuffle. She pitched it to him and Schroeder stood, matching El Sombreado in his rise but catching the man just as he raised his blade high.

Schroeder struck him hard across the temple with the butt of his pistol. The crack was as satisfying as it was effective. The man crumpled useless to the floor.

Schroeder slumped against the bench, his breath and energy spent. Mr. Bulton and Mr. Cobbtleon made quick but sloppy work of subduing the villain.

A final ominous whistle cried. Several passengers pressed close to Schroeder for protection. He let their shoulders prop him on his feet.

They are not rallying for another assault are they?

Schroeder pulled back a ragged curtain. But to his relief, the dark vessel’s brakes shrieked like a host of the untamed repelled by the Lord’s Graces and Aspects. His confusion was only heightened as he saw the final grapnel connecting the two ships groaning with its retreating parent.