We Who Sleep: Three Ghosts in the Machine, #3

By G. Allen Wilbanks and Black Hare Press

The year is 1762 and the rough seas are threatening and treacherous—but they have nothing on Captain William Dearborn.

 

Dearborn, captain of the Deadly Vagabond, is master of both his ship and his men—who know to turn a blind eye to his nefarious activities.

 

But when a faulty compass guides them from their chosen course, his past comes back to haunt him.

 

Those who sleep have awakened, and Dearborn is the only thing standing in the way of the rest they desire.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Black Hare Press
• Release date: Jan 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201474485

Book preview

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G. ALLEN WILBANKS

THREE GHOSTS IN THE MACHINE #3

MORE FROM G. ALLEN WILBANKS

THREE GHOSTS IN THE MACHINE

THEY

SPIRITUS EX MACHINA

WE WHO SLEEP

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WE WHO SLEEP title is

Copyright © 2022 G. Allen Wilbanks

First published in Australia in January 2022

by Black Hare Press

The author retains the copyright of the works featured in this publication.

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this production may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher and copyright owner.

Edited by D. Kershaw

Formatting by Ben Thomas

Cover design by Dawn Burdett

Twitter: @BlackHarePress

Facebook: BlackHarePress

Website: www.BlackHarePress.com

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

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CHAPTER ONE

Captain William Dearborn knelt on the wooden boards lining the floor of his cabin, tugging at the loose ends of a canvas tarp and securing them tightly with twine. Sweat glistened on his brow as he laboured. He checked his knots, making sure the tarp was closed, and didn’t allow any further leakage from within to add to the already existing mess. When he was satisfied with the results, Dearborn grasped the now-wrapped object and lurched to his feet, slinging it over one shoulder with a grunt.

The long cylindrical bundle draped, limp and awkward, over him. Fortunately, it was not terribly heavy. He managed to step carefully across the slick floorboards to the door of his quarters without losing his balance. He shifted the weight so it wouldn’t fall as he released it with one hand to grasp the door handle.

Outside the cabin, he hooked the door with the toe of his calf-length leather boot and flicked it closed behind him.

His boot heels clunked noisily as he moved through the ship, banging firmly against the floorboards with each laden step. Dearborn did not mind the effort expended. He had made this trip many times before, and he anticipated he would do so many times again. He considered it to be energy well spent.

Dearborn walked out into daylight on the quarterdeck of the ship—his ship. The Deadly Vagabond had been among the fastest ships on the water when she was built in 1732. That had been thirty years ago, but the old girl could still run. She had life left in her sails yet. He paused to sniff the fresh air and gaze out at the expanse of blue surrounding him.

Several deckhands scuttled busily from task to task on the quarterdeck and on the main deck further down. No one paused to salute or address the captain. They did not so much as acknowledge his presence in their midst. He could have been a ghost for all the attention they paid him, a spectral wanderer aboard the ship, completely invisible to the naked eye.

Dearborn handpicked and trained each and every member of his crew. They knew their place, and they knew how to be discreet. Particularly when he was engaged in activities like his current errand. They would leave him be until he was finished.

The captain trudged to the railing at the side of the Deadly Vagabond. He blew out a breath, then deposited his burden on the deck, propping it upright against a polished wooden post. He had to keep both hands on the bundle to keep it from slumping or falling to the side.

The wind whipped past him; fierce, cold, and clutching at anything it could grab. A poorly tucked flap at the top of the canvas ripped loose of its ropes and waved, curling and snapping in the intermittent gusts of