Blind Maneuvers: Voyages of the Carpathia, #1

By Shauna E. Black

The Carpathia's captain has a price on his head. The last place first mate Brayde wants to go is flying into the heart of the Tyrian Empire that wants the ship and its young crew, dead or alive. Yet, when news of Captain Xanthe's lost sister comes to light, that's precisely where the captain charts their course. This time, Xanthe's magic voice might not be enough to save them. But Brayde will follow his captain anywhere.

Avilene's plans after graduating from the Empire's most prestigious academy include escaping the tyranny of the academy's director. They do not include being kidnapped by the most notorious outlaw in the Empire and his dashing first mate. When she rescues a crewmember and is accepted as one of them, Avilene must decide if she has the guts to betray them all just to save herself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shauna E. Black
• Release date: Dec 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9781940855349

Book preview

Books by Shauna E. Black

Rebel Bound

Rebel Bound

Rebel Betrayed

Rebel Return

Voyages of the Carpathia

Blind Maneuvers

Frail Contraptions (coming soon!)

Broken Mechanisms (coming soon!)

Soul in Ashes

Forgotten Embers

Allure of the Goddess

Sanctuary Defiled

Quest for Salvation

Thunderstruck

Find out more on https://shaunablack.com

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Blind Maneuvers

Text copyright © 2023 Shauna E. Black

Cover design © 100 Covers

Cover images licensed by Shutterstock

Interior images licensed by Depositphotos

Published by Vivienza

ISBN 978-1-940855-34-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the express written permission of Shauna E. Black.

Blind Maneuvers / Shauna E. Black

Summary: When news of the captain's lost sister comes to light, will Brayde follow him into the heart of the empire that wants them dead?

This is a work of fiction. Settings and events are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance characters may have to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Contents

Dedication

1.ONE

1. THE PHANTOM NIGHTINGALE

2.TWO

2. THE STEAM WELL

3.THREE

3. DODGING BULLETS

4.FOUR

4. FRIGATE IN PURSUIT

5.FIVE

5. TRANSFER REQUEST

6.SIX

6. THE LABORATORY

7.SEVEN

7. PRESENTING THE PLAN

8.EIGHT

8. HUNGER PANGS

9.NINE

9. SLIPPING THROUGH THE NIGHT

10.TEN

10. CONSCRIPTION DAY

11.ELEVEN

11. YUGEND ACADEMY

12.TWELVE

12. SPYING THROUGH TIME

13.THIRTEEN

13. RITE OF PASSAGE

14.FOURTEEN

14. HOVER MONITOR

15.FIFTEEN

15. THE JIG IS UP

16.SIXTEEN

16. RECKONING

17.SEVENTEEN

17. OUTMANEUVERING THE ENEMY

18.EIGHTEEN

18. RESCUING CUPCAKE

19.NINETEEN

19. REST AND REGROUP

20.TWENTY

20. PORT LANDING

21.TWENTY-ONE

21. DUTIES TO FULFILL

22.TWENTY-TWO

22. EVERYTHING FALLS APART

23.TWENTY-THREE

23. HOSPITAL CARE

24.TWENTY-FOUR

24. TAKING FLIGHT

25.TWENTY-FIVE

25. DUTY CALLS

26.TWENTY-SIX

26. REVELATIONS

27.TWENTY-SEVEN

27. CRACKING THE WORLD

28.TWENTY-EIGHT

28. FORGIVENESS

29.FRAIL CONTRAPTIONS: ONE

29. THE COMING STORM

HOW WAS IT?

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

To Katie

You inspire me with your unbridled enthusiasm for life.

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ONE

THE PHANTOM NIGHTINGALE

There were any number of ways Brayde could spend his afternoon that were infinitely more pleasant than strolling through the muddy streets of a barter town. Covered in grease repairing the winch on the mainsail, for instance. Yet here he was in Rhoma, an outpost squatting on a meager peninsula of the Empire that trafficked in everything from produce to metals to people. The black market was rumored to even dabble in trading children—the reason Brayde and Xanthe were here.

Brayde’s misgivings weren’t helped by the empty holster at his hip. He’d been obliged to hand over his stinger at the berth gate. Xanthe had relinquished his saber as well, and Brayde missed the comforting shape that usually skewed the tails of Xanthe’s long, black coat.

Hold it. Brayde threw out a hand to stop Xanthe from crossing a street.

A long auto driven by a man wearing goggles and a silk scarf streaming in the wind roared past, splashing mud in all directions. In its wake surged a bevy of bicycles, pedestrians, and motorcycles spouting black smoke, all jockeying for position.

We don’t have time to spare. Xanthe’s voice had a lilting accent and a mellow quality, like silk gliding over harp strings. That child’s life could be in danger if Janko decides to sell to one of the underground factories instead of us.

Stepping into the path of a bicycle that was forced to swerve out of their way, Xanthe forged into the melee, ignoring the mud that splashed across his boots and up onto his coat.

Brayde grumbled as he did his best to follow. His size made it difficult to keep up with his more nimble captain. The child’s life might be in danger, but their entire crew would suffer the consequences if they got caught by the Rhoma guard.

Xanthe wove himself between the bodies of the crowd like an acrobat, a veritable prince striding through the garish slums. All leather flaps and dark angles, he was thin as a whip and tall as a post. A pair of dark, crimson spectacles glinted in the sun when he turned sharply in answer to Brayde’s warning to avoid an overturned cart of potatoes.

As they advanced through the city, Brayde’s senses were assaulted with clashing colors and garish outfits pulsing in the bald sunlight. The smells of human waste mingled unpleasantly with fried food. Music and haggling voices pounded against his eardrums.

There it is. Brayde had to shout over the cacophony of the hawkers and the hum of a thousand throats. Ten steps ahead, to the right.

The pub was located in a ramshackle building with an upper story sagging atop the first, as though pressed on by the thumb of a distracted giant. The official logo proclaiming this a place to drown one’s sorrows hung askance on a crooked board looming over the street, ready to brain an unwary pedestrian. A child shouldn’t be in such an establishment, but Brayde had seen worse. He followed Xanthe inside.

The noise of the street was only slightly subdued as the door banged shut behind them. The room was crowded with patrons chattering and laughing as they sat gambling at round tables. A piano badly in need of tuning played merrily from the corner with a group of women singing along at the top of their lungs, the words bawdy enough to bring a blush to Brayde’s cheeks. He ignored the blonde waving him over and focused on picking a path through the maze of tables.

The counter’s to the left, Brayde said, as followed Xanthe. Four paces around a table straight ahead. He averted his eyes from the couple snogging on top of the table.

The bar was a standard variety, with a long counter stained by years of spilled alcohol and dusty bottles cluttered in rows on a shelf along the far wall. Brayde made room for them at the bar by glaring at the nearby patrons until they shifted aside.

An eager attendant with strands of greasy hair scuttled from a swinging door behind the bar and approached. Can I help you, young sirs?

We’re looking for Janko, Xanthe said.

Janko? Never heard of him.

Brayde placed both hands on the counter top and leaned in so that his leather vest creaked over his bulging muscles. We have an appointment.

The attendant sneered. Is that so?

With long, slim fingers, Xanthe deliberately pulled his spectacles off, revealing his eyes. They were blind, a milky white with fragments of color dancing subtly in the depths. Together with his pale skin and deep auburn hair, his appearance hinted at his ethereal origins.

The attendant’s smile fell right off his face. He trembled. It can’t be! We heard you were shot down over Leyone.

Obviously, Xanthe said, that rumor was false.

The man stammered something about returning in a moment and made a hasty retreat.

Brayde put his back to the bar and leaned into it, intimidating any patrons who dared to show interest in his conversation.

This is a bad idea, he mumbled to Xanthe.

Xanthe slid his spectacles carefully back into place. We’ve come this far. We might as well go through with it.

It smells like a trap.

Of course it does. I wouldn’t have come, otherwise.

Brayde let out an exasperated breath. What?

Xanthe flexed his fingers. Traps often have live bait.

His words did nothing to loosen the knot in Brayde’s stomach. If anything, it got tighter. He clenched and unclenched a fist, wishing more than ever it held his stinger.

Keep your top on, Brayde. Xanthe’s calm tone was irritating. I know what I’m doing.

Yeah, that’s what you always say.

The attendant reappeared on their side of the counter. His mouth stuttered into an obsequious smile as he asked them to follow him to a narrow hallway. Xanthe didn’t move like a blind man as he swayed around obstacles, walking with a confident stride Brayde quickly matched.

Six paces, Brayde said automatically. Through a door.

As they crossed the threshold, the door swung closed behind them. The noise quieted considerably, and the light dimmed. They were in a large, unfinished chamber with supporting beams stretching two stories up to the roof. It was cluttered with barrels and crates, damaged furniture, and piles of broken glass. The boards on the back wall had gaps, showing glimpses of the alley behind the building. The crisp cold of late autumn and the alley’s stench seeped in to permeate the room. It was as if they’d just been swallowed whole and were now being digested in a monster’s belly.

Stairs, Brayde said, as he watched the attendant scurry up a staircase to a landing above.

Rickety ones, Xanthe added sardonically.

Brayde quirked an eyebrow. How …?

Xanthe gave a casual shrug as he and Brayde followed the attendant up the steps. They squeal like a banshee.

The hinges on the door above shrieked just as loud when the attendant opened it. I brought him. His voice quivered more than the stairs.

Instead of following the attendant immediately through the door, Xanthe paused on the landing. Brayde? The room? he murmured.

Brayde peered over Xanthe’s shoulder through the narrow opening the attendant had left. It wasn’t very often Xanthe requested a description. I can’t see much, he said. Looks like a window on the far side with an empty chair straight ahead.

How many paces?

I’d say six.

Good enough.

Xanthe put out a hand to push the door all the way open. He moved slower than usual and stumbled a little before he seated himself in the chair.

Brayde frowned. Something was wrong, but he didn’t have time to puzzle out what it was.

Forgetting his concern, Brayde brushed past the attendant and put on a menacing expression. He crossed the room and came to a stop behind Xanthe’s chair, folding his arms and flexing his muscles. Xanthe had said their first impression would be critical to getting the child out.

Now that he was in the room, Brayde could see the rest of it. The ceiling sloped down to a petite dormer looking out over a side street. What little sunlight penetrated the filthy windowpanes was choked with dust eddying in the air currents of their entrance. Streaks of coal on the peeling wallpaper gave evidence the fireplace had once been used, but the room was cold.

Beside the empty hearth in a wingback chair, a man as tattered as the room itself sat contemplating them over hands encased in fingerless gloves, the dirty nails tapping together in a steepled formation. He wore a gray wool coat and the squat hat of a military leader, though the hat appeared neglected and stained like the rest of him. The entire effect resembled nothing so much as a dusty old spider, contemplating its latest catch.

Ah, the Phantom Nightingale, he rasped.

Xanthe nodded. Janko.

You’re younger than I expected.

I’ll take that as a compliment.

Yes, well. Janko’s eyes narrowed. I’ve been following your exploits by the underground wireless, though the Tyrian fleet seems to consider you more of a nuisance than a real threat. How galling that must be for a vigilante like yourself.

No more galling than a disgraced sergeant subsisting off black market scraps on the fringe of a Tyrian barter town.

Janko’s expression soured, as though he’d bit his own tongue.

I didn’t come to exchange pleasantries, Xanthe continued. The hard tone belied his relaxed posture.

Janko cleared his throat and regained his veneer of calm. Right to the point. I like that. Shows you’re a businessman. He waved a hand at the attendant. Fetch it in here. To Xanthe, he added, This one was caught wriggling under the fence at Addlebrook. Scrawny little thing. I don’t know why the C.C.A. even bothered with it. But reports say you aren’t choosy about the kids you take on—in fact, the scrawnier, the better. His grin showed teeth blackened with tar that hadn’t seen the right end of a brush in too many days.

The attendant reappeared, yanking the arm of a small figure, towing it after him. At the sight, Brayde took an involuntary step forward. Xanthe made a slight hissing noise. Although Brayde quickly resumed his threatening stance, Janko must have noticed. Brayde’s fist tightened. Stupid and impulsive. It would cost them bargaining power.

A girl of about six years old turned frightened eyes on them. She wore the nondescript uniform of a factory worker, the plain cotton ripped and sullied. The girl was young, younger than any child in a factory had a right to be. Brayde’s muscles quivered. Don’t hit Janko. Not yet anyway.

The child visibly shivered, teeth chattering in a quiet staccato. Xanthe stood and pulled the coat off his shoulders to swing it around her. So much for gaining bargaining power by feigning disinterest.

All congeniality lost, Xanthe’s tone became hard, raw anger. Did you house the poor child in an ice box, Janko?

Brayde was glad to drop the pretense that they weren’t interested in making a deal with Janko to free this girl. He reached for her, but Janko put up a hand, and the attendant stepped in front of her. Brayde hesitated. While he could have swept the man aside with a single blow, he waited for a signal from Xanthe.

Xanthe straightened slowly, head cocked slightly toward Janko. How much?

Janko chuckled. It was an eerie sound, like bare tree branches scraping together on a windy night. This is a two for one special, Nightingale.

I’m not interested in changing the deal. How much?

Janko allowed an uncomfortable silence to blanket the room. Brayde’s frustration rose like bile in his throat. He wanted to throttle the smile off the old man’s face, but he tightened his fists until the knuckles cracked. If he ruined this, the girl would suffer for it.

Janko seemed unruffled. You understand, Nightingale, that there are others who will pay handsomely for a runaway with her skills. I hope you will have the patience to hear me out.

Xanthe crossed his arms over his chest, echoing Brayde’s earlier stance. I’m listening.

Janko’s smile grew, showing chipped and missing teeth in the recesses. I have a piece of information I think you’ll find quite valuable.

Xanthe gave Brayde a nod.

At last! Brayde crossed to Janko in two long strides, grabbed him by the arm, and yanked him out of his crumbling chair before the man could blink. Janko’s arm felt sinewy and skeletal beneath the rough wool of his coat. That cocky smile faltered. Brayde gave him a rough shake for good measure.

The attendant squeaked like a frightened rat and jumped out the door, slamming it behind him. The little girl huddled lower in Xanthe’s coat, almost disappearing.

I grow weary of your games, Janko, Xanthe whispered. I could just take the child and go.

Janko growled and yanked his arm away from Brayde’s grip. Brayde let him. This close, Janko’s smell of stale cabbage and sausage grease was faintly nauseating, anyway.

Straightening his coat, Janko brushed some of the dust off. Not that his attempts helped his appearance any. I’ll call the guards.

Xanthe’s voice pulsed with quiet menace. Do you really want to show them the back rooms of this place?

Janko wasn’t cowed. They can be here in ten seconds.

We’ll be gone in five, Brayde interjected.

Janko’s eyes narrowed until they were no more than slits. Really? That would be a shame. Then you would never hear this interesting tidbit. And believe me, Nightingale, you want me to tell you all about it.

Xanthe’s confident stride brought him nose to nose with Janko. Then tell me.

Janko rubbed his fingertips together. It’ll cost you.

Brayde?

Brayde yanked the purse off his belt. How much?

All of it, Xanthe said.

Brayde blinked, not sure he’d heard correctly. All of it?

Yes.

Trying not to think about how many coins he’d stuffed into the purse, Brayde slowly placed the pouch in Janko’s outstretched hand. The fingers closed around it like claws.

With a widening grin, Janko yanked the mouth of the pouch open and poked one dirt-encrusted finger inside. Tyrian gold, I assume? The man practically drooled.

Of course.

Janko pulled out the coins. They glittered in the dim light, newly minted with the stern profile of Chancellor Vaas, ruler of the Tyrian Empire that had engulfed the Yuropene Continent in the Global War some twenty years ago.

Janko’s lips moved as he silently counted. Finally, he stepped back and sketched a bow. A pleasure doing business.

The information? Xanthe demanded.

Janko looked between them as if measuring them up for sale on his black market.

Ah, yes. The look of the spider returned. My sources have informed me that there have been a surprising number of earthquakes in the capital city.

Xanthe raised an eyebrow. "What’s so strange about that? Earthquakes happen everywhere, even in the no-slip zones."

Janko’s smile deepened. But some of these are strong, up to a six on the riktmograph. The epicenter has been pinpointed at Yugend Academy. It’s all very hush, hush, you understand. There’s been no official acknowledgment that anything is amiss. The Empire is hiding something.

The Empire is always hiding something.

Brayde growled, This is hardly worth a purse full of coins.

But this is. Janko bowed his head in deference. My sources say there is a young lady in the academy’s upper class who wears a bracelet of green stones.

Brayde caught his breath.

Even Xanthe lost his cool veneer. Tyrians would never allow an Andul to set foot in one of their academies, let alone train in the upper class, especially Yugend.

Believe what you will, Janko continued smoothly. I’m merely the messenger. I trust this information met with your satisfaction? Xanthe gave a single nod. Then I will bid you farewell. My assistant will return shortly to escort you out.

We can see ourselves out, Brayde growled.

Janko protested a little too quickly. I think not. You gentlemen wouldn’t want to attract unwarranted attention. We have a more … discreet exit.

As Janko minced through the door, Brayde was distracted from his misgivings by the familiar fervor in Xanthe’s expression.

You’re not serious. Brayde said.

Xanthe smoothed the brocade of his vest. We can’t ignore it.

This will be like all the others, Xanthe. The last time we went on one of your wild goose chases we were nearly grounded when that destroyer popped out of nowhere. We can’t outrun those things.

But we can outmaneuver them.

And what if you’re caught this time? Do you want to become a slave to the Tyrians like all the other Andul? Xanthe didn’t answer, so Brayde turned away and started to pace. If the Tyrians are hiding an Andul in the most prestigious academy in the Empire, that means they’re up to something. Something big. We shouldn’t go blundering into the middle of it.

Maybe the Tyrians aren’t the ones hiding the girl.

Are you kidding me? Brayde’s nails dug into the palms of his hands. Janko said she’s wearing moldavite crystals. Who else would control an Andul that way?

They could be emeralds.

But they’re not.

The little girl had crammed herself into a corner, probably frightened by their argument.

Brayde stopped pacing. He took a deep breath and forced a more reasonable tone. It’s been ten years, Xanthe. You’ve got to admit that your sister is lost for good.

Xanthe’s expression hardened, his long mouth becoming a thin line, his brow furrowing down behind the spectacles. I won’t give up, Brayde, he whispered. Not ever. Not if I have to scour every last inch of this wretched empire. I vowed to find her, and that is what I will do, even if it takes a hundred years.

Brayde ran a hand through his tan hair. Rescuing older kids always ends badly. They’re too steeped in Tyrian lies.

If she’s causing earthquakes that big, she needs my help, Brayde. Xanthe moved toward the window as he spoke, head swiveling as though he were searching for something. Besides, you weren’t exactly a spring chicken when I found you. But you’re the best first mate I’ve ever had.

The memory of that dark pit where Xanthe had rescued him sent heat creeping up Brayde’s neck. Are you calling me old? Who just turned the wrong side of twenty?

Xanthe’s smile was fleeting. You’re only a couple of years behind me.

Three years, Grandpa. Count ‘em and weep. Brayde checked the door handle. Locked. It looks like there’s a fire escape out that window.

It’s too late for that.

Sweat broke out on Brayde’s forehead. Why?

The Rhoma Guard has just arrived.

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TWO

THE STEAM WELL

Avilene hadn’t been in the steam well since she was a small child, but it was the only other place Lorelei might be. Little more than a service shaft, the steam well rose through the center of Yugend Academy from the lowest basement all the way to the top, fifty stories high.

The chug and hiss of engines masked the crash of the heavy metal door as Avilene stepped inside the entrance. Opening the door had been a trick. If Lorelei had come here, she was more desperate than Avilene gave her credit for.

The air was hot and humid, enveloping her lungs and tickling her mind with memories like wisps of ghostly fingers. Her eyes were unable to penetrate the gloom, even after several moments to adjust. As a child, she’d often stolen an electric torch when she and Lorelei played hide and seek here. But she had other tools now.

Avilene pulled off her gloves and tucked them into the pocket of her uniform. If she didn’t find Lorelei, Superintendent Proteus would have her head. The last time Lorelei disappeared, Proteus broke a blood vessel and demoted Avilene to cadet. A second infraction would be worse. He might end her military career altogether. Her only consolation then would be escaping the dominance of the Yugend Academy Superintendent, but it wasn’t her preferred method. There were other ways to gain her freedom from Proteus.

Avilene removed the squat hat that matched her short, blue skirt, replacing it with a pair of goggles from the pouch at her belt. The rubber strap caught on her red hair, threatening to pull it from the elaborate braids wound around her head, but she patiently worked it free. With a thumb, she found the tiny lever to drop down the night vision lens, and the room’s contents swam out of blackness into a green haze.

Metal beams and long pipes like snakes spat steam and went writhing out the walls to the academy. Engines on the basement floor rotated laboriously, pistons whining. The square bodies of auto bots slid on their tracks through the room, feeding and oiling the machines belching steam to rise in lacy curls before being slowly sucked out through ventilation shafts placed all along the walls. There was no wallpaper here, no plush carpeting and marble tiles, no chandeliers. She had missed these simple lines of unadorned machinery.

But the indulgent pleasures of childhood were something an upperclassman could not afford.

With a sigh, Avilene turned to climb a ladder fastened to one wall. The cold metal stung her bare hands. Her boots slid on the rungs, but she managed to reach the first floor. Through the lens of her goggles, the letters and numbers stenciled on the side of a beam to mark the level glowed faintly.

A square air shaft burrowed out to the more inhabited areas of the academy. Avilene eyed it askance. She and Lorelei had scampered through these shafts easily enough as children, but they were both taller now, filled out in all the right places. Even with her slighter build, Lorelei would not have gotten far.

It had been a foolish idea to come here. Lorelei often acted as though she didn’t even remember the adventures they’d shared in their childhood, avoiding lessons and the ever-watchful eye of Superintendent Proteus. It would never occur to the mature Lorelei to hide here, would it?

Avilene had one booted toe on the lower rung, about to scamper down the ladder to search elsewhere, when she felt it: a mild ache around her ears that slowly invaded her thoughts. Avilene paused. Perhaps she should she ignore the feeling, return to Proteus, and report that Lorelei was nowhere to be found. But the mere thought of his wrath made her quail inside. She didn’t have the courage to face that.

I’m surprised you can still fit in there, Avilene shouted over the engines. Her voice came out in a scratched whine. It was never very strong and only got worse when she yelled.

In answer, the beam of an electric torch blossomed in the shaft, veering around until it pinpointed Avilene. I might have known you’d find me here. Can’t you just leave me in peace, for once?

At least you’re not snogging some boy again … are you? Avilene shoved her night goggles up onto her forehead. He’d have to be awfully skinny.

Don’t be silly. Karl and I broke up last week.

So you’re due for another one. Avilene took a deep breath. Come along, Lorelei. You know you can’t avoid it.

There was a loud hiccup that echoed and bounced off the air shaft before it reached Avilene. I can’t sing when I’m upset!

Avilene found herself clicking her fingernails against the metal rung and forced herself to stop. Proteus won’t accept that excuse.

The metal rang with sudden movement, and the torch beam wavered wildly, revealing glimpses of Lorelei’s blonde tresses above the glaring gray eyes of their owner, as she scuttled to the mouth of the shaft. Avilene leaned back to give her room.

Why must you drag me back to him? Lorelei spat. Can’t you help me for once? You’re as awful as he is.

The words sliced through Avilene. There had been a time when she and Lorelei had planned to escape together, but those dreams were as childish and fleeting as the torn scraps of paper on which they’d been drawn. Avilene’s only hope of freedom was without Lorelei. As Proteus’ tool, Lorelei was much too valuable to lose. But he wouldn’t send a skyhound after Avilene alone. Her chest seemed encased in lead whenever she thought about leaving Lorelei behind.

I know this is hard, Avilene said carefully, but you have to keep trying. Proteus promised you special privileges if you’re successful. The lead tightened around her heart. It was a lie, but one Lorelei would readily accept.

To ease her own conscience, Avilene reached out and brushed Lorelei’s hand on the torch with a tentative finger. It was a mistake. Lorelei’s muscles tensed. Avilene caught Lorelei’s other hand mid-motion and pressed the wrist until the tiny dirk Lorelei held dropped from her fingers. It clattered against the metal walls of the shaft on its way to the floor.

Lorelei’s shoulders hitched in a giant sob, and she threw her arms around Avilene, torch and all.

I’m sorry! Her tears drenched the gold braiding of office decorating