Broken Mechanisms: Voyages of the Carpathia, #3

By Shauna E. Black

Prejudice will tear their world apart.

 

Millions could die when Brayde and Captain Xanthe go undercover to infiltrate a Confederacy terrorist group that's targeting minorities and discover a plot to start a war with Tyria. But Xanthe's morale is at an all-time low with his powers burned out. Can Brayde stop the terrorists alone?

 

To track the Carpathia and find its missing crew, Avilene must return to her former academy and face her abusive past. Unfortunately, the academy has a new director. One who is ruthless and schooled in the art of torture. If Avilene can't escape, her friends are doomed to serve the Carpathia's new captain and a scheme to dominate the world.

 

If you enjoyed the future-retro flavor of Philip Reeve's Mortal Engines or the adventure and magic of Jim Butcher's Cinder Spires, then you'll love the Voyages of the Carpathia! Grab your copy of Broken Mechanisms and fly into this swashbuckling adventure!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vivienza
• Release date: Apr 23, 2024
• ISBN: 9781940855370

Book preview

Books by Shauna E. Black

Rebel Bound

Rebel Bound

Rebel Betrayed

Rebel Return

Voyages of the Carpathia

Blind Maneuvers

Frail Contraptions

Broken Mechanisms

Thunderstruck

Find out more on

http://shaunablack.com

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Broken Mechanisms

Text copyright © 2024 Shauna E. Black

Cover design © 100 Covers

Cover images licensed by Shutterstock

Interior images licensed by Depositphotos

Published by Vivienza

ISBN 978-1-940855-37-0

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.

Broken Mechanisms / Shauna E. Black

Summary: Millions could die when Brayde and Captain Xanthe go undercover to infiltrate a Confederacy terrorist group that’s targeting minorities and discover a plot to start a war with Tyria.

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.

Dedication

To Mom & Dad Black

Your support gives me wings to fly.

Contents

1.One

1. DISCRIMINATION

2.Two

2. CATCHING THE TRAIN

3.Three

3. BREAKING AND ENTERING

4.Four

4. CHASING DOWN A GUNMAN

5.Five

5. CONSEQUENCES

6.Six

6. GOODBYES

7.Seven

7. A ROOM FULL OF DEMONS

8.Eight

8. LORELEI’S MOTIVES

9.Nine

9. THE CORE OF THE ENEMY

10.Ten

10. RETURN TO YUGEND

11.Eleven

11. GHOSTS OF THE PAST

12.Twelve

12. DUNAY’S SPY

13.Thirteen

13. THE TYRIAN WEAPON

14.Fourteen

14. POLITICAL PRISONERS

15.Fifteen

15. UNCERTAIN RESCUE

16.Sixteen

16. A REUNION OF FRIENDS

17.Seventeen

17. UNLOCKING THE DOORS

18.Eighteen

18. THE REYNA

19.Nineteen

19. THE CARPATHIA’S CAPTAIN

20.Twenty

20. THE LAST FAREWELL

21.Twenty-One

21. UNFETTERED

22.Twenty-Two

22. WHAT CAN BE FIXED

23.Twenty-Three

23. SPECIAL DELIVERY

24.Twenty-Four

24. TRAPPED INSIDE

25.Twenty-Five

25. RETURN JOURNEY

26.Twenty-Six

26. A BRAVE NEW WORLD

27.HOW WAS IT?

28.ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

29.ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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One

DISCRIMINATION

The biggest challenge for an Andul in the shantytown of a Confederacy refugee camp was getting a food order properly filled. It required stealth and subterfuge … and standing in the slowest line on the planet.

Avilene took another microstep forward only to encounter a sticky puddle on the floor. Looking down with distaste, she lifted her boot from a dark patch that smelled of molasses, leaking from a nearby barrel. With luck, the syrup would rub off in the dirt outside the shop.

The grocer’s building was small and crowded with people packed between the goods piled in barrels and crates and a counter. Shelves stacked with tins and packages were arranged neatly behind the counter. There were no windows to let in the cool air of spring, leaving the shop sweltering.

A swarm of fruit flies hovered near the barrel of molasses, their tiny wings visible to Avilene’s sharp eyesight. In spite of the slips she’d performed to cross the Tyrian border and bring her friends to the refuge of the Confederacy, Avilene had retained her sight, unusual for an active Andul. Perhaps it had something to do with the destruction of all the moldavite in the Slaveek work camp when she’d conducted Xanthe’s final slip. She wanted to ask him about it, but it was best to avoid questioning him just now. Although Xanthe had woken from the coma he’d fallen into from wielding such power, he was still cloistered in a nearby hospital.

Taking another step forward and tracking molasses across the floor, Avilene fingered the leather rations book she held in one hand. Each person in the room held a similar book, their passport to the shelves behind the counter presided over by a man dressed in white wearing spectacles and a stern expression.

He peered down at the rations book of the man now at the front of the line, opening it to reveal a circular stamp on the inside. This is an Andul booklet, he said, returning the book to the customer. We don’t serve your kind here.

But I-I’m not Andul, stammered the man. I’m helping out … a friend.

I said get out, yelled the man behind the counter.

Grumbling, the crowd surged forward to emphasize the shopkeeper’s words, and Avilene was thrust into second place as the customer stumbled away from the counter, turning for the door with reluctance.

A trickle of sweat ran down Avilene’s back. She clutched her rations book tighter. It was her friend Floreen’s, modified to include Brayde, Avilene, and Sage in the household count. If the shopkeeper recognized the forgery or realized Avilene was Andul, she would be expelled from the shop as unceremoniously as the man had been. Throwing themselves on the mercy of the Confederacy in the absence of the Carpathia had not provided the relief Avilene had expected. The government workers lacked compassion, especially where Andul were concerned.

Her legs ached from standing for hours in the cramped room. Was it all for naught? The grocers in the Andul sector held less than half the supplies that were in this shop. Brayde’s attempts to secure extra rations in the human sector had failed, and the grocers all knew him by now.

With her free hand, Avilene rubbed the wires of the skymap orb she wore around her neck, as though it could bring her luck. The delicate whorls of metal threaded through cogs and stones and formed an incomplete circle, squashed on one side and broken. When Avilene’s fingers encountered the watch also threaded on the chain, she dropped her hand. Right now, she couldn’t afford any more thoughts of Brayde and the doubts that had recently plagued her over their relationship. She needed to focus on the task at hand.

The shopkeeper examined the rations book of the customer in front of Avilene. How many in your household?

The woman replied, Two.

Without further comment, the man turned and began pulling supplies from the shelves: tins of meat and beans, packages of flour, salt, and sugar. He stacked them all with care into a paper bag and made curt notations in the woman’s rations book with his pencil. He pushed the bag across the counter.

Thank you, the woman mumbled as she picked up the bag and left.

Next, the shopkeeper called.

Avilene moved up to the counter.

How many in your household?

Four. Avilene handed him her booklet, stomach clenching as he opened it and examined the household count.

When his expression remained stoic and he turned to begin gathering the rations, Avilene let out a slow breath. They would have the supplies they needed this week, after all.

Or maybe not.

The shopkeeper was completing her bag with the same amount of rations the customer before her had received.

Maybe you didn’t hear me, Avilene said, as the shopkeeper poised his pencil to mark her book. "I said we had four people in our household." She glanced down at the book and the forgery Brayde had made to change the household from one to four.

The shopkeeper’s frown deepened. I heard you fine. He made a sharp check next to the date and thrust the book at her.

Arguing about it might be dangerous and foolhardy, but if Avilene couldn’t get the full rations here, it was doubtful they’d make it through the week without going hungry.

She dropped her hand. Shouldn’t I receive twice as much food as what you just gave that woman?

What woman? the shopkeeper asked.

The one right before me. Avilene matched him, hard stare for hard stare. He couldn’t tell she was Andul, could he? There were only two people in her household, yet you gave her the same amount you gave me.

The shopkeeper plopped the rations book onto the top of the grocery bag and pushed it toward Avilene. Look, lady, I just follow directions. Everybody gets the same today. Next!

Avilene knew she was being stubborn, but thoughts of Sage’s hollow cheeks drove her on. This isn’t enough to feed a rabbit, let alone four people. Do you want us to starve?

Angry murmurs began to fill the room, and the crowd shuffled feet. The shopkeeper licked his lips, eyes taking in the growing hostility.

You have a problem, take it up with the immigration department, he snapped. Next.

There had to be another way. He hadn’t yet figured out who she really was, so maybe she would try a different tactic.

Avilene rummaged in her vest pocket. Can I buy the extra food? I have coin. Her thumb rubbed across the smug image of Chancellor Vaas on the coins she offered the shopkeeper.

The man did no more than glance at them. Those are no good. They’re Tyrian coins.

Someone behind Avilene complained, Come on, we’ve been waiting for hours!

The grumbles were rising louder and louder. Avilene braced herself, in case the crowd should decide to thrust her from the store as they had the man with the Andul booklet.

Insistent, she jiggled the coins. This would buy three loaves of bread in Tyria.

The man snorted. If you offered me a rock, it might be worth more to the Confederacy.

The coins are plated in silver, Avilene said. That’s got to be worth something, at least.

What do I look like, a smelter?

Another customer called, Move along.

Other people are waiting, someone else added.

The man in white glanced more and more often at the line behind Avilene. I can’t do anything with Tyrian coin. Just take your rations and get out of here.

He pushed the bag to the edge of the counter. Avilene caught it as the crowd surged forward, propelling her out of the way. The next customer slapped his booklet onto the counter, demanding rations for three. Avilene could see no recourse but to admit defeat. At least they hadn’t guessed she was Andul, so she had something to show for her efforts in the end.

The sun hovered on the peaks of the distant hills, creating gloomy shadows from the ramshackle collection of structures lining the crooked, dirt-packed streets. Anything and everything had been cobbled together as walls and ceilings to house the several thousand refugees, including ratty rugs and old blankets.

Some people washed clothing or cooked over tiny fire pits in front of their door, while others sat in the dirt with blank stares and dejected expressions. A few children ran past chasing a stray dog, their oblivious laughter a sharp contrast to the melancholy poverty around them.

The transition from oppression to freedom was a difficult one as people struggled to learn the skills of independence. Poverty like this was rare in Tyria, but the population paid an awful price for the welfare the government provided there. The many youth Avilene could see in their teen years would have long been sent to academies and work camps if their families had not fled from Tyria.

Using her sonic sight, an ability to discern people and objects by their distinct sounds, Avilene found Sage huddled in the shadows of a nearby building. Dressed in a ragged second-hand dress and a mauve sweater with too many moth holes, Sage looked almost as wretched as when Avilene first encountered her in Slaveek.

Idiot shopkeeper, Avilene grumbled as she plopped down in the dirt next to Sage. He gave us less food than last week, saying everybody gets the same now, no matter how big the household.

Sage blinked up at Avilene with grey eyes. Did he guess you were— she lowered her voice —Andul?

Avilene glanced around at the passers-by, but no one appeared to notice them. No. I don’t think so.

Sage began to rummage in the grocery bag. She was young, just over the age of conscription in Tyria, though Sage had been born a Confederacy citizen. Her eyes had lost the blind white tint that had illuminated them when they’d escaped from Slaveek.

Pulling out a tin of crackers, Sage pried the lid off and began nibbling one.

No luck at the green-grocers? Avilene asked, noticing Sage’s lack of a shopping bag.

Sage’s expression fell. I’m sorry. They only had a few withered carrots, and those were gone by the time I got to the front.

It’s okay. Sage shivered in the tattered coat she wore. Avilene threw an arm over Sage’s shoulder and rubbed a hand against her for warmth. We’ll figure out something.

Brayde would have to do better with his errands than Avilene and Sage had done, or they would be hard-pressed for supplies.

"I’ve half a mind to slip you back to Sicarah in Tyria, Avilene said. At least they have plenty of food at the renegade camp."

Sage dropped the cracker, knocking her scarf awry as she grabbed Avilene’s arm. No, please. I don’t want to leave you, not until Xanthe is well.

Avilene lowered her voice to a bare whisper, watching the pedestrians. Some now glanced over, trying to penetrate the shadows. It’s dangerous here for Andul.

It’s dangerous everywhere for us, Sage whispered back. If you stay, then so do I.

Avilene squeezed Sage’s shoulder, savoring her unique melody, even though Sage was only speaking. The camp would definitely be lonelier without Sage as they waited for Xanthe to heal. Avilene gave a last half-hearted effort. You’d be safer with Sicarah.

While she’s fighting Tyrians, rescuing refugees, and searching for the harpy who stole Xanthe’s ship? I doubt it.

Giving it up as a lost cause, Avilene folded the top of the grocery bag with brisk movements to give her hand a better grip. Let’s go find Brayde.

Avilene stood and led the way through the shantytown with Sage following. More refugees arrived here daily from Tyria in their flight from increasing hostilities between the renegades and the Tyrian military forces, sneaking over the Tatran Mountains where the net was weakest.

The streets were more crowded than they’d been earlier, people returning to their families as the sun set and twilight blanketed the camp. Jostling through the crowd was almost painful. A cacophony of sound assaulted Avilene’s sonic sense, and her vision became overwhelmed with too many details. The thin threads of a scarf here, the withered fingers gripping a cane there. She wanted to close her eyes against it all, but people would suspect her Andul heritage if she wove her way too easily through the crowd without sight.

In the melee, Avilene almost failed to catch the sound of Brayde’s heartbeat when they came out into a town square of sorts, more of an opening larger than the streets leading to it.

There he is, said Sage, pointing to a side street.

Avilene caught her breath. Brayde’s powerful form strode toward them, his head bobbing above most in the crowd. His square jaw was covered in beard stubble, adding to the rugged attraction of his features. In spite of his powerful build, he moved with grace and style, intense blue eyes searching the faces of the crowd around him.

Brayde set off a maelstrom of emotion roiling just under the surface of Avilene’s calm exterior. Her heart still fluttered like a sparrow’s whenever she saw him, but she shook off the feeling.

During their separation while Avilene was locked in Slaveek, she’d come across one of her childhood friends, a fellow prisoner named Edmont, reduced to stealing extra morsels of bread at the expense of others. She hadn’t even recognized the funny, charming boy Proteus had experimented on when they were both young.

If Slaveek had taught Avilene anything, it was that being Andul made her a target for persecution and abuse. Avilene didn’t want Brayde to go through the years of suffering and sorrow that she had endured, watching Proteus destroy those she’d loved. But it was difficult to let go when her heart felt so entwined with his.

Brayde spotted them and corrected his course, walking past a newsboy hawking the evening headlines.

Skyhound destroys Andul camp in berserk assault. Read all about it.

Brayde’s expression morphed into a smirk as he approached Avilene and Sage. I guess Vaas couldn’t keep the news of Slaveek under wraps forever.

His trousers were tucked into the tops of his boots, a brown leather vest compressing a baggy shirt with billowing sleeves. He juggled a load of packages wrapped in brown paper. As though breathing Avilene in, his eyes roved over her, stopping halfway down and melting into concern.

Avilene realized she was clutching the watch around her neck with her free hand. She made a conscious effort to let go. The watch had belonged to Brayde’s father and meant a great deal to Brayde. He had given it to Avilene as a token of affection. She’d almost lost it permanently in Slaveek. Lately, she found herself constantly checking to ensure it hadn’t somehow slipped off its chain.

She forced a smile. Looks like you had more success than we did.

Brayde shrugged off his concerned expression and counted his packages. I got new boots for Sage. They only had size four, so I hope they don’t pinch her toes. Also, another blanket, the ration of charcoal, an apron Floreen wanted, and this for you. He shifted the packages and plucked a somewhat wilted bunch of flowers from the top to hand them to Avilene.

Her cheeks flushed as a swell of warmth overtook her for a moment. I didn’t ask for flowers.

I know. Brayde’s ears were a light pink, a sure sign of his embarrassment. But you’ve been so tense lately. I thought it would cheer you up.

Avilene stiffened. I haven’t been tense.

Yes, you have, Sage said.

Avilene gave her a withering look. Where did you get them? she asked Brayde. I haven’t even seen much grass in the camp.

Brayde shifted his feet as though he were uncomfortable, the pink of his ears deepening. There was a little boy selling flowers a couple of streets over, he said a little too fast. I traded for it. Hey, let’s get this stuff sorted before I drop it. He turned and strode toward a side street.

There was definitely something peculiar going on. Why was he changing the subject? What was she missing?

Avilene scurried to catch up with Brayde, dragging Sage along with her. What did you trade for it?

Nothing you need to worry about, Brayde said.

What was it, Brayde? Avilene’s voice was hard iron.

Brayde wouldn’t look at her. Avilene could only just keep up with his longer stride. Poor Sage was practically running in their wake.

I mean it, Brayde, Avilene said. Tell me what you did.

He needed it more than I do, Brayde mumbled.

Avilene realized at last what was missing. Where’s your coat?

You should’ve seen him, Avilene, Brayde said. Wearing nothing but rags, feet bare. I couldn’t just walk by and ignore the kid. Besides, he had all these flowers he gathered outside camp. I figured it was a fair trade.

What could she say to that? Yes, Brayde had helped someone in need and given Avilene a thoughtful gift, but at what expense to himself?

Her exasperation bled into her voice. You’ve got to stop giving away all of your things to other people, Brayde. You’re going to get hypothermia or something.

I have a good blanket, Brayde said.

Avilene’s tone dripped sarcasm. "That will make you so attractive, gadding about in a blanket."

They were approaching a chain fence. A large yellow sign proclaimed this the border of the Andul sector. Beyond the fence, the makeshift buildings sagged, as though held together with nothing more than the threadbare strings of the fabric wrapped around them.

Brayde finally slowed, turning to Avilene with anger snapping in his expression. I see a kid in need, I help out. What’s wrong with that, Avilene?

I don’t see anything wrong with that. Sage panted as she caught up to them.

Avilene shoved the grocery bag into Sage’s arms and pulled out some of the packages. There’s nothing wrong with it, except everybody in this whole camp is in need. Unless you want to run around in your skivvies, you’ve got to stop giving everything away. Which parcel has the boots?

Brayde sighed heavily and moved over to a crumbling rock wall. He set the parcels down in a teetering stack. I’ll be fine. The weather is warming up.

So, the boy would’ve been just fine without your coat, Avilene said.

Let it go, Avilene. It’s no big deal, okay?

Avilene sorted the parcels into piles, unloading groceries from her own bag and dividing them out. I’m sick of everybody saying it’s no big deal. She set down a tin of yams harder than was strictly necessary. I’m sick of this place and everything and everybody in it.

"You can just slip away whenever you want, Brayde grumbled. You don’t have to hang around."

Avilene froze, gripping a parcel of sugar. She took in a deep breath. She’d let her frustrations drive her tongue again. I’m sorry. Of course, I don’t want to leave you. It’s just … I hate sitting around like this, waiting. We can’t move Xanthe until he’s released from the Dohlina hospital, and he … Well, he’s not getting better very fast, is he?

Sage placed a hand on Avilene’s arm. His morale is low. Floreen said that makes things harder.

What else are we going to do? Brayde’s expression remained stoic. We’re just waiting around for immigration to grant our asylum.

Avilene couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. Maybe applying was a mistake. I had hoped the Confederacy would treat Andul with greater respect.

Some folks are just prejudiced, Brayde said. At least you’re not slaves here. I can get work unloading the supply train, and we need a safe port to make up for losing Pembrook.

He motioned to Avilene. She hesitated until he took a deep breath and reached for her, pulling her close against his chest. At first, she allowed it. Being in the circle of his arms had always chased away her fears of the past. It felt right, as though the world around them could rage but never touch them while they stood locked together like this.

And yet, the watch pressed against Avilene’s heart, reminding her she’d almost lost it in Slaveek. They weren’t ready for this level of commitment, not with the Andul prejudice here, not with Xanthe struggling for life in a hospital, not with the Carpathia and Lorelei still missing.

Lorelei.

Resting beside the watch, the broken wires of the skymap created a sharp reminder of the girl who had once been Avilene’s friend. Because Lorelei held the other half of the skymap, Avilene couldn’t see her in the nexus, and Sicarah had been unable to track down the Carpathia in Tyria.

This had transcended Lorelei’s silly old game of hide and seek. Once they finally managed to get hold of her, Avilene wasn’t sure she’d be able to refrain from throttling Lorelei. The churning anger and fear was like a constant storm hijacking Avilene’s emotions, making it impossible for her to relax with Brayde as she’d once done.

She wriggled away from him and picked up the packages. Come on, Sage. We need to get these things put away before the train arrives. Studiously ignoring Brayde’s searching gaze, she pointed to the piles on the right. That’s yours and that’s Floreen’s. Put hers under the mattress of her cot so her roommates won’t take it.

From her coat pocket, Avilene pulled out a strip of faded yellow cloth with a red circle in the center set against a bolt of white lightning: the Confederacy’s warning stamp of a dangerous Andul. Brayde helped Avilene fasten it around her right bicep while Avilene turned to help Sage with her armband. The few people left in the street shied away immediately. Avilene resisted the urge to throw something at them, an example of just how dangerous she really could be.

Instead, she gathered up one of the piles of dry goods while Sage collected another. Brayde juggled the remaining two and trailed them to a brick building in the center of the fence, the gate between sectors.

I could help you carry your parcels if they’d just let me in there, Brayde said, the snarl in his tone displaying his frustration. I can’t even visit.

Feeling guilty for her earlier outburst, Avilene tried to lighten the mood. You’re not one of the privileged few.

How do they know I’m not? Brayde asked. I could get an armband like yours.

With an Andul rations book to match, Avilene said. Then where would we shop?

Sage’s lip quivered as she stared at the brick building. At least they don’t force us to stay inside the Andul sector with moldavite. She was likely remembering Slaveek.

Avilene’s humor fled like oil on a skillet. We’ll meet you at the train station in an hour, Brayde.

"I’ll