Ferromancer_Iron Souls Book One Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Afterword

  Glossary

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Ferromancer

  Iron Souls: Book One

  Copyright © 2017 by Becca Andre. All rights reserved.

  First Edition: 2017

  Editor: Shelley Holloway

  Cover and Formatting: Streetlight Graphics

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  Briar stood on the tiller deck of her boat, watching the banks of the canal slip past. They were making good time, even with a fully loaded boat, and barring any trouble getting through the last of the locks, they should be home in a few hours.

  Lifting a hand to shield her eyes against the glare of the August sun, she squinted at the canal lock in the distance. Lock fifty was the first of the triple locks at Union Mills. The three closely spaced locks would lower them to the level of the Scioto River bottomland for the easy haul to Portsmouth, the southern terminus of the Ohio & Erie Canal.

  Unlike the rest of her crew, Briar wasn’t all that thrilled about the homecoming. Normally, she could expect a few quiet days relaxing on her docked boat, but that wouldn’t be the case this time.

  She rubbed a hand across her waistcoat pocket, feeling the folded telegram she had tucked inside. It had been waiting for her at the canal office in Waverly, and she had known before she opened it that it was from her cousin Andrew. Briar might be captain of the boat, but Andrew owned it. He was also her legal guardian and made a point of reminding her often—even if she was twenty-two. But Andrew was a problem for later.

  She glanced back at Elijah her steersman. He leaned against the tiller, adjusting for the pull of the mules that walked the towpath two hundred feet ahead of them. On the levels between locks, steering could be a bit dull, but it was necessary. Without someone at the tiller, the boat would follow the mules that pulled it and collide with the bank.

  “How’s it look?” She waved a hand at the lock ahead of them. Eli’s eyesight was better than hers. “Are the gates open?”

  Like her, he lifted a hand to shield his eyes and studied the lock in the distance. “Looks like we get to double up,” he answered. A boat must have recently exited the lock on their side, which meant the lock could accommodate two boats without draining or refilling. It also meant they wouldn’t have to wait.

  “Good news.” She stepped up onto the deck formed by the roof of the aft cabin. “We’re doubling up,” she called to Jimmy, her bowsman.

  He waved a hand and started across the catwalk that stretched along the center of the boat, connecting the roofs of three cabins and enabling the crew to traverse the boat quickly, especially when the two open cargo holds between the cabins were full.

  A few minutes later, they were nearly to the lock. Briar eyed the passing shore and judging their speed adequate, shouted, “Headway!”

  Zach, one of her drivers, unhooked the towline from the deadeye, the bolt atop the bow cabin, while his brother Benji moved the mule team to the side of the towpath.

  Now it was up to Eli. The boat was only six inches narrower than the fifteen-foot-wide lock. Smashing the wooden vessel into the stone walls would be good for neither.

  Briar folded her hands behind her back, not overly concerned. Her crew was good.

  Their speed was more than enough to carry them forward into the lock. Eli steered the boat into the narrow confines with only the lightest of brushes of the rub rail against the lock wall.

  Jimmy leapt from the boat and deftly looped the bow line around the snubbing post. The boat came to a smooth stop just inches from the miter gates on the other end of the lock. Perfect.

  Briar returned to the tiller deck and took a seat on the rail beside Eli. “Does life get any better than this?” She grinned up at him.

  “Perhaps, but as this is the only life I’ve known, I can’t say.”

  Briar nodded in agreement. Having been raised on the canal, she was no judge for any other way of life. But that was fine with her. This was the life she wanted.

  Jimmy and Zach left the boat to operate the paddle gear, which would open the wooden panel in the lower part of the gate and allow the water to drain from the lock chamber. The townsfolk who traveled the canals on passenger packets often complained about the delay the locks caused. Didn’t they understand that the locks were what held the water in the canal? Without the locks capping each elevation level, the water would drain to the lowest level, leaving this artificial ditch empty and useless.

  Eli cleared his throat drawing her attention back to him. “Sometimes, I do wonder what life might be like if the deck beneath my feet wasn’t always moving.”

  “Dull.”

  “You’ve never considered—”

  “Never. I’ll be a boatman until I can no longer walk the deck.”

  Eli chuckled before growing serious once more. “Things change as you get older.”

  “Not for me.” She squinted against the bright sunlight, gazing at the town in the distance. No, she wanted no part of that.

  Locking down through the last of the triple locks, they started across a wide stretch of bottomland carved by both the Scioto and Ohio Rivers here where the two met. With their destination in sight, Jimmy broke into song—much to the rest of the crew’s dismay.

  Zach winced and moved away. Mute, Zach couldn’t voice a complaint, so he beat a hasty retreat to the stable cabin in the center of the boat. Tending the spare mule team would certainly be a welcome respite.

  “Someone really oughta tell Jimmy he can’t sing,” Eli muttered.

  “I think he’s been told,” Briar answered, flinching as Jimmy missed a high note. “He just gets happy and forgets.”

  Eli shook his head, but like her, he was smiling. Lifting his eyes to the horizon, he pointed ahead of them. “Boat coming up.”

  Briar followed his gesture and saw that he was right. Another canal boat was moving toward them, heading in the opposite direction.

  “They’re running light,” Eli added.

  Benji was already looking back at her from the towpath, and she waved him on. Their loaded boat had the right of way. With only one towpath along the length of the canal, there were well-established rules of right of way. Loaded boats had right of way over empty boats, and if both boats were equal in terms of cargo, then the boat heading upstream was in the right.

  “T
hey’re not pulling over,” Eli said a moment later.

  Briar was already observing the same thing. “Certainly they can see that we’re loaded.” They were hauling timber, the wood stacked several inches above the rooflines of the cabins.

  “Lower your towline,” a voice shouted from the other boat. “We have the right of it.”

  Briar exchanged a frown with Eli, then cupped her hands around her mouth. “We’re fully loaded,” she shouted back. “Let us pass.”

  “We’re headed upstream,” came the answer.

  “Looks like things are about to get interesting.” Briar exchanged a smile with Eli. “See what you’d miss if you became a townie?” She waved to Benji to stop the mules.

  Eli chuckled and steered the boat toward the towpath, allowing it to gently bump the soft earthen bank to slow them to a gradual stop.

  She watched the other boat do the same, though their steersman wasn’t as adept and bumped the shore with considerably more force. An older man moved to the bow of the boat.

  “No wonder,” Briar grumbled, recognizing the man. “It’s Dale Darby.”

  Eli grunted in understanding.

  Briar crossed the catwalk to the bow of her boat and stopped beside Jimmy. With only a few feet now separating the two boats, she could easily converse with the other captain.

  “What are you about?” she demanded, now close enough to be heard. “You can see we’re running full.”

  “We’re headed upstream.” He glared at her, the wrinkles on his weathered face deepening. “Every one knows the upstream boat has right of way.”

  “Loaded boats take precedence. Are you getting senile, Captain?”

  His face turned red, and he turned to the lanky man beside him. “Put the mouthy wench in her place.”

  “Here we go,” Jimmy said, laughing as he left her. He thumped on the roof of the stable as he passed, calling for Zach. Eli had already leapt to shore.

  Briar chewed the inside of her cheek in a futile effort to maintain a disapproving frown as the decks of both boats cleared. In a matter of seconds, the canal towpath became the scene of a fistfight to rival any the Guard Lock Tavern could boast. The mule team from each boat watched with indifference, waiting for the question of right of way to be settled.

  Briar had no doubt who the victor would be, especially when Eli sent the other boat’s champion flying into the canal with a single punch. Eli was an accomplished brawler. It didn’t hurt that he was over six and half feet tall and built like an ox.

  A smile escaped her lips with the accompanying splash, and she noticed Captain Darby staring at her with a disapproving scowl from the deck of his boat. He had to be over sixty—which was probably why he avoided the fisticuffs with her considerably younger crew.

  Darby’s daughter-in-law stood behind him, wringing her hands in her apron. She wouldn’t be joining the fray. Without a woman in the fight, Briar was relegated to watching as well. A shame.

  The contest on the bank was already tapering off. No surprise. Every member of her crew could hold his own, though Eli’s large stature tended to deter prolonged engagements. Frequently, he prevented fights altogether.

  “Lower your towline, Captain,” she called to Darby. “We have the right of way.”

  A gesture, and Darby’s driver, his nose bleeding and lip already swelling, urged their mules into motion, back the way they had come. With the boat moving, Darby’s steersman was able to maneuver the boat to the heel path on the other side of the canal. His bowsman hurried to unhook their towline and let it sink to the bottom of the canal so Briar’s boat could pass over it.

  Her own crew returned to their duties, and soon, they were underway. Briar joined Eli on the tiller deck as their boat drew even with Darby’s.

  “Ain’t fittin’,” Darby declared, making no effort to keep his voice low.

  “What’s that, Captain?” Briar called to him.

  His disapproving stare remained on her, and his gaze swept over her trousers. “Back in my day, the sideshows stuck to the show boats.”

  “Back in your day, you were sweeping out the stables,” she told him, knowing her age bothered him far more than her gender. He hadn’t become captain of his own boat until he was almost forty. She had been captain since she was twenty.

  “Upstart wench.”

  “Watch your mouth, old man,” Eli called to him.

  “That’ll do.” She laid a hand on his thick forearm. “I’ll kick his ass myself, if I’m so inclined.” She turned away from Darby. “Hop to it, boys. Home awaits.”

  A small cheer went up, and they picked up speed, leaving a grumbling Darby behind.

  “You should have let Eli pound him,” Jimmy said, stopping beside her.

  “And how would that look? Me, letting Eli beat up that old fool.”

  Jimmy grinned, the split in his lip gaping open. “I could of done it.”

  “That wouldn’t be much better. Now go tend that lip. If I bring you home looking like that, Mildred is going to pound me.”

  Jimmy grinned again at the mention of his new wife. They had set up housekeeping this past winter, and he could hardly sit still the closer they got to home.

  Briar grinned up at Eli. “No, nothing beats this life.”

  He chuckled at her exuberance. “It’s certainly not dull.”

  The sun was well past its zenith when they tied up at the dock in Portsmouth, but there were still plenty of men available to unload the boat and transfer the timber to her cousin’s warehouse. At least she wouldn’t have to listen to him complain about that.

  “Captain?” Eli met her beside the gangplank, a rucksack of dirty laundry over one shoulder. He spent his nights at home with his sister and her family. “You’re going home?”

  “Unfortunately.” She pulled the telegram from her pocket and waved it.

  “Did Andrew say why he wanted you home?”

  “He’s got some kind of business situation to discuss. Why he feels the need to host a dinner party for such a matter is beyond me.”

  “No offense, Captain, but your cousin likes to put on airs.”

  “Don’t I know it.” She tugged her waistcoat straight.

  “Shall I walk you to his door?” Eli offered.

  “I can manage. Besides, it’s a little early. I thought I’d walk by the train yard and see these new locomotives everyone has been going on about.”

  “What are you up to Miss Briar?” Eli often dropped the captain when the crew wasn’t around—or when he was attempting to temper some impulse of hers.

  “I just want to see what’s so great about them.”

  “Vandalizing a single locomotive is not going to stop the railroad from poaching our business.”

  “I’m not vandalizing anything. Where would you get such an idea?”

  “Hmm.” Eli pursed his lips. “There was that time old man Sweeney’s boat sprung six different leaks—”

  “His steersman bottomed out on a sandbar outside of Rushtown.”

  “Or when the Anderson Mill tried to cheat us, and their water wheel came loose from the side of the building.”

  “A pin worked itself loose, though it sounded to me like they got what they deserved.”

  Eli was trying not to smile. “How about the hornet’s nest in Noah Cooper’s outhouse? Or the rat that found its way into Eunice Walker’s stew pot?”

  “I have no control over nature.”

  “Uh-huh,” Eli said. “I’m fairly certain that Herbert Johnson’s fall into that empty lock wasn’t an accident.”

  “Of course it wasn’t. You punched him—after he tried to kiss me.”

  “Oh. Right.” Eli shrugged his wide shoulders. “You were still involved.”

  She rolled her eyes. It would probably
surprise him if he knew that was the closest she’d ever come to being kissed. Or maybe it wouldn’t surprise him. Eli knew her well.

  “I’m not going to vandalize a locomotive,” she told him. “As you said, that would be pointless. Besides, I don’t know enough about them to damage one properly.”

  Eli sighed.

  “Now please, go see your sister,” Briar said. “She’ll need to get started on those clothes if she’s to have them by tomorrow.”

  “Very well. I guess me and the boys can get you out of jail before we depart.”

  “Since when do I get caught?”

  He gave her a knowing look.

  “By someone other than you.”

  He grunted. “Good point.”

  She waved him on, and he finally walked away, smiling.

  Eli. He was her oldest and best friend. He’d been keeping her out of scrapes since she was a kid. It was a role he fell back into very easily, but she was an adult now. She didn’t need a guardian.

  Briar stuffed her hand into her pocket to make certain her penknife was still there. Eli was right; it would be futile to vandalize a single locomotive. That didn’t mean she had to pass up the opportunity.

  The train yards were a busy place, and by the look of things, still expanding. A new warehouse was under construction, and a large stack of cross ties and rails suggested more track was soon to be laid.

  Sighing, Briar stuffed her hands deeper into her pockets and gripped the knife for comfort. For years, she’d heard grumblings from her fellow boatmen that the railroad was eating away more and more of their business.

  At first, she had shrugged it off. She never had trouble finding work. There seemed to be plenty to go around. But in recent years, the railroad had been expanding at an alarming pace, and she was beginning to notice that some of the more lucrative jobs were drying up. Transporting cargo by train was faster and often cheaper, but that wasn’t anything new. What was new was the Martel locomotive. Supposedly, it didn’t run on steam.