The Clockhaven Chronicles (1st Ed): Captive Sky, Truant Heart

Chapter 4

                                                              4

In the days that followed a pattern emerged. They would be prodded out of sleep and broken into work gangs, performing menial tasks about the Osprey. Meals were a haphazard affair, mostly a sticky gruel and water. At the end of the day, they were driven back into the hold to get what rest they could. The Tin Man was taken twice a day to the captain. Each time he returned with fresh bruises.

   Sky was proving difficult. She was having sudden fits of anger, and then growing sullen and withdrawn before the next bout of rage. Her sleep was frequently broken by nightmares. Avery understood her grief. He had traveled that road, a part of him always would. He feared that her behavior would at some point draw unwanted attention, leading to her discovery. If any of those around them knew her secret they had stayed silent, but that could change with hunger and desperation. 

   Avery shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. The burns and bruises, inflicted during the blast on the Margueritte, tormented him. He drew a labored breath and then, removing a handkerchief from his coat pocket, coughed heavily into it. Despite a better mind not to, he looked into the coarse white cloth, and found it stained with flecks of blood and bits of charred lung. Time was running out.

                                                              ***

On the sixth day of their captivity Sky, Avery, and two other men were sent to the turret. A pirate in new, brown tweed, suit escorted them. Leaving the hold, they proceeded aft weaving their way along the main deck through a haphazard litter of crates, trunks, and sundry items plundered from the Margueritte. Moving past the smokestack and just aft of the main mast, they came to a large cylindrical structure protruding from the deck.

   The turret stretched twenty feet across, nearly the entire width of the Osprey’s hull. A low iron combing ringed the base of the turret where it met the hull, while the sides rose to a rounded edge eight feet above the deck. Twin vertical lozenge shaped gun ports pierced its face. At the rear a man sized door, six inches deep and matching the thickness of the armored shell, granted access to the interior.  

   A lanky man, one cheek bulged with chewing tobacco and holding a large spanner, lounged against the turret door. He wore a pilfered dark blue patrol jacket, brown knickerbockers and socks, with tall-laced black boots. A brown derby comically crowned his bulbous baldhead. The effect was further skewed by an encircling fringe of sandy brown hair leading into a short-trimmed beard that framed his narrow face. He eyed them dubiously, introduced himself as chief engineer Muldoon, spit, and then ushered them into the confines of the turret.

   Dominating the interior was a pair of side-by-side, banded, Armstrong muzzle loading rifles. The eleven foot, seven ton, barrels supported on sturdy carriages, were drawn back along the friction slides to the loading position. Lighting was provided by open roof hatches and a series of specially sealed lamps. Several floor gratings had been removed to reveal the workings of the turret mechanisms. Although the hatchways provided considerable ventilation, the place reeked with the acrid sulfur odor of burnt gunpowder.

   While Muldoon assigned them duties, Avery hovered near Sky, expecting the worse. She had been moody, quick to anger, and uncooperative that morning. Due to her small size, Muldoon sent her under the grating to grease the turret bearings, the rollers that supported the massive weight and allowed the smooth rotation of the turret. To Avery’s relief she had gone willingly to the task. 

   As the work progressed, she began to question Muldoon on the mechanics of the turret. The engineer quickly warmed to her queries. The turret, he explained, was built on the Coles model. The original design required fifteen men manning gear wheels to rotate the turret. The shell and charge lifts from the magazine had been a cumbersome block and tackle arrangement, as had the method for advancing or withdrawing the guns. He had introduced a boiler and thermal engine, in a separate compartment. Steam lines now provided power to a gearbox that rotated the turret at double the previous speed. Powered hoists had replaced the block and tackle system allowing the guns to be loaded and fired much faster. Muldoon took great pride in demonstrating his improvements. For the first time since boarding the Osprey, Sky had smiled.