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

Chapter 6

                                                              6

The adjoining moments passed with a torrent of activities. After securing his own release, Byron set about freeing the remaining captives and slaves. Of those unfortunate wretches still alive, scarcely more than twenty were capable of fighting; the rest were directed to remain below deck until the skirmish began.

   A plan was forged. Byron would lead them to the armory and then onto seizing the engines and the bridge. They had numbers, the element of surprise, and the will to see it through. Byron was certain it could be accomplished if they acted while the initiative was still in their hands. There would be only one chance; they would fight and be freed, or perish trying.

   Sky sat motionless and unseeing to the world around her. Her quiet blue eyes drizzled tears as she held her tattered clothing together with one hand and softly caressed Avery’s face with the other. She had survived much these past days and that was owed to the kindly old man; her very life was owed to him. Her ears were flooded with hushed and fevered conversations, plots and plans, and at last the steadfast ticking of clockwork. She did not react to his sudden proximity or the wad of clothing dropped into her lap; Sky’s attention was arrested when the Tin Man pried her hand from Avery long enough to fill it with her attacker’s jack knife.

   “With luck, you will not need this.”

   Byron studied the young woman’s expression, searching for words of comfort. Nothing came to him. With a small sigh, he was gone. Not long after, he was heard just behind her, directing one of the larger men to assume the role the now deceased sentry vacated; appearances need be kept until they were ready to act.

   Once the ruse was established, Byron stripped off the dilapidated remains of his grey tweed, single-breasted, lounge jacket and then adjusted what was left of his waistcoat. Rolling the sleeves on his dingy cotton shirt, Byron retrieved the revolver from where it had been dropped by the sentry. It was a battle-battered Tranter revolver; a .50 caliber, with naught but four rounds remaining. He cursed his luck –four shots and one good throw– and then tucked the gun into the bit of waistband at the small of his back.

   In the meantime, Sky had managed well enough to dress herself and then made her way back to Byron’s side. She found some comfort in his quiet, unyielding presence and the not too subtle clicking emanating from his breast. The redhead cinched up the last suspender on her breeches and pulled the old forage cap on, tucking her hair into it. Byron's hands coarsely gripped her shoulders as he brought his face close to hers. Her stomach rolled, but still she forced herself not flinch. Searching his face, she suddenly noted something she hadn’t seen before. At first glance, there seemed as little depth to his slate painted orb as to the empty space beside it, but upon closer inspection there was an indefinable quality held. There was a profundity that could not be measured. Slightly horrified and utterly fascinated, she marveled at the intensity of his stare. It appeared so calm, yet filled with a power and purpose she had never witnessed before. His voice was clear, commanding.

   “Sky, you must make sure the remaining captives get to the portside launch after the fighting breaks out. In the confusion that follows, you should make it with little difficulty. If that fails and if need be, defend yourselves to the last. I will help you when I can; good luck.” He waited for her reply, but the young woman only nodded in understanding. Her blue eyes had regained their edge, only now they were scored with concern and apprehension. Not certain how to react, he simply patted her shoulder and led the contingent of male captives out through the hatch and onto the main deck.

   There was a collective sucking in of air when the men emerged from the forward hold, not in fear or wonder, but in appreciation of the cool night breeze. It had been too long since any had seen the outdoors as free men. The exhilaration fed the dark purposes they would serve to ensure they preserved that freedom.