Coyle and Fang: Curse of Shadows (Coyle and Fang Adventure Series Book 1) by Robert III (great books for teens .txt) 📗

have to fight against the urge to curl into a ball of fear? Why can’t I be the tiger I’m supposed to be?

With trembling fingers, she pressed against her trousers and squeezed her eyes. Her lips parted, and air rushed out again. Her ears picked out a new conversation.

“What? How can we be there sooner?” Poes asked.

“We’re less than an hour away from catching up to her. This train is equipped with supply pods. Steam-powered, radio-guided aero-rockets that will propel us to the airship,” Vonteg explained.

“Pods? Rockets? Have you gone mad?” Quolo asked with a raised voice.

Coyle’s fears became more palpable and less containable. She turned back to the rest of the group.

“The pods were built for supplying airships midflight along with emergency travel, and this certainly qualifies. They’re easy to manage, and each will have a pilot to carry us to the airship in perfect safety.”

“We sit on top of them and just hold on for dear life?” Poes asked.

“Of course not,” Vonteg said. “We lay inside. Like a coffin.”

Coyle glanced to the heavens.

Chapter 16

O Lord of Grace, the world is before me this day, and I am weak and fearful, but I look to thee for strength.

Amen.

The gnome engineer led the group through the cars to the cargo carriers. He was considerably shorter than all of them, and his hair resembled a thick, blue cloud the same color as his eyes. The lines around his bright blue eyes were deeply ingrained into his tanned face. But his short legs carried him faster than everyone else, and he was full of energy. A line of thick, white cigar smoke trailed behind him as he spoke.

“My team is working on the boosters,” he said. “The modifications won’t take too long.”

Coyle’s fingertips caressed the polished wooden cabin doors and beautifully crafted brass door handles as they walked along the plush, carpeted walkway. She looked out the windows over the dry valley of northern Utah rushing by. Snow-capped mountains stood majestically at the edges.

They passed a beautiful, evocative oil painting: John Millais’s Ophelia. The artist depicted the grieving young woman from Shakespeare’s Hamlet. She lay face-up, floating along the river, singing songs to herself before finally descending into the depths.

Coyle looked away and inhaled. The scents of women’s perfume, baked bread, and fresh flowers hovered in the air as she breathed in and out as carefully as she could.

Chief Sykes unlocked a door, and a flood of noisy, cold air chewed through Coyle’s leathers. They passed over a thin gangway with a small brass chain for a handrail. The speed of the train sucked the air out of her lungs. She gripped the brass chain that separated her from the blur of rushing ground. She breathed in traces of wildflower and oak, but mostly grease, burning coal and the pungent sweat from the men.

They passed into the cargo holds, and the temperature inside was no different. Coyle looked up as they walked through. Long slats of wooden screens let air and light into the hold. Wooden crates and boxes of all shapes were stacked in tight formations. The floor was bare wood bound with strips of iron.

Coyle glanced behind and knew the grand comfort of Dawn Industries would be gone for some time to come. She had to wonder what else she was leaving behind.

She wanted to be a detective. She’d failed the exam, and her future was in the gutter. And yet, here she was, helping one of the richest men in the world stop a city from being destroyed. If she was successful, Treece would be grateful—a grateful man with resources and knowledge of people in the right places. She could get a detective position out of this if she played her cards right. But Fang had also told her they would work together. Two of them against whatever was to come.

Two tigers against the world.

They arrived at the booster-pod cargo hold. Gnomes were busy as ants, crawling over large, polished metal pods lined in rows. Their small hands were deft and precise. Hammers, wrenches, and torches filled the air with noise. Coyle wrinkled her nose against the sharp odor of burning metal. Steam and smoke snaked through the hold and disappeared through the open slats above. She noticed others, fully armed and wearing uniforms similar to her group; Templar soldiers. Some pointed at blueprints, others checked weapons and some kept an eye on her.

Vonteg motioned for them to affix their helmets, face covers, and goggles. Coyle unclasped the buckle on her utility belt and slid the helmet on. Her trembling fingers made it difficult, but she finally clasped the face cover together and pulled the goggles over her eyes. Her finger found the small tab along her jawline, and the soft hiss of the communications channel filled her right ear. The noises and smell faded away to almost nothing.

“Can everyone hear me? Yes? Give me a thumbs-up if you’re receiving my transmission,” Vonteg asked. “Excellent.” He looked at Coyle and gave her a nod. She nodded back and gave him a thumbs-up.

She tried to ignore the adrenaline shooting through her body. The narrow opening of the tube held her gaze for too long. There was space enough for a few of them to fit into, shoulder to shoulder. Cramped.

Like a coffin.

“Coyle!”

She turned. Vonteg was nodding at her. “Coyle, can you hear me? Yes? Pay attention, please. With the amount of personnel we have, each of the tubes will fit three of us. There will be one investigative team member with two soldiers, understood?”

She nodded and kept her eyes away from the pods.

Coffins.

“Now look here.” Vonteg motioned to the hastily created craft. “These are usually used for in-flight supplies and support. They are sturdy, dependable and most definitely the only option we have right now. Once inside, you will each have one of these bags.” He pointed to a small pile of canvas bags on the floor, and she picked one up.

“In the bag, you will find extra boxes