The brass clock on the mantle ticked steadily, accompanying the scratch of Elias Browett’s pen as he worked.

  When he had begun this venture, he knew it would involve hard work to make the fledgling colony successful, along with almost the entirety of the inheritance left him with his father’s passing. He had not, however, realised just how much of his time would be spent behind his desk writing endless lists and tallies.

  The colonies needs were many, and varied, and as their leader, it fell to him to see them met.

  A task that had only grown more difficult since the first Shadowbeast appeared.

  Since then, his colony of five hundred settlers had shrunk to a little more than four hundred, and the company of musket men he had brought, had been decimated. Their numbers dropping from eighty, down to thirty-three.

  And the enemy’s numbers continued to grow with each new body they managed to drag back to their lair.

  It was a blessing from the God’s above that the Shadowbeasts numbers were not far greater.

  He exhaled a soft sigh and removed his spectacles then pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. It was barely noon, and he already had a dull ache behind his eyes that experience told would become a splitting headache in short order.

  Setting aside the pen, he reached for the pull cord that would ring a bell in the kitchen, letting Sybil know he required her.

  Elias leaned back, waiting. His office, though smaller than the one in his home in Yorwich, had a solid oak desk polished to a high sheen. The furniture was older than he by a decade or more and commissioned by his mother as a gift for his father. Leather upholstered with an oaken frame carved and polished beautifully.

  Two shelves of books were on the wall to his left, while to the right was a fireplace and above it the brass clock. A gift from a friend, given two days before he set out on his venture. When he looked at it, he remembered her, and felt at peace as he remembered her generosity and care.

  A soft sigh escaped him, as his thoughts turned to her. Ester Grene, a year his junior and a longstanding family friend. They had been raised together, attended the same schools, and the same parties.

  They had been betrothed informally since they were eleven years old. A fact that they had both accepted as something they were expected to do. There were no questions, nor concerns. They both had a deep love for one another and a friendship that was unquestioned.

  Then, a betrothal ended by a scandal and a hurried marriage to a third born son. A cad and a brute, who had broken her. It was Elias who had helped repair that damage, at great cost to his family and his personal standing with the court.

  The colony was his hope of regaining that honour and rebuilding his family legacy. Which is why it was imperative that it not fail. Though it looked increasingly like it would.

  The door opened and Elias shook his head, the dark thoughts threatening to darken his mood in a way that would take days to recover from. Sybil had only to take one look at him, and she clucked her tongue, bustling into the room.

  “You rang, milord.”

  “Yes. I feel a headache approaching.”

  “I shall brew some willow bark and chamomile tea.”

  “Thank you.”

  She eyed him critically. Sybil had bathed him and changed his soiled nappies when he was a babe, she had tended his hurts and entertained him whilst his parents were absent. She knew him as well as any might and she saw the darkness in his eyes.

  A sombre child with dark moods, she knew that a distraction from whatever was bringing on the mood was warranted, and fortunately, such a distraction had arrived a short time before.

  “There are two sailors waiting to speak with you, when you are ready.”

  “Who?” He grunted, shaking his head as his brow furrowed. “Oh, yes. I recall. Send them in.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “As well now as later.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It was past time to have it cut, but the barber had been slain two weeks previous. “Better send some… what do sailors drink?”

  “Rum, milord?”

  “Well, we have none of that.” He glanced at the pile of ledgers on his desk. He knew all too well what supplies the colony had stored. “Ale will do.”

  “Ale, milord?”

  “Yes, I believe we do have a barrel of it.”

  “Have you ever tasted ale?” She cocked a brow his way and wagged a finger. “Other than with Matthew Selwyn, the night of Lady Sarah’s party.”

  Elias chuckled, shaking his head. “You knew about that?”

  “Who was it you think that cleaned you up before your father found you?”

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  He winced. “Point taken, Sybil. I shall drink the tea and leave the ale for the sailors. I promise.”

  “Rightly so, milord.” Sybil dropped into a neat curtsy before she swept out of the room, leaving Elias chuckling softly.

  He didn’t have to wait long before two of the ship’s officers entered the office. They saluted smartly, standing at attention in front of his desk. They each wore dark green jackets over a white shirt, with white trousers and black boots.

  The blonde-haired man, stern-faced with a thick moustache, bore the silver braid of a Third Mate on his left shoulder. Beside him stood a scarred woman with one wandering eye, her brown hair cut short. The plain leather epaulette on her uniform, stamped with crossed belaying pins, marked her as a boatswain. He directed his attention to the man, since he was of higher rank-though barely.

  “You are?”

  “Third Mate Letterford, my lord.”

  “Bosun Ballard,” Officer Ballard offered sourly.

  “Very well, take a seat.”

  The two of them exchanged a brief look before sitting stiffly in the chairs opposite Elias. They waited in silence as Sybil returned bearing a tray with tankards of ale and a steaming porcelain teacup that she set before Elias.

  She passed each of the sailors a tankard, and then left, closing the door silently behind her.

  “You have assessed your ship?” Elias asked.

  “Yes, my lord.” Officer Letterford shifted in his seat. He relied upon the formality of the meeting to cover his personal distaste of dealing with the lordling who had defied his earlier demands about the wizard. “There is quite substantial damage.”

  “Have your quartermaster prepare a list of what you require to make your repairs.”

  “That would be most welcome, my lord.” He hesitated, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “The captain has asked us to assure you that we will, of course, recompense you for the costs of these supplies.”

  “Most agreeable of you, however that is not necessary.”

  “My lord, we will not impose upon you. We must protest your generosity and insist upon fair payment.”

  Elias placed his elbows on the desk and leaned forward, clasping his hands together. He studied the two officers, scrutinizing them, before he next spoke.

  “I have a master carpenter and two journeymen that I will make available to you,” he said. “The forest is vast, and I have men cutting logs already.”

  “That is, indeed, quite generous,” Officer Ballard said nervously. She was not suited to talking with the highborn, her natural distrust setting her on edge. “Though, I fear we must question what we can provide in return.”

  There it was. Elias pressed his lips together firmly, forcing back the urge to smile.

  “As I understand such matters, your crew will have few duties whilst repairs are underway.”

  “We shall ensure they are kept occupied so as to not cause trouble for your settlement, my lord.”

  “It happens that I could, perhaps, have some tasks to occupy them.”

  The two officers exchanged another look, silent communication borne of long years working together. Each knew how the other thought, and they could read one another’s expressions as easily as the quartermaster could his ledger.

  They knew that there was more going on that was being revealed and that there was no ordinary task awaiting the sailors they might offer to help the colony. However, they were also well aware that they were far from home and the island was the lord’s demesne. Without his resources, they would not be able to repair the ship.

  “My lord,” Officer Letterford said, speaking carefully. “We must request some knowledge of what use you will put our men towards before we could agree to such an exchange.”

  Elias nodded, pleased. “Of course.” He took a deep breath. “While you were occupied with keeping your craft aloft when you arrived, you might also have noted my own troops were caught up in battle…”

  As the clock ticked quietly on, Elias Browett explained to the two ship’s officers about the Shadowbeasts and the loss of both soldiers and settlers the colony had sustained since the first beast attacked.

  He detailed what Wizard Higate had been able to deduce before his death, and his own observations along with his sisters. At the same time, he stressed the danger they were all in and the need for fighting men to protect the colony until they could find the beasts lair and destroy them.

  When he was done, the two officers sat in silence, while he picked up his teacup and sipped at the now cold tea.

  Finally, Officer Letterford spoke. “Are you mad, sir?”

  That was not at all what Elias expected, and he was too surprised to be angered.

  “Your pardon, officer.”

  Letterford clenched his hands into fists in his lap, almost shaking from his anger. “The wizard, he is building an Aetherchain Engine, is he not?”

  “He is, sir.”

  “Then you intend to bring an army of monsters that cannot be fully killed and grow in number with the slaughter of men, to Ratan?”

  Elias paused, head tilting as he considered that. His eyes widened only slightly but enough to show his surprise, and he pursed his lips. That he had not considered the ramifications, yet the officer had, irked him.

  “They would spread, uncontrolled,” Officer Ballard gasped, understanding what Letterford had immediately grasped. Ratan was a peaceful land with many villages that had no need for walls or guards. “They would grow in number and overwhelm the queens’ forces!”

  “We can repair the ship and leave this cursed island,” Officer Letterford stressed. “It may take several trips, but it would be safer by far than attempting an Aetherchain Engine.”

  “No.” Elias shook his head.

  “My lord, I must insist. We shall not aid in this madness.”

  “You will do as I command,” Elias roared, standing upright and looming over the two officers. “These are my lands, and you are guests here. If you wish to receive the resources to repair your blasted ship, you will do as I order.”

  “No, sir.” Officer Letterford lifted his chin defiantly. “We will not.”

  Elias forced back the anger that was uncharacteristic of him. He was a man of control, of impeccable manners and diplomacy. He did not demand. He did not shout or berate others. He did not need to, and it was a testament to the stresses he bore that he had lost control so easily.

  He settled back down into his chair and stared stoically at the two officers who met his stare with equanimity.

  “Then you will die here with us,” Elias said, when had regained his composure.

  “My lord, this is too much! Allow us to repair our ship and we can return with aid to combat these creatures.”

  “How long to repair your ship, sir?”

  “Without a drydock…” Officer Letterford glanced at Ballard who lifted her shoulders and nodded. “Four to six weeks.”

  “Then how long to return to Ratan and back here with the aid and supplies you promise?”

  “My lord,” Officer Ballard leaned forward eagerly. “We could make such a journey in eight months. You have strong walls being built and we have cannon and powder we can supply to help you hold until our return.”

  Elias smiled and chuckled, shaking his head. “Then we are back to my earlier request. Your sailors to help defend my settlement until we find the creatures lair, and then their aid in destroying it.”

  Officer Letterford grimaced, not understanding. “Why, my lord? This is madness. If you complete the machine, you will have three months to find the lair before you take this curse to Ratan and potentially doom our nation.”

  “If we do not build the machine in the next three months,” Elias said grimly. “There will be no return.”

  “You cannot believe so poorly in your people, my lord.” Ballard said. “They will fight; I am certain.”

  “It matters not,” Elias replied, closing his eyes as he leaned back, all his anger, his rage, even his fear, leaving him. “If we wait, there won’t be anything left to save. By then, the Black will have swallowed the island whole.”