World-Ripper War (Mad Tinker Chronicles Book 3) Read Online Free PDF

master. No. There were real heroes in this crowd. I don’t know who they were—they don’t even know yet themselves—but someone here will shape a new future for our kind.”
    “Their kind. They’re really not our kind anymore.”
    Kyrus sighed. “No, I suppose not. Our kind are enough of a problem as it is. I’m not going to worry about them today, though.”
    “Will they listen?”
    Kyrus gestured to the church around them “I wish they could have listened to this . But they’ll listen to me. I won’t leave them a choice.”

Chapter 4
    “It takes a thick skull to play crashball. You start lettin’ ideas into your head; you might think twice about playing at all.” - Gemno (“Hayfield”), star sweeper for the Steam Rats Crashball Squad
    “Lord Eziel, grant us vengeance upon our enemies. Let us share our strength as comrades and become fearsome to our foes. I am your servant; teach me to kill in your name.”
    Rynn spoke the words along with everyone else on the plaza, in a slow chant so that all the voices merged together into a single sound, far greater than any long voice could have managed. It was more than symbolic; it was demonstrative. The Human Rebellion was more than individuals. Pious Rascal, who Rynn could never seem to think of him as Henlon, kept his emphasis on the communal purpose being what would bring them victory. Rynn knew that it was helpful, but she suspected that coil guns and other rune-tech were going to prove the difference in the end.
    “Rise, and part as brethren,” Rascal said, his voice carrying over a crowd that had fallen silent at the final word of the invocation. “We have the work of Eziel to attend.”
    Rynn levered herself up from one knee, the posture everyone on the plaza had taken during Rascal’s sermon. The supports in the tinker’s legs made the kneeling easier on her than on probably anyone else in the rebellion. It hardly felt different than standing. With the springs and air pistons helping, the rise was cumbersome but not taxing in the least.
    The crowd began to thin immediately. Most of the rebels had duties to resume. There was still construction going on over most of the ship. With every added floor inside the old vacuum tanks, the crowding in the crew quarters lessened. The liftwing hangars were taking shape, both in ease of use and in readiness to launch in haste. The cramped workshops cut through walls and set up more of the equipment that had been salvaged from Tinker’s Island. The Jennai was a great clockwork beast, being built from the inside out.
    But not everyone had duties that pressed, and those who had odd tasks went about those as well. Certain idle and rowdy rebels loitered on the plaza, waiting for it to clear. After all, the plaza was painted with the boundary lines for two crashball pitches. The would-be player shifted nervously, trying to avoid the eye of their general as she watched them linger. A few guilty souls took themselves to find some useful occupation instead of waiting until they were among the lonely few left to explain why they hadn’t left the plaza.
    Rynn took a quick count of the remaining rebels. “Sides of nine, friendly touch, no tackling,” she called out. Those who had been taking care to study the sky or gaze up at the windows of the vacuum tanks suddenly realized that their general meant to play. Rynn felt exposed standing in the midst of a group of her troops, out of place for the first time she could remember aboard the Jennai . Every one of the players seemed clipped from newspaper flashpops of crashball matches. Tall, broad, muscular, they exuded a jovial violence just milling around waiting for a match.
    “I bet we could round up better than that for a friendly,” Hayfield shouted over from the sidelines. He was among a number of well-wishers who clung to the games but didn’t get involved. He drew eyes away from Rynn as he crossed the painted lines that separated prospective players from spectators.