Miss O’Reilly and the Wild Colonial Boy

By Katie Hanna

“Show me how to save Jem!” Sorcha snarls.

“Call off your men first.” I match her glare, ignoring the ropes chafing my wrists. “I want to speak to your leader.”

It’s my fault Sorcha’s brother is hurtling through the time vortex in a wayward time machine, bound for God knows where… and when. But that doesn’t mean I have to take kindly to outlaws pointing their guns at Mr. Devereaux and me.

A slim, fair-haired young man steps forward. “I’m the leader, Bold Jack Donahue.” He gestures to the mob. “This is my gang, the Wild Colonial Boys.”

A flash of memory stifles my sarcastic retort—my mother humming her favorite Irish ballad as our tenement kitchen fills with the warm scent of fried potatoes.

“A terror to Australia was the wild colonial boy…”

I stare at Donahue, trying to reconcile this ordinary-looking fellow with one of the most legendary outlaws in Australian history.

“Let’s not waste words.” Donahue startles me out of my trance. “You stole Jem from us. Now you claim you can save him.” His lip curls. “I’ll grant you one hour to prove it… before I hang you like the knaves you are.”

He waves his hand, and the mob lowers their weapons. Men come forward and cut our bonds. It’s uncanny the control he wields over the crowd despite his unimpressive figure. I’m beginning to see why Bold Jack Donahue went down in song and story.

A faint sadness settles over me when I remember how his story ended.

Shaking it off, I stand gingerly on my swollen feet. My parrot, Cuthbert, lands on my shoulder, clucking noisily.

“I thought we were dealing with a small-time bandit.” I glance at Donahue’s guards watching from a few yards away. “Not the Wild Colonial Boy himself.”

Mr. Devereaux scoffs. “Surely you haven’t fallen for his self-aggrandizing bluster?”

“You don’t understand.” I fold my arms. “The Wild Colonial Boy is an Australian legend. Feared by wealthy landowners, beloved by convict laborers—they wrote songs about him.”

Recognition dawns in Mr. Devereaux’s eyes. “He robbed the rich, he helped the poor, he shot Judge McEvoy,” he quotes softly.

“A terror to Australia was the wild colonial boy,” I echo. “Where did you learn that song?”

“You sang it for me one night in Madeira twenty years ago.”

“I don’t remember that!”

“You had had several glasses of wine,” Mr. Devereaux murmurs.

I snort. “How many did you have?”

He chuckles, then turns thoughtful. “Doesn’t that ballad end with the outlaw’s death?”

I nod. “Jack Donahue was ambushed and killed by British troopers in September 1830. That’s only a few months away.”

Mr. Devereaux looks at me sharply. “You’re not thinking of warning him?”

Again, that strange sadness grips me. “It might buy us some goodwill.”

“We can’t endanger the timeline.” His voice is urgent. “Not even for the Australian Robin Hood and his merry men.”

“They’re going to ambush him!” My temper rises. “Three to one! It won’t be a fair fight!”

His breath hisses. “Why do you sympathize with the man dangling a noose over our heads?”

“Donahue is right to hold us responsible for Jem,” I argue. “He’s only doing what I would do.”

His eyebrows climb heavenward. “Like setting off a temporal earthquake by meddling in Nazi Germany?”

“That wasn’t me; that was Hernandez,” I growl.

“It was the Green Room philosophy in action,” Mr. Devereaux counters. “Once you commercialize time travel, nothing is sacred.”

“Maybe if you and your blue-blooded Blue Room fanatics came from Irish tenements instead of European castles,” I say, my voice dripping venom, “you’d understand what the Wild Colonial Boy means to people like me.”

The air between us crackles. The Green Room or the Blue Room, expanding time travel to the masses or restricting it to elite professionals—it’s an argument we’ve had a thousand times.

Right now, it’s distracting us from rescuing Jem. I sigh through gritted teeth. “Do you still have your old temporal radio?”

He shoves back his sleeve to show me the communicator strapped to his wrist.

“Signal the Green Room. We’ll need their help to track Jem through the vortex.”

He purses his lips. “How will you convince Chairman DuPont to risk valuable resources on a wild goose chase?”

“I’ll tell him I have inside information about a dangerous Blue Room plot.”

“The Blue Room is gone,” Mr. Devereaux corrects me bitterly. “I’m the only one left.”

I smirk. “My boss doesn’t need to know that.”

“We’ve summoned a new vessel to search for Jem.” Mr. Devereaux glances at his pocket watch. “It should arrive… now.”

He points to the hill above us. Right on cue, a time machine rears its blue-domed head. Startled yells burst from the crowd. Even Donahue blinks.

“Let’s be off.” Sorcha strides toward the ship. “My brother needs me.”

I move to follow her, but the Wild Colonial Boy blocks my path.

“Jem means the world to her.” His voice is soft, but his eyes hold a deadly challenge. “Make this right.”

Or else.

A wry smile twists my mouth. As I told Mr. Devereaux, I can’t help seeing myself in him. “Don’t threaten me, young man.”

Donahue rests a casual hand near his holster. “Do I need to?”

Twenty-three years old, full of steel and fire. I can hardly believe he only has a few months to live.

But even if I warn him about the ambush, can I truly change his path? After all, Bold Jack Donahue will ride boldly to meet whatever lies in store.

“I’ll find Jem,” I promise.

Donahue nods crisply and lets me pass. Mr. Devereaux falls into step beside me.

“You did the right thing, Imelda,” he murmurs. “Letting him live his own story.”

I smile ruefully. “I don’t know what’s more absurd, me teaching you my mother’s favorite song or you remembering it all these years.”

His eyes twinkle. “I’ll fight, but not surrender, cried the wild colonial boy.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Katie Hanna is a writer in her spare time and a dreamer all the time. She has a Master’s degree in history from the University of Memphis, and puts it to work writing historical fiction and historical fantasy.  Katie likes strong women in her adventure stories and Oreos in her ice cream.  You can find her work in Havok’s Casting Call and Animal Kingdom anthologies, as well as The Depths We’ll Go To and The Heights We’ll Fly To.

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