Conspiracy

Chapter 2

On the last night of the three-day train journey, Amaranthe woke to a touch on her shoulder. She remembered not to sit up straight, because the ceiling of the freight car was only a couple of feet over her head, and merely opened her eyes. Cold air whistled through the open trapdoor in the ceiling. A dark figure knelt between it and her.

“Sicarius?” Amaranthe guessed.

Books and Basilard were pressed against her on either side, and she heard Akstyr and Maldynado snoring on the other side of Books. A chill marked the autumn nights, and the train lacked any sort of insulation, so most of the team was sleeping wedged together to share body heat.

“We’re slowing for a stop,” Sicarius said.

Amaranthe rubbed sleep from her eyes. “Early?” According to the schedule, the train should arrive at its final stop at noon, not in the middle of the night.

“We’re in Ag District Three, not Seven,” Sicarius said.

She couldn’t feel the train slowing yet. Sicarius must have already taken a look outside. Maybe he even slept up there, cold as it was. He’d never shown any interest in spending nights with the group. Too bad. She would have rather shared a sleeping area with him than with Books and Basilard.

“Maybe they got a late request for an extra stop,” Amaranthe said, as she lifted her thin blanket and shimmied away from the other men.

Books promptly pulled the blanket back over him. Basilard rolled over to take her spot and claim part of the covers. Amaranthe smirked when he snuggled into Books’s side.

“Team bonding,” she said.

Without comment, Sicarius hopped through the open door. Amaranthe followed him topside with considerably less alacrity. Her sore muscles protested the midnight rising. Sicarius had been driving them hard for the last three days, and she was starting to hate the sight of that wooden duck. At least he hadn’t driven her to fall off the train again.

Within seconds of climbing outside, Amaranthe wished she had brought the blanket with her. Though no frost slicked the car’s roof, the cold metal penetrated her trousers when she knelt on it. Wind whipped across dark fields, bringing chilly air down from the black jagged mountains running along the horizon. The stars overhead told her those mountains were to the east, instead of to the north, as they would be if they were in Ag District Seven. Sicarius was right. They were in Three, the same rural area they’d passed through on their way up to investigate the secret dam the spring before.

Lights burned a mile ahead, and, as the train drew nearer, a single dark building came into view. All about it low, flat fields stretched. Though the mountains helped Amaranthe get a vague idea of their location, she did not recognize the area. All of the major rural train depots had towns around them, including stockyards and warehouses.

“Did we go up some stub away from the main railway?” Amaranthe asked.

“Yes.” Sicarius crouched beside her.

Amaranthe wondered if there was anyone awake at that train depot to see them if they didn’t stay low. She wrapped her arms around herself and curled a lip at the idea of flattening to her belly on the cold roof.

“In this situation,” Amaranthe said, “ some men would put an arm around a woman to keep her warm, that being the chivalrous thing to do.”

Sicarius, eyes focused on the building, did not answer. Steam brakes hissed, and the wheels further slowed their reverberations. Interestingly, the engineer did not pull the whistle to cry out the train’s approach. That was standard operating procedure when nearing a populated area. Of course, one building might not count as a population center.

People came into view on a loading dock in front of the structure, and Sicarius dropped to his belly. Reluctantly, Amaranthe lay down beside him, propping up on her forearms, so less of her torso touched the icy metal. She deliberately pressed her side against Sicarius.

He gave her a look she couldn’t decipher.

“There are times when I’d like to know what you’re thinking,” Amaranthe said. “Right now, for example. Are you thinking, ‘Why is she touching me when she hasn’t bathed in three days?’ or is it more like, ‘Hm, that’s nice, maybe we should try cuddling some time’?”

Sicarius withdrew a collapsible spyglass from a pocket.

Amaranthe sighed. “I see. You were thinking, ‘Which pocket did I leave my spyglass in?’”

She focused on the scene coming into view ahead. The prospect of a mystery usually filled her with enthusiasm-and she was curious about what was going on here-but they already had a mission to focus on. They didn’t need something new right now.

“You smell good,” Sicarius said.

Amaranthe’s mouth fell open. “What?”

“What I was thinking.”

Sicarius hadn’t lowered the spyglass, and he continued scanning while she gaped at him.

“I do?” Amaranthe asked. They’d been on the train for three days and not only did it not have bathing facilities, it didn’t even have a latrine. She did what she could with her canteen and a washcloth, but his words were a surprise for more reasons than one.

“Cherry blossoms and almond bark,” Sicarius said.

Oh. That was the shampoo Amaranthe liked. Huh. She didn’t find it amazing that he could identify the scents, but that he bothered to mention it was a first. Maybe there was hope for him after all. “Thanks. You smell good too.” She winced. What an idiotic thing to say. “I mean compared to Books and Basilard anyway.” Ugh, that wasn’t any better.

Sicarius lowered the spyglass and handed it to her without comment. Maybe it was better that he usually kept his thoughts to himself.

Under magnification, Amaranthe could make out six men milling on the loading dock. A clock hanging from the eaves read three a.m. Lanterns burned outside, but none lit up the inside of the building. In fact, the front door was shut with a heavy lock hanging from the latch. A rusty heavy lock. Curls of peeling paint adorned the building’s wooden siding, and a hornet’s nest hung near the clock.

“Interesting,” she murmured.

Sicarius touched her shoulder and pointed into the dark fields. Two pairs of lights were winding through the foliage. Amaranthe peered through the spyglass, but night hid the details.

“Lorries?” she guessed. “Coming to pick up cargo?”

“Perhaps,” Sicarius said.

Despite her earlier thought that they didn’t need a new mission right now, a tendril of anticipation curled through her belly. Maybe they had stumbled upon something good.

Or, her practical side said, maybe there was nothing strange going on. This could simply be the only time of day when the train could deliver its cargo. Still, a legitimate delivery should have been on the manifest Books had copied from the train station.

“If it looks like they’re going to remove greenhouse kits,” Amaranthe said, “we’ll have to get the men, gather our belongings, and clear out quickly.” They had packs and weapons down there, and, before bed, she had noticed more than one pair of underwear draped about to dry after a hand-washing. Wouldn’t that be a lovely thing for some farmers to find hanging from their expensive, imported equipment? At least her group was more hygienic than most.

Amaranthe and Sicarius ducked their heads as the train glided to a stop, carrying the locomotive and their car past the loading dock. The lights in the field drew closer, bringing the rumble of steam lorries.

Amaranthe pointed the spyglass in that direction again. Two large vehicles bumping along a rough dirt road came to a stop by the building. A man in the closest cab said something to those on the loading dock. Dusty brown canvas hid the cargo areas from view, but the vehicles did not appear to be anything more interesting than farm wagons. A sign on one door read Doranthe’s Pumpkins and Squash.

Two men climbed out of the first truck, wearing farmers’ overalls and wool shirts. Those on the loading dock hopped down, and a couple approached the train to open the rolling door of a freight car.

“That’s an empty one,” Sicarius said.

“You’re sure?” From their position on top of the roof, they couldn’t see inside, but Amaranthe wouldn’t be surprised if Sicarius had inspected all of the hundred-odd cars during the days they had been on board. He had to do something while he was avoiding being social with the group. In response to her question, he gave her an are-you-truly-doubting- me look. “Yes,” she said, “of course you are.”

The people on the ground directed the lorries to turn around, and one backed toward the open freight door. A couple of men climbed inside the rail car.

Amaranthe looked toward the front of the train, wondering if the engineer would come out of the locomotive. As far as she knew, he and his fireman were the only crew members. But nothing stirred up there beyond the plumes of smoke wafting from the stack.

Sicarius took the spyglass back. Men rolled up the flap on the back of the lorry, and Amaranthe blinked. It wasn’t an empty bed awaiting cargo. It was stuffed to the brim with…

“Are those rifles?” she whispered.

Two men climbed into the truck and started handing bundles to someone on the ground who passed the load to the men in the train. They definitely looked like rifles, shiny, new ones at that.

“That’s not the sort of produce one expects from a pumpkin patch,” Amaranthe whispered.

Next to her, Sicarius lay still, eye pressed to the spyglass, intent on the scene below. “Those aren’t percussion-cap or flintlock weapons.”

“Oh?” Amaranthe remembered stumbling across new military technology during a brief mission the summer before, but she’d thought those had been prototypes, weapons that were heavily guarded behind army fortress walls, not roaming the countryside in beat-up farm lorries.

“Cartridge-based guns where the powder and charge are self-contained in the bullet,” Sicarius said. “They appear to be able to hold multiple rounds.”

Amaranthe thought of the repeating crossbow in the train with her gear. One of the reasons she kept it-aside from the fact that, inside the city, black-powder weapons were outlawed to all except military personnel-was that it could hold five quarrels as opposed to the single shot capability most rifles and pistols offered.

Sicarius handed her the spyglass for a closer look. More bundles of sleek rifles went into the train, followed by crates of ammunition. Two men worked together to lift something larger out of the lorry. It resembled a cannon on a frame with two big wooden wheels, but it had multiple barrels and a hand-crank.

“Advanced artillery weapons as well,” Amaranthe murmured. “This train is on its way back to the city after its last stop. These people will have a hard time unloading that cargo in the main train yard.”

“Perhaps the engineer will make another detour,” Sicarius said.

Amaranthe lowered the spyglass, amazed as more and more rifles and artillery devices were transferred into the train. “That’s a lot of weapons. You don’t think someone is… planning to occupy the city, do you?” It was hard to imagine. With Fort Urgot so close and with more soldiers stationed in the Imperial Barracks, how could anyone come up with the numbers necessary? There were a million people in the capital, half of them men. Most Turgonian men knew how to fight and were darned patriotic about doing it too.

Of course, a force with superior firepower would have an advantage. What if this was only one of many shipments of advanced weapons heading into the city?

“I can question the engineer,” Sicarius said.

Amaranthe grimaced, knowing he did not differentiate between questioning and interrogation. “He’s probably just some paid-off lackey who doesn’t know much.”

She felt Sicarius’s gaze upon her. Was she putting feelings about torture and killing ahead of pragmatism again? Sicarius’s ways were heartless, but effective.

“He knows where the train is going,” Sicarius said.

“So will we, if we stay on it. Although… I’d like to know where those weapons originated, wouldn’t you? Maybe we could sneak into one of those wagons for a ride back to… wherever they came from.”

“We already have a mission to prepare for,” Sicarius said.

“We’ll have plenty of time to get back to the city and catch the train to Forkingrust, just as we planned. This should only be a short detour.” Amaranthe waved to the pumpkin sign on the cab door. “Those trucks look local.”

Sicarius’s gaze grew flinty. Amaranthe doubted he was thinking about her hair this time.

“We’ll take a quick look around, that’s all,” she said. “If there’s something worth investigating further, we can save that for after we get Sespian.”

“He must be the priority.”

“He is,” Amaranthe said, “though I’m sure he would put the city ahead of his personal welfare.”

Sicarius eyed the lorries, his jaw set. “If we do not finish in a timely manner, I will go get him on my own.”

Amaranthe had no intention of letting that happen-though he might get Sespian, his way would surely involve a lot of bloodshed-but she said, “I understand. I’ll wake the others.”

“What’s going on?” Books asked, when Amaranthe slipped back through the trapdoor.

“An interesting development,” she whispered. “Is everyone up?”

“I’m up,” Maldynado said, “though I’m disturbed that I woke to someone-who wasn’t a woman-massaging my chest.”

“Not me,” Akstyr said.

“You’re not a woman or you weren’t massaging me?” Maldynado asked.

“That’s three people awake,” Amaranthe said. “Basilard?”

A patting hand found her shoulder. Basilard. It must be hard on him, not being able to communicate in the dark, but she dared not light a lantern with so many men outside.

“Good.” Amaranthe patted his hand back. “Akstyr, Maldynado, and Basilard, I want you to stay on the train. It’s taking on a secret shipment of advanced weaponry, and I want to know where it gets delivered. We’ll meet you back at the Stumps hideout as soon as possible, so we can get ready for the kidnapping mission.”

Basilard gripped her shoulder to let her know he agreed.

“All right,” Akstyr said. He did not sound excited, but he didn’t complain about taking on a job where payment wouldn’t be involved either. Unusual for him.

“Back to the city is good,” Maldynado said. “Someone here needs a woman.”

“Dolt,” Books said, “you were probably massaging yourself.”

“Books,” Amaranthe said before their conversation could grow any more colorful. “Come with Sicarius and me, please. We’re going to sneak aboard the lorries and see where the guns came from.” She was tempted to send him with the others since stealth wasn’t his strongest skill, but his knowledge might prove useful in figuring out what was going on.

“How delightful,” Books said. “Field work.”

Amaranthe smiled. Though she might never get enthusiasm from him for such a project, at least he did not sound nervous or intimidated by the task. He would have once.

Amaranthe patted around to find her and Sicarius’s rucksacks. Her hand brushed someone’s clothing laid out to dry. “It probably goes without saying, but more than ever we want to make sure the engineer doesn’t find out that we were here, so make sure to take everything with you.”

Akstyr groaned. “We have to clean?”

There was the complaining Amaranthe expected from him. “I’ll compensate you later.”

She belted on her short sword, shouldered both rucksacks, and slung her crossbow across her torso. Being stealthy while laden down with all of one’s gear was always a challenge. She hoped the noise from the train and lorry engines would drown out any crunches and clunks she might make out there.

When Amaranthe and Books joined Sicarius, he took his rucksack and led the way to the ground via the back side of the train. Nobody was working over there, but Amaranthe was careful to step lightly on the gravel.

Darkness stretched across a harvested cornfield on the backside of the train, and the night air smelled of damp earth and freshly cut plant matter. Sicarius stopped behind the coal car and hopped onto the connector. After checking in both directions, he glided into a harvested cornfield on the opposite side, a cornfield in full view of the loading dock and the men working there.

His willingness to stride into the open surprised Amaranthe, but nobody raised an alarm. Indeed, she soon lost sight of Sicarius herself. The moon had set, and clouds blotted out most of the stars, leaving visibility poor.

Amaranthe gave Books a “let’s go” pat, hopped over the coupling, and eased out from between the cars. After a glance to make sure Books was following and none of the workers were looking in their direction, she took the same route Sicarius had.

Fifteen meters away, the workers continued to load the weapons. Amaranthe took careful steps down a row in the harvested cornfield. Though common sense told her the workers’ eyes would be night-blind after being near the light, she felt vulnerable with nothing more than the six-inch-high stalk remains offering concealment. Sneaking should only be done in mature, un-harvested cornfields, she decided.

Every time dry foliage crunched beneath her or Books’s boots, Amaranthe winced, but none of the workers looked their way. Whoever this group was, they seemed confident that nobody was around to witness their cargo being loaded.

Once she had put twenty or thirty meters between her and the tracks, Amaranthe paused, looking for Sicarius.

Books tapped her on the shoulder and, apparently of a similar mind, whispered, “Where’d he go?”

Amaranthe could only offer a vague, “That way, probably.”

She turned parallel to the tracks, stepping over the rows of corn stubble and heading toward the back of the depot building. They reached its protective shadow without trouble. Amaranthe poked her head around the far corner as the lorry closest to the freight cars started up. It headed straight toward her, following the road that led past the depot and into the fields from whence it had come.

Amaranthe jumped back from the corner. The wall did not offer any alcoves or decorative architectural features that would create shadows for hiding in.

The lorry rumbled closer, and its twin running lanterns pushed back the darkness near the road.

“Suck it in,” Amaranthe whispered and pressed herself against the back of the building.

“It’s sucked,” Books responded.

She hoped the vehicle would drive past and disappear down the road, but it parked not ten feet away, the cab and the two men inside fully visible to Amaranthe. If they turned their heads in her direction…

Worried about discovery, she almost decided to dart out of hiding and slip into the back of the lorry, hoping she’d make it before anyone noticed her. But the second vehicle was being directed into position for unloading now, and there were too many people with far too many lanterns glowing in the area.

“Back the way we came,” Amaranthe whispered out of the side of her mouth. “Slowly.”

With Books leading this time, they eased back toward the far side of the building.

“Now where?” he asked when they reached the corner.

“Out into the field.” Amaranthe pointed diagonally away from the building and away from the lorry. “We’ll go out there and angle around to the road. We’ll have to catch one of the lorries as it’s driving away.”

“Jump onto the back of a moving vehicle?” Books asked. “That sounds perilous.”

“We’ve been doing worse on the train all week. It’ll be easy.”

Easy might be an optimistic word, but Amaranthe had to sound confident in front of her team. Speaking of her team, where was Sicarius? Had he already slipped into one of the lorries?

After waiting another moment to see if he would appear, Amaranthe said, “This way.”

She led the way into the field before circling toward the road. She wished she could find a drainage ditch or a small depression that would hide them, but nothing other than the harvested rows presented itself. They would have to drop to their bellies when the lorries passed and hope nobody with keen eyes was watching the sides of the road.

Amaranthe knelt to wait on the final stages of the loading. When Books sank down beside her, she asked, “Any idea where we are?”

“Besides in a cold, dark field?”

“Yes.”

“There are a couple of possibilities for an abandoned railway stub in Agricultural District…” Books peered toward the mountains. “Is this Three?”

“That’s what Sicarius said.”

“Ah, then we’re within fifty miles north or south of the byway we took into the mountains last spring. This might be the old Archcrest Plantation. Several warrior-caste landowners with timber or agricultural properties had railway stubs run onto their property when the lines were first being built last century. The last Archcrest heir died in the Western Sea Conflict a generation ago, and the land reverted to the empire until such time that a distinguished soldier earns entry into the warrior caste. This being rather fertile land so close to the capital, though, it’s being reserved for someone extremely noteworthy.” Books craned his neck, peering in all sorts of directions now. “I wonder if the old Archcrest manor is still around. Did you know that family’s history goes all the way back to the Battle of Aquenerfarus when the empire routed the native civilization by the lake? The history books pretend they were primitive clans, but-”

Amaranthe cleared her throat as loudly as she dared. “So, your answer is, ‘Yes, we’re probably on the Archcrest Plantation.’”

“Er, correct.”

The workers raised the gate on the second lorry and dropped the flap, apparently finished unloading cargo. To Amaranthe’s surprise, the men who had been at the depot when the train first rolled in grabbed weapons and rucksacks and climbed into the rail car. Eight men in all. The last one pulled the rolling door shut from within.

“That might not be good,” Amaranthe whispered.

“Let’s hope they stay in that car and that the others are able to avoid them,” Books said.

“Let’s hope they’re smart enough to avoid them.” Amaranthe knew Basilard would not be a problem, but Akstyr did have a tendency to make reckless choices now and then, and Maldynado would probably smirk and let him.

“Would you be?” Books asked.

Amaranthe frowned at him.

“I simply meant that you’d probably want to spy on them for information,” Books said. “Stroll in and chat with them perhaps.”

“Oh, please, I haven’t done anything that imprudent in ages.”

“Hm.”

“Two months at least,” Amaranthe amended. In part because of the lecture Books had given her that summer, she’d been trying to make more thoughtful, wiser choices when it came to dealing with the opposition. She did still have a tendency toward… impulsive actions. Like hopping off a perfectly good train in the middle of the night to-

“They’re coming,” Books said.

Amaranthe dropped to her belly, keeping her head just high enough to see over the rows of corn stubble. Books stretched out next to her.

The first lorry was rolling away from the depot, and the remaining two men climbed into the cab of the second. Amaranthe eyed the cargo bed on the back vehicle. That’d be the most likely place to hop on and stow away.

As the men were closing the doors, a shadow moved at the back of the second lorry. If Amaranthe hadn’t been staring right at the spot, she would have missed it, and, even so, it was gone so quickly she almost thought it her imagination, but she knew it wasn’t.

Sicarius was aboard. Now it was time for her and Books to join him.

The first lorry approached their position. Amaranthe lowered her head until dirt scraped at her chin. The vehicle bumped and rattled past on the weed-choked road without slowing. In fact, she was surprised-and concerned-with how fast the lorry was moving. Catching up and jumping aboard would be a challenge. She pressed her palms into the damp earth, ready to spring up as soon as the second vehicle drew even with her and Books.

“Now,” Amaranthe whispered.

She jumped to her feet, and, staying low, ran toward the road. The lorry rumbled forward, pulling away from them. As soon as Amaranthe’s boots hit the road, she straightened and turned her run into a sprint. Books’s boots pounded the earth right behind her. The lorry picked up speed. The weeds and ruts made for difficult running, and Amaranthe misstepped, almost twisting her ankle. Books passed her.

Amaranthe urged her legs to greater speed. Her rucksack bumped on her back, thumping against her shoulders, but she gained ground.

Books reached the lorry first. He reached out and caught the back gate with one hand. His jump was ungraceful, but he made it, disappearing beneath the tarp amidst a tangle of long legs.

The road curved, and Amaranthe closed the distance. She reached out, fingertips brushing the cold metal gate. When the road straightened, the lorry picked up speed again and pulled away from her. The flap lifted, and Sicarius peered out.

Cursed ancestors, she wasn’t going to fail in front of him, not when Books had made it. Amaranthe pumped her legs faster. She closed the distance and grasped at the gate again. This time, she caught the top with both hands. Holding on to the accelerating lorry turned her running strides into leaping bounds, barely held in control. Turning one of those bounds into a jump in order to thrust herself inside was a daunting task, especially with the rucksack’s weight on her back.

If Amaranthe looked up and met Sicarius’s eyes, he would probably help her inside, but she mulishly set her jaw.

She sprang and pulled at the same time. Her belly hammered the top of the gate, and her knee thumped unyielding metal. Growling, Amaranthe wriggled and pulled herself inside, possibly with less grace than Books had displayed.

She collapsed, her back against the inside of the gate. The darkness in the cargo bed prevented her from seeing anything, though she could hear Books’s labored breathing. Or maybe that was her own. She hoped it wasn’t loud enough for the men in the cab to hear, or all this would be for naught. But the boiler and furnace were mounted between them and the cargo bed, so Amaranthe hoped that would offer noise insulation.

“Are you all right?” Books whispered.

“Of course,” Amaranthe replied. “I’m finally warm.”

Books snorted.

Someone settled beside her, shoulder to shoulder. Sicarius? Amaranthe surreptitiously wiped sweat from her brow and stomped down a goofy thought that popped into her mind. She was not going to ask him how she smelled now. Instead, she leaned her head on his shoulder, figuring it was best to rest while they could. Who knew what kind of adventure she had just signed her team up for?

The train had started up again, heading away from the isolated depot, and Akstyr was trying to get some sleep, but Maldynado kept climbing in and out through the trapdoor. More than once, hindered by the dark interior, he stepped on Akstyr with his big feet.

“What’re you doing?” Akstyr finally asked.

A hand covered his mouth, not Maldynado’s-Akstyr could see Maldynado dangling, legs halfway through the trapdoor. It had to be Basilard.

Akstyr pushed the hand away and asked more softly, “What’re you doing? Both of you.”

Maldynado dropped down again and slid the trapdoor shut, careful not to make any noise. The darkness inside the car thickened.

“They’re done loading the train,” Maldynado said.

“That usually happens before the train starts moving, yes,” Akstyr said. “Why don’t we all go back to sleep?”

“They didn’t get off the train once they finished loading.”

“They’re riding along with their guns? That’s not real surprising.”

“I guess not.”

Akstyr flopped back, throwing his arm over his eyes. “If they stay in their car, and we stay in ours, it shouldn’t matter.”

“As long as we don’t stumble across each other.” Maldynado laughed. “Could be kind of awkward if one of us and one of them decide to hop up on top of the train at the same time to water the shrubs.”

Akstyr rolled his eyes. Maldynado was at least ten years older than he was, but he didn’t act like it sometimes. It was like he was still a boy. Probably because he had grown up in some wealthy aristocrat’s house, not a backward street drowning in sewage where, if one didn’t pay attention, one got kidnapped and sold downriver to be enslaved in the boiler room on a steamer for years and years. Or worse. Akstyr had lost a friend with a pretty face to one of the slimy brothels in the ghetto where nobody cared if the kids were willing screws or not.

The train picked up speed, leaving the depot far behind. Akstyr relaxed. Whenever Sicarius was gone, he felt more at ease, and, with Amaranthe gone too, he could plan his next move without worrying about-

“We could check up on them,” Maldynado said.

Akstyr sighed.

“Maybe they’re in there, talking about their weapons and where they’re going,” Maldynado said. “I reckon the boss would like to have as much information as possible.”

“Go check then. Me and Basilard will wait here.” Akstyr had no idea what Basilard wanted to do-it was impossible to talk to him in the dark-but he had more common sense than Maldynado, so he probably wouldn’t go hunting for trouble.

“How is it that you command as large of a cut on payday as I do, when you only ever look out for yourself and your interests?” Maldynado asked.

“I’ve got charms.”

Maldynado snorted. “Sure, you do. That’s why you’re always asking me to find you women.”

“I can get women without you.” Actually, Akstyr hadn’t had much success at that, but he’d never admit it.

“Women with teeth?”

“Maldynado, eat street.”

“Uh huh, you’re about as charming as my hairy-”

A clunk sounded outside, somewhere nearby, and Maldynado fell silent. Akstyr lifted his head. The men had been loading the weapons ten cars farther down the train. That noise had sounded much nearer.

“Move away from the trapdoor,” Maldynado whispered. “Take your gear too.”

Akstyr’s first thought was one of huffiness-who had put him in charge? — but a heavy thump sounded, this time almost above him, and he hurried to obey. Someone had to be walking along the tops of the cars, maybe jumping from one to the next. Another thump followed the first. Maybe two someones were up there walking.

A whisper of cold air wafted down from the trapdoor. Maldynado had shut it most of the way, but a half an inch remained open.

A surge of anxiety swept through Akstyr. What if the men saw the open door and shut it and locked it from the outside? The rolling side door was already locked. They’d be trapped down here, in this dark hole, with no way out.

Relax, Akstyr told himself. He had the mental sciences. He might be a long way from reaching mastery at anything, but he could surely thwart a lock.

The footsteps stopped. The trapdoor scraped open a few inches. Light glowed above the crack, then descended, and a brass lantern eased into view, flame dancing behind its dirty glass panes. Stubby fingers with dirt wedged beneath the nails held the handle. The tip of a rifle edged through the opening as well.

The low roof forced Akstyr to crouch so deeply that his knees were bumping his chin and his head was brushing the ceiling, but he pressed himself against the wall, sucking his belly in and hugging the shadows the best he could. After hours in darkness, the light half-blinded him, but he didn’t see Maldynado or Basilard or anybody’s gear or blanket within the lantern’s sphere of influence. Though-Akstyr cringed-someone’s underwear lay draped across a bundle of poles near the wall.

“See anything, Rov?” a man asked outside. “It’s a might suspicious that this here door ain’t secured.”

Akstyr closed his eyes and concentrated on the flame. He didn’t know how to manipulate air or gases yet, so he couldn’t simply blow it out or suck all the oxygen from inside the lantern casing. He did know how to tie and cut things, thanks to that book Amaranthe had found him on healing. One had to do those things in the body sometimes.

“Not sure.” The lantern dropped a few inches lower, bringing a hairy wrist inside with it. “There’s something over…”

Akstyr formed a razor blade in his mind. It sliced through the lantern’s wick, extinguishing the flame.

“Emperor’s bunions,” the voice growled. “You got a match?”

“Yeah, you see anything?”

“Some underwear, I think.”

Akstyr sighed.

“Underwear! What’ve we got, some hobos down there sodomizing each other?” The man laughed at his own joke.

Akstyr’s thighs were starting to burn. If the men came down here, he was done hiding. He, Basilard, and Maldynado could take these idiots. Though, if a rifle went off, the rest of that gang might hear. And if Akstyr and the others were supposed to follow these people to their drop-off point without being seen… An out-and-out brawl with the entire force wasn’t exactly not being seen.

Akstyr shook his head. He didn’t care. It wasn’t as if there was money riding on this job.

The trapdoor scraped the rest of the way open. Light appeared again, then two figures dropped into the car, landing in crouches, their rifles raised.

Akstyr focused on the closest man. More precisely, he focused on the lantern the man held, letting his eyelids droop as he concentrated. Just before the flame winked out, Basilard leaped out of the darkness on the far side of the car and barreled toward the intruders.

Darkness fell, and Akstyr didn’t see what happened next, but the grunts of pain and sounds of flesh smacking against flesh told much. He pushed away from the wall, ready to jump into the fray, but the noises gave him little hint as to who was where.

Something banged against Akstyr’s toe. He patted around and found a rifle. The scuffle died down before he’d done more than pick it up.

“Akstyr, how about a light?” Maldynado asked from a few feet away. “It’s hard to tie people up in the dark.”

“Why not just throw them from the train?” Akstyr asked, though he closed his eyes and pictured a ball of light in his head. Creating illumination with the mental sciences involved bending and enhancing existing light, sort of like putting a mirror behind a candle to increase its output, so it was hard to do anything in extremely dark conditions, but he’d learned a trick or two in studying illusions.

“That might make more sense,” Maldynado said, “though the boss would probably be upset if we killed these thugs.”

Akstyr stretched his thoughts out, bringing the light from his head to the air in front of him. A silvery ball the size of his fist blushed into existence. Since the trapdoor was still open, he kept the intensity low. It provided enough light to see Maldynado and Basilard, kneeling on the backs of the downed men, Basilard with a knife to one’s throat, Maldynado simply applying force to twist his foe’s arms into chicken wings. Though the intruders’ faces were scrunched up in pain, their eyes bulged when they spotted the otherworldly light.

“Nobody has to tell her,” Akstyr said.

Basilard frowned at him.

“What?” Akstyr picked up a second rifle and admired the sleek barrel. He’d never seen anything like the loading mechanism. He thumbed open a latch, revealing a chamber that held a bullet, no, multiple bullets. “These are brilliant.”

“I guess,” Maldynado said in response to something Basilard signed when Akstyr wasn’t looking. “It doesn’t make sense to risk ourselves, trying to keep them prisoner all the way back to the city.”

The intruders’ eyes had been riveted to the light, but one started paying attention to Maldynado’s words, and concern crinkled his brow. “Listen, we’re just following orders. We wouldn’t have tossed you out at fifty miles an hour. That’s break-your-neck speed.”

“Shut up, Rov,” the second man growled.

“No, we like you chatty,” Maldynado said. “While your tongue is dancing, why don’t you tell us what you know about these weapons? Like who had them made, where they came from, and where they’re going.”

“Eat street,” the more belligerent man said.

That drew Akstyr’s attention, and he tore his gaze from the rifle. That saying was one common on the streets where he had grown up. Nobody had bothered putting the oldest section of the city on the sewer system, and people dumped piss pots out of their windows. Akstyr checked for gang brands on the men’s hands, but only dirt marked their skin.

“Easy, Motty,” the more talkative man said. “They’ve got magic.” Some new thought must have entered his little brain, because his eyes bugged out even more. “They must have a witch!” Though he couldn’t move his head, not with Basilard’s knife to his neck, his buggy eyes darted about like marbles in a jar.

Akstyr snorted. “There are male practitioners, you know.”

Maldynado roughed Motty up for a minute, then said, “Listen, we can drop you from the train nicely, or you can go under the wheels. Tell us about those weapons, and I’ll make sure you live.”

Blood trickled from Motty’s nose, but he managed a sneer. Since the notion of magic bothered both men, Akstyr formed an illusion, a knife similar to the solid black blade Sicarius carried. He eyed it critically as it floated in the air, thinking it could have appeared to be more realistic-he would have to work on improving his artistic talents-but both men focused on it, their belligerence fading.

“We don’t know who the guns are for,” Rov blurted. “We just got hired to deliver ’em. We weren’t told where they’re going, just to help unload them and do whatever the bloke waiting there wants.”

“Who’s paying your salary?” Maldynado asked.

Rov hesitated. Akstyr made blood drip down the knife and splash onto a box in front of the prisoners. Of course, there wouldn’t be any real moisture in the drops, but neither man was in a position to reach out and check.

“Jo-Jovak!” Rov nearly swallowed his tongue in the rush to get the name out. “He’s the foreman in the factory. I don’t know who pays him or anything else, I swear it. The money’s real good, so we don’t ask questions. Beats thieving in the Buccaneers territory.”

Huh, so they were from the streets. The Buccaneers had been a rival gang to Akstyr’s own Black Arrows, but it didn’t sound like these two were members, so that didn’t give him much of a clue as to who might be behind things.

The knife and the light flickered, and he grimaced, refocusing his concentration. Even with simple illusions, one had to keep thinking about maintaining them, or they blinked out. Nobody seemed to notice.

“This Jovak hired you?” Maldynado asked.

“Yes, he’s the only one we’ve ever seen that’s in charge.”

“That go for you too?” Maldynado shook his man.

“Lick my sweaty balls, Dung-for-Brains.”

“Oh, yes, this one’s definitely going under the wheels,” Maldynado said.

Basilard smirked and managed to sign with one hand, I think he likes you.

“He’s too ugly for my tastes,” Maldynado said. “Let’s get them out of here.”

Akstyr extinguished his illusions and helped Basilard and Maldynado drag the prisoners onto the roof. Despite Maldynado’s threats, he didn’t throw anyone under the train, but he was none too gentle with chucking the surly one into the passing fields. He lowered Rov down more carefully, though both men tumbled away like empty cans hurtling down a cobblestone street in a windstorm. Their speed and the train’s own noise muted whatever yells they might have made.

Once the three of them were back inside, Maldynado shut the trapdoor, found a lantern, and lit it. He kept the flame down low, but not so low that Akstyr didn’t see his grin.

“What?” he asked suspiciously.

“They called you a witch,” Maldynado said.

Basilard smiled faintly too.

“That’s because they’re idiots,” Akstyr said.

Perhaps, Basilard signed, you should consider a haircut.

Akstyr scowled and patted his locks. Because he hadn’t bothered greasing them into spikes for the train adventure, his hair hung limply to his shoulders. He was positive it didn’t look girlie though.

“Now, now, Basilard,” Maldynado said. “Not everybody wants to go through life with a head so shiny it can confuse ships if it’s near a lighthouse.”

Basilard made a sign Akstyr didn’t recognize, but he noted it for later use since it seemed to indicate Maldynado could stuff something somewhere unpleasant.

“We get to go back to sleep now?” Akstyr asked.

Maldynado shrugged. “Until the rest of those people start wondering where their comrades went and come looking.”

“Guess we gotta put someone on watch then,” Akstyr said.

“Excellent idea. Thanks for volunteering.” Maldynado promptly lay back down and closed his eyes.

Basilard winked and did the same.

“What?” Akstyr scowled again. “That’s not fair. You know who should stand watch? Whoever owns the underwear that started this whole problem.”

Overzealous snores answered him.

“I hate you two.”