“Yes,” he sighed and started climbing. “But promise me I can curl up in a corner and sleep the rest of the way back to the city.”
“It’d probably be best to stay on the roof,” Books called down, “so they don’t know we’ve sneaked aboard. You can sleep up there.”
“Sounds cold.”
Amaranthe secured her rifle across her back and climbed up after them without commenting, though she agreed the roof might be best. They could jump off the train as it was pulling to a stop for its checkpoint, before any soldiers climbed aboard to search.
By the time she joined the men on a ledge halfway up the tower, the train was lumbering into view, its pace slow as it wound its way up the mountainside and into the pass.
“Dead ancestors with caltrops,” Amaranthe said when she spotted black-painted cars with golden imperial army logos on the sides. Those cars, dozens of them, would be filled with soldiers. More troops to support Flintcrest? Or Heroncrest? Or even Ravido? Whoever’s men they were, they wouldn’t be coming to join Sespian.
“Definitely best to stay on the roof,” Books said, “or avoid getting on altogether. How do you feel about waiting for the next train?”
Akstyr groaned, doubtlessly displeased at the idea of climbing back down, then having to climb back up again later. And then there was the cold and the limited food supply. Amaranthe flexed her numbed fingers within mittens made to ward off the chill during a quick outing into the city, not to protect digits from sub-zero mountain temperatures. Thanks to the wind, she already couldn’t feel her nose, and white crystals had frozen her lashes together. Now that they’d stopped moving, the chill was even more noticeable. The sun might bring a reprieve, but another storm might come in that day too.
“We have no idea how long we’d be waiting,” she said, “and the next train might be more of the same. Someone ought to block the pass so all these reinforcements can’t continue to trickle in.”
“No,” Books said, sounding like Sicarius for a moment, he being the only one of the men who blatantly naysayed her.
Amaranthe had simply been musing aloud and didn’t take affront at his vehemence. Their priority should be getting back to the city anyway, not attacking supply lines. And yet, she had a hard time dropping the idea now that it’d formed.
“We don’t have any explosives,” Akstyr said. “And I’m too tired to make a landslide.”
“We wouldn’t necessarily need anything so permanent. What if we jumped on behind the locomotive, and decoupled the rest of the cars, the same as the last time we hopped a train? The soldiers would be stranded, and the railway into the city would be blocked until someone got another locomotive out to move the cars.”
Books was staring at her. “Can’t you ever take the easy route? Why can’t we catch a ride into the city and leave it at that?”
“You disagree that it’d be wise to deny reinforcements to the generals competing with Sespian for the throne?”
“No, but why do we always have to do these things?” Books sounded tired and frazzled. They’d all been up for too long without sleep.
“Who else will?” Amaranthe asked.
He growled. “Maybe we should stand back, let them all fight each other until they’re tired of it, then come in and offer a new less bloodthirsty system of government to the survivors.”
“You think it would be that easy?”
Books sighed and leaned his head against the steel beam. “No.”
“Uhm, it’s going to be here in a second.” Akstyr pointed at the oncoming train, the black locomotive leading the way, the grill guard like a wolf’s snarling face, full of sharp fangs.
Amaranthe shifted her weight on the ledge, readying herself to jump. “Coal car,” she instructed.
Books didn’t look pleased, but he didn’t resume the argument.
The pass was relatively flat compared to the terrain the train had finished climbing, and it picked up speed as it bore down on the bridge. They’d have to time their jump carefully. None of them was fresh.
Judging the approach in her head, listening to the clickity-clack of the wheels rolling over rail segments, Amaranthe said, “Now!” and dropped from the tower. Wind roared in her ears, then faded as her feet hit the coal.
Elbows jostled her as she turned the landing into a roll, Akstyr and Books doing the same. They couldn’t have landed any closer to each other if they’d held hands. She banged someone with her rifle, but that was the worst of their injuries. As one, they rose into low crouches, careful to keep their heads down. If someone in the first troop car had seen them drop, or noticed them now… She was all too aware that Sicarius, Maldynado, and Basilard weren’t with her this time. As much as her ego wanted to reject the notion, she, Books, and Akstyr were the weakest fighters on the team. When she’d been separating everyone into neat parties, she hadn’t planned on combat for her half. Naive, that. She hoped Sespian was finding her men useful in Fort Urgot.
Books pointed to the locomotive and signed, Do we take it first? Or try to decouple the rest of the train?
The last time the team had decoupled cars on a moving train, Sicarius had been the one to do it. Even though she’d suggested it, the idea of attempting the maneuver herself daunted Amaranthe. She didn’t know how much physical strength it would take. At least nobody was shooting at them this time. Yet.
She eyed the route ahead. The locomotive had sped off the bridge and was on a downhill slope, picking up speed as it went. More snowy peaks loomed ahead, so there’d be more uphill swings.
Let’s wait to do that, Amaranthe signed and waved at the rest of the train, until we slow for another climb. It’ll be less dangerous then. Besides, the engineer and fireman will be alert and ready for trouble if we try to take over after the majority of their train wanders off of its own accord.
Agreed, Books signed.
We’ll take care of those men first. She pointed at the locomotive.
Books’s grimaced but didn’t argue. Akstyr yawned. Such heartening support.
On a military train, the men in the locomotive would be trained fighters, a soldier and an officer working the controls and shoveling the coal. Knowing the train was heading into trouble, its commander might have placed guards up front as well.
I’ll go left, Amaranthe signed, and you go right, Books. With luck, there’ll only be two of them, and we’ll simply stick our rifles in their backs and convince them to tie themselves up.
Akstyr, Books signed, you can usually tell how many people there are in a room. Is it just two?
Akstyr closed his eyes, winced, and shook his head. “I can’t right now, sorry.” He didn’t bother with hand signs, and Amaranthe struggled to hear him over the wind and the grinding of wheels on rails. “My head hurts like a knife stabbing into the backs of my eyeballs when I try to summon any mental energy.”
Old-fashioned way then, she signed. Akstyr, you come in after me and help out if there are more than two people, or there’s trouble.
Akstyr tossed a lump of coal. “When is there not trouble?”
The odds suggest something will go easily for us eventually. Amaranthe winked. It was more bravado than belief, but she tried to use the thought to bolster herself. Rifle in hand, she clambered down the side of the coal car, the wind tearing at the hem of her dress—ridiculous outfit to hijack a train in, but she’d brought no other clothing—and pulled her way along the ledge toward the locomotive.
On the other side, Books was doing the same. Amaranthe trusted they’d make the same progress, but paused to peer in the window next to the cab door before jumping inside. The two men in black military fatigues with engineering patches were as she’d expected, a sergeant leaning on a shovel by the furnace and a lieutenant standing behind the seat overlooking the long cylindrical boiler and the tracks beyond. What she didn’t expect were the two kids in civilian clothing. A boy and a girl, both appearing to be about fifteen years old, shared the cab with the two men. From the window behind and to the
side of them, Amaranthe couldn’t see much of their faces, but the girl had a pair of brown pigtails and sat in the engineer’s seat, pointing at various gauges and speaking, asking questions perhaps. The boy stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the sergeant, a book of schematics open in his hands as the fireman pointed things out inside an open panel.
“What is this?” Amaranthe muttered. “A private tutoring lesson?” She’d be less mystified if this were a civilian transport, imagining some warrior-caste lord on a family vacation and arranging for special access for his children, but what could children be doing on a military train? Was one of the invading generals, having realized he’d be in the capital for some time, having his family brought in? She couldn’t fathom it. Even if there wasn’t much outright fighting in the streets—or hadn’t been when she left—who would bring kids into a volatile situation?
At the other window, on the opposite side of the cabin, Books’s nose and eyes were visible, he too wearing a perplexed expression. Amaranthe tilted her head, indicating they should go ahead with their plan. They still needed control of the locomotive. The sergeant and officer wore their standard issue utility knives, and there were flintlock rifles mounted within reach above the cab doors, but the men appeared otherwise unarmed. Neither of the youths had weapons, as far as Amaranthe could tell, though in examining them she took a closer look at their clothing and grew even more confused. Beneath parkas suitable for the cold weather, they wore homespun garments of light colors and materials, styles vaguely foreign as well, though Amaranthe wasn’t worldly enough to put a finger on origins. She just knew they weren’t the typical factory-made clothing or styles common around the capital currently.
Books was moving, so she ended her musings. A second before Amaranthe opened the cab door, the boy with the book glanced in her direction. She hadn’t thought she’d made a noise, but she must have. Books opened his own door and jumped inside, rifle at the ready. Amaranthe entered as well, raising her firearm to her shoulder, aiming at the lieutenant’s head. The weapon wasn’t ideal in the tight space, but she had enough room. When the officer spun around, his eyes crossed as he found himself staring at the muzzle.
The sergeant’s hand twitched toward his knife, but Books prodded his arm with his own rifle, and the man scowled and desisted. The youths—siblings, Amaranthe decided, as soon as she saw their faces and the gray-blue eyes they shared—spread their arms to their sides, calmly opening their hands to show they held no weapons. That calm was surprising in people too young to have had military training, and she made a note to watch them, though the soldiers were more of an immediate threat.
“Who are you people?” the lieutenant asked, glancing out the door, as if to assure himself that yes indeed the train was still moving. Rapidly. He also shifted his stance so that he stood in front of the girl. The sergeant shifted so he stood in front of the boy, though his glances were for the rifles above the door.
“My apologies for hopping onto your train without a boarding pass. We found ourselves lost in the mountains and need a ride to Stumps.” Amaranthe shifted forward a couple of inches so Akstyr could squeeze in behind her. “Get their weapons,” she told him without taking her eyes from the soldiers.
“Hijacking an imperial train is punishable by death,” the lieutenant said, glowering as Akstyr removed his knife and patted him down for other weapons.
“Is it?” Amaranthe asked. “Then I probably shouldn’t tell you it’s not our first. Search the children for weapons, too, Akstyr.”
“Children?” the girl whispered to her brother. Granted, she had a grown woman’s curves, even if the pigtails made her look young, and Amaranthe probably could have used a different word. Indeed, the speculative consideration Akstyr gave her as he searched her suggested she was plenty old enough by his eighteen-year-old reckoning. Amaranthe was thankful his pat-down was professional.
“She’s talking about you, naturally,” the brother responded.
They were speaking in Turgonian, but with a faint accent. Again, Amaranthe couldn’t place it. She wondered if Books had a better idea.
“Oh, yes,” the sister said, “I’m certain the three minutes longer you’ve had in the world than I grants you scads of wisdom and maturity.”
“Mother does say I was born with a book in my hands. I imagine that gave me a head start.”
The lieutenant exchanged glances with the sergeant, and the two men lunged, one toward Amaranthe, and one toward the door behind her. She reacted instantly, ramming the muzzle of the rifle into the lieutenant’s sternum, the blow accurate enough to halt his charge. She tried to whip the weapon around to crack him in the head with the butt, but it caught on the doorjamb—the cab was too tight for these long guns—and she settled for stomping on his instep. In the same movement, she brought her knee up to catch the fellow angling for the door. By that point, he was stumbling for the door, since Books had slammed the butt of his own weapon into the sergeant’s back. Amaranthe lowered her rifle, tapping the side of the lieutenant’s head with the muzzle. He’d bent over under her attack, and didn’t straighten, not with the cool kiss of metal against his temple.
“Next time, we’ll shoot,” Amaranthe said, hoping they wouldn’t know she was lying.
Akstyr had a knife out and was keeping an eye on the siblings, who were exchanging looks of their own. Amaranthe thought she read an oh-well-we-tried quality in the exchange. They’d been hoping to divert their attackers’ attention with their arguing? Hm.
“Slag off,” the sergeant snarled. Sort of. His cheek was smashed into the textured metal floor, and the endearment lacked clarity.
“Akstyr, get everyone tied up, please. The sooner we get to phase two of our plan, the better.” Amaranthe peeked out the door toward the coal car and the rest of the train. As long as everything was attached, anyone could amble up here and cause trouble. For all she knew, shift change was three minutes away.
The girl murmured a question to her brother, not in Turgonian this time. He nodded back.
Amaranthe met Books’s eyes, sure he’d have an answer as to the language.
Kyattese, he signed.
Kyattese? Emperor’s warts, now what? It was bad enough the Nurians were tangled up in this vying for the throne—did the Kyattese want some part of it too?
Amaranthe signed, Any idea who they might be?
She was aware of the siblings watching her, noticing the finger twitches, though she was positive they wouldn’t understand Basilard’s hand code. Even his own Mangdorian people were hard pressed to follow it, given how much he’d added to the lexicon over the last year.
“I’m out of rope and belts.” Akstyr had tied the lieutenant, but not the sergeant yet. He gave Amaranthe an aggravated look.
“Get creative,” she told him.
“My head hurts too much for creativity. I—” Akstyr stood abruptly. “Sci—” He switched to code: Science.
What? Amaranthe stepped toward the siblings. She knew it wasn’t the soldiers, so that only left—was that one of those I’m-about-to-fling-magic looks of concentration on the boy’s face? Though she was reluctant to aim her rifle at a youth, Amaranthe prodded him in the chest with the barrel, hoping to distract him.
Something popped on the furnace, and black smoke poured into the cabin. Amaranthe cursed, left with little choice but to club the kid. As she drew back the rifle to swing, the girl reached into her coat, toward a pocket or perhaps a belt pouch.
“Books,” Amaranthe barked.
“I can’t—ergh.”
Someone grabbed Amaranthe from behind, yanking her away from the siblings and propelling her into the rear of the cab with jaw-cracking force. Though she threw an elbow back, trying to catch her attacker in the ribs, the person evaded the blow. Her rifle was torn from her fingers. She didn’t know if it was the same someone or someone else. Men in black uniforms moved in her peripheral vision, and soon the cabin was so crowded with bodies, she couldn’t have unpinned herself even if someone didn’t
have a forearm rammed into her kidney. Now it was her face that was smashed against something, her eyes meeting Books’s as she noticed he was in a mirror position two feet from her. It was neither the familiar sergeant nor the lieutenant that had him pinned, a cutlass prodding his back, but a grim-faced captain. Strong, calloused fingers tightened around the back of Amaranthe’s neck. She couldn’t see her own attacker, but he spoke from right behind her.
“Captain,” he asked in a rich baritone, that of an older but obviously not—as the grip pinning her proved—infirm man, “is hijacking a train still a capital punishment in the empire?”
“Yes, my lord. It is. In addition,” the captain said, his tone icy, “it is also quite illegal to attack warrior-caste children.”
Amaranthe blinked. It was all the movement she could manage at the moment. Warrior-caste children that muttered to each other in Kyattese? Just who in all the abandoned mines in the empire was standing behind her? Another general charging in to make a claim on the throne?
Books, with his head turned sideways toward her, must have had a better view of the man behind her, or he was simply more adept at assembling the pieces of this particular puzzle, for his mouth dropped open in… Amaranthe was sure that was recognition.
“Enlighten me,” she whispered to him.
“I… I could be mistaken,” Books whispered back, “since I’ve never met the man nor even seen him in person, military history not being my favorite subject in the least, but—”
The captain jostled Books, probably to discourage him from talking. Amaranthe wished the jostle would encourage him to get to the point.
“Who?” she mouthed, wanting the name, not an explanation.
The captain was discussing what to do with these interlopers with a third man, another officer. Take them to the capital to face the magistrate or simply hurl them from the train and let the mountain—and the high-speed fall—handle the matter?
“Well, that one is a criminal with a bounty on her head.” A finger jabbed toward Amaranthe’s nose. “The others may very well be too.”