by Carrie Patel
She balked. “I won’t do this.”
He shrugged. “Then you will attend patient.”
“Then you will have a very messy car on your hands,” Jane said, summoning up all of her gravity.
Ponytail frowned.
“One minoot,” Jane said.
“Und no more,” he said, grudgingly withdrawing his foot.
The small washroom reminded her of her quarters on Salvage, except that it was actually larger. Jane relieved herself, washed up, and splashed water on her face. Even under the circumstances, it felt good to have a moment alone. A moment to think.
If the guards in the service car were telling the truth, all she needed to do was keep her head down until they reached Cologne-de-le-Kur.
But what if they weren’t? She knew they’d left bombs on the mooring tower where she and Roman had been scheduled to land. What would people like that do to a train full of witnesses?
From what she’d heard, Geist didn’t seem like the kind of man prone to wanton cruelty. But he didn’t seem to have a problem with collateral damage, either.
After her original exile from Recoletta and her subsequent manipulations at the hands of Lady Lachesse and the Qadi, Jane had decided that she would never again leave her fate in the hands of other people if she could help it.
She might be stuck on the train with Geist in the near term, but she’d prepare herself to escape when the opportunity presented itself.
There was a sharp knock at the door. “One minoot,” said the guard.
Jane opened the door. She was ready.
Ponytail blinked as though he were surprised that she was still there. “Fini?”
“Ya,” she said.
He frowned. “Your accent. I am noticing it is stark curious. Where are you from?”
Jane’s veins turned to ice. But she remembered Roman’s answer, or she thought she did. “Second Lichtenstein.”
He nodded, still frowning. He seemed to believe her, but it was hard to tell. “Come mit,” he said, gesturing back toward the service car.
Jane headed toward it, feeling a sudden stiffness in her legs.
Crossing the rattling walkway, Jane heard the commotion inside the service car before she saw it. Muffled shouts came from within, and Jane feared she’d made a mistake in leaving the temperamental guard alone with the others.
She pulled the door open. The shaggy guard and the defiant crewwoman were shouting at one another, both clearly beyond all reason. His hand was clenched around the grip of his pistol. The crewwoman either didn’t notice or didn’t care. She leaned forward, tension in every angle of her body, looking like she was ready to spring.
“Wass is this?!” roared the ponytailed guard from behind Jane. The shaggy guard and the crewwoman began talking at once.
And there, just to Jane’s right, was the knife block. Close enough to grab, but not without being seen. Especially now that everyone was looking at the ponytailed guard behind her.
As she looked up, her eyes met those of the gray-haired crewman, and he gave her another barely perceptible nod.
Then he hollered at the top of his lungs.
The shaggy guard and the other prisoners turned to stare at him. Ponytail shoved past Jane, muttering angrily.
And for just a moment, everyone was turned away from her.
She grabbed at one of the shorter handles near the bottom of the block. A paring knife. Small enough to hide and sharp enough to matter.
She had it behind her back and was working it into the waistband of her trousers when a gunshot split the air. Ponytail was grimacing, his pistol held aloft.
“Tranquil und silence, pleece!” Ponytail said.
The others fell silent.
Ponytail pointed to her. “You. Setz.”
Jane had the knife wedged awkwardly against her back. It felt secure, but it was also jabbing her in the buttocks.
She tried to keep the pain off her face as she returned to sit between the gray-haired crewman and the younger one. No sooner had she settled into place than the forward door burst open.
Geist stood in the threshold, a snarl of irritation on his lips.
“Wass is this?” he asked.
Ponytail lowered his head. “The voyagers became agitay. I–”
“You will make alles the voyagers agitay! Merde.”
The rear door opened and another guard poked her head into the service car. Seeing Geist, she relaxed. “I heard–”
“Alles goot,” Geist said, waving her off. “Go.”
She ducked out of the service car.
“Now,” Geist said. “You will explique the trouble.” He looked between the two guards, his eyes hard with displeasure.
The ponytailed guard cleared his throat. “The defect is mine. I sortayed to escort her to the toilet.” He pointed to Jane.
Geist’s gaze fell on her, and Jane felt her stomach shrivel. “But she is not crew! Wass is she doing here?”
“She flet,” Ponytail said. “When we halted the rail. She was refuging mit the cargo.”
Geist’s eyes glowed with intrigue. “Imposant,” he said. He knelt, close enough that she could see the ripples in the scar along his cheek. His oiled hair was tangled in clumps, and his rumpled, dirty clothing looked – and smelled – as though he’d been on the run all day.
She resisted the urge to turn away. She was terrified that he’d somehow figure out who she was.
He cocked his head. “Regard me. Are you knowing who I am?”
It seemed like nearly everyone on the Continent – or at least the cities she’d visited – knew who Geist was.
Jane nodded.
He gave her a smile that appeared and vanished like steaming breath in winter air. “You are knowing we do not wish to harm you.”
It wasn’t clear whether this was a question or a statement.
“Why did you flet?” he asked.
She glanced at Ponytail’s pistol and made a point of raising her eyebrows. The less she said, the better.
Geist chuckled. “But you are sprecking so little. Und I am not knowing who you are. Pleece.” He opened a hand in invitation.
She waited, but it was clear he expected an answer. Unfortunately, she didn’t know many Continental names, and if they were as distinct as the names on Salvage she couldn’t expect to make one up.
“Ilse,” she said, thinking of the first one that surfaced. She belatedly remembered where she’d heard it – it was the name of Roman’s late mother.
She hoped it was common enough.
Geist nodded expectantly. “Ilse…?”
“Mueller.” She’d heard that one recently, maybe among Rothbauer’s staff, or maybe among the soldiers who’d arrested her back in Nouvelle Paris.
“Und why, Ilse Mueller, were you in refuge mit the cargo?” Geist’s voice was low and dangerous, but his eyes gleamed with mirth.
“No ticket,” she said, as quietly as she could.
“Wass regret.” He leaned forward, perched on the balls of his feet. “But your accent. It is sounding familiar. Where have I known it?”
Again, Jane remembered Roman’s answer. “Second Lichtenstein,” she said, steeling her voice with more confidence than she felt.
The amusement vanished from Geist’s face. “No. I am recognizing it now. You are a Pestelander. Und if you have come here…” He looked her up and down as if seeing her for the first time. “The waschergirl.”
Jane would have denied it if she thought it would have done any good.
Instead, she took advantage of the momentary bewilderment to snatch the paring knife and drive it into Geist’s thigh.
He screamed. Jane ran for the door at the forward end of the car.
* * *
Malone watched the scene play out from the roof of the service car, peering through an open ceiling vent. She couldn’t make out the conversation between Geist and Jane, but she was almost certain it meant trouble.
Her suspicions were confirmed when the l
aundress plunged a knife into the man’s leg, bless her.
She popped up and clambered to the forward end of the service car as the sounds of a fight broke out below her. Despite the odds, she was glad for the change in pace. Her hands and face had started to go numb from the wind.
Malone climbed down from the roof just in time to see Jane darting across the gap to the locomotive. The young woman tried the door, but to no avail. When she turned and saw Malone watching her on the opposite platform, her surprise was such that Malone was thankful she’d already disposed of her knife.
“You,” Jane said, her face pale.
“I want to get us both out of here,” said Malone. “So find a way in while I hold Geist off.”
For the moment, it appeared to be enough. Jane tried the handle again, and Malone flattened herself next to the door of the service car and waited.
Seconds later, it slammed open. A guard with shaggy hair emerged onto the landing, gun drawn. Malone braced herself against the rail and planted a kick in the man’s chest, fast enough that he didn’t see it coming and she didn’t have time to consider it.
He sailed over the opposite railing with a cry and disappeared.
Malone grabbed for the door. In the instant that she reached across the threshold, she caught Geist staring at her open-mouthed, an indistinct tableau of violence situated around him.
She pulled the door shut. “How’s it coming?” she hollered to Jane.
“I’ll tell you when I get there.” The laundress was climbing up the ladder toward the roof of the locomotive. After a few moments, she disappeared over the lip of the roof, and Malone returned her focus to the door.
A gunshot rang from within the service car, and a hole appeared in the wood paneling a few feet away.
Whatever Jane was doing, Malone hoped she did it fast.
Presently, Geist’s voice rose on the other side of the door. “Malone. It is not entirely dessplessant to be seeing you again.”
“So come out and say hello,” she shouted back, hoping he wouldn’t call her bluff.
She could hear the smile in his voice. “I am not thinking you are armed, but I am not liking unnecessary hazard.” He paused. “I am also comprending why you had such trouble with your waschergirl.”
Malone felt herself grin.
“I am regretting the way of our parting,” Geist said. “I had no desire to cause you mal.”
Nor much of a desire to avoid it, apparently. “What about the rest of the people on the tower?” she asked.
“A catastrophe,” he said. “But necessary to eliminate Roman Arnault. I was thinking you would comprend.”
The door to the locomotive rasped open. Jane stood in the doorway, and behind her a balding man held a gun to her head.
“Capitulate, pleece,” he said.
“Do not assassinat the waschergirl!” Geist roared. “She is utile!”
The balding man looked from Geist’s direction to Malone’s. He turned the gun toward her.
Jane drove her elbow straight back into the man’s gut. He cried out and doubled over. The laundress began raining punches and kicks on him with amateurish technique but admirable vigor.
Malone crossed the gap to the struggling pair and kicked the man’s right hand. He released the gun.
She scooped it up and spun around just in time to see Geist rushing at her. She squeezed off a shot. It went wide, and Geist dove back into the service car.
“We have one of yours now!” Jane yelled, nerves and defiance trembling in her voice.
“Assassinat him if you must,” Geist said. “He comprends our cause.”
The two women looked at each other.
“Don’t move,” Malone said to the man, pointing the gun at him. She jerked her head in the direction of the locomotive. She and Jane both ducked inside, leaving Geist’s balding ally seated on the exposed platform.
“We can’t hold them off all the way to Cologne,” Jane said.
Nor could they afford to let Geist follow so close on their heels. But as Malone had made her way along the train cars, she’d noted the link-and-pin connections holding them together.
“We’ll separate the cars,” Malone said. “Leave them stranded and take the locomotive.” Geist would eventually follow, no doubt, but the move would buy them precious hours. Maybe more, depending on how long it took him to find another transport.
Jane nodded. “You,” she said to the balding man. “Reach into the gap and unhook the train cars.”
He shook his head. “Boocoo risk.”
Malone gestured to her gun. “More than this?”
He frowned and appeared to consider. “Do not be shooting me, pleece,” he said, holding one hand up while he maneuvered himself to the edge of the platform and the gap between it and the service car. “The difficulty is tension,” he said, reaching down. “You–”
A gunshot cracked, and the balding man fell in a spray of crimson and bone. Malone leaned out long enough to see another of Geist’s troops – this one with a long ponytail whipping in the wind – kneeling on the roof of the service car.
She took a shot and heard a scream as she ducked back into the locomotive.
The balding man lay sprawled across the platform, his head a bloody ruin.
Malone held the gun out to Jane. “Cover me. I’ll work that pin loose.”
But Jane shook her head, her face pale as she looked at the gun. “I’ll go. They won’t risk shooting me.”
Malone wasn’t certain about that, but there was no point in arguing. She was undoubtedly the better shot, anyway.
“Work fast,” she said.
The laundress darted onto the platform and, grimacing, dragged the corpse out of the way. The door of the service car swung as the train bounced along, flapping open to reveal an empty aisle. Geist must have retreated to get clear of her line of sight.
Or to muster more soldiers from the passenger car.
Jane, meanwhile, was perched at the edge of the platform, her arm darting in and out of the gap.
“How’s it coming?” Malone asked.
“– stuck,” Jane said, turning. “Too much tension between the cars.”
Which was what the balding man had been telling them before he died. Malone took quick stock of the space inside the locomotive. There was a forbidding-looking control panel against the forward window. Surely one of the levers or knobs would slow the train enough to pull the pin.
“Back away from the edge,” she called. “I’ll try and slow us down.”
The controls reminded her of the ones she’d seen on the Glasauge – there were a few large-handled levers, several rows of toggles, and an array of meters and dials with twitching needles and foreign text.
She found a red handle hanging near the window. Easy to see and easy to grab – that seemed like the kind of thing that would slow a train in a pinch. She pulled it.
A whistle shrieked from the roof of the locomotive.
“Malone!”
She looked back. Jane was still crouched on the platform, and beyond her several figures were advancing down the service car.
Malone took a shot at the middle of the group. One of the figures staggered, and the others backed to the rear of the car, dragging him along.
She could buy them time, but she couldn’t hold them off forever. Especially not with four shots remaining in the cylinder.
She turned back to the control panel. There was another red handle, this one attached to a long lever. She pulled it.
The tracks below shrieked, and Malone was thrown against the control panel. The locomotive was slowing, much faster than she’d hoped.
She looked back. Jane had slid halfway through the door and was crawling back to the gap. A few of Geist’s troops lay in a heap on the floor of the service car.
Then Jane reached into the gap and pulled out a long, metal bar.
“I’ve got it!” she shouted, pale but beaming.
“Great,” Malone called. “Now take t
he gun and hold them off while I get us moving again.”
Jane came over and took the gun. Malone could tell she was making a mighty effort to keep her hands from shaking.
“You can do this,” Malone told her, realizing that was probably more of a comfort than ‘you’ve done this before.’
The laundress nodded and scurried back to the doorway, and Malone returned to the control panel.
She raised the red lever, and the squealing noise and the deceleration stopped, but they weren’t picking up any speed.
She scanned the meters and found one labeled “Rapidity.” Its needle fluttered counterclockwise, winding slowly down to zero. Below it was a lever. She tried to push it up, but it was stuck.
A shot rang out. The troops had advanced halfway down the service car. Jane had fired and missed, and they were still coming.
She turned back to the controls. There had to be something nearby, she just had to stay calm enough to find it.
There. Just below the lever was a wheel – one that reminded her of a release valve she’d seen on the Glasauge. She spun it and felt a hissing in the machinery beneath her feet.
She tried the lever again. This time, it slid up easily. The needle on the meter twitched, then began ticking its way clockwise again.
They were picking up speed.
Another shot sounded. Jane had missed again, and Geist’s people were stumbling toward the end of the service car.
They looked like they already knew they wouldn’t make it.
As the locomotive pulled ahead, Geist appeared between his men, looking both furious and anguished. He shouted something, but by then Malone and Jane were too far ahead to hear.
Malone slammed the door and took a moment to enjoy the quiet, closing her eyes.
Her ears were still ringing from the shouting, the gunfire, and the noise of the tracks. But when she opened her eyes again, she saw the laundress staring at her, a look of expectation on her face.
“I said, ‘thanks,’” Jane said, her arms crossed and the gun in one hand.
“You can thank me by sticking with me.”
Jane gave her a careful stare. “What are you going to do when we find Roman?”
Malone sighed and nodded at the gun. “Are you going to shoot me if I tell you I’ll arrest him?”
