“Don’t worry; I’m getting out of this cold.”
For a moment she thought he’d say something, but then he nodded, lifting his hand and opening the carriage door.
* * *
The train would arrive in M-O Terminal around dawn instead of 3 a.m., Amcathra informed them several hours later. The tracks were slick and the engineer was taking the slopes and curves with more care than usual, cognizant of the Ondinium ambassador’s presence.
The group groaned with dismay, but more wine quieted everyone down. At dinnertime the mercates and staff retired to the dining car with Professor Dautry. Lieutenant Amcathra brought dinner in for Taya, Cristof, and the other lictors.
“So much for having time to crack the message in private,” Cristof muttered, disgruntled. “If we get to Terminal at dawn, we’ll have to jump right on the next train.”
“Decipher the message tonight and tell him that it’s private business,” she advised. “You’re an exalted, after all.”
He shot her a skeptical look.
“I worked for Janos for too many years to start giving him orders.”
“Cris, you were born to give him orders. I don’t think the Lady would approve of an exalted who allows himself to be pushed around by a lictor.”
“But it’s all right to be pushed around by an icarus?”
“Icarii are caste exceptions. And so are wives, in case you were wondering.”
“The Lady help any poor soul who takes an icarus wife, then.”
“She’d better, especially if those poor souls don’t mind their tongues.”
His lips twitched. “What are the odds I’d knock all the silverware off the table if I leaned over to kiss you?”
“You’ll never know until you try.”
He accepted the challenge, managing to catch and stabilize his water glass just as the chain on his pocket watch threatened to knock it over.
“You’re getting better at romantic gestures,” Taya said, grinning as she dropped back into her chair. “Now you just have to develop some spontaneity.”
“Spontaneity isn’t in my nature.” Still, Cristof looked pleased with himself as he sat back down.
“Let me know if we should leave,” Amcathra grumbled from the other side of the car, where he was eating dinner with his nephew.
“Would you?” Cristof inquired.
“No.” The lieutenant paused a moment, reconsidering. “Yes, under certain circumstances. But I am certain that the product of a thousand fortuitous rebirths would not be so shameless as to drive me away in such a manner.”
“I do have some important work to do,” Cristof said. “Nothing shameless; just official. Maybe you could guard outside for a few hours.”
“Could I?” The lictor eyed him. “And what about the rest of the delegation?”
“Oddly enough, the rest of the delegation gives me the privacy my rank is due.”
“After dinner, I intend to confer with the conductor about late-arrival procedures. Rikard will guard your door.”
“Thank you.”
Amcathra turned his attention back to his plate. “Do not make me regret leaving you to your own devices, Exalted.”
Taya smiled, then kicked her husband under the table.
“What was that for?” he objected. “I did exactly what you wanted me to do.”
“I thought you were going to ask him to leave so we could spend some time together.”
“Why?” He grimaced as she kicked him again. “Oh. Right. But I do have to work.”
She gave up. Cristof was getting better at romantic gestures… but then again, he’d started from scratch.
“You’d better be thinking about how you’re going to make up for all that lost time in Mareaux. Separate suites, my grounded tailset….”
“I’ll make amends,” he promised.
Taya allowed herself to be mollified. One advantage to marrying a gearhead was that whenever she gave him a problem to solve, he addressed it in the most earnest, meticulous manner possible. It had made certain aspects of their marital life more interesting than she’d anticipated.
After dinner, the rest of the delegation returned. Another hour or so of idle chatter passed, and then they began to settle down for the night, making themselves as comfortable as they could in chairs and padded benches and pulling railway-provided blankets over their shoulders as the temperature dropped.
Amcathra left the car, putting Rikard in charge.
Cristof moved to the table where the mercates had been working and began deciphering his books while everyone else drowsed, lulled by the slow rocking of the train. Taya watched him frown over his note-taking for a while, and then fell asleep.
* * *
The train’s whistle and squealing brakes woke her up. Taya groaned as she straightened, feeling her stiff muscles protest. Gray sunlight filtered through the curtains and soot-smudged train window.
“Cris?” She looked around and saw the others in various states of wakefulness.
“He’s getting your papers together,” Professor Dautry said, combing out her unpinned hair. “He didn’t want to wake you.”
“Good idea; make sure all your papers are in order, too, and someplace where they’re easy to pull out.”
“I did that last night. I’ve read about Ondinium’s security checks.”
“Yes; it’s important to carry your papers wherever you go. You’ll need them to move from sector to sector, and you could be ordered to show them at any time.”
“Do citizens have to carry papers, too?”
“If they want to move across city sectors, yes. Otherwise, our castemarks act as identification within our own sector of residence.”
“But icarii don’t have castemarks.”
“As long as we’re wearing our wings, we aren’t questioned. When I’m out of my armature, I wear an identifying pin and keep my papers with me.”
“I don’t think Ondinium’s custom of requiring identification papers … or tattoos … could ever be adopted in Mareaux. Our citizenry would be up in arms at the mistrust it implies between government and populace.”
“We see identification papers and castemarks as a protection from crime, not a sign of mistrust.” Well, most of us see it that way, she amended silently. She had a few friends who thought otherwise. “It’s a small inconvenience for the sake of national security.”
“Yet Ondinium suffers more terrorist attacks within its borders than any other nation,” Dautry observed.
“That’s because we’re richer and more powerful than any other nation,” Taya countered. “A powerful country attracts powerful enemies. That’s why we take our security so seriously.”
“Caste stratification, identification papers, spot checks, censorship….”
“Every one of those policies helps keep Ondinium safe. We’ve had a stable government since the Last War, nearly two thousand years ago. What other nation can say that? Certainly not Mareaux.”
“But you’ve had internal upheavals.”
“We’ve experienced occasional shifts in national policy and divisions within the Council, but we’ve never had a civil war or revolution.”
“What about your political dissidents? Wasn’t there some problem with the Torn Cards last year? They’re citizens, aren’t they?”
“We had some bombings that were blamed on the Torn Cards, but we found out they were really the work of Alzanan spies.” Except for the bombings that were the work of a decatur, but nothing short of torture was going to compel her to admit that to a foreigner.
“Aren’t the Torn Cards radical discontents?”
“Radical. Not revolutionary.” Taya stood. She didn’t like talking about things like this. “Anyway, I suggest you don’t talk about terrorist attacks at the checkpoint. Lictors have no qualms about denying a suspi
cious visitor entrance, and it would take a lot of work to get you a new pass if you don’t get through the security check today.”
“I didn’t mean any offense,” Dautry said, quickly. “I was just questioning the efficacy of Ondinium’s social choices.”
“Don’t. Not until you’re in the capital, and even then, I wouldn’t make those kinds of comments outside the University.”
“You can’t express yourself freely in Ondinium?”
“I can. But I’m a citizen. Ondiniums don’t appreciate foreigners who criticize our way of life. You’ll get away with it at the University because it’s a dedicate’s job to analyze, criticize, and evaluate, but you’d better be ready to defend your point of view. Dedicates love debates.”
Dautry raised her eyebrows. “I see that Ondinium will take some getting used to.”
“It’s a good place to live.” Taya excused herself to find her traveling case.
Some time later, Cristof sat next to her, encased in his robes. His glasses were off and he held his ivory mask in one hand.
Taya grinned and patted his cheek, enjoying his put-upon expression.
“At least all those layers will keep you nice and warm.”
“I’d rather wear a flight suit. Is it too late to become an icarus?”
“You don’t like heights.”
“A lictor, then. I should have taken the Great Exam and tried for lictor caste,” he muttered.
“Hush. Exalteds never change caste.”
Cristof gave a disgusted snort, but his retort was cut off as Jayce joined them.
“I’ve put fresh clothes and your outerwear in your trunk, Exalted. If you’ll put your robes and mask inside when you change, I’ll clean them when we’re back in the capital.”
“Thank you.” The whistle blew again, announcing their arrival.
Taya sorted through the papers in her attaché case, making sure she knew where their identifications and letters from the Council were located. She pulled out her feather-shaped badge and pinned it to the lapel of her coat.
“Ready to get back into your wings again?” he asked.
“I plan to wear them to bed.”
“That will make it more difficult for me to apologize for my neglect during this trip.”
Taya gave him an arch look.
“I might be persuaded to forgo them for a night.”
He started to reply, but brakes screeched as the train jolted several times. It came to a shuddering stop to the sound of more whistling.
“All set,” she said, putting everything back into the case and throwing the latches. She leaned over and picked up his mask. “Last time, Cris.”
“At last.” He sat still while she tied it on. With a quick squeeze to his shoulder, she grabbed her coat and case and stood. “Lieutenant Amcathra will get you when everything’s ready.”
She edged around the bustle of packing and pulled on her coat. Amcathra handed her a key and she felt a leap of joy as she unlocked her armature. She wanted to put her wings on at once, but the armature would never fit over her heavy winter coat, not to mention that she was wearing a dress underneath.
“All out!” the conductor shouted.
Lieutenant Amcathra checked over his shoulder to make certain Cristof was masked, then grabbed the counterweight chest, opened the door, and stepped out. Great arching roofs protected the station from the snow, but the air was freezing and a sharp, chilly wind gusted down the length of the platform. Smoke dribbled out of the locomotive’s stack as the fire in its engine cooled. Condensed snow hissed off its hot metal body.
Two lictors wearing Mareaux-Ondinium Terminal Station badges pinned to their coats waved them over.
“I am Lieutenant Janos Amcathra. This is Taya Icarus, Exalted Forlore’s representative,” Amcathra said, half-turning to her as she maneuvered her wings out of the door, one arm looped through the metal armature.
“Icarus.” The lictors nodded to her. “How many are in the exalted’s private party?”
“Just the two of us,” she replied, “and four lictors.”
“Very good.” The station lictor pointed down the platform. “Lieutenant, you can escort the exalted along the edge of the terminal to the red door. Please have all your papers and documentation ready. Will you be waiting for anyone else or passing straight through?”
“The rest of the delegation will go through regular border check procedures,” Amcathra stated.
“Then once you’ve passed check-in, Security will show you to a private waiting room. We’ll have it prepared with hot food and drink before the exalted arrives.”
“Acceptable.” Amcathra strode back into the car, ordering away the members of the delegation who were trickling out, pulling on their coats and calling for porters.
A minute later Cristof appeared, robed and masked. Taya hurried to help him down, moving her armature to the arm carrying the attaché case. Her wings bobbed and swayed as they were tugged by the gusting wind.
Lieutenant Amcathra gathered his lictors and the small procession solemnly traversed the platform to the terminal. Exalteds seldom left the heavily secured Primus sector of the capital, so the figure in the ivory mask and jewel-covered robes was an exotic sight to everyone in Terminus. Ondiniums bowed as he passed in a ripple of bobbing heads.
Two lictors, a man wearing an icarus pin like hers, and a man in the uniform of the Mareaux army, stood up as they entered the private security chamber. The Ondiniums bowed, palms against their foreheads, and the Mareaux soldier saluted.
Amcathra waved their own lictors aside.
“This is his excellency, the exalted Cristof Forlore, ambassador of Ondinium,” Taya said, leading her masked husband up to the check-in desk.
“Please, allow me.” The icarus stepped forward and took her wings.
“Thank you.” She swung her attaché case around and set it on the desk, snapping it open one-handed. “I’m Taya Icarus, the ambassador’s spokesperson.”
“We’ve been expecting you,” one of the station lictors said. “We’ll need to see your papers, Exalted Forlore, and we’ll need to ask you to step into the side room to unmask in front of our icarus for identification verification. Your icarus may remain with you.”
“That’s fine,” Taya said, pulling out the leather wallets that held their identification papers. The lictors and the Mareaux soldier inspected the documents carefully while she, the other icarus, and Cristof entered a small, wood-paneled room set off to one side.
Taya untied Cristof’s mask and the station icarus studied his face.
“Exalted, may I touch you?”
“Yes, let’s get this over with,” Cristof grumbled. “Do you have any tea in the station?”
“We put a pot on as soon as the train pulled in. It should reach the waiting room before you do.” The icarus dipped his thumb into an alcohol-scented solution, reached out, and rubbed the wave-shaped castemarks on Cristof’s cheekbones. Seeing that they didn’t smudge, he nodded and dropped his hand. “Welcome back to Ondinium, Exalted Forlore.”
“It’s good to be back,” Cristof responded. Taya tied his mask back on and they left the room.
“Everything’s in order,” the icarus reported, returning to the table and signing a document. Lieutenant Amcathra, Rikard, and the other two lictors handed over their own identification papers while a clerk slid a card into a holder and methodically punched it.
Taya spent several more minutes signing papers for herself and Cristof that declared that they weren’t carrying any contraband (censored romances don’t count, she thought with a twinge of guilt), that they hadn’t engaged in any illegal activities abroad, that they hadn’t foresworn their citizenship, and a variety of similar but, she thought, ultimately pointless statements. Was anyone ever stupid enough to admit to such things?
At last their papers
and her wings were returned. They were led across the crowded terminal, past long lines of incoming and outgoing passengers waiting at security points, and into a private waiting room.
Taya looked around the comfortably appointed room as Amcathra closed the curtains. A table held a full tea service and a silver tray full of tiny frosted cakes, as well as more mundane rolls, butter, and imported strawberry jam. She let her armature float to the ceiling and helped her husband out of all but his two inner robes.
“Thank you,” he said, sinking into a leather chair with a sigh. “Lady, I’m exhausted. I barely got any sleep last night. Do we have to leave again today?”
“Yes,” Amcathra replied.
“Exalted.” Rikard handed him a cup of tea, then carried one to Taya. “Icarus.”
“Thank you.” Taya sat on a sofa across from her husband and sighed with contentment as she sipped the black brew, an import from the Cabisi isles. Sweet, milky, and strong— another three or four cups and she might feel ready to face the next leg of their journey.
“You can post your letter on the next outgoing train,” she told her husband after the cup was half-empty. She set it on the side table and stood to explore the selection of pastries. “There’s a writing desk in the corner.”
“What letter?”
“A thank-you to Chief Inspector Gifford for the books.”
Cristof sighed, shoving himself back to his feet. “Yes, very well. Would you bring me some more tea? And maybe a pastry?”
She brought him his breakfast, stealing a sweet, tea-flavored kiss as a reward, and then refilled her cup and nudged the window curtain aside.
Their train was surrounded by porters moving luggage back and forth and cleaning crews heading in with buckets, mops, and polishing rags. Up front, on the track side, the locomotive’s stores of coal and water were being replenished.
M-O Terminal was the second-largest city in Ondinium, after the nation’s eponymous capital. Most of the traffic in and out of the country ran through M-O, although a heavily guarded border station stood on the Alzanan border, two stations sat on the Samarian border, and several small stations dotted the border with Demicus. The Demican border, Ondinium’s longest, was also its most lightly guarded. The Oporphyr Council wasn’t worried about a horde of northern clansmen wielding spears and secondhand rifles.
Clockwork Lies: Iron Wind (Clockwork Heart trilogy) Page 11
