Escape From the Dragon Czar: An Aegis of Merlin Story

by James E. Wisher

  “I thought we shut those down!” Yarik said. A second train rolled out. If the trains dispersed they’d never track down the girl.

  “We did shut it down,” Igor said. “But they’re all computer controlled. A simple command could get them moving again no problem.”

  “Didn’t we leave guards in the control room?”

  Igor nodded. “Six of them.”

  A gust of wind pelted Yarik with gravel. A moment later a screaming man went flying into the sky. Looked like the witches had gotten into the scrum.

  “Let’s check out the control room.” Yarik drew his pistol and led the way.

  More trains set out by the second. Everywhere Yarik looked he found movement. It would be hard to separate a real threat from a shifting shadow. This was why he joined the security services instead of the army. Close-quarters combat with a desperate enemy was a good way to get yourself killed.

  The control room sat at the top of a tower overlooking the yard. By some act of good fortune they reached the base of it without getting shot at. From the sounds coming from deeper in the yard the guards weren’t so lucky.

  A door built into the tower swung back and forth in the witches’ wind. He grabbed the handle and looked closer. Someone had smashed the lock. He glanced at Igor and found his second had drawn his automatic as had the boys behind him.

  Yarik cocked the hammer on his revolver, met the anxious gazes of each of his subordinates, and nodded.

  He shoved the door open and lunged through. Inside was an empty room with an iron staircase leading up to the control room. A pair of bodies, their white uniforms stained red, lay at the base of the steps. That answered one of his questions.

  The step squeaked when he put his weight on it. Yarik grimaced and shifted so his foot was as close to the wall as he could put it. He tried again and was rewarded with silence. One painful step at a time he worked his way up.

  The first landing was empty as was the second. At the top of the third set of steps, a closed door waited. He listened hard, but heard nothing beyond the muted sounds of battle outside. Well, he couldn’t hold off any longer.

  Yarik pointed at Igor then at the door. His second frowned, but moved ahead of him. The boys went up next and Yarik brought up the rear. Not the bravest move, but he had a wife to think about. Besides, his younger subordinates had quicker reflexes.

  Igor tiptoed up to the closed door and tried the handle. He shook his head.

  Terrific, it was locked. An idea popped into his head. Before he could think too hard about it Yarik stomped up the steps and knocked.

  An annoyed voice said, “What?”

  “The Kazakovs are safely away,” Yarik said. “We need to withdraw.”

  “That wasn’t the plan.” The door opened and Yarik shot a youngster with a thin beard right between the eyes.

  They charged through.

  Yarik shot a man raising his machine gun.

  Beside him Igor fired as fast as his finger could work the trigger and the boys did too. When they’d emptied their weapons the control room was silent. Bodies decorated the floor and control panel. Blood spattered everything.

  Yarik grimaced. What a mess. “Stop those trains, Igor.”

  Igor dragged one of the bodies off the controls. “No can do, sir.”

  “Why not?”

  “Rebels locked everything on automatic then smashed the override controls. It was done before we got here.”

  “So this was nothing but a waste of time.” Yarik holstered his gun.

  “We did kill some rebels, sir.”

  Yarik appreciated Igor’s attempt to make him feel better, but a handful of dead rebels wasn’t going to help them complete their mission.

  “Can you at least access the computer and get a printout of where every train is bound?”

  “No problem. I can even sort them for you if you’d like.”

  “Put everything headed west at the top. If they’re trying to escape the Empire that’s the way they’ll be going.”

  * * *

  When the lid on her secret compartment went up, the light almost blinded Anya. She’d been lying there trembling in fear ever since she heard the first explosion. When her vision came back into focus she found Fedor and her mother looking down at her. Her mind finally cleared enough that she noticed the vibration in the floor and rumble of wheels on the track.

  Fedor reached down and helped her out. Anya’s legs wobbled after so long cooped up in the small space. She stepped out of the trunk and took a few steps. Everything still seemed to work.

  “What happened? When I heard those explosions I feared the worst.”

  “The security forces figured out how we planned to escape,” Fedor said. “Fortunately The Manager assumed they would and made the necessary preparations. We should be okay for a while. You may as well get comfortable, it’s a long ride to Anapa.”

  The boxcar they’d stowed away on was filled with crates, but there really wasn’t anywhere to sit. She paced around, trying to get the blood flowing and settle her nerves.

  When she stopped she said, “They’re going to find us again, aren’t they?”

  Fedor was a large, dark presence in the shadowy container. “Probably. Security agents are nothing if not determined. If they do find us it may come to a fight. Are you up for it?”

  Anya restrained a hysterical giggle. She’d never been in a real fight in her life. Her biggest challenges up until this was physics homework and trying to decide whose invitation to the Summer Dance to accept. Now she found herself on the run from a government that planned to turn her into a slave. She wanted to cry, but refused to indulge her weakness. Maybe she wasn’t up to it, but she was damn sure not going down without a fight.

  Mom started to come to her, but Fedor held her back.

  “I don’t know,” she said at last. “But I intend to try. Can you teach me to fight?”

  He chuckled and she heard his smile. “I certainly can. To shoot too if you’d like.”

  Anya nodded to herself. “I’d like that very much.”

  5

  Anapa and The Sea

  Yarik tossed the pile of printouts down on his borrowed desk. There were fifty trains headed for various destinations to the west of Dorcha and any one of them could be carrying the targets. How was he supposed to narrow it down? Hell, they could swap trains at any of a handful of stops along the line. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack.

  The file on Fedor wasn’t much more useful. Huge chunks of time, sometimes months, were unaccounted for. Yarik wanted to pull his hair out.

  He stood up, leaned back, and popped his spine into alignment. It felt like he’d been staring at those damn papers forever. All around the Dorcha security building guards and agents shuffled papers, tapped away at keyboards, and chatted with their comrades while drinking bad coffee. It wasn’t so different from home.

  Yarik hissed through gritted teeth and went to get a cup of the sludge they passed off as coffee. He needed to get this sorted if he wanted to see his wife again before winter. At least Irmina seemed content to spend her time at the temple rather than looming over him. Maybe she’d magic up a solution to their problem.

  Maybe, but probably not. In his experience magic had as many limits as it did uses. Not that it didn’t have a lot of uses, just not many that applied to investigations of mundane matters.

  A pair of guards nodded to him as he approached the coffee maker and moved aside to give him room. After three days his mystique as a senior agent had faded and the men came to realize he was just a guy like them. It was nice that they no longer felt the need to cringe when he looked their way.

  He took a sip and winced at the bitter, burnt flavor. The pollution in the train yard had left a better taste in his mouth. Maybe he could requisition some used oil from the motor pool. It couldn’t help but be an improvement.

  “Sir?” Igor came hurrying up. The boys had returned yesterday to keep an eye on things back home so all he had
was his second to rely on.

  “Please tell me you have some good news.”

  “I don’t know if it’s good, but it’s news. The guard from the checkpoint you wanted watched made contact with a known resistance sympathizer. Though the guard trailing him didn’t get close enough to overhear the conversation he did pinch the sympathizer and bring him in for questioning.”

  “I assume someone is still following the guard.”

  “Yes, sir. The prisoner is in an isolation cell waiting for you. I figured you’d want to handle the questioning yourself.”

  “You figured right. Good job, Igor. Let’s go have a chat with our guest.” They left the open work area and made their way to the holding cells.

  Isolation Room Three held a pimply-faced kid that couldn’t have been more than sixteen. Yarik restrained a groan. He doubted this kid knew his ass from a hole in the ground, much less anything useful.

  “This is the resistance sympathizer?”

  “Yes, sir.” Igor consulted a file. “He’s been arrested twice for painting antigovernment graffiti on public buildings.”

  “A graffiti artist. And he’s our only lead.” Yarik wanted to bang his head against the wall. “Well, let’s see what he has to say.”

  Igor unbolted the door and Yarik pushed through. The kid stiffened on his cheap plastic chair. The handcuff connecting him to the bolted-down table jingled when he moved.

  “So what do you know about the resistance?” Yarik asked.

  “Nothing, sir, I swear. I haven’t tagged a building in months. I’m keeping my nose clean, just like the sergeant told me to.”

  “Then what were you and Guard…” Yarik looked at Igor. “What was his name again?”

  “Karis, sir.”

  “Right, what were you and Guard Karis talking about just before you were brought in?”

  The look of confusion on the kid’s face almost made Yarik laugh. “Who’s Guard Karis?”

  “The guy you were talking to just before you were brought in. Early twenties, broken nose, any of this ringing a bell?”

  “You mean Anton? I hardly know the guy. He’s dating my sister and wanted me to let her know he couldn’t make dinner tonight.”

  “Why didn’t he just call?” Yarik asked.

  “Jana works at the government office, cleaning up or whatever. No cellphones allowed. It’s easier for him to tell me and I’ll pass it on since I’ll see her tonight when she gets off work.”

  “There was an incident a couple days ago,” Yarik said. “Did Anton mention it?”

  “Yeah, that was fucked up.” The kid shook his head. “He seemed pretty jittery. Is that what all this is about?”

  Yarik nodded. “We’re being extra careful after the killings. Since you were a person of interest to the government we had to bring you in, just to be sure. I’m pleased to see it was nothing and that you’re continuing to behave yourself. Keep up the good work.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Igor.”

  Igor took out his key and unlocked the kid’s cuffs before escorting him out of the room. Five minutes later they regrouped at Yarik’s desk.

  “Sorry, sir. I thought it was a break.”

  “It might have been. Get me everything you can find on Jana and her brother. A spy in the government offices would be a valuable thing for the resistance, don’t you think?”

  Igor nodded. “I’m on it.”

  * * *

  Yarik closed the file Igor had brought him an hour ago on Jana Korova and her brother Milo, the would-be artist. It made for interesting reading. Apparently their father had been a member of the resistance. When he was caught and executed, the mother hung herself in shame leaving the children to the tender mercies of a state orphanage. If ever there was an institution capable of churning out a steady stream of rebels, that was it.

  Jana showed all the precursors of a rebel sympathizer, but unlike her brother she never acted out. Not once. She got good grades in school, looked after her brother, said and did the right things. She passed the background check for her new job with no troubles. That just went to show how little imagination the government recruiters had. Yarik had no doubt about the rage Jana was hiding, the only question was, how did she let it off? If he had to guess he’d say by selling information from her job to the rebels.

  What he needed to determine was whether the guard was a loyal man being used, or if he was in on it. The answer should come tonight after Milo passed news of his questioning on to his sister. If Yarik guessed right, it should be enough to set them off. Hopefully.

  He pushed away from his borrowed desk and yawned. He had another long night in store. Jana got off work in five hours. Maybe he could sneak in a quick nap.

  Alas it wasn’t to be. He’d barely put his feet up on the desk of a conveniently empty office when a junior guard knocked and poked his head in. “There’s a witch here to see you, sir.”

  He groaned and pushed to his feet. They had the absolute worst timing. He didn’t know if it was a magic thing or not, but it felt like a curse to him. “Where is she?”

  The guard looked over his shoulder. “She’s on her way now.”

  “Thanks for the warning. You can make yourself scarce.”

  “Thank you, sir.” The young man hurried off like a frightened rabbit. Not that Yarik blamed him.

  A few seconds later the harpy in white appeared in the doorway. “Well, what have you found?”

  “Not a lot, unfortunately. I’m waiting on a lead now, but if it doesn’t pan out we’ll be reduced to checking the fifty trains headed west one by one. Is that something your magic can help with?”

  “We’ve been working on it, but it’s difficult to get a fix on moving metal boxes. So much earth interferes with our air magic.” She glowered at him. “If we had a specific target it would allow us to focus our energies.”

  He held his hands out in a helpless gesture. “We’re doing what we can. With any luck I’ll have something definite for you by tonight, but there are no guarantees.”

  Irmina swirled her hand and whispered something. Yarik held his breath and flinched against the coming blow. Instead a gentle breeze caressed his face.

  “We can speak freely now.”

  Yarik hadn’t realized they couldn’t speak freely before. “Okay.”

  “News of this debacle has reached His Imperial Majesty the Dragon Czar. I suspect one of my sisters sent a message in an attempt to curry favor. His Majesty is not pleased that one of his future White Witches is displaying anything but gratitude for his favor. My orders are to resolve this and quickly.”

  Yarik shook his head. Did she imagine he was taking his time because he enjoyed hanging around in this industrial toilet? “I understand your desire and would never think to contradict His Majesty’s command, however, there are certain aspects of an investigation that can’t be rushed. If we push too hard the resistance in this city will go to ground and we’ll never dig them out until the girl is long gone.”

  “The Dragon Czar, may he rule forever, is not always understanding of the failings of us mere mortals. I say this not as a threat, but simply to make you understand our situation. If we fail, banishment to the eastern front is the best we can hope for.” Every hint of color had drained from her already pale face.

  She was scared. Yarik tried to wrap his mind around that. He’d seen witches angry, arrogant, obsessive, and cruel, but frightened was a new one for him. It made her seem almost human, vulnerable even.

  He didn’t know how to handle it. He looked closer at her, the dark, red-rimmed eyes, white hair, and sunken cheeks. Her white robe appeared slept in. Underneath all the arrogance and magic, she couldn’t be more than twenty-two, young enough to be his daughter.

  He sighed. “We’ll get this sorted out then return to our boring lives. Don’t worry.”

  She stiffened and he feared for a moment that he’d shown her too much kindness, but she relaxed again. “Thank you, Agent Yarik. You’ll contact me when y
ou know something?”

  It was an honest question not an order. “I will.”

  * * *

  Fedor held a chair cushion liberated from one of the shipping crates and braced himself. It was more to help with his balance in the shifting boxcar than worry over how hard Anya could punch. He’d been helping her with some basic combat training ever since they left Dorcha and the girl was an eager pupil, not terribly skilled, but eager.

  Anya wiped sweat from her brow and raised her fists again. “Ready?” she asked.

  Fedor nodded and forced himself not to smile. He refused to do anything she might interpret as looking down on her. Unlike him, Anya hadn’t been a rebel for half her life, running and fighting and hiding, always in fear for her survival. She’d enjoyed a reasonably normal life and all this had to be a horrible struggle for her, but she didn’t quit or sulk and he admired her for that. Her father would be so proud.

  Her fist slapped into the cushion with more force than last time. She’d begun to figure out how to set her feet to anchor herself before her blow. It was a good start. If he had a year to train her she’d make a formidable fighter. Unfortunately, he only had another week.

  “Put more shoulder and hip into it,” Fedor said after she’d thrown a dozen punches. “Your arm isn’t strong enough by itself.”

  “Like this?” She rotated into a good one and knocked him partway off balance.

  “Better, but you need to throw them all like that.”

  “When can I shoot?”

  Fedor grimaced as she resumed pounding the cushion. He’d taught her how to aim with one of the empty pistols as well as how to properly squeeze the trigger, but they only had six clips of ammo and he hated to waste even a handful of shots given the danger they might be walking into. On the other hand, if Anya ever needed to use a gun it would be good for her to have at least felt the recoil of one.

  “Switch to side kicks,” Fedor said. “If you can give me ten perfect strikes I’ll let you have three shots.”