The other commanders stared as she plucked the parchment from Graves's hands.
"That's very kind of you, Rheka, but— "
"I said, I will take the contract." Narra levelled her gaze at the man. Whereas her family and best friend called her by her first name, the other Guild members weren't so lucky. She was Rheka or commander to them. No one had dared to say her first name in years. The last hadn't gotten away with his tongue. She had no use for earning the respect of those lower than her. Instead, she commanded it.
Graves swallowed audibly and nodded.
"Good for you, Rheka." August chuckled, his long beard quivering as he swayed back and forth in his seat. "This sounds like a fun one."
Narra gave the elderly man a quick nod before taking her seat, contract in hand. Though she didn’t expressly need, or seek, August’s approval, she still appreciated it nonetheless. In a way, he was the kind father she’d never had.
While the others returned to the remaining contracts, she gazed upon the two lines at the bottom of the sheet. Written in blood was the Revolution . On the other, she would sign CR : for Commander Rheka. But without a plume she would wait; to put her name on the line, for the commanders to get along, and for whatever else came next.
R ain beat against her skin with the urgency of a thief sharpening their daggers before a mission. Heavy drops pooled in her lap, covered by her waterproof cloak. The steamwagon rumbled beneath her over the rocky terrain, slipping in the mud. Its headlights cut through the blackness of the forest, revealing tall pines and taller hills in the distance. Squinting between rain-soaked lashes, Narra watched the muddy road as best she could.
"Emperor's ancestors," she cursed, gritting her teeth as the steamwagon lurched over another bump. She had never been a fan of driving a machine larger than her steambike, and the relentless pouring of rain wasn't changing her mind.
Coal hissed in the radiator powering the engine. She glanced back over her shoulder. The rain slanted, slapping against the metal grates behind the coal box. Narra scooted across the bench to protect it, easing the steamwagon along as fast as she dared.
The Revolution's contract took her west of Rova City, far beyond the farms and fields of wheat and corn outside the city walls, and into the wilderness. The train came from West Port, on a non-stop journey to North Station, just inside city limits. For a few hundred rovin, they'd have her stop the train in Drestel Ridge, a small mining town just south of the mountains guarding the border between Rova and the Kiznaiver Empire. Any further north and they'd have cursed snow instead of rain.
Water slid down her spine like icy claws crawling across her skin. Narra arched her back, gasping as the droplet slipped beneath her belt. She shivered and yanked her cloak closer, glaring over the dash. Though living in Rova afforded her a certain well-balanced temperament against the cold, she'd never been fond of rain. Her whole body tensed with every bump and dip in the road.
When would this dreaded night end?
Rounding a bend, Narra drove south to the tracks. It was well past midnight, which had given her the edge in stealing a steamwagon from an unlocked barn nearby—whose keys had been carelessly left inside. The darkness of the storm had helped. The sheer roar of pounding rain had masked the rumble of the engine.
When the train tracks finally came into view, she sighed with relief, her tired muscles relaxing. After being in the downpour for over an hour, she could finally see an end to this night. Narra switched off her headlights and slowed. The steamwagon inched off the narrow dirt road and onto slick grass. She glanced through the downpour into the town on the other side of the trees.
Everything was muffled through rain.
Though a few dim lights remained in town, she heard no one. Narra stopped at the tree line. She scanned the visible parts of the town; the tracks ran through its southern edge. A nearby water tower loomed to the east, a dark sentinel against the clouded night sky. She saw no one. The falling of rain and the swaying of the trees in the wind created the only movement.
She urged the rusted steamwagon forward. It creaked, slipping out of the pure darkness and into the open. Narra drove across the small clearing and parked on top of the tracks, with a perfect view of any oncoming trains, as well as the ridge in which Destrel was named after. Turning in her seat, Narra peeled open the soggy coal box. Water dripped inside. A small metal shovel lay on top of the mound, ready for her use. While keeping an eye on the town, Narra slipped on a pair of heat resistant gloves and shovelled heaps of coal into the engine. Drops of rain sizzled on the hot coals. Steam rose into her face, warming her cheeks. Flames flared to life with each scoop of coal. A dusting of ash rose to cover her skin. Her lips curved into a frown. She’d be a mess by the time she returned to the Guild.
After several long minutes of repetitive shovelling, she was able to savor the heat radiating from the coal. The fire cut through the cold and seeped into her bones, warming her face and chest. She took a moment to bask in it before checking the engine gauges. The small metal arm of the heat gauge flared over white to yellow and flickered above red. A few more shovelfuls and the engine would blow. Perfect.
A smile pulled at her lips.
Most Guild members would never think of such a plan. Though her father constantly berated her for how she could do better, be better, he always failed to appreciate her cunning.
Narra scooped another three shovelfuls into the engine before she slammed the grate shut. She returned the spade and gloves to their box, and closed the lid tight before dusting the soot from her hands onto her cloak. Her hands pulled away wet. She grimaced and wiped them on a rag hidden beneath the coal bin before dismounting the bronze-plated steamwagon.
Landing between the tracks, her boots crushed bits of stone. The rain slowed, pelting her hood less and less. She looked at the sky. It was still dark, the stars shielded by clouds. Only a few drops of moisture hit her warm cheeks.
Before she could set off for town, the distant wail of a train horn broke the stillness. The tracks turned south after Drestel, heading through dense forest. Perfect timing. Narra jogged to the village, watching her footing as she loped across the small wet pebbles.
Tall wooden homes, pine storefronts, and a few warehouses rose on the incline. She slipped between them, turning through surprisingly clean alleys. The bitter scent of coal filled her lungs and tickled her nose. She steeled herself against a sneeze, pressing her back to the worn timber of a shop. Its pinewood was coarse beneath her fingers, dry from an overhang guarding a second story window. She glanced out from the shadowed alley. Silence rested on the street like mass in Srah's temple. Dim street lamps lined the uneven stone, casting warm pools of light across the wide main street.
Slipping from her hiding spot, Narra's heart pounded in her chest, anxiety keeping her careful as she stuck to the shadows. She crossed the street in a few wide bounds, dancing around the pools of light. Over the rooftops she spied a dark behemoth in the night. It blocked out the distant mountains, and whatever clouds filled the sky.
The water tower.
Another wail drowned out her thoughts. The train drew closer. Picking her way across empty streets and deserted alleys, Narra found an easily climbable pine-slated fence blocking her way to the tower. She sped up, her boots pounding the rough stone until she came within a few feet of the fence. She leapt, latching onto the top of the wooden slats with her fingers. She heaved herself up, her muscles pulling and extending painfully as she pushed with the toes of her boots. The wet wood slipped beneath her fingers—her heart skipped a beat—she reached for the fence, refusing to be sent to the ground. She let out an irritated hiss, latching on harder with her other hand. Yanking up, she shimmied until she swung a leg over. Her pounding heart slowed. Thank Srah.
Jumping the short distance, Narra landed on well-tended grass. A few bounds later the large steel drum blocked out the remaining mist. Wide, sturdy legs held it aloft, and a single ladder led to the top. Overtaken by its shadow, Narra climbed.
Cold metal stung her bare fingers and chilled her wrists as water slid down her sleeves. It only took her a few moments to climb up. With cold lending her speed, she was up and over the guard railing in seconds, leaning back into the shadows of the metal walkway surrounding the base of the drum. She peered over the edge—twenty feet down was the earth. Her stomach flipped and she stepped back, her elbows brushing the metal water drum. Drops of dew dripped from the railing, clinking against the grated floor. Insects chirped and wind brushed away her hood. Her long hair, like fire burning in the rain, was set free to the breeze, brushing her damp cheeks gently with each gust.
Dark homes, dim lampposts, and a water-drenched town fell away beneath the water tower. The small mining town was fast asleep. Thick trees guarded its borders, keeping the village safe from high winds. She was the only one awake, the only one watching. From there she was on top of the world. Though she should feel lonely, she felt safe in her solitude. Being so high, she didn't have to worry about enemies sneaking up on her, pleasing her father, or breaking up Guild fights. No one was scared of her here—she was just Narra, alone and free.
A smokestack rose in the distance, black against a gray sky. The train turned into view, barely visible through the trees; dark wood over a long metal frame. Narra smirked.
Brilliant orange split the dark sky. The roar of the steamwagon's explosion broke her serenity, leaving a hollow silence where nature’s voice once existed. Fire burned on the tracks, and smoke rose to compete with the train's own smokestack.
Right on time.
The train slowed, metal grinding from the emergency brake. Sparks flicked around its screeching wheels. Shouts rose and lights flickered on in the homes nearest the tracks. The train stopped several feet from the burning wreckage of the steamwagon, just in time for a hoard of men and women to run from the trees.
Crossing her arms, Narra leaned back against the tower in satisfaction. Cold burned her spine and kept her awake.
From what Narra knew of the Revolution, they were a small group that didn’t agree with the traditional form of government set forth by a long string of emperors. They were a quiet group that kept to the shadows and distributed food to the poor, but the large group of people that emerged from the trees had to be nearly eighty men and women. That wasn’t what she called a small rebellion. Was this the entire Revolution out for one night?
Hollers rose and half a dozen Rovan soldiers leapt from one of the carts near the back of the train. With so few on board, this would make for a short fight. One man in a dark cloak tackled an officer, sending him down the slope and into the trees. Another launched his fist; one shot an arrow, and another a hunting rifle. The boom sent birds flying from the nearby trees, chirping with displeasure. Blood mingled with the wet ground, dashing the gray pebbles and damp grass in red. Narra winced. She knew it was likely they'd all be killed, but she'd hope the rebels would be more... revolutionary.
While the rebels took down the military escort, several men rushed from the front cabin of the train and onto the tracks. Their eyes were wide—wild with fear. Toting large spades, they hacked at the burning remains of the wagon. Only the lower half remained—three wheels (one had blown away in the explosion) and the once tarp covered rear portion. It wouldn't take long to remove it.
Several women yanked open the train car doors, and a line formed to pass crates of supplies down into the darkness of the trees. Two minutes later, the military officers were all dead, and the Revolution ran with whatever they could carry. Dozens of shadows skirted the dark hills surrounding the ridge, fleeing into the trees, or toward the train in a mad flurry of bodies.
One of the train drivers wagged a pistol at the few rebels who dared come near the cab, while the other pushed the remaining wood and metal from the tracks.
"Stay back!" he screamed.
"Good to go!" his companion shouted. The driver with the pistol aimed a warning shot before leaning back inside the cab. The door shut with a crack.
Moments later, the train lurched forward, and the remaining rebels hollered their victory, fists to the air. They grinned and embraced, oblivious to the Patrolmen clambering through town.
An alarm silenced the shouting and four blue-clad Patrolmen emerged from town. The rebels gaped and took off running. With the dark of night, the slick walkways and grass, it took the officers too long to reach the tracks. The Revolution was gone, and Narra heaved a sigh.
A job well done.
The hum of her steambike and wind rushing in her ears drove out everything but her thoughts. With the night dark and still after the excitement of Drestel Ridge, the drive home was long and tiresome. Her thighs wrapped around the leather seat of her motorized bike, which shook beneath her. A long dirt road spread through the tall pines, giving her a quick glimpse of the stars between their tall branches. The clouds had long since dissipated, along with any evidence that the train was nearby.
She drove east, the pressure of a pair of goggles around her eyes a constant reminder of the debris ticking against the bronze-plated front of her bike. The faint burn of city lights on the distant horizon drew her attention. She sighed, her warm breath fogging the cool night air. Some part of her wanted to run—the pitiful childish part—while the rest hungered to be home, where the buildings were tall and her cloak disguised her against the night. She was a shadow in Rova City. No one knew her, only her name. Though the Thieves Guild might have been infamous since the early years of the empire, it had been a long time since anyone dare make a move against their members—not that they could find any proof they were a Thief.
Fifteen years ago, Emperor Zaneth dared to associate with them—proving to his citizens he was not worthy of the throne. After his public execution, the Thieves had gone underground, tightening up their network. Since then, no one had bothered the Thieves—at least not yet.
Narra turned up a ridge outside the city walls. Her long hair whipped against her back and shoulders like an attacking viper, a good reminder to fix her hood before entering city limits. She climbed the hill until the farmlands were in sight. Miles of fields once rich with wheat spread out from the tree line to the north and south. The season for crops was over, but still the fields would be busy when dawn came.
A plume of black smoke rose a few miles east. The train. Her lips quirked into a smile, and her chest swelled with pride. Let her father ask where she'd been tonight. She'd gladly tell him.
Cranking the gearshift, Narra took off faster over the smooth dirt path. Minutes later she reached the city. Small wooden buildings at first, and then large stone apartments and squat brick bars rose up from the cobblestone. She yanked her hood low over her forehead, slowing her bike on the barren street.
Brilliant orange light lit the northern sky before she could reach midtown. An explosion rocked the surrounding buildings—pieces of plaster and rock fluttering to the stone beneath her bike. Her heart lurched painfully.
An attack on Rova City?
Narra skidded to a stop, her boot-clad foot whipping out to brace herself on the cobblestone. The northern sky didn't dim. Flames licked the darkness, black smoke blocking out the stars. Her pulse raced. What in Srah's name was happening?
Her first thought was of Kiznaiver. The northern empire had always been at war with Rova, ever since the continent split into three countries several centuries ago. But what would Kiznaiver gain from a direct attack on Rova City?
Rearranging her cloak, Narra drew it tight. Chatter rose in the apartment beside her. Affixing her foot to the gas pedal, she took off, heading north. Curiosity always got the better of her.
Sirens rose in the east, their wails in time with her breaths. She darted between storefronts and university housing, skipping through trash-strewn alleys where she was able. Brick walls, trash-laden streets, and gas-lamps rushed by in a blur. Her steambike hummed louder, kicking up bits of rock and flinging them in her wake. All the while the orange sky grew brighter.
Several blocks from the train yard,
Narra stopped in an alley between a three-story apartment building and a two-story bakery. Cinnamon and vanilla overpowered the scent of decaying trash, strewn through the alley by rats. Narra wrinkled her nose. Three large black rodents with beady eyes leered from an upturned garbage can .
She shook her head and kicked an aluminum can towards them. They squeaked and skittered into the shadows as the can cracked off the large trash bin. Setting the bin upright, she climbed atop it and made a leap for the escape ladder attached to the tall brick building.
Cold metal bars slid into her grasp. She tightened her fingers, yanking down with all of her strength. The ladder extended to the alley floor with a loud crash. The trash bin toppled, flying into a large pile of disassembled boxes.
"Ancestors ," she hissed, glaring at the black-coated ladder. Sighing, Narra heaved herself up the rungs until she reached the roof. She’d have to be quick, just in case someone heard her. Reaching the roof, she looked to the north.
North Station was on fire and sticking from its westbound mouth was the train she'd stopped in Drestel Ridge. Fury the size of an inferno engulfed her. A growl ripped from her throat and her fists shook.
This was not part of the plan.
"Those revolutionary morons." Heat burned in her chest and soured her stomach.
The wailing sirens stopped as two black steamwagons skidded into the train yard. Shouts filled the night. They pulled a long hose behind them, hooked to a metal water drum in the back of the wagon. Water gushed forward.
The flames spread from the western entrance, crawling across the stone structure like a pile of snakes, flicking their creeping tongues inside the southern mouth.
"Novin fools ." Narra gritted her teeth.
The Revolution had hired her to stop the train so they could take supplies—not to plant a bomb. If they wanted to destroy North Station, that would have cost more.
Clockwork Thief Box Set Page 4
