House of Reeds

'No, dear,' Mrs. Petrel said, shaking her head. 'Your purpose is doing what you've already done today, seeing your sworn men are looked after. And now – though I'd imagine master Colmuir is about beside himself with the added risk – you've three dainty Imperial ladies to see home safely as well.'

This did not please the prince at all, who fell silent and slumped back into his seat, hiding behind the hat. Dawd tipped back the corner of the drapes over the window and watched carefully as the train picked up speed out of the station and began rattling down the tracks leading out of the town. The rail line crossed over a bridge; a thoroughfare passed below and the street was filled with a huge mob of Jehanan marching up towards the center of town, waving banners and placards over their heads. The sergeant guessed the crudely drawn figures on the wooden boards were supposed to be human, though most humans he knew did not have two heads or breathe fire.

'We've cut it fine,' Dawd said to Colmuir and Petrel. The sergeant was beginning to shake a little bit, coming down off the steady adrenaline and combat-drug high he'd been on since the door of the prince's dressing room exploded. 'But if the train doesn't stop until Parus, we might make it.'

'Oh.' Mrs. Petrel made a dismissive motion with her hand. 'I've taken this train before – last year when the rains were full on – there are stops in Bandopene and Takshila, but I'm sure we'll be fine. They'll only check our ticket once after we've boarded. The conductors are very discrete – we shan't be asked again.'

Really? Dawd kept his opinion to himself, though he guessed Colmuir would be of much the same mind. Then we'll have to shoot our way off this train at one station or the other…

Mindful of these realities, the sergeant set about checking his weapons, cleaning the last of the sewer sludge out of his equipment and trying to look impassive and professional while two rather attractive young ladies sat no more than a meter away and watched him – or were they watching the prince? – with unsettling interest.

Several hours later, the train jerked into motion again at Bandopene and Dawd let himself relax from hair- trigger readiness. Behind closed velvet drapes, the noise of the hot little hill-station echoed loudly, and every footstep in the passage made him tense. Colmuir stood poised inside the closed door of the compartment, automatic in hand, watching a longeye feed of the corridor, until the train doors closed at last.

Mrs. Petrel's calm demeanor proved warranted. No one bothered them save an elderly conductor who checked their tickets just outside Gandaris. To Dawd's eye the Jehanan had seemed oddly unsurprised to find a compartment full of humans on his train. But with the second station falling away behind them, the younger Skawtsman let himself relax a bit. Feeling the train rattle up to speed and boom hollowly over a bridge, he ventured to part the window curtain again and peer out.

Decaying slab-sided buildings lined the tracks. There were no windows and the wooden siding was turning gray and black with age. Tall brick smokestacks rose above sooty tiled roofs and the Skawtsman closed the window, disheartened to be so distinctly reminded of the industrial neighborhoods where he'd grown up. Alien worlds are supposed to be exotic and beautiful, he thought. Filled with never-before-seen vistas and unimaginable grandeur, not shuttered mills and tumble-down factories and fences of spikewire like Pollokshields.

'Well,' Colmuir said, drawing the attention of everyone in the hot, stuffy compartment. 'That's a bit of luck, I'd say. By my comp, we'll be in Takshila by dark and then overnight t' Parus.'

'If nothing happens in Takshila,' Dawd said cautiously. The sergeant turned to Mrs. Petrel, who had spent the day sitting quietly, cooling herself with a silk hand-fan bearing a hand-stitched image of Mount Tahoma rising above interwoven clouds and stands of pine. Both of her young ladies had fallen asleep in the heat, though now they were stirring, woken by the renewed movement of the train. 'Mi'lady, a thought strikes me… What happened to Corporal Clark? Didn't hetake you to the station?'

Petrel's face tightened slightly and her eyes seemed to darken. 'We walked – or rather, ran – to the station, Sergeant. Corporal Clark delivered us to the temple of the Immanent Sun quite early. The processions and prayers and ceremonies to greet the solar deities' first light upon the newly ripened Nem begin at a dreadful hour. But then he took off for the palace to secure more refreshments for the prince and for dinner. After that…' Mrs. Petrel sighed and shook her head slowly. 'We've neither seen him nor the aerocar.'

'Ah, now, that is too bad.' Colmuir grimaced. 'If he went t' the palace, they'll have seized him and the aerocar. Poor sod.'

Mrs. Petrel folded up her fan. 'If he was not taken unawares, he might have escaped. But where would he go?' She nodded to the Anglish girl, who had come quietly awake. 'They sent men to arrest us at the dawn ceremony, but the captain of the soldiers fell to arguing with the head priest. Cecily noticed the dispute and we were able to slip away. Then I thought of the train…'

Dawd rubbed his nose, beginning to feel nervous. These girls see quite a bit, I would guess. A bold set of ladies these are, larking about on an alien world in their Sunday best. He pursed his lips, a nagging thought surfacing.

'Your pardon, mi'lady, but…you had train tickets for today? How did -'

Mrs. Petrel smiled whimsically, unfolding her fan in front of her face. The compartment was growing hotter with every kilometer they sped south. 'I believe in planning ahead, sergeant.'

'But -' Dawd fell silent, seeing the lady's eyes tighten slightly and feeling Colmuir's glare. He shrank back into his seat, wishing he hadn't asked so many questions. He was guiltily aware of the master sergeant warning him, more than once before, to keep quiet and mind his manners. 'Your pardon, mi'lady. It's none of my business.'

Mrs. Petrel nodded politely and began fanning her face again. Colmuir settled back into his seat, one hand still on his Nambu. Both Mei and Cecily closed their eyes and the sound of the train wheels clattering along the tracks and the jingling sway of the car and the susurration of people breathing filled the silence.

The prince, still sound asleep, began to snore softly, his head leaning against Dawd's shoulder.

Bloody hell, the Skawtsman grumbled to himself. I've never been able to sleep on trains. He snuck a look at his chrono. Another four hours until we reach Takshila. And our comms are still jammed. Poor Clark. Doubt we'll see him again…

Then Dawd closed his eyes, Whipsaw cradled in the crook of his left arm, right hand resting on the hilt of the combat knife strapped to his leg, and tried to rest.

The Parus express reached the outskirts of Takshila just after sundown and began to slow in preparation for stopping at the main rail terminal. The train engineer, however, saw that the skyline was lit by widespread fires and a pall of heavy smoke lay over the city. The sprawling slums lining the railroad approach were relatively quiet. Very few Takshilans had ever seen an asuchau human, but rumor of the kujen's war had permeated the city within minutes of the first bombing attack on the Mercantile Exchange House. The usual traffic of heavy wains piled with ceramics and bundles of flowers and stacks of fresh-cut lumber, runner-carts, tikikit buses and crowds of busy Jehanan out and about, shopping and bartering, was noticeably lighter than the engineer expected.

All of this made him wary and he kept one eye-shield peeled for warning lights along the spiked barricades lining the tracks. As a result, as the express slowed to barely twenty kilometers an hour, he caught sight of a diversion indicator light and swing-board at the first spur line. The engineer depressed the main braking lever, felt the entire train shudder at the squeal of brake linings on massive iron wheels, and leaned out as the express chugged onto the secondary track.

Seeing the warning light relieved some of the engineer's fears – the fires silhouetting the khus rising at city center were centered around the train station – and he had no desire to plow a sixteen-car train into a mob on the tracks or through a burning station. He eased up on the brakes, let a little steam build and the express settled out onto a straightaway.

The train chuffed past a rail yard traffic tower overlooking a section of cargo sidings, but though the engineer waved at the lit windows, he did not see anyone inside. This was puzzling, but not entirely out of the ordinary. The express rattled through the warehouse district at a modest clip. Inside the comfortably hot driver's compartment, the engineer hooted at his second, who bent over a laminated diagram of the rail network in and around Takshila. After a moment's scrutiny, the junior engineer warbled back, pointing at the map.

The engineer nodded, soot-stained snout bobbing, and prepared to reduce speed. He bled steam from the boiler, slowing the clattering wheels. The secondary track began to curve off to the south and the map showed a tunnel at the edge of town, just before the spur rejoined the main line. Tunnels were a dicey business sometimes, particularly if there was trouble in the city and the railroad temple guards were distracted by fires or rioting.