House of Reeds

when an isolated lamp-post appeared in the distance, the bus would slow. If someone waited in the circle of light, the driver would quiet the engine, gliding to a halt, and another jeweled insect or sleepy Jehanan would climb aboard.

As night wore on, the seats slowly filled, though none of the passengers ventured to speak to one another, and all save the insectile Hikkikit soon fell asleep. Parus grew closer, hour by hour, though there was still a considerable distance to go.

The Southbound Express

Approaching Parus From the North

A delicate hand jogged sergeant Dawd's knee and he came instantly awake. Mei leaned towards him in the dim compartment, palms on his thighs. The swaying of the train surrounded them with a musty, rattling blanket. The air was hot and close.

'I heard something,' she whispered, lifting her chin towards the roof. 'Someone is on top of the train.'

'Have we just left a station?' Dawd licked his lips, horrified to realize he'd actually fallen asleep. He clutched the Whipsaw, just to make sure the weapon was still in his hands, and carefully cleared the safety.

Mei shook her head, dark eyes wide. Dawd swallowed and looked to Colmuir for guidance.

The master sergeant was eyeballing the corridor and shook his head, signing no one outside.

Dawd unclipped a longeye of his own and gently slipped it under the velvet curtain covering the window. Almost immediately his visor displayed an image of the outside world: a bakingly hot morning glared down on endless flat plains of fields, canals and scattered copses of trees. The sky was spotted with fluffy white clouds, each majestically solitary against an azure background. The shadow of the train rushed along an elevated road running beside the railroad tracks. And on the road, racing to catch the train, he saw three Imperial-style trucks. Jehanan soldiers crowded the cargo beds, hanging on for dear life as the vehicles bounced over potholes and washboarding in the road.

'They're on to us,' Dawd hissed, pulling the spyeye back. 'Three trucks, each with a platoon, and if Mei- sana heard someone on the roof, they're already aboard the train.'

'Everyone up,' Colmuir said, voice harsh. Mrs. Petrel and Cecily were already awake, faces tight and composed. The master sergeant jogged Tezozуmoc's shoulder, drew a snore and then a grumbling complaint. The older Skawtsman pinched the boy's ear, which caused the prince's eyes to fly open. 'All quiet now,' the master sergeant said, rising from his seat, assault rifle slung behind his shoulder.

Dawd rose as well, swinging the Whipsaw onto his hip and struggling to shed the bulky, confining poncho. Immediately the two girls took hold of the fabric, ran a fingernail down the sealer strips and pulled it away. The sergeant nodded thanks, patted his Nambu, knife, cutting bar, backup pistol and the strip of grenades down the left side of his gunrig. Then he tapped each earbug, making sure they were firmly seated.

'You've a gun?' Colmuir offered his spare Nambu to Mrs. Petrel, but the lady declined, producing a Webley AfriqaExpress from her handbag. 'Good…Now, here's what we'll do – our sole duty is t' the prince – he canna' fall into their hands. So, we move t' the train engine with all speed and separate it from the rest of the cars, leaving the heathen savages behind. Then we run into Parus and make for either the Legation or the cantonment, as circumstances allow.'

The Anglish girl folded the rain poncho expertly and tucked it away in her bag. Mei, meanwhile, had produced a tiny black Moisin-Nagant Mini and held the pistol clasped in both hands. Dawd put a hand on the edge of the curtains, waiting for Colmuir to give the word.

'Ma'am,' the master sergeant said, checking the corridor one last time. 'You lead, then the prince, then the girls, then me. Dawd will…ah, he will reduce the number of the enemy. You understand me, Sergeant?'

Dawd nodded, licked his lips and thumbed the fire control selector on the Whipsaw to high-explosive full- automatic.

'Go!' Colmuir slammed the door open and rolled out, facing the rear of the train. Petrel ducked past him, the Webley in both hands and took off down the corridor. Tezozуmoc, pale as a ghost stumbled after her, forcing Mei and Cecily to seize his arms and push him along. Dawd threw back the curtains, paused a half-second to let his combat visor adjust to the blaze of morning sunlight as he braced himself and squeezed the trigger on the Whipsaw.

A deafening howl ripped at his ears, defeating even the protection afforded by the earbugs. The window shattered outwards, spraying glass into the air, and a licking tongue of flame slashed across the front of a cargo truck racing alongside. Jehanan soldiers, preparing to leap onto the roof of the train, were sawn in half in a rippling line of explosions as the highex rounds punctured scale, flesh and bone. The roof of the truck vanished in a convulsion of flame. The driver, decapitated, was flung across the cab. The vehicle swerved violently at full acceleration, bounced into the side of the speeding train and was smashed aside.

Dawd leaned out the window, hip grinding into splintered glass, and traversed the Whipsaw across the front of the second truck. Recoil slammed him back against the window-frame. The entire vehicle was immediately obscured by a gout of flame and steam. The engine block stopped sixteen of the flechettes and shattered into a cloud of superheated metal. The front axle sheared off and the truck pitched forward, back end flying up. A dozen Jehanan soldiers flew out, some already smashed into bloody ruin, and then the whole assemblage was cartwheeling violently down the road, engulfed in flying dust and smoke.

The first truck, meantime, spun off the elevated road, plunged nose-first into a nearby field and burst into flame. Dawd ducked back inside. Machine-gun fire from the third pursuer, which had deftly swerved past the first two wrecks, marched along the side of the train, shattering windows. Heavy, thumb-sized rounds tore through the wood beside the sergeant's head. Splinters stippled his armor and spanged away from his visor.

'Damn!' Dawd leapt to the side, blood streaking the side of his jaw. The curtains disappeared, snatched away by the hail of gunfire tearing into the siding. The sergeant switched the Whipsaw to armor-piercing, braced his legs and squeezed the trigger again.

This time the jolt of flame sheared through the side of the compartment, blowing out a huge cloud of metal, wood and fabric. The third truck, hanging back a bit, suddenly came into view as the wall of the train vanished in a rain of depleted uranium needles. Dawd grinned, face blackening with propellant gasses, and walked the stuttering, sun-bright line of explosions across the engine, cab and cargo bay.

The entire vehicle convulsed, perforated by thousands of tiny punctures. The driver vanished in a red haze, the soldiers with their assault rifles staggered, cut in half, and then tumbled out onto the road in a welter of arms and legs and bloody tails. The truck staggered, swerved wildly, the roof of the cab sliding back with a crash into the truck bed, bounced over the margin of the road and rolled, spewing chunks of metal, spraying liters of blood and vanished into a stand of stumpy-looking trees in a plume of dust.

The train raced onward and Dawd swung round, suddenly thinking of the other side of the passenger car, in time to have the butt of a HK-45B smash into his face. The combat visor held, deflecting some of the blow, but his head flew back, slamming into the wall. A Jehanan in the uniform of the kujen of Takshila loomed in the doorway, reversing his assault rifle.

Dawd's hand clenched on the Whipsaw's trigger. Flame flooded the cabin, setting the seats, walls and remains of the ceiling alight. The Jehanan vanished, torn apart by a buzzsaw burst of armor-piercing, and the doorway and the far wall of the passageway disintegrated. A clear view of a field of waving grain was revealed through the ragged opening. The sergeant staggered up, switched the targeting selector to semi-automatic, and swung groggily out into the remains of the corridor.

Smoke whipped away into the slipstream of the train. Dawd caught sight of another truck racing past on the roadway, and then tried to twist left as another Jehanan charged up the corridor. This one had a bayonet affixed to his rifle and the muzzle of the HK-45B was spitting flame. The ripping sound drowned out the rattling roar of the train wheels. Dawd staggered backwards as the burst ripped across combatskin covering his left thigh and chest, but most of the heavy 8mm bullets smashed into the Whipsaw, reducing the squad support weapon to tangled, smoking-hot wreckage and tearing the remains from his hands.

The Jehanan lunged, bayonet gleaming wickedly, and Dawd caught the blow on his right forearm. Metal pierced the ablative armor, tore through his combat-skin and washed his arm with a rushing cold feeling. The slick bore down, jaws gaping, and the sergeant groped with his left hand, seized the Nambu and emptied the clip directly into