got broken bones and stuff. They’ll be madder than a Caymay fiend who got his sniff stolen.”
“Emperor’s warts.” Maldynado rubbed his face. “If Amaranthe and the others tracked the weapons to their source, I hope they didn’t do anything they’ll regret.”
“I don’t think Sicarius regrets anything, ever,” Akstyr said.
Basilard waved for their attention. Why would civilians be making weapons for the army?
“Somebody’s gotta make them,” Maldynado said. “The army has contracts with all sorts of civilian companies for everything from tins of food to blankets to steam vehicles. But if everything is legitimate, I don’t know why the manufacturing facility would be out in the hills or why there’d be all that secrecy during the loading.”
Perhaps the army doesn’t wish enemy spies to learn of their new weapons, Basilard signed.
“Can’t be that secret if the train is stopping at the depot beside the fort,” Akstyr said.
Maldynado stuck his head outside again briefly. “It’s in plain sight of the fort, but there’s not anyone around to watch the train.”
“That’s because it’s early.”
We have often jogged past the fort at this time of the morning, Basilard signed. Soldiers are usually out early doing exercises.
“Is it a holiday?” Akstyr couldn’t remember. Though Amaranthe was open to giving the men time off, Sicarius usually made them train in the mornings anyway, so Akstyr didn’t pay much attention to imperial holidays.
The train’s steam brakes squealed. Akstyr poked his head outside, though he kept his shoulders low. Voices sounded by the loading dock, but he couldn’t make them out over the rumble of the engine. A couple of cars down, a wooden L-shaped arm hung over the train for transferring mailbags, but nothing dangled from it now. This was a delivery run, not a pickup.
Maldynado crawled past Akstyr, keeping his head down as he eased onto the roof. “Let’s see who’s picking these weapons up.”
Akstyr shrugged and wriggled onto the roof beside him.
As the train came to a stop, two men stepped out of the closest lorry. One wore black fatigue trousers and jacket, typical workday wear for a soldier, though a brass emblem on his matching gray cap meant he was an officer, a high-ranking one if the amount of brass was any indication. Gray mixed with the brown in his hair, but he had the sort of chiseled jaw and rugged looks that women liked, and Akstyr promptly hated him for that. The man had an arrogant tilt to his chin too. In fact, he looked like an older, stuffier version of Maldynado.
The man at the officer’s side might have been a soldier too-his white hair was cut short in the military style-but he wore plain black clothing without a hint of insignia or ornament. While he waited for the train, he pulled out a wicked trench knife with brass knuckles incorporated into the handle and the sort of three-edged blade that tore a man up so much that surgeons couldn’t easily fix him. A crescent-moon-shaped scar cupped the bottom of his right eye.
The officer said something to him, then headed to the front of the train where the engineer was climbing down. Akstyr flattened himself to the roof to stay out of sight. Maldynado was already flat, his eyes rounder than cannon balls.
“That bastard looks like an older version of Sicarius,” Akstyr whispered, figuring Maldynado had made the connection too.
“That bastard is my brother.”
“Uh, are we talking about the same bastard?” Akstyr asked before realizing Maldynado must be referring to the officer, not the man in black.
Maldynado shook his head as much as he could with his cheek plastered to the roof of the rail car. “I don’t know the other one, but the officer is Ravido, my eldest brother. He made general last year, and, last I heard, was the fort commander at Averkorke down south.”
“What’s he doing up here?”
“I don’t know. My kin haven’t seen a need to keep me abreast of the latest familial developments.”
“Because you’re disowned?” Akstyr asked.
“No, because I forgot to leave a forwarding address for my mail.”
Tension tightened Maldynado’s eyes, a stark contrast to his usual insouciant mien. Akstyr didn’t know anything about Maldynado’s family or even what his surname was. Maybe he had a whole passel of older brothers who used to beat him up when he was a boy. Akstyr did not find that notion unpleasant.
Metal scraped, and a door rolled open a few cars away-the men checking on the weapons.
“Where’s the delivery team?” someone with a resonant baritone asked. That had to be Ravido. He even sounded like Maldynado.
Akstyr lifted his head again so he could see. The two men had disappeared into the rail car. Akstyr chewed on his lip and tried to remember if he, Basilard, and Maldynado had lifted up the crates next to the bodies to clean up blood that might have seeped under them. They hadn’t anticipated a military inspection.
Someone tapped on Akstyr’s shoulder. Basilard. He lay on his belly and signed, Anything suspicious?
“Maldynado’s brother is accepting delivery of the weapons,” Akstyr whispered.
I meant, have they found anything suspicious in the car? Basilard glanced at Maldynado who had his head down, buried beneath his hands. Though that information is surprising too.
Before Akstyr could respond, Ravido hollered, “Corporal Mitts!”
A man hustled out of the second lorry and ran up to peer into the rail car. “Yes, sir?”
“Get your team in here and take inventory. I want a complete report on my desk. If anything’s missing, Jovak better be prepared to replace it, or Wolf Company’s next training exercise is going to be headhunting the thieving, bottom-rung workers that hopped out of this train.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Looks like we’re not going to get in trouble,” Akstyr whispered.
As long as they don’t search the train, Basilard signed.
“And as long as Amaranthe and the others didn’t do anything to tear up things on the other end,” Maldynado said. “The last thing we want is to pick a fight with the army.” He slithered back through the open trapdoor and disappeared inside the car.
More soldiers were moving about below, going from the lorries to the rail car and moving weapons out. Akstyr lay flat on his back to stay out of sight.
“Looks like this whole side trip was a waste of time,” Akstyr whispered. “This is all legitimate. Weapons for the army.”
Basilard was still watching the scene. He’d produced a collapsible spyglass. Perhaps, he signed with one hand.
“You think there’s something going on?”
Basilard lowered the spyglass. Would a general normally oversee something so simple as a weapons shipment being delivered?
“I don’t know.”
Akstyr didn’t know much about the army, except that the only job open for ex-gang members was infantry. He’d heard they put anyone with a branded hand up front, where he could take the fire and shrapnel from the enemy’s artillery weapons. Some people thought that was better than being on the streets, but Akstyr couldn’t imagine it, and, sure as dogs pissed on lampposts, he couldn’t have studied the mental sciences in a barracks full of soldiers.
Who is this man in black? Basilard further wondered. He seems important. The general is speaking to him as if he were an equal.
“Dunno that either,” Akstyr said.
Marblecrest, Basilard signed.
“Huh?”
Officer’s name. Basilard must have used the spyglass to read it off the man’s jacket. Do you recognize the family? Is it notable in your history?
“How should I know?” Akstyr said. “Nobody cared a whole lot about warrior-caste dung-sticks where I grew up. You should ask Maldynado. It’d have to be his name, too, wouldn’t it?”
