“We’re in Ag District Three, not Seven,” Sicarius said.
She couldn’t feel the train slowing yet. Sicarius must have already taken a look outside. Maybe he even slept up there, cold as it was. He’d never shown any interest in spending nights with the group. Too bad. She would have rather shared a sleeping area with him than with Books and Basilard.
“Maybe they got a late request for an extra stop,” Amaranthe said, as she lifted her thin blanket and shimmied away from the other men.
Books promptly pulled the blanket back over him. Basilard rolled over to take her spot and claim part of the covers. Amaranthe smirked when he snuggled into Books’s side.
“Team bonding,” she said.
Without comment, Sicarius hopped through the open door. Amaranthe followed him topside with considerably less alacrity. Her sore muscles protested the midnight rising. Sicarius had been driving them hard for the last three days, and she was starting to hate the sight of that wooden duck. At least he hadn’t driven her to fall off the train again.
Within seconds of climbing outside, Amaranthe wished she had brought the blanket with her. Though no frost slicked the car’s roof, the cold metal penetrated her trousers when she knelt on it. Wind whipped across dark fields, bringing chilly air down from the black jagged mountains running along the horizon. The stars overhead told her those mountains were to the east, instead of to the north, as they would be if they were in Ag District Seven. Sicarius was right. They were in Three, the same rural area they’d passed through on their way up to investigate the secret dam the spring before.
Lights burned a mile ahead, and, as the train drew nearer, a single dark building came into view. All about it low, flat fields stretched. Though the mountains helped Amaranthe get a vague idea of their location, she did not recognize the area. All of the major rural train depots had towns around them, including stockyards and warehouses.
“Did we go up some stub away from the main railway?” Amaranthe asked.
“Yes.” Sicarius crouched beside her.
Amaranthe wondered if there was anyone awake at that train depot to see them if they didn’t stay low. She wrapped her arms around herself and curled a lip at the idea of flattening to her belly on the cold roof.
“In this situation,” Amaranthe said, “ some men would put an arm around a woman to keep her warm, that being the chivalrous thing to do.”
Sicarius, eyes focused on the building, did not answer. Steam brakes hissed, and the wheels further slowed their reverberations. Interestingly, the engineer did not pull the whistle to cry out the train’s approach. That was standard operating procedure when nearing a populated area. Of course, one building might not count as a population center.
People came into view on a loading dock in front of the structure, and Sicarius dropped to his belly. Reluctantly, Amaranthe lay down beside him, propping up on her forearms, so less of her torso touched the icy metal. She deliberately pressed her side against Sicarius.
He gave her a look she couldn’t decipher.
“There are times when I’d like to know what you’re thinking,” Amaranthe said. “Right now, for example. Are you thinking, ‘Why is she touching me when she hasn’t bathed in three days?’ or is it more like, ‘Hm, that’s nice, maybe we should try cuddling some time’?”
Sicarius withdrew a collapsible spyglass from a pocket.
Amaranthe sighed. “I see. You were thinking, ‘Which pocket did I leave my spyglass in?’”
She focused on the scene coming into view ahead. The prospect of a mystery usually filled her with enthusiasm-and she was curious about what was going on here-but they already had a mission to focus on. They didn’t need something new right now.
“You smell good,” Sicarius said.
Amaranthe’s mouth fell open. “What?”
“What I was thinking.”
Sicarius hadn’t lowered the spyglass, and he continued scanning while she gaped at him.
“I do?” Amaranthe asked. They’d been on the train for three days and not only did it not have bathing facilities, it didn’t even have a latrine. She did what she could with her canteen and a washcloth, but his words were a surprise for more reasons than one.
“Cherry blossoms and almond bark,” Sicarius said.
Oh. That was the shampoo Amaranthe liked. Huh. She didn’t find it amazing that he could identify the scents, but that he bothered to mention it was a first. Maybe there was hope for him after all. “Thanks. You smell good too.” She winced. What an idiotic thing to say. “I mean compared to Books and Basilard anyway.” Ugh, that wasn’t any better.
Sicarius lowered the spyglass and handed it to her without comment. Maybe it was better that he usually kept his thoughts to himself.
Under magnification, Amaranthe could make out six men milling on the loading dock. A clock hanging from the eaves read three a.m. Lanterns burned outside, but none lit up the inside of the building. In fact, the front door was shut with a heavy lock hanging from the latch. A rusty heavy lock. Curls of peeling paint adorned the building’s wooden siding, and a hornet’s nest hung near the clock.
“Interesting,” she murmured.
Sicarius touched her shoulder and pointed into the dark fields. Two pairs of lights were winding through the foliage. Amaranthe peered through the spyglass, but night hid the details.
“Lorries?” she guessed. “Coming to pick up cargo?”
“Perhaps,” Sicarius said.
Despite her earlier thought that they didn’t need a new mission right now, a tendril of anticipation curled through her belly. Maybe they had stumbled upon something good.
Or, her practical side said, maybe there was nothing strange going on. This could simply be the only time of day when the train could deliver its cargo. Still, a legitimate delivery should have been on the manifest Books had copied from the train station.
“If it looks like they’re going to remove greenhouse kits,” Amaranthe said, “we’ll have to get the men, gather our belongings, and clear out quickly.” They had packs and weapons down there, and, before bed, she had noticed more than one pair of underwear draped about to dry after a hand-washing. Wouldn’t that be a lovely thing for some farmers to find hanging from their expensive, imported equipment? At least her group was more hygienic than most.
Amaranthe and Sicarius ducked their heads as the train glided to a stop, carrying the locomotive and their car past the loading dock. The lights in the field drew closer, bringing the rumble of steam lorries.
Amaranthe pointed the spyglass in that direction again. Two large vehicles bumping along a rough dirt road came to a stop by the building. A man in the closest cab said something to those on the loading dock. Dusty brown canvas hid the cargo areas from view, but the vehicles did not appear to be anything more interesting than farm wagons. A sign on one door read Doranthe’s Pumpkins and Squash.
Two men climbed out of the first truck, wearing farmers’ overalls and wool shirts. Those on the loading dock hopped down, and a couple approached the train to open the rolling door of a freight car.
“That’s an empty one,” Sicarius said.
“You’re sure?” From their position on top of the roof, they couldn’t see inside, but Amaranthe wouldn’t be surprised if Sicarius had inspected all of the hundred-odd cars during the days they had been on board. He had to do something while he was avoiding being social with the group. In response to her question, he gave her an are- you-truly-doubting- me look. “Yes,” she said, “of course you are.”
The people on the ground directed the lorries to turn around, and one backed toward the open freight door. A couple of men climbed inside the rail car.
Amaranthe looked toward the front of the train, wondering if the engineer would come out of the locomotive. As far as she knew, he and his fireman were the only crew members. But nothing stirred up there beyond the plumes of smoke wafting from the stack.
Sicarius took the spyglass back. Men rolled up the flap on the back of the lorry, and Amaranthe blinked. It wasn’t an empty bed awaiting cargo. It was stuffed to the brim with…
“Are those rifles?” she whispered.
