with the entire force wasn’t exactly not being seen.
Akstyr shook his head. He didn’t care. It wasn’t as if there was money riding on this job.
The trapdoor scraped the rest of the way open. Light appeared again, then two figures dropped into the car, landing in crouches, their rifles raised.
Akstyr focused on the closest man. More precisely, he focused on the lantern the man held, letting his eyelids droop as he concentrated. Just before the flame winked out, Basilard leaped out of the darkness on the far side of the car and barreled toward the intruders.
Darkness fell, and Akstyr didn’t see what happened next, but the grunts of pain and sounds of flesh smacking against flesh told much. He pushed away from the wall, ready to jump into the fray, but the noises gave him little hint as to who was where.
Something banged against Akstyr’s toe. He patted around and found a rifle. The scuffle died down before he’d done more than pick it up.
“Akstyr, how about a light?” Maldynado asked from a few feet away. “It’s hard to tie people up in the dark.”
“Why not just throw them from the train?” Akstyr asked, though he closed his eyes and pictured a ball of light in his head. Creating illumination with the mental sciences involved bending and enhancing existing light, sort of like putting a mirror behind a candle to increase its output, so it was hard to do anything in extremely dark conditions, but he’d learned a trick or two in studying illusions.
“That might make more sense,” Maldynado said, “though the boss would probably be upset if we killed these thugs.”
Akstyr stretched his thoughts out, bringing the light from his head to the air in front of him. A silvery ball the size of his fist blushed into existence. Since the trapdoor was still open, he kept the intensity low. It provided enough light to see Maldynado and Basilard, kneeling on the backs of the downed men, Basilard with a knife to one’s throat, Maldynado simply applying force to twist his foe’s arms into chicken wings. Though the intruders’ faces were scrunched up in pain, their eyes bulged when they spotted the otherworldly light.
“Nobody has to tell her,” Akstyr said.
Basilard frowned at him.
“What?” Akstyr picked up a second rifle and admired the sleek barrel. He’d never seen anything like the loading mechanism. He thumbed open a latch, revealing a chamber that held a bullet, no, multiple bullets. “These are brilliant.”
“I guess,” Maldynado said in response to something Basilard signed when Akstyr wasn’t looking. “It doesn’t make sense to risk ourselves, trying to keep them prisoner all the way back to the city.”
The intruders’ eyes had been riveted to the light, but one started paying attention to Maldynado’s words, and concern crinkled his brow. “Listen, we’re just following orders. We wouldn’t have tossed you out at fifty miles an hour. That’s break-your-neck speed.”
“Shut up, Rov,” the second man growled.
“No, we like you chatty,” Maldynado said. “While your tongue is dancing, why don’t you tell us what you know about these weapons? Like who had them made, where they came from, and where they’re going.”
“Eat street,” the more belligerent man said.
That drew Akstyr’s attention, and he tore his gaze from the rifle. That saying was one common on the streets where he had grown up. Nobody had bothered putting the oldest section of the city on the sewer system, and people dumped piss pots out of their windows. Akstyr checked for gang brands on the men’s hands, but only dirt marked their skin.
“Easy, Motty,” the more talkative man said. “They’ve got magic.” Some new thought must have entered his little brain, because his eyes bugged out even more. “They must have a witch!” Though he couldn’t move his head, not with Basilard’s knife to his neck, his buggy eyes darted about like marbles in a jar.
Akstyr snorted. “There are male practitioners, you know.”
Maldynado roughed Motty up for a minute, then said, “Listen, we can drop you from the train nicely, or you can go under the wheels. Tell us about those weapons, and I’ll make sure you live.”
Blood trickled from Motty’s nose, but he managed a sneer. Since the notion of magic bothered both men, Akstyr formed an illusion, a knife similar to the solid black blade Sicarius carried. He eyed it critically as it floated in the air, thinking it could have appeared to be more realistic-he would have to work on improving his artistic talents-but both men focused on it, their belligerence fading.
“We don’t know who the guns are for,” Rov blurted. “We just got hired to deliver ’em. We weren’t told where they’re going, just to help unload them and do whatever the bloke waiting there wants.”
“Who’s paying your salary?” Maldynado asked.
Rov hesitated. Akstyr made blood drip down the knife and splash onto a box in front of the prisoners. Of course, there wouldn’t be any real moisture in the drops, but neither man was in a position to reach out and check.
“Jo-Jovak!” Rov nearly swallowed his tongue in the rush to get the name out. “He’s the foreman in the factory. I don’t know who pays him or anything else, I swear it. The money’s real good, so we don’t ask questions. Beats thieving in the Buccaneers territory.”
Huh, so they were from the streets. The Buccaneers had been a rival gang to Akstyr’s own Black Arrows, but it didn’t sound like these two were members, so that didn’t give him much of a clue as to who might be behind things.
The knife and the light flickered, and he grimaced, refocusing his concentration. Even with simple illusions, one had to keep thinking about maintaining them, or they blinked out. Nobody seemed to notice.
“This Jovak hired you?” Maldynado asked.
“Yes, he’s the only one we’ve ever seen that’s in charge.”
“That go for you too?” Maldynado shook his man.
“Lick my sweaty balls, Dung-for-Brains.”
“Oh, yes, this one’s definitely going under the wheels,” Maldynado said.
Basilard smirked and managed to sign with one hand, I think he likes you.
“He’s too ugly for my tastes,” Maldynado said. “Let’s get them out of here.”
Akstyr extinguished his illusions and helped Basilard and Maldynado drag the prisoners onto the roof. Despite Maldynado’s threats, he didn’t throw anyone under the train, but he was none too gentle with chucking the surly one into the passing fields. He lowered Rov down more carefully, though both men tumbled away like empty cans hurtling down a cobblestone street in a windstorm. Their speed and the train’s own noise muted whatever yells they might have made.
Once the three of them were back inside, Maldynado shut the trapdoor, found a lantern, and lit it. He kept the flame down low, but not so low that Akstyr didn’t see his grin.
“What?” he asked suspiciously.
“They called you a witch,” Maldynado said.
Basilard smiled faintly too.
“That’s because they’re idiots,” Akstyr said.
Perhaps, Basilard signed, you should consider a haircut.
Akstyr scowled and patted his locks. Because he hadn’t bothered greasing them into spikes for the train adventure, his hair hung limply to his shoulders. He was positive it didn’t look girlie though.
“Now, now, Basilard,” Maldynado said. “Not everybody wants to go through life with a head so shiny it can confuse ships if it’s near a lighthouse.”
Basilard made a sign Akstyr didn’t recognize, but he noted it for later use since it seemed to indicate Maldynado could stuff something somewhere unpleasant.
“We get to go back to sleep now?” Akstyr asked.
Maldynado shrugged. “Until the rest of those people start wondering where their comrades went and come looking.”
“Guess we gotta put someone on watch then,” Akstyr said.
“Excellent idea. Thanks for volunteering.” Maldynado promptly lay back down and closed his eyes.
Basilard winked and did the same.
“What?” Akstyr scowled again. “That’s not fair. You know who should stand watch? Whoever owns the
