“Of course not, my dear captain,” the Italian purred. “I have every intention of returning here eventually to steal the Espani aetherium after it is salvaged. But that can wait. This enterprise interests me more, in no small part because Lorenzo’s killer appears to be working with an old associate of mine. Shifrah Dumah. You may have heard of her.”
“No,” Taziri said.
“Really? A one-eyed woman from Eran? In fact, she told me she lost the eye in Marrakesh, down in Arafez, just a few years ago.”
Taziri blinked as her memories of Arafez rushed up at her. A one-eyed woman in Arafez? The woman in white at the airfield demanding to be flown east! “I think I met her. I fought her.”
“Fought her?” Fabris raised an eyebrow. “I had no idea you were a duelist, captain. Few people are as skilled with a knife as Shifrah.”
“I didn’t fight her,” Taziri said. “I blew her up.”
Fabris smiled. “That sounds more likely. But let us return to the business at hand. You need fuel for this contraption, yes?” He removed his wallet from inside his blood-red jacket and handed a fistful of notes to Alonso. “Here you are. Ten thousand reales. I assume Espani money is good here? I’ve been trying to get rid it for ages.”
Qhora cleared her throat and stood as tall as she could. “You want to come with us?”
“Yes indeed, dear lady.”
“Then…do you swear by your three-faced God to help me find Enzo’s killer, and to let me have my own satisfaction when the moment comes?”
The Italian folded over in a low, sweeping bow. “You have my word.”
Taziri slowly lowered her sleeve to cover her brace. “Wait. Wait just a minute. I never said I would go to Carthage tonight. I have a family, I have a business, and I have classes. I can’t just leave.”
Fabris turned to her. “Of course you can. But since this is no personal matter of yours, let us make it one of business, as you say.” The wallet appeared in his hand again, and this time he held out a wad of notes to her. “Another ten thousand reales for your trouble, captain.”
Taziri stared at the money. Ten thousand? The fuel would only cost seven, but another ten? She thought of Yuba and Menna waiting for her back at the house. And she began listing all the things they could do with ten thousand reales. The new greenhouse, a new carriage, a personal tutor for Menna, and even some investments in her friends’ new ventures. And all for a single flight to Carthage? “I need to tell my husband. I mean, discuss it with my husband.” She took the money.
Fabris smiled. “Of course you do. Just tell the boy here where to get the fuel and I will make certain it is here within the hour.”
Taziri looked down at the money in her hand. Over six months’ worth of income for one job? Just a quick flight to Carthage and back. Just a day or two. And besides, it’s for Qhora. It’s for Lorenzo, and for his baby boy. “All right. Alonso, let me give you directions to the fuel depot…”
The next hour was chaotic. Taziri hurried through the house trying to do everything at once. Taking Yuba aside, showing him the money, explaining the job, convincing him not to worry, saying goodbye to Menna while packing food and clothes, and then overseeing the petrol delivery and the fueling of the machine.
Yuba gave her the look. The stern eyes and iron lip. “Assassins?”
“I know. I’ll be careful.”
“It’s not worth it. We don’t need the money.”
She paused. “I know. I’m not doing it for the money. I told you what happened in Espana. Lorenzo saved my life once. He saved yours too, and Menna’s, and everyone in this city. I owe him this, at the very least. His wife just lost her husband. His son just lost his father. This is the least I can do for him. For all of them.”
Yuba swallowed and nodded. “How long?”
“Two days. Or so.”
“Is it safe? That machine of yours?” His eyes flicked up to the back window and the shed beyond it.
“Yes, it is. Absolutely. You know me. I don’t take chances.”
“But chances have a bad habit of finding you, all the same.”
“I know. I’m lucky that way.” She held him and he held her and they whispered their I love yous into each others’ ears.
“Be safe,” he said.
“I will. I promise.” Taziri ran upstairs to change into her heavy canvas trousers, a light cotton shirt, and her old leather jacket. A dozen pouches latched onto her belt, and a hundred tools went into her pockets until she couldn’t move without jingling and rattling. She clipped her gloves under the strap on her right shoulder and her goggles and headgear under the strap on her left shoulder. The outfit weighed half as much as she did, but she remembered the last time she left the country unprepared and found herself on foot, without food, without weapons, and without a clue how to get home. Never again, she had sworn.
From the top shelf of the closet she pulled out a white-handled revolver. Still brand new. Never been fired. She bought it the week after she got home from Espana, after she found herself stranded in a hostile land, after she lost two passengers. Never again. She belted on the holster and tied it down to her thigh.
Somewhere in all the chaos, everyone else managed to eat a little supper from the Ohana leftovers and then fetch their luggage from the hotel. Taziri was sitting in the pilot’s seat of her machine running down her checklist when she glanced in the mirror and saw the people and baggage all assembled beside the locomotive, waiting.
Taziri climbed out and looked them over. She shook her head. “This is too much. Too much weight, I mean. I can’t make it to Carthage with all this.”
For the next five minutes, they painstakingly weighed and measured each person and bag on the old floor scale in the corner of the shed and rearranged bags and contents, discarding whole bags one after another.
“I’m sorry, it just won’t work,” Taziri said. “Even without the baggage, someone needs to stay behind.”
The four passengers exchanged accusatory looks.
“I’ll stay,” Alonso said, raising his hand sheepishly. “I’ll stay here. And I’ll take care of Javier.” He held out his hands to Qhora.
She turned aside to hold the baby a little farther away from the youth. “I can’t leave him behind! He needs me!”
“He needs to be safe, Dona,” Alonso said. “I understand that this is something you need to do. I wouldn’t dream of trying to convince you not to go. But don’t take Javier. You can’t take an infant in this flying machine on a mission to kill an assassin. It’s too dangerous for him. It’s too dangerous for you, if you’ll pardon my saying so, but please, let me take care of him while you’re gone. Please?”
Taziri held her breath. The young man had just said everything that had been swirling through her mind but she hadn’t dared to say. Her brief time in Espana with Dona Qhora Yupanqui Quesada had given her only a glimpse into this strange woman’s life and mind, but Taziri had come away with a healthy respect for the small lady’s will and resolve.
Slowly, painfully slowly, Qhora nodded and stepped closer to Alonso. “How will you feed him?”
“Yuba can teach him how to make something. When Menna was a baby, I had to go away from time to time, so Yuba made food for her,” Taziri offered. “In fact, Alonso, I want you to stay here. We have a guest room. It’s a nice quiet neighborhood, and Yuba can give you whatever help you need.”
“Thank you,” Alonso said. And his eyes said thank you a hundred more times.
Qhora leaned over her baby boy and kissed him and whispered to him and the moment seemed without end until Fabris cleared his throat noisily. Qhora straightened up and handed her child over to the young man, who cradled the half-awake infant with the ease of much practice. Then he took Mirari aside and they stood close, and whispered, and embraced. And finally, Alonso stepped out of the shed.
Taziri clapped her hands. “All right. All aboard for Carthage.”
Fabris, Mirari, and Qhora climbed into the small passenger compartment in the center of the locomotive and when Taziri had them all strapped in securely, she strapped herself into the cockpit.
“I don’t mean to pry, but if we’re here,” Fabris gestured to the passenger compartment, “then where exactly is the engine?”
Taziri smiled. “I gutted this locomotive. The new engine is much smaller and lighter, and up in the front.”
