“And you’re sure this thing can fly?” he asked.
“I’ve flown it three times already.”
“Ah. So, is there a balloon that comes out the top or-”
“Just hold on.” Taziri started the engine, which rumbled to life with a low growling drone. She shoved the throttle forward and the locomotive rolled quickly out of the shed down the old abandoned rail line. Out in the distance, half hidden in shadows, she could see the warning sign that marked the end of the line a quarter mile away. Maybe less.
“It’s going to be a little noisy,” she called over her shoulder. She eyed her instruments. The speedometer was still climbing. Forty, sixty, eighty, one hundred. Now. Taziri grabbed the big lever on the floor beside her chair and yanked it up.
The entire machine clanged as a dozen clamps snapped open and tiny hissing sounds escaped from every corner like a hundred angry snakes as the air pistons expanded. Starlight flooded the rear compartment as the outer panels of the locomotive folded down to uncover the inner windows. Fabris and Qhora stared out the glass with gaping mouths.
Taziri smiled. One by one, the panels of the locomotive’s shell dropped down and snapped into place until they hung far out to each side of the machine.
“The wings fold out!” Fabris cried with a boyish grin on his face. “Marvelous!”
The front of the locomotive folded down and locked in place to reveal the whirling propeller blades on the nose of the machine, and behind them they heard the tail clang into position.
Taziri took a deep breath and whispered to herself, “Contact.” She shoved the throttle hard against the stops and felt the transformed locomotive surge forward. The entire machine shuddered and rattled, and the warning sign at the end of the rail line was racing toward them, and then the strange machine leapt into the sky. The air roared underneath them as Taziri angled higher and higher and the world below dropped sharply away. After a moment, she lowered the nose and eased back the throttle slightly. The vibrations and noise faded away, leaving only the muted droning of the propeller. Below them, the city of Tingis had been reduced to a motionless swarm of fireflies in the darkness, and ahead of them the dark line of the Atlas Mountains sawed at the blue-black horizon.
Taziri grinned. I wish you could see this, Isoke. I know you’d love it. Then she thought back to her days in the Air Corps and said, “Ladies and gentleman, sit back and relax. We’ll be in Carthage by morning. I hope you enjoy the flight, and thank you for flying on the Halcyon III.”
Chapter 4. Shifrah
The seats in the private compartment were very comfortable. Too comfortable. Shifrah shifted her buttocks, but everywhere she settled was soft and forgiving and threatened to mold to her contours. She wanted to sit up, to be poised and ready, to know that she could simply move properly if she had to. But the Mazigh upholstery wasn’t made for any of that.
Through the window to her right, the Atlas Mountains were already receding into the distance beneath the midnight stars and the Numidian countryside spread out beside the train, and in the distant north a pale glimmer betrayed the Middle Sea rolling in against the shore.
Kenan slumped beside her quite contentedly, his hand resting on the black revolver holstered on his right thigh. The softness was fine for him. Guns didn’t demand strength or leverage or balance or agility. They were indifferent weapons for indifferent killers, for more civilized people, for softer people. Shifrah grimaced and turned her attention to the man in the seat across from them.
It hadn’t taken more than half an hour to find him, and since they were well away from Tingis and racing toward the border of Numidia with not a single obstacle between them and freedom, there had been surprisingly little tension at that moment. So she and Kenan had taken the seat across from him. Quietly. Calmly.
Kenan had merely squinted at the Aegyptian before sliding into the seat across from him without the barest hint of a threat.
Aker smiled, a glass of Espani wine in his hand. “I am sorry about ruining your little setup back there. I know how hard it can be to arrange a deep cover, especially in a foreign country. But then, these things do happen to the best of us.”
“The best of whom?” Kenan asked, eyes narrowed to slits, lip thrust out in a thoughtful pout, fingers still drumming lightly on his gun. “What are you? Just a contractor? You’re not very professional for a contract killer. Carrying a sword in a country like Marrakesh isn’t very subtle, or very effective. And you said you wanted to steal the aetherium salvage from the Strait. That’s a very specific cargo. It’s useless to anyone who doesn’t know how to handle it properly, which means resources, facilities, and infrastructure. So either you’re a liar, or you’re working for some very interesting people.”
Aker shrugged. “I’m a liar when I’m paid to lie. Shifrah, what have you told your little friend here, exactly?”
She frowned. She hadn’t been planning to discuss anything important with Kenan, not ever. It was easier that way. After all, she knew they would only be together a short while, and the odds were always fair that she would have to kill him herself one day. Even so, their time together had passed pleasantly enough, and for far longer than she had ever expected.
So maybe. Maybe it’s worth telling him. Hell, I can always kill him later if I have to. Not that I want to.
Shifrah shook her head. “I haven’t told him anything specific, but I suppose it’s time now, isn’t it?” She turned to Kenan. “You know about my broker in Alexandria?”
The Mazigh nodded.
“His name is Omar Bakhoum.”
Aker chuckled.
Shifrah glared at him. “Why is that funny?”
“Because Omar is dead,” the Aegyptian said. “Has been for years. I’m surprised you haven’t figured that out yet.”
“He isn’t dead. What makes you say that?”
“Oh, come now, Shifrah. I’ve been back to Alexandria three times in the last five years. Omar is never there. No one has seen him in at least seven or eight years. He went off on one of his little expeditions and this time he just disappeared.” Aker raised his glass. “He’s dead.”
“Well if he’s dead, then who has been sending me my instructions?”
“I couldn’t say. And I don’t care. But Omar is no more.” Aker shrugged. “Go on, you were saying?”
Shifrah sighed. “I was saying, Kenan, that my broker is a member of a large organization based in Alexandria. They dabble in everything. Arms, drugs, slaves. They meddle in politics everywhere. They can destabilize whole markets when they want to. Gold, silver, ivory. They control most of the eastern railway companies, as well as the new steamer shipping lanes and canals.”
Kenan snorted. “That’s a nice story. But no one could have their fingers in so many pies. So if that’s what they told you, they were selling a myth to scare you, to impress you, to manipulate you. What do they want exactly?”
Shifrah hesitated, wondering if Kenan might be right, if Omar might have been lying. She’d known many men and many liars, but somehow Omar had never felt dishonest. Not that feelings counted for much in their line of work. “Some of them simply want wealth and power. They consolidated Persia and reorganized it into the Empire of Eran, for one.”
“More propaganda,” Kenan muttered.
“But most of them,” Shifrah continued loudly, “are looking for something else. In the old days, it was called Ra’s steel or sun-steel. You know it as aetherium.”
“Ah.” Kenan raised an eyebrow. “Now this part I believe. And what do they want with it?”
“What else?” Aker said. “Power. Real power. Not this political nonsense. But power over the world, knowledge of all things, mastery of the elements, dominion over death itself!”
Kenan squinted at him. “Is that all? So it’s just another cult with delusions of…well, with delusions.”
“Is this a delusion?” Aker drew his short sword halfway from its scabbard. The blade glowed with a dark
