larger and sharper, white steam streaming above it as the clickety-clack of its wheels echoed off the cloudless sky. Wayra swayed beneath her, squawking and hissing at the machine huffing toward them. Qhora patted the hatun- anka’s neck. “Shh, girl. Steady.”
The clopping of hooves told her that Enzo was not preparing her food. “Is there a problem?” she asked without turning.
“Yes.” He drew up beside her again and pointed at the approaching train. “Well, maybe. It’s not a whole train. Only an engine.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Why would Arafez send a single engine to Tingis? I would expect a train full of materials to repair the station, or maybe food, or even soldiers. But why just an engine?”
Qhora didn’t care about the engine. But she saw the anxiety in the young Espani’s eyes and heard the iron creeping into his voice. Over the last year she had all but forgotten who he had been when they first met. Lorenzo Quesada had come to her country full of passion and joy, his tiny whip of a sword as devastating as lightning. He had been loud and brash, his eyes bright, his lips eager to smile, a young man with the sun in his blood. But then they had returned to his homeland, a colorless wasteland of ice and snow where the only sounds were the howls of the wind and wolves.
The Silver Prince had bestowed on him the rank of hidalgo, which had seemed grander before she learned it brought no wealth or lands, only an empty title and exemption from the Prince’s taxes. But that was when the light went out of him. Thereafter, she had promenaded for Enzo’s gaunt and grim courts, and sat through the endless sermons of his dismal priests, and eaten his tasteless food. And all the while, she had seen him retreat into a quiet and colorless shell of a man, old before his time, a passionless servant who whispered to ghosts and despaired at the cruel realities of the world. Injustices that once drove him to great deeds now drove him into dark church corners to light candles and mutter to his three-faced god.
“Enzo, do you still love me?”
He swallowed. “I don’t think this is the time or place.”
She looked around. “We’re alone in the middle of nowhere with nothing else to do for the rest of the day. When would be a better time? Perhaps when we arrive in the capital. We can include the queen. What shall I say? Your Royal Highness, I, Lady Qhora Yupanqui of the Jisquntin Suyu Empire, cousin to His Imperial Highness Manco Inca, have ridden the length of your fine kingdom and killed many of your wretched subjects to bring you a birthday gift on behalf of His Excellency, Prince Argenti Valero of Espana. Behold these two young kirumichi hunting cats from my homeland. And may I introduce my escort, Don Lorenzo Quesada de Gadir, a renowned diestro and my lover of the past two years who has recently found religion and now refuses to share my bed. Have you any wisdom that might resolve our impasse, Your Highness?”
Qhora saw the shame in Lorenzo’s eyes just before he looked away. She almost apologized, but she was still angry enough to continue. “He won’t talk to me, except to mutter about his imaginary friend, Ariel, who was so holy and perfect when she was supposedly alive that now he can’t stand anything about his own life.”
“I meant…” Lorenzo broke off to clear his throat and steady his voice. “I meant, we should be more concerned with this engine and why it’s out here, alone.”
Nothing. He gives me nothing. Not even anger. His heart is as cold and dead as his country. She shrugged and turned away from him. “Perhaps we will see the reason when it passes.”
He nodded. “Or maybe we should move off the road until it passes.”
He’s terrified of everything now, even a little machine in the distance. “Is this your ghost talking again? Is she telling you that we need to hide from this engine?”
“No,” he whispered. “It’s too bright, too hot today. I can’t hear her or see her here. I wish I could.” He blinked and looked her in the eye, something he rarely dared now, though he had dared often enough in the beginning.
It’s time I stopped indulging his fears. She said, “No, Enzo, I’m not going to hide in a ditch. We will stay here and watch it pass. You will see. It’s nothing but a machine and a few men, not some unholy monster. And then we will eat.” Qhora folded her hands on her knee and sat as tall as she could.
Behind her, she knew Xiuhcoatl would be sitting just as calmly as she was. He may be old and he may not speak much, but at least I can rely on him. Wayra clucked and hissed, her huge head darting playfully at Enzo’s horse. The mare skittered back a few steps before the hidalgo got her under control. Qhora smiled a little. And at least I can rely on you, Wayra.
The steam engine was much closer now, close enough for her to see its black funnel and gray boiler, and the gleaming steel railings and fittings along its side. The clacking wheels measured out the seconds as the engine roared along, accompanied now by the deep puffing and chuffing of the steam. But just as the engine came near enough for her to see two faces staring back at her from the cab, there was a stutter in the rhythm. She was about to wave to them when she heard the clacking of the wheels and the huffing of the steam begin to slow. A series of short steely squeals burst from under the engine and Qhora saw the wheels locking and shuddering as the train decelerated.
“Qhora?” Lorenzo glanced at her.
She shook her head. “I’m sure they only want to ask for the news, or to see if we need any help. They’re just engineers, Enzo, not soldiers.”
The train squealed to a stop just a few yards from them and three men leapt out with long-barreled rifles in their hands.
Lorenzo’s espada appeared in his hand as if by magic but she reached out to catch the shoulder of his coat, and cried, “No, Enzo! They’ll shoot you!”
He looked at her, his eyes wide. “I don’t care if they do. Run, Qhora. Ride!”
Qhora yanked the man’s arm back and nudged Wayra sideways to drag the mare stumbling away from the side of the road. As Lorenzo shook himself free of her, she leaned over even farther and pulled from his belt the revolver he had taken from the soldiers that morning. She straightened up and got her fingers around the handle. This doesn’t look so hard. Just point the barrel and pull the trigger. She aimed for the center rifleman, still a dozen yards from the edge of the highway.
The man stumbled to a dead stop and held up his hands, clutching his rifle by the barrel. He shouted at her in Mazigh, but he spoke too fast and she couldn’t understand him. “Enzo?”
The hidalgo let his sword fall to his side and he slumped a bit in his saddle. “He says they are soldiers from Arafez. They were sent to escort us back to the city with them.” Lorenzo sheathed his sword. “Lady Sade sent them.”
Slowly, Qhora lowered the gun. Finally, some semblance of order in this country. Perhaps this Lady Sade is a person worth knowing. “Thank them for me, please.”
The three men jogged up the embankment to the road and shook hands with Lorenzo and saluted Qhora. Their leader spoke, this time slow enough for her to follow. “My lady, we have come to bring you to Arafez. If you will join us in the engine, we will be in the city shortly.” He gestured to the locomotive.
She flicked her eyes to the small cab where a sooty engineer was leaning against the railing. She said, “Sir, I thank you for your generous offer, but your engine cannot carry my guards, or my mount, or my gifts for the queen. I will not leave them behind. Please send your engine away. I will come to the city soon enough.” At least, that is what she meant to say. Qhora knew she had conjugated some of the verbs incorrectly and had probably mispronounced some other words as well. It was one thing to impress a foreigner by mastering his language and another thing entirely to appear an ignorant savage who garbles her words.
Better to let Enzo speak for me in the future. Better to appear aloof in my silence than stupid in my speech.
The soldier frowned. “You are certain, my lady?”
She nodded.
“Then we will send the engine back, but remain at your side to ensure your safety.” He snapped another salute and sent one of his men to tell the engineer he could leave. Moments later, the engine was huffing slowly back the way it had come and Enzo was preparing a cold lunch for her and her new guards.
The sergeant called himself Berkan, probably. It had sounded like Berkan, at any rate. His two privates introduced themselves too quickly for her to guess what their names might have been. So she nodded and smiled demurely and allowed Lorenzo to carry the conversation as they ate. A handful of oats went to the horses and a
