The Third Lynx

of them. At least I wouldn't need to sit next to Morse, whose seat was three rows ahead of mine. 'You don't have to do this, you know,' I added. 'Your pass will be good the whole way to Terra, and there's a good chance there are still first-class seats available.'

'Only if you let me take that with me,' he said, his eyes following my every move as I heaved my carrybags up onto the rack above the seats. 'Evidence in grand theft and homicide, remember?'

'Forget it,' I said as I sat down.

'Then I stay here.'

'Suit yourself,' I said. I wasn't exactly happy about leaving Stafford out of my sight in first class, either. But Bayta was there, and had even managed to get the compartment that connected to his. If the Modhri tried anything, she could whistle up the Spiders and get a message to me. Hopefully in time to do something.

Besides which, Fayr was also aboard, though I wasn't exactly sure where. With luck, the Modhri hadn't made the connection between him and us, which would leave him free to play the role of wild card if necessary.

I very much hoped it wouldn't be necessary.

We were about an hour out of Ghonsilya Station, and I'd just put my reader away in favor of a nap, when the vestibule at the front of the car opened and Bayta appeared, an expression on her face that I'd seen before. She looked around, spotted me, and headed back. I focused on the top of Morse's head, visible over the top of the seat back, and hoped hard that he was asleep.

No such luck. As Bayta passed he rose from his seat and stepped into the aisle behind her. 'Let me guess,' I said as Bayta reached me. 'Now?'

'Right now,' she confirmed, her voice tight. 'They say it's urgent.'

'Who says?' Morse asked from behind her.

She looked over her shoulder, startled at his unseen entry into the conversation. 'It's nothing to do with you,' she told him.

'Anything that affects Compton has to do with me,' he countered as I stood up. 'Where are we going?'

'You're staying here,' I said firmly. 'Don't worry, we won't be long.' Without waiting for a reply, I ushered Bayta past me and we headed toward the rear of the train.

The Chahwyn, apparently, wanted to speak with us again.

We traveled through the rest of the Quadrail's third-class section and two of the three luggage cars. 'Any idea what it's about?' I asked Bayta as we moved through the last baggage car toward the train's rear door.

'The Spiders didn't know,' she said. 'But I suppose—'

She broke off at the soft sound of the car's forward vestibule door opening behind us.

I spun around, peering forward through the car's dim lighting, my hands curling reflexively into fists. There was a vague figure approaching down the aisle between the stacks of crates …

'There you are,' Morse puffed, my larger carrybag clutched across his chest. 'What in bloody hell are you doing back here?'

'What in bloody hell are you doing back here?' I countered, sorely tempted to deck him anyway just for startling us that way.

'You forgot this,' he said, thrusting the carrybag toward me.

'I didn't forget it,' I said, making no move to take it. 'I didn't want it.'

'Thought so,' Morse grunted, lowering the bag to the floor. 'The Lynx isn't in here, is it?'

I grimaced. But then, I shouldn't have expected a trained investigator to be taken in that easily. 'Of course not,' I said. 'Way too obvious.'

'So where is—whoa!' he interrupted himself as the car abruptly began to slow down. 'What's going on? Are we stopping?'

'Just this car,' I told him.

He stared at me. 'In the middle of bloody nowhere?'

'Trust me.' I said, gesturing to one of the nearby stacks of crates. 'Might as well have a seat and make yourself comfortable.'

He eyed me another moment, then eased himself down onto the floor. He was shifting his back against the crates when the car began to pick up speed again. 'So where is the Lynx?' he asked. 'With Stafford?'

'Well, I certainly couldn't risk carrying it,' I pointed out. 'My face was way too well known. Stafford, on the other hand, currently looks like a refugee from a dit rec war drama. We thought there was a good chance he could slip by them.'

He cocked his head to the side in sudden understanding. 'I'll be damned,' he said. 'That sculpture thing he had in his backpack that looked like a half-carved log?'

I nodded. 'He'd built a fake log around the Lynx and hidden it at the bottom of a fire pit at the Paradise,' I explained. 'Naturally, you can't just carry a big ceramic log through customs without someone wondering. So I had him redo it as a sort of folk art piece.'

'Clever,' Morse murmured. 'Of course, that means he and the Lynx are sitting all alone on that train right now.'

'This won't take long,' I assured him. 'Besides, he's in a locked compartment, and the bad guys don't know who he is.'

Morse grunted. 'Let's hope not.'

Given the urgency of the summons, I wasn't expecting the trip to take very long. I was right. We'd been traveling our private way for no more than fifteen minutes when we again began to slow down. 'So what happens now?' Morse said, standing up and brushing himself off.

'Bayta and I go outside for a chat,' I said. 'You stay here and cultivate your patience.'

For a moment I thought he was going to argue about that. He glanced at the stony expression on Bayta's face and apparently thought better of it. 'Whatever you say,' he said.

The car door irised open, and Bayta and I stepped out into yet another of the Spiders' secret sidings. Unlike all the others I'd visited, though, this one was playing host to a second train, another of the short pushmi-pullyu tenders like the one the Spiders had provided for our trip from Homshil to Jurskala. There seemed to be more Spiders around than usual, too, including several of the unknown stationmaster-sized class.

One of the latter was waiting on the platform, and led us to a typical meeting building. Inside, waiting at his point of the three-chair triangle, was a Chahwyn, a pair of Spiders standing watchdog behind him. 'Sit down, Mr. Compton,' he said, pointing to one of the other chairs.

'Thank you,' I said as I did so. His voice sounded very much like that of the Chahwyn who'd pink-slipped me earlier this trip, but given the species' malleable bodies and voice boxes that might not mean anything. 'To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?'

'You have obtained the third Nemuti Lynx,' he said, extending his hand. 'I will take it.'

'Will you, now?' I said, leaning back in my chair and crossing my legs casually. 'Sorry—did I miss the part where you thanked me for tracking it down?'

'Frank,' Bayta murmured warningly.

I glanced at her, paused for a second look. Her face was tight and pinched, the look of someone walking through a graveyard in a midnight mist. 'What?' I asked.

For a moment neither of them spoke, their eyes locked in another of those annoying little telepathic conferences. 'Hello?' I called. 'Remember me?'

The Chahwyn's eyes dipped briefly away from the contact, then rose again to face me. 'You are not Chahwyn,' he said flatly. 'You cannot be told.'

I felt my ears prick up. There was a deep, dark secret lurking behind that plastic face, just waiting for me to weasel it out of him. 'No, I'm not Chahwyn,' I agreed calmly. 'That's precisely why I need to be told everything.'

'You no longer work for the Chahwyn.'

'Then you're in deep trouble,' I said. Time to trot out the trump card I'd been saving for just such an occasion. 'Because I'm the only guy in town who the Modhri's afraid of.'

His face wrinkled like an old dishrag. 'What do you say? You make no sense.'

'Why not?' I countered. 'Don't you think the Modhri can feel fear?'

'Not toward you,' he said flatly. 'Not toward a single Human.'