SIXTEEN
I half expected Bayta to be waiting for me when I returned to my compartment, her eyes blazing, her arms folded across her chest, demanding to know what I’d been off doing. But she wasn’t. Apparently, the server Spider at the bar hadn’t sold me out. Yet. Five minutes later I was climbing into bed, sleep tugging at my eyelids and my brain.
But even as I adjusted the blankets around my shoulders, I had a nagging sense that something significant had happened this evening. Something so subtle that I hadn’t picked up on it on a conscious level.
For a minute I fought against sleep, trying to get a handle on the feeling and whatever it was that had sparked it. But it was an uphill battle, and after that single minute I knew it was hopeless. Tomorrow, when I’d caught up on my sleep, I would make another effort to track it down.
Once again, tomorrow arrived earlier than I’d expected it to.
And yet, at the same time, it nearly didn’t arrive at all. At least for me.
I’d been asleep barely two hours when I was jarred awake by something soft and vague; a distant, eerie whistling sort of sound that was as much felt as it was heard. For a handful of heartbeats I lay still, my eyes wide open in the darkness, my ears straining against the silence as I waited for the noise to come again.
But it didn’t. I’d just about decided it had been an artifact of my sleeping brain when I heard another sound.
Only this one wasn’t vague and ethereal the way the first had been. This one was real, solid, and very close at hand.
Someone was scratching on my door.
I rolled silently out of bed and into a crouch on the floor, fighting against the mental cobwebs as I tried to figure out just what in hell was going on. There was a perfectly good door chime out there, not to mention equally good hard surfaces all around that anyone with working knuckles could knock on. There was no reason why whoever was out there should be scratching away like a pet malamute who wanted back into the house.
Unless he was too weak or too sick to do anything else.
I slid my hand along the floor until I found my shoes. I picked up one of them, getting a good grip on the toe. Holding it over my head like a club, I walked silently to the door and keyed the release.
To find that no one was there.
Frowning, I stepped out into the corridor and looked both directions. No one was visible along the car’s entire length.
But someone
My first thought was that whoever this was, he must have exquisite timing to have been able to get out of sight just as I was opening my door. My second thought was that whatever game he was playing, it probably boiled down to being a trap.
My third was that there was no way in hell he was going to get away from me.
I ducked back into my compartment, grabbed my other shoe and my shirt and headed out after him, making sure my door closed and locked behind me. I got my shoes on as I jogged down the corridor, and by the time I reached the vestibule I had my shirt on as well. Bracing myself, I keyed the door release.
The vestibule was empty. I crossed it and opened the door to the next compartment car, again preparing myself for whatever lay beyond it. But again, the corridor was empty. Hurrying past the closed compartment doors, I went through the vestibule and into the first of the first-class coaches.
Compartment cars didn’t really lend themselves to ambushes, given that the only place you could launch one from was one of the compartments themselves. But coach cars were another matter entirely, as I’d already learned the hard way on this trip. Most of the seats scattered around the car were canopied, their occupants long since in dreamland, though there were a couple of quiet conversations still going on in various corners. But none of the conversationalists were near my path, and in fact didn’t seem to even notice my presence, and I continued on through and into the dining car.
And nearly ran into my old Modhran pal
“Did you just scratch on my door?” I demanded, coming to a halt in front of him.
For a moment he just stared at me in silence, his body weaving a little, his eyes apparently having a hard time focusing on me. To all appearances he was as drunk as a goat. “Compton,” he said again. “There’s trouble.”
I felt a tingle go up my back. Drunk Juriani nearly always slurred their words. Vevri wasn’t doing that. Stepping close to him, I leaned forward and sniffed his breath.
One whiff was all it took. Any alcohol he might have poured into his system earlier that evening had been burned away hours ago. Whatever had put Vevri into this state, it wasn’t anything the Spiders had served him.
Our poisoner had struck again.
“Understood,” I said, taking his arm and trying to turn him around toward the dispensary three cars back. “Come on—we’ll get the Spiders to call a doctor—”
“No doctor,” he interrupted, throwing off my grip with an unexpected burst of strength. “Hypnotic—dizzy, but not in danger.”
“We should at least try to figure out what it was,” I insisted, trying to get a grip on his arm again. “Or wasn’t it you?” I added as it belatedly occurred to me that Vevri himself might be completely unscathed, that the hypnotic or whatever might have been administered to one of the other walkers and merely be affecting the Juri via their shared mind.
But once again, he pulled away from my grip. “Not in danger,” he insisted. “The prisoner. He’s the one in danger.”
I stared at him. “Emikai? What does the killer want with him?”
“Don’t know,” Vevri said. He wobbled suddenly and had to grab the edge of the archway to regain his balance. “Don’t call Spiders. Warn him—warn him off. Never find him then.”
I looked over his shoulder down the corridor. “Did you see the killer?” I asked Vevri. “The killer,
Vevri shook his head. “He’s on his way. Already on his way. You must stop him.”
“Yeah,” I said, gazing hard into the Juri’s face.
And not believing it for a second, because this whole thing stunk to high heaven. Even if I actually trusted the Modhri—which I damn well didn’t—it would still smell like a setup.
But I had no choice but to play along. If the killer really did want Emikai silenced, for whatever reason, the Filly was a sitting duck back there. The two twitters on duty might get a glimpse of the killer, but that would be pretty small comfort to Emikai himself.
Besides, knowing it was a setup gave me certain advantages, especially if the killer didn’t know I knew. “Okay, I’ll go take a look,” I said to Vevri. “You stay here and keep an eye out in case he doubles back.”
Vevri nodded. “I will. Good luck.”
Slipping past him, I continued on my way. Knowing you were walking into a trap could definitely be helpful in beating that trap.
But it never hurt to also hedge your bets.
I had covered another two cars and was passing the line of shower compartments before I finally ran into a conductor tapping his way along on some errand or another. “Hey—you,” I said, catching up to him. “You— Spider.”
“Yes?” he said.
“I want you to call Bayta,” I said. “Tell her I’ve had word that
“Bayta is asleep.”
“Then wake her up,” I snarled. “Tell her I want her to do a running track on me—conductors, servers, mites, and anyone else who’s available. You got that?”
