Conspiracy (6 page)

“
Uh huh, you’re about as
charming as my hairy—”

A clunk sounded outside, somewhere nearby,
and Maldynado fell silent. Akstyr lifted his head. The men had been
loading the weapons ten cars farther down the train. That noise had
sounded much nearer.

“
Move away from the
trapdoor,” Maldynado whispered. “Take your gear too.”

Akstyr’s first thought was
one of huffiness—who had put
him
in charge?—but a heavy thump sounded, this time
almost above him, and he hurried to obey. Someone had to be walking
along the tops of the cars, maybe jumping from one to the next.
Another thump followed the first. Maybe
two
someones were up there
walking.

A whisper of cold air wafted down from the
trapdoor. Maldynado had shut it most of the way, but a half an inch
remained open.

A surge of anxiety swept through Akstyr.
What if the men saw the open door and shut it and locked it from
the outside? The rolling side door was already locked. They’d be
trapped down here, in this dark hole, with no way out.

Relax, Akstyr told himself. He had the
mental sciences. He might be a long way from reaching mastery at
anything, but he could surely thwart a lock.

The footsteps stopped. The trapdoor scraped
open a few inches. Light glowed above the crack, then descended,
and a brass lantern eased into view, flame dancing behind its dirty
glass panes. Stubby fingers with dirt wedged beneath the nails held
the handle. The tip of a rifle edged through the opening as
well.

The low roof forced Akstyr to crouch so
deeply that his knees were bumping his chin and his head was
brushing the ceiling, but he pressed himself against the wall,
sucking his belly in and hugging the shadows the best he could.
After hours in darkness, the light half-blinded him, but he didn’t
see Maldynado or Basilard or anybody’s gear or blanket within the
lantern’s sphere of influence. Though—Akstyr cringed—someone’s
underwear lay draped across a bundle of poles near the wall.

“
See anything, Rov?” a man
asked outside. “It’s a might suspicious that this here door ain’t
secured.”

Akstyr closed his eyes and
concentrated on the flame. He didn’t know how to manipulate air or
gases yet, so he couldn’t simply blow it out or suck all the oxygen
from inside the lantern casing. He
did
know how to tie and cut things,
thanks to that book Amaranthe had found him on healing. One had to
do those things in the body sometimes.

“
Not sure.” The lantern
dropped a few inches lower, bringing a hairy wrist inside with it.
“There’s something over...”

Akstyr formed a razor blade in his mind. It
sliced through the lantern’s wick, extinguishing the flame.

“
Emperor’s bunions,” the
voice growled. “You got a match?”

“
Yeah, you see
anything?”

“
Some underwear, I
think.”

Akstyr sighed.

“
Underwear! What’ve we got,
some hobos down there sodomizing each other?” The man laughed at
his own joke.

Akstyr’s thighs were starting to burn. If
the men came down here, he was done hiding. He, Basilard, and
Maldynado could take these idiots. Though, if a rifle went off, the
rest of that gang might hear. And if Akstyr and the others were
supposed to follow these people to their drop-off point without
being seen... An out-and-out brawl with the entire force wasn’t
exactly not being seen.

Akstyr shook his head. He didn’t care. It
wasn’t as if there was money riding on this job.

The trapdoor scraped the rest of the way
open. Light appeared again, then two figures dropped into the car,
landing in crouches, their rifles raised.

Akstyr focused on the closest man. More
precisely, he focused on the lantern the man held, letting his
eyelids droop as he concentrated. Just before the flame winked out,
Basilard leaped out of the darkness on the far side of the car and
barreled toward the intruders.

Darkness fell, and Akstyr didn’t see what
happened next, but the grunts of pain and sounds of flesh smacking
against flesh told much. He pushed away from the wall, ready to
jump into the fray, but the noises gave him little hint as to who
was where.

Something banged against Akstyr’s toe. He
patted around and found a rifle. The scuffle died down before he’d
done more than pick it up.

“
Akstyr, how about a
light?” Maldynado asked from a few feet away. “It’s hard to tie
people up in the dark.”

“
Why not just throw them
from the train?” Akstyr asked, though he closed his eyes and
pictured a ball of light in his head. Creating illumination with
the mental sciences involved bending and enhancing existing light,
sort of like putting a mirror behind a candle to increase its
output, so it was hard to do anything in extremely dark conditions,
but he’d learned a trick or two in studying illusions.

“
That might make more
sense,” Maldynado said, “though the boss would probably be upset if
we killed these thugs.”

Akstyr stretched his thoughts out, bringing
the light from his head to the air in front of him. A silvery ball
the size of his fist blushed into existence. Since the trapdoor was
still open, he kept the intensity low. It provided enough light to
see Maldynado and Basilard, kneeling on the backs of the downed
men, Basilard with a knife to one’s throat, Maldynado simply
applying force to twist his foe’s arms into chicken wings. Though
the intruders’ faces were scrunched up in pain, their eyes bulged
when they spotted the otherworldly light.

“
Nobody has to tell her,”
Akstyr said.

Basilard frowned at him.

“
What?” Akstyr picked up a
second rifle and admired the sleek barrel. He’d never seen anything
like the loading mechanism. He thumbed open a latch, revealing a
chamber that held a bullet, no, multiple bullets. “These are
brilliant.”

“
I guess,” Maldynado said
in response to something Basilard signed when Akstyr wasn’t
looking. “It doesn’t make sense to risk ourselves, trying to keep
them prisoner all the way back to the city.”

The intruders’ eyes had been riveted to the
light, but one started paying attention to Maldynado’s words, and
concern crinkled his brow. “Listen, we’re just following orders. We
wouldn’t have tossed you out at fifty miles an hour. That’s
break-your-neck speed.”

“
Shut up, Rov,” the second
man growled.

“
No, we like you chatty,”
Maldynado said. “While your tongue is dancing, why don’t you tell
us what you know about these weapons? Like who had them made, where
they came from, and where they’re going.”

“
Eat street,” the more
belligerent man said.

That drew Akstyr’s attention, and he tore
his gaze from the rifle. That saying was one common on the streets
where he had grown up. Nobody had bothered putting the oldest
section of the city on the sewer system, and people dumped piss
pots out of their windows. Akstyr checked for gang brands on the
men’s hands, but only dirt marked their skin.

“
Easy, Motty,” the more
talkative man said. “They’ve got magic.” Some new thought must have
entered his little brain, because his eyes bugged out even more.
“They must have a witch!” Though he couldn’t move his head, not
with Basilard’s knife to his neck, his buggy eyes darted about like
marbles in a jar.

Akstyr snorted. “There are male
practitioners, you know.”

Maldynado roughed Motty up for a minute,
then said, “Listen, we can drop you from the train nicely, or you
can go under the wheels. Tell us about those weapons, and I’ll make
sure you live.”

Blood trickled from Motty’s nose, but he
managed a sneer. Since the notion of magic bothered both men,
Akstyr formed an illusion, a knife similar to the solid black blade
Sicarius carried. He eyed it critically as it floated in the air,
thinking it could have appeared to be more realistic—he would have
to work on improving his artistic talents—but both men focused on
it, their belligerence fading.

“
We don’t know who the guns
are for,” Rov blurted. “We just got hired to deliver ’em. We
weren’t told where they’re going, just to help unload them and do
whatever the bloke waiting there wants.”

“
Who’s paying your salary?”
Maldynado asked.

Rov hesitated. Akstyr made blood drip down
the knife and splash onto a box in front of the prisoners. Of
course, there wouldn’t be any real moisture in the drops, but
neither man was in a position to reach out and check.

“
Jo—Jovak!” Rov nearly
swallowed his tongue in the rush to get the name out. “He’s the
foreman in the factory. I don’t know who pays him or anything else,
I swear it. The money’s real good, so we don’t ask questions. Beats
thieving in the Buccaneers territory.”

Huh, so they
were
from the streets.
The Buccaneers had been a rival gang to Akstyr’s own Black Arrows,
but it didn’t sound like these two were members, so that didn’t
give him much of a clue as to who might be behind
things.

The knife and the light flickered, and he
grimaced, refocusing his concentration. Even with simple illusions,
one had to keep thinking about maintaining them, or they blinked
out. Nobody seemed to notice.

“
This Jovak hired you?”
Maldynado asked.

“
Yes, he’s the only one
we’ve ever seen that’s in charge.”

“
That go for you too?”
Maldynado shook his man.

“
Lick my sweaty balls,
Dung-for-Brains.”

“
Oh, yes, this one’s
definitely going under the wheels,” Maldynado said.

Basilard smirked and
managed to sign with one hand,
I think he
likes you.

“
He’s too ugly for my
tastes,” Maldynado said. “Let’s get them out of here.”

Akstyr extinguished his illusions and helped
Basilard and Maldynado drag the prisoners onto the roof. Despite
Maldynado’s threats, he didn’t throw anyone under the train, but he
was none too gentle with chucking the surly one into the passing
fields. He lowered Rov down more carefully, though both men tumbled
away like empty cans hurtling down a cobblestone street in a
windstorm. Their speed and the train’s own noise muted whatever
yells they might have made.

Once the three of them were back inside,
Maldynado shut the trapdoor, found a lantern, and lit it. He kept
the flame down low, but not so low that Akstyr didn’t see his
grin.

“
What?” he asked
suspiciously.

“
They called you a witch,”
Maldynado said.

Basilard smiled faintly too.

“
That’s because they’re
idiots,” Akstyr said.

Perhaps
, Basilard signed,
you should
consider a haircut.

Akstyr scowled and patted
his locks. Because he hadn’t bothered greasing them into spikes for
the train adventure, his hair hung limply to his shoulders. He
was
positive
it
didn’t look girlie though.

“
Now, now, Basilard,”
Maldynado said. “Not everybody wants to go through life with a head
so shiny it can confuse ships if it’s near a
lighthouse.”

Basilard made a sign Akstyr didn’t
recognize, but he noted it for later use since it seemed to
indicate Maldynado could stuff something somewhere unpleasant.

“
We get to go back to sleep
now?” Akstyr asked.

Maldynado shrugged. “Until the rest of those
people start wondering where their comrades went and come
looking.”

“
Guess we gotta put someone
on watch then,” Akstyr said.

“
Excellent idea. Thanks for
volunteering.” Maldynado promptly lay back down and closed his
eyes.

Basilard winked and did the same.

“
What?” Akstyr scowled
again. “That’s not fair. You know who should stand watch? Whoever
owns the underwear that started this whole problem.”

Overzealous snores answered him.

“
I hate you
two.”

Amaranthe woke to sunlight on her face. It
was slanting through a gap in the canvas flap hanging over the
lorry gate. The vehicle still bumped and thumped over dirt roads,
and an uneasy feeling crept into her stomach. How far were they
going? As Sicarius had said, the team needed to return to the city
in time to catch the train that would allow them to intercept
Sespian’s transport.

Books lay flat on his back, eyes closed,
mouth agape. Fortunately, he wasn’t snoring. The drivers might
notice their stowaways if thunderous nasal noises competed with the
engine reverberations.

Sicarius lay next to Amaranthe, propped
against his rucksack. The relaxation of sleep softened his face,
and, not for the first time, she caught herself thinking how young
he looked for a man with a son who would be twenty this winter. No
creases lined his forehead or mouth, and no lines edged his eyes.
Maybe it was because he never laughed or changed expressions. Or
maybe those horrible travel bars he ate had rejuvenating
properties.

Sicarius’s eyes opened and focused upon her.
Amaranthe blushed, embarrassed to be caught staring.

“
We’re slowing down,”
Sicarius said.

Amaranthe nodded, as if she had noticed the
same thing and had been about to wake him. She lifted the flap to
peer outside. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but she got more
fields. Rows of butternut squash and pumpkin, some harvested, some
still on the vine, stretched on either side of the dirt road.