by Karen Garvin
His hand twitched as the bracelet released the first level of shock. He lost his grip and stumbled forward, reaching once more for the bag. The man kept it from his grasp.
“Then open it for me.” The man sneered at him, taunting him with the bag.
“I can’t, sir.” Herbert swallowed trying not to count the seconds until shock level two.
“So, your master trusts you with the bag, but not with the combination, eh?” The man leaned closer. His rancid breath made Herbert gag. “Must be good stuff then.”
“Please, sir” Herbert tried again to reach for the bag. “Just let me have the bag back.”
“You want it back, eh?” The man held it toward Herbert.
Herbert lunged and stumbled forward again. His whole arm jerked with the bracelet’s shock. The man laughed.
“IAN!” a voice roared from the back. “Leave the foster alone!”
“But I can cut it open.” Ian marched past Herbert, who tried once more to grab the bag, and missed. “Must have some good stuff in it.”
“The bag, please? Sir?” Herbert was on his knees now aware that tears had sprung to his eyes. Level three, he knew was coming soon, and it would take his whole body with it. Level six was deadly.
“Give him back the bag, Ian.” The best dressed man had stood and was moving forward. “I don’t feel like watching a foster convulse to death. We got other plans to finalize, so get back here for your orders.”
Ian grumbled and tossed the bag over Herbert’s head. Vials clinked with the impact and Herbert scrambled after it. Pain laced up his arm, taking over his body. He collapsed as he jerked, inches from the bag. A second later, he’d caught his breath and grabbed the bag. For a moment Herbert lay in the aisle, thanking the leader silently.
He was about to get up when Ian came by, and kicked him. Herbert curled in on himself. Someone stomped up from the back. Herbert watched as the leader knocked Ian’s head into the luggage. “You ain’t being paid to mess with a foster. Now get up there and do the job you was assigned. My maid’s set up the meeting. We need to keep it.”
Ian glared at Herbert and slouched off, his hands steadying him against the train. The leader moved back as the two other men moved passed him.
“You said,” the one with an eye patch stopped with a glance to Herbert, “no witnesses.”
“A foster ain’t no witness.”
The man glared at the leader, who moved aside his jacket to place a hand over his hip where a gun rested. Herbert hadn’t seen many guns, for which he was thankful. Bullets, the Segurians like to say, are faster than spells. Herbert was inclined to agree, based upon what he’d seen of both.
When the last of the men had left the train car, the leader’s hand fell.
“Get up,” he ordered Herbert. “While a foster ain’t a witness, I got to do what I got to do.”
Herbert stood, making sure to keep one hand holding the bag. His other hand grabbed at the rigging that held the luggage as the train rocked on the tracks. Herbert wondered if he wanted the bag. Maybe he’d take it and give Herbert a quicker death with his gun. One less foster wasn’t going to bother anyone.
“Your arm,” he commanded.
Herbert switched hands on the bag and shook his arm. His foster bracelet fell to his wrist and he extended his arm out. The man grabbed around the bracelet and pressed it hard into Herbert’s arm.
“Ex egin,” the man began, his knowledge of the phrase surprising Herbert. The bracelet cooled, an indication to not do what came next. “Tell nothing of what you see on this train to anyone. Not a single thing from since you boarded until you get off.” Herbert nodded to indicate he understood. “Orain.” The man let go.
The bracelet slowly warmed back to Herbert’s body temperature. He clutched the medicine bag. The man had used more words than necessary, but some of the command had taken. How much, Herbert wasn’t sure, which would make following it and reversing it harder. Still, how had the man known the command words? They weren’t taught to everyone.
“Go sit down,” the man gestured to the seat Herbert had taken first. “And don’t get nosy when it gets noisy.”
Herbert had learned not to be nosy the hard way. Back in his two year stint in the textile mill, he’d been whipped for seeing things and trying to help when he shouldn’t have. Once more, Herbert sat in the back of the train. He turned his head to gaze out the window. Yet, his mind could not help but wander to the situation. It was a horrible habit of his; one that was at odds with who he should be, and yet Dr. Kipling, and to a lesser extent Alc. Wakefield, often asked his opinions on patients. If anyone heard these conversations, they could have been taken to court for giving a foster ‘ideas beyond his station’. But no one said Herbert couldn’t think. And thinking was about all he had.
So his mind turned to these men. While dressed as railway workers they clearly weren’t. They had boarded without tickets. They didn’t want any witnesses for whatever it was they were going to do. Robbery was the most likely possibility. But he didn’t know if any of the others had guns. He didn’t remember Ian having one. Based upon Ian’s bullying, if he’d had one, he would have waved it in Herbert’s face.
But at the same time robbery didn’t make sense. He knew that trains were robbed, but not on this section of the line. There might not be any houses to be seen from this side of the train, but the road on the other side would be lined with them. Middle class summer homes for those who couldn’t afford the lake villas of the rich. Not to mention the closer they got to Upper Leore the more populated and policed things were.
Why didn’t they ransack the baggage compartment? The conductor wasn’t going to be back here. They were dressed as baggage handlers, they’d have a whole hour to rummage, and a half hour to put things back in place. Load all the goods into an empty suitcase, take it off, and have a partner claim the baggage.
Herbert shuddered at his own thinking. He preferred to use his mind to help people, not to rob medical men of critical supplies needed to treat patients. Ian had understood that when he showed interest in the doctor’s bag Herbert carried. He snorted. The leader was right, he was baggage holding baggage, in the baggage car.
Gazing out the window, Herbert watched as the train lumbered around a gentle curve, bringing the canal into sight. Herbert pressed his forehead against the glass. Modest brick houses flashed past. Between them gardens grew, their green fading to brown heralding the coming winter. Occasional glimpses of the canal yielded the stone retaining wall.
The train curved again, its whistle warning those who might be on the road that crossed the track to beware. A few children ran from houses and waved. The sound of the track changed as it lumbered onto the trestles. Now Herbert could glimpse the waters rushing through the canal.
*****
The solid sound of the train on the tracks turned hollow, and Prince Andrew glanced out of the window. At last, they were on the bridge over the canal. He took a deep breath.
“I am going to stretch my legs,” he declared to his escort as he stood.
“Your Highness,” Mr. Winston sounded displeased. “We are less than an hour away from Upper Leore…”
“And I feel as though I’ve spent the last month on a train.” Prince Andrew interrupted. “I’m going to pace the train. I promise I won’t get into a fight or anything of the sort.” He gave his best grin.
Mr. Winston looked over his paper, scrutinizing the prince. Andrew kept his face as innocent as possible. He’d had a lot of practice back home. The number of things he’d managed to blame on his little brother, Prince Travis, was a fond memory.
“Fine. Just don’t go into the baggage cars. Never know who’s hitching a ride.”
Mr. Winston flipped his paper up and began to read it again. Prince Andrew nodded at some of the people he passed. Most returned his smile with a scowl. He shrugged it off. The gentry were always displeased with him. They should feel honored to have a Prince of Donostia in their midst. Well, hopefully the maid a
ppreciated him.
Andrew wondered what her proposal was. Was she a closet inventor in need of his help? He’d already met two women like that, but they’d shown no interest in anything other than their inventions. The maid wasn’t like them, after all she had winked. But, if she was an inventor, he’d help her, if she was asking for him to support a brother or cousin…still he would. Especially if there was a favor in it for him.
He passed the curtain that separated the first-class seats and the tiny kitchen. Another maid was preparing more drinks. She ignored Prince Andrew as he walked by, wasting his charming smile.
Heaving open the door at the back, the prince stepped onto the small outdoor platform at the back of the car. He inhaled a deep breath and let it out as he stepped across the gap to the next car. The door to this car was all the way on the right, and Andrew passed through the narrow hall beside a larger kitchen. It opened out at last into the dining area. Well-dressed men lounged with drinks and breakfast. Prince Andrew smiled at serving maids as words ending in ‘ology’, and ‘ic’ drifted from the seated men. Someone entering the car that morning had mentioned a medical convention in Aquair had just ended. Whatever a medical convention was.
Must have to do with the odd symbols on their sleeves.
Prince Andrew held the door as another three men entered the dining car. You’d think they could have varied suits. It was hard to tell one from another. Once they passed he crossed from one car to the next as he had before. Second-class. He could have booked a seat here for a lot less money, but really, he was a prince. First-class was the only way to go.
This car was also crowded with suited men. Some napped, heads leaning on the windows. Others spoke quietly with their neighbors. Were there any girls on this train other than the maids? Prince Andrew shook his head and exited onto the next platform. A puff of grey smoke sunk into his lungs and he held onto the pole as a coughing fit over took him.
Coal. The material that ran Seguribar was a dirty thing. Magic power was cleaner, but coal lasted longer. Plus, coal didn’t need nearly as much physical effort to keep up. You just mine it, ship it, and use it. No draining of your power to charge something that then runs out before you’ve regained that power back. And Seguribar had things, like trains, that the Donostians wouldn’t dream of making. Nothing Prince Andrew knew of could travel as fast as this lumbering beast. He grinned and jumped to the next car. More second class.
A flash of pink amid all the somber black, made Andrew quicken his pace. If the maid didn’t show, perhaps he might find someone else to help entertain him.
“Lillian,” a voice pleaded as Prince Andrew approached, “sit down.” The man’s eyes glanced to the prince as he slowed down to pass by.
Prince Andrew tipped his hat, taking in the pink chiffon and lace. His blue eyes caught the brown of hers and he realized she was too young. Still he smiled and gave her a wink. A pink gloved hand covered her mouth as she giggled.
“Lillian!” The young man behind her tapped her on the head as he glared at Prince Andrew.
Prince Andrew widened his eyes, once more acting innocent. He wouldn’t do anything but converse with her anyway, and he certainly wouldn’t take her away from her family to do so. He kept walking. No one else paid him any attention, though he was certain his aqua vest and emerald jacket made him stand out. If only he could get his tailor to make something other than dark pants. At least he had some color.
Stopping for a moment between cars, the prince admired the view. The Doloman Canal now wizzed by on the right, lined by houses and gardens. The canal became ever deeper and narrower as the water raced towards the mountains that encircled the Segurian Plateau. Long ago the citizens had made the canal and a tunnel through the mountain to keep the plateau from becoming an inland sea.
A high-pitched scream came from the next car. Prince Andrew shook his head and stood by the door. He peered into the first of the baggage cars. There were two men, one was pulling bags from the shelves, the other stood in the back, one eye covered by a patch. The prince couldn’t see anyone in distress. The scream came again. Prince Andrew yanked open the door.
“Halt!” he shouted.
The men glanced his way. The one in front pulled down another suitcase and opened it. The eyepatch man disappeared into the back left corner.
“Cease and desist,” Prince Andrew continued, wishing for a sword, “before you taste the grapes of my wrath!”
The man paused in his suitcase ransacking. “What the blazes is a grape?”
“Who cares!” The man with an eyepatch shouted. “I got the goods. Let’s go.”
“Fine.” The man rose, holding a pair of lady’s lacy pink pantaloons. He chucked them at Prince Andrew, before pulling down another trunk.
The prince jumped back as the trunk split open. He launched over it, nearly slipping on the ladies garments strewn over the aisle. Pink. All pink. He did his best not to step on them, but the ruffians were out the door. Sobs emitted from the corner. He stopped. The maid who’d given him the note was weeping. She didn’t look roughed up.
“Are you all right?” Prince Andrew proffered a hand to help her up.
She waved him away. “It’s not me I cry for.” Her tear streaked face looked up at him. “But my brother’s plans. He worked so hard on them, trusted me with them. They are his life’s work, and what am I going to tell him?” Her head dropped and she began crying again.
“Certainly they cannot have jumped off the train,” Prince Andrew spoke his thought aloud as he looked towards the next compartment. “I shall give chase and retrieve these plans!”
“Oh, thank you!” Her chest heaved with a buxom sigh and Prince Andrew hoped his reward would include more than just a review of the plans.
****
Herbert’s head jerked up at the sound of pounding feet.
“Blazes he’s fast!” the eyepatch man shouted. “He’s right behind…”
THUD
“Taste the grapes of my wrath you vile thieves!”
Fully awake, Herbert’s heart raced. He knew that phrase. He hadn’t heard it since he was eight, but there was no mistaking it. Yet, there was no way that the eldest Prince of Donostia could be on this train. With great trepidation, remembering the leaders warning, Herbert leaned into the aisle.
Fists flew at the other end of the car. Sometimes connecting with flesh, but mostly with suitcases and boards. Herbert didn’t see the clean-shaven man, though he was certain that man hadn’t left. The two that had boarded the train with him were fighting a third man. A man in green, blue, and black. A man that so resembled the King of Donostia, there was no doubt he was the king’s eldest son.
But Prince Andrew had been sent to Seguribar for lack of magical ability two years before Herbert. He should have been fostered. But for all the flying fists, Herbert couldn’t glimpse a foster’s leather band. Not only that, but the prince’s clothing, the way he fought without dissolving into writhing pain, all pointed to him never having been fostered. Why and how had he been spared?
Prince Andrew rounded on one man, ducking under the swinging suitcase. An upper cut to the jaw felled the wielder. The prince turned to the second man, shoving him into a stack of trunks.
BANG!
Herbert’s ears rang. Someone screamed. The clean-shaven leader stepped from between racks of luggage. Prince Andrew froze, holding the eye-patched ruffian suspended against the trunks. The ruffian kicked the prince in the groin and he crumpled with a sharp intake of breath.
“Fool.” The leader fired the gun again.
The ruffian fell, clutching his side. The leader kicked him away as he advanced upon the prince.
Herbert was in the aisle now. Seven years in Seguribar could not override his Donostian training. The royal family was to be protected at all costs. Herbert’s father was the royal body guard. His mother was the royal healer. At a young age, Herbert was taught to keep his eyes and ears open for anything suspicious.
Prince Andrew struggle
d up as the gun fired. He screamed and collapsed to one knee. Blood oozed down his leg. The cockeyed man burst through the door.
“No witnesses,” the leader growled shooting Ian.
The man stumbled back out the door and fell sideways. The train jolted. Herbert clutched at a luggage rack, his stomach churning. He inched forward, his mind racing. The leader was facing Prince Andrew, gun leveled at the young man’s chest. Herbert stood stock still, clutching the medicine bag. Would throwing it count as violence against a Segurian? If it did, would he survive the shock that that would follow? If it didn’t, would he get the bag back in time? Would throwing it even give the prince an advantage?
“What do you want?” the prince’s voice wavered as he stared down the leader.
“I want you to know that we don’t take kindly to those who don’t know their place.”
“My place?” defiance rose in Prince Andrew’s voice. “I am Prince Andrew of Donostia and I will protect the innocent!”
“Shut up sourceless son of a mage!”
Herbert’s body threw the bag before his mind made a decision. The leader cocked his gun. The flying bag hit the man’s arm as he pulled the trigger. Herbert collapsed, ears ringing, body convulsing in pain. Another shot rang out as the train whistled. Upper Leore was close by. Herbert crept forward, his body trembling. He didn’t look up, afraid the leader might kill him too.
“Hey.”
It was the prince. The gun clattered to the floor as the young man let it go. The leader slumped against the luggage rack. Blood flowed from his chin and the top of his head. Herbert’s body twitched. The command to deliver the bag still in effect.
“Thank you.”
The prince’s left leg was covered in blood. He swayed as he used a pole to get to his feet. Herbert stood. There was another splotch on the young man’s chest.
“Sit,” he told the prince. “Elevate your leg, lower your head.”
Herbert twitched again. He needed to pick up the bag. The prince sank down to the floor. He propped the leg up on a fallen trunk. Herbert grabbed the bag, stopping the next convulsion. It was awkward to hold the bag and help Prince Andrew but Herbert needed to stop the bleeding. How much blood was from the prince and how much was from the others, he couldn’t tell. Thankfully the chest splotch was only a stain. But the wound in the prince’s leg bled fiercely. Still it seemed minor, giving Herbert hope. He tore at his thread bare clothing to make a strip that he tied as tight as he could around Andrew’s thigh, the bag clutched by his own legs.