Chapter XVI
I opened the train car's door and went looking for Logan. To my surprise the entire car was empty. Whether they'd moved to another coach to escape the murderers or there weren't many people aboard, I didn't know. But as I walked in, I glimpsed my friend collapsed and panting on the ground. The sun was just embracing the horizon, and patches of brilliant, golden light shone through the train's windows. I ran through these splotches and knelt down by Logan, the warm fibers of the carpet brushing my fingers. His face stared up at the ceiling. His eyes were closed and didn't open at my touch.
"Are you alright?" I asked peering down at him.
He didn't open his eyes at first but only started to chuckle. The laugh turned into a guffaw, and soon, his whole body was heaving in mirth.
I punched him in the shoulder. "What's the matter with you?"
He tried several times to answer, but every attempt only brought more spurts of uncontrollable laughter; tears streamed down his cheeks.
I was starting to get annoyed. "Would you mind acting civilized for just a moment and telling me just what's so comical?"
Only then did his laughing subside. He wiped a drop from his cheek. "I'm sorry," he said. "But I was lying here collapsed. I had just sprinted like an Olympian to jump onto a train while dodging bullets. Before that I had thrown you aboard as well, galloped an exhausted horse through a crowded city, chased a messenger through a misted mountain pass, escaped certain death at the hands of a madman, and entered the country this morning. Just now you rush over and have the gall to ask if I'm alright." He broke down again, and this time, I joined him. When examined that way, the entire situation truly was ludicrous. For awhile, we just laughed. The sound carried through the sunlit car like a gentle ripple. There was no one to disturb us, and tt last we sat in companionable silence, each lost in our own thoughts.
I didn't know what my companion was thinking, but my mind kept turning to the messenger, his body thrown across the platform. I saw his dripping blood, and I couldn't dispel the dark thoughts. Logan looked over at me and grasped my shoulder, shaking it.
"Long day, wouldn't you think?"
I chuckled weakly. "Yes. But not over."
He sighed. "You're right. And it probably will be longer still after that. I hope Jacob's mending well enough. I haven't seen many gunshot wounds, but that wasn't pretty."
"He's been shot before. Did you know that? This morning on the train, you were asleep. Jacob and I talked about life and death. The man's fought several duels before. You wouldn't think it from his background in writing, but he's pretty tough."
"There's no argument here. That night the Faith ambushed us near Rome — he knew his way about a fight. I was, am, glad for his company. I only hope . . ."
I shook my head. "We've already lost Di Luca and the king. No more of that talk. He'll pull through. All we have to do is rescue Phillip and make sure we're all knighted."
"Ha! Wouldn't that be a sight? Knights of Riktenburg. Our fathers would be proud, at least." He smiled a bit.
"What're you talking about? You're already a noble. My father would probably faint with pride."
I expected Logan to make a joke or laugh, but he'd grown silent. I looked over, gauging his mood. A troubled frown rested on his face, his eyebrows furrowed.
"Now what's the matter?" I asked.
He took a moment before responding. "A few weeks ago, we were in Paris. Heavens, it feels like months. We saw Versailles and have been caught up with the Fuchs' brothers and the Faith ever since. That day, we . . . we changed somehow. The beggars and widows in the streets became different, more important. They weren't annoying, shabby window-dressing for the city. They represent a problem, one we've helped create."
I inclined my head, my ears cocked. Our discussion on this same topic had led to the duel with Otto Fuchs and our flight across the continent.
Logan's gaze drifted out the window towards the sun. As we passed fields of wheat, brilliantly painted with the sunset, he continued speaking, never looking at me. "It took the most excessive palace in Europe to bring us to our senses. I felt sick. My stomach roiled at the thought that I was a part of it all — the pain, the suffering. Then my heart burned in shame to think of my family's reaction. I was bred to lead, not have some silly dalliance with the peasants. It's not what I've been taught. My father would scoff at the notion . . . But in all of it, we have changed, haven't we? That's why we're doing this, isn't it? The one place in Europe even attempting equality, and these hypercritical bastards try to crush them," he spat.
I hadn't thought of it that way yet. All in a day, we'd raced through the country. We'd learned exactly who are attackers were and what they stood for, and we'd seen the king executed before our eyes. At once terrifying, saddening, and maddening, I'd been caught up in the moment. Out of friendship with the Kleins and led along by Eva's powerful drive, I was simply acting. I was acting out of a sense of justice and virtue as well of course. To kill a blameless king was wrong in anyone's eyes. Logan's words struck me though. Riktenburg was the only bastion of equality in Europe, and we'd be damned to let it fall to the Faith.
The squeaking hinges on the coach's door jerked us out of our pensive daydream. We wheeled about, our shoulders tensing. Logan made to rise but froze and smiled, almost sheepishly.
"Is something the matter?" said a gentle voice. Completing my turn, I saw a short, beady-eyed fellow with countless wrinkles. He was puttering towards us, a small pouch clutched in his hand and a nondescript uniform hanging off his drooping shoulders. "Are you two all right?" he repeated.
I helped Logan to his feet. "We're just fine." I laughed.
"Oh yes. Just enjoying our own coach as it were," said Logan, brushing dust from his uniform.
"Well, there're plenty of seats to choose from. We never get many travelers on this line. No one but wealthy huntsmen ever seems to go where we go." He spread his arms about, indicating the empty car. "In fact, you're the only passengers this far back. There's a group of eight tottering women up near the front, but not many others. We've seen a lot of your type recently though of course."
I shot Logan a look. "Our type?" I asked the man, keeping my tone casual.
"Oh, you know — the royal guards. There's been tons of you boys riding this line for weeks now. You're heading towards Fielburg, aren't you? That's where all the others have gotten off." Of course. Fuchs' men would have been seen traveling back and forth numerous times, preparing the coup.
Covering up my hesitation, I spoke quickly. "Oh yes! And how much longer will that be?"
The old man took out a gold pocket watch then. Flipping it open, he examined it. "It's a bit after eight now. I wouldn't wonder if we're to Fielburg by half past nine." He snapped it shut and shoved it back into his waist jacket. "Which reminds me!" he cried excitedly. "Do you have your tickets?"
". . . Our tickets?" Logan asked dumbly.
"Yes. Your tickets. To ride the train?"
"Well you see, we uh . . . don't actually have any. Could we purchase them?"
He smiled paternally. "Of course you can. I'm sorry though, they're about twice as expensive that way. King Martin instituted this on all the railways awhile back. Helps generate a lot of extra revenue from latecomers. But you know that already, working for him and all. You were late, I expect?"
Logan answered first. "We were. In fact, did you notice that commotion on the platform?"
"The commotion? Nope. I don't expect we did."
"Apparently something set the crowd on edge. There was a big panic, people running about and the like. No idea what for, but that's what happened. We only barely pushed through the mob to get aboard."
He nodded. "Hmm, quite strange. Come to think of it, we did hear a bit of shouting, but that's normal too. You get a large enough group of people together, and all kinds of wild things can happen. But anyway, I can sell you your tickets. It's two crowns a piece." Logan and I exchanged a smiling glance. Thank t
he heavens the people on the train hadn't seen the fiasco on the platform. Then, we wished in our pockets for the money.
After a minute of digging about without success, Logan sighed, frowning. He held up a silver lira. "Would you accept Italian money?" Of course with all the excitement, we'd had no time to collect Riktian crowns.
The attendant gave us a look. "You don't have any crowns? . . . But you have Roman coins," he finished, his lips pursed.
"That's right. We've only just returned from Rome — king's business you know. Without a pause for home or rest, we were sent on to Fielburg. Nothing waits for the country's call." Logan shrugged his shoulders.
"Ah, yes." The old man patted Logan's arm. "The life of a soldier. But we all do what we can, eh? I don't think I'm allowed to take that coin; it'd take too much trouble to exchange it. How about I just send a bill to the palace? It'll be easy to sort out. You get your coins changed and things will feel more at home again, hmm?" Our bald-faced lie passed right over him. But he was a kind soul, it was a kind offer, and we were not above taking advantage of the free ride. Besides, what better method than to have Fuchs pay for our trip; he'd caused the blasted thing anyway.
Pumping our hands warmly, the old attendant puttered back up the aisle and exited as suddenly as he appeared.
I started chuckling again, much more reserved this time. Then, with a flourish, I plopped myself in the nearest seat, stretching back and crossing my ankles. Logan took my idea, doing the same in the seat across from me.
"How many tight spots are we allowed today? If we have to lie, steal, or chase anyone else, our luck's bound to run out."
I nodded lazily. "It's all bound to catch up with us sometime."
He raised an eyebrow. "If it comes at all, let's hope it's not this night then." Our conversation trailed off. The train seats were surprisingly comfortable, and I let the worn leather wrap around me as the locomotive rocked. Swaying, we went onwards through the night. The occasional jarring would rouse me, but for the most part, I let myself be carried along uncaring. I could even imagine the passing scenes outside, the deer looking up in fright as the monstrous machine bolted by in the darkness. Eventually I must have drifted off to sleep, for Logan shook me awake some time later.
"Rise and shine, oh great one," he said.
"You've finally learned your place, haven't you?"
"Never mind. We're nearly there. That old fellow passed through the car a few minutes back, and the train just started slowing." Now that he mentioned it, I could feel the car beneath us dragging. The swaying motion was less frequent too; we were close. With a final lurch, the train stopped altogether, a gentle reflection of town lights flittering through the car's windows.
Shaking my limbs, I stood. Logan did the same.
Glancing over, seeing him in the reflected lamplight, I let out a short bark. "You look quite a sight," I commented dryly. A dark, unidentifiable smudge of something was smeared across his cheek. A long tear in his uniform's sleeve revealed his undershirt, and the jacket's buttons were missing in several places. The jacket, stolen from the unknown Courtier that morning, was too big for him, and it hung limp about his frame in several places.
"You're no painting of beauty either," he shot back. I was sure my appearance was just as marred as his. The chase and fracas at the platform had left me gritty, sweaty, and generally rumpled. Straightening our clothes as best as possible, we strode through the car and exited onto the platform.
Fielburg proved to be exactly as Eva described. We were utterly alone on the platform, although just behind us trooped several fashionably dressed older couples. No one else descended from the train. In fact, other than our recent arrival, the station was completely deserted. Several large lamps lit the space, and giant moths swarmed about these lights like pilgrims. The hamlet stretched around us. The streets arched away from the platform like sunrays, and it was obvious that the train station was the town's center. The occasional lamp illuminated the gaping darkness, often showing quant little houses resting in the night. A solitary dog barked, warning his family of the train. The cry of an owl filled the night as one swooped down on some unsuspecting prey. By sunrise, I longed to be well away from this place, Archduke Phillip in hand.
With nothing but a knowing look between us, Logan led the way down and off the platform and into the town. Walking briskly, but not so fast as to draw unwanted attention, we strode through the dark streets. Following Eva's directions, we wove to the west and arrived at the outskirts of the village.
"Three miles west, didn't she say?" I asked Logan in the gloom.
"Yes. It's on some small road, and Phillip will be in the west wing. We'd best keep quiet from now on. No telling who we'll meet." My friend's face was briefly illuminated by the light of the moon, which had just emerged from a bank of clouds. His brows were furrowed, the lines on his face hardened. Within moments though that light was gone, the clouds again submerging the moon under their folds.
After leaving the rough cobblestones of the village's street, a simple dirt path wound along the perimeter of the town. We followed this. Dark fields spread out to our left, and even the light from the homes was swallowed by the expansive shadows. Our path was bordered by roughhewn fences, perhaps designed to keep out the wilderness. We had nothing but these to guide us so we simply walked, tracing our way along the fence and waiting to stumble upon the road leading to the Faith's country hideout.
Eventually, we came to a break in fence, a gaping hole in the town's apparent defenses.
Logan turned to me, whispering through the night. "Is this the rig—" Before he could finish the question, he let out a cry and stumbled to the ground.
Pulling him up, I tapped the smooth stones with my foot. "By the paving, I'd say that's a good guess; it's the right road. So much for being quiet though," I uttered wryly. He shot me a dirty look which morphed into a grin.
We turned down the road and descended further into the darkness. Our lane was not wide, and passing carriages would've had difficulties. But for two lonely travelers, the narrow space provided no problems. We meandered along, shown the way by the flitting moonlight.
We continued walking for well over an hour, completely silent. Eva had said the estate was three miles down the road, so after a while, we began looking about us for our destination. I was just beginning to think we'd missed it in the darkness when we climbed a long, gently sloping hill. Pale trees lined the road here, and a faint breeze rustled the branches.
Out of the veil, a hand grabbed my arm, spinning me around.
I confess I let out a yelp in fear, which Logan rushed to cover with his hand. Releasing his grip on my arm, my friend pointed towards a glimmering light that shown through the trees. Exiting the road, we passed under the branches like ghosts loosed upon the earth.
There, waiting amid a wide grove of towering trees, was the chateau of the Faith.