Lindsay Buroker - Conspiracy

“Oh, please, I haven’t done anything that imprudent in ages.”

“Hm.”

“Two months at least,” Amaranthe amended. In part because of the lecture Books had given her that summer, she’d been trying to make more thoughtful, wiser choices when it came to dealing with the opposition. She did still have a tendency toward… impulsive actions. Like hopping off a perfectly good train in the middle of the night to-

“They’re coming,” Books said.

Amaranthe dropped to her belly, keeping her head just high enough to see over the rows of corn stubble. Books stretched out next to her.

The first lorry was rolling away from the depot, and the remaining two men climbed into the cab of the second. Amaranthe eyed the cargo bed on the back vehicle. That’d be the most likely place to hop on and stow away.

As the men were closing the doors, a shadow moved at the back of the second lorry. If Amaranthe hadn’t been staring right at the spot, she would have missed it, and, even so, it was gone so quickly she almost thought it her imagination, but she knew it wasn’t.

Sicarius was aboard. Now it was time for her and Books to join him.

The first lorry approached their position. Amaranthe lowered her head until dirt scraped at her chin. The vehicle bumped and rattled past on the weed-choked road without slowing. In fact, she was surprised-and concerned-with how fast the lorry was moving. Catching up and jumping aboard would be a challenge. She pressed her palms into the damp earth, ready to spring up as soon as the second vehicle drew even with her and Books.

“Now,” Amaranthe whispered.

She jumped to her feet, and, staying low, ran toward the road. The lorry rumbled forward, pulling away from them. As soon as Amaranthe’s boots hit the road, she straightened and turned her run into a sprint. Books’s boots pounded the earth right behind her. The lorry picked up speed. The weeds and ruts made for difficult running, and Amaranthe misstepped, almost twisting her ankle. Books passed her.

Amaranthe urged her legs to greater speed. Her rucksack bumped on her back, thumping against her shoulders, but she gained ground.

Books reached the lorry first. He reached out and caught the back gate with one hand. His jump was ungraceful, but he made it, disappearing beneath the tarp amidst a tangle of long legs.

The road curved, and Amaranthe closed the distance. She reached out, fingertips brushing the cold metal gate. When the road straightened, the lorry picked up speed again and pulled away from her. The flap lifted, and Sicarius peered out.

Cursed ancestors, she wasn’t going to fail in front of him, not when Books had made it. Amaranthe pumped her legs faster. She closed the distance and grasped at the gate again. This time, she caught the top with both hands. Holding on to the accelerating lorry turned her running strides into leaping bounds, barely held in control. Turning one of those bounds into a jump in order to thrust herself inside was a daunting task, especially with the rucksack’s weight on her back.

If Amaranthe looked up and met Sicarius’s eyes, he would probably help her inside, but she mulishly set her jaw.

She sprang and pulled at the same time. Her belly hammered the top of the gate, and her knee thumped unyielding metal. Growling, Amaranthe wriggled and pulled herself inside, possibly with less grace than Books had displayed.

She collapsed, her back against the inside of the gate. The darkness in the cargo bed prevented her from seeing anything, though she could hear Books’s labored breathing. Or maybe that was her own. She hoped it wasn’t loud enough for the men in the cab to hear, or all this would be for naught. But the boiler and furnace were mounted between them and the cargo bed, so Amaranthe hoped that would offer noise insulation.

“Are you all right?” Books whispered.

“Of course,” Amaranthe replied. “I’m finally warm.”

Books snorted.

Someone settled beside her, shoulder to shoulder. Sicarius? Amaranthe surreptitiously wiped sweat from her brow and stomped down a goofy thought that popped into her mind. She was not going to ask him how she smelled now. Instead, she leaned her head on his shoulder, figuring it was best to rest while they could. Who knew what kind of adventure she had just signed her team up for?

The train had started up again, heading away from the isolated depot, and Akstyr was trying to get some sleep, but Maldynado kept climbing in and out through the trapdoor. More than once, hindered by the dark interior, he stepped on Akstyr with his big feet.

“What’re you doing?” Akstyr finally asked.

A hand covered his mouth, not Maldynado’s-Akstyr could see Maldynado dangling, legs halfway through the trapdoor. It had to be Basilard.

Akstyr pushed the hand away and asked more softly, “What’re you doing? Both of you.”

Maldynado dropped down again and slid the trapdoor shut, careful not to make any noise. The darkness inside the car thickened.

“They’re done loading the train,” Maldynado said.

“That usually happens before the train starts moving, yes,” Akstyr said. “Why don’t we all go back to sleep?”

“They didn’t get off the train once they finished loading.”

“They’re riding along with their guns? That’s not real surprising.”

“I guess not.”

Akstyr flopped back, throwing his arm over his eyes. “If they stay in their car, and we stay in ours, it shouldn’t matter.”

“As long as we don’t stumble across each other.” Maldynado laughed. “Could be kind of awkward if one of us and one of them decide to hop up on top of the train at the same time to water the shrubs.”

Akstyr rolled his eyes. Maldynado was at least ten years older than he was, but he didn’t act like it sometimes. It was like he was still a boy. Probably because he had grown up in some wealthy aristocrat’s house, not a backward street drowning in sewage where, if one didn’t pay attention, one got kidnapped and sold downriver to be enslaved in the boiler room on a steamer for years and years. Or worse. Akstyr had lost a friend with a pretty face to one of the slimy brothels in the ghetto where nobody cared if the kids were willing screws or not.

The train picked up speed, leaving the depot far behind. Akstyr relaxed. Whenever Sicarius was gone, he felt more at ease, and, with Amaranthe gone too, he could plan his next move without worrying about-

“We could check up on them,” Maldynado said.

Akstyr sighed.

“Maybe they’re in there, talking about their weapons and where they’re going,” Maldynado said. “I reckon the boss would like to have as much information as possible.”

“Go check then. Me and Basilard will wait here.” Akstyr had no idea what Basilard wanted to do-it was impossible to talk to him in the dark-but he had more common sense than Maldynado, so he probably wouldn’t go hunting for trouble.

“How is it that you command as large of a cut on payday as I do, when you only ever look out for yourself and your interests?” Maldynado asked.

“I’ve got charms.”

Maldynado snorted. “Sure, you do. That’s why you’re always asking me to find you women.”

“I can get women without you.” Actually, Akstyr hadn’t had much success at that, but he’d never admit it.

“Women with teeth?”

“Maldynado, eat street.”

“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.