It was another freighter. There had been one or two passenger trains recently, a half-hearted attempt at subterfuge. It didn’t matter, because every last one of their targets was loaded up with so much anti-magic that it created a total void in the ambient. All one needed was a way of sensing or detecting the flow of magic, and the “special deliveries” showed up like shark fins cutting the water.
International terrorism was a paranoid business. It seemed most likely that the Prokovian government didn’t know a person could use magic to see anti-magic — it was a bit counterintuitive, looking for something that wasn’t there — or that they were just too scared to deal with their “dangerous cargo” in any other way. However, every time they confirmed an obvious null space approaching from a distance, they did have to wonder if it was a fake, or a trap.
“Coming,” said the smallish blond individual with his ear to the track.
“Anything with it?” said the stout, dark-haired woman with the rifle.
“‘Bout forty-five head of buffalo, kemosabe?” he offered her.
She aimed a light kick at his ass. “You’re going to partner up with someone from the ILV one of these days, kid, and they’re gonna feed you your teeth. And I’m gonna laugh.”
“No, people from the ILV have a sense of humour,” he replied. “We’ll laugh at you.” He straightened just enough to pull the paper-wrapped parcel out of his coat pocket. “If there’s anything near it, they’re travelling close enough that I can’t tell them apart from here. There’s nothing but our people dug in for miles around and this is the best place for it, so let’s get it done and worry about the consequences later.
“…Aw, it’s cute,” he noted, indicating the intricate design on the lid. Two doves were crossing their beaks to form a heart, amid a bower of blooming vines. The little metal key was affixed to the bottom. He began to wind it — two turns clockwise first, it was almost automatic. “Why do they make them cute like that? It makes me feel bad.”
“You would prefer to blow up an ugly music box?”
“I don’t know. It seems like a waste of art.”
She put her hand on his shoulder. “It’s not a waste, Jade.”
He nodded. After the second counter-clockwise turn, something deep inside the box clicked, and it began to play. The cute bird design popped up and rotated gracefully. He grabbed her by the arm and darted back towards their hide in the chaparral. “Let it play and get away! Get away!”
A sharp voice addressed them from behind the curtain of perforated fabric, “Hey! What is password?”
“Fuck off,” said the woman, sliding behind what little cover there was.
“Scary music, scary music,” said the young man, skidding after her.
The gentleman behind the curtain was black like an iron frying pan, with the shaggy white hair that would’ve proven it was magic and not melanin tied back in a rag. With a little effort, he could pass, and he camouflaged rather well too. A rifle was propped up on a tripod in front of him. The creases around his eyes and mouth betrayed more experience than his two partners had put together. He appeared mildly amused. “Is perfectly…”
There was a deep bass thud, at the lowest edge of hearing, as if a misplaced blue whale had impacted the plain from a great height. The ground shuddered, but the camouflage fabric was not disturbed in the least. A perfect sphere of swirling purple smoke winked into existence, an instant snow globe with embers falling inside of it like glitter. There was a tearing sound of air filling a sudden space — much louder than the explosion itself — and the globe of smoke and glitter vanished. In its place was a mass of twisted metal, broken by a crater at least ten feet wide and six feet deep.
“…safe,” the black man finished, blinking. He gave a little laugh. “Wow.”
“Oooh, I hate that,” Jade said. “I really hate that. Where does it go?”
“If you got caught in it, you’d be dead before you got there, frere,” said the woman.
Jade lifted her hat, so that the rest of her hair fell out and settled around her shoulders. “Femme.”
“Oh, again with the words,” the black man sighed. “Does it really matter?”
“Yes,” said Jade.
“Pick a gender, you mentalist!” cried the woman.
“No,” said Jade.
“Big boom scare the man out of her,” said the black man, with a grin.
Jade adjusted her hat. “Nope! Happened just before you kicked me in the ass, Chloé. You kicked a helpless woman in the ass. I hope you’re happy.”
“I see an ass that needs kicking and I kick it,” said the woman with the rifle. “My boot knows no gender.”
“Ladies, ladies, please,” said the man. He held up a piece of glowing white paper. The latest missives, in two different hands, read: Just went past us. Don’t see escort. Five miles out! Finish up and get lost! “Our delivery is almost here!”
Chloé was groping around on the ground, and through the haphazard folds of the tarp. “Fedya, where the hell are the binoculars?”
“Jade is sitting on them, kotik,” he replied. “I would get for you, but is rude to treat a lady so.”
Jade picked up the binoculars and used them herself. “Oh, boy. Here we go.”
The train was already slowing. The damage was obvious, and a known hazard. Whoever was operating that machine knew what was going to happen, and was readying a response.
Their one saving grace might’ve been that the Prokovian government just wanted the train and everyone on it to go away — nowhere in particular, just away — and never come back. The Rainbow Alliance was willing to do that for them. And, so far, they were also participating in the cover-up. The government was only putting up a fight because it didn’t trust them to stay quiet.
And the Rainbows were only staying quiet because they had no idea who they could trust with their information.
It was a real stalemate, but not unwinnable. Every life saved was a win.
“Feel like a little stroll, Jade?” Chloé said. “Or shall we preserve our element of surprise?”
Jade shooed a hand. “No, no. I prefer it when they shoot at us. They empty their guns and I get to feel like a god.” She offered Fedya a wink. “What’s not to like?”
Fedya put his rifle to his shoulder and observed the cab of the engine through the telescopic sight. “Slight possibility they break the magic and land one, my dear.”
“Oh, well, yes, I’d hate that.” She straightened her coat and put on her hat. “How’s my hair?”
“Moche,” Chloé replied, with a grin. Prokovia loved that word for them. Tacky. Ugly. Too full of colour and style. Marselline.
Jade blushed and snickered, too flattered to speak.
They crawled out of the low hide, keeping their heads down and the optical magic aimed in the direction of the train. When they’d given Fedya a good ten yards of clearance, they stood up, dropped the optical effect, and began their approach. The response was delayed; the skeleton crew in the engine had their hands full braking the train before it fell in the hole.
The RA had long since reconciled itself to the fact that a certain amount of engines were going to dive headfirst into the damage — a few, when approaching a totalled bridge, sped up with suicidal devotion — but nobody wanted to upset the cars.
Er, well, as long as there wasn’t an obvious valley or ravine to peg them into at ramming speed, nobody wanted to upset the cars. After one spectacular and horrifying crash, the RA had taken pains to make sure that never happened again. If the engine didn’t brake, the hole would catch it after six sets of wheels trundled over the edge, reverse the momentum and push it back — whiplash and derailments be damned. Spilled cars on level ground were at least recoverable, and it wasn’t as if they wanted to keep the trains usable.
Given the terrain, the worst this train could do was chuck something onto the track and derail itself at speed. There was no attempt. Despite knowing the stakes, most people really didn’t want to die.
As soon as it had slowed enough, the bullets began to fly. Chloé and Fedya conserved theirs, trusting the shield spell. Jade winced at every impact.
“Keep walking,” Chloé muttered. “If they tag you, we’ll deal with it.”
“It’s just how it… Yikes!” Jade threw up a hand with the two middle fingers and thumb curled against the palm. Her vision warped into a brief fisheye before she dropped her hand again, chagrined.
“Idiot,” Chloé said. She mimicked the shield gesture without fully closing her hand. “Woo-woo. ‘Mommy, I need my parachute I made out of a picnic blanket ‘cos I don’t trust this freaking…” She switched the rifle to one careless hand and picked up the strap of her bag, jingling the shield-generating key fob — it was shaped like a little top hat. “‘…Airship that’s never yet crashed!’” She winced and fumbled the gun as another bullet ricocheted away, but hid it well.
“It doesn’t look like it’s there,” Jade said. “I’m just not used to it. They’re not used to it, either, that’s why they keep shooting. A shield that doesn’t frig up the light so you can barely see is unreal.”
“Just another miracle,” Chloé said. She smiled — a rare, genuine, reckless smile. For an instant, she looked younger than Jade. “We’ve got gods on our side!”
“So do they,” Jade said pensively. She dug the pistol out of the holster on her hip. When she looked back up, Chloé had already levelled the rifle at the engineer’s head.
“Brosayte oruzhiye i ukhodite!”
There were only two, no support crew, no bar car or meal service. And it was almost certain the fireman and engineer had been selected for expendability, not dedication or skill.
The fireman dropped his gun in the coal bin and bailed out of the window directly behind him, so loyalty wasn’t an issue either.
The engineer put up his hands and tried to reason with them. They had too much information and not enough of the language to be reasoned with, but when he slowed down they both understood the words, these things are dangerous.
“Oh, no, I understand!” Chloé spat. “Veshchi opasny! Veshchi opasny! Da! Da! Veshchi opasny!” Her finger was on the trigger and beginning to squeeze. “We know they’re ‘veshchi opasny!’ And we’re going to take all of ‘em and use ‘em to blow your fucking country right off the map! Prokovia, kaboom! Da, khui?”
“Chloé!” Jade hissed.
“Like it makes any fucking difference,” Chloé said darkly. “It doesn’t make any difference to me. I’m veschi opasny too…”
“Ukhodite!” Jade said. “Get out, you idiot! Go!”
He fumbled the door handle behind him and fell out of the cabin. Chloé boosted herself up, only dipping the muzzle of her gun for an instant, and took aim again through the open window.
“Chloé, cut it out!” Jade cried, as if this were a playground game of tag that was getting out of hand. She tried to climb into the cab, too, but the ice in the treads of her boots was slippery. “Chlo…”
“Veshchi opasny,” Chloé muttered, and fired.
◆◇◆
“It’s a still,” Mordecai said, observing the low-resolution image through the keyhole-sized lacuna in the radio. “Goddamn it, how did we never notice all the pictures were stills?” The ghostly grey image went dark with a click, and the sound cut out. He sat back, blinking.
“Same old story,” Hyacinth said. That was why she switched it off, she didn’t care to confirm another fake train. It was impossible to do that from a shitty radio picture, anyway. “Cars and passengers a la flambé, and crew shot in the back. No survivors. It’s all very simple. Those treacherous Marselline terrorists are breaking shit and trying to start something, no need to worry about why.”
“So we are reasonably sure this is about an item,” Ann said. “Since they’ve gone out of their way to make it look like it’s not.” She laughed weakly. “And there must be a lot of it… And it’s smaller than a train car!”
“I guess money or weapons,” Maggie muttered. “Or both. But there’s nobody here to bounce twenty questions off of so that’s all we can do: guess.”
“Are we willing to discuss whether this ‘item’ is being used to kill innate magic-users,” the General began. When there was no calumny, she finished, “…or whether they are merely required to operate it?”
Maggie eagerly took up the second option, “If Erik is here operating an item, and John is here to operate Erik…”
“…Then we are counting down the days, hours, even minutes,” Mordecai said, “until that boy makes some stupid mistake that gets Erik killed.” He growled and strode away from the radio, head tipped back and fingers clutched in his hair. “Goddammit! If they wanted an operator, they should’ve kidnapped me. John only knows whatever he’s picked up after a decade of being near me. He’s never had to use any of it!”
“I was gonna say, ‘then the Rainbows are looking for both of them and we can help each other,’” Maggie said. She sighed and shook her head. “But maybe that other thing’s more important.”
“We are building castles of air,” said the General. “But if whoever’s behind this wants Erik and not you, Mr. Eidel, there may be a certain level of magical capacity required for the task.” She raised a brow and clarified unnecessarily, “Which you lack.”
“If this task or item involves David Valentine,” Hyacinth said. She cast her eyes aside at Mordecai. “…Or someone using his reputation, then they either need Erik to play the piano, blow things up, or fuck indiscriminately…”
“‘Blow things up,’” everyone else in the room opined, with dull certainty.
Hyacinth nodded too. “So we’re back at ‘weapons.’”
“Er…” Ann hesitantly raised a hand, as if positing a question for the teacher. “Sorry. Are we suggesting that the nice man who wore dresses and taught Hyacinth to work metal is designing and manufacturing some kind of Prokovian superweapon? Er, from beyond the grave?”
“He’d do it if it seemed fun,” Hyacinth muttered.
“It’s not,” Mordecai began.
“And someone is stealing it!” Maggie said. She blinked and sat suddenly on the nearest bed. “The gays have a death ray.”
The General raised both hands for quiet. “We are getting into the realm of science fiction, and I do not think that is warranted…”
“Well, who else would want one?” Maggie said. “Erik doesn’t have a political agenda!”
“They’re a little annoyed about the civil unions,” Ann allowed, “but I think that’s a bit much, dear.”
“If the gays want a death ray, they can have a death ray!” Mordecai snapped. “Good for them! We need to get Erik out of here before John gets him killed! Period! End of discussion!” He doubled over coughing and sat down on the bed too. Maggie handed him a box of tissues.
“Are we not rescuing John, too, dear?” Ann asked, hand meekly raised.
They all thought about it.
“If we have time,” Maggie decided.
No one had any objection to that.
The General blew out a breath. “Does anyone want to tackle, strategically, how we deal with one person who may behave irrationally because he is either holding a god or totally divorced from reality…”
“Not totally,” Maggie said, scowling.
“…and another person,” the General persisted, “who may behave irrationally because he is scared out of his mind and an idiot? I must admit, though I have had plenty of opportunities to practice, I have preferred to delegate wrangling the insane to others with more experience.” She turned to look at Hyacinth and Mordecai in particular.
Hyacinth activated like an electric appliance with a push button start. “Simple,” she said. “John takes Erik out of the building when he’s David, we know that because…”
“It’s not,” said Mordecai.
She stepped in front of him. “…Because we’ve seen him do it. He likes movies and clubs and fine dining, so he’ll be after one or more of those things. We keep an eye on them, we wait for David, we confirm David, and I’ll talk to him.” She matter-of-factly straightened her dress. “I know how to deal with him. I spent eight years of my life dealing with him. Only Barnaby would be better at it.
“There may be some screaming,” she allowed, “but I’ll get him to help. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to tell us exactly what’s going on, and then he’ll…” She frowned. “Well, eventually, he’ll have to leave.” She turned and regarded the red man on the bed behind her. “They do eventually have to leave, don’t they?”
“There is no reason to suspect that this god-or-whatever has anything to do with your old mentor, you stupid, traumatized old cow!” Mordecai cried. “You have told Erik everything a god needs to know to fake being that unstable maniac, and if he’s missing anything obvious, the other gods are more than willing to fill in the blanks. If some inhuman thing is pulling a con, John is too stupid to realize it and Erik is too impaired to tell him.
“And you!” He wheeled on her. “You are being wilfully obtuse out of… some misplaced guilt and nostalgia that I do not care to entertain! You are suggesting we walk up to a tiger and pet it because you’re convinced it’s a pussycat and it’ll follow you home. These creatures develop attachments and allegiances and you don’t know whose side it’s on. It could kill Erik and you and John and all of us without batting an eye!”
“Judging from Ann and Milo’s description, the ‘tiger’ is very committed to the bit and excellent at improv,” Hyacinth said dryly.
“They are not human and they don’t play by our rules!” said Mordecai. “My point still stands.”
“So we hang back and do surveillance while Erik’s life is in danger,” Maggie said, “because so far as we know, rescuing him might endanger it more?”
Mordecai retreated to the far end of the bed again and sat, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I don’t want to do that, but I don’t know.”
“If they are acting under duress, as Mr. Green-Tara seems to be,” the General said, “we also need to work out if we are the only ones watching them. If we are discovered, we cannot expect that we will be allowed to collect our allies and leave.”
Maggie sighed and slumped, dropping her head into her hands. “We’re gonna need more waterproof mascara for me.” She flung a gesture. “And makeup for him. He’s the only one with god experience and he’s no good in a suitcase. Ann, do you have enough of that ‘Red Detect’ stuff?”
He moaned and flopped back on the bed. “Racist goddamn makeup…”
“Milo and I will go out tomorrow, first thing, and hunt some up,” Ann declared. “Er…” She looked aside. “Given how these people are about magic, we may need to go a little more low tech, but I’m sure we can work something out.”
Hyacinth put a hand on Maggie’s hunched shoulder. “I am positive you saw Erik pour out a bottle of brandy or crème de cacao, and he’s trying to tell you the next time David shows up, John will have to take him someplace with a full bar for drinks. And loud music. And dancing.” She drifted off, pained. “You guys, uh… I know we’re all borderline friends with that idiot, but…” She didn’t want to say it, and she didn’t think she had to. “How dumb do you think John is? I mean, uh, relationship-wise.”
Ann smiled. “Oh, from the way they were sniping at each other, Cin, if they have any sort of relationship at all, it’s no more romantic than what you have with Em!”
Hyacinth and Maggie exchanged a wary glance. That farm family had thought the two of them were married.
“They play favourites,” Mordecai said darkly. “So we’d better just hope it likes John and is willing to do what he says. Everything else can be dealt with after we’re home safe and alive, no matter how bad. Trauma’s for the lucky ones, if they survive.” It was something he’d often said during the siege, but only he and Hyacinth knew that.
“It got right back in the taxi when John told it to!” Ann said brightly. “Don’t worry, dear.”
“Have you got your pin, Uncle Mordecai?” Maggie said. She had just taken hers off her purse strap and threaded it through the sleeve of her coat, in a place of prominence. “I know the Rainbows are looking for John and Erik too. I want them to know us if they see us. We can help each other out. They’re good people.”
“And no less incompetent than we are,” said the General. She tugged at the coat sleeve and felt each oblong bead in turn. “Magnificent, how does one make a paper bead? And have you any advice on what rank I should assume…?”
◆◇◆
John had plugged his ear with one hand, trying to hear, and he was trying to take notes with the other, with the phone caught between his ear and shoulder. None of these activities seemed to be going very well.
“What is she yelling about?” he asked, at nightclub volume. “Is Rob there? Oh, her stuffie… What? That’s what I call them! I have two younger siblings, Billie, do you have a problem with…? Okay. Okay…”
He winced. “No. I know. I know. I have no idea what that was. I’m just glad you found Dora and got them out of there… No, whoever that is, I haven’t seen them, and I have no idea what they’re up to, so please don’t send anyone back there no matter how much the kid yells. Listen, you know it’s not really about the bear, don’t you? She will calm down once she gets used to it, I promise you.”
He outright cringed and dropped the phone. “Crap!”
Erik wandered over from the desk and offered a roll of tape.
“No,” John said. “No-no. Please don’t play with the desk stuff. Just look at your calendars, okay?” He made a weak smile and addressed the phone again. “I’m sorry, I’m trying to do three things at once. No. No. We’re fine here, it’s just always like this… No, Erik, the big square thing with the pictures… This is Phase One, Billie, now do you understand why I don’t like to do it to him? No… He was playing the whole time David was here, so I let him do it. Billie, I know you don’t care, why are we still talking?”
He drew a deep, shuddery breath and let it out slowly. “What? No! I am not being weird, I am being tired and distracted… Well I’m only going to get weirder, so what do you want to do about that?” He cried out, “No!”
Erik dropped a calendar like it was hot. He turned and signed, SORRY.
“No, honey, not you, you’re fine,” John said. He scowled into the phone. “If you want me to stop freaking out, stop threatening my life. I have told you we can’t move again, and if you inflict a helper on me, David will eat them. So, if there’s nothing else, I need to… Bill…”
He had gone rather pale.
“No,” he muttered. “I wouldn’t do something like that. Because I haven’t killed you yet!” He sighed. “I’m sorry. No. It’s because I know this whole business would fall apart, and I will not cause that to happen on purpose, okay? So I’m safe. Stop being stupid and go take care of the kid. Oh, yeah?” He laughed, a little, but it didn’t sound right. “Then I’m gonna hang up!”
He banged down the receiver, triumphantly, and then he just stayed that way, slumped over, with a hand on the phone. Slowly, he sank down to his knees, then he put his face in his hands and began to cry.
Erik dropped to the floor beside him and offered a calendar with a picture of baby ducks on the cover. YELLOW, he signed, weakly. He knew it wasn’t right, that wasn’t a bunch of baby “yellows” but he didn’t know how to say the actual thing. SMALL YELLOW LOOK. Frustrated, he banged the heel of his palm against his forehead. BAKA.
John caught his hand and pulled it down. He signed, YOU’RE VERY KIND, Milo’s long form version of “thank you” which did not require drawing attention to one’s face.
Erik flipped to the first picture, a cute kitten, and hopefully shoved the calendar at John.
John dragged back to his feet, shaking his head. “I’m okay. I just really hate talking on the phone…”
Erik obligingly ripped the cord out of the body of the phone, offering it and the receiver too.
“Thank you,” John said. He unplugged the receiver and put it back. He wound up the cord and tucked it into his pocket. “Is it…” He shook his head and started from the beginning, speaking while signing, “Is this easier when it’s hard to find a word? I don’t mind talking like this.”
Erik regarded him, pained and grasping for language. He shook his head and turned away. “No. Just… Diff… Dissonance,” he said, while signing, OPPOSITE. He sighed.
“We don’t have to talk,” John said. “Not unless you need something. This is just for right now, it’s going to come back all on its own. You don’t have to push like that.”
Erik nodded. He collected the baby animal calendar and wandered away to the armchairs, selecting the left one. Absently, he noted John approaching the window and wiping away some of the condensation with a paper towel. After that, he sort of forgot what he was doing. He didn’t remember he had a roomie until John walked past the chairs, startling him.
“Just me,” John said. “I live here too.” He pulled a piece of white paper out of the desk, folded it into a small square, and poked a safety pin through the corner of it.
Erik thought, for some uncertain reason, that a person shouldn’t play with the desk stuff. Like, maybe there was a cat box, with an automatic cleaning function, somewhere over there. A cat box that would eat any desk stuff that happened to fall into it. Or, say, one of those… Whaddyacallits? With the movie times and boring grey pictures. Yeah. You were supposed to leave those things alone.
I wasn’t playing, I’m serious as a heart attack, he thought, nonsensically.
He also thought John probably knew what he was doing and was okay.
For a couple minutes, until he forgot John existed.
Huh. Baby ducks were cute.
◆◇◆
The spy sat in a modest apartment, with a grey uniform in a garment bag in the closet, beside several instances of more ordinary, civilian attire. There was a red phone with a secure line, which one must not get mixed up with the black phone — that one went through the phone company and there was no telling who would tap into it on the way.
In theory, it shouldn’t matter, but the Prokovian government was often at odds with itself. This was some real left-hand-doesn’t-know-what-the-right-is-doing type stuff. In Prokovia, asking questions was hazardous to one’s health.
So it was a bit of an uphill battle convincing anyone that something that wasn’t actively stealing information or blowing up a train track ought to be looked into anyway.
“I am telling you,” the spy insisted, via the red phone, “there is no way in hell these people are here for work — not civilian work. They are asking questions and getting answers! No, of course not from me. But they are talking to everyone else around here, and they are starting to put things together right before my eyes…
“No, I watch them from afar, they do not suspect.
“Listen to me, groups this weird and specialized do not just form by accident! This is on purpose. Marsellia sent them, I am sure of it! They are too obnoxious, they are like walking stereotypes!
“No. Please listen, this is strategy. They only seem crazy and stupid. When they have something to do, they do it, and they look so insane while they do it that everyone leaves them alone. They are geniuses. They are like force of nature!… I can tell difference between crazy, stupid tourists and specialist strike force, Pyotr. If you could only see how they operate!
“Will you not send even one? You are making big mistakes over there, Pyotr!
“If these people have not already figured out who is robbing our trains, and why, then they are going to figure it out, very soon! And then what…
“No of course not because I tell them! This is not funny, Pyotr! You will laugh your way into gulag!”
A well-manicured hand banged down the red receiver and curled into a tight fist.
“Fine. Okay. We do this alone.”
