Fuming, Ember walked away and perched himself to look out a nearby window. His vapid look from earlier in the train ride had vanished, replaced by rage and determination.
Rosalie smiled her gap-toothed smile at the Spoke men, trying to lower tension, but it did little to assuage them. The Spoke men fidgeted nervously, and none of them returned to their seats.
Until now Ember had seemed to be a passive participant in this venture. Flora had wondered how he’d risen to sub-chief with such a disposition. Many had called him an extremist, protective of Essentialist ideals to a fault, but to Flora he had always seemed more like a play-by-the-rules bureaucrat. Here, however, a different side of him was revealed. Here, she could see, there was a fiercer, more focused Ember Thisslewood who came to play.
It was a short ride to Seeville, and already the farmland and rolling prairies were giving away to clusters of houses. On the outskirts of town most of the buildings looked beyond repair. Soon enough they passed some kind of invisible threshold, and the buildings came to life with brightly colored siding and full roofs. Bike tires, spokes, frames, gears, and chains in artistic designs adorned the walls and lawns of the dwellings. The vivid colors and decorations made the newer buildings in Grand Caverns look drab in comparison.
When they were closer still, the buildings grew higher and higher until there were some that stood ten stories tall. It became impossible to see the roofs without craning her neck out of the train car window. The streets were filled with people walking or biking, some that were in multi-seated bike arrangements, or some that towed trailers and platforms.
Flora was trying to inspect every person they passed, searching for a broad back, looking for some semblance of his flattish nose and wispy hair. The train was moving so fast that it was difficult, almost impossible.
Something about the blur of people and the passing buildings took her away from the train, away from the people around her. Her heart was beating strongly, but not with fear or anxiety. It was beating with excitement.
She could almost hear his whispers. When he’d secretly given her a book about New York City he’d said, “don’t let the curator see you with that.” She remembered that first night, that first time she’d given herself to him freely. That night he said, “for some reason the moon is shining brighter than ever.” And then when he’d returned the next morning he’d whispered, “even the sun burns brighter when I’m with you.”
The train slowed, and they pulled up to a stop. Unlike Culpepper, the platform in Seeville was a long, raucous thing, full of people waiting and cajoling. Down the platform she could see multiple tracks, some running in parallel, some splitting off. A large, red warehouse dominated the skyline in the distance.
When the train came to a complete stop, Patterson and his men clustered around the steps that led out of the train car. He said, “we just need to do a brief inspection, then we’ll be on our way. Please wait here.”
“Sure thing, hon,” Rosalie responded.
Flora could see Patterson walk down the steps to the track and head toward the main building at a brisk pace.
Ember didn’t look happy. “Come here, now,” he said, gesturing to Mehta, Rosalie, and Flora. “And bring the prisoner.” Then he moved to the far end of the car and waited for them.
When they joined him at the back he said, “An inspection?”
Rosalie thought for a moment and said, “We don’t know how these trains work. Maybe they count who goes on or off?”
Ember looked at her curiously. “But you’ve been on a train before, right? You told us yesterday morning. So do you or do you not remember being inspected?”
“No, sirree. We weren’t. But look, I’m sure this is different. We got SLS—scuze me, Essentialists here. Maybe they don’t want us to be seen, you know. Keep it quiet so as to not rile people up. Then they can find a way to get us to the right people without causing a fuss.”
It sounded like a reasonable explanation to Flora, but Ember wasn’t at all satisfied. “I don’t like it. They could try to wrestle Cecile from us at any time, and then what have we got? I want Cecile in the back. Mehta, you hold her and don’t let go. You put a knife to her throat if you have to.”
Mehta looked at Rosalie, who nodded back at him slowly. Cecile seemed to go to him willingly.
“And I’ll do the talking,” Ember said.
“Okay, Chief,” Rosalie said. Then she slinked to stand behind him.
They waited for a few quiet moments. Ember was facing forward, watching for signs of Spoke people coming into their car. Flora was looking about outside, still trying to find Granger’s face in the crowd. In the train car, the Spokes were stiff as statues, staring back at the Essentialist contingent. Rosalie whispered something in Mehta’s ear and then moved back toward Ember. Something Rosalie said to Mehta made Cecile look up, eyes wide.
“Here they come,” Ember said. He stood up tall, rearranging his belt.
Five men entered the train car led by a man dressed like an Old World business executive. He wore a red bowtie and black suspenders over a crisp, blue shirt. His face was long, making the smile he gave them look diminutive. “Good afternoon. My name is Quenton Bartz. I’m just a humble businessman, with interests in the railroad. I’m also a lord of Seeville.” He extended his hand to Ember.
Ember didn’t take the hand. He said, “I am Ember Thisslewood, sub-chief to the Essentialists at Grand Caverns. I have come to negotiate an exchange based on our capture of your Spoke spy, and for restitution for the raid you have undertaken in our lands. We insist on being given passage to your council of lords immediately.”
Bartz said, “We will need to complete the inspection. Then I can take you to the council of lords. I’m at every meeting, so I often know their mind. I’m sure they would be interested in negotiating, since this woman is indeed important to us. Once you allow our men to inspect her we can be on our way.” He smiled and then turned to leave.
“No, you may not,” Ember said. “Mehta, do not let these Spoke men near her under any circumstance.”
Bartz stopped at the door and turned around, his smile replaced with a sterner countenance.
Ember said, “listen here, we both know you can see her from there, as plainly as you can see her close up. That should be enough for any so-called inspection. So stop playing games and get us to your other leaders.” Ember crossed his arms and glared.
“I see,” Bartz said, flashing a minimal smirk. “Well, unfortunately we can’t have that.”
“Have what?”
“Have you bringing Cecile to the other lords.”
Ember looked confused but didn’t miss a beat. “Oh really? You are about to cause a serious incident, sir, one that could result in harm to all of Spoke society.” Ember looked around at the other Spoke men. “Are all of you going to stand around and let this reprehensible man speak for you? Are you going to let him put this woman in harm’s way?”
Bartz said, “Okay, come now. The charade is over. You can have your deal—the one proposed to Patterson.” His eyes were unfocused—or rather, they weren’t focused on Ember, they were focused behind him. “Let’s put this pup out of his misery.”
Ember’s head swiveled frenetically. He looked at Patterson, at Rosalie, and behind at Mehta. It was on Mehta that his gaze rested.
Slowly, Mehta was lowering his knife from Cecile’s throat. He shifted his weight to move in front of her. Meanwhile, Rosalie stepped back to stand by Mehta, forming a wall between Ember and Cecile.
Ember and Flora were now stuck between the mercs on one side and eight Spokes on the other. Ember pulled a knife out of his belt, tensing like a caged animal. Flora also took out a knife, but slowly, more carefully.