He sighed, exactly the sort of sound a sleeping person might make. “First is Osantra Qiddicoj, the Filiaelian you saved from death,” he said reluctantly. “Second is Prapp, a Tra’ho government oathling. His seat is in the first coach car. This Eye’s name is Krel Vevri. He sits in the second coach car, the one between the dispensary and the entertainment car.”
The same car, I noted, that the rest of Kennrick’s contract-team Fillies were in. That could be useful. “Good,” I said. “Ground rule number one: I call the shots. All of them. You can report to me, and you can recommend action, but nothing happens unless I explicitly sign off on it. Understood?”
“Understood,” he said.
“Ground rule number two: when we do catch him, I’m the one who’ll interrogate him,” I continued. “This guy is smart and well funded, and there will be some fairly ugly layers we’ll need to dig through to get where we’re going. You can sit in on the conversation and offer suggestions, but I’m the one who’ll handle all the actual questioning.”
A shiver ran through the Juri’s body. “I have heard stories of Human interrogations. I will not interfere.”
“Good.” I hadn’t actually been talking about torture, but it probably wouldn’t hurt to let the Modhri think that I had. It probably wouldn’t hurt to remind the killer of humanity’s bloody past, either, when the time came. “Ground rule number three: I decide what to do with him after we’ve finished putting him through the spin cycle. I doubt the Spiders are set up for either executions or long-term prisoner storage, and there are already two different governments that have legitimate claims on his scalp. Depending on who and what he turns out to be, we might end up with three. Based on the interrogation, I’ll make the decision as to who gets him.”
“Agreed,” the Modhri said. “How do we begin?”
I yawned. “With some sleep,” I said. “The rest of the train’s already settled down for the night, so there’s no point trying to find anyone to question. And I’m way too tired to think straight, anyway.” I gestured to him. “Sleeping on the table that way isn’t doing your walker any good, either.”
“Very well,” he said. “Osantra Qiddicoj practices meditation several times a day. During those times, he allows his mind to empty itself.”
I felt my stomach tighten. “And you’re conveniently there to refill it?”
“It will be an opportunity for us to discuss matters and formulate a plan,” the Modhri said. Apparently, he’d missed the irony in my tone.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll have a couple of other things to deal with first tomorrow—mainly following up on tonight’s little adventure—but I should be able to touch base with you by early afternoon at the latest.”
“And if the killer strikes again this night?”
“He’s been lying pretty low since Usantra Givvrac’s death,” I reminded him. “There’s no particular reason for him to come out tonight.”
“No reason that you know of.”
“True,” I conceded. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think he’s specifically targeting you.” I stood up. “But I’ve been wrong before. Pleasant dreams.”
SIXTEEN
I half expected Bayta to be waiting for me when I returned to my compartment, her eyes blazing, her arms folded across her chest, demanding to know what I’d been off doing. But she wasn’t. Apparently, the server Spider at the bar hadn’t sold me out. Yet. Five minutes later I was climbing into bed, sleep tugging at my eyelids and my brain.
But even as I adjusted the blankets around my shoulders, I had a nagging sense that something significant had happened this evening. Something so subtle that I hadn’t picked up on it on a conscious level.
For a minute I fought against sleep, trying to get a handle on the feeling and whatever it was that had sparked it. But it was an uphill battle, and after that single minute I knew it was hopeless. Tomorrow, when I’d caught up on my sleep, I would make another effort to track it down.
Once again, tomorrow arrived earlier than I’d expected it to.
And yet, at the same time, it nearly didn’t arrive at all. At least for me.
I’d been asleep barely two hours when I was jarred awake by something soft and vague; a distant, eerie whistling sort of sound that was as much felt as it was heard. For a handful of heartbeats I lay still, my eyes wide open in the darkness, my ears straining against the silence as I waited for the noise to come again.
But it didn’t. I’d just about decided it had been an artifact of my sleeping brain when I heard another sound.
Only this one wasn’t vague and ethereal the way the first had been. This one was real, solid, and very close at hand.
Someone was scratching on my door.
I rolled silently out of bed and into a crouch on the floor, fighting against the mental cobwebs as I tried to figure out just what in hell was going on. There was a perfectly good door chime out there, not to mention equally good hard surfaces all around that anyone with working knuckles could knock on. There was no reason why whoever was out there should be scratching away like a pet malamute who wanted back into the house.
Unless he was too weak or too sick to do anything else.
I slid my hand along the floor until I found my shoes. I picked up one of them, getting a good grip on the toe. Holding it over my head like a club, I walked silently to the door and keyed the release.
To find that no one was there.
Frowning, I stepped out into the corridor and looked both directions. No one was visible along the car’s entire length.
But someone had been there. At the rear of the car, the vestibule was just closing.
My first thought was that whoever this was, he must have exquisite timing to have been able to get out of sight just as I was opening my door. My second thought was that whatever game he was playing, it probably boiled down to being a trap.
My third was that there was no way in hell he was going to get away from me.
I ducked back into my compartment, grabbed my other shoe and my shirt and headed out after him, making sure my door closed and locked behind me. I got my shoes on as I jogged down the corridor, and by the time I reached the vestibule I had my shirt on as well. Bracing myself, I keyed the door release.
The vestibule was empty. I crossed it and opened the door to the next compartment car, again preparing myself for whatever lay beyond it. But again, the corridor was empty. Hurrying past the closed compartment doors, I went through the vestibule and into the first of the first-class coaches.
Compartment cars didn’t really lend themselves to ambushes, given that the only place you could launch one from was one of the compartments themselves. But coach cars were another matter entirely, as I’d already learned the hard way on this trip. Most of the seats scattered around the car were canopied, their occupants long since in dreamland, though there were a couple of quiet conversations still going on in various corners. But none of the conversationalists were near my path, and in fact didn’t seem to even notice my presence, and I continued on through and into the dining car.
And nearly ran into my old Modhran pal Krel Vevri as he staggered out into the corridor from the bar end. “Compton,” he breathed as he stepped into my path.
“Did you just scratch on my door?” I demanded, coming to a halt in front of him.
For a moment he just stared at me in silence, his body weaving a little, his eyes apparently having a hard time focusing on me. To all appearances he was as drunk as a goat. “Compton,” he said again. “There’s trouble.”
I felt a tingle go up my back. Drunk Juriani nearly always slurred their words. Vevri wasn’t doing that. Stepping close to him, I leaned forward and sniffed his breath.