One whiff was all it took. Any alcohol he might have poured into his system earlier that evening had been burned away hours ago. Whatever had put Vevri into this state, it wasn’t anything the Spiders had served him.
Our poisoner had struck again.
“Understood,” I said, taking his arm and trying to turn him around toward the dispensary three cars back. “Come on—we’ll get the Spiders to call a doctor—”
“No doctor,” he interrupted, throwing off my grip with an unexpected burst of strength. “Hypnotic—dizzy, but not in danger.”
“We should at least try to figure out what it was,” I insisted, trying to get a grip on his arm again. “Or wasn’t it you?” I added as it belatedly occurred to me that Vevri himself might be completely unscathed, that the hypnotic or whatever might have been administered to one of the other walkers and merely be affecting the Juri via their shared mind.
But once again, he pulled away from my grip. “Not in danger,” he insisted. “The prisoner. He’s the one in danger.”
I stared at him. “Emikai? What does the killer want with him?”
“Don’t know,” Vevri said. He wobbled suddenly and had to grab the edge of the archway to regain his balance. “Don’t call Spiders. Warn him—warn him off. Never find him then.”
I looked over his shoulder down the corridor. “Did you see the killer?” I asked Vevri. “The killer, Krel Vevri. Did you see who he was?”
Vevri shook his head. “He’s on his way. Already on his way. You must stop him.”
“Yeah,” I said, gazing hard into the Juri’s face.
And not believing it for a second, because this whole thing stunk to high heaven. Even if I actually trusted the Modhri—which I damn well didn’t—it would still smell like a setup.
But I had no choice but to play along. If the killer really did want Emikai silenced, for whatever reason, the Filly was a sitting duck back there. The two twitters on duty might get a glimpse of the killer, but that would be pretty small comfort to Emikai himself.
Besides, knowing it was a setup gave me certain advantages, especially if the killer didn’t know I knew. “Okay, I’ll go take a look,” I said to Vevri. “You stay here and keep an eye out in case he doubles back.”
Vevri nodded. “I will. Good luck.”
Slipping past him, I continued on my way. Knowing you were walking into a trap could definitely be helpful in beating that trap.
But it never hurt to also hedge your bets.
I had covered another two cars and was passing the line of shower compartments before I finally ran into a conductor tapping his way along on some errand or another. “Hey—you,” I said, catching up to him. “You—Spider.”
“Yes?” he said.
“I want you to call Bayta,” I said. “Tell her I’ve had word that Logra Emikai is in trouble, and I’m heading back to check on him—”
“Bayta is asleep.”
“Then wake her up,” I snarled. “Tell her I want her to do a running track on me—conductors, servers, mites, and anyone else who’s available. You got that?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Good.” I started to go, then turned back. “And she’s to stay put,” I added firmly. “Whatever happens, she’s to stay in her compartment and not open the door. For anyone.”
“Yes,” he said.
I gazed hard into his silvery globe for another moment, the way you might underline the seriousness of an order if you were talking to a real, actual person, then turned and resumed my jog. If Bayta could mobilize enough of the Spiders to monitor the action, we had a chance of bringing this thing to an end right here and now.
The baggage car seemed quiet enough as I slipped through the vestibule doorway into the gloom. Setting my back against the nearest stack of crates, I paused for a moment to take stock of the situation. No shadows seemed to be moving out there, at least none that I could see from my current vantage point, and I could hear nothing above the muted clickity-clack of Quadrail wheels.
Was the killer still here? Or had he been and gone, leaving a fresh corpse where I’d earlier tied up a prisoner?
Only one way to find out. Taking a deep breath, I headed off through the maze of stacked crates.
The attack came without any warning, in spite of all the care I had been taking with corners and crate tops. An arm suddenly appeared from behind me, snaking around my neck and yanking me backward. I tried to twist sideways, to get my throat turned into the crook of his elbow where there was a little extra space, but he was already on it, his other hand snapping up to link into his choking arm and simultaneously push the back of my head forward.
Reflexively, I kicked backward. But my foot hit only air, and before I could bring it back for another try a foot slapped into the back of my other knee, just hard enough to break my balance.
And barely a second after the attack had begun, I found myself kneeling on the floor, the tiny prickly hairs of a Filly snout pressed against my right cheek, his chokehold ready to squeeze the life out of me.
I tried to reach up toward his head, in hopes of reaching his eyes or ears. But the arms wrapped around my throat and head blocked any such path. I switched direction and jabbed backwards with my elbows, landing solid blows against his torso. He grunted with the impact, but his grip didn’t loosen.
So this is how it ends, the thought flitted through my mind as I continued my futile efforts to break my attacker’s grip. I wondered distantly what Bayta would do without me, and what the Chahwyn and Spiders would do after I was dead.
It was only then that it belatedly dawned on me that the arm pressed against my throat, which should have been squeezing ever tighter, cutting off my air and choking the life out of me, was doing no such thing. In fact, it wasn’t all that tight even now, more of a controlling hold than a killing one.
Was he just waiting so that I would sweat some more? Or did he genuinely want to keep me alive, at least until he could get something else out of me?
Bracing myself, painfully aware that if I was wrong, it would be the last gamble I ever made, I brought my pummeling hands and elbows to a halt.
He didn’t press his attack. But he didn’t let go, either. He just stood there, towering silently and motionless behind me.
I cleared my throat, which turned out to be a lot harder in my present condition than I’d expected. “If you’re trying to make a point,” I croaked out, “consider it made.”
“What point is that?” he asked.
I grimaced as I recognized his voice. My assailant was none other than Logra Emikai himself. “That you’re the greatest escape artist since Houdini?” I suggested.
“That I could have killed you,” he corrected. Abruptly, the pressure against my throat disappeared as he let go of me and stepped backward. “And that I did not,” he added.
I turned my head, massaging my throat as I looked up at him. He was just standing there, his arms hanging loosely as his sides, gazing back at me. “Interesting demo,” I commented, getting back to my feet. “Of course, as has already been noted, you’re on a super-express Quadrail with nowhere to run. Killing me would be kind of stupid.”
“Agreed,” he said. “But he who freed me apparently was not concerned with such questions of logic.” He paused. “He who freed me, then ordered me to kill you.”
“Did he, now,” I said as casually as I could. So our killer was starting to sharecrop his business. “Did this helpful passerby have a name or face?”
“I’m certain he had both,” Emikai said grimly. “Unfortunately, I was asleep when he freed me.”
“And when he gave you your marching orders?” I asked, frowning. “What did he do, leave a voice message in your dreams?”
“You are actually not far off,” Emikai said, for the first time seeming a little uncertain. “The words came to me in …it’s hard to describe. It was a distant, whistling sort of voice. I’m afraid I cannot explain it more clearly than that.”