“It’s not much fun to watch,” Theo said sourly.
“No, it’s horrible.” Sophia lifted the pane of glass and gently turned it over. As she slid the blank map back into the pillowcase, a movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She looked up across the dining car at the glass porthole in the door that stood closed at the far end. Someone was watching.
Sophia stared back, frozen. The man who’d been arguing outside their compartment was looking straight at her. He held her gaze for a moment, menacingly, and then turned away. “Let’s get out of here,” Sophia whispered, returning the map to her pack.
“What’s wrong?” Theo looked over his shoulder.
“He’s there—the man with the scars. He didn’t get off in New York.” Theo quickly made his way over to the door and peered through the glass. “Don’t,” Sophia whispered fiercely.
Theo squinted into the corridor beyond. “He’s gone.”
Sophia shouldered her pack, and they hurried to the opposite end of the car. “He saw us read the map,” Sophia whispered anxiously, as they made their way through the train.
“So what? He doesn’t know what it is.”
She shook her head. “It can’t be a coincidence.”
They entered their car and Theo opened the compartment door with Sophia on his heels. Then he stopped in his tracks. Sophia bumped into him. A single lamp cast flickering shadows across the walls and upholstery. Scattered across the seat, a pair of revolvers and an assortment of knives glittered in the pale moonlight. A massive grappling hook with sharp points gleamed beside them. Sophia gasped.
Theo turned around and pushed her out through the doorway. They scurried out into the hallway and into their compartment one door down, where they stood in the moonlit room, catching their breath. “It’s him—he’s right next door,” Sophia finally managed. She felt as though it took all the air in her lungs to speak.
“We’ll go tell the conductor and get another room.”
“No, we can’t. He was talking to the conductor before. And I saw how the conductor looked. He was terrified. That’s how he got the room in the first place,” she whispered desperately.
Theo thought for a moment. “How much longer to Charleston, do you think?”
“I have no idea. I didn’t—I can’t keep track of time.” Her voice trembled.
“It’s okay,” Theo said reassuringly, misunderstanding her distress. He put his hand out to rest on her shoulder. “Look, he would have already come in here if he wanted to hurt us, right? Just now in the dining room, he could have easily barged in. If he hasn’t done anything, it’s because he doesn’t want to.”
Sophia nodded and took a deep breath. “We have to stay in the compartment,” she said. “Until we get to Charleston.”
—June 23, 9-Hour 51—
SOPHIA AWOKE TO find the compartment full of sunlight. She could not believe she had fallen asleep. The thought of their well-armed stalker only one room away had kept them both on edge. They had stayed awake until the early morning, too tense to sleep, talking intermittently and watching the door like hawks. Now Theo was folded up in an uncomfortable position on the bench, fast asleep. Sophia looked at her watch and saw with surprise that it was almost ten-hour. As she stood, Theo awoke. He rubbed his eyes and squinted groggily at the window. “Where are we?”
An overcast sky and a blur of foliage as far as the eye could see told her nothing. “I’m not sure.”
Theo groaned and got to his feet, stretching. His borrowed clothes were rumpled and his brown eyes had a foggy look about them. “Well, I’m glad we’re not dead.” Sophia gave him a stark look. He pulled out the basket and began hunting through it for breakfast. “We’ll have to buy food in the dining car after lunch.”
“After lunch we can wait until Charleston,” Sophia said. “We’ll be getting there around dinnertime. If the train is on time.”
Theo nodded, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of fruit loaf. Sophia had some as well, swallowing as much as she could and washing it down with water.
He stood up a moment later. “I have to go to the washroom.”
“I know; me too. I guess there’s no choice. I’ll go after you. Be careful.”
After he left, Sophia watched the passing trees, waiting for the train to stop at a station so that she would know where they were. She was preoccupied with something that had occurred to her as she was falling asleep; she could not quite remember it. The idea flitted at the edge of her mind, just out of reach. She pulled out her drawing notebook and filled a page aimlessly, hoping the idea would surface. As the train slowed, Sophia checked the sign on the platform. She consulted the train schedule and noted with relief that they were running on time.
The trees beside the tracks nodded in the breeze, and suddenly a sparrow flitted past, swooped back, and perched on the edge of the sill. It turned its head one way and then the other, as if inspecting the compartment. Sophia slowly reached for her sketchbook. She opened it quietly, took a pencil, and began drawing. She lost track of time as her hand moved quickly across the page. The sparrow studied her. Hopping lightly across the sill, it fluttered abruptly onto the seat beside Sophia, seized a crumb in its beak, and flew back to the sill. Then the whistle blew, shattering the quiet, and a moment later the train lurched forward. The sparrow burst out into the air—it was gone. Sophia looked after it wistfully and glanced down at her drawing. And suddenly the idea that had been hovering at the edge of her mind flew directly into view.
She was sitting on the top bunk reading the atlas when Theo returned. He was not alone. His expression furious, he stalked into the room followed by four men: the scarred man they’d seen in the moonlit dining car and three others. Two of the others had identical scars across their faces. As they entered, Sophia noticed the amulets hanging from their necks. Two were wooden on leather laces; one was bronze on a slender bronze chain. They all bore the Nihilismian sign of the open hand. All three scarred men had grappling hooks, which hung from their belts on long, carefully coiled ropes. The fourth man, tall and well-dressed, had no scars, no grappling hook, and no amulet. With a thin mustache above a calm smile and a gray suit that seemed more fitted to a summer wedding than a railway heist, he seemed utterly out of place. His pale blue eyes settled on Sophia.
While Theo and the three scarred men, stone-faced, crowded uncomfortably near the drawn curtains, the tall man sat down and smiled at Sophia with an expression of easy amusement. The space around them seemed impossibly small, as if they had all squeezed into a wardrobe.
“So!” the tall man said, giving her a wide, thin smile. “You keep yourself hidden away, locked up like a princess in a tower.”
Sophia stared at him coldly. “I’m not a princess.” She was pleased that she sounded calm, although her stomach was churning with fear.
The man laughed, as if he found this a very good joke indeed. “No, you certainly are not, Miss Tims.”
“You know who I am. Who are you?”
“Call me Montaigne.” He folded his arms comfortably across his chest. “You may not be a princess, Miss Tims, but I hear you have a piece of treasure worthy of one.”
“I doubt it,” she said evenly.
Montaigne inclined his head to one side. “Come, Miss Tims. You know very well that it is no ordinary sheet of glass. Mortify here”—he waved at the man closest to him—“has seen it work. Moonlight, is it? Very clever.” He winked. “I understand how valuable it is, which is why I’m willing to pay for it. Name your price.”
Sophia shook her head. “It’s not for sale.”