"No." Gretchen closed her eyes again, feeling dizzy. "The music in the village affected me, the dancing, the light and shadow – I felt strange, uncoupled from my body. Ah, the old crow warned me this might happen!" She clenched her fists. "Damn him and his helpful powders…"
"What do you mean?" Malakar knelt, craning her head to look at Anderssen's face. She hooted, worried. "What yi bird spoke to you?"
"A…a trollkarl, they are called in my grandmother's tales. A sorcerer we would say today, if anyone believed such things existed." She spread her hands, groping for the proper words. "He gave me…drugs which opened my mind to the unseen. He hoped I could aid him, but I think – no, I know – they only made things far more dangerous. I was nearly consumed, destroyed, replaced."
Gretchen managed a grim smile. "He tried to make me forget, but I cannot. I thought these visions and phantasms would fade with time, but they have not." She turned her hand over, remembering the blaze of light which had haloed them in the vault. "When the kalpataru revealed itself to me, something changed again in my mind. I am waking up again."
"You are afraid." The old Jehanan stared at her curiously. "What will happen to you?"
"I don't know." Anderssen started to sweat and her breath hurried with incipient panic. "I don't really want to find out – he said, Green Hummingbird said, a woman isn't supposed to follow this path… He implied it was very dangerous." She laughed harshly. "I don't think he meant it was dangerous for anyone but me."
Malakar reached out a claw to grip the human's shoulder, but a wash of yellow light spilled over both of them and they heard the sound of a rumbling engine.
"The tikikit bus comes," the gardener said, helping an unsteady Gretchen to her feet. "Now we can be upon our way."
The blaze of light resolved into six headlights. The conveyance purred to a halt at the lamp-post. Malakar guided Anderssen forward and once they were out of the direct glare, she could see the smooth curve of a long, high machine with many wheels. A door opened in front of her with a hnnnnnng! sound and steps led up into a dim, quiet interior. Gretchen froze, staring at the driver of the bus, sitting in a low, round control compartment directly in front of her.
Glittering, multifaceted eyes returned her gaze. A sleek, chitinous thorax lay low over the controls, which were manipulated by too many forearms. The insectile Hikkikit shimmered and glowed in the reflected light of the lamp, gleaming with cool blues and greens.
Malakar prodded her gently and Anderssen climbed up into the bus, hands gripping smooth, slippery-feeling guide-rails. The Jehanan fluted a greeting to the driver, produced something from a pouch on her harness and then they moved down an aisle of low seats. Gretchen did not notice any other passengers. The seats were too low for a human to sit normally, so she sat cross-legged beside the bulbous window. Malakar sighed, twitching tail behind and raised her knees, arms folded across the join-scales.
The tikikit bus hummed into motion, raised up a little and then raced off down the road.
Trees blurred past, then fields opened out on either side and the bus sped south under a brilliant, clear night. The queer lights distorting the daylight sky were gone, though the northern horizon leapt with enormous aurorae, casting shimmering curtains of jewels to blind the stars. Gretchen leaned her head against the window, marveling at the smooth, effortless ride.
Unbidden, her eyes closed and she fell sound asleep, cradled in the arms of a seat curling slowly around her. Malakar watched her for a little while, concerned, then laid a bony forehead on her own arms and fell asleep as well.
The tikikit raced south, six yellow spotlights illuminating the road and washing across hedges, slumbering farm houses and the streets of little night-shrouded towns. From time to time the bus turned onto larger roads, following them for a time, slowing to pass vehicles parked beside the thoroughfare. The headlights briefly lit columns of Jehanan troops dozing beside the highway, rucksacks piled at their feet, rifles and machineguns clutched to their shoulders, glossy scales gleaming in the light of the sodium lamps.
Then the tikikit passed on into the dark, turning down forgotten byways, crossing rivers and canals on crumbling bridges, following no straight path, yet still making excellent time. Occasionally, when an isolated lamp-post appeared in the distance, the bus would slow. If someone waited in the circle of light, the driver would quiet the engine, gliding to a halt, and another jeweled insect or sleepy Jehanan would climb aboard.
As night wore on, the seats slowly filled, though none of the passengers ventured to speak to one another, and all save the insectile Hikkikit soon fell asleep. Parus grew closer, hour by hour, though there was still a considerable distance to go.
The Southbound Express Approaching Parus From the North
A delicate hand jogged sergeant Dawd's knee and he came instantly awake. Mei leaned towards him in the dim compartment, palms on his thighs. The swaying of the train surrounded them with a musty, rattling blanket. The air was hot and close.
"I heard something," she whispered, lifting her chin towards the roof. "Someone is on top of the train."
"Have we just left a station?" Dawd licked his lips, horrified to realize he'd actually fallen asleep. He clutched the Whipsaw, just to make sure the weapon was still in his hands, and carefully cleared the safety.
Mei shook her head, dark eyes wide. Dawd swallowed and looked to Colmuir for guidance.
The master sergeant was eyeballing the corridor and shook his head, signing no one outside.
Dawd unclipped a longeye of his own and gently slipped it under the velvet curtain covering the window. Almost immediately his visor displayed an image of the outside world: a bakingly hot morning glared down on endless flat plains of fields, canals and scattered copses of trees. The sky was spotted with fluffy white clouds, each majestically solitary against an azure background. The shadow of the train rushed along an elevated road running beside the railroad tracks. And on the road, racing to catch the train, he saw three Imperial-style trucks. Jehanan soldiers crowded the cargo beds, hanging on for dear life as the vehicles bounced over potholes and washboarding in the road.
"They're on to us," Dawd hissed, pulling the spyeye back. "Three trucks, each with a platoon, and if Mei-sana heard someone on the roof, they're already aboard the train."
"Everyone up," Colmuir said, voice harsh. Mrs. Petrel and Cecily were already awake, faces tight and composed. The master sergeant jogged Tezozуmoc's shoulder, drew a snore and then a grumbling complaint. The older Skawtsman pinched the boy's ear, which caused the prince's eyes to fly open. "All quiet now," the master sergeant said, rising from his seat, assault rifle slung behind his shoulder.
Dawd rose as well, swinging the Whipsaw onto his hip and struggling to shed the bulky, confining poncho. Immediately the two girls took hold of the fabric, ran a fingernail down the sealer strips and pulled it away. The sergeant nodded thanks, patted his Nambu, knife, cutting bar, backup pistol and the strip of grenades down the left side of his gunrig. Then he tapped each earbug, making sure they were firmly seated.
"You've a gun?" Colmuir offered his spare Nambu to Mrs. Petrel, but the lady declined, producing a Webley AfriqaExpress from her handbag. "Good…Now, here's what we'll do – our sole duty is t' the prince – he canna' fall into their hands. So, we move t' the train engine with all speed and separate it from the rest of the cars, leaving the heathen savages behind. Then we run into Parus and make for either the Legation or the cantonment, as circumstances allow."