"A Cimman delicacy called daybreak noodles," I told her as I set our plates on top of the crate. With neither of us really comfortable sitting out in the open in the dining car, and with the curve couches of both our compartments unavailable inside the folded-up dividing wall, the crate had naturally evolved into our dining table. "Try it—you'll like it."
"Uh-huh," she said, with the kind of knowing look only a ten-year-old can deliver.
"No, really," I insisted, scooping up one of the deep blue noodles from my plate with my fork and folding it into my mouth. "Try it."
"I never heard of anyone eating noodles for breakfast," she said, still looking doubtful as she cut off a small piece of noodle with the edge of her fork. She gave it a cautious nibble, her face screwing up as she did so. "It's kind of spicy."
"Kija spice, to be specific," I told her. Putting another noodle into my mouth, I rolled it over my tongue, mentally gauging it against my personal taste-bud Richter scale. "It's no worse than oreganino, really."
"Which people also don't eat for breakfast."
"You'd be surprised what some people eat for breakfast," I told her. "It's not more than an order of magnitude stronger than cinnamon, either, which people eat for breakfast all the time."
"I suppose," she said, trying another noodle. "It's not so bad once you get used to it."
"That's the spirit," I said approvingly. "Anyway, be forewarned that kija's a staple of Cimman cooking, so you'd better get used to it if you're going to set up shop on Sibbrava."
"I suppose," she said, turning her head to gaze out the window. We had passed through an atmosphere barrier and were angling downward, headed into yet another station. "There are so many things about these peoples I don't understand."
"I would assume a telepath would know everything about everyone," I said. "Especially his fellow telepaths."
"I didn't say I didn't know them," she said, taking a larger bite of noodle. She was still chewing cautiously, but at least she wasn't wincing outright anymore. "I do, probably as well as any Human. I just don't understand them."
"Ah," I said, not entirely sure I understood the distinction.
"Well, like there," she said, pointing out the window with her fork. "All Jurian architecture involves the image of a key somewhere, either a real key shape or else a stylized representation of one."
"You're kidding," I said, frowning. I'd never even heard of such a thing before.
"No, it's true," she said. "They keep it a dead, dark secret from outsiders—they think it sounds silly, and they're sort of ashamed of it. But they keep doing it."
"It's no sillier than stuff the rest of us do," I said, setting down my fork and stepping over to the window. I'd lost track of exactly where we were, but I could see this was a bigger station than most we'd passed through the previous day. Probably a subregional or maybe even a regional capital. "A lot less harmful, too."
"I know," she said. "But try telling them that."
I eyed the buildings laid out between the various train platforms. If there was a recurring key motif hidden in there, you sure couldn't prove it by me. Of course, I was too far away to see anything subtle.
I lowered my eyes to the thirty or so passengers awaiting us on the platform. Most of them were Juriani and Halkas, but I spotted a pair of slender Tra'ho'seej at the third-class end of the platform and a lone Human at the other end, where our first-class cars would be stopping.
And then, behind me, I heard Rebekah's fork clatter onto her plate. "What is it?" I demanded, spinning around.
Her eyes were wide and horrified, her hands gripping the edge of the crate, her face gone suddenly pale. "There's coral out there," she whispered. "He's bringing coral onto the train."
A chill ran up my back as I turned back to the window, cursing silently. I should have guessed the Modhri wouldn't simply wait around and see if I carried out my end of the bargain.
In fact, not only should I have anticipated it, but I'd even had a giant clue practically dropped on my foot. Part of the reason we'd cooled our heels for six hours at Jurskala Station was so that he could shuffle Bayta back and forth between trains. Now I realized he must have also used those hours to get one of his outposts moving down the line where it could intercept our train.
I looked back at the platform, my eyes and brain performing a quick evaluation of each carrybag, shoulder case, and rolling trunk sitting beside or behind the waiting passengers. The hell of it was the coral could be in any of them. For that matter, it could be split among several—there was nothing to stop the Modhri from dividing up the outpost the same way Rebekah had done with her Melding coral.
My gaze reached the lone Human and the large, trunk-shaped box beside him. Rather like a smaller version of our own crate, now that I thought about it. I glanced up at his face.
And froze. It was Braithewick, the minor UN diplomat and Modhran walker who had accosted Bayta and me at the Yandro transfer station. The one who'd offered us free rein in exchange for finding and destroying the Abomination.
For maybe two seconds I just stood there, my brain working furiously. My lurking suspicions about Braithewick …but there was no time for that now. We had to get out, and we had to get out now.
With a squeal of brakes the train came to a halt. At the edges of my vision as I gazed out the window I saw conductors step out the door of our car and the door of the car behind us, stiffening to Spiderly attention as a handful of exiting passengers filed past them. The brief trickle ended, and the line on the platform began to come aboard. Braithewick, I noted, was hanging back, courteously allowing his fellow travelers to board ahead of him.
As he might well do if his trunk was especially heavy. Heavy enough with coral and water to roll especially slowly …
Abruptly, I stepped away from the window. "Come on," I told Rebekah, grabbing her arm and taking a quick look around as I pulled her toward the compartment door. There was nothing here we couldn't do without.
"Where are we going?" she asked as she stumbled after me.
"Down around and under the ground and out in the rain," I murmured, pressing my ear against the door and listening to the faint sound of the newly arrived passengers as they moved down the corridor toward their compartments. The timing here would have to be perfect.
"What?"
"'The Ants Go Marching,'" I explained. "Children's song Never mind. Stay close, and be ready to run when I do."
The footsteps faded away I gave it two more beats, then opened the door and stepped out into the corridor.
At the front of the car Braithewick was halfway onto the train, watching as his trunk rolled slowly across the corridor toward the number-one compartment directly across from him. Standing in the open compartment doorway was a Juri, also watching the trunk's progress. Both he and Braithewick looked up as I walked casually toward them. "Well, hello there, Mr. Braithewick," I said as I came up. "Small universe, isn't—?"
And in the middle of my sentence, I pivoted on my left foot and drove the edge of my right into Braithewick's stomach.
He gave an agonized cough and folded over, the impact of the kick throwing him back to slam into the edge of the car's doorway. The Juri, whom I hadn't touched, gave a pair of jerks in unison with Braithewick as the pain from my attack flowed into his nervous system via the Modhri group mind. "Stay close," I told Rebekah, and without breaking stride sidled past the groaning Juri into the compartment.
Bayta was sitting on the bed, looking pale and disheveled but otherwise unharmed. "Time to go," I said as I crossed to her. Her hands were out of sight behind her back, but from the cuffs glittering on her ankles I could guess her wrists were similarly pinioned. "Where are the keys?"
"I don't know," she said, her eyes flicking to Rebekah peeking out from behind me. "Frank, are you sure—?"