They approached a cluster of guards, and one stepped over to them.
“Papers?”
The two Cyrans handed over their papers, stolen in separate incidents a year ago from some Brelish adventurers of similar appearance and who, having been assassinated, would never report their loss.
“Who is in your party?” the guard snapped.
“Me and her,” said the Fox. She allowed one of her bags to slip, then wrestled it back into place. “What’s this all about, soldier?”
“Routine tariff check,” he snapped as he handed back their documentation. “Over there. Line to the left.”
The two Cyrans followed the soldier’s command and ended up in a long line of unhappy people. They looked at the others in their line, then checked out those in the much shorter line.
“Do you see that, Oargesha?” asked the Fox.
“Yes, I do. What do you suppose is happening? Do you think maybe Aundair is having some trouble with Droaam or Darguun?”
The Fox tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “I rather doubt it,” she said. “Look around. We have goblins over here in our line. Why separate them from the half-orcs?”
“You’re right. Everyone over there is either of orc or gnome blood.” Oargesha smiled. “They’re looking for someone else. Hey, what’s that? They’re leading someone away.”
The Fox nodded. “A gnome and a half-orc. That’s interesting.”
“And you said my prayers weren’t being answered.”
“I’d hold the celebration until we get ourselves through this,” said the Fox. “We’re not free yet.”
As they approached the front of their line, the Fox watched the guards questioning the passengers at the head of their line. It looked like the passengers were running a gauntlet. The crowd moved between two sets of guards, two pair of guards on each side. Each pair questioned a party, then those who had been inspected made their egress through the far end of the gauntlet and returned to the boardwalk where they awaited permission to reboard the lightning rail.
“I have an idea, Oargesha,” said the Fox. “The guards on this line are processing people fairly swiftly. Let’s go separately, with you going first. I’ll pass the globe over to you. I think we can do this without having this bag opened.”
Oargesha nodded her approval.
The lines kept crawling forward, amid grumbling in the long line and high-tempered moments between the guards and the passengers in the gnome/half-orc line. Finally Oargesha reached the head of the line and stepped forward with her bag. The Fox waited, having faded back a spot in line. She gauged the progress of the various passengers, then let one more slip ahead of her. As Oargesha spoke with the guards about something in her papers, the Fox step forward. She had to strain, stiff-armed, to pull the globe along behind without it being obvious. She’d been holding it motionless at her side, and it resisted getting under way.
She walked slowly to one of the guards, and “accidentally” dropped her shoulder bag. As she moved to retrieve it, she let go of the bag holding the globe. The bag sagged around the globe within it, but the globe itself kept moving in the same direction, slowly gliding between the luggage of the various passengers. Oargesha caught its motion out of the corner of her eye and planted one of her feet in the bag’s path.
The Fox’s aim was true. The globe glided into Oargesha’s foot and almost came to a stop before she let it continue sliding ever so slowly onward. Any noise the impact made was lost in the general brabble of the crowd. The guards waved Oargesha on, and she picked up her bag and the globe’s bag and proceeded onward with none the wiser to their ploy.
11
Gentle Touches of Discomfort
Praxle and Jeffers walked down the hallway toward their second-class room. The sleeping berths were on their right side, and on their left a long bank of windows allowed them to view the landscape of central Aundair. The cloud-dotted sky was stained in reds and blues in the wake of the sunset.
Wrapped in an ever-shifting cocoon of magical energy that constantly fought against gravity and inertia to keep the lightning rail on its plotted course, the coach trembled beneath their feet. They reached their door, and Jeffers cut around Praxle in the narrow hallway. Jeffers pulled the key from his pocket—for security’s sake, he had two of the three copies and Praxle had the third—and undid the lock.
Jeffers opened the door and scented the air with his keen nose. Smelling nothing amiss, he entered and turned the everbright lantern mounted in the wall by the door from a bare glow to full brightness. Praxle followed close behind, shutting and locking the door behind them.
Jeffers raised one hand. “Hsst!”
Praxle raised his hands preparatory to a spell. “What is it?”
“Someone has intruded upon our cabin,” said Jeffers, “via the window.”
Praxle glanced at the window and saw nothing amiss. “How do you know?”
“I placed a piece of down near the window for just this purpose,” said Jeffers as he turned to scan the cabin. “Someone pried open the window, and the breeze blew the down.” He checked the ceiling and beneath the bottom bunk that served as their table. Satisfied, he retrieved his sword and swept the room again, seeking anything invisible.
“I am unable to locate any manner of intruders, master,” said Jeffers.
“Can you tell what they were doing here?” asked Praxle.
“No, I cannot,” said Jeffers. “It appears that whoever it is was able to spend no short time here, as they were able to return everything they touched to its original state. Nothing save the down appears to have been disturbed. They accomplished whatever they desired then left the cabin again, either by the window or by the door.”
“Did they steal anything?” asked Praxle, his hands still raised.
“Allow me to check our inventory, master. I suggest that you search for any lingering magical effects.”
Jeffers investigated their bags, while Praxle cast a spell and scanned the room with his arcane sight. “I find nothing amiss, master,” said Jeffers at last. “How did you fare?”
“Nothing at all,” said Praxle. He sighed in frustration.
“I take it, master, that you do not surmise this to be a common burglary.”
“Naturally,” said Praxle. “A common burglar would not have cared for leaving evidence of his passage. These people knew that we were going to the dining coach and how much time we were likely to spend there. They used that time to search our room.” He paused, hands on hips, licking his lips and tapping one fool in irritation, “Now how will we figure out who dared to invade our room?”
A loud knock sounded at the door.
Jeffers raised one eyebrow. “Answering the door sounds like one option, master,” he said.
Praxle’s face scrunched up in confusion. “It can’t be them. It makes no sense. Why take all the time to sneak in only to come knocking at the front door?”
“Perhaps it is someone with information?”
“That could be,” said Praxle. “Nonetheless, be ready for anything.”
The knock sounded again, and a firm baritone voice said, “Open up.”
Jeffers picked up his sword from the bed and moved to the door. Praxle stood against the back wall away from the window, Jeffers opened the door with his left hand, then pulled it open with a finger of his right hand so that it concealed the sword while giving the impression his right hand was empty.
Standing in the hallway was a smallish human with short, dark hair, simple pants, an oversized peasant shirt, and a gray cat on his shoulder. The cat leaped down as the human stepped into the room. “Praxle d’Sivis,” the man said and closed the door.