Jader's Fog: A Red Sabre Novel

By K.J. McFadyen

In the west of Athemisia lies the imposing Spine of the World Mountains. These formidable peaks form a natural division between the eastern lands of the Thyrian crown and the western Jader colonies. But those who inhabit those lofty climes are a mysterious and complex people rarely seen by rail mercenary eyes. Seeking to settle an unlikely score, Captain Felicity Metticia ascends the mighty Petlushkwohap mountain in search of her stolen cargo and a dangerous foe.

She unwittingly leads her crew into a tangled web of culture, diplomacy and deceit where tensions strain the magnificent walls of Lalouzhi. Old grudges threaten war and the crew find themselves serving as unwitting pawns between the nations of the mountains and the tribes of the plains. Thrust into a wholly unfamiliar world, Felicity must follow in the footsteps of an unlikely guide as she seeks to save not just her reputation but her crews’ very lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: K.J. McFadyen
• Release date: Nov 17, 2022
• ISBN: 9781775313182

K.J. McFadyen

Kevin McFadyen is a world traveller, a poor eater, a happy napper and occasional writer. When not typing frivolously on a keyboard, he is forcing Kait to jump endlessly on her bum knees or attempting to sabotage Derek in the latest boardgame. He prefers Earl Gray to English Breakfast but has been considering whether or not he should adopt a crippling addiction to coffee instead.His love for stories started way back in his distant childhood when he enjoyed the classics: J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, Robert Aspirin and Lynn Abbey, Ursula Le Guin, Stephen King, Piers Anthony, Clive Cussler, H.P. Lovecraft and a slew more that aren’t currently on the nearby bookshelf. While video and boardgames may have supplanted some of his reading time, Kevin has committed his life and sanity to the crafting of his own narratives.Having accumulated a number of short stories, this persistent scribbler has published his first book – a steampunk fantasy titled Thyre: City of Smoke and Shadow. His second full length novel – The Clockwork Caterpillar – is coming soon. Kevin continues to share his ideas on writing, media and life in the jointly own blog: Somewhere Post Culture (www.somewherepostculture.com).

Book preview

Introduction

Why do you wear a madjigònde like a woman?

Because I am one of two worlds. Just like you, Petasogay.

I would never wear a madjigònde! Why would you think that?

Because the spirits told me.

What do the spirits even know!

Far more than you or I, young one. That is why it is so important to listen.

I won’t ever listen to them!

You will.

They can’t make me!

No, they can’t. But they will. And you would be wise to heed them.

Prologue

Gryl paused, licking his lips. His heart faltered. The words were harder to speak than he expected. He felt a chill crawl over his skin. And like every other time he thought about talking, Gryl wanted nothing more than to get up and leave.

But things were different now. He couldn’t ignore them anymore.

I don’t know when it first began. Perhaps it has been as long as I can remember. At least as far back as Brother Ambustus. I told him about them, once. When he came to my room. He woke me while I slept. Said I had been screaming. I… don’t remember those ones much. Or what they were. He told me that they could not hurt me. That the Lord would protect. Reflex guided his hand into the holy symbol. And that was that. He said that when I got older, I would get over them.

He cleared his throat. He told me to be brave. That they were just bad memories. He told me to trust in the Lord for the strength to face them. Dreams, he said, can’t hurt you. They can’t. Gryl repeated again. They can’t.

But now he wasn’t so sure. He looked down at his hand. He looked at the cuts crossing his palm. He only noticed them yesterday. At first, he thought he had hurt himself while helping Laure with the train’s maintenance. But later he noticed they lined up perfectly with his fingers in a clenched fist.

And he couldn’t possibly ignore the dried blood beneath his nails.

It’s stupid, I shouldn’t let this bother me. Gryl wrapped his arms about himself. Only kids wet themselves from their nightmares. Adults don’t have that problem. It’s why I buy so much—no. Never mind that.

He chuckled. Imagine if Schroeder knew why his spirits were in such low supply. He’s not as clever hiding his stashes as he thinks he is. Gryl looked away, a wistful twinkle in his eye. At least not for someone who once aspired to be a tracker. That’s what I was going to be before… before…

His head swam with distant memories. How could he speak of a life he barely recalled? Time had done wonders to wear those recollections away like the tide chipping away at the cliffside. Little was left now of that broken shore. He recalled fire and ash. It was why Gryl spent as little time as he could on the immutable past.

It was what made this so difficult.

And I… and I… He sniffled. I’m sorry. I… I can’t do this.

He closed his eyes. He pressed those lingering voices back into the dark. His chest thumped with anxiousness. He reached for a bottle that was not there and felt the panic spread. When he peeled back his eyelids, he saw with the eyes of a frantic animal smelling a stalking predator.

His breath became ragged. His lungs burned. His arms wrapped about his chest as he pressed tightly against his ribs. It was as though he could squeeze the taste of ash and copper from his mouth. Had he the strength, he would have crushed his rabbit heart beneath muscle and bone.

As his teeth clenched, he could feel his tongue pinned beneath his incisors. The biting pain brought just enough clarity to his frazzled mind. He thought absently of Brother Ambustus. He could hear his soothing voice in his ear.

Recite the psalms.

And verses he had long forgotten came to desperate lips. The old words in the language of the Ancients traced their magick through his pain. He rocked gently to their verse. The lyrical notes filled his head with their strange calmness. When he came near the end of the Book of Creation, he was gasping for air. He stopped before the Age of Fire.

He always did.

Gryl blinked. He looked about him, confused at the absent trappings of the ragged preconor. These were no rough log walls dressed in simple drawings of the Avatars within plain wooden frames. He did not sit upon that lumpy cot with its scratchy wool blankets. He did not smell the bubbling gruel from the main room nor hear Brother Ambustus’ whispers through the hanging curtain as he tended to the private confessions of a villager. Briefly, less than the sputter of a candle, Gryl missed it.

He wiped his eyes and looked at the mirror at the end of his bunk. There was no wise man sitting across from him. All that blinked back was his own confused and turmoiled reflection.

He flopped back on his cot, pressing his palms against his eyes.

Why? Why Lord?! Why do you confound me so?! Why can’t you just leave me alone!

He waited for an answer that never came. But the slow rocking of the train beneath him brought a measure of comfort. Though he had hoped to find someplace where even his dreams could not plague him, at least knowing that he was still ahead of them was enough.

He looked to the window, marvelling at the mountains which blotted out the sky.

Maybe today would finally be the day he would outrun his nightmares.

Gryl! Gryl! Where is that useless boy!

Gryl took a moment to collect his breath. He wiped his eyes one final time then he slipped on a pair of beaver skin makasin.

As he pulled over a deerskin jacket, he could still hear Schroeder’s voice calling down the hall, I swear, we’re all going to starve to death because of that kid! Gryl! The captain needs you now!

Chapter 1

Rogelio did not see himself as a creature of comfort. No, a skilled mercenary must be prepared for all types of environments. Living the rails meant laying your head down on the coast and awakening in the interior. Crew knew one day was wasteland and the next rocky woodland. The lands of Athemisia were vast, varied and treacherous. Only the strong survived them. Only the quickest tamed them.

And he would tame them.

He waddled through the snow, rolled up tighter than a fish chīllapītzalli smothered in steaming cacao sauce. The thought of the food filled his frigid fingers with warmth even as it made his stomach growl. But though the cold bit harder than the prickly cactus’ embrace, he could hardly keep from smirking whenever he looked over to Pacal.

The southern man was a sight. With a head and shoulders sprouting higher than most men, and dressed in the vibrant accoutrement of feathers, bone and jade of his southern tribal roots, he struck fear in the hearts of strangers by presence alone. His shadow fell wide. And Rogelio harboured quiet envy for a verticality which had long avoided him from birth.

But though he was mighty and fierce, the southern mountain was brought to bear by a mere dip in the weather.

Rogelio understood. When your summer and winter are split not by snow but monsoons, these northern climes were a shock. And yet, Rogelio counted no less than three coats layered over the puffed torso of the fearsome warrior. Two scarves wrapped about his face with but the smallest wooden visor poking between the wool. His legs were equally bulky from two pairs of pants stuffed within a set of overalls straining at the seams. The edges of his borrowed hat were a flapping brim so wide it sheltered even his shoulders and gathered its own snow so as to form a secondary peak.

He’d have laughed in the man’s face if it weren’t for the fact that somewhere beneath those multiple sleeves rested a brace of pistols. It gave Rogelio pause to consider just how much stopping power could be concealed beneath a wool overcoat.

Rogelio pulled his collar tighter against the wind. He tried not to think of his childhood beaches where the warm waves lapped up against the stilts of his home. His breath was so cold as to crystallise on his face, freezing to the thin hairs of his chin. He resisted the urge to touch this novel experience, worried he would break what few sprouts he cultivated.

If he doesn’t come soon, I’m heading back to the train.

The captain stood resilient in the wind. Somehow she balanced upon the snowy boulder, boots fully submerged in the endless white powder. Her coat hugged her body, the leather slapping noisily over the howl of the sky. She balanced a spyglass in one hand, surveying the rocky slopes. But the metal was too cold to keep up for long and she folded it before bowing her head to the unrelenting elements.

Did you hear me! Rogelio shouted. I’m not standing in this maldito storm much longer!

Ain’t reckon the great Corazon Sombreado was so put out by a little weather.

Little weather! Rogelio declared. Why, I’m about to freeze my choto off!

The ladies of Athemisia shall weep, she said, her voice dryer than the air.

There would be such wailing that the provinces would keep awake for a whole year.

Well… perhaps if they took turns, Captain Felicity said. She hopped from the boulder and curled up in the refuge behind the rock. You may rejoice that your nethers are spared. They come.

She pocketed her seeing glass, motioning down the mountainside. Rogelio kept pressed to their shelter, squinting over the blinding sun reflecting off the expansive field of white.

It was a small party from Rogelio’s bearings. He saw five dark sticks, treading a furrow through the roving drifts. A larger mound could only mean some cruel bastard had forced a horse to bear him through this insufferable weather. Either way, their meeting location provided an excellent lookout. And, Rogelio noted, the weather deterred any conniving on their guests’ part.

Felicity spoke shortly with the southerner and Pacal waddled off with his directives. La capitana then addressed the boy nearly invisible beneath a long cape of thick fur. The hairs were tinged with the delicate snow that clung to their tips. Good work with finding the cave. But best you make yourself scarce in it for a spell. Ain’t no reason for you to share in what follows.

I’m sorry about the storm, Gryl mumbled.

Ain’t see a reason for an apology. Not like you conjured it up on our heads.

Gryl’s nod was reluctant. Unconvinced, even. He turned his hood, as though he heard some directive further up the mountain. Then he crawled off, leaving Felicity and Rogelio to watch him vanish amongst the shifting landscape.

And what exactly are we expecting? Rogelio asked.

With any luck, a cordial exchange.

Theirs was a shivering vigil as the caravan drew near. The lady captain came to Rogelio’s side. She was taller than him, much to his perturbation, but at least afforded some brief break from the gale.

Steady your hand. Winds like these nip the tips and can make mules of even the fastest calvary.

A little cold won’t bother me none, Rogelio sniffled. Nonetheless, he rubbed his hands together all the same. What’s the measure then? Lay an ambush? Ransom for greater reward? Abandon the bodies in a crevice and loot their supplies?

Reckon we’d finish the job, Felicity said flatly.

Rogelio clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering. Why bring the boy to hide the cargo then?

The lady captain looked away from the growing procession. Seven in total. Reckon it’s best we don’t leave ourselves at risk to any of your suggestions.

She moved forward to meet with the approaching party. Rogelio edged along, scowling as he confirmed la capitana’s count. They must have been obscured by the horse’s culo.

Upon seeing the lady captain, the new arrivals fanned out. They were equally dressed in thick hides and furs against the snowy peak, more in Gryl’s style than that of Pacal’s. Several shivered in the wind, hands shaking too much to bother with the rifles slung over their shoulders. A woman held the reins of the horse, taking it slowly forward as the man on the top leaned in his saddle.

Captain Metticia?

Meng Zhengfei?

The heads of both parties took a moment to unwrap scarves, draw back hoods and doff hats. The Jader was a round-faced man with a high forehead and pockmarked skin. His lips were bright and chapped in the blistering air. A thin wisp of a moustache was proudly groomed beneath his flat nose. He looked over Felicity and Rogelio briefly, seemingly satisfied with what he saw. Just as quickly as he unwrapped, he bundled himself back up.

He had to shout from beneath his scarf. A most hellish place to meet again! Where has your other man gone?

Does it matter?

I do not mean the one you have set up on the ledge. Zhengfei waved a mitt in the direction Pacal had wandered. I can see the tracks in the snow.

Just a precaution, Felicity replied. She nodded to his entourage. As we’re all apt to take.

Zhengfei shifted on his saddle. He was hardly a man of great stature, possibly even smaller than Rogelio. Perhaps he meant for the horse to lend him some additional weight in their negotiations.

He took a moment to look down on the lady captain with what could, perhaps, amount to a sneer. It was really hard to tell with all the clothes.

You have my shipment?

You have my money?

Zhengfei cleared his throat. My goods first.

Not until I’ve seen our agreement in full.

This how you do business? Zhengfei asked. He leaned over the saddle, causing his steed to take several awkward steps on the uneven ground. You came on good word.

I did, Felicity shouted back. She had to wait a moment while a great gust blew through their exchange. Several of Zhengfei’s entourage braced themselves. Rogelio could see them breaking formation, seeking shelter amongst the scattered rocks rather than keep the ill-advised perimeter.

But there was little to be sought at these altitudes. No trees buttressed against these icy gales. In moments, the merchant’s formidable formation was quickly unravelled through no effort on the captain’s part.

Rogelio was thankful they had come early and claimed the best nook.

Give me my shipment or I shall tell all how you cheated me!

Ain’t no cheat, Felicity said. But while I may come on good recommendation, the same cannot be said of you, Meng Zhengfei.

The man straightened on his perch. Rogelio supposed this was his best attempt at shock.

You insult me too! At my face no less!

That’s who I am, Felicity said. Ain’t nothing I’d hold behind you. I like to deal plain and simple. You see, we captains are kindred spirits. Get to talking when we pass each other in the saloons. Not hard for those who have been stiffed to pass on a bad word. You’ve got a reputation, Meng Zhengfei. Reckon it’s the reason you had to send your offer so far for it to fall on my little ears.

What you hear are vicious slanders!

Excellent, Felicity said. She crossed her arms like she did whenever she was about to drive home a point. I’m more than glad to see you prove those naysayers wrong and show your trustworthiness. Let’s see the pay.

Zhengfei lifted his glove to his face, peeling back the scarf to free his mouth. Rogelio was certain he would shout obscenities at the lady captain. Or curses in the shrill Jader tongue. Instead, he spat on the snow. It practically froze before it could sink to the ground.

I do not like you, Captain Felicity Metticia.

Ain’t looking for a friend. Luckily, they say it’s best not to do business with one. So, shall we?

Zhengfei made a point to flash his disdain before wrapping his bleeding lips once more. It was a mistake to let you set the meeting.

Make it harder to form an ambush?

Zhengfei’s response was muffled. But he waved at one of his lackeys. From a pouch, Felicity was tossed a small hide bag. She didn’t bother opening it, handing it off to Rogelio. It was heavy in his hands and he looked at the lady captain, confused.

Best you count, she said, loud enough that her distrust could be heard. Rogelio didn’t know what he was counting. It wasn’t as though Felicity had informed them of the specifics. He untied the pouch, looking in on the strange round coins bound together with a long string pulled through their square centres. There were a variety of sizes and colours but Rogelio had no sense of their worth.

Jader coins, much like their people, were far too confusing.

It’s all there? Felicity prompted.

Rogelio bit his lip, trying to think of a graceful way to cover his ass should he give the wrong answer. It wasn’t as though the lady captain wouldn’t notice when she counted later. Assuming, of course, she knew how to count them herself.

But before Rogelio could reply, Zhengfei barked, Of course it is not! You think me stupid enough to hand over your pay without seeing that you delivered! It’s a third. No more! Now, where is my things!

Felicity nodded at Rogelio. He took that as a sign for him to stow the pouch.

Come this way, Felicity motioned. Ain’t need to warn you against funny ideas. You’ve seen my men’s tracks in the snow after all.

Chapter 2

The ground crunched underfoot. The addition of Zhengfei’s personal guard made the procession particularly noisome. And Rogelio wasn’t happy to abandon what little shelter they had. Several times he slipped. But he was not the only one. Zhengfei’s men slowed their progress with each curse-laden tumble into the shifting banks.

Rogelio began to worry they may lose Gryl’s guiding tracks to the swirling white mountain.

Hoary and exhausted, they reached a plateau made barely tolerable through a natural stone enclosure. Zhengfei clicked his tongue even as his hired arms scrambled haplessly between the icy boulders. The lady leading his horse drew it to Felicity’s side.

Are we nearly there or do you plan to freeze me to death?

A well-hidden treasure necessitates the life of the hider, Felicity said. Ain’t do a damn thing if you could walk ten paces and find what you needed.

This could be through my son, Zhengfei grumbled.

Ain’t like dealing through intermediaries, Felicity said. Best get a measure of a man by his own actions.

Rogelio wondered if there was any truth to the lady captain’s words. All he could see was triumph in her posture each time the rider complained. Rogelio was more preoccupied with the hired guns. However, none of them showed a particular interest in their employer’s well-being. Few even showed much hostility outside pitiless cries against the buffeting winds. Their guns hardly left their holsters. It was much easier to maintain balance with emptied fingers.

Rogelio paused, stepping aside as several of the grumbling guards passed. It would be so easy to take these villains in the back, grouped as they were. A quick ambush would leave the boss to his mercy.

A pity it wasn’t the lady captain’s plan.

Mighty Pacal lumbered several paces behind all the others. He was the vigilant shepherd to the wayward flock. And while Zhengfei’s men may not realise the danger, Rogelio was too learned with the southerner’s aim even with a doglock pistol. Rogelio pondered what Felicity’s exact orders to him were.

Rogelio sighed. This damnable captain had a habit of over-complicating the simplest plots.

Their morose march came to an end at the edge of the plateau. All evidence of their earlier meddling was masked in the flurries. The winds drove the white powder down the rocky sides, filling in Rogelio’s steps even as he followed the indistinct back of the gunman before him. A veritable garden of tumbled boulders cut down on the wind and created whispers of shapes and forms in the uniform landscape. There was no telling how loose the ground was beneath their feet. No one could find where the gravel spilled away to precipitous ruin.

As Gryl had mentioned when they came to bury the cargo, the boulders would serve well enough as landmarks for retracing their steps.

Yet, as they drew near the new rise of the mountain peak, Rogelio sensed something off. He could not say what it was exactly. But there was a disturbed twist to the air and the faint whiff of trouble on its chilled breath.

Felicity strolled forward. It is just up here! We are close now.

It had better. Should my mare slip and break a leg, I shall exact the cost from your remaining pay.

Rogelio could see the concern in the captain’s shoulders. Great furrows lead up the slope to the hidden cave. Furrows which belonged neither to Rogelio, Pacal, Felicity or Gryl. And given how quickly they filled with the driving snow, they had to have been made only recently. Perhaps not but a few minutes before they even arrived.

Their vanishing trail dug through the mountain’s farther side, away from where Felicity had led them. Even worse, Gryl stood dumbly by several chests pulled from their awkward hiding place. And while it was hard to read the expression on his covered face, Rogelio knew that he was worried.

Felicity paused their march with a raised fist.

Zhengfei, however, raised his protest, I refuse to travel much farther. I warn you, Captain Metticia, I warn you! I return home and tell all of your duplicitous nature!

Hold, Felicity said. There’s mischief about.

The gravitas in her voice quieted Zhengfei’s complaints. His words came out meek as he twisted in his saddle. Where? Is this treachery? He snapped his fingers and the woman holding his horse moved quickly to check behind the nearby crooked rock spire. She drew a single edged, curved long blade and gripped its canted hilt tightly.

Felicity, however, approached Gryl. She muted whatever words he began to stammer, brushing away the snow filling one of the chests left open. After emptying several handfuls, she upended the container. Nothing spilled out save a few icy stones.

What is the meaning of this! Zhengfei demanded. Is this thievery?! He turned in his saddle, shouting at the kuli guards in harsh Jader. Is that what your other man was doing? Stealing from me?

Pacal? Felicity asked. She looked steely at Zhengfei. You insult the both of us with your accusation. My crew would never betray a contract.

What of that one?

He is my navigator, Felicity said, and as straight a shooter as you’ll ever find. She motioned for Gryl’s assessment but he only shook his head.

It was like this when I got here.

Where are my goods then? Zhengfei demanded. I had not spent considerable fortune obtaining yāpiàn just to have Thyrian dogs steal from me!

I did not! Felicity shouted. Why would I bring you to your empty cargo if I had!

But Zhengfei would have no excuse. He pointed at her, shouting his command. His soldiers were lethargic in carrying out his charge. Frostbitten fingers tarried for triggers. The lady captain fell quickly behind the chest, calling for cessation of Zhengfei’s hostilities while she pulled Gryl into cover. Get down, Rogelio! she called.

But he needed little direction. Rogelio dove headfirst into a large snow pile. He broke through the crisp mound, scrambling for the stone towers. Zhengfei’s bullets were slow to follow, as though they were as reluctant to face the cold as their wielders.

After the first salvo failed to fell his victims, Zhengfei waved at them to charge.

You dogs! Rogelio cried. Don’t you know you face the mighty El Corazon Sombreado!

He ejected from his hole with staggering speed. A hapless mercenary loosened a single grazing shot before Rogelio barrelled into him. He coiled himself upon impact. The mercenary absorbed the full force. They both crashed into the frozen earth, Rogelio cushioning himself with the Jader. The man groaned beneath his weight, trying to shift the brawler from his chest.

Rogelio deftly disarmed him, striking his temple with the pistol and rendering the villain unconscious.

The wild peaks turned into a pitched battlefield.

Rogelio spied several gunmen advancing on Felicity’s position. They were stopped in their tracks as several pinpoint rifle shots struck down the closest villain. Rogelio let out several shots from his pilfered firearm. Having drawn the attention of more enemies, he dove behind tumbled rocks for cover.

He heard boots crunching through snow coming upon him from the left. The woman who led Zhengfei’s horse emerged. With her sword in hand, she wailed like a fantasma as she rounded upon his position.

But her shrieks betrayed her charge. Rogelio drew his own cutlass.

El Sombreado is happy to bring a blade to a gunfight! he grinned.

Steel clashed against steel.

Yet, instead of a daring duel, the woman slipped on the ice. Her fumbling strike arced wide. Rogelio skirted the blade but her awkward thrust caught him in the knee and the pair entangled as they clashed into one another.

The woman threw herself upon Rogelio before he could recover. They spun and toppled down the loose slope. His knees struck loose rocks. His elbows lashed out without direction. Through snow and gravel, they rolled until gravity pulled the bundle of flailing limbs apart.

Rogelio rolled into a stone with a passing resemblance to the Lord’s sign. He looked up to see his foe several feet away. She scrambled for her sword glistening upon a stony perch.

Slipping and sliding, he lunged after her. She caught him just at the last moment. Their blades sang the sweet song of combat. His edge caught in her curved hilt. She immediately twisted his weapon free from his hands. But she was lower on the slope. While she sent his sword flying, he caught her harshly across the cheek with his fist. The woman fell to the ground.

Instead of wasting time for his mislaid cutlass, he grabbed for hers. She kept a professional grip upon the handle. He clasped her with both his hands. She drove her fist into his stomach. Rogelio sputtered, twisting off balance.

He could feel the sword slipping from his grasp.

He caught sight of her planted knee on the tilted ground. It afforded her better leverage. So Rogelio stepped upon her as though she were a stool. With a powerful twist of his hip, he launched off her leg. His boot, spinning defiantly against the sky, struck her upon the jaw. As Rogelio finished his backflip, he saw her driven back into the snow. It was a simple matter to grab at the discarded blade this time. She recovered just as he returned it into her stomach. Her eyes widened and a scream garbled in her throat. As her blood warmed his hands, their eyes locked. And he saw in her a look of respect: a professional proud to be finished in the heat of combat against a superior foe.

Rogelio made sure to twist the blade and give her a quick death.

Steam rising from sword and bloodied clothes, he drew to confront the rest of Zhengfei’s cadre.

To his surprise, peace had fallen upon the mountainside. Well, peace enough that could be found in the screaming gale. Bodies scattered across a white world, staining great swathes in brilliant crimson. The tracks through the drift told a story of chaos and confusion. At some junction the horse had run off.

Kneeling in the centre of it all was Zhengfei. Felicity stood over him, rifle pointed at his breast. One of the stone spires appeared to twist in the flurries, coalescing into mighty Pacal. He dragged behind him the last of Zhengfei’s warriors. Gryl huddled near the edge of the conflict. He shuddered beneath his fur cloak.

So, is this it, traitor? Shall you plant me upon this mountain too? Zhengfei’s scarf had been lost in the scuffle. His face was bloodied and bruised and he spat what sanguine he could upon Felicity’s pants.

I told you this was not my doing.

Lies to the end!

Hardly. She sniffed, lowering her gun. She looked at Rogelio. Give the man back his cash.

Ah, what? Rogelio looked just as stunned as Zhengfei. Are you serious?

We were paid for a job, Felicity said, sternly. That job ain’t done. We’re no robbers. Give the man his pay.

Rogelio certainly wasn’t going to do that. But Pacal made a point of tossing a ruffian to Zhengfei’s feet like a meagre sack of potatoes. Rogelio shifted his grip on the unfamiliar sword, sighed, then fished the pouch of Jader coins and tossed them at Zhengfei. He made sure to hit the snivelling man in the head with it.

Zhengfei looked at the pouch with disgust. What is this?

I ain’t make it clearer. Someone stole your goods. I ain’t got a bead on who. But they’ve gone and made a great fool of me. Led to much unnecessary bloodshed. And it ain’t sit well. Felicity looked to Pacal. She said nothing but the man held up an unfamiliar weapon. She looked back to Zhengfei. I ain’t taking your money this day, Meng. I will say I can escort you and your surviving men back down the mountain for the hassle. Assuming, of course, they go unarmed.

Zhengfei’s laugh was brittle and short. I not trust you with my bath water!

Very well. But I ain’t having you leave in a manner that could prolong this conflict. Pacal’ll take you back to the trail. Your weapons are forfeit. I give you my apologies for what’s happened. She looked about the bloody scene. For all that’s worth.

Zhengfei made to say more but Pacal loomed. If the giant’s presence wasn’t enough to cow the Jader, the fact he picked him up by his collar and dropped him on his feet certainly did. Then Pacal threw the unconscious guard over his shoulder and pushed Zhengfei away from the cave. Gryl wrapped his arms about another unconscious foe and struggled after Pacal. Felicity waited until they were well and truly lost to the howling snow before turning to Rogelio.

Best we look over the rest. See if there’s any still breathing.

And finish them?

Tend them! Felicity barked. But if they ain’t, check them for usefulness. Keep an eye out for signs of how this happened. She surveyed the crimson field. What a shame.

Rogelio heard her cuss under her breath as she set their macabre search. Rogelio sighed, feeling the chill seep through his clothes now that the thrill of battle abated. He kept his pilfered sword with him, heading back to his daring duel and searching for his discarded weapon. It took him far too long to dig it from the snow. But that cutlass was a trusted companion and he’d be damned if he left it to the mountain.

He was pawing through his skewered opponent when he heard the captain call out. Rogelio stashed a spare pouch of black powder, a silver necklace, jade earring and a small tobacco pipe with spare leaves. Then he went to the captain’s side. She stood over one of the chests pulled from their secreted location.

What’ve you got, la capitana?

The lady captain held up a thin red silk cord. It was tied into a rather decorative bow. A single brass coin threaded through the square hole in its centre. The Jader symbols on it meant nothing to Rogelio though Felicity looked at it closely.

I’m as befuddled as a guard hound finished with the distilling dregs. She looked out over the rolling snow. Best we keep attentive for any more treasures.

They did not finish their search until the sun began its crawl into the horizon. Gryl and Pacal returned. Gryl was clearly distracted, shouting periodically and jumping at the wind. Pacal, however, was silent and obedient. Exhausted and frozen, they made their way back to the train carrying only questions with no answers.

Chapter 3

What do you mean gone?

Ain’t know another way to describe it, Schroeder. We dropped them chests in the cave and, when we returned, the whole thing was emptier than a pauper’s purse after a year working in a lumber magnate’s yard.

Felicity shivered beneath a wool blanket. The pewter cup steamed in her hands and she leaned over it as though it was the only thing keeping her alive. Schroeder knew she cared little for tea, so he knew it had to be dire for her to accept the beverage.

They sat in the rear engine and over the hole into the mechanist’s cubby. Laure had all the boilers fed and the air sweltered with their humidity. A great orange and red rolled up from the engine’s belly and Schroeder remained stubbornly in the captain’s chair, close to the frosted windscreen. All the cold managed to do was make him awkwardly stuck between a shivering back and sweating front.

Well, it is hardly like this is a high trafficked thoroughfare, Schroeder said. That was the point of meeting beneath the gaze of the Three Sisters.

I’m aware.

Were you followed? Did someone talk? Felicity fixed Schroeder a look. He sighed. Of course, you considered those options.

The walk back was very long. She sipped her tea. And cold.

How convenient that I was not required, Schroeder grinned. He leaned back in the chair. I can become accustomed to this second-in-command business.

Ain’t preclude you from ventures, Felicity warned. If it weren’t for Auntie, you’d have been there. How is she?

Schroeder’s mood soured. Fine. We have nearly reached her destination, right?

I found this, Felicity said, her distraction plain to see. She tossed Schroeder the coiled coin. What’s your make?

I would guess brass.

Thank you, Investigator Seathanach.

It’s a qiàn brass coin, Schroeder said. We have seen hundreds of them before. Were we not transporting goods for a Jader? Is it one of his?

I ain’t had the opportunity to check, Felicity said. Meng could scarcely contain his disdain.

You killed his guard.

I’m sure he’s happy to have a reduced payroll, Felicity dismissed. Ain’t settle well that he’s got some bad words towards yours and ours.

Mèng Zhèngfēi is a right old bastard, Schroeder said. I am certain his ire will be a net boon for us in the end. So, I would nary stress his poor recommendation too heavily.

I ain’t like this ending. Felicity sipped from her cup. I take pride in my work. Being hoodwinked goes against all my craft and caution.

Schroeder nodded. I know. I assume you have your mind made to track these thieves.

If able.

Schroeder snorted. As though you would allow a little hardship to discourage you. Do we have assurance of pay—at least—should we return Master Mèng’s belongings?

Reckon he’ll want nothing to do with us from here on out. We did kill his guard.

A good businessman knows better than to seek deals on hired arms. Schroeder turned the coin in his fingers. We could have Elsie look it over.

To what end?

He shrugged. Perhaps she could divine something beyond mere mortal senses. He ran his finger over the cord. This is some awfully fine silk. His frown deepened.

This drew the captain’s interest. She leaned forward, eyes narrowing. You’ve a thought.

More of a hunch.

She drew her legs up from the boiler hole. I’ll take anything at this junction.

Well, I would hardly take it with assurance. I am no seamster nor tailor but I have been familiar with one or two in my time. He ran the cord between his thumb and finger, closing his eyes as he appreciated the feel. I am particularly fond of Jader silk. They make truly delightful waistcoats and cravats. There are several types of silk they use in the fabric—made from different species if I recall.

Schroeder touched the cord to his cheek and rubbed it.

Felicity frowned. Are you going to tell me you can identify the silk through fondling?

Broadly, yes. Colonial silk isn’t actually made from silkworms but spiders. Needless to say it has a coarser touch. Though its threads are far stronger. He took the edge of the bow between his fingers and gave it a good tug. Then there’s the difference between cultivated and wild silk.

I ain’t need the lecture so long as you guarantee the results.

Wild is the coarsest. It’s called tussah and most quality establishments do not offer it to their customers because of its low character. However, it is heavier and makes great application for accoutrements or detailing. Say for a string or cord.

Felicity nodded. So, it’s tussah.

Incorrect. Schroeder tossed the coil back to Felicity. I may not be an expert, but I know the difference between tussah and silk. Helps to keep the cheats honest and the honest from cheats. That is a proper thread from a mulberry silkworm. Very atypical to use for rope. There’s scant proper sericulture in Athemisia so either this was procured from Hé Tao Xī or it was imported.

Felicity turned the cord over in her hand as though she were looking at it for the first time. She also ran her finger and thumb over the fabric then tried it against her cheek. Finally, she looked at Schroeder. You certain?

I pride myself in few things, captain. However, I would stake my life on my impeccable sense of taste. By the wilds, I would stake yours, too.

That’s good enough for me, she said. He Tao Xi is how far?

I am no navigator. However, given the controlled nature of the silk trade in the Jade Empire—and the fact sericulture spread to Athemisia in the first place despite the laws forbidding it—I would caution against simply showing up and pressing questions.

You reckon we should speak to a black merchant?

Schroeder sucked in breath. It really depends on which merchant you consider. I am still partial to asking Miss Elsie if she could simply pull the answer from the aether.

Ain’t a reason we can’t do both, Felicity said. We can have her take a look while we’re arranging a meeting with a proper smuggler.

She picked up her tea and started towards the door. But Schroeder called out to her. What do you think this is all about? You must have some thoughts.

It’s damn unsettling.

Schroeder shook his head. You must have more.

She lingered at the hatch, hand on the handle and blanket wrapped about her shoulders. Felicity looked out into the storage car. Perhaps it was to see if there were listeners. Perhaps it was to simply get a sense of her home. Or maybe she tried to find spies amongst the empty horse stalls and food containers.

It’s as you said. Ain’t like we’re in the middle of the colonies here. Spent some time with the navigator trying to find something inconspicuous. And… well…

You have doubts about Gryllus?

Don’t you?

Schroeder avoided the question. He means well.

Yes. Felicity nodded. That he does. I’d like to think he misread his map and we picked up unwanted eyes. The alternatives get more troublesome.

A traitor?

Ain’t certain your angle. And I’m betting you ain’t considering the things you’d catch, Walter Samuel.

Schroeder gritted his teeth. But he pressed boldly forward regardless of his captain’s warning. I am just wondering when last we had something go this poorly. Few knew of our arrangements. Master Mèng naturally wanted silence for his contraband. But we have a few new souls on this ship. New crews bring new dangers.

We ain’t, Felicity nodded. Would you suspect Auntie? Elsie? One of our other departed passengers?

Rogelio?

Might as well list who it is you do trust, Felicity said. Sounding like it’ll be the shorter.

You. Hope. Schroeder paused for a second. The mechanist, I suppose.

I’m certain Laure will thank you kindly. Felicity took the tally of Schroeder’s list. She looked at him queerly. Not Pacal?

I trust little in someone that quiet, Schroeder said. It is anyone’s guess what that man ponders behind unspeaking eyes.

He’s been with me the longest.

There is that too.

Felicity laughed, shaking her head. Boys and their jealousy. Just get us to Shou Ma. I’m going to spend a spell in my cabin. Before I catch something.

And just as she spoke those cursed words, she sneezed. Schroeder made the Lord’s sign to ward off her sickness. She blew a raspberry and climbed out of the small engine.

Chapter 4

That is called a retort and I would be very appreciative if you refrained from touching it.

Oh. Hope pulled her finger away from the strange glass container. A small fire warmed its rounded belly, flickering joyfully from a metal spout. But Hope had never seen a candle made of metal and was curious how it managed to stay burning. A simple hose extended out the back and snaked into the exposed piping of the surgical car. It’s so strange.

It is important for distillation, Elsie said. She wore a pair of goggles though she looked nothing like Laure did in hers. Elsie maintained her elegance with a frilly day dress beneath the heavy leather apron. Her sleeves were removed, laying in a folded pile upon the bed frame at the front of the car. Her fiery hair was tucked beneath a crisp white cloth. A pair of thick gloves clasped her hands, but these did not impede her as she moved thin glass containers around the table.

It all looked so very fragile, but Hope was also hopelessly intrigued. What’s distillation?

Elsie sighed. Part of my studies. She turned to the girl, but the lenses of her goggles were too dark for Hope to see through them. Put simply, I’m isolating nitrogen from urea. I am running low on reagents due to our… erratic stops. The captain wishes for me to try something with a peculiar piece of cloth she found and I cannot do so without reagents. Truthfully, I know no means of divining its origin. But had I any idea of the tasks I would be given, I would have procured more necessary components for my incantations before departing.

But why are you burning it?

I am not burning it, Elsie said, exasperated. Look, do you not have something else to do? Could you not feed your pet or wash it or anything?

She tried to focus on the glasses before her, politely ignoring Hope. The girl knew she was unwanted. She loitered in the surgeon’s car regardless.

Ok, Hope muttered, drawing back from the bubbling liquids. From the angled tip, something dripped into another round glass jar. The whole table was filled with things spitting and smoking and smelling. It was as fascinating as it was gross. Hope had never seen anyone work like this though the old men and women who tended the medicine shops were also fond of their smelly jars.

Since leaving Mount Royal, Elsie had taken over the surgeon’s car bit by bit. No one raised a fuss, though Hope was unsure why. It was true that since Randall’s departure, they hardly used his car for more than excess storage. Hope was endlessly fascinated by the things that Elsie brought to it. She wondered what a lady would do with all these strange containers. It was more than the colourful jars. There were beakers with buzzing flies. There were thick books with yellowed pages. She had lots of chalk and strange diagrams and symbols hanging on the walls.

But with this slow conquest, Elsie also pushed for greater privacy. Hope found her time in the car shorter and shorter even if she had to fetch ingredients for Gryl’s cooking. The lady constantly had something on the go and the place was unsuitable for children, as she constantly chastised.

Not that Hope ever let that hamper her. She would sneak in beneath the cover of darkness and look through Elsie’s boxes of weird and wondrous belongings. Course, when she singed the sleeves of her long coat while poking through the vials, she learned to be careful around Miss Elsie’s experiments.

What is it that you need? Elsie asked, stepping back from the table and eyeing the child. She pulled her goggles to her forehead, retaining a thin red outline about her eyes from where they rested.

Auntie is hungry.

Of course, she is, Elsie grumbled. She spared a quick glare towards the door leading to the next car. She seems to have unnatural cravings at all hours of the day. I swear she shall knock at the most critical point in my observations.

Elsie cast about the boxes at her feet tucked beneath the hanging bunks. Hooking a foot beneath a lid, she dragged a container loose.

These should be provisions. She nudged the lid. Oh, my mistake. Some more reagents. She would not be interested in newt hearts or mulberry sprigs, would she?

I do not think so.

Of course not, Elsie smiled. She kicked the box back and hooked another. Here you go. Do be careful around the alchemy stand. Those vials are irreplaceable.

Hope eyed the folding shelf with its many glass tubes, springs and rods. She pulled the box of food stuff away before sifting through its contents. The bubbling from Elsie’s equipment grew louder as a sharp hiss filled the air. Elsie yelped while glass jars clinked together. Hope looked up just in time to see one of the wide mouth jars rattle before a great black cloud erupted from the top.

Elsie shouted as she hurried over to a window and pulled it open. Then, grabbing a pair of metal tongs, she hooked the jar free and immediately pitched the contents away.

An awful smell of rotted eggs and burnt bread filled the car.

Well damnations and vexations, Elsie sighed. She set the tongs upon the desk with defeat.

Is everything alright? Hope asked.

Is everything alright? Is everything alright?! Elsie slumped into the swinging chair fastened to the desk. Well, my elixir combusted, spoiling the last of my Lady’s Lace and magetongue. That is about two weeks' work out the window. She followed the dark cloud as it traced the route which the burning liquid tread. Veins of silver wiggled within the dark plumes like little snakes slithering within a brackish grass. She pulled at a stack of papers, took a quill and dipped it into a drying ink pot. The aetheric flashes are a touch concerning. Clearly there is unbridled reactivity between admixture and oxygen. Too much has excited the flow of energy, leading to excessive visual castoff. Elsie sniffled. And a most odious expulsion. It could hint at reactivity with oxygen, potentially scorching the threads of the wind.

Once the quill ceased scratching, she set the feather aside and tucked the papers away. Lady Elsie took one last look over her beakers then turned weary eyes towards Hope. You simply cannot appreciate the temporal sensitivity of these experimentations. Most sorcerers operate in pristine labs with controlled conditions and rigorous methodologies. Me, on the other hand, must contend with a rickety railcar and what few peaceful moments descend on our tempestuous routes. Her sigh was greatly practised. It is, to put simply, an impossible task.

What are you doing? Hope pressed.

Failing, largely. She shook her head. My mentor will not be pleased with my progress. Or lack thereof.

Who is your mentor?

The one who has taught me this, she said, waving a hand over her liquids. One does not learn sorcery without direction.

Like Randall?

I am unfamiliar with the name.

He was the one here before, Hope said. He would make very lovely things like floating ships and pretty flowers or wonderful explosions.

Glamours, Elsie nodded. Well, he must have been very adept. Sadly, I am but an initiate. The greater secrets of the magickal arts are withheld from me until I learn these fundamentals. Elsie laughed. Though I have done far more than most expected of me.

What do you mean?

Oh, it is silliness. Elsie waved a hand. "Some men have it in their foolish heads that women are incapable of understanding their very complicated practices. Truly, they aren’t that difficult. She looked at the dark cloud that still hung over her head with its flashing silver linings. Well, there is some challenge but frankly I would like to see your average sorcerer attempt these recipes."

Is there anything I can do? Hope asked.

Well, unless you have some very rare and very expensive reagents tucked away in your bunk, I’m afraid there is not much. Elsie paused as a loud clanging sounded from the neighbouring car. Though if you ensure some measure of peace while I clean up, I would be most appreciative.

Yes ma’am, Hope muttered. She gathered her meal ingredients while Elsie ushered her out of the car. Elsie pulled the door closed behind her without hesitation. Hope had to shuffle carefully across the gap into the dining car while the door rattled in its hold and the wind rushed between the shaking sections.

The dining car was a long carriage with curved booths lining the exterior walls. Soft curtains shook on polished bars as gas lanterns hissed wavering flames into life behind glass sconces. The wood had been repaired and polished. The carpet had been cleaned. The cushions were freshly recovered. It was easily the most glamorous of the captain’s carriages and Hope liked sitting in it, looking out the window and imagining herself like some well-to-do lady enjoying a lovely train ride in the country.

The fantasy hardly breathed life, however, when a fresh round of clanging echoed through the car.

A small Jader woman sat at one of the central tables, shaking in the bolted chair while the train continued its swaying ascent. She had a tin can, its origins Hope could scarcely imagine, upturned in her hand which she used to pound against the tabletop. Her black hair was pulled into a raised bun, like a large dumpling rising over the lip of an overflowing black bowl. Four hairpins protruded from the sides with little bead adornments shaking with every twist of her head. Small embossed flowers encircled another four small, glistening rubies along a headband woven into her hair. But the biggest draw was the pink lily waving from a jaunty angle off the top bun. The pins holding it perfectly in place were completely invisible. It was regal and youthful. And between the fresh flower and pound of powder applied to her face, Auntie actually looked a few years younger than she normally did.

But no flower or powder could hide the wrinkles. No amount of black liner could conceal the age spots. Her dark eyes fixated on Hope from pointed kohl shadows as though she had drawn her face like one of those masked raccoons. Dark, thick lines paint had replaced otherwise thinning brows. Her lips glistened as she ran a dry tongue across her mouth. Her face was round and Auntie fought against the natural sags with rigorous massages and warm clothes.

She stared Hope down even as she pounded the can several more times against the table.

Yes, yes, I’m here! Hope cried in Jader. She deposited her armful