Trains leading out to villages like Ravenwick stopped at every little town surrounding a larger metropolis. They came out from those larger cities early, then made a return trip for commuters, repeating the leg in the afternoons and evenings.

It would be possible, he mused, for someone to live in an outlying village and work in the big city, provided they were willing to take the train in every day. He looked around the car in which they were sitting and noticed a few people who seemed to fit that commuter description. Some men and women were dressed in nice clothes, reading a local paper or staring out the window.

They were all obviously headed to work, somewhere. But many stepped off before their arrival at the nearest large city, Leeds. That trip took Rip and Blair almost three hours with all the stops.

At the larger train station they could easily connect to the southern cities including Mancunium, which Rip suspected was the equivalent to Manchester in his world. There were also fast trains to Liverpool, Birmingham and Ethinium.

Ethinium, of course, was the farthest. To get there quickly, they took an express train from Leeds to Birmingham. Since it did not stop, they made it in just under three hours.

They had lunch in the Birmingham train station while waiting on their next express that would take them to Ethinium.

“You know,” Rip said after chewing down a bite of pork chop, “air travel has a lot to be desired.”

Blair, who had been lost in thought all morning, looked up from her plate and dabbed her lips with a napkin.

“It’s horrendously expensive. And there are no air terminals anywhere near Ravenwick.”

“Do you really need one? I remember Mr. Powell picked us up from Gretna Green using rope ladders.”

“Do you really wish to make the commute by chasing after a rope ladder dragging along the ground out in a field? What about our luggage? What would the servants think?”

Rip shrugged, not really caring what others thought.

“More importantly,” she continued, “Mr. Powell would likely be the only pilot we could find willing to pull such a stunt, and no doubt he’d charge us handsomely for it.”

She took a sip of tea and smiled.

“No, it’s the train for us, Muscles.”

He noticed she used the plural throughout when talking about returning home to the estate. Blair had shifted into thinking of them as being together.

Rip felt good about that. No one could cast him as a gold digger, since he had his own money. Granted, the bulk of his growing fortune came from deals with her father and the family business, but still . . . the ideas that generated the income were his.

Also, having been knighted, he was on the same social stratum now. The only quibble in this regard was that Sir Winston had been landed gentry. However, that land was a relatively recent purchase. It had not been handed down through the generations to successive heirs.

Rip doubted anyone would think twice about him marrying Blair, even in this highly structured and rule-bound society.

And even in if they did, he did not care. He did not think she would, either.

They finished their meal and went to board the express train to Ethinium, heading up front to a first class car. Rip grabbed a copy of the Standard Trumpet from a newsstand along the way. He looked over papers from across Europe, noting the Arbeiter Taglich, Clairon Quotidien and others. The depot newsstand seemed to cater to a wider audience than the one on the street corner near their townhome.

When they settled down in an empty six-seat compartment facing one another, Rip said, “You know, we could save money by traveling back there.”

He pointed toward the second-class car.

“Tosh. Now you’re just being silly.”

Rip had to admit the compartment was very snug. The leather seats felt well-padded and comfortable. An elegant sealed gaslamp above provided light.

Noticing the tilting of his head while inspecting the lamp, Blair said, “Lots of tunnels and bridges between here and home.”

Rip nodded. He had not paid much attention on the way out to Ravenwick.

The train whistled and lurched forward to begin its trek to Ethinium. Rip and Blair handed their tickets to the conductor who punched them out, handed them back, and moved on to the next compartment.

Rip sat back and pulled out his newspaper, ready to catch up on the latest as the train slowly built up speed outside the terminal.

As they passed under the first bridge, they heard dual thumps on top of the car.

He and Blair locked eyes.

She said, “What was that?”

The distinct sound of footsteps came overhead, as someone on top walked to the front of the car.

“That . . . is not good,” he said, pulling out his interspatial wallet and retrieving a Tommy gun.

They passed under another bridge and heard more thumps.

She said, “No, I suppose it’s not.”

Blair sighed and pulled out her own submachine gun.

“Try and minimize casualties, Muscles. We’re on a train, after all.”

More footsteps sounded up above as the people who jumped on headed for the front of the train.

“You’re right. Let’s go join them outside. Fewer people there.”

He strapped the gun to his back and opened the window. The sound of steel wheels clackty-clacking on the rails flooded the compartment.

Rip sat in the window, his head just below the top of the car. Then he reached up, feeling for purchase. He found a ridge along the top, likely there to channel water, he thought.

Grabbing it with his fingers, he pulled himself up and pushed off the bottom of the window with his feet, rolling onto the top of the car.

Three men headed in single-file toward the engine, ignoring the smoke blowing back into their faces. All three had Mauser semi-autos strapped to their backs.

The last one stopped and turned, his eyes growing wide at the sight of Rip behind them.

He yelled and reached for his rifle. But Rip had the element of surprise, and he was faster.

He unstrapped the Tommy gun and opened fire.