“I respect what you’re going for, but I still think it’d be a better idea to talk to Jacques first.” Ysengrin scratched the back of his neck. “He’s always very careful about any risk of being exposed.”

“Then he’ll be even happier to have deniability.” Florette stared him down. “These people respect initiative. I came to Robin Verrou with a job already in my hands, and they made me a member of the crew once I pulled it off. I’m sure Jacques is much the same. Only this will be even better for having completed it already.” I’m not approaching the ruler of Malin’s underworld as just another one of Eloise’s cast-offs. It would simply be unacceptable.

“I don’t know… Verrou and Jacques parted ways years ago. They’ve got different ways of seeing things. It’s a different style of leadership, and I’m not sure that—”

“They both respected Eloise, so the way they judge merit can’t be that different. I’m telling you, this works.”

“And I’m sure you believe that. Robin Verrou probably loved you for it. He’s all about that adventurous spirit. See the world, liberate technology from Avalon, build a legend… Obviously it won over Eloise too, but Jacques isn’t like that.” Ysengrin sucked in air through his teeth. “They left, but this is Jacques’s city. He practically controls as much as Perimont. He wouldn’t leave Malin unless it was feet-first in a mahogany box.”

“Mahogany?”

“Sure. It’s even grained, durable, with that appealing reddish-brown color—” He interrupted himself, shaking his head. “The material of the box is not the issue.”

“It’s stupidly wasteful anyway. If the earth is soft enough to bury a body in, it’s better off being used to grow crops. Land like that’s hard to come by.” Far more elegant and respectful to scatter the ashes of the departed on the wind. Florette liked to think it let them see the world at last, even if they’d never escaped the village in life.

“Maybe your little pissant mountains. Here we’ve got the space to spare. You should see Fuite Gardens; the place is practically a cemetery. You could even—” He tilted his head back. “Fuck’s sake, Florette. None of this is important.”

“Obviously. You’re prevaricating because you’re afraid.” She rolled her eyes. “Some hardened criminal you turned out to be, scared of a quick in-and-out job. I can see why Eloise wanted the fuck out of here at the first opportunity, if this is the typical level of commitment that can be expected..”

“I’m not scared, I just—”

“You’re not hard enough for this, not strong enough or smart enough to do what needs to be done. I’m giving you a way to overcome that, but you’re too weak to take it.” Florette crossed her arms. “Did I or did I not keep your secret about stealing from Jacques?”

“You promised not to rat me out on that! We went over this weeks ago.”

“And I won’t.” She smiled, leaning back. “But the least you can do is return the favor. Come on, we’d be giving Avalon a bloody fucking nose in the bargain.”

“Fuck you for this.” Ysengrin gulped, then nodded. “But fine. One job, and then you can’t hold this shit over my head anymore. You drop it, alright?”

I’ve got him.

≋

“Sure, I’m in.” The man Ysengrin had called Claude brushed the blue-dyed streak of hair out of his face. “Seems like a solid idea, and if Yse trusts you, I can too.”

“Just like that?”

He snorted. “Well, I mean, you saw me buying psyben root, and it might not look great if that got back to Mr. Clochaîne. Pierre and the acolytes get it, but Clochaîne’s too cautious to really understand. Doesn’t like any of us acolytes coloring outside the lines. I figure I’m buying your silence this way, right?”

Florette shot Ysengrin a smug smile. “Precisely. I’m glad it’s easy for you to understand.”

“I also want a quarter share of the take.”

She blinked. “We’re all doing this together, all assuming the same risk. One third each.”

“What, really?” He laughed. “You are an awful negotiator, Florette. Definitely, then.”

Ysengrin slapped his hand against his face.

“Ignore him. He’s just scared of Jacques.”

“Ah.” Claude nodded. “I think it’ll be fine, Yse. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. We’re both hiding things as it is.”

“But this? He’ll find out. He always does.”

“Yeah, obviously.” Florette stepped between them. “He’ll find out when we tell him, and then he’ll see how skilled we are. We’ll earn his respect and admiration for our vision and skill. He’ll regret ever doubting us, thinking we weren’t up to the task.”

≋

“This is what you were doing for almost a month? Camping out in front of the railyard?”

“It’s called casing, Ysengrin. I can’t believe you wouldn’t know such a rudimentary term. I investigated for any weaknesses, and I found them.” Florette folded her arms. “I put in the legwork to make sure it was feasible before I even came to you and Claude.”

She gestured to the fenced-off camp, thin chains of metal forming a makeshift palisade around the tents and fires of the work crew. That had been easy enough to climb, or at least easier than what Florette had in mind, but it wouldn’t be any help.

The few largest structures were more permanent, cabins of wood with large gaps in the ceiling, presumably to ventilate the heat. The inner sanctum of the camp, guarded by real walls rather than the thin metal lattice, and so many patrols, even at night, that simply clambering over would be impossible. It was impossible to even get close to it without tipping off one of the Guardians on patrol. Florette had tried three times before giving up on that course. The risk of being seen was just too great.

If it weren’t for the roof of this vacant building, it wouldn’t even be possible to see inside of it.

Florette pointed to the only cabin that had been painted, a dull green that still managed to stand out from the beige canvas of the tents and bare brown of the earth beneath. “That one is the Director’s office. Celice Thorley, according to the workers I chatted up at the bar. No ‘Sir” or ‘Lord’ in front of his name, but he’s the only one here who’s considered gently-born, whatever that means.”

“How do you know?” asked Claude. “Sure, it’s a different color, but that big concrete building looks much more official.” He gestured to the largest of the structures, brutal grey and twice as tall.

“That’s where they assemble the parts, best I can tell. They’d probably have plans in there for reference, but there’s always people in there. Not a great prospect. And the Director never even sets foot in there.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“It’s not hard to tell when you spend enough time casing. Whenever the workers on the train hit a snag, they pause and go to the foreman down on the ground. When it needs to be escalated beyond that, the foreman heads into one of the other cabins in the protected sanctum. Perhaps one in every four or five times that happens, the two of them will head out into that green cabin. Thorley himself never leaves except at the end of the day, earlier than everyone else.” Florette smiled. “There’s an elegance to it, that their hierarchy is what gives them away.”

“Wow, you put a lot of work into this.” Claude dipped his head slightly, impressed. “I figured this would be more of a smash-and-grab sort of thing.”

“That’s not all.” She smiled. “Thorley’s only in there five days a week. If we hit them on the right day, the theft might not be discovered for another two or three. Perfect for covering our tracks.”

“Ooh.” Claude perked his head up. “Very promising, as long as no one sees us.”

“Still haven’t told you the best part.” She pointed to the green cabin again. “Look at that, on the roof. He’s the only one who’s got one.”

“What is it, exactly?” Ysengrin squinted. “It looks like metal?”

“It’s a vent, to help keep his cabin cool. It’s supposed to be better than a window because hot air rises, or something. It was hard to get details on that part. Still, it’s an invaluable opportunity.”

“This from your friends at the bar?” Ysengrin rolled his eyes. “Surely these people are from Avalon. How could you possibly have ‘chatted them up’ like that? Your command of the language is atrocious.”

“It’s getting better,“ she spat back. “And anyway, that’s not the point. I was worried about that too, but it turns out that below the foreman level, a good chunk of them are from Malin.”

“Traitors,” Ysengrin spoke through bared teeth.

Claude shrugged. “Five florins’ll get you ten that it’s all about the salary. Pay might be too shit to be worth moving here from Avalon, but it’s a juicy deal for unskilled labor here. Avalon’s got the coin to spare, and there’s a lot of old artisans that can’t keep up with their factories and need the work.”

“It does seem strange though,” Florette admitted. “That’s the part I didn’t really understand. They’re inviting Malins into a high-technology project and paying them for the privilege. I’m amazed nothing important has ever leaked out of a place like this before.”

“Nah.” Ysengrin shook his head. “The railway itself is just iron and wood, nothing complicated there. Nor much of a risk if a Malin gets it into their head to buck. Everyone so much as touching the actual trains would be from Avalon. That’s why they have that inner area walled off. Keeps things split apart just the way they like it.”

“Compartmentalized,” Florette supplied. “Makes sense. Still, for now, they’re in the camp, and that’s good enough for us.”

Claude jerked his eyes over to the fence and back. “Is it? How are we supposed to get in?”

Florette leaned back with a smile on her face and began to explain the plan.

≋

“Can you believe we still have to make this trip twice a day?” a deep male voice grumbled from within the wagon, a large red-faced man cradling his back, probably in his fifties. “They just don’t fucking get it.”

“I’ll take any excuse to get out of that camp for a few hours.” The one sitting at the front with his hands around the reins of the horse was a light-haired boy who looked barely older than Fernan, his hands stained with coal. “It does seem like a pretty stupid use of our time though. Why go on supply runs when the supply just isn’t there?”

“Ugh, I know. No matter how many times they send us out, it’s not going to change the fact that the ships aren’t coming into port with as much coal as they used to.” He stuffed a fistful of small purple berries into his mouth. “Probably because Guerron’s such a fucking mess, if I had to guess.”

The four times Florette had followed them out, they had always paused in this alley to eat. Whether or not the wagon actually had any coal within.

“Yeah, what is going on there, anyway? Fouchand, Leclaire, Renart… It’s like someone’s weeding out all the Imperial loyalists. Aurelian Lumière’s the only one left, and it can’t be long before they get him too.” The boy took a bite of a piece of fruit, some local red thing that Florette didn’t recognize.

“He wouldn’t succumb to that. He was there defending us at the Foxtrap, riding his gleaming horse through Avalon’s ranks. He saved me, he did, with a bolt of golden light. Just you watch, one day he’ll return and liberate us all.” Wait, isn’t that the guy Fernan said was a colossal prick?

Actually, given the other nobles she’d met, that sounded about right. Fighting on the right side of a war didn’t absolve you of that.

“Didn’t he kill Leclaire with a cannon though?”

Claude would be almost in position by now, which meant that the time to act was approaching.

The older man let out a loud sigh. “Jean, where do you work? Right this very minute? Lord Lumière wasn’t doing any different. It’s just a matter of embracing the inevitable.”

“I know, Paul. But you’d think a sage would have more of a choice.”

“Not if his friends and colleagues are dying all around him. I’ll bet you anything Avalon’s got someone in there messing things up, just like the Winter War. My cousin’s a sailor, and he says that no one would ever be named Laird Heirgroom in Plagette. It’s always some twisted scheme with them. Watch, even these railroad tracks are probably going to end up summoning Khali from beyond the veil to kill us all. Or if not that, something just as bad.”

“If you believe that,” the higher voice squeaked, “then how can you keep doing this work? Being a part of it.”

Almost time. Had to be sure no one else was looking.

Another sigh echoed through. “If it’s not me, it’ll just be someone else. There’s four hundred Malins that would kill a man to have this job and get paid less for it. This way I can at least put food on the table. Like I said, have to accept what we can’t change in life.”

“But—”

Now.

Florette jumped out from her hiding place, blocking the way back out of the alley. “Stay calm, both of you.” She patted the sword buckled to her hip.

“Just what this night needed.” The older man held up his hands. “I’ve only got four dala. Don’t get paid until the end of the month.”

“Three,” croaked the boy. “And two florins.” He held out his hand, the pieces inside.

“You even use their money?” Florette suppressed a wrinkle of her nose. “Nevermind, doesn’t matter.”

“Young lady, if you’ll take a piece of advice, there’s far fatter purses to snatch elsewhere. Leave us to be on our way and we’ll leave you to yours.”

Florette sighed, pulling out a purse and dumping a load of coins into her hand. “I’ve got one thousand florins here.” More than a third of her haul from the pulsebox heist. “If I know shit about Avalon, then you’ll lose your jobs for this. Or much, much worse.” She tossed the coins back into the purse, then set it down on the carriage seat. “This is for the two of you to just… walk away. What you do after that is up to you, though I’d advise moving on.”

“A—And if we don’t?” the boy asked, his hand trembling.

“Oh, she’ll kill us, I expect. Fancy a trip to Fuite Gardens, Jean? I hear it’s lovely this time of year.”

The boy shook his head.

I won’t, she almost said, for it was true. But what would it help to say that? It was in their best interests to take the offer. Didn’t she owe it to them to give as much encouragement as possible?

We’d need another way in, if they report this. And the camp would be on guard, after that. It could scuttle the whole thing.

“If you say no, I’ll go on my merry way. Of course, that purse would be coming with me.” She leaned against the wall of the alley, her arms crossed. “Decision’s yours.”

The older man, Paul, picked up a florin and examined it for defects, though he wouldn’t find any. “Might be time to take a trip out of town.”

Florette suppressed a sigh of relief.

He grabbed the boy’s hand and led him down from his perch. By the time they were out of sight, she knocked twice against the wall, signaling Ysengrin to come out of hiding.

She hid herself under the coal-dusted blanket at the back, to ensure that she wouldn’t be seen entering. Ysengrin would take care of directing the horse. He spoke the language better, so he would be the one up top to speak with the guards.

If anyone noticed that only one was returning where two had left, they had a story ready for that as well. But it didn’t seem likely. Most of the time the Guardians would just wave them through without much comment.

Ysengrin had wanted to kill the laborers, but it seemed a senseless waste.

Claude had suggested knocking them out, but that had issues of its own. Florette still remembered the story Eloise had told of her father, bashed on the head on the day of the Foxtrap and never again the same.

This had been Florette’s solution, and admittedly a more expensive one. Captain Verrou might disagree with it, based on what he had said that day on the ship, mere hours before Florette had snuffed the life out of someone. But this was cleaner, and less likely to harm them later. Just the more sensible choice on practical grounds, that’s all.

There would be two Guardians assigned to the gate of the inner sanctum, but this empty wagon would be fully expected, and Ysengrin could talk around any potential issues that might arise, were there any. From there, they would be inside and ready to steal.

She had timed it perfectly, setting them on course to arrive an hour after sunset. Thorley would have long left for the day, but there would still be enough activity in and around his cabin that their presence there wouldn’t seem out of place.

Florette had been half-worried Ysengrin would question her about the bag of money, or even try to take it, but he had played his part without issue.

He fears Jacques more than he wants a thousand florins. The alternative was that he had actual integrity, but it had been the former Florette was counting on. That, and the fact that the plans they stole would be worth far, far more than that.

Who was this Jacques, who could command the underworld of the largest city on the continent and still prove inadequate for Eloise?

Why make yourself a target of Avalon, Jacques? Why break their laws, if you have no intention of actually hurting them?

He certainly seemed less impressive than Captain Verrou, keeping to his walled garden and fixed trade rather than liberating Avalon of its ill-made designs, but that seemed more suitable for Eloise anyway.

But then, I don’t really know her at all.

Months here without so much as a letter had made that much more than clear.

Eloise was a riddle for another time, however. The wagon had stopped.

Between the muffling blanket and the gap in language, it was difficult to make out any of the conversation, but before Florette had the chance to worry, they started to move again.

Not so surprising, that the Guardians can’t tell one Malin from another.

Claude would have seen them go in, then, and readied himself for his part.

Florette braced herself, holding her breath in, as she poked her head up out from beneath the dusty blanket. She unbuckled the sword from her belt as she did. No sense in bringing it for this part. If it came to it, she was dead anyway.

Ysengrin had already dismounted from the driver’s perch and nearly finished securing the horses.

When he finished, he turned back and nodded to her once, crisply.

Florette returned the gesture and stepped out of the carriage and into the camp. Immediately, she began walking around towards the back of the Director’s office.

A loud knock against the front door told her it was time to climb, so climb she did. In less than a minute, she was flattened above the air vent at the ceiling. Child’s play compared to the mountains.

It had been Ysengrin who brought up the twisted nails Avalon used to fasten things in place, and a good thing he had, since the one covering the vent was secured the same way. But Florette had the tool for the job, and practice using it.

A handheld metal tool with a narrow flat head, it fit perfectly into the back of the nails. A few twists to the left, and out they went. Repeat it a few more times, and off went the grille.

With the way clear, Florette risked a glance down and noted the man sat at a smaller desk, closer to the door.

No cause for alarm, I accounted for that.

As Ysengrin knocked the second time, the man grunted and stood from his desk. “I hear you! Quiet, please.” He opened the door as Florette dangled herself down softly from the rooftop, careful not to lose her grip.

“Oh good,” cried Ysengrin. “You’re here. There’s someone at the gate demanding to speak with Director Thorley.”

The man sighed loudly as Florette crept back behind the behind the eye-level walls of grey felt dividing the director’s corner of the room from the antichamber where the assistant was standing.

The whole design was very strange, but it was helping her hide right now, so it didn’t seem right to question it.

“Another one of those wastrels? If they have a problem clearing out the slums, they ought to take it up with Governor Perimont. Or King Harold, for all I care. This isn’t our concern.” Mercifully, he was speaking slowly enough that Florette could mostly understand him.

“Don’t need to tell me,” Ysengrin commiserated. “But this one says he’s from the Malin Historical Society. Says the project’s infringing on a reserve he worked out with Mr. Clochaîne and Lord Perimont.”

“Very subtle, that—” He rolled his head back as he continued talking, now too fast for Florette to pick out what he was saying, but she was at least hidden enough not to be seen the flimsy dividers.

“I know, right? But if he really can complain to them, I thought it might look bad if we hadn’t even heard him out.”

“Governor Perimont’s not going to care too much about that. I doubt Mr. Clochaîne will either.” He sighed again. “But fine, we can make him feel heard. That way there’s no chance of it getting back to the Director. Just let me lock up.” He stepped outside, shutting the door behind him.

This is it!

Florette was no scientist, and it was impossible to tell what would and wouldn’t be valuable, so she simply set about shoving everything made of paper into her bag.

The desk was dense with materials, but many of them looked like diagrams of the trains, which had to be the priority. One stack had a picture of coal on the top of it, which meant it was probably important as well.

He’s not a hard worker, is he? She managed to fit the entire contents of the top of the desk, along with everything in the drawers.

The assistant’s desk she left alone, in the hopes it would delay discovery of their theft. He came in even on days that the director didn’t, and it seemed unlikely he would have anything worth taking anyway.

After finishing her work, the bag was more than a bit heavy, which would make it difficult to get it out quietly, but hopefully Claude’s distraction would account for that.

On a whim, she flicked her eyes over the bookshelf as well. Just one. Two at most.

Something about trains, or steam, or coal. Energy, that was the important thing. The language barrier made it difficult, but the one called Modern Principles of Some Unintelligible Word looked sciency enough to matter, as did Advanced Thermowhatever, and The End of Time, which was the only book whose title she understood all the words of.

All three went into the bag, now quite a strain to carry. Then she tied the drawstring to a longer loop of twine, then the twine onto her belt.

With a swing of her arms, she leapt up, trying to reach the ceiling again.

The idea was that the slack in the thread would let her get back onto the roof and then pull the bag up.

The sudden pain in her side and abrupt stop in her jump, just short of the roof, meant that things had not gone according to plan.

Not enough twine. Fuck!

That landing had been loud, too. If not for the commotion outside, it might even have been enough to give her away.

Thank fuck for Claude.

Her fingers fumbling, she untwisted the twine, freeing it from her belt. She affixed it to her ankle, which would hopefully give enough slack to reach.

Despite the pain, that made the jump easy enough. Small mercies.

But now she had to pull herself up with a massive sack tied to one leg. She managed to get halfway out of the vent before she felt the tug on her leg, hard and immovable.

With a twist of her other foot, she managed to at least lift with both legs instead of one, which helped, but not enough to make it anything less than excruciating.

Just pull. It’ll all be worth it when the job is done.

After the most agonizing stretch of her life, Florette managed to grip onto the sides of the vent, which meant she could finally lift with her hands.

They were plenty tired themselves after all the acrobatics, but compared to that last awkward maneuver, this was nothing.

She still felt like her whole body was on fire by the time she managed to finally get that damned bag out of the room.

The whole thing had been far less subtle than she’d hoped, too, but luckily Claude was pulling his weight.

He was shouting and complaining for all to hear in front of the gate, dressed in the finest clothes he owned, the blue streak in his hair visible for all to see. That had to help with his bona fides, considering the acolytes he belonged to were charged with protecting the cultural heritage of Malin.

It certainly meant that the Guardians were clustered around him at a respectful distance, taking him more seriously than a random passer-by.

Ysengrin was slowly backing away from the confrontation, smart enough not to turn and look at the roof, lest someone else follow his gaze and spot Florette.

They ended up reaching the wagon at around the same time.

“Everything go alright?” he whispered as he helped her load the bag. “Claude’s really earning his take.”

Florette shook her head. “One little snag, but I took care of it. Still, I’m glad we’ll be riding back.”

Ysengrin nodded. “Might be tough to get back out of the gate right now though. It looks like the entire camp’s out there watching the show. Still, it doesn’t really matter if they’re suspicious after as long as we make it out first.”

“Why are the Guardians there, anyway?”

Ysengrin snorted. “They’re just pissed off. One of them said he recognized him, that Claude pushed him into the water once and nearly killed him.”

“Did he?”

“Fuck no. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to piss off a Guardian and leave them alive to talk about it. They’re just pissy about this.” As if on cue, a Guardian punched Claude in the face, and a cry erupted from the crowd. The director’s assistant was the loudest among them, waving his arms in their face.

“It’s fine,” Ysengrin assured. “A guy like that’s been punched in the face plenty of times.” He began readying the horse.

“Still…” Florette peered out from behind the cab. “This could be trouble. No one’s going to forget this.”

“They’ll remember the blue hair and nothing else. Trust me, as long as he lays low for a few weeks after, the whole thing will blow over.”

Claude swung his fist back at the Guardian. He missed, but apparently that was enough.

“No, fuck, Claude, what are you doing?”

“He’s defending himself,” Florette answered. “What’s the harm in that? Everyone saw that he wasn’t the one who started it.”

The same Guardian kicked Claude hard in the side while two others pinned his arms behind his back. Then he got another punch to the same side of his face, right over the eye. Even at this distance, the blood was easy to spot.

“We have to help him!”

Ysengrin blinked. “We have to get the fuck out of here.”

“He’s your friend, right?”

“There’s nothing we can do for him! Nothing except hope the solicitor can get him out.”

“The what?”

Ysengrin grit his teeth. “This isn’t the time to explain it. Just trust me. The best thing we can do for him is get the fuck out of this place so he has money to come back to once he’s out of jail.”

Fuck. “They’re not going to kill him, right? Is there any risk of that?”

“Almost none. Absolutely none for the next few days.”

Florette clenched her fists. “If it comes to that, we break him out. Alright?”

“Alright! Now get in!”

Florette jumped face first into the wagon, covering herself with the blanket again, this time with the bag under it as well.

She didn’t see Claude’s tortured look of anguish, but she felt it, and she heard his screams.