Matabar Chapter 29 - Train

"And yet, we should have crushed that filth in Fatia," slurred Boris, slamming his mug onto the table. It was clear that he’d had too much to drink; his words barely rolled off his tongue. This Boris was the sa stranger who had dragged Ardi to their table a few hours ago.

"Yeah, right," snorted one of the others, Chris or Crit was his na — it was hard to tell them all apart. He had a lanky figure with pockmarked skin, his knees awkwardly twisted from so childhood bone disease. "Like we could just charge in and take them."

"Our army reserve is three tis their size!" Boris shot back, refusing to give up. "And the bayonets! My father also says we’ll have one point two million troops by the end of this year!"

As far as Ardi could tell while digging into his passable but slightly cold dinner — just as Boris had promised him — at least two of them, Boris and Len, were part of the military aristocracy from the Taia border region. It made perfect sense for them to be in Presny. The other two — Chris or Crit, whatever, and another young man with shifty, rat-like eyes — didn’t seem to know the noble siblings any better than they knew each other. From what Ardi had gathered from their conversation, they had all crossed paths here a few days ago and decided to pass the ti together until their train arrived.

"And Fatia has a million," insisted… Chris, let’s say. "And considering the fact that they’re ten tis smaller than us, their forces aren’t spread across their entire territory. Do I need to remind you that they have at least four armies stationed on their southern border? On our, the Eternal Angels help , border! That’s a hundred and sixty thousand bayonets, Boris. And don’t forget, the army isn’t just infantry, cavalry, and artillery. You’ve also got engineers, supply chains, staff officers. So, in reality, we have much fewer than one point two million combat-able troops."

Boris muttered sothing under his breath, taking another sip of his foamy drink.

"And besides," Chris continued, "Tazidah will never let the Empire reach the Shallow Seas."

The Shallow Seas were the seas situated between the Tazidahian Brotherhood, the Kingdom of Urdavan, Lintelar, Olikzasia, Foria, the Principality of Fatia, Grainia, and… Well, they stretched all the way to the Confederation of Free Cities. In other words, they were the main water route connecting the western and eastern continents. And thus, they were also the most profitable trade route, fought over continuously by nations across the world.

Ardi had once asked his geography teacher why the Empire couldn’t just outfit a fleet on the western coast and sail to Lan’Duo’Ha from the other side. After all, the planet was round. The problem was that the Reverse Ocean, despite its many islands, was literally kept impassable by countless whirlpools. And even that wasn’t the worst of it. The ocean also had several currents so fast and powerful that navigating them was nearly impossible, not to ntion the unending storms and tempests that spawned enormous waves.

All of this had sothing to do with the influence of Ley Lines on the planet’s magnetic fields, or sothing like that. The topic hadn’t been deeply explored in school.

A few madn had crossed the Reverse Ocean, of course, but using it for regular travel with a large fleet was simply impossible. So, most trade occurred via the Shallow Seas, or by taking a longer but safer route across the Swallow Ocean that ant you weren’t crossing a myriad of territorial waters.

"Tazidah is always at odds with Urdavan," Boris wiped his lips with a handkerchief, a move that nearly made Ardan smirk. While these people weren’t trying too hard to disguise themselves, such manners still scread nobility. "And Urdavan’s army is larger. Almost as large as Fatia’s. But don’t forget, if it cos to it, we can mobilize far more people than the Tazidahians, the Fatians, and even the Castilians!"

"But not more than all of them at once," Chris reminded him. "If we start a full-scale war over access to the Shallow Seas, the entire world will erupt. Urdavan will see that Tazidah is weakened from supporting Fatia against us, and they’ll push west. Then Scaldavin will decide to resolve their enclave issues. Grainia will inevitably renew its conflict with the Lintelar-Olikzasia-Foria alliance that controls the islands, seas, and the Swallow Ocean on our side. And don’t even get started on what will happen on the eastern continent."

"What’s there to start?" Scoffed the rat-eyed fellow. "First off, all five of them will try to bury the Confederation and seize its monopoly on access to the Shallow Seas."

"Which, of course," Chris chid in, "will lead to one faction forming an alliance to stop another, and in the end, they’ll tear each other apart before they even reach the Confederation’s borders. That’s why it still stands to this day."

"And you really think a war with Fatia could trigger so kind of… all-out war?" Boris frowned, his tone slurred by the alcohol.

"A World War," Len Fahtov corrected him softly, her voice so deliberately low that it was clear that it was an artificial attempt at sounding more masculine.

"And on top of that," Chris, clearly passionate about politics, couldn’t stop himself. "The mont we concentrate on the northeastern front, our northwestern flank will be exposed. Don’t forget about our vast borders with the Armondos."

"They’re all scattered into tribes," Boris protested. "And there aren’t that many of them."

"They’re currently scattered, yes," Chris agreed, before adding, "but rumors claim that they’ve recently had so chosen leader from an ancient prophecy, or just another strong-willed figure, uniting them. And what better way to unite a people than an external enemy? And since you ntioned mobilization potential earlier — rember all those stories about the Armondo cavalry hordes? They’ve been riding since birth!"

"Of course," Chris added, "our new tanks and artillery lessen the threat of the Armondos, but how many tanks do we actually have? If the public sources are to be believed, we have about a hundred and fifty. That’s enough for the Fatian front, but for two… or three, if the Ngians end up supporting their brethren and cross the Great Glacier?"

Boris waved his beer, almost spilling it on the person next to him. Ardan tensed inwardly, lifting his plate off the table. He knew all too well how a slight mishap like that could escalate in a saloon packed with cowboys. He wasn’t about to lose a perfectly good steak to a brawl, even if it was cold, bland, and had been hastily prepared.

"Still don’t believe it," Boris persisted, slurring his words. "No way a ss like that starts over just Fatia."

"Not just Fatia," Chris confird, sipping his single portion of cider. Out of all of them, only Boris was drinking heavily. The others had refrained, none feeling entirely safe in this place. As for the noble-born, he was used to no one around him posing any threat, so he acted as freely as he pleased. "But if we gain access to the Shallow Seas through neutral waters, our trade profits will skyrocket, and Olikzasia and Foria will be at risk. Even if we sohow beat Tazidah… No, neither Castilia nor Selkado would allow us to grow that powerful. They benefit too much from us being boxed in by Fatia, Foria, and Olikzasia."

"We have excellent relations with the latter two!"

"Excellent relations don’t exist in grand politics, Boris," Chris shook his head. "Only advantageous temporary alliances. It’s in our interest to ally with the islanders because it reduces our trade costs in their waters and gives us a couple of military bases on their islands. And it’s in their interest to ally with us because we counterbalance the eastern continent’s ambitions. And don’t forget that the Lintelar-Olikzasia-Foria alliance has the largest, most modern fleet in the world! Only Grainia can rival them. Which they always do."

"As I listen to you, I beco convinced that the whole world hasn’t gone up in flas yet only because everyone’s interests are different," the rat-eyed one rasped.

"Checks and balances," Chris rephrased. "That’s exactly how it works. And it’s nothing new. Throughout modern history, every war has started, in one way or another, over trade routes. Whoever controls the trade routes controls the money and resources. Whoever controls the money and resources spreads their influence. And the one with the most influence dictates the will of others, leading to even more money and influence coming their way. It’s a vicious cycle. And if you look at the map, you’ll see that all capitals are by bodies of water because water has always been and always will be the fastest and cheapest trade route, no matter what the tropolis promises with its fancy airships."

Having finished his tirade, Chris took a few noisy gulps and smugly pushed his mug aside.

"If you love politics so much," Boris glanced hazily at the staves and grimoires surrounding him, "why didn’t you apply to the Imperial Lyceum for public service instead of entering the Grand?"

"Because not all of us, Mr. Fahtov, were born into blue-blooded families."

"Born lucky, you an?" Boris’ sudden burst of anger was unexpected. He slamd his hand on the table, swaying as he struggled to stand. "What do you know about-"

"Feladjo," Len quietly interrupted.

Everyone turned to look at Boris’ sibling.

"Feladjo is the capital of the Principality of Fatia," Len explained. "And it’s not on any body of water. Neither is the capital of the Holy Emirates of Al’Zafir."

"Exceptions to the rule," Chris scoffed. "And the Emirates are ninety percent desert."

"But if there are exceptions to that rule," Len countered, "maybe there are exceptions to everything you’ve said, too. Like the idea that everyone born into noble families is as lucky as you think they are."

Len fell silent, casting her eyes down, and returning to her herbal tea with its heavy, cloying aroma. The only two people in the saloon drinking anything non-alcoholic were probably Len and Ardi.

"Ahem," Chris cleared his throat, rubbing his head with a sheepish smile as he looked away from Boris.

The conflict, which had barely begun, fizzled out, and for a while, a tense silence hovered over their table.

Ardi, who’d finally finished what seed like his third plate of food, stretched out contentedly in his chair. No, he hadn’t learned anything about Star Magic or the tropolis and the Grand University from these folks, but still…

It was curious. While sitting in a dusty classroom in Evergale, he had never thought about the things Chris and Boris had been so fervently debating. To him, the stories of endless border skirmishes with Fatia and the Armondos had always seed like just another fact of life. Yes, the borders were there. Yes, conflicts occasionally flared up — like the one twenty years ago when the combined losses of the Fatians and the Empire had reached nearly eleven thousand n (known as the "Little War" in textbooks, though the common folk called it the "Fatian Massacre").

Back then, according to the history books, it had nearly escalated into war, but diplomacy had saved the day. And yet, even before and after that, skirmishes had regularly broken out along the border. Every year, at least a thousand people from both sides died. This strained relationship between Fatia and the Empire had even been dubbed a "hot peace" by so.

But Ardi had never questioned why full-scale war hadn’t erupted. To him, war was sothing that existed only in history books and his grandfather’s stories. And yet…

Like the tales Mart had told him, Boris and Chris’ argunt was forcing Ardi to see the world from a new angle, one that made everything he’d once thought to be simple and clear far more complicated. The world beyond his borrowed attic and the foothills of the Alcade suddenly seed unimaginably vast. Those countries weren’t just symbols on a map anymore; they were alive, real.

As their conversation dwindled into silence, Ardan found himself helping a half-conscious Boris to his and Len’s room, not because he particularly wanted to do so, but because he felt obligated. After all, they had agreed on dinner in exchange for tales of the steppes — which Ardan had intended to embellish anyway, since, as Skusty had taught him, no contract ever specified everything — but he hadn’t told them a single story.

Surprised at how light the noble’s son turned out to be, Ardan laid him down on the bed, covering him with a wool blanket.

Odd. They didn’t even have such blankets in their own room.

"Thank you," Len said.

Ardan nodded, rummaging in his pocket until he found a small bundle, which he handed to Boris’ sibling.

"What’s this?"

"For making tea," Ardi explained. "You’re straining your voice too much when you fake it. This will help with that. It won’t hurt anymore, and you won’t sound so hoarse."

Fear flickered in Len’s eyes, and she pressed her back against the wall, clearly not even considering waking up her passed-out "brother."

Then, suddenly, it dawned on Ardan. They weren’t siblings at all.

"You’re… a servant?" He asked.

Len nodded cautiously.

Ardan turned to the sleeping Boris, reassessing the strange young man. It was one thing for a noble’s son to attend the Grand, but it was an entirely different matter if that noble had a personal servant traveling with him as well. And a future mage, at that.

Ardan hadn’t spent much ti with Mart, but he’d learned enough to understand that whoever Boris Fahtov’s father was, that family had more than enough money to spare.

Click. Sothing snapped behind Ardan’s head.

He slowly turned around, only to find Len trembling and pointing a revolver at him that shook dangerously near his face.

"D-d-don’t even t-t-think about it," she stamred, teeth chattering with fear.

"I wasn’t thinking anything," Ardan raised his hands.

"Sure you weren’t," she sneered, emboldened by the shock on his face. "You’re no more an operative of the Second Chancery than I am Boris’ sister."

Ardan sighed inwardly, realizing with so disappointnt that, until a few monts ago, he had indeed thought of her as exactly that.

"How long have you been spying on us?"

"I wasn’t-"

She pressed the barrel of the gun harder against his forehead, and considering the fact that she was barely over 170 centiters tall, it was oddly amusing. Ardi, funnily enough, realized that he wasn’t all that worried about the weapon pointed at him.

By the Sleeping Spirits… Just a month ago, this would’ve made him panic.

"I’ll ask again: who are you, why are you pretending to be a Cloak, and why are you spying on us?"

Ardan sighed deeply.

"This is just a misunderstanding," he began slowly, deliberately, each word chosen with care. "I’m not a Cloak. The waitress mistook for one, and Boris overheard her. He invited to join you. A story of the prairies in exchange for dinner. As you can see, I never got the chance to tell my tale."

The servant squinted at him, her suspicion palpable.

They stood in silence for a few monts before she lowered the gun, collapsing against the wall, clearly drained of all strength.

"I’m sorry," she whispered.

Ardan shrugged, understanding what the girl had gone through. He left the packet of herbs he’d offered her earlier on the table and, without another word, headed for the door.

"Thank you," she spoke from behind him. "And… my na is Elena Promyslov."

He hesitated at the door, tempted to just leave silently.

"Ard," he finally said. "Ard Egobar."

And with that, he closed the door behind him. For a brief mont, he, too, wanted to collapse against the wall. Yes, he wasn’t panicking, but over the past few weeks, he had been too close to too many weapons — revolvers, axes, you na it — that no one in their right mind would ever want near them.

Shaking himself off, Ardi gave his stomach a pat. At least he had eaten. Not bad. The day hadn’t been a complete waste.

Feeling a little more energized, he returned to his room and turned the key in the lock. Though it had long since grown dark outside, the room was bathed in the dim glow of house lights coming in from outside. Enough light filtered through to allow Ardan’s half-blood eyes to pick out a few details.

Cassara was still lying in bed, her face hidden under her hat. However, her hat was now positioned slightly differently, and her boots bore the sa dirt marks as Ardan’s own, showing that she’d also walked across the filthy, crowded saloon floor stained with gri and spilled alcohol.

"I wasn’t planning on running off," Ardan muttered, lying down on his bed.

"I know," Cassara replied curtly.

"Then why-"

"I have orders, kid," she cut him off. "And I follow them."

"Soone pointed a gun at , you know," Ardan reminded her, but not out of a desire to argue with the vampire or because he felt slighted by her keeping an eye on him. He wasn’t even sure why he did it.

"Her revolver wasn’t loaded."

Ardan coughed in disbelief, propping himself up on an elbow to stare at the vampire.

"You’re joking."

"No," she replied calmly. "If it had been, I’d have had to kill her. And Boris. And Chris. And Pivot."

Pivot! That’s right! That was the rat-eyed fellow’s na.

Ardan let his head fall back onto the pillow, his gaze drifting to a small mold stain on the ceiling. For so reason, he saw a strange connection between the stain and everything that had just happened. But why? He couldn’t quite figure it out.

Skusty had used to say that whenever sothing like this happened, it ant that Ardan wasn’t hearing the world properly.

Maybe the squirrel had been right, but that was a thought for tomorrow.

***

At dawn, just before the sun rose, Yonatan walked into their room (and yes, the door had still been locked). Ardan had awoken just a mont before the Cloak opened the door. Either this spoke highly of Yonatan’s skills, or it would’ve made Ardan blush in embarrassnt if he’d had to explain it to Ergar.

After ordering his "cargo" to get dressed and exchanging curt nods with Cassara, the Cloak left for the first floor. The vampire waited for Ardi, seemingly unbothered by the fact that the young man was still undressed.

Stripping off his issued pants and shirt, Ardan donned a white linen shirt his mother had sewn for him and pulled on a pair of brown pants. After washing up and shaving at the washbasin, he examined his freshly-scrubbed face and was satisfied with the result.

As they descended the stairs, they caught sight of Boris and his group leaving the saloon, though they were in such a rush that they didn’t even notice Ardan — a major oversight considering how much he stood out in the crowd.

But it all beca clear as soon as they stepped outside. It wasn’t just Boris’ group that was on edge because of the train’s arrival, the whole town of Presny was bustling. Crowds of people moved along the streets with various bundles, trunks, and suitcases in tow. So walked on foot, others rode in carts or on horses, but they all had the sa destination: the packed train platform.

As soon as the Cloaks, along with Ardi, ca close to it, a distant rumble, which grew louder and more rhythmic with each passing mont, shattered the morning’s quiet.

Squinting, Ardan spotted a plu of white smoke rising into the air on the horizon, starkly contrasting with the deep blue sky. Then, erging from the hazy ripples of a land being bathed in the first rays of dawn, the monstrous silhouette of a locomotive appeared, its iron fra gleaming in the sun.

Its massive iron wheels spun faster than anything the young man, who’d been raised among carts and stagecoaches, could have imagined, while its huge pistons pumped rhythmically, creating the rumble they were all hearing. The approach of this steel beast sounded like an oncoming storm — powerful and unstoppable.

The rails Ardan had once considered strange, unnecessary creations of n now revealed their purpose to him, laying a clear path for the beast to follow. He watched in awe as the iron monster gradually slowed, dragging behind it a multitude of colorful carriages. The entire procession, despite its imnse weight, seed to glide easily until it finally halted at the small station that now seed almost absurdly inadequate beside such a creation of human ingenuity.

People bustled around: so disembarked from the train, while others eagerly climbed aboard. Porters shuffled luggage, hawkers sold their wares to passengers hanging out of windows, their hands clutching bills and coins. A sharp, shrill whistle cut through the noise, and steam hissed from the locomotive’s sides.

"Don’t dawdle!" Yonatan shouted, holding onto his hat as he leaped onto the train’s footboard. He was greeted by a stout man with a luxurious mustache, dressed in a blue uniform with shiny buttons, a crisp cap, and white gloves.

"Your tickets, please, ladies and gentlen," the conductor asked in a deep baritone.

"We’re going to tropolis," Yonatan handed him several yellow rectangles stamped with seals and inscriptions.

"Three compartnts in the second-class sleeper car," the conductor rumbled, scanning their tickets. "Please hurry. The stop in Presny only lasts two and a half minutes."

"You heard him!" Yonatan waved his hat, signaling for the others to board.

Together with the rest of the Cloaks, Ardi clambered aboard the iron vessel, carefully hauling his staff and grimoire behind him. Inside, they found themselves in a narrow, wood-paneled corridor. Ardi wrinkled his nose at the musty scent of sweat, overly salted and peppered food, and a hint of shoe polish.

Everything reeked of that thick, waxy polish. Perhaps only his Matabar nose could pick up on it, but it lingered on every surface.

"A half-blood?" The conductor stopped him suddenly, his hand resting on the brass-trimd doorfra. "There’s a separate carriage for-"

"He’s with us," Yonatan interrupted, tugging Ardi along the corridor.

The conductor looked as though he wanted to argue, but a single look from Cassara made him swallow hard and remain silent. Soon enough, he was too busy collecting tickets from the other passengers pressing forward.

They made their way down the threadbare carpet, bumping their shoulders against the walls and brushing up against curtains that half-covered the windows. The doors ahead were so tightly fitted that opening them almost caused them to brush against the rail running along the "outer" wall. Made of polished wood, they glead under the carriage’s brass fittings.

"We’ve got compartnts eleven, twelve, and thirteen," Yonatan said, checking their tickets. "Damn it, we almost made it without having to deal with any upper bunks... If only there were one fewer of us."

The Cloaks exchanged glances, as if weighing whom to toss overboard.

"That wasn’t a suggestion, you idiots," Yonatan grumbled with a chuckle. "Alright, let’s split up. We’ll take compartnt eleven, Cassara and Ardi in twelve, and Katerina in thirteen."

"Why do I get stuck in the last one?" The sharpshooter protested.

"My dearest lady, we only seek to provide you with the most comfor-" Long Neck began.

"I’ll shove your tongue up your ass."

"If you had said that you’d shove it in yours, I’d take that as an invitation to-"

Katerina dramatically tugged on the edge of her cloak, revealing her revolvers. Considering how deftly she handled them, Long Neck rely shrugged and slipped into his compartnt as quickly as he could.

Eventually, everyone dispersed to their new hos for the next ten days. Compared to sleeping on the ground under the open sky of the steppes, this...

Ardi, if he were being honest, would’ve gladly returned to the fresh air, the stars above, and playing with the wind. Who cared about soft walls or cozy warmth?

"Alright, kid," Yonatan’s voice snapped Ardi out of his reverie. "No nonsense, and no making friends with strangers."

Ardi glanced at Cassara, but she maintained her stony, expressionless deanor.

"If you want to visit the dining car, you’ll need my permission. Got that?"

Knowing Yonatan’s temper, Ardi nodded calmly.

"Good," the Cloak flashed him a predatory grin and pointed toward the front and back of the carriage. "Those are the washrooms. If you need to clean yourself up, soone should always be at the door. So, that ans that even when you’re taking a piss, you need to let us know. Got it?"

It was tempting to make a sarcastic remark about whether he could breathe or think without permission, but Ardi saw no reason to make the already volatile situation worse.

"Well, alright then," Yonatan relaxed, giving Ardi an unexpected, approving pat on the shoulder. "You’re holding up well, kid. But don’t get too comfortable. Trains have a way of lulling you into a false sense of security, so don’t forget to watch your balls."

With that, Yonatan winked and disappeared behind the door, leaving Ardi alone with Cassara. Given that there were only three doors, it seed like they had the entire train car to themselves.

Ardan ran his hand along the walls, feeling their rough but well-maintained, lacquered texture beneath his fingertips. The velvet curtains, lined with lace trimmings, softened the light filtering in from the windows, and a delicate, near-transparent tulle added a touch of elegance to the windows that were adorned with patterns that reminded him of falling snowflakes.

Everything was just a bit too fancy for his tastes.

"Sleeping cars are the most comfortable — and most expensive — way to travel, kid," the vampire seed to be reading his thoughts as she opened the door to their compartnt.

Inside, two plush couches upholstered in crimson satin beckoned them with their intricate designs, gleaming softly under the gentle sway of the carriage. In Ardi’s opinion, these were not just seats, but exquisite beds, ready to take him into an embrace so tender it could probably only be matched by...

The thought of the stream and Anna made the young man a little uneasy and he pushed them away, turning back to the world of big money.

Opposite the couches stood a finely-crafted wardrobe, built to hold all the possessions of a traveler, along with a modest table bolted to the floor, its surface scrubbed to a shine. Above it lood a large window, frad by the sa heavy curtains, offering a view of the passing landscapes. Even compared to the corridor’s furnishings, these were no ordinary drapes. Thick and luxurious, they offered both privacy and protection from the elents.

Two upper bunks for storing luggage sat above them, their contents secured by crisscrossing leather straps. Resting atop them were two tightly rolled up mattresses labeled, "For servants."

"That’s ridiculous, honestly," Cassara muttered, stretching out on one of the couches and pulling her hat over her face again. "I’ve never seen a wealthy passenger sleep in the sa compartnt as their servants. Anyone who can afford a second-class sleeper wouldn’t hesitate to stick their help in the seated car."

"A seated car?" Ardi asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Yeah," the vampire nodded. "If you’re interested, you can take a stroll to the back of the train. Most of the passengers there are poor folk, traveling with all their belongings and sitting for days on end."

Ardan instinctively turned toward the direction she’d indicated, his thoughts drifting toward the idea of exploring the train.

"There’s a dining car ahead," Cassara continued. "Prices there are outrageous, but if you don’t mind spending a few exes on a al, feel free to indulge. Past that are the two first-class cars."

A dinner costing several exes... Ardi ntally converted the cost. For that price, he could easily buy enough supplies in Evergale to last him at least two weeks, or purchase hunting gear that would feed him for a season.

And in here? It was just a single al.

"In second class, you’ll get breakfast and a hot dinner. The nu’s over there." Cassara gestured lazily to a calfskin-bound folder resting on the table. Ardan picked it up and read through the options.

"Breakfast choices:

Oatal with fruit

Buckwheat porridge with fruit

Lunch:

Not included in the fare.

Dinner choices:

Grilled trout or salmon with roasted seasonal vegetables.

Chicken or pork in prune sauce, served with fresh vegetables and beans."

Ardi’s eyebrows shot up. He didn’t eat at from animals that hadn’t been able to fight back, but the re fact that they were serving chicken here…

Chicken was a delicacy.

In Evergale, chickens were slaughtered only on major occasions: New Year’s day, the Day of Light, weddings, or the birth of a firstborn.

A good chicken, plucked and ready to bake, could fetch around twenty, maybe thirty kso. After all, raising them wasn’t easy (in sufficient quantities to be sold on the market, let alone industrially produced for large cities). They ate a lot, and you couldn’t keep too many in a coop. And every chicken you butchered ant fewer eggs laid.

It was much simpler with beef, veal, goat, lamb — anything with hooves that grazed on pastures. There was plenty of that at. If you had a few kso, you wouldn’t go hungry.

"Mark your choice for tonight’s dinner," Cassara snapped her fingers at the cardboard slip beneath the nu. "We’ve already missed breakfast."

A pencil was attached to the slip by a small string.

As Ardan marked down his choice of trout, he had a sudden thought.

"What about you…"

But he didn’t finish that question. He didn’t need to ask what Cassara ate. After all, he’d seen how, several tis a day, she would take small sips from a flask no one ever asked her to share.

His gaze drifted to the vampire’s belt, where that infamous flask hung in its leather holster.

It could hold a quarter of a liter at most.

After all the ti they had spent traveling, it would have long ago beco empty, unless...

"They never noticed," Cassara said, as if reading his mind. "A small price for our services."

That explained why so many of the settlers had complained about fatigue and headaches, though they’d showed no other signs of illness. Ardan had chalked it up to nerves and exhaustion, but the answer had been far simpler.

"I didn’t see any marks on their necks," he murmured, sitting back on his bed.

"There are more convenient — and less noticeable — places on the human body than the neck, kid," Cassara replied matter-of-factly.

A chill ran down Ardi’s spine, and the sudden blaring of the train’s horn, followed by a heavy jolt and the rhythmic clanking of pistons, startled him even further.

And he was ready to swear by the Sleeping Spirits that Cassara had also let out a quiet, sowhat smug chuckle. But maybe he’d just imagined that. Or he was hoping that he had imagined it...

And so Ardi’s days on the train passed.

Morning began with the first rays of the sun, pink dawns playing over the reddening steppe. Accompanied by one of the Cloaks, Ardan would make his way to the washroom.

He had grown used to the train’s constant swaying after the first night, unlike the Silent One, who often spent his ti throwing up whatever food he had managed to eat. Ardi couldn’t imagine anyone suffering from nausea that much. For his part, he usually felt fine — only a bit dizzy toward the evenings.

And as for his Cloak escorts? They didn’t really make a difference. Despite the train’s seemingly breakneck speed, it moved slowly enough that jumping off wouldn’t an certain death.

Sure, a bad landing might break a leg — or worse, his collarbone — but he’d most likely survive.

Inside the washroom, next to the iron sink and the most elegant toilet Ardi had ever seen, a small window stood tall. It wouldn’t take much to break it.

In other words, every day, twice a day, Ardan was tempted to flee.

But it wasn’t the endless prairies stretching out beyond the train that stopped him. He could still find his way ho. He needed only the stars to do so.

No, it was the thought of his family back in Delpas. As long as he cooperated, they’d enjoy a far more comfortable life than he could’ve provided for them.

For now, at least.

So, after his morning ritual, Ardi would return to the compartnt, and after so ti, breakfast would be brought to him. Two portions. One was for Cassara, though she had no need for it. So, without feeling any guilt, Ardi would eat both of them.

And the food? It was excellent.

Ardi spent most of his day poring over the Stranger’s manual. But the author had refrained from sharing more theories or musings, focusing thodically on spell descriptions. Judging by how varied and seemingly unrelated they were, the spells had likely been created as the need for them had arisen.

For instance:

"Well, my dear, unknown apprentice, my newest creation is the Cold Shadow. It’s not that I often need to hide from others, but I still consider it quite useful, especially since most humans cannot see in the dark.

[Star: Red

Number of Rays: 2

School: Universal

Elent: Water-Ice

Maximum rune combinations: area/density/temperature].