appearance of roughness. His face, usually clean-shaven, was stubbled and sunken, and there were still purple shadows around his eyes. Emily had the strangest apprehension that he was going to say something vile to her. But then he blinked, shook his head, and shrugged. “Well, thank you very much for your help, Miss Hibble.”
“Miss Hibble, this is Mr…. Smith,” Emily said. She remembered chiding Stanton for not making up a better name for her; now she found that it really wasn’t as easy as it seemed.
“Oh, Mr. Smith? There’s a Mr. Smith back in Reno, runs a blacksmith shop. I don’t suppose you’re related?” Rose tilted the bag of candy in Stanton’s direction, giving it a little shake.
“It’s highly unlikely,” Stanton said. After a moment, he reached into the bag and took out a piece.
“Probably so. He’s quite a strapping brute and you’re rather on the spindly side, aren’t you?”
“Indeed.” Stanton popped the candy into his mouth and struggled to his feet. “Will you excuse us for a moment, Miss Hibble?”
Stanton gestured to Emily and they walked into the vestibule. It was enclosed with a flexible leather curtain and it was much louder, the rattling of the steel wheels on the tracks loud enough to make her teeth vibrate.
“How are you feeling?” Emily said, trying not to yell.
“My head is killing me,” Stanton said, candy rattling in his mouth. “Caul got me with a rigor rictus. Lucky you were there to blunt it.”
“Dag promised to ditch him somewhere nice and remote,” Emily said. “I Sundered him, you scrambled him … will that take care of him long enough for us to get to New York?”
Stanton stroked his lower lip with his thumb. “Hansen told me Caul had about thirty men in Lost Pine. They’ll be looking for him. And just like my Jefferson Chair ring lets Mirabilis keep track of me, Army Warlocks have their own ways of locating lost comrades. He won’t quickly recover from the Sundering, but he only has to recover enough to order a general alert. There are dozens of Warlock units between here and New York. Soldiers could be waiting for us at any of the stations.”
Emily leaned heavily against the wall of the vestibule, rubbing her upper arms with her hands.
“Why didn’t you just kill him?” she muttered.
Stanton glared at her. “Why didn’t you?” He crunched the candy in his mouth, a peculiar emphasis. “His knife was right there. He was unconscious. It would have been the work of an instant.” He waited a long moment for an answer, his face painted with strange scorn. “Maybe, Miss Edwards, cutting throats isn’t as easy as you think.”
“I never said it was easy,” Emily returned hotly. “But what the hell are we going to do? Sit back and enjoy the ride until a bunch of Army Warlocks swarm the train and put us in handcuffs?”
“First, you’re going to listen for messages from Komé. She’s warned us of trouble before, and forewarned is forearmed. Second, I think it’s time to consider a change of disguise. If Caul doesn’t remember anything else, he’s certain to remember the fabric of that suit. And finally, this train must have a smoking car somewhere. I’m going to find it and see if there’s any food to be had. Care to join me … Elmer?”
Emily wasn’t quite ready to stop being mad, but after a moment she released her annoyance in a long breath. It was nice to have him back.
They exited the vestibule and went back through the car, past where Rose was sitting. The girl waved to them both.
“Save our seats?” Emily gave Rose a smile. Rose blushed prettily and looked coyly down at her Jack Two-Fist book.
“Come on,” Stanton growled, giving Emily a pointed shove.
“You know,” Emily said quietly, as they wended their way toward the back of the train, “I don’t think I anticipated all the difficulties that this suit would present.”
“Believe me,” Stanton said, grasping at the overhead rails to keep his balance, “I will be pleased to provide you with a proper dress at the earliest possible opportunity.”
Emily hoped no one had heard that comment.
They found the smoking car but they didn’t find food until the train stopped for dinner. And even then there was little more to be had than thin, mingy sandwiches. Stanton bought two dozen of them and spent the afternoon eating, ignoring Rose’s attempts to catch him up on the plots of all the dime novels in her carpetbag.