Train Job, Part 3

It was a train job, which truly is a rare treat! The usual subtlety and intrigue of their daily work, but at breakneck speed and the tight iron confines of a hurtling bullet chugging across the nation. Who could be dour in such fantastic circumstances!

“Now you see, the Imperium folks, now they can brew. The short ones,” I nudged my travelling companion with my elbow as I pulled a flask from my vest, “they especially have a gift.” I rattled the container at him invitingly. He shook his head, his face displaying the classic combination of confusion and fear. Ah, the poor common folk. I shrugged, and took a long pull on my imported liquor.^[1] I suppressed a burp, in deference to my chance companion. He tried once more to return to the paper he had folded neatly on his lap before I interrupted him.

“I think perhaps it is the heat. Either it interferes with the fermentation,” I eyed my flask suspiciously, “Or it is simply too hot to do anything but drink. Hah!” I laughed, and clapped him hard on the back. He chuckled worriedly, nodding and trying to pull up his paper. Don’t bother chum, there’s nothing interesting in it. All the fun stuff will be in tomorrow’s paper. Trust me.

A few rows down, one of the targets was fidgeting subtly with a small box in his lap. His partner, facing the other direction, was pointedly ignoring his compatriot. I rolled my eyes. At least make it difficult for me.

“So, what’s your drink of choice, friend?” I closed my flask and slipped it back into my vest, before wiping my palms on my nicely pressed pinstripe pants.

“In fact, I am a... um, I am tea-total, sir.” My rowmate stammered out.

“Oh! Alas! You poor thing!” I exclaimed in shock, clutching my breast and the holy symbol of my flask for support. “What tragedy befell you that you had to give up the great gift?” I put my hand on his arm, supportively.

The two gentlemen we were here to corall nodded to each other, and the fidgety one rose to his feet to exit the car. It was obvious enough that even Ser Gilbert had taken notice, and was now frantically trying to gain my attention without alerting the other. In a moment, in a moment, I must tend to this poor thirsty pilgrim.

“I ah… I just never developed the taste.” He shrugged defensively.

“So you’ve never felt the amber joy of a Velman’s Royal? Or the ruddy tang of a Rand Redbottom?” I shook my head in disbelief while he shook his in denial. “Not even a nip of…” I lowered my voice and moved in conspiratorially “Bel-Meridian Whiskey?” My eyes darted across the travellers in our car.

“Certainly not!” He ejected, surprised.

“Well you should it’s quite delicious.”^[2] I shrugged and sat back in my chair. Ser Gilbert was going red in the face by this point, so I pointed at the still seated gentleman we were here to apprehend and winked at Gilbert. I could taste his frustration from the other end of the car, it was delicious. I smiled, and he got up to chase after the first one who had made a hasty exit from our car.

“Tell you what,” I said to my seatmate as I rose and produced a small bottle from my trouser pocket “I’m just going to leave this here in your care, as it’s a little delicate and I’d hate to break it and lose the whole thing. If you decide you want a sip, feel free. Consider it a protection fee.” I placed the bottle gently in what had been my seat. The poor man looked at it with disgust, like I’d just placed a dead rat beside him. Oh well, his loss.

Ser Gilbert had left our car, and so it was up to me to restrain our little villain. I turned around, and locked eyes with the black-clad man, and smiled.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please do not be alarmed!” I shouted to the passengers while I began the long and arduous process of properly rolling up my sleeves. My target started to sweat, I noted with pleasure. “I am a duly appointed… *hic* … appointed sherrif…” I swayed a little, my hiccup only slightly impacting the gravity of my speech. “Of the city of Rand, and the *hic* … the nation of the Commonwealth. And it is in that capacity, as *hic* as sheriff,” I reached in to my vest, and produced my flask, and began waving it around as a guard would a badge “That I am here to arrest this man!” I pointed vaguely in the direction of my black clad adversary. Well, near him anyway. On that side of the train, at least.

There was one startled gasp, a few groans, and only one person who rose from his seat.

“Think you’ve had enough there chap.” The man said, indicating with his head to the seat I had just vacated. “Maybe have a little sit, and possibly a nap, before you get y’self injured, hm?” He reached out to take my arm in a very gentle and kind way.

“Have you heard none of what I *hic* gods damn these hiccups Have you heard none of what I said?” I exclaimed, brandishing my flask with renewed vigour. “This badge of office,” I pushed it towards his face. I could see the target smiling to himself. Good, enjoy the show. “This badge of office…” I pulled it close to me, screwed up my face while I scrutinized it. “Is… a flask. This is for drinking.” I said to the kind man who was trying to keep me from making too much a fool of myself. 

“Sure is lad. Maybe time to put it away, hm?” He offered his hand to take it.

“Indeed, hazardous stuff this.” I agreed hastily, between hiccups. “Best to be rid of it, keep it out of the hands of the wee.” I nodded vigorously, and proceeded to down the contents. My new guardian sighed despondently. He reached for my arm, and I stumbled back juuuuust out of his reach, still drinking. He scowled, and stepped forward. I spun and ducked under his reach, quickly finishing the flask. When it was empty I straightened up, now back to back with him, and turning as he did to maintain that situation, I comically tested the emptiness of my vessel. Only when I was quite sure there was not a drop remaining^[3] did I relent, and spin around, presenting my flask to the kindly man.

“Hol’ on to this for me for a moment, *hic* would you? I have to arrest someone.” I pressed it into the confused man’s grasp, and turned to an empty seat. Oops.

“FOOL!” He shouted, at altogether an unnecessary volume. He was positioned at the far end of the train car, by the door. Above his head he held the box aloft, menacingly. As menacingly as you can hold a small box. The other travellers were frozen in shock.

*hic* was my only response to the situation.

“Within this box lies power you cannot hope to comprehend! Lawman or drunkard, it makes no difference.” He continued to shout, with no regard for the aural comfort of the people around him. “I, and my companions^[4], will make an example of this machine and its occupants, such that the whole world will take notice! Death is the only equality!”

When he looked up to gaze with reverence on his own hands, or possibly the bizarre box he held, I made my move. I covered the distance between the two of us in two large languid leaps, and stealing low to his person, I arose in a powerful uppercut to get a solid feel for his chin.

It was not a particularly strong chin.

My blow knocked him up and off his feet, and he collapsed in a heap at the door. The box sailed up in a soft parabolic arc, before returning down and into my outstretched hands. To be honest, I had thought it would be more difficult. I guess my act was better than I thought.

“Fool.” He muttered from a heap on the floor, spitting out blood^[5]. “You are, as usual, too late.” He smirked. I kicked him lightly in the gut, more out of habit than a need to assert anything, and looked at the black box.

Only it wasn’t black anymore. It was glowing a terrible white, and getting hot in my hands. Little spider-web cracks were forming all over it, and spreading out beyond the bounds of the box in impossible ways.

Hmm.

I don’t think I like this box, I thought to myself. The spiderwebs continued to spread, and thicken, and widen, until I could see through them into some other place. Someplace shimmering and terrible, wild and strong. Oh, why did we always leave Dex in the back when we do these things? We should have learned at this point that we need him to evaporate magical boxes more often than not.

In a matter of seconds, creatures began to appear in the cracks. Arms and hands reaching out of the growing gaps in the world. The passengers of the car were screaming, flooding the back door of the compartment, desperate to escape the bizarre magical effect. I stood, holding the box, and considered my options. The black-clad man laughed at my feet.

Well, I could always throw the box out the window. Farmer’s fields whizzed by us at lightning speed. And ruin some farmer’s day? I think not. I could try and break the box. I gave it an experimental squeeze, and was met by a firmness beyond the material. Ok, unlikely. I could run it back to Dex, and see if he knew more than I did about mysterious metaphysical spider-boxes that held demons. Which he most certainly did. This whole situation was really quite to his tastes.

Right, option three it was.

Mind made up, I raised my gaze to the compartment again. Three creatures of feline grace and anatomical horror were finishing squeezing their way out of the cracks in the walls and ceiling that the box had projected. They dropped to their feet, horrible pointed teeth clacking over and over, talon-tipped fingers flexing, slitted eyes with murderous intent fixating on every movement.

“Kill this one first.” Commanded the pitiful form at my feet. The three things hissed at me in unison, and began to stalk forward. Thanks a lot, guy.

I scowled, and kicked down hard on the black-clad man’s head, eschewing his consciousness post-haste. I slipped the box into my trouser pocket, where it just barely fit^[6], and raised my fists to protect my face.

“Very well,” I snapped my hands forward in a jab, one after the other. “Who’s first?”

The creatures moved forward silkily, as one.

Behind them, glued to his seat with fear, was my travelling companion. He reached over, picked up the bottle I had left him, and drained it all at once.

How rude, I thought, as the beasts descended on me.

___________________________________________________________

[1] Imported is a strong word. Smuggled is perhaps more accurate. Stolen into the country? In any case, its robustness was worth any illegality in its acquisition. And in any case, I offer to share it at every opportunity. So the burden couldn’t be described as entirely mine.

[2] It’s not, in point of fact. The Bel-Meridian’s couldn’t distill their way out of a wet paper bag, but this chap didn’t know it.

[3] This was Imperium brew, after all, the good stuff. I wasn’t about to risk losing any of it in something so sordid as a fist fight. Oh did I not mention? I was about to have a fist fight.

[4] Plural? Whoopsie. I thought there was only the two. Oh well, Dex will have something I’m sure.

[5] And on to the really quite nice carpet of the train, I might add. The cleaning crew would be immeasurably upset to see it, I’m sure.

[6] Good thing I had deposited my pocket-brew with my seat companion. I’d hate to lose it.