Part 5 (2/2)
”Around back,” his companion decreed.
If she got out of this alive, she would never again travel without a loaded pistol. In the meantime, contemptuous of her feigned swoon, they were dragging her lax body toward the stairs. Raising her head, she twisted sideward to sink her teeth deep into the Grewzian hand grasping her right arm. The white rat squealed, and his grip loosened. Springing to her feet, Luzelle twisted one arm free, spun to the left, and swung a wild punch at the bruiser's lipless face. The ill-aimed blow barely grazed his cheek, and he muttered an oath as he raised a clenched fist to strike back.
”Halt.” The command, spoken in Grewzian, was calm, authoritative, and instantly effective. The command, spoken in Grewzian, was calm, authoritative, and instantly effective.
To Luzelle's surprise, both her a.s.sailants stiffened into immobility. She looked back over her shoulder to behold Overcommander Stornzof standing there beside his customary companion.
”Release her,” Stornzof ordered.
The bruiser obeyed at once, and Luzelle stepped away from him. She was shaking, and her heart hammered.
”You two are a disgrace to the uniform you wear,” Stornzof observed evenly.
”But, Overcommander,” the white rat attempted, ”we were only-”
”Have you received permission to speak?”
”No, Overcommander.”
”Then hold your peace. Your discipline is slack as your impulses are b.e.s.t.i.a.l. You are unfit to call yourselves soldiers of the Imperium.” He did not raise his voice, but his subordinates waxed visibly uneasy. ”State your names.”
The two culprits complied reluctantly.
”Report to your sergeant. Furnish an account of this incident and request appropriate punishment. Dismissed.”
The two grey figures saluted and withdrew. Overcommander Stornzof turned to inquire of Luzelle in Vonahrish, ”You are unhurt, Miss Devaire?”
He knew her name. A tiny current of pleasure tingled across her mind.
”Yes, only-” Frightened almost to death Frightened almost to death, she thought, and finished, ”A little rattled, perhaps.”
”I do not wonder. You have suffered an outrageous indignity.” His Vonahrish was perfect, although excessively formal, and marked with a faint Grewzian accent that somehow sounded pleasant upon his lips. ”Do you require the services of a physician?”
”Not at all, thank you. And thank you And thank you indeed, Overcommander Stornzof. I hardly know what to say. If you hadn't been here, I don't like to think what would have happened.” indeed, Overcommander Stornzof. I hardly know what to say. If you hadn't been here, I don't like to think what would have happened.”
”It is shameful. I apologize for the actions of my countrymen.” His companion flashed him a glitteringly icy glance, which Stornzof seemed not to see. ”Some of these troops have been so long in the field, they have forgotten that they are civilized men.”
If they ever knew it in the first place. Aloud she merely observed, ”It is my very good fortune that you are here to remind them. Although I know that final command of yours must be regarded as a formality.” Aloud she merely observed, ”It is my very good fortune that you are here to remind them. Although I know that final command of yours must be regarded as a formality.”
”Formality?”
”Well, those two won't actually go running to their sergeant in search of punishment, will they? You won't be here to see that they obey, so isn't it safe to a.s.sume that the matter will slip their minds?”
”Miss Devaire.” Karsler Stornzof smiled slightly. ”A direct order from a superior officer does not slip the mind of a Grewzian soldier. Such insubordination in time of war is a major offense-”
”Punishable by death.” Stornzof's companion spoke up for the first time. His voice was deep, the guttural Grewzian accent far more harshly marked than the younger man's. ”They would be shot, of course.”
They deserve it, Luzelle thought bravely, but could not suppress an internal chill. Who is this walking ice-sculpture? Who is this walking ice-sculpture?
”Miss Devaire, allow me to introduce the Grandlandsman Torvid Stornzof,” the overcommander supplied. ”My kinsman and traveling companion.”
”Grandlandsman.” Luzelle swept a curtsy. The t.i.tle told her that the overcommander's kinsman belonged to the highest rank of Grewzian n.o.bility. Such status, combined with his age, marked Torvid Stornzof as the head of his entire extended House. Here stood one of the greatest of Grewzians, almost certainly a relative and an intimate of the imperior, and he looked the part with his ramrod carriage and stellar tailoring, his silvery hair and heavy black brows, his arrogant impa.s.sive face and his steel-rimmed monocle that might have appeared effete on a weaker countenance, but only seemed to lend the grandlandsman an additional armoring of ice.
Torvid barely acknowledged the introduction with the smallest inclination of the head.
”You compete in the Grand Ellipse, sir?” Luzelle essayed.
His black brows lifted minutely, as if he wondered at her temerity in questioning him. For a moment he seemed to debate the necessity of reply, and at last deigned to answer, ”No. I amuse myself, merely.” Turning away from her, he urged his kinsman, ”Come, we have dawdled long enough.”
This fellow's frozen hauteur dwarfed the garden-variety insolence of the Vonahrish formerly-Exalted, Luzelle reflected. His att.i.tude was offensive and his manners atrocious. She disliked him immediately.
”Miss Devaire, you will allow us to escort you back to the train?” Karsler Stornzof inquired.
”With pleasure, Overcommander.” There was little likelihood of further unpleasantness, but she found herself disinclined to refuse his offer. Moreover, the look of disgusted impatience curdling the Grandlandsman Torvid's square-jawed visage was a spectacle of which she did not choose to deprive herself.
They walked her back to the Ilavian Whistler Ilavian Whistler, and she boarded. Returning to her own seat, she pressed her nose to the window and watched the Stornzof kinsmen make their way along the platform to a car near the back of the train, where she lost sight of them. Luzelle turned from the window with a thoughtful frown. The overcommander certainly didn't seem to fit the stereotype of a contemporary Grewzian officer. In fact, something about him seemed quite out of place in a mundane railroad station, almost as if he were the product of some earlier era set down inappropriately in a modern world and not quite at home there.
What nonsense. Just because this renowned Grewzian overcommander looked the very image of the knightly hero, and had played that role to perfection, was no reason to let imagination run away with her. Still, he possessed a singular quality, and it wasn't simply a matter of his good looks. Perhaps it had something to do with that courteous, careful, antiquatedly correct speech of his. Or the indefinably remote expression in those blue eyes, the bluest eyes she had ever seen. Cleft chin, too.
The train coughed its way back to life and pulled away from dreary, dangerous Glozh. Extracting one of the new novels from her valise, she descended to The Cellar of the Red Beast The Cellar of the Red Beast, whose varied marvels were sure to divert her mind from all thought of handsome enemy officers.
Perhaps he'd be in the dining car again this evening.
But the evening hardly lived up to her hopes.
The hours pa.s.sed, the sun set, the interior lamps were lit, the exterior world vanished, and the Ilavian Whistler Ilavian Whistler took sick. Luzelle emerged from took sick. Luzelle emerged from The Cellar of the Red Beast The Cellar of the Red Beast to find the train wheezing, shuddering, and failing. Twice the to find the train wheezing, shuddering, and failing. Twice the Whistler Whistler lost power, slowed to a crawl, and rallied. Upon the third seizure, there was no recovery. The throb of the engine ceased and the train coasted to a halt. lost power, slowed to a crawl, and rallied. Upon the third seizure, there was no recovery. The throb of the engine ceased and the train coasted to a halt.
A buzz of speculative conversation filled the car. Setting her book aside, Luzelle peered out the window. Nothing to see but impenetrable blackness. Certainly no border had been crossed, and they remained in Grewzian-dominated Dinsifise. She frowned. Whatever the difficulty-mechanical failure, damaged rails, or stray cow blocking the tracks-it had better be resolved quickly. She counted on reaching the s.h.i.+pwreck Inn in time to enjoy several hours of comfortable sleep before catching the Persistence Persistence in the morning. in the morning.
An hour pa.s.sed. The train stood motionless. Luzelle went to the dining car, where she caught no glimpse of Karsler Stornzof. She ate, returned to her seat, and submerged once more into The Cellar of the Red Beast. The Cellar of the Red Beast. Another idle hour pa.s.sed. Another idle hour pa.s.sed.
When a conductor ventured into the car around ten-thirty, the man was bombarded with questions, to which he responded with a vague account of ”technical inexact.i.tude,” currently ”in process of readjustment.” When pressed for explanation, he fled and did not show his face again.
Two more hours crept by. It was well past midnight, around the time that the Whistler Whistler ought to be huffing into Ila Station. Instead she sat dead in the dark, somewhere short of the border. Luzelle's fingers drummed. If only it were daylight-if only they'd stopped near a town, a village, or even a farm-she might hire a carriage, a cart, a mule, anything with wheels or legs capable of carrying her on toward the coast. At night she was trapped, and there was no use in fretting about it. No use worrying about Girays v'Alisante and the others, steadily gaining on her. No use thinking of Szett Urrazole, drawing farther and farther ahead. She picked up her novel, read the same paragraph four times, and tossed the book aside. ought to be huffing into Ila Station. Instead she sat dead in the dark, somewhere short of the border. Luzelle's fingers drummed. If only it were daylight-if only they'd stopped near a town, a village, or even a farm-she might hire a carriage, a cart, a mule, anything with wheels or legs capable of carrying her on toward the coast. At night she was trapped, and there was no use in fretting about it. No use worrying about Girays v'Alisante and the others, steadily gaining on her. No use thinking of Szett Urrazole, drawing farther and farther ahead. She picked up her novel, read the same paragraph four times, and tossed the book aside.
Her joints were stiff. She was sick of sitting and sick of the ailing Ilavian Whistler. Ilavian Whistler. Rising from her seat, she paced the aisle a couple of times, made her way forward to the crowded dining car, drank a cup of tea there, and exchanged commiserations with restive fellow-travelers. Still no sign of Karsler Stornzof. Her frustration sharpened, and she realized that she had been looking for him. Ridiculous. She went back to her seat. Rising from her seat, she paced the aisle a couple of times, made her way forward to the crowded dining car, drank a cup of tea there, and exchanged commiserations with restive fellow-travelers. Still no sign of Karsler Stornzof. Her frustration sharpened, and she realized that she had been looking for him. Ridiculous. She went back to her seat.
It was late and she was tired, but there was no berth reserved for her in the sleeping car, for by now she was supposed to be resting comfortably at the s.h.i.+pwreck Inn in Ila. And no berth available, the conductor informed her. She was out of luck, then; for tired or not, she could never fall asleep sitting upright.
Her lids drooped and she dropped off to sleep at once.
The clanking vibration of machinery woke her. Luzelle opened her eyes upon morning light streaming in through the windows. Hours had pa.s.sed, the night was over, and somewhere during that lost interval the Ilavian Whistler's Ilavian Whistler's, unspecified affliction had corrected itself. A sharp whistle split the air and the train resumed its interrupted advance. Luzelle yawned and consulted her watch. Her somnolence vanished. Seven o'clock. Half an hour ago the Persistence Persistence had embarked for Dalyon without her. Her brows drew together. She'd have to arrange alternate pa.s.sage when she reached Ila, and the delay was certain to reward her rivals. had embarked for Dalyon without her. Her brows drew together. She'd have to arrange alternate pa.s.sage when she reached Ila, and the delay was certain to reward her rivals.
The Ilavian Whistler Ilavian Whistler proceeded without further incident to the border, where it halted for the usual inspections. Luzelle's pa.s.sport received its stamp, at which time she learned from the inspector that a second southbound pa.s.senger train, running on time, waited directly behind her own. proceeded without further incident to the border, where it halted for the usual inspections. Luzelle's pa.s.sport received its stamp, at which time she learned from the inspector that a second southbound pa.s.senger train, running on time, waited directly behind her own.
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