"Train station!" she commanded the driver in Vonahrish, amending in Hetzian, "Toltzcentraldepotrailwaylines!"

The Stornzof equipage had departed. Not five minutes into the race and she was already falling behind.

"Top speed!" she shouted, then realized her own folly. She already held a ticket for a seat on the southbound Ilavian Whistler Ilavian Whistler, which wasn't scheduled to leave Toltz for another hour and a quarter. Risking life and limb to shave five minutes off the trip to the station was absurd.

The driver took her at her word, however, and the cab rattled off at a dangerous clip. Before it had advanced more than twice its own length, a series of sharp bangs, like the explosion of firecrackers, peppered the morning air. The horse snorted and shied, while the driver cursed and plied his whip.

Luzelle stuck her head out the window, craning her neck to see around the angle of the building. She beheld vast clouds of dense black smoke billowing over Irstreister Square and she heard the m.u.f.fled cries of a panicked mult.i.tude. Even as she watched, a second series of sharp reports crackled and the smoke clouds darkened. Choking, soot-grimed citizens came stumbling from the square, tendrils of black vapor swirling in their wake.

"Was anyone hurt?" Luzelle called out, but received no answer, for the cab was bearing her away at top speed, as she had commanded.

Girays. Back there in the midst of that smoky chaos, perhaps injured? Probably not. M. v'Alisante, that superior person, was more than capable of looking after himself. Moreover, the smoke-bomb a.s.sault upon Irstreister Square seemed more designed to create confusion than to inflict real harm. In any case, what concern was Girays v'Alisante's safety to her? No more than hers was to him. Let him cough his smoke-filled lungs out, served him right. Back there in the midst of that smoky chaos, perhaps injured? Probably not. M. v'Alisante, that superior person, was more than capable of looking after himself. Moreover, the smoke-bomb a.s.sault upon Irstreister Square seemed more designed to create confusion than to inflict real harm. In any case, what concern was Girays v'Alisante's safety to her? No more than hers was to him. Let him cough his smoke-filled lungs out, served him right.

She wouldn't let herself think about him; there were other matters to consider. The explosions, the smoke, the resulting tumult. What or who was the cause? She couldn't know, but one point was certain. The commotion in Irstreister Square had delayed the majority of Grand Ellipse compet.i.tors, and benefited any racer leaving the city hall by way of a side exit.

3.

SHE REACHED THE STATION with time to spare, and the with time to spare, and the Ilavian Whistler Ilavian Whistler departed on schedule. Luzelle relinquished her ticket to the conductor and settled back in her seat with a sigh. Nothing to do now but sit watching the quaint Lower Hetzian scenery roll by. She would not allow herself to worry about Girays. departed on schedule. Luzelle relinquished her ticket to the conductor and settled back in her seat with a sigh. Nothing to do now but sit watching the quaint Lower Hetzian scenery roll by. She would not allow herself to worry about Girays.

It had been startling-almost shocking-to meet up with him in Toltz, and her nerves were still jangled. But it was not likely to happen again. Along with the rest of the Grand Ellipse contestants delayed in Irstreister Square, he had missed the Ilavian Whistler. Ilavian Whistler. He would have to wait at least a couple of hours for the next southeast-bound train, and by the time he boarded, he would already have missed the best connections to carry him on to the Ilavian coast. She would not see him again before the end of the race, because she'd drawn well ahead and he hadn't a prayer of overtaking her. He would have to wait at least a couple of hours for the next southeast-bound train, and by the time he boarded, he would already have missed the best connections to carry him on to the Ilavian coast. She would not see him again before the end of the race, because she'd drawn well ahead and he hadn't a prayer of overtaking her.

Resolutely she unfolded the newspaper purchased at the station, and for a while managed to distract herself with it. No mention of the smoke bombs outside city hall, of course-that news would not hit the headlines before the next edition. Plenty of front-page s.p.a.ce devoted to the Grand Ellipse, however, and she saw her own name mentioned more than once. Lots of war news. The hurricane Grewzian conquest of Haereste was already complete. Many pages given over to accounts of local happenings uninteresting to a foreigner, but Luzelle made herself read them all, plowing laboriously through the tangled Hetzian syntax, and in this manner whiled away the hours.

The Ilavian Whistler Ilavian Whistler chugged its way southeast, stopping at town after town. Time pa.s.sed slowly until the late afternoon, when a couple of villagers clad in their relentlessly starched finest boarded Luzelle's car at Ploysto, and took the seat across the aisle from her. Their conversation caught her attention at once, for they spoke of an extraordinary occurrence unmatched in all the years of the town's history. Hours earlier an outlandish vehicle had pa.s.sed straight through the center of Ploysto, traveling at fearsome speed. The conveyance, indescribably bizarre in appearance and driven by a woman of correspondingly eccentric aspect, seemed to generate its own power of movement in the manner of a locomotive, but it was no locomotive-it resembled nothing in the world that anyone had ever seen. Belching black smoke and demonic fire, the thing had roared into the market square around midmorning, to the terror of the local poultry; swerved hard, just in time to avoid collision with the town well; barely missed overturning the infirm Grandmother Deederkint, out to take the air; and sped off in a cloud of stygian vapor. One might have thought the uncanny apparition some sort of dream or delusion, had not a host of witnesses testified to its reality. chugged its way southeast, stopping at town after town. Time pa.s.sed slowly until the late afternoon, when a couple of villagers clad in their relentlessly starched finest boarded Luzelle's car at Ploysto, and took the seat across the aisle from her. Their conversation caught her attention at once, for they spoke of an extraordinary occurrence unmatched in all the years of the town's history. Hours earlier an outlandish vehicle had pa.s.sed straight through the center of Ploysto, traveling at fearsome speed. The conveyance, indescribably bizarre in appearance and driven by a woman of correspondingly eccentric aspect, seemed to generate its own power of movement in the manner of a locomotive, but it was no locomotive-it resembled nothing in the world that anyone had ever seen. Belching black smoke and demonic fire, the thing had roared into the market square around midmorning, to the terror of the local poultry; swerved hard, just in time to avoid collision with the town well; barely missed overturning the infirm Grandmother Deederkint, out to take the air; and sped off in a cloud of stygian vapor. One might have thought the uncanny apparition some sort of dream or delusion, had not a host of witnesses testified to its reality.

The countrified accents weren't always easy to comprehend, but Luzelle picked up enough to know that Szett Urrazole and her Miracle Self-Propelling Carriage were drawing farther ahead with every pa.s.sing hour. Perhaps at some future point in the race the Miracle Carriage would break down, or better yet, run head-on into a tree.

Otherwise, she's already won.

Her fingers drummed. Deliberately, she stilled them. No point in fretting.

Luzelle's attention returned to the Hetzian newspaper, the pa.s.sing scenery, the pa.s.sengers boarding or departing at each stop. The hours pa.s.sed, the sun set, and the scenery disappeared. At eight in the evening she sought the dining car, which was well appointed and well filled. The moment she entered, her eyes lighted upon the Overcommander Karsler Stornzof, sitting opposite his usual silver-haired, square-jawed companion. Stornzof saw her at the same time. Their eyes met, and for the longest moment she found herself unable to look away.

Idiotic. She was making a fool of herself. She could only imagine what the Judge would have to say. Tearing her eyes from his face, she seated herself, deliberately presenting her back to the Stornzof table, which removed all temptation to stare. Or so she thought until she happened to notice the high polish upon her soup spoon, whose convex bowl reflected most of the car, affording a tiny, distant image of a blond male head.

She ordered, and the prompt arrival of her soup deprived her of her mirror. Before she finished dining, Stornzof and his companion exited. Presently Luzelle returned to her seat and, not long thereafter, repaired to her berth in one of the sleeping cars.

She slumbered soundly and woke early. Around eight in the morning the Ilavian Whistler Ilavian Whistler reached the Beroussean frontier and paused there puffing as the customs officials boarded to check pa.s.sports. Luzelle's doc.u.ments received the appropriate stamp. The inspectors completed their work and withdrew, and the train pa.s.sed from the Low Hetz into the tiny duchy of Berousse. reached the Beroussean frontier and paused there puffing as the customs officials boarded to check pa.s.sports. Luzelle's doc.u.ments received the appropriate stamp. The inspectors completed their work and withdrew, and the train pa.s.sed from the Low Hetz into the tiny duchy of Berousse.

Luzelle examined the customs stamp with satisfaction. A tangible sign of progress, with many more to follow. A succession of such stamps would testify to her advance along the curve of the Grand Ellipse. Her satisfaction died a quick death when the train pulled into the station at the Beroussean capital of Huizigar, where a forty-five-minute stopover afforded time to purchase a newspaper, books, a puzzle block, and lemon drops in the station. The newspaper was printed in Hetzian, official language of the duchy, and the front page proclaimed the previous evening's blazing pa.s.sage through Huizigar of the eccentric Szarish inventor and Grand Ellipse contestant Szett Urrazole in her Miracle Self-Propelling Carriage.

Luzelle tossed the paper aside with a scowl.

Her dissatisfaction deepened around lunchtime, when she lurched her way forward to the dining car and there caught no golden glimpse of Overcommander Stornzof. She was either too early or too late. She ate slowly, dawdling over countless cups of tea, but he did not appear. At length abandoning the vigil, she returned to her own seat, heated with annoyance at her own folly.

Little Berousse was past in a matter of hours, and the Ilavian Whistler Ilavian Whistler crossed the border into Dinsifise, first of the Mid-Duchies. Another stamp upon her pa.s.sport, this time adorned with the circular Endless Fire of the Grewzian Imperium, for this was the first of the territories along the Grand Ellipse route to acknowledge Grewzian rule. A particularly close examination of her travel doc.u.ments, an annoyingly thorough investigation of her belongings, told her that a Vonahrish pa.s.sport drew suspicious notice within the confines of the Imperium, but n.o.body detained her. crossed the border into Dinsifise, first of the Mid-Duchies. Another stamp upon her pa.s.sport, this time adorned with the circular Endless Fire of the Grewzian Imperium, for this was the first of the territories along the Grand Ellipse route to acknowledge Grewzian rule. A particularly close examination of her travel doc.u.ments, an annoyingly thorough investigation of her belongings, told her that a Vonahrish pa.s.sport drew suspicious notice within the confines of the Imperium, but n.o.body detained her.

The train whistled southeast through the mill towns of Dinsifise, and the Endless Fire emblem turned up everywhere-on station platforms, on warehouses edging the tracks, on railway overpa.s.ses, on the caps of the Grewzian soldiers now glimpsed with increasing frequency. Here upon subject soil the demeanor of the Grewzians waxed lordly, but Luzelle scarcely noted the alteration until the Ilavian Whistler Ilavian Whistler paused for half an hour in the town of Glozh, and she made the mistake of venturing from the train. paused for half an hour in the town of Glozh, and she made the mistake of venturing from the train.

Strolling to the end of the platform, she halted and drew a deep breath of springtime air blighted with smoke and cinders. There was little to see from her present vantage point-just a nondescript station house, shadowy copse behind the station, flat-topped hills, and drab wooden houses and shopfronts-for Glozh was neither interesting nor picturesque. Before her, however, the tracks stretched on into the distance, curving their way southeast through the hills toward Ilavia, with its coastline bordering the Sea of Silence, its great port city of Ila, its merchant freighters and pa.s.senger vessels, one of which would bear her on along the Grand Ellipse to the great island of Dalyon.

Thanks to the minions of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, her pa.s.sage aboard the steamer Persistence Persistence was already booked. was already booked. Persistence Persistence was scheduled to embark from Ila early tomorrow morning, and the timing seemed impeccable. Barring freak disaster, the was scheduled to embark from Ila early tomorrow morning, and the timing seemed impeccable. Barring freak disaster, the Ilavian Whistler Ilavian Whistler should be pulling into the port city around midnight. Her room at the Shipwreck Inn was reserved, and there would be time enough for several hours of sleep. All was going well; or would be, but for a certain d.a.m.nably gifted Szarish inventor. should be pulling into the port city around midnight. Her room at the Shipwreck Inn was reserved, and there would be time enough for several hours of sleep. All was going well; or would be, but for a certain d.a.m.nably gifted Szarish inventor.

She strained her eyes southeast, as if by effort of will her vision might overtake the Miracle Self-Propelling Carriage speeding for the coast. But Szett Urrazole remained elusive and inscrutable.

Luzelle's reflections were interrupted by the creak of the platform boards behind her, the flicker of a shadow, the intrusion of a voice.

"You come with us."

The words were spoken in Grewzian, a tongue she comprehended imperfectly. Surprised, she turned to face a couple of soldiers, ordinary conscripts clad in the grey of the Imperium. One of them-short, meager, dark haired, and palely rat faced-was impossible to place. The other-tall, burly, fair, expressionless-was cla.s.sically Grewzian.

Her expression must have communicated incomprehension, for the big one repeated clearly, "You come."

"We will take a walk," the white rat added. His broad gesture encompa.s.sed the shadowy copse behind the station house.

Luzelle's brows rose. In the course of her solitary travels she had often encountered just such overly hospitable young military men, and she knew how to handle them.

"No. I cannot, thank you," she replied firmly, in her awkward Grewzian. "I return to the train now." She took a step toward the Ilavian Whistler Ilavian Whistler, and halted as a large hand closed on her arm.

"Come," commanded the big one, and she noticed then what an unusually stingy mouth he had-nothing more than a tiny, lipless slit, almost lost in the wide white-skinned wilderness of his face.

"Your hand-make it to go away!" she exclaimed, bad Grewzian deteriorating. Strange men rarely presumed to touch her, but when they did, firm measures were required. "Do not make the hands, or else difficulty! I return now train!" Her frown and the sharpness of her tone should have made her feelings clear, but the Grewzian soldiers seemed remarkably obtuse.

"Shut your trap, b.i.t.c.h," the short one advised. She knew just enough of the language to understand the colloquialisms he employed, and her eyes widened in amazement. "Pick up your feet."

"Go away! I will call the stationmaster!" she threatened. Both soldiers guffawed and the first twinge of fear shot through her. Still, it was broad daylight, the train waited a few yards away, and the platform was well populated. No harm could befall her here.

"Come on."

Each of them had her by one arm and they were hurrying her along the platform, their purpose all too clear, but absolutely unbelievable. Were they stupid, or mad? Did they imagine for one moment that they could get away with this?

Filling her lungs with springtime air and cinders, she yelled for the stationmaster. The cry was piercingly audible, and she expected her a.s.sailants to react, but they were stone. Her eyes raked the platform, jumping from face to alien face, and everywhere her gaze lighted, strangers looked away. She realized then that these people, townsfolk and travelers alike, were altogether cowed by the Grewzian soldiers. They might pity her, but they wouldn't dare to help. Real terror shot through her then, but the incredulity remained. She stood in Dinsifise, a civilized duchy. These were modern times. Moreover, she was no subject of the Imperium, no citizen of a conquered nation.

"I am Vonahrish!" Luzelle exclaimed. "Do you understand? Vonahrish!"

"Vonahrishwomen-wh.o.r.es." The white rat nodded his comprehension.

She aimed a kick at him, but her long skirts defeated the effort. A sharp twist failed to free her wrist. She pulled back, but could not slow her own swift march from the platform. Dozens of eyes followed her reluctant progress, but n.o.body intervened.

Unbelievable. The persistent sense of dreamlike unreality seemed to paralyze her intellect, but instinct told her to dissemble, and breathing a sigh, she let herself go limp. Her knees buckled and her body sagged, held upright only by the force of her captors' grip.

They were not deceived.

"Get up," commanded the lipless bruiser. "Now."

"You want it here, then?" the white rat inquired.

"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 Shipwreck 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 Shipwreck 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.