Most of the people working on the railroad were Chinese. Daine stopped Numair when she saw that, fighting back a sudden rush of guilt as she remembered the warm, friendly family she had befriended. Chewing her lip nervously, she drew the man behind a supply cart so that they wouldn't be seen.

"This diversion of yours," she started, "Are you sure it won't hurt anyone?"

"It's just meant to be frightening." He reassured her, and then frowned at her expression. "What's wrong?"

"It's not like in the canyon?"

"No." He laughed humourlessly. "They're innocents. Besides, that spell uses too much Gift and I want to be able to walk afterwards. There's no point confronting that bastard if I can't actually stand up straight."

"And what are you planning to do to him?" The girl persisted. Numair evaded the question with a scornful look.

"You're getting scared."

"No. I want to know why I should risk my neck for you."

"You're in this for yourself, Daine." He folded his arms, looking utterly unimpressed. "Don't you dare try to pin it all on me. You get revenge on your family's murderer and I get to confront the man who ruined my life; I don't think either of us cares about the ethics involved. When we reach Ozorne we'll just try not to get in each other's way."

"So you are going to kill him?" She pressed him. Numair scowled, but there was something awkward in the gesture. Daine wondered, for a split second, what had actually happened between the two men to make Numair feel such a deep loathing, yet shy away from actually articulating his revenge. Normally she would have let it go, but today she burst out in frustration: "For god's sake, Numair, what on earth did he do to you?"

"I already told you!"

"No, you told me what Varice did, and last time I checked you were still closer to screwing her than killing her! Ozorne must have done something worse to make you hate him!"

He reddened and refused to meet her eyes. Instead of answering, he twisted his hands together and made an odd motion, as if he were throwing a ball towards the distant workers. There was a high pitched whistling noise, like steam escaping from the train, and then a bright flash. The whistling turned into a high, terrified shriek that made everyone in the camp shout out in fear and clap their hands over their ears, looking around for the source of the terror.

"Oh, look at that." Numair said, and shrugged. "The distraction made a distraction. I guess we'll have to stop arguing now and actually do something useful."

Daine grimaced and unholstered her gun. "You are so damn childish, Numair."

"It's better than being nosey." He sighted down his own rifle and carefully fired a shot, piercing the water tower. It groaned and wavered for a moment as the water pressure shifted. Metal buckled, and then with a whine the tower rippled and began to collapse. People under it cried out and leapt out of the way, cursing as hot metal and warm brown water rained down on them.

"Nice shot." Daine took out the rear wheel in a wagon with her shotgun. "It's good to know you're capable of hitting a target. I was beginning to despair."

"You've only seen me fire a gun about three times."

"But your aim's just generally appalling." The girl dismantled another cart easily and started to reload.

"First time you've complained." He pressed his hand to the dust and the ground began to shake. Several horses lost their footing, and the people started shouting warnings to each other about the earthquake. Daine smiled sweetly at him.

"I didn't think it was polite to say, since you always try so hard to make the earth move."

He laughed and pulled a face at her. "You have an amusingly metaphorical way of insulting a man, dearest."

"You should hear my compliments." Daine smiled, sighting down her gun again. "I actually mean some of those!"

"I don't believe you." He tousled her hair, stopping her from aiming at another cart, and pointed at the train. "Look!"

Among all the cries and the frantic running of the workers, the train had squatted like a resting dragon in the dust. When the water tower fell a window had been opened, held by a gloved white hand, and when the ground shook the same window was slammed shut. Now, awakened by gunshots and screams, the dragon exhaled with a shriek of steam and a growling rumble of the furnace. It was clear that whatever happened to the fragile humans, the train was utterly indifferent. As they screamed and panicked, it slowly began to groan its way along the tracks. It accelerated slowly as the heavy engine started moving in reverse, straining against the warm metal rails to push the opulent carriages away from danger.

"Come on," Daine cried, and leapt to her feet.

Numair was barely a step behind as they sprinted from their hiding place and headed straight for the train, hurling themselves onto the metal frame which embraced the coal cart. This grimy addition was meant to follow the train, carrying enough fuel to let the passengers follow the rails as far as they pleased, but with the train running backwards the filthy load was going first. Flecks of coal and dust spattered onto the second carriage, and the metal frame warped and bent as it began to be buffeted by the increasing wind resistance. Daine and Numair crouched down, hiding behind the immense coal container and shielding their faces from the wind with outstretched hands.

"Did you see any guards?" Numair shouted over the roar of the train. Daine shook her head.

"Servants! White gloves!" She managed to yell back, and then coughed out a mouthful of dust. He nodded and passed her a handkerchief, helping her to tie it around her wind-whipped curls. When he was satisfied that the girl could breathe comfortably, he pulled a second square of white fabric from his pocket and tied it around his own head. Daine squinted at him, trying to see past the glare of sun on the rails.

"You look like a bandit." She said, and then giggled. "A really rich bandit who monograms his 'kercheif."

"I was aiming for sophisticated train robber." He muttered, peering around the edge of the grate. "I don't think they know we're here."

"Good, then we can wait." Daine settled herself more comfortably behind the coal bin, absently cradling her gun in her lap. "Give them a few miles so they're less on edge, then surprise them."

His eyes widened and he scratched the exposed bridge of his nose. "You're scarily good at this, love."

"It's more that you're bad at it. Your plan has been utterly stupid since the day we met. Look at that silly kidnapping!" Daine said, and although the words were playful she was clearly serious when she continued: "I figured you'd not planned it past reading a few adventure stories and daydreaming about gunslingers. Frankly, it seemed best to make some plans of my own. Just in case."

He sat down next to her, stretching out his long legs and staring at the vast expanse of plains ahead of them. "You don't sound like someone on a revenge rampage."

"I will." She said peaceably, and stretched out her own legs parallel to his. Looking sidelong at him, she wondered what expression he wore under that handkerchief. "Right now I'm more curious than anything else. This whole trip, I've been trying to work you out. In a few minutes I'll find out."

"I thought you wanted this as much as I do." He stared at her. "For what he did to your family…"

"My folks will stay dead, and they've been doing that without much fuss for years." Daine looked around at a noise, eyes narrowing until she knew they were safe. "I told you when we met that I meant to leave it well alone. Perhaps when I see Ozorne and his gold waistcoat I'll feel different, but right now I'm just sittin' on a fancy train getting dust in my eyes. How do you feel?"

He looked at his hands, and showed her the white knuckles where he'd been gripping the rifle. "I can't stop shaking."

"Then let's go." She patted his shoulder, and raised herself to her feet. Seeing him hesitate, she reached down and hauled him upright by the elbow, staggering against the motion of the train. He blanched for a moment, staring down at his white-knuckled hands and the gun they clutched, and then he looked up and saw the ornate embellishments on the edge of the first carriage. A look of pure, unrestrained fury eclipsed his face. Straightening his shoulders, he raised the gun.

"Yes." He said, and his voice held a raw hatred that made Daine shudder. "Let's go."

The first carriage was empty, but it wasn't the dark shadows which made Daine's blood run cold in her veins. As soon as they slipped through the unlocked door, it was as if Numair had become a completely different person. He moved across the polished floor with silent, serpentine steps, barely noticing the plush velvet and shining dark mahogany which surrounded them like an outright lie after the truth of the harsh desert outside. The room smelled like sandalwood and cigar smoke, and Daine couldn't help breathing in the rich scent in fascination. Where the perfume made her slow down, wanting to relish this opulent luxury, they hardened the man's eyes into chips of black obsidian.

He tried the door, finding it unlocked and slowly drawing it open. When the girl stepped towards him he held out an arm, barely bothering to look around but holding her away. When she stopped he lowered the limb slowly, and then carefully reached around the door. There was a glimmer of dark, fluid magic, and then he yanked his hand backwards with a grunt of effort.

The man he had dragged fell to the floor with a cry and slid on his back across the varnished wood. Daine smothered her gasp of shock and leapt backwards, stumbling over the rug. Eye to eye with the man who had been in the corridor, she raised herself on hands and knees and then froze.

He looked back, and he didn't know her. He looked back, and she knew him. She recognised his face, the high sharpness of his cheekbones and the sunken lilt of his eyes. She knew the bright bandana he wore about his throat, but somehow the colours were wrong. His eyes should be green, not blue, and his hair was too red. Besides, he should be dead. She had felt the snake's pleasure as they had sank fangs into this man's flesh. She cried out and pushed herself back.

"Right." Numair spat, seeing her distress and understanding it instantly. He hauled the man to his feet and drew his knife, pressing it to the man's throat. "Daine, come here."

"No," she shook her head, half frozen. Numair scowled at her, and made a strange gesture with his fingertips. The girl gasped as she was dragged to her feet by the same thick magic which had bound and gagged this guard. "Numair, stop it!"

"Then don't waste time." He pointed at the man with his knife blade, drawing blood. "Who is this?"

Daine stared at the man for a long moment, forcing her eyes not to blur with tears. It was a guess, but in time it took to say the few words she knew there was some truth in them. "He… a brother? I think he must be…"

"So his brother was in the Millay Gang. Fair bet that he is, too." Numair said coldly, and dropped the guard to the ground, where he reeled and tore at his muted mouth. "I wouldn't bother with that. I know you'll just raise the alarm."

The man glared up at him with sick loathing, but there was fear in his eyes, too. Daine bit her lip and took a step back. "What do we do with him?"

"Are there any more guards? How many?" Numair persisted after the man's first arrogant nod. The guard rolled his eyes and then froze when the mage sank his knife a little deeper into the man's throat. His voice grew poisonous. "Your brother attacked my friend, stranger. Don't give me another reason to want to kill you."

"Numair, you're scaring me." Daine whispered, and both of the men's heads snapped around to stare at her. Before Numair could react the guard threw himself forwards, but instead of attacking the girl he reached out his hands. Whether he did it to apologise or to beg was unclear, because no sooner did his fingers close around her wrists that he choked, and his mouth opened in a silent cry.

"Oh my god," Daine yelped, and dragged herself away. Of course it was too late, and barely a second passed before the man was bucking and writhing on the polished wooden floor, his steel-capped boots rapping at the floorboards until, with a final silent scream, he was still.

"Well that solves one problem." Numair commented, and shrugged. Daine gaped at him, fighting to catch her breath and find some sense in all this.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" She demanded. "You're being horrible!"

"I thought you were curious about me." He muttered, and headed back for the door. "Did you really think you'd like everything you found out?"

"That man was…"

"He was in the Millay Gang. He might easily have been one of the ones sent to kill your mother. Who cares? We don't have time to ask nicely."

"So this is your plan?" Daine folded her arms, feeling ill. "To storm through this train and kill everyone in your path?"

Numair sheathed his blood-stained knife with a grim smile. "There's two of us against all of them. If we hesitate they'll kill us in an instant."

Daine bit her lip, because she knew that it was true. She had seen it in the man's eyes. And she looked at the banner with rising disgust, seeing the same design which had emblazoned the arrogant men who had shot her grandfather on his own porch, and tortured her mother before she died. She took a deep breath, and even the smell of cigar smoke was familiar, as the lingering ashes of her home swirled sickly in her memory.

She grit her teeth and nodded, utterly focused on a single fact. "You're right. No-one on this train deserves any mercy."

They slipped into the corridor. There wasn't another guard in it. There was one, however, in the small sleeping compartment which opened off the same carriage. Seeing the dark expression on Numair's face, the girl stopped him from entering the sleeping man's bunk with an outstretched arm. Shaking her head, she hesitantly reached up to the man's bunk and pressed her striped palm over the man's mouth. His first cries were smothered by her hand, his last cries were over quickly.

"It's less painful this way." She whispered, and slowly took her shaking hand away. Meeting Numair's eyes angrily, she said, "This is how we'll move through the train. You put them to sleep, I'll kill them. It's quicker than the noose, and that's what they deserve. We don't have to make them suffer if we can help it."

He caught her wrist, stopping her from moving away from the still-warm body of the gang member. "Fine," he murmured, his voice heated, "If that's how you want to take your revenge I'll not interfere, but if you dare stop me when we reach Ozorne I'll never forgive you."

"I don't want your forgiveness." She tried to yank her hand away. "But you do what you damn well please."

"I will." He retorted, and let her go.

Several carriages away from them, a man poured himself a glass of red wine and took a slow, lingering sip. The woman who sat opposite him glanced at the bottle but did not pour any wine for herself, nor did she comment on the amount her partner had already drunk. Where the man looked calm, she looked nervous, and her beautiful eyes darted towards the door as often as they returned to the man.

"Oh, for goodness' sake." The man drawled in a thick Southern accent. "Go away and leave me in peace. You know what to do, I'm sure. Or must I tell you again?" His hands tapped against the table, knuckles relaxed and fingers heavy with stones and golden bands. The woman shook her head, tried to smile, and stood up. When the movement of the carriage made her stumble the man made no effort to help her, but watched with a smile when she regained her balance and raised her head.

"Elegant." He murmured appreciatively, and raised the glass in a toast. The lady nodded her head in deference to his word, taking the slightly sardonic tone as a compliment rather than a snide comment. She left, quietly closing the door to the next carriage behind her.

The man raised the glass again and this time he did not sip, nor was he slow. He drained the crystal and quickly poured himself another, downing almost half of the fortified liquid before turning and staring fixedly out of the window. The desert rushed by, and he stared at it with a slight smile.

A gun clicked, and he felt a circle of cold, pitiless metal pressing against his forehead. His smile widened.

"You haven't even fired it." He sneered, and took another sip of wine. "Forget cold blood. Who comes to a gunfight with cold irons?"

"This isn't a gunfight." Another man said, and his voice was full of choked anger. Ozorne drained the last of his glass and looked around, heedless of the rasp of rough metal moving with him, still pressing heavily against the skin of his temple.

He saw the people who Varice had told him to expect: Numair, who he had of course met before, and a brown-haired girl who stood behind him like a silent shadow. Where Numair was white with anger, the girl looked dazedly around at the gilded dining car and the cut crystal which was held in place against the wall of the bar. Ozorne stopped himself from smiling at the girl, because he could only rightly focus on one person. Even though the girl interested him far more, she wasn't the person was holding a gun to his head.

"You're late, my dear." He said to Numair, and smiled. Then he gestured to the empty glass which Varice had left untouched on the table. "The wine's all gone. You won't raise the courage to pull that trigger without it."

The gun was lowered, but kept pointing directly at the man's face. "I'd rather kill you with my bare hands."

"You missed that chance, too." The man spread his hands charitably, ignoring the fury on the other man's face. "I take it you killed my criminals for me?"

"They won't be coming to help you." Numair spat. Ozorne laughed.

"That's a few less wagging tongues to tie me to the wanted posters, my dear. I should be thanking you! In fact, I do. Thank you, dear heart. They were a thorn in my side."

"Don't you dare call me that." Numair jabbed the gun back against Ozorne's temple, and his hand shook so much that this time the man's carefree expression faltered. For a blinding second he honestly didn't know whether Numair would pull the trigger or not.

"Varice!" He called, and if his voice shook it didn't matter. She knew what to do. Numair's eyes narrowed, and he looked up.

There was a strange noise. It wasn't that they didn't recognise the bright giggle of a playing child, it was just so uncanny to hear such a domestic sound in the train that both the intruders flinched.

While they were distracted the door crashed open and a child ran in. He couldn't have been more than five years old: all knees and elbows as he crashed towards them. Ozorne grinned widely and there was genuine affection in his expression when he stopped the whirlwind in its tracks and patted his shoulder.

"Apologies." He said with a hint of laughter. "The lad has no sense of… of propriety."

"Are you hiding behind a child, now?" Numair sounded disgusted. When Ozorne looked up he fixed his gaze on the girl.

She barely looked at the boy. Then her companion's voice tailed off. Numair paused and then said a lot more uncertainly, "What…?"

Then Daine looked down.

Then she went so white her skin looked almost blue.

"No…" she breathed, and swayed on the spot. Looking back up at Ozorne, her voice became a single pleading note. "No, please, please, not…"

Ozorne smiled thinly and placed a fatherly hand on the tiny child's shoulder. The boy looked up with a shy smile and clutched affectionately at the man's sleeve. The gaslight flared over the stripes which ran from the child's wrists to his shoulders and made the marks stark against his pale skin.

"Veralidaine Sarrasri," Ozorne said broadly, "I'd like you to meet your son."