4 - London To Oxford
Aedan snarled, and Maira's gaze darted to the sword at his belt as if she thought he'd use it on her.
He brushed off a twinge of offense. He'd never lifted a blade to civilian in his life, and he wasn't about to start … but she couldn't know that. "Did this belong to the peddler?" he demanded, pointing at the ruby in her palm.
"I don't know," she confessed. "He wore a similar bracelet …" She trailed off, giving him an uncertain look.
Great roaring Aslan. This just kept getting worse. "A Jinn. What in Aslan's name would a Jinn want with a boy from London … and with you?"
She gave him a look that managed simultaneously to convey insult and worry for his sanity. A skillfully eloquent look reminiscent of his cousin Danae, Aedan thought, stifling a grim smile. He sobered, then reached for her hand.
She extended it—cautiously—and, taking it, he led her to the side of the street, where he indicated she should sit on an empty keg left there. She did, with obvious reluctance.
"There are Jinn," he admitted, "and this one seems to have tangled you and your brother up in some ill plan. What did he tell you to say?"
"I'm sorry," she said, "but you're asking me to believe in Jinn. The man was strange, that's true, but magic? All I know is that my brother is missing, and my father is going to come home to both of us gone, and I'm desperately tired, but I can't rest until I find Farhan—" She broke off, and Aedan spotted the sheen of tears in her eyes.
Cad, he scolded himself. She'd been through more than the average person could be expected to handle for one night, and he wasn't making it any easier for her. He shifted uncomfortably where he stood. Chivalry was not his strong suit. The language of steel was direct and unmistakable and ever so preferable. Give me something to fight. A boggle, a giant, anything but tears. Watching a tear track down her cheek, he swallowed hard and cast about for something useful to say.
No such luck.
"The spell?" he prompted.
She wiped her face, then shot him a defiant look and repeated the words: I wish to switch them and summon him—with a clear emphasis on him.
Which could only mean Aedan, given his presence here and the lock of his hair in Maira's hand. Could the spell somehow have taken Farhan from London and sent him to Narnia in Aedan's place? Was that the switch?
Or had the Jinn used the spell to switch himself with Aedan, with Farhan's whereabouts still unknown?
An uncomfortable, crawling sensation spread across the back of Aedan's neck. "Did this Jinn give a name?"
Maira chewed at her lower lip. After a few moments, she said, "Rajan."
Aedan bit down hard on a growl as the werewolf in him struggled to get out. Rajan. The very Jinn who'd tried to imprison him within himself some two years ago, during the thwarted Telmarine attack on Cair Paravel. The attack had been put down, and the Telmarines were no longer a threat to Narnia. Rajan would have been freed of his service to the man responsible for the whole mess. Why would the Jinn still have an interest in Aedan?
Unless his new master was also an enemy of Narnia. Aedan scrubbed a hand over his face. Being a royal had some advantages, but he'd often—very often—wished that it didn't require such constant vigilance against threats to his country. Being a commoner must surely be exhausting, but he doubted it was this exhausting.
Maira was still watching him. "You know that name."
"Yes," he said, "and nothing good can come of it. I must get to Oxford, and hope Digory Kirke can help me get home."
She stood. "What about Farhan?"
She swayed a little on her feet, and Aedan reached automatically for her hand to steady her. "I fear the only way to find your brother is to get me to Oxford and solve this mystery."
He tugged on her hand, but she hung back. "You're just as worn out as I am," she said. "If we're to be of any use to my brother, we should rest."
He studied her. Observant little so-and-so.
The rain began again, pattering his armor. Much more of this, and he'd be rusting. "Fifty miles to Oxford, you said? Walking, that'd take a couple of days." He eyed her. She looked sturdy, if tired. "More for you, I'd imagine."
"I do plenty of walking, thank you," she said acidly. Then an intriguing smile bloomed across her face. "But I have a better idea."
- # -
Aedan had seen many terrifying things, and stood the sight of them without flinching—giants, Jinns, whole armies—but as he stared at the iron monster chuffing toward them, frost filled his blood. The werewolf inside him whined and began to shuffle restlessly. Sweat chilled the back of his neck.
A conveyance, clearly, but one without benefit of horses or oxen or anything that remotely looked like a draught animal. Even slowing down, it was faster than any cart he'd ever seen. It drew to a stop beside the building, tracking along a pair of iron rails and spewing smoke, dragonlike, from a chimney perched on top of the first wagon in its long chain.
He'd had to place trust in others many times over the course of his military career, but now, he glanced at Maira with uncertainty. He knew better than to ask about that iron monstrosity. No one on the platform beside the building or inside it was gawking at the thing like he was. He'd only call attention to himself by questioning it.
But oh, Aslan, what a terrible place this London was! From the moment he'd arrived, his sensitive nose and ears had been assaulted by sounds and odors he'd never experienced outside of battle. The wolf in him shook with dread. Maira meant for them to ride this beast, and the very thought made him queasy.
He'd seen them exchanging money inside the building—for passage inside the thing, he guessed. How in all of Aslan's Country could anyone subjected to this iron carriage be tempted to pay for the punishment?
"Your ticket," Maira told him, handing him a piece of paper. "I had to use the ruby. I didn't have any other money. I'm sorry." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "We're lucky he took it, really, and from me besides. It must have been worth enough to silence any questions."
He roused out of his worries enough to respond with a wry snort. Wealth apparently worked as well here as in Narnia. She'd also managed to find him a long coat which, when buttoned, concealed his armor but somehow made him feel more of a misfit than he already was in this strange world.
Maira's brow furrowed. Her dark eyes filled with concern, shining in the early-morning light. "Are you all right? You look absolutely green."
"I'll manage," he said.
She fell into step beside him as they joined the line of passengers waiting to board the train. "I'm famished. I wish I'd thought to bring a loaf of bread from home."
"Do they offer food and drink on this…train?" he asked, hesitating only slightly at the word. Not for himself, of course. Anything he ate or drank was likely to come right back up if he consumed it while riding this fell contraption.
"I don't know," she confessed. "I've never ridden a train."
She certainly acted as if she'd been doing it all her life. Even with his stomach pitching, Aedan had to admire the confidence with which she handed over her ticket and stepped onto the stair leading into the belly of the iron beast. He could do no less.
He boarded the train and followed Maira toward their prescribed seat which, thank Aslan, was in its own box and fitted with a sliding door that closed to give them some privacy. It also, he noted, bore a shade which drew down to cover the glass. With a nod of approval, he pulled down the shade, then flung off the awkward coat. "You should rest," he said. "It sounds as thought we'll be on this thing long enough to catch a bite later."
"What about you?"
"I'll manage once we're in a safer place."
She settled back into the seat opposite him. "I shouldn't," she murmured. An instant later, she was asleep.
Aedan stared down at her, with her long braid falling forward over a rough-spun shirt, strands falling loose from the plait.
She needn't have accompanied him. She could simply have given him a map and trusted him to find his way to Oxford, but the stubborn girl had insisted. You don't act like a madman, she'd told him, eyeing his armor, and my father used to tell me fantastical stories, so who am I to say such things don't exist? I'm to believe in Jinn, then I must believe your Mister Kirke will help me find Farhan. And you'll only get into trouble.
He had a revelation to share with her. He was already in it.
With a sigh, he laid his cast-off coat over Maira's sleeping form, then sat in the opposite seat. He turned to look out the window, but the scenery speeding past brought on another wave of nausea. With a grimace, he closed those shades, too, then kept his eyes on the door with the singleminded attention of soldier on watch. Digory Kirke, I hope you have answers, he thought. I'm not even sure what questions to ask.