The landscape out west is way better than the lame, flat South, Darron mused as he watched the mountains and canyons flash by. But seriously, how many cliffs can a guy stare at before he gets bored? He was really starting to regret not bringing a book with him, or at least buying a newspaper in the station. He had plenty of cash with him, after all. The General's research grant had been more than generous.
Darron glanced over at the seats across the isle from him. Two gruff, muscular men in large, black jackets were whispering heatedly to each other. The young alchemist couldn't help but find this very suspicious. Those guys are just too shady not to be up to something. Darron scooted into the isle seat and strained to hear them, managing to make out some of their conversation.
"…not on this train."
"…got to be…"
"I'm telling you, the target isn't on this train. Somehow the tip off… managed to give us the slip again."
"How? We… cornered."
"I don't… the commander's not going to be pleased. We should just…"
"Damn that brat! Look, we have to be sure."
"Fine, we'll do this your way."
The man who had just spoken stood up and started walking slowly to the front of the train car. As he stood, Darron caught a quick glance of a symbol tattooed on the back of the man's neck, a symbol he recognized from training: The mark of the Cretan secret police. Shit, Darron thought. Looks like I was right. He disliked when his paranoia turned out to be justified. It usually meant he had work to do.
The Cretan spy turned slowly to face the other passengers and cleared his throat loudly. The other spy stood up, and both pulled submachine guns from their jackets.
"No one move. If everyone cooperates, no one will be hurt. If not, well… Let's just say that we are perfectly willing to use these things." The unfortunate passengers sat frozen in fear. Darron slowly pulled a blue glove from his pocket and put it on. "Here's how this is going to work: My friend here is going to search this train car. I will watch and make sure no one tries anything funny. If he does not find what he is looking for, we will proceed to the next car. You will all stay seated. Nod if you understand."
The passengers all nodded. Daron glanced at his glove, the tool with which he had won the state military alchemy exam. He had made it himself; stitched into the glove were a wide variety of transmutation circles, any of which he could activate at will. The range of circles let him transmute almost all commonly encountered materials, including the ones that comprised the train car. I can beat these guys. Time to show them how big a mistake it was to creep their way into Amestrian territory. "Excuse me!"
The Cretan walking down the isle and inspecting the passengers glared at him. "What do you want, kid? Make it quick and simple."
"What are two Cretan agents doing on an Amestrian train?" Darron demanded.
The other agent narrowed his eyes and spoke quickly. "Kill him. Now."
"Too late!" Darron screamed, slamming the palm of his gloved right hand against the wall of the train car and activating one of the circles. The glove glowed bright blue, and the steel floor under the Cretans' feet jumped up and knocked their guns from their hands, then coiled around their legs, trapping them. "You chose the wrong train, bastards. You should never have crossed the border."
"Shit. You're a state alchemist aren't you? Damn it, kid. You're way too young to be doing this stuff," one of the agents said sadly.
Darron activated the circle again, sending a metal fist slamming into the man's jaw. "Shut up! Anyway, I hope you don't mind being trapped like this, because you're not going anywhere for the rest of the ride."
The rest of the trip passed in silence; no one in the car dared speak. Why did this have to become so awkwardly quite? Darron wondered, vexed. God, I wish I could just stare at the boring landscape in peace. When the train finally stopped at the next town, the two agents were taken into custody of the local military base. Darron returned the train car to normal, paid for a room at the nearest inn, and collapsed into bed.
Meanwhile, a pale skinned boy wearing a tattered, dirt stained trench coat silently exited the luggage compartment of the train and slipped away into the shadows.