Page 61 of Stealing Tink

I’m not so sure about that. But I don’t feel like talking to him. Not after last night. So I stare at the wristwatch the Nomad gifted me this morning, counting down the ticks until the plan pounces into motion.

“How many people who aren’t up to no good stare at their watch like that? Do try to be a tad more subtle,” the Nomad whispers.

I could be waiting for someone to join us, I write, and then something occurs to me. Where’s your pocket watch?

“Right here,” he says, pulling a golden timepiece from the lining of his coat.

Not that one, I write. I don’t dare write the rest, don’t dare put to paper what happened in the courtyard of Lady Whittaker’s when Peter’s shadow magic was trapped inside an adamant pocket watch that the Nomad had had fashioned specifically for that purpose.

The Nomad looks as if he’s about to respond, but then the yelling starts, and I glance down at my watch. Seven on the dot.

“Four months!” he shouts at Acel. “Four months you put off this meeting with me! Four months I’ve been working on a project you promised to fund upfront. Four months all I’ve heard are these excuses for delays in payment. But you’re not the only one with bills to pay. Not the only one with debtors breathing down your neck. Pay it or find someone else to fund this project. Oh wait, you can’t, because no one else in the world is intelligent enough to figure it out!”

“Gentlemen,” says a server, “this conduct is not approved of on this train. You must keep your conversation to an appropriate level for the other guests⁠—”

“An appropriate level for the other guests?” Lars shouts, shooting up from the table.

The Nomad glances at me, and I can’t help sharing a thought with him. For someone who claims to dislike people, Lars seems to enjoy performing for them.

“Do you even know how much a ticket on this train costs?” Lars goes on. “Everyone on this train except me is here for the luxury. Probably born into their wealth, like this swindler here”—he points to Acel—“Everyone else can bear a little conflict. Might be good for them, considering they probably haven’t had any in their lives!”

“Sit. Down,” Acel says through his teeth.

“Sit down? All right.” Lars flops into his seat just before taking his cup and tossing its contents in Acel’s face.

A flash later, Acel is over the table, dishes shattering as they hit the floor. The server screams and so do half the other breakfast-car attendees, all staring at the outbreak.

Except for Phoenix, who is staring at the empty spot where Venus just disappeared.

The Nomad’s face brightens. He reaches into his coat pockets, then rolls up his sleeves and walks up to the shocked server. He places a calming hand on her shoulder and says something that would be indistinguishable over the commotion if I didn’t have the plan memorized. “I believe now would be the time to go get the head of security.”

The server snaps back to her senses, nods, and scurries off, heading to the front door of the breakfast car and unlocking it with shaking hands. She must be in shock not to notice that the door, rather than shutting behind her, remains ajar about a foot’s width.

Well, I suppose we know where Venus is. And that she made it to her post.

I slide from my seat and follow the Nomad, who is slinking toward the door. As we walk, I keep note of the other passengers, but Acel has just pulled a painting off the wall and is beating Lars over the head with it. At least, that’s what I gather from the frantic middle-aged woman narrating the entire scene to her husband, who seems just as capable of seeing as she is.

With a flick, the Nomad nudges the door and slips through it. I follow him, and the door closes behind us. I can’t see Venus, but I feel her presence behind me, her cautious breathing.

“We did it,” she whispers.

“Don’t let your guard down yet,” the Nomad says.

And I’m inclined to agree, especially knowing the server is on her way to find the head of security, who will have to come back through this way to address the brawl in the breakfast car.

Next to me, the Nomad pries open a crate and beckons me and Venus inside. Though I can’t see Venus, I feel her go stiff next to me, and I recognize the feeling instantaneously in myself. We both spent time in our respective cages and familiarity doesn’t make climbing back into one any easier.

I reach into the air until I find her trembling hand. I give it a squeeze before heading into the crate first. It’s not long before the crate feels especially cramped as she climbs in.

Then the Nomad looks down into the crate, flashing us a grin. “See you on the other side.”

The lid shuts. There’s a shuffle as he gets into position. The noise from his movement goes still just as the door flings open.

“A brawl before breakfast?” says what can only be the head of security, sounding agitated. “There should be a rule about these things. I haven’t even had my tea yet.”

The server’s voice picks up, muttering apologies as if she’s the one who started the brawl. Then the door closes and the car goes quiet again.

Minutes later, the door bangs open.