Page 64 of Stealing Tink

“We’ll have to be careful to time this right,” says the Nomad.

I shoot him a glare.

He practically winces at himself. “Although you appear to be decent at sensing changes in velocity without my commentary.”

You too, I sign. He’s not wrong—I’m surprised and, despite myself, somewhat impressed that he made the jump.

As the Company train’s horn howls, the engine fast approaching, the Nomad catches me watching him and winks. “Together then?”

I squeeze his hand.

And jump.

The fall is startling and scoops my stomach up into my ribcage, but it’s the impact that tears the breath from my lungs. Just as the train’s horn lets out another blaring howl, my feet hit the tin roof, then the soles of my boots slip, sending my knees careening into the metal. It should be painful, but all I can do is tremble and grip the divots in the roof with my free hand. My whole body shakes, except my hand, still clamped in his.

“You did it, Wanderer,” the Nomad says, looking pleased. I glance upward.

We pass under the overpass, the other train long gone. Hopefully the others will have time to escape before the guarded checkpoints. The Nomad planned a rendezvous point, but considering Lars and Acel failed to slow the train, I can’t help wondering if we’ll all make it there. And whether the Company will force the others to hunt us down.

But that’s a problem for later.

“You’re wounded,” says the Nomad, glancing at where the blade sliced my forearm. Quickly, he tears a piece off the bottom of his tunic and wraps it around my arm. “We’ll have to clean it later,” he says. I don’t argue.

The Nomad and I race across the top of the train, and my stomach flies every time we jump between cars. In his research, the Nomad had found that the centermost car was the least likely to be guarded. When we reach the middle, we climb down the side of the car. The door to the storage car is locked, but the Nomad picks it quickly, and we slip inside.

After a few turns through the dark, I hoist myself into the next car…and freeze at what waits for us inside.

CHAPTER 27

LARS

Lars is in a fantastic mood. If he were to list his favorite activities, they would be, in order of enjoyment: 1) Dissecting insects, 2) Acting (he sometimes spends his free time playing in the local theater’s productions), and 3) Trains. He is aware that “trains” are objects, not an activity, but they make the list, nonetheless. That is how much Lars enjoys trains. He is willing to subvert parallelism for them.

This has not been the perfect day. He has not had time to dissect an insect amongst all the train heisting. But he gets to dissect all the time, so he agreed with the Nomad’s assertion that he could probably give it up for a day. (Only a day, though. His insects would miss him were he gone any longer.)

No, today has not been a perfect day. Still, it has been near-perfect. It is not often that Lars gets to act. It has been years since he has secured a role worth mentioning in the local theater. Lars blames the new director for this. The man is incapable of swallowing criticism, especially regarding his wife, whose roles would be better off given to a parrot. Lars doesn’t regret informing the director of this, not one bit.

Lars admits to himself that his overinflated mood is likely thanks to his recent acting deprivation more than the success of his and Acel’s scene itself (it was rather sloppy). Even so, Lars has never been afforded the ability to act on a train.

Sure, he’s dreamed of such an occasion, but Lars is no dreamer. He has known for years that acting on a train is a dream more reasonably kept in one’s imagination, with no expectation of fulfillment in reality.

“Did you have to throw the hot tea on me?” asks Acel, as he and Lars sneak onto the next railcar.

“Yes,” says Lars. “My character’s life was in shambles because of your character’s irresponsibility. He was unable to feed his wife and children. To go for anything cooler than the tea would have been out of character.”

“And what about me?” says Acel. “What do you suspect my response to having scalding tea thrown on me should be?”

“You should have thrown me harder across the railcar. Or smashed a bottle over my head,” Lars says, glad that Acel is asking for the critique that Lars was planning on giving him anyway. After the heist, of course. No need to be impractical. But since Acel is asking…

“You could have seriously injured me,” says Acel.

“False. You’re wearing adamant armor underneath your shirt.”

Acel gives Lars a surprised look.

“It was gifted to you by the princess. Heat resistance that laughs in the face of hot tea. When you worked for the queen, did you have a habit of provoking others to throw their hot beverages at you?”

Acel blinks, then shakes his head and continues on their path.