Page 69 of Stealing Tink

We move on to the next car. Inside, the Nomad opens three crates, each of their contents as unrefined as the first.

I watch him play through the options in his mind.

Say your thoughts out loud, I write.

“They could be toward the front of the train,” he says, “which would be a problem. There are likely more guards that way, especially since they’ll want the engineer heavily guarded.” He exhales. “Besides, we’re likely to run into someone eventually. The more boxcars we pass through, the greater our chances of getting caught.” Then he pauses. “And there’s always the least fortunate likelihood.”

That we came here for nothing, I write.

The Nomad shrugs in answer.

We could ask the others. Maybe they know something.

“I suppose,” the Nomad says. “It’s not as if I have a better plan.”

That does nothing to inspire confidence in mine, but we make our way back to the car with the faeries nonetheless.

The first faerie I unbound is still scurrying about, picking locks. It seems she’s woken others, who are now freeing their friends as well.

“You,” says the Nomad, pointing to her. “Are they only transporting unrefined faerie dust on this train?”

She glances at him halfheartedly. “I can answer your question once my friends are free.”

She tosses him a set of lock picks and pulls another from her pocket.

The Nomad doesn’t argue. Instead, he moves to the faerie beside her and begins working at her locks.

“What about a compromise?” he says. “You talk while I work.”

The faerie considers this, then begins to speak. “They’ve panicked over the dust shortages,” she says. “Strikes are what shut down the factories. There’s no one left to process it. That’s why they’re sending it unrefined to the kingdoms, in the hopes that factories that make other goods can refine it themselves.”

“So there’s no refined faerie dust on this train,” the Nomad says.

The faerie bites her lip, then moves on to the next prisoner. “There is some. I overheard some of the Company men talking. It’s at the front of the train.”

The shackles fall from the faerie the Nomad has been at work freeing. He shoves his set of lock picks into her hands, then stands.

“Let’s go,” he says to me, already heading toward the door.

“You’re fools if you think you won’t get caught,” the first faerie calls after us.

“Well, you may consider me a fool,” says the Nomad, “but I don’t dare speak for Tink here.”

“Wait,” the faerie says, grabbing his arm. “Please. At least wait until we’re unbound before you go alerting the guards.”

“It seems you’ve misread the situation,” the Nomad says, spinning on his heel toward the faerie. “I didn’t come here to free you. I came here to free her.” He gestures pointedly at me. “And it’s only because one of us has something resembling a heart that we woke you at all.”

The faerie glares up at him.

“You get yours out of here,” the Nomad says. “I’ll get mine.”

Mine. Something about that word raises the hairs on my arms.

The faerie looks between the two of us but doesn’t argue. Instead, she turns to me. “Thank you for giving us a chance,” she says, before hurrying back to work.

We can help, I sign to the Nomad.

“You already have,” he says, ushering me toward the door.