Page 70 of Stealing Tink

We pass through the next boxcar and are about to enter another when the door flies open.

Two Company guards step inside. Their mouths hang open, as if one had been mid-joke. He snaps his jaw shut, eyes widening.

The Nomad is fast. He goes for the man’s jugular, but not before the other guard grabs the rope hanging next to the door and yanks.

An alarm blares, and something tells me it’s not just blaring in this car.

“Oh, great,” says the Nomad, knocking the guard unconscious.

“Race you to the other side of the train?” the Nomad asks.

I shake my head. We can’t fight them.

“No, but if we climb and make our way on top of the train, we might reach the other end before they know where we are.”

I turn back, thinking of the faeries behind us, scrambling to escape.

They’ll find them, I sign.

“Good,” the Nomad says. “It’ll be a distraction. Better yet, they’ll think that’s why the alarm was raised in the first place.”

He reaches for the door, but I grab his wrist and shake my head. There’s so much I want to say, but the signs I’ve learned so far don’t quite grasp them all, so I grab the pad and quill and write as hurriedly as I can. They’ll endure worse punishment if they’re caught again. Worse than if we’d never tried. I’m not leaving without them.

Irritation flares in the Nomad’s eyes as he searches my face for some selfishness to exploit. But I have no family to miss me if I’m caught, so he’ll find nothing.

He must realize this, because he exhales sharply then opens the door.

Wait, I start to sign, but he doesn’t step through. Instead, he grabs a crowbar that’s leaning against the wall, one that is probably there in case a crate needs to be opened. A moment later, and he brings the crowbar down on the coupling that connects the two boxcars. Sparks fly, and the Nomad strikes again, this time revealing a dent in the metal.

For a brief moment, I allow myself to watch him. Allow my heart to soar.

But then noise carries through from the next boxcar. Guards shouting. Any moment now, they’ll burst the door open and attack.

“Tink,” says the Nomad, my name a scolding. “I do hope you have a plan to defend me.”

Right.

I grab another crowbar, sidle past where the Nomad is hunched over in the doorway hammering away at the coupling, and prop the crowbar between the coupling and the door just in time for the door to budge with the force of the guards’ efforts. It won’t hold them off for long, and from the shape of the metal coupling, it seems it has more integrity than we would have hoped for given the situation.

The Nomad, sweating now, stops, staring down at the warped coupling, and grimaces. “Erm. I have one last idea, but it’s a very bad one.”

My hands sign something that I think is, Bad is good.

“Get back in the car,” he says.

I don’t wait to be told twice. Once I’m inside, the Nomad tosses me a coin purse. “Fill this with faerie dust,” he says.

I run over to a crate and do as I’m told, scooping it with my hand. When I run it back toward the Nomad, he reaches into his satchel and pulls out a coil of wire, then wraps it around the coin purse, leaving a long strand of the wire standing up. The rest of the wire he uses to secure the coin purse to the coupling.

Instinct won’t allow me to wait around. I race back over to the open crate, grab a clot of faerie dust, and slip it into my pocket. Lars is a genius. Surely he’ll have some use for it.

There’s a slam as the door budges again. Another slam, and the crowbar holding the door closed flies free.

“Run,” says the Nomad. Then he grabs a match from his pocket, lights it on the side of its box, then sets the flame to the end of the wire.

Before I can react, he scoops me into his arms and runs. Behind him, I watch as the guards throw open the door, then glance down at the burning wire, confused.

Their eyes widen in realization about the same time mine do.