Cameron

Melanie had promised him there would be more people. Cameron just wasn't expecting so many.

They had pushed themselves onto the train near the end, just before departure. Three dozen people, as hard and grim as any group of people Cameron had ever come across. They made him nervous, though not because of the physical threat they presented. Even armed as many of them were with makeshift clubs and knives, it was the violence they could inflict that bothered him. Cameron, after all, had made a career of dealing with Crafters and rejects. What made him nervous was the rage that seemed to seethe like water boiling beneath a lid. Occasionally a look, an unschooled reaction, would show wide and wild eyes, and hands only too eager to clench themselves into fists.

"Are they all clear about what we're doing here?" Cameron whispered into Melaine's ear, as the crowd began to gather.

They were still in the last car, easiest place to conspire without being overheard. Hendricks was there beside him, leaning casually between the train windows with one leg resting against the wall. But his left hand twitched as it rested against his sword, and his eyes would dart from one person to another restlessly.

"They know. That reject's getting justice," Melanie replied. "We just need to take him to Oversight's headquarters."

Reject. She called Vincent a reject, like the cast-off workers in the kilns driven mad by their own power. Like the young madwoman who killed three people in a fight with her shadow on a street tram. Like the hundred or so emergencies he had responded to, knife in hand, since he started with Oversight,

"Why does he need to go all the way to Oversight?" someone asked.

"This is justice, Leane. This ain't revenge."

"Not sure it's either, by the sounds of it."

"With justice, you don't decide on the ash-bitten punishment," Melanie interjected. "He goes to Oversight to make sure he's still sound of mind. After that is after that, and it's out of our hands."

Revenge or justice. Neither of those things were ever reasons Cameron had killed. Nothing he did was because people committed crimes, or took advantage of each other. As a Ranger or as a shadow, he killed because it needed to be done. He killed because the consequences of doing otherwise was paid in human life. Cameron was close to calling the whole thing off as he listened to them talk.

"So, we need to do two things. Get Vincent, and get the engine," Hendricks said. He pushed odd against the wall as he spoke, rolling his shoulders as he stood. "Now, none of you are allowed in the medical cars, so as soon as we open the door to the sixth car the game starts. Until then, we can move inconspicuously. Our best play is to get as far in as we can before we have to reveal ourselves."

"Vincent's in the last medical car. I saw him just a few minutes ago, when that Ranger with all the burn scars came through," someone said. "I only saw one other Ranger in there with him."

Vincent, nearly alone. This might go smoothly after all. Cameron very nearly turned and started leading them all out, then and there. It was a gift enough that they were separated from the rest of the rangers, and managed to get so many people they could trust onboard. Much of this plan hinged on the Rangers being unwilling to fire on their own.

"Knowing where Vincent is helps. And it helps a lot more that he's alone. Once we have Vincent, we push our way straight to the engine and have the engineers reroute us along the Inway to the Red Wastes. After that, we uncouple the rest of the cars at the Red Wastes and take the engine to Lower Central," Cameron explained.

This time, he did get up, and stood between all of them and the door. He drew his knife, the Coldstone one. The one with the obsidian pommel. "I was a shadow, before I was a Ranger. And I rather doubt I'll be a Ranger after this. But it's what I do, for the City. Because even though I've seen Golems, fought Gloamtaken, and walked through the Gloam, I am afraid of the risk Vincent might be. We have to be sure, we can't afford anything less. So if anyone wants off the train we're on, just wait in this car. The City will find places for you to wait out the storm."

Michael Tulwar stood up then, out of his frightening, quiet grief, and stepped up to Cameron until he was close enough that Cam could smell the salt of his drying tears. "And what happens, Mister Aster, if your bureau says this reject they let play soldier is still sound of mind? What kind of justice can we expect then?"

"I couldn't say," Cameron said. "That isn't a shadow's place."

"Don't you fret, Mister Tulwar," Melanie said with a hand on his shoulder. "He killed my aunt, too. If he can face justice, he will."

"Might be better if Cameron just decided he was lost to his power. Kinder for the boy's memory," Michael Tulwar said. "Hate to remember a Ranger that way. Better a casualty in the field then a bloody murderer."

"You know the plan. We stick with it," Cameron declared, hoping to shut down more of this line of thinking. The more he heard it, the more afraid he became. Too long, and he might even abandon the effort. He stepped to the edge of their gang, and started walking towards the door.

He thought of it as a gang. He had a tenuous control over it, and if that slipped there was no telling what these people would do.

"Is there a reason you're leaving your guns behind?" Mister Tulwar asked.

"Shadows don't use them. Throwing fire at a Crafter is like trying to stop a flood by adding more water," Cameron replied.

"Let's go," Cam said.

The gang followed. Hendricks and Melanie close behind him, but the others were close behind, surging forward to devour all the space to the sides, eager to press ahead. Too eager, as Cam discovered while they followed him through the door into the next car.

The first person they saw as soon as they stepped through the door was Ivan. Deep in conversation with a pair of women, he only looked over as he saw Cam and Hendricks step into the car, frowning as he watched the crowd of people follow.

"Everything all right?" Ivan asked. The question sounded innocuous, but Ivan's eyes lingered on the growing group of people crowding the doorway.

"It's fine, Ivan," Melanie said, clapping him on the shoulder and steering him back towards the conversation he left. "Val and Orlando were hoping to see their aunt. She's in the front cars, being treated. Cam just said he'd ask."

"Not sure they'll let anyone past. That old lady running the mobile hospice up ahead was pretty blunt about not letting anyone else in there."

"Cam said he'd ask, nothing more," Melanie replied, with a surprisingly gentle sweetness that was far, far removed from the quiet rage she had carried through the last few hours. Cam was impressed, and a little frightened, about how well she masked her anger. "No is an answer we're all prepared to hear."

His frown didn't disappear right away. But with a glance back at the two women he was talking to, he eventually seemed to lose interest in whatever suspicion he was clinging to. "All right," Ivan said, as he returned to his conversation as if nothing had happened.

Cameron passed, with Melanie now clinging to his arm. As soon as they were far enough away, Cam leaned down and spoke into her ear. "Well done," he said.

"Ivan has a bit of a reputation," Melanie admitted with a glance backwards. "Or more like a small bit of infamy as a womanizing cad. Not that he means badly by it. He's never been disloyal to anyone, and no one in Barleybarrel is half as good at brewing decent drink in a corner of a shed. But he's fickle, and it's always been easy to steer his attention."

"Well, that's one car out of the way," Cameron said as they reached the door. "Hope we manage a few more just as smoothly."

He got his wish through the next two cars. A few members of the other squad were there, including those twins Gwen had treated out in the field. But thankfully, with most of Sergeant Stroat's squad being drawn from Barleybarrel, they were deep in conversations with the people they had just finished saving, far too involved to notice Cameron and his co-conspirators.

"That's most of Decklan's squad," Hendricks said as they passed through the fourth car. "Half the Rangers on this car, and we can shut them out with a single locked door. Things are going well so far."

"I was hoping we'd pass more of them," Cameron admitted. "Especially the lieutenant, Valen, and Mack."

"We can handle them, if it comes to it," Hendricks insisted.

"Mack could turn the rest of the Rangers against us if he's close by, and they'll all listen to Varnell. As for Valen, if he pulls a sword on us," Cameron shuddered.

"I can take him, if we have to. He won't commit to fighting us. Even you know him well enough for that," Hendricks insisted, with his left hand drifting down to grip the hilt of his sword, as if to check that it was still there. As if Hendricks had decided where that confrontation would go. "He's too fond of trying to be reasonable. The last time he resorted to violence, it put him in prison. It took a lot to talk him into training me."

"And you're sure you could point a sword at him?" Cameron asked.

"If it's important enough. I trust you on that," Hendricks said simply.

"It is," Cameron said, and he wasn't sure who he was trying to convince. Hendricks, perhaps. Or Melanie. Or the others who had come with him. Or, perhaps, himself.

Cameron opened the next door, and stepped through to the next car to find perhaps the least crowded car they had made it through so far. There were only a couple dozen people in all. Fauth was sitting beside a young couple, watching several school-aged children play a game with chalk on the floor. Near the far door, Mildred was talking with exactly the person Cameron was most afraid to run into.

Mackaroy turned just as Cam stepped into the car, and their eyes met. Just a moment, barely more than an instant. But in the space between heartbeats Cameron knew the old shadow understood everything that Cam was doing. Understood exactly what he was doing, who he had managed to recruit to his cause. Understood why he was doing it, perhaps in ways Cameron himself wasn't ready to acknowledge.

The old shadow understood, and in recognition, his hands disappeared into his sleeves. "Fauth," Cam barked as he started to run forward, reaching for his sword. "Just stay right where you are. Hug those kids and don't get up."

"Mildred, they're after Vincent," Mackaroy barked as he advanced. Around them people began to scream, and threw themselves out of the way like shrapnel. "Get back there, let Varnell know."

"No," Cameron cursed as he ran forward. Mack moved to put himself in the way, one hand in his coat to find a knife to throw. A hand grabbed Cameron by the shoulder and shoved him sideways just as Mack threw, and the knife passed into the crowd behind him. Hendricks darted ahead, sword drawn, and close with Mack before the old shadow could throw another knife.

Cam recovered his footing, and ran past Hendricks and Mack, closing with Mildred. She stepped back, not turning to run, but pulling her Salamander from her shoulder. "Cam, what the burning hell are you doing?" she asked as she took another step back.

She didn't point the gun at him. Even with Hendricks and Mack swinging blades at each other, she wasn't trying to kill him. Cam kept running at her, but made no move to draw his knives, or his sword. But when he was close enough to take a swing at her, she somehow rolled her head to the side with a shift in her footing and swung the butt of her Salamander into his chin.

Cam's head snapped to the side and his vision blurred. If it weren't for someone else now grabbing at Mildred's gun, she might easily have hit him again or managed to turn the barrel. As it was, when a third person swung a club at her she pulled the trigger, burning the hands of whoever was struggling. Both of them dropped the gun, and Mildred took the chance to draw her sword straight into a swing.

Mildred's slash was quick and wild, and despite her attacker dodging back, the sword cut a deep gash into someone's face. Whoever it was stumbled back, screaming as she clutched her face.

Cam grabbed one of his knives and swung his arm in a vicious arc, striking with the pommel into the side of Mildred's head. Her eyes turned to the side, staring at something a hundred miles away, and she collapsed like she had forgotten how to stand.

Three people pushed past, and kicked at her as she fell. "Stop, stop, burn you!" Cam cursed as he pushed someone away. "I I told you not to kill anyone."

"She got Melanie," one of them said, but they stopped kicking at Mildred when they saw she didn't try to get up again.

Cameron's hands began to shake, badly enough that he nearly dropped his knife. He turned around, scrambled over to where she had collapsed on the floor, and crouched down next to her.

"It's okay, it's okay," Cameron mumbled, as he looked at her. Blood covered her face, tricking down the sides of her mouth even as she clutched her nose and forehead. Cam remembered Gwen's trick for finding extra bandages, and cut his coat open at the chest to pull out strips of linen.

He laid one strip after another, pressing them firmly against the wound, until the ones he laid on top didn't soak through. Only the did he look up, finally noticing the fight wasn't over yet.

Hendricks and Macaroy were still trying to kill each other. Mack had managed to draw his sword, and there was a knife stuck in Hendricks's padded coat. But Mack was bleeding from several wounds, and his coat was sporting so many gashes it looked like someone had painted white stripes in it.

Hendricks had shifted his stance — more like a sporting fencer than a soldier at work — using his sword more like a spear as he flicked quick thrusts aimed at Mack's face. The shadow was forced to guard, twisting to avoid the darting blade trying for his eyes. Unable to back up enough to use his throwing knives, but held too far back to use the weapons he was more familiar with.

Another step back, and Mack shifted to try Hendricks' tactic, turning to his side and thrusting hard. But Hendricks tapped Mack's blade to the side, not much, but just enough that his sword glanced off the padded coat. Hendricks' answer was a hard slash to the side, cutting deeply into and partially through Mack's padded coat.

Cameron moved to help, rising to his feet, but the fight was almost over. Mack staggered backwards, crouching as he fought to keep his feet, and Hendricks followed through with a boot to the face. A few members of the mob stepped in and kicked the old shadow a few times, until it was clear he wasn't getting back up.

The door to the compartment slid open, and Cameron whirled about. Decklan stepped inside, his eyes flickering from Cameron, to Hendricks, to Mildred and Mackaroy on the ground, and his hand moved to his sword.

Cameron dashed forward, caught Decklan's hand as the sword half-cleared its scabbard, and struck him hard in the throat. Deckalan coughed, crashed against the wall as he staggered back, and held up his other hand to ward off Cam's next blow.

Except it wasn't Cam's blow Decklan was trying to ward off. A cudgel swung from just out of the corner of Cameron's eye, and smashed into Decklan's head with a sickening crack, and the dull thud of something like wet laundry being dropped from above. Decklan collapsed, head smacking hard against the floor, with now vacant eyes staring up at the ceiling.

"Decklan," Cam said as he crouched down beside him. He put a hand on his neck, searching for a pulse without finding it, then pressing his fingers harder into Decklan's neck, as if it were trying to hide. "No. No no no no."

"We had to stop him before he raised the alarm," someone said. Cameron didn't know who spoke, and he didn't care very much.

"Shit way to repay someone for risking their life to protect you," Mackaroy said. Cam whirled around to see the old shadow was trying to sit up, until someone hit him again. The old shadow laughed as he groaned, and tried to roll away to protect his stomach from another person as they wound up to kick him again. "And don't think they'll wait until after the invasion to string all of you ash-stained shits up."

"Shut up," Hendricks growled, and kicked Mack again.

"They'll hang each of you, one by one," Mack said. "And you'll watch, Cam. Watch each one twitch and die before they do the next."

"Didn't you burning hear me?" Hendricks shouted, and kicked Mack in the back of the head.

Cameron struggled to his feet, staring at the blood on his fingertips and wondering who it belonged to. Mildred? Melanie? Or was it Decklan's, whose blood had already stopped flowing from the caved-in portion of his head.

"Lock that door," Cameron said, and wiped his fingers off on his coat. "We have to hurry. This has already cost us too much."