Mirabel found herself waking a while later to the sound of conversation. How long she had slept for, she didn’t know. She hadn’t intended to fall asleep at all. She was, however, glad that she had not had any more nightmares as she had feared she would. Or, at least, if she had, she could not remember them. And that was how it should be.

The conversation cut into her thoughts with the rough sound of Boris’s voice, recognizable from the smoke damaged quality it had to it.

“And what about after we deliver the girl, huh? What do we do then?” Boris sounded half aggressive with the question, and Mirabel held still in the hopes that they wouldn’t realize she was awake. This was a conversation she wanted to hear.

“Then we get our money and we leave,” answered another voice. It had a sharp edge to it, a cool voice that sounded able to send a layer of frost across the air. Mirabel was not as accustomed to the voice as she was Boris’s, but she was sure it had to be the bald man. He was the only one capable of owning such a voice.

“But what about after that? You know as well as I do - as we all do - that there is little work for mercenaries in these kingdoms. Not with them being at peace as they are,” Boris said in response.

“I’ve a feeling there may soon be more work than you might think,” said the bald man with his cold voice. Mirabel could almost hear the small smirk in his words, and she held herself even stiller in hopes of catching what came next.

A pause. “What do you mean by that?”

“None of your concern,” replied the bald man, the smirk gone from his words. His voice had turned icier than before.

“None of my concern?” Boris sounded angry now. “It’s plenty of my concern, Ivan.” The name ‘Ivan’ was pronounced with a scoff, almost derogatory. He spat it out as if it tasted bad.

Ivan. She didn’t know that name. She mentally ran through the list of her kidnappers. Boris, of course; the man with the beard. Dmitri; the one with the limp. And Viktor; the one with the scar who hardly talked. She never had caught the bald man’s name, though, she mused. Ivan did seem the sort of name for him. Unless they had acquired a new member to their merry band, process of elimination told her it had to be the bald man.

“No, I really don’t think it is.” The chill voice broke into her thoughts. “We drop off the girl-”

“At Omsk, yes, then we get our money,” Boris broke in. “I know. It’s not as if it’s the first time you’ve said.”

Mirabel’s eyes widened. Omsk? The name sounded familiar to her, and she dug in her memories for any recollection. The fourth kingdom, she realized after a moment. It had hardly been mentioned in her lessons except for those that involved the surrounding kingdoms. The small kingdom had not made much of an appearance in her history lesson, due to Pommern lying directly between them and Lucerne. Suddenly it all made sense, though, why they were taking her through Pommern.

“Then stop asking stupid questions,” said Ivan, again cutting off her thought. “What we do after that is none of your concern for the moment.”

“And why not? What, is it ‘need to know’? Because let me tell you, I really think I need to know.” It was odd for Mirabel to hear Boris getting so upset. He’d been the cheery one on the previous journey, cracking bad jokes and then laughing at them while everyone else remained silent. He had a good laugh, she’d thought. It was a hearty belly laugh. But now his voice had gained an edge to it, almost to match Ivan’s.

“Leave it be, Boris,” another voice added. Mirabel’s brow furrowed as she tried to figure out who it was.

“You stay out of this,” said Boris angrily.

“Viktor is right. Just leave it be. I told you, it’s none of your concern,” said Ivan.

“And I told you that it is. Why are you being so mysterious about everything? What could possibly be so ‘need to know’ about what we do after we drop off the girl?”

“Shut up, Boris,” Ivan retorted. He was avoiding the question, Mirabel thought, which only served to make her more curious.

“No, I won’t shut up!” Boris growled. Mirabel had always thought him an odd sort for a kidnapper, now proven mercenary. But now, with his anger showing through, she found herself changing her mind. He wasn’t the cheery man she’d originally thought, she was discovering. He had exactly the temperament for a mercenary when he showed it.

Ivan’s voice spoke then, quiet, but just as intense as ever. “I don’t know.” He sounded angry, a slight growl in his voice.

There was a prolonged pause before Boris answered. “What?”

“I said,” began Ivan, growing louder. “I don’t know. I haven’t a clue what we’ll be doing after this job, okay? So just shut up!”

And this time Boris did. Everyone did, actually. The cart went silent, aside from the rattling of the wheels over the rocks and the pounding of the hooves against the ground. Mirabel began to grow uncomfortable in the silence. While they had been speaking, she had been distracted from the discomforts of being tied in a cart, but now every jolt seemed incredibly pronounced.

“Better be a good paying job, this,” Boris muttered, breaking the silence. No one said anything in reply. Mirabel wondered that he didn’t know what the pay would be. Weren’t mercenaries told those sorts of things before they took the job?

But with no one to answer, she wondered if maybe none of them did know. A sneaking suspicion crept into her mind, however, that Ivan did. He seemed to know a lot more than he was letting on. She couldn’t help but think that he was lying about not knowing what was next; his previous statement of there soon being more work than one might think led her to believe that he only said he didn’t know so that Boris would stop asking him.

It occurred to her that it really shouldn’t matter to her if he was lying or not. What they did after delivering her to Omsk had nothing to do with her. Their employer could slit their throats for all she knew, after dropping her off, and it still would have nothing to do with her.

No, she should be thinking about how she was going to get out of this mess. She knew that, wherever in Omsk they were taking her, it wouldn’t take them more than another day to get there; from what she knew of the geography of the area, they hadn’t been more than a day’s ride from the border of Omsk when they were back at the town. And Omsk was small, mostly forest, really. At the speed they were travelling, she was sure she had a day, at best, to figure a way out of the situation.

Her earlier plan of lying low until they reached their destination occurred to her, but she decided to toss it out the window. One kingdom over from her home was bad enough; two was unacceptable. She would have to escape again.

It was a doubtful plan, she had to admit. She knew that her first escape had been a mere fluke. These men were skilled. They did things like this for a living. She, however, knew nothing. She could write a speech in six different languages, one of them deceased, but as for escaping from trained mercenaries, she was entirely incompetent.

Of course, the more she thought about it, the more she despaired. How could she be expected to escape? Perhaps it would be best to lie low after all. Surely the men would expect her to try something. She’d escaped once, after all. They’d be sure to keep a closer eye on her this time around.

She decided to take stock of her surroundings. She was lying in the back of a cart, she knew that much. If there was anything else in the cart, aside from her and the men, she didn’t know. They might be hiding her with bales of straw, or with bags of grain. She hadn’t a clue.

She had a bag over her head. That certainly wasn’t helping her situation. She could tell if it were day or night, but that was all. Everything else she had to rely on her other senses for. Her hands and feet were tied, of course. One of the men had done that as soon as they’d set off in the cart. Again, not helpful.

Nothing. There was nothing she could do. Everything she turned over in her head was useless. She was stuck.

Despair overwhelmed her thoughts. It seemed as if she was more accustomed to that emotion now than any other. When was the last time she was happy? She knew it hadn’t been too long ago, surely, but she couldn’t remember it. The thoughts of her situation had sucked any thoughts of happiness away.

All there was to do was wait. Perhaps once she was delivered to Omsk she would find it easier to escape. Who knew, after all? She wasn’t even sure who the men’s employer was. The only thing she could do was wait and find out.

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A/N Aaaand another chapter for you all. I enjoyed writing this one - the dialogue was interesting. I like the mercenaries xD They're fun to write. Anywho, I hope you all enjoyed, and let me know down in the comments! I do so love comments :3