The city was on fire. Homes burned. Factories lay in rubble. Dust clouded the streets like mist. A sign loomed from the yellow-brown penumbra that declared a station was imminent. Ylia pulled the brake and ceased feeding the fires to slow the Engine to a crawl. She could hardly see but for the light of the flames. So much devastation… What could have done this?

  Telos was by her side, helping her navigate. His eyes seemed a good deal better than hers for he always spotted trouble before she did. But his normally jovial expression was clouded by some fear or doubt.

  “You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” Ylia whispered.

  “Yes,” Telos said, thickly. “It has all his hallmarks, does it not?”

  “He’s dead, Telos.”

  He looked at her, with such piercing intensity she nearly fell back. This new Telos seemed much like the old one, but beneath the banterous exterior, something had awoken, something frightening, hard as iron, unafraid.

  “So was I,” he said. “If I can come back, so can he.”

  It was a chilling thought, and one Ylia did not want to dwell on.

  The Jensen screamed, rattled, and screeched as it ground to a sluglike crawl, then finally stopped. The dust clouds were thinner here. A platform of blackened stone was visible. People darted to and fro, some seeking escape, some—having arrived at other platforms—evidently as confused as Ylia was about what they had just arrived at. Stationmasters marched up and down the platforms, barking instructions, though there seemed to be no cohesion between them.

  In the distance, the fires of the city climbed higher and higher.

  “What in the name of the gods have we gotten into?” Ylia said.

  Xheng, Qala, and Jubal joined them in the driver’s cab. Jubal had thrown his hood over his face. Given how many people racing about on the platforms were covering their faces from the dust, he did not look out of place. Qala’s robes, on the other hand, stood out like a sore thumb, practically luminous even in the clouds of ash and grime.

  “We’ll have to pass you off as a wealthy trader,” Telos said to Qala.

  “Well I was one until we left Yarruk,” Qala replied.

  Telos grinned guiltily.

  “My apologies. But I am sure a greater destiny awaits. Once we have a change of clothes for you, we might sell that silk robe for a pretty coin or two. We’ll need some money, after all.”

  Qala laughed in that strangely dissonant way of hers.

  “I am pleased you have the good generosity to find me some rags before taking the robe off my back.”

  “I’m not selling this,” Xheng said, pointing at the wine bottle. “It’s evidence.”

  “The robe should be sufficient,” Telos assured. “I imagine it is worth double-figure Demons, even soiled. Now, Ylia, what are we going to tell the Stationmasters about this train?”

  Ylia had been pondering this very thing.

  “We’ll tell them I am an indentured Engineer Apprentice and was asked by my Wagemaster to run the train to Daimonopolis away from the disaster.” She pointed at Qala. “You are a Government Emissary and the Jubal, Xheng, and Telos are your attendants. And Urgal is our pet.” Urgal gave a disgruntled yowl at this. Ylia made a face, then continued. “Emissaries tend not to be questioned too much, given how close they are to the ear of Governors and Emperors—no one wants to give them a hard time. Given what’s happened here, they might not believe a disaster has befallen Wylhome as well. But it’s the best I can come up with.”

  Telos nodded.

  “Sounds better than anything I could think of. I’m glad someone understands Aurelia.”

  Ylia grinned.

  “You’re not exactly seeing it on its best day.”

  Telos laughed.

  “Well, shall we go?”

  They stepped down from the driver’s cab one by one and made their way across the platform.

  “Urgal, walk next to Qala,” Ylia said, softly.

  The cat did as he was told, walking by Qala’s side, occassionally nuzzling her soft, silken robe.

  The Stationmaster loomed out of the dust clouds, a thick, black jacket—hanging all the way down to the ankles and shining with a layer of Daimonsblood and grease—marking him out from the crowd, making him seem taller, like some huge golem. He had rough sideburns on his face, a nose so blood red it might have been a cherry, and aquiline eyes that were constantly roving across the crowds and machines.

  Ylia stepped forward.

  “Reporting a—”

  “On yer way!” he barked, pointing to a set of stairs that led to a bridge over the platforms and towards the station’s exit. “There’s been a dragon attack on the city. And there’s people pouring in from neighbouring cities, too. The whole state’s gone mad! We’ll sort out the paperwork later. What’s yer Engine’s name?”

  “The Jensen,” Ylia replied, not quite sure she could believe their luck. “It will be in need of some repairs.”

  “Alright, one of my men will dock her. I’ll get our local engineer team to look at her. You’ll probably be waiting a day or two, with our backlog. You be on yer way. We want as few people clogging up the station as possible!” He flicked her a coin—which was not in fact currency but a copper token stamped with the symbol of Daimonopolis: a wheel with spokes of Daimonbone, turning over a river of blood. Ylia caught the coin.

  “Hand that to me when you want yer Engine back.”

  “Thank you, Stationmaster.”

  He grunted in acknowledgement. His eyes were already turning towards other groups lingering on the platforms.

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  “You! We’re clearing these stations. There’s been a dragon attack,” he barked, marching toward them. “What’s yer Engine’s name?”

  Ylia turned and stared at the others.

  “Dare I say the words…” Jubal rumbled. “But was that a stroke of luck?”

  Telos laughed.

  “It seems the pandemonium here has actually served in our favour. There will be questions later…”

  “But by that time, we will be on our way,” Qala finished.

  “Precisely.” Telos cracked his neck. “Still, well done, Ylia. He evidently took one look at you and believed you were an engineer. To be honest, I can see it.”

  Ylia snorted and turned away. The group headed towards the stairwell. The crowds were thick here, and they had to slow their pace in time with the herd. Of all of the party, Urgal received the most looks. But when they saw him slinking beside Qala in her magnificent robes, their curiosity lessened. The rich were wont to keep esoteric pets and parade them when fancy suited.

  They trampled over a metal bridge that spanned four lines running east to west. Engines rumbled and darted beneath them, causing the whole structure to vibrate.

  “Dragon attack?” Ylia whispered to Telos. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. Well, I read about it happening once, about two-hundred years ago. I’ve never heard of one occuring in recent times. They break them too well.”

  “It can’t be mere coincidence with everything going on,” Telos said. “Dragons are animals, and whether trained or not, they retain their instincts. Animals know when something is up.”

  “It’s almost as if disasters are happening everywhere.”

  “Maybe they are,” he replied, darkly. “Maybe the Daimons are testing the waters, coordinating attacks?”

  Ylia shuddered. She had little love of her homeland, but it was heartbreaking to see it under assault. She had never been to Daimonopolis, but she’d often heard tale of its mechanised wonders. To see it aflame felt like an omen of end times.

  “What is the plan once we get into the city?” Jubal rumbled.

  “Well, I think Qala’s plan of a bath is not a bad one,” Telos said. “I reek like a prison latrine. And Ylia looks like she has spent several days inside a pit of Daimon remains.”

  “I’d rather smell of oil and blood than shit.”

  “To each their own,” Telos replied. “I rather find the smell of manure over a green field quite comforting.”

  “Spoken like a true nobleborn who owned animals,” Ylia said, with a snarky curl of the lip.

  “I may be noble, Ylia, but my family was probably not half so rich as you.”

  “Yes, until a certain someone—”

  “Children!” Jubal thundered. Normally, his booming voice might have caused a few heads to turn, but the air was cacophanous with the sounds of confused debate, arguments, and desperate cries. “I am deveoping a permanent headache listening to you to.”

  “Yes, it is tiresome,” Xheng said. “If you wish to bed one another, do so! Then all this angst will be dispelled.”

  Silence fell at this. Ylia felt herself burning red, hotter than the flaming heart of an Engine. To her surprise, Telos did not simply shrug off the remark, but looked just as embrassed as she. His cheeks had turned a magnificent rose. When he was not smirking or looking smug, he was a man of rare handsomeness.

  Qala laughed.

  “There is such a thing as too much honesty, Xheng.”

  “Is there?”

  “Yes. Now you have interfered with the natural flow of things.”

  “I’ve just expedited the process,” Xheng said, glibly.

  “For a sea-captain, you speak with suspicious eloquence, Xheng,” Jubal said.

  “There is much time for reading on the open sea,” Xheng replied. “Three months in a wooden box is enough to make anyone a scholar.”

  “And what books do you like to read?” Ylia asked, both curious and desperate to move the conversation on.

  Xheng gave her a wicked, yellow-toothed smile.

  “My favourite book is The Mermaid of the Forbidden Archipelago. I sadly lost my copy with the Dire Request, but I would be more than happy to purchase you another if you are… curious...”

  Ylia flushed bright red again. Everyone had heard of that book, with its famously graphic erotic scenes and controversial depiction of interspecies relations.

  “Men!” Ylia cried.

  Xheng threw back his head and laughed.

  ***

  They reached the city proper, descending a metal stairwell to a cobblestone highway. Here, the chaos of the city was less evident. Fires still burned in the distance, but here there were shops and Houses doing business like usual—better than usual, in fact, with a new influx of customers both from the other side of the city and from neighbouring towns.

  Great rolling carts, without any horses to draw them and apparently powered by miniature Engines, trundled down the streets, carrying huge barrels and pails of water to the sites of destruction.

  “Things have advanced since I left Aurelia,” Ylia said. “I’ve never seen those before.”

  Jubal seemed particularly fascinated with the machines, staring after one as though with a kind of longing.

  “What is it, Jubal?”

  “Hmm? Oh, it is a silly thought.”

  Ylia frowned. She had never known the theron to be self-deprecating before.

  “I’m sure it’s not. What is it?”

  “Well,” he shifted awkwardly. “We theronts were made for manual labour of different kinds… I was made like the bull for just the task of pulling and pushing carts. But you humans, in some ways, you have bettered the gods. You have made machines to do the labour of the beasts. Rather than enslave another species, you have harnessed the power of flame and oil.”

  “You sound sad, though?”

  “Well, as much as I hate that we were made for mere labour, the advancement of humankind signifies the end of an era, does it not? Our time will vanish entirely.”

  Ylia reached out and touched his hand.

  “No, Jubal. Your time will not be done. And a better time awaits. Maybe this Daimonic threat…” She whispered the last words left they be overheard. “Maybe it will unite humanity and theronts, help them see the bigger picture?”

  Telos snorted at that. She looked daggers at him.

  “Forgive me, O Lord of Cynicism. Not all of us have given up hope yet.”

  “I never said I had given up hope,” Telos replied. “And I would love nothing more than for Jubal to walk free. But we have a long road to travel before that happens.”

  “The thief speaks wisdom for once,” Qala said, a sly smile curling her lips.

  “So,” Telos said, clapping his hands together. “How about we find a bathhouse? Once we are clean and fed, we can return and see how the Engine repairs are going. If it’s going to take longer than a day, then I suggest we find another mode of transport into… Tezada, is it?”

  Ylia nodded.

  “My home-state.”

  “Yes, that will be interesting.”

  “I can hardly enter a bathhouse,” Jubal stated.

  “You can if we book out a private suite,” Telos said. “It is easily done. Nobles know about such things.” He tapped the side of his nose and gave Ylia an infuriating wink.

  “But that sounds expensive,” she said.

  “Not if we sell the Governor’s robe,” Telos said. “I have a feeling it is going to be worth a lot of money.”

  “And what shall I wear, then?” Qala said, crossing her arms and looking sternly at Telos.

  “Oh I’m sure we can cobble together something,” Telos said, vaguely. “After all, you are supposed to be in disguise, your highness. We wouldn’t want you looking too regal now, would we?”