Chapter 13: Twelve

When Theo finally woke up, the first thing his groggy mind realised was that he wasn’t alone. The smells of citrus and pine, with just a hint of something sulfuric in the musty air, invaded his nostrils when he tried to draw a deep breath.

“…that I drave my suitor from his mad humour of love…” 

That mischievous, chiding voice of a damned ghost again. He gritted his teeth and willed it out of his head as he tried to get his bearings. What happened to him? He remembered boarding the train from the lounge car, then he made his way past the dining car into the second-class carriage. He discovered that their compartment was empty, with neither sign of Alphand or his case of wine anywhere to be seen. Then…then he backed out into the corridor before he abruptly felt something slamming against his neck. He must have fainted at that moment, and only regained consciousness just now. 

To think that someone like him would be caught in such a disgraceful manner, Theo berated himself silently. A cloth sack had been tied around his face, letting in only slits of pale light. Stretching his fingers, he felt that his hands had been bound by something thick and he couldn’t move. His fingertips brushed against a grainy surface. Wood. 

“…to a living humour of madness, which was to forswear the full stream of the world…”

Why does his mind keep bringing up her voice? Theo cursed aloud, shaking his head violently. It didn’t seem to work, however, as the voice continued. 

“…what comes next?” 

He ignored it and struggled to sit up on the wooden floor he had been lying on. 

“What comes next?” she repeated, patiently yet firmly.

It seemed ridiculous to reply to a figment from his memories, but Theo simply wanted the voice gone even for just a moment. He groaned, “which was to forswear the full stream of the world, and to live in a nook merely monastic.”

His captor had definitely heard his mumblings, because footsteps approached him and yanked him by his collar up to his feet. He immediately braced for a beating or worse. 

Instead, he felt something loosen around his neck. The sack was removed from his face, and he instinctively turned his eyes away from the sudden light. 

“Very well, Mister Cath, very well indeed.” 

A hand forced his head to face the front. Blinking, he slowly made out a woman standing mere inches before him. A woman wearing a white plumed hat which he dreadfully recognised. The oil lantern hanging overhead cast her in a dark silhouette, and it stung his eyes to focus on the familiar yet strange features of her face. 

“Act three, scene two of As You Like It,” she murmured, holding up the book in her hand. “You really did memorise every line, didn’t you?” 

“Y-you, how…” Theo croaked, his throat suddenly dry.

“Back from the dead.” She took him in with a sly smile, her eyes wild and real and very much alive. “I call it a nurse’s speciality. Remember me, Theo? Or would you prefer good old—” 

“Don’t you dare call me by that name,” he snapped, finally breaking out of his daze. It pained him like the devil to hold those flaming golden brown eyes in focus. But his shock, his sheer disbelief triumphed over everything else at that moment. 

“You died in Constantinople.” He slammed his eyes shut as the violent memories assaulted his mind again. “You were captured by the janissaries when they attacked the Hilâl-i Ahmer. Our superiors reported you missing in action, presumed dead. You should be dead, Florence Nightingale!” 

“Ottoski janissaries aren’t particularly known for their meticulousness, as a matter of fact. And unfortunately now isn’t the time to celebrate our reunion,” she crooned, looking at him with a twinkle in her eyes that could only be described as wicked. “Fyodor Mikhaylovich, do you know where we are right now?”

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Theo swore, but he did as she said and looked around at their surroundings. A small, dimly-lit rectangular room with steel-plated walls and a bare pinewood floor. The ceiling was low enough that he could touch it simply by pushing himself on his toes. Piled along the walls were large wooden crates and heavy trunks strapped down with leather cords. Though there were no windows, he could tell by the slow, rocking motion and muffled chuff-chuff-chuff noise of a steam engine that they were on a train. 

“Are we still on the Orient Express?” he asked, somewhat uncertain.

“One of the fourgon cars,” she confirmed. “Restricted from passengers, of course.” Before he could say anything in reply, she regarded him with a knowing smile. “You’re thinking about Alphand, the man sharing the same compartment with you, aren’t you? Rest assured, I didn’t and won’t lay a hand on him. Just left a note telling him that you were invited to a private talk with Princess Anastasia in her compartment and won’t be back till dinner.”   

Which means no one was going to look for them. Perfect, he thought, shaking his head. “What are you doing here on the Orient Express? Meeting me isn’t part of your plan, I suppose.” 

She shrugged and admitted, “I knew you bought a ticket for the Orient Express a few days ago.”

“Huh—you’ve been keeping tabs on me?!” Theo stared at her wide-eyed. “S-since when?”

“The Crown Jewels of Aetherium heist.” 

He gave a wry smile. “Never knew a swallow like you would be working for the side of justice.” 

“Surely you jest,” she rejoined. “I was the one who ordered it.”

“YOU??” He swore louder this time. “Who are you working for, blyat? Just how many more surprises do you have up your sleeves?”

“Not more than you do.” She eyed him warily. “You booked not one, but two berths under different false identities, yet you are alone. What are you doing on board the Orient Express? Are you acting independently of your partner Xavier? What’s the deal with you, Princess Anastasia and Saintess Rasputina, Fedya?” 

He narrowed his eyes. “Interrogating me won’t do you any good, Florence Nightingale.” 

“I’m not interrogating you, I’m negotiating with you,” she corrected him with a smile. “Every Evidenzbureau officer knows that information is worth its weight in gold, don’t they?” 

“I don’t serve the Königreich anymore, blyat.” 

“Neither do I.” Her eyes softened. She stepped towards him, and Theo tried to move back—but of course she’d bound his feet in place too. His hands struggled desperately against his restraints as the woman leaned in close. Her honeyed voice was like that of a siren, seductive and lethal. “Let’s not make this harder than it has to be for either of us, Fedya. You give me what I want, and I’ll reciprocate the favour.” 

“I can always refuse, damn swallow,” he said through gritted teeth. “Someone will notice my disappearance anytime soon.” 

“I’m sure they will.” She pressed something cold and metallic into his taut stomach. He didn’t have to glance down to know that it was an offiziers-revolver—the standard issue weapon of the Kaiserlich und Königlich Evidenzbureau. 

“But how soon, Fedya?” 

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