The Book Eaters(37)
“Interesting,” he mused. “Still, it doesn’t matter what they’re asking for, because you won’t be hanging around or living with them long term, no? This all ends once we find Killock.” He finally got the stupid machine to spit out two tickets, and proffered them carefully across the distance between them. “How long till the next stop? What even is the next stop?”
“Eighteen minutes till we arrive at Berwick-on-Tweed.” She snatched the tickets from his grasp. “Don’t you eat train schedules for your local area?”
“Aren’t you a sarcastic cow.” Ramsey had better things to fill his brain with than train schedules; that was her job. “Here’s what we do. Five minutes from now, I’ll be pulling the emergency stop and turning off the lights, if I can access them. When that happens, convince this Hester Ravenscar that knights must have made it on board, and that the three of you should disembark early.”
“You want us to abandon the train?” she said, incredulous. “What will you be doing?”
“Making your lie into truth, naturally. Me, my knife, and a carriage of shrieking innocents will give you all the panicked stampeding needed to fuel this story of knightly pursuit.”
“Christ, Ramsey! How many people are you planning to kill?”
“None, you dolt. Only frighten them enough to get a few running and screaming up and down this train.” Like fucking chickens, he thought. With him as the fox.
“But why?” she hissed. “What’s the point of all that theater?”
“The point is the disruption itself,” he said sweetly. “You may not trust me at present—”
“No shit!”
“—but I’m invested in your success, at least for this moment in time. So ruin Miss Ravenscar’s plan, keep her off-balance. Still get to their secret location, but on our terms, not hers. In short, stay alive, Devon, and stay smart. Remember: Killock didn’t send this sister of his because he thought she was incompetent. This cow killed four trained men tonight without blinking. Don’t let her keep any edge on you.”
Devon surprised him by sucking in her cheeks and saying, “Fine. Then we might as well go the extra mile, make it particularly convincing. Send a knight or two out to scout for us, give us bogeymen to hide from and dodge.”
He nodded again. “Not a bad idea. We’ll track your phone and send a knight to intercept the pair of you along the road, if I can get one out in time. Have a little car chase, or something.” Ramsey ran his tongue over his teeth. “But keep this one alive, please. I’m tired of cleaning up bodies, and knights are not infinitely expendable.” Quite the opposite, these days.
“I can’t promise that—”
“Just do your best.” Ramsey flicked her forehead, like he had when they were children; she scowled. “Don’t get any funny ideas about running off with these people and their magic pills, aye? Because I will always catch you when you run. Always. Remember that.”
She curled her fists, said nothing.
“Go,” he said, waving the transmitter, “before I change my mind on this entire venture and blow your son into next Thursday.” The one security he held against her: the ability to end Cai’s life from a distance, at the press of a button. “And remember that I’m not the only one with a transmitter.”
“Of course I remember, and I was already going.” Devon whirled away from him and back toward the carriage. Tickets still clutched to her chest.
“Make it convincing,” he called after her. “You have a lot riding on this.”
She didn’t look back, but he caught the flinch of her shoulders and was satisfied.
Ramsey watched her leave, then drew out his knife. Eyed the carriages he’d come through, remembering the smell of them. Anticipating their noisy, tiring chaos, the claustrophobic way they’d crash around him.
Get on with things, he told himself, and tightened his grip around the hilt.
12
THE PRINCESS AND THE GOBLINS
EIGHT YEARS AGO
It was foolish indeed—thus to run farther and farther from all who could help her, as if she had been seeking a fit spot for the goblin creature to eat her in at his leisure; but that is the way fear serves us: it always sides with the thing we are afraid of.
—George MacDonald, The Princess and the Goblins
Pursuit wasn’t immediate. For the first half hour Devon fled blindly through the tangled trees, both elated and unnerved to hear nothing but silence. Before long, she was cut and bruised from stumbles in the woods, and very lost. No going back, though. She pushed onward through snow-encrusted trees and mulchy, half-frozen earth and came up against a tall barbed-wire fence.
The edge of Fairweather Manor.
The land beyond was unknown to her.
No going back. Devon flung herself against the fencing, toes and fingers easily finding purchase. Up, and over. She landed in an awkward roll on the other side and set off in the snow toward where she thought Birmingham was. A big city, surrounded by roads, only a couple of hours’ drive. Finding the Winterfields’ home would surely be a matter of ease.
The Families were not on her side. This realization struck Devon like a bellringer with a gong mallet, shaking her all the way through even as her lungs burned and her feet pounded the underbrush, nose full of the scent of evergreens and fresh snow. The Families were her blood relations, people she loved and had been loved by; her entire world. They were now her Great Enemy.