Sneaking
Renard
I wasn’t bragging when I told my family that I would be better suited for this mission.
Each of us has different strengths, and Fitz’s most effective one is being a giant sledgehammer.
Chester and I are quieter, less obtrusive, and far more likely to creep through the train without people staring at us.
Division of labor is vital when we have so many enemies hiding in plain sight, and, like the Raj, I am concerned that we have seen no one reveal themselves during this trip.
Of course, perhaps the universe thought my parents’ revelations were enough for one season?
It’s possible, but not likely, as Fate is rarely so kind.
Our stay within a protected zone is probably why we avoided a trail of spies or assassins, but now that we are in the public eye once more?
They will find us if they have not already.
Looking around as I check the indicator on the bathroom door, I pretend to be grateful when I can open it and step inside.
It’s not nearly as nice as the one in our cabin, but my momentary pause here is only about appearances, not for actual use.
Creating a plausible path to the other end of the train is essential to chatting up staff and locating the cabin that belongs to the Erickson toady.
Certainly there will be people who work for the Simplion who are muttering, especially as I head toward the more affordable cars.
If I can slink through them without arousing suspicion, I will get near the luggage compartment and the staff areas.
That’s where the genuine gold lies regarding gossip, and it’s where I’ll find out what I need for my search.
“Patience is a virtue,” I murmur to myself as I wait for the appropriate time to pass so I can leave. “Do not allow the restlessness of your soul to inform how you complete your assignment.”
Talking to myself isn’t exactly ‘normal’, especially in the bathroom, but adrenaline is making my gargoyle antsy.
Once I believe I’ve given my ploy enough time, I flush the toilet and run the water, and then exit the bathroom to head down the opposite end from where our car is.
The Director should be staying in the elite cabins as we are, but I know those are not full.
I suspect the only other one that is occupied is Chester’s target, as she seems like the kind of pred who would not travel in anything but the highest luxury possible.
The Shirdals are not nearly as wealthy as other families like ma petite’s, but they are influential enough to demand things and be accommodated.
It is especially true if she truly holds debuts in the arts in the palm of her genteel palms; even this company can benefit from using her name as a frequent rider in their marketing.
I walk through the hallway to the next car, noting that it is the beginning of the cabins that are expensive enough to dine with us, but are not the gilded suites.
There are twice as many, and I can tell by looking at their entries that they are significantly smaller.
Two doors in the middle of the car are marked as bathrooms, but I believe they’re likely for showering only.
The guests in this area do not have private ones, but they are separate from the next level down ticket holders.
The caste systems everyone puts on one another are exhausting even as I view them, much less living them.
“You are part of the charmed ones, despite the exile,” I mutter to myself as I continue to the next car.
Glancing around as I enter, I realize this is the lower-tier dining car, and it makes me blink in surprise.
It’s more than a step down, and the tickets in those classes aren’t exactly cheap, just not stupidly expensive. “Merde*.”
A tired-looking bartender at the small bar in the corner hears me and chuckles. “May I serve you a drink, sir?”
I let out a slow breath, grateful that he doesn’t seem concerned that I’m coming in here from the other end of the train.
Squealing on me to the patrons here would have been a shitty way to accuse me of being somewhere he didn’t think I belonged, which bodes well for extracting a little tea from him. “Oui, I would like that very much.”
Walking over, I sit on one of the markedly uncomfortable stools and settle in.
He asks for my order, and I request a scotch and soda, noting that even the quality of the liquor available isn’t on par with our dining area.
These people definitely believe that no one who can afford a higher fare will venture this far down the train—ever.
“Couldn’t help sneaking up to see how the other half lives, eh?”
Shit. He is going to make a deal out of it, but after I’ve ensured he’ll get a tip—what a dick.
“Just stretching my legs,” I reply smoothly.
My bartender is a human with rusty hair and freckles, young enough to make me think this is a new job and he probably doesn’t understand that calling out your customers isn’t the smartest way to make money.
On a mode of transport like the Simplion, he won’t last very long if he doesn’t learn, but it’s not my problem to solve.
I have other goals, and his loose lips might give me the information I seek.
Once my drink appears, I take a sip as he hands me the slip to bill it to my room. When I fill out the paper, his eyes widen as he takes in the number. My lips curve up, and I shrug at his aghast expression. “Sometimes the atmosphere is quieter in a less pressure-filled environment.”
Nodding as he shoves the tab receipt in a shot glass, he clears his throat. “Sorry about that, sir. I didn’t mean to offend.”
I wave my hand as if it’s nothing, smiling to relax him. “Non, my friend. You probably see that very thing several times a day; as much as I enjoy escaping the glitterati, others enjoy spying on it.”
“Hell yes,” he replies with a relieved grin. “I’m not one to tattle on anyone if they don’t seem like they’ll bother our VIPs. Curiosity is a bitch, you know? Few places allow you to slip through the cracks to get a peep of how the other half lives.”
They shouldn’t be able to get past the public bathrooms I first hid in, but that gives me security information I did not have before.
“Understood. Alas, I am not famous, only stupidly wealthy by birth.” I grin back at him before taking another drink. “It’s more boring than people would imagine, unfortunately. I spend a great deal of time at snooze-worthy events avoiding the stuffiest people you’ll ever meet.”
He wipes the bar for a moment, leaning in after he does so.
“We get a lot of that, but sometimes we have really famous people. I guess the train is less crowded with fans than an airport, huh? I don’t recognize all of them, and oddly, neither does much of the staff.
But our managers always know when we should overcompensate on service somehow. Weird, huh?”
Forcing a laugh, I shrug again as I realize the staff is definitely mostly human, and the management must be mostly supernatural.
That does cut down on their sneaking into rooms to rummage for souvenirs, I suppose.
If the humans have no idea who their customers in the VIP cabins are, they have no desire to seek collectibles or autographs.
“Middle management is always the barrier between the rich and the staff in my experience. They take orders just like you, though.”
Dolly would be quite pleased with my efforts in this role, I think. I will have to tell her about it later.
“Ain’t that the truth. They get paid more, but I doubt I’d want their jobs. Being yelled at by the muckety-mucks and by the pissy VIPs has to give you an ulcer,” the kid says. “Someday, maybe, but right now? I’m not interested in that kind of heat.”
I nod sagely, looking around the dining area. “This car is for the lower-level ticket holders, right? Those aren’t so cheap that you’re handling anyone who isn’t a little rich. They have to afford this train, and that’s not a bargain-basement cost.”
He tilts his head at my drink. “Top it off, Mr…?”
“Oh! Yes, please. My name is Duchamps. And you are?” I lie carefully, not wanting my surname to give away my heritage if any supernaturals are within hearing range. The bartender won’t know, but I’d prefer to stay on the down-low for the moment.
“Chip Grayson. This is my summer job while I’m at school over here.” He reaches for the scotch and pours, giving me more than he should. “Nice to meet ya, Mr. Duchamps.”
“And you, Chip,” I say as I raise my glass in a mini-salute. “So what’s interesting in this neck of the woods? I do love to hear the… tea, as my little sister puts it.”
Lie upon lie as if I’m spinning a web—Felix will also be impressed, especially since I’m still recovering from reconnecting with my clutch.
“Ohhhh. Well, that I can probably help you with.” Chip grins and leans on the bar, pointing to a couple at a back table surreptitiously.
“I’m pretty sure they’re having an affair.
And the guy in the opposite corner has been on his computer cursing about what I think are stocks. He’s losing his shirt, I think.”
“Hmmm. Interesting, but not as exciting as I’d hoped.” I chuckle, my eyes roving the room again before coming back to him. “Maybe something a little juicier?”
Chip thinks about it for a moment and then snaps his fingers.
“I got it! There’s a bigwig staying in the middle level who has a group of guards taking up all the surrounding rooms. My boss was irritated about it because they’ve been given permission to go to the VIP facilities even though their tickets aren’t VIP.
Something about needing to occupy the entire space so they couldn’t ride in the fancy car. ”
That gets my attention, and I grin at him, pretending to be conspiratorial. “Ahhh. Someone hiding in plain sight, eh?”
“Not that I can tell, man. Boring-looking corporate guy, but he’s traveling with a bunch of bodyguards like a rock star. Super weird shit, and it has everyone on edge. I still haven’t figured out who the hell it is.”
But I know who it is now, and I also know that all of those rooms are viable targets—thank you, gullible human.
“Eh, who knows all those stuffed shirts, anyway?” I reply as I toss back my drink. “I have to attend all those boring parties with them, and trust me, they all look the same. You wouldn’t know one from the other in a venue filled with those people.”
“Right? I even tried using the internet, but nada. It’s ridiculous.” Chip sighs, shaking his head. “And he doesn’t come down here, so the big tips go to the jerks who run VIP. I can’t understand why I never get to work up there, but whatever. Like I said, just a summer job, you know?”
I can certainly imagine why he’s not allowed past the middle cars, and I doubt telling him would help.
The class of clientele these servers are assisting would be furious at his indiscreet chatter, and he’d end up getting fired faster than a speeding bullet train—which this is not.
Setting my glass down, I motion for him to give me the last charge to sign, and he looks a little sad.
“Time to go back to Fantasy Land, huh?”
My smile this time is tight as I take the receipt and sign, making certain to leave the hapless guy a decent tip for his unknowing help.
“No, I must get back to my cabin for a long, frustrating conference call with the board of directors. I’d rather stay and chat, but duty calls. Perhaps I will see you later, non?”
“Absolutely, Mr. Duchamps! I’d love that. Come back any time before we get to our destination.”
I will not be doing that, but at least the kid won’t decide to rat me out the second I leave because he thinks I’m famous. Waving as I stand, I head out of the dining room toward the rooms I want to snoop through.
Time to find the dirt on the Erickson executive so I can return to my mates victorious.
* Shit.