Standard/Publisher Word Count: 1175/1585
Reading Time: 4min 16secs
He stood in line with his squad, trying to keep from expressing his unease; the train had pulled into station exactly twenty-three minutes ago and the Gaulae Lt. Colonel they’d been sent to escort still hadn’t disembarked. The train was empty, as the m'sieur L’Conductor assured him twice already and was coming back to do so again.
With someone else, Jules noted, eyes narrowed.
“Lieutenant!” the conductor called out with a wave as he hastened over, a stewardess trying to keep up. She’s pretty… but… no time for that. “Lieutenant, I have someone who knows something,” the conductor panted as he came to a stop. “Lottie, tell the man what you told me.”
“Well, eh, you see… I did not that he was a soldier, m’sieur, when I serviced him… just that he was… foreign? He never wore a uniform that I could see… He, eh, disembarked in Merrilea yestermorn, early hours. 5:15, I think.” She glanced at the conductor for confirmation of check-time. The man nodded.
“And you’re certain that this is man I seek?”
“No, m’sieur, just that he was a handsome Gaulae man.” She shrugged. “Always polite.”
Lave grit his teeth as he pulled out a pad of paper and a small pen. “I need his name and a description.”
“Roy. Dark hair. Different skin.”
“Dif…different skin?”
“Yes, m’sieur, darker than us but not… not Melan, certainly.”
“How dark?”
“Sort of… orange-beige?” He blinked at her, not entirely sure what that looked like. “Like… eh, tawny-grey?”
Jules could feel the heat of irritation coming on. He asked, voice hard, “Ma’am? How do you get ‘tawny-grey’ from ‘orange-beige’?”
“I-I don’t know, L’m’sieur,” she practically cried, helpless. “You… you would just… just know if you saw him!”
“He isn’t here so I can’t ‘just see him’, Miss. M’sieur L’Conductor, did you happen to see this man?”
“If I did, I can’t recall; I see so many faces every day it’s hard to keep track.”
Jules forced himself to not huff. “Miss, what else can you tell me? Is he tall or short? Narrow jaw or square? Fat or thin? Eye col—?”
“Gold,” she answered hastily. “He has gold eyes, m’sieur.” He wrote it down and, after a moment’s hesitation, both of those… skin… ‘descriptions’… “He’s strong, m’sieur… lifted a full trunk into the overhead easily,” she said, flushing slightly and twiddling her fingers. A vein in Jules’ temple throbbed. “I didn’t really see him out of his seat, much, m’sieur, so his height is hard to gauge… And his face is sort of round. He was wearing high, red boots… He’s handsome and young…”
“Thank you, miss,” Lave concluded brusquely, snapping the pad of paper shut, still unsatisfied but failing to see how he’d get much more out of the wanton wretch… He tucked the pad and pen into back into his inside-breast pocket and said, “Thank you, miss. You may return to your duties, now.”
“Yes, m’sieur,” she said, bowing before stepping back, awaiting further instruction from the conductor.
“Lieutenant?” the conductor asked, hesitating.
“Yes, m’sieur L’conductor?”
“May I give the passengers leave t—”
“Ah— there you are!” a stranger called from behind the conductor.
“M-m’sieur! M’sieur Roy! The King’s Musketeers have been looking for you!” The stewardess babbled before anyone else could so much as get a look at him. As soon as the conductor stepped aside so that Jules could see just what the daft girl was going on about…
And she suddenly seemed… less daft now…
His startling gold eyes were vaguely rectangular and fairly large, set into a face that was not-quite round. His eyelids seemed to lack the fold everyone else Lave had ever seen had and his lashes were as long and dark as many a woman craved to own. The Lt. Colonel’s skin was hard to describe… except that it was similar to that of an exotic harem dancer His Majesty had been gifted. He was… slightly short for a Gaulae man, Jules decided; roughly 175 cm.
And… he was beautiful… even if his race were impossible to pin down.
“Oh? Have they? I’ve been waiting for them out front,” he replied smoothly.
“You never told me you were a soldier, m’sieur…” she mock-chastised, wagging a calloused, crooked finger at him. Her eyes glinted in arousal as he caught her hand in an easy, graceful movement.
“Oui, mam’selle. My apologies.” With a slight bow, he touched the knuckles of her captured hand to his lips before letting it go. “It will be an honor to service your city,” he assured, suddenly professional.
I’ll just bet… Jules grumbled internally.
“And quite an honor you’ll be…” she purred, clumsily attempting flirting, looking up at him through her batting lashes.
He turned to Jules as if he didn’t notice her display and asked, “Why has the train not yet departed?”
“Excuse me? We were looking for you! This…worker,” Lave said, the word feeling misapplied, “says that you disembarked in Merrilea without giving word to the King’s Guard.”
“The stewardess told you true. It’s been—” Espíndola looked at the pocket watch he carried “—almost a half-hour since the train pulled into station. I was under the impression that the trains ran on time in Fleur Marie.”
Lave’s shoulders drew back. “They do. When we don’t have to search for someone who should have been aboard one.”
“The train was due to arrive at twelve forty-five and scheduled to depart at precisely one; that’s a stand-time of fifteen minutes.” Jules was about to cut in that he knew that when the foreigner continued, “Do you mean to tell me that you cannot search a train this size in eight minutes?”
“Of course we can,” Jules ground out.
“Then why is the train still here?”
“We had interviews to conduct.”
Espíndola glanced around them—and the lack of questioned staff on hand— and stated in a dull tone, “Yes. I can see that.”
“Where were you?”
“Standing out by the front gate, waiting for you to arrive.”
Jules accused, “We didn’t see you.”
“And I did not see you. So, now that we have seen each other, we should allow the good people to board their train.”
Lave stood there for a few moments, silent and hating the man, before commanding one of his men, Jean Lavroache, to “Let them through.” He turned a glare onto the Gaulae. “And just what’s in Merrilea that was so important, hmm?”
“Yesterday was Sabbath,” he answered simply.
“Yes. And what of it?”
Jules watched as the Lt. Colonel drew rigid and closed off in expression. “I am a very religious man, Lieutenant,” he said, his voice clipping out the syllables. “I will not miss a Mass, so long as I can help it.”
“There’s always another Mass,” Jules reasoned, petulant.
“And another. And another. And another,” Espíndola agreed darkly. “And then suddenly you’re dying and you’ve missed them all somehow.”
Jules tried to hide how he swallowed. He deflected, “Then that’s your failure.”
Espíndola’s eyes almost seemed to flash at that. “No, Lieutenant, that is yours.”
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