broccolifloret

  The El Meandro station was small. About half of its bulk was taken up by a warehouse with creaky doors and a rusty chain and lock. Hot winds had peeled off much of its skin down to the mustard-colored flesh—it stood so close to the open desert, after all. I'd heard from Ms Obán, who headed the station crew since I was a kid, they'd sweep the grit and sand early in the morning and in the afternoon everything’d be covered in dust all over again. And it wasn’t as if anybody would pay you extra for sweeping every hour. The governor was the one making money from the railroads, so they worked just fine where there was money to be made and not so much elsewhere. If it was up to Melibe, the station would be a crumbling ruin. We took pity on it, and every so often we repainted the marquee and nailed boards and repced roof tiles and re-upholstered stools. We even made the restrooms suitable for humans. If only we didn't have to pay certain leeches for the privilege of sitting in their asses all day, we'd be happy. Well, at least the locals always got free coffee and chocote.

  It wasn’t yet time for the heat of the afternoon to fade, which expins why the gallery was occupied only by a lizard on the wall. Valentino followed me in silence. We'd barely exchanged any words since Vanth left.

  The younger Cordel had given me some change for train tickets, and also a pile of grease-stained cardboard boxes full of snacks. We even got a burp bag to carry them in. That’d come in handy during the trip, as meals wouldn’t be provided in the train. You had to buy them at the hotel, or in rger towns, at the station. Right now, our supplies could probably st till High Tomenedra with a few cold spells and some careful rationing, not that we had to bother with the tter.

  I wasn’t used to throwing so many nureals around. Who knew if I’d ever be.

  Coming in from the outside, the cafeteria looked like a gleamwolf’s den at midnight, even with the windows open. All I got was the the vaguest outline of the bar and a sound of rustling fabric. Everyone else could see us, of course. You could tell because everyone seemed to hold their breath. And with Valentino so unlike the local guards, you couldn’t bme them.

  Valentino cleared his throat. “I'd rather breathe in some fresh air before the train arrives.”

  Something between us had fractured when he'd attacked those kids. Like in folktales, when the beautiful stranger's gmour fades and they show themselves to be a monster. I was stuck with him all the way to the capital, though, so I’d rather make things less awkward between us.

  “Sure. Do you want me to get you anything?”

  “Just water, if it’s all right.”

  Maybe he could use a bit of quiet to settle his thoughts.

  "Yeah, the water's still good to drink. Keep an eye in our food."

  I entered the cafeteria, blinking against the gloom. Waved at the three farmhands sitting together. The saleswoman behind her newspaper didn’t look at me.

  Ms Obán was wiping the bar with a rag, something she seemed to do every other minute for no particur reason. Perhaps she found it soothing. She only raised her eyes long enough to recognize me. I sat, took the bottles out for a refill, and started answering questions from the other two crew members, who hadn’t seen me in a while and wanted to ask about my grandmas.

  The farmhands stared openly. They didn’t look familiar, so I guessed they were curious about what I was doing with Valentino—a prisoner wouldn’t be walking around freely, after all. I assumed everyone else was listening in too, even if they didn’t seem to. Especially the inspector. They're harmless as bureaucrats go, but you never know whose ear someone has.

  The bracelet Vanth had given me was far less cumbersome than I'd expected for a piece of jewelry that big, but in moments like those I felt its presence like a pebble inside my shoe. Better it stay hidden, as I wasn't sure how to expin where I'd gotten it. "It's a gift from the King of the Dying Sun" isn't the most believable of answers.

  As I answered questions about Grandma Cielo’s health—it’s always nice when people care about a healer, even if they’re also doing it out of self-interest—I learned the next train to Omedura was due in twenty minutes, which of course meant it'd arrive in an hour at the very earliest.

  It took me half an hour of chatter and a short restroom break—it stank of bleach thanks to Ms Obán, though I suppose it was far better than the alternatives—to meet with Valentino again. He sat in a bench, legs crossed beneath him, vest slung over the seat, both his bag and the snack bag on the floor by his side. Seemed to be meditating or something, but opened his eyes when I came closer.

  I offered him a water bottle. He accepted it, chilled it, and took a swig. I searched among the snacks and took out a big paper bag.

  “Want some pasankal?”

  He peered inside—I suppose the name wasn’t recognizable to him, though it’s just as it sounds, puffed and sugared kernels of pasankal maize—and grabbed a handful. We sat on the bench with the bag between us, sipping from our chilled water bottles, and chewing on our snack. Krish krish krish.

  “Your Excellency has nothing to apologize for,” Valentino said.

  “Well, we’re fine then.”

  “Oh, but I must apologize. I frightened Your Excellency.”

  I popped some pasankal on my mouth so I wouldn’t have to answer right away. Was it worth to keep talking? I wanted to leave all that stuff behind, but it was probably less suspicious if I just admitted how I felt. After all, a dissident’s first thought, just like mine, would be to pretend nothing was wrong.

  “I mean, yeah. You had a scary look on your face.”

  “I thought I wasn’t—well, that doesn’t matter. Your Excellency doesn’t want to hear that.”

  He drank a big gulp of water, wiped his mouth with the back of his gloved hand, and grabbed another handful of pasankal. Krish krish krish.

  I looked into the golden-brown horizon under a bright blue sky. True, I didn’t want to hear. But he wanted to tell me, and going along with him would probably make him like me better.

  “Maybe I do.”

  He sighed. His eyes had this unsteady look, as if he wanted someone to tell him he wasn’t a bad person. It’s what so many people want, after doing something they didn’t see themselves capable of. Reminds me of this guy I fucked once; he blew up at me for some reason I can’t be bothered to remember, shaking me by the front of my shirt and looking as if he was this close to choking me, and a moment ter was pleading forgiveness all tearful. People want to go back to feeling normal, to think there’s more to them than sudden violence.

  What to say?

  A ste-bck flock fpped heavily over our heads.

  “Oh, look,” I said. “Bck vultures.”

  Valentino looked up. “So they are.”

  “They’re such cheerful birds.”

  He looked at me as if he was trying to gauge whether I was poking fun at him or not.

  “No, really. They’re so goofy when they’re on the ground. They look like turkeys that rolled around in soot. And they will wash themselves up all fastidious, but then they’ll poop in their own feet. Oh, you don’t believe me, but it’s true. They’re such silly birds, you just have to smile at them.”

  He looked at the vultures, now turning into smaller and smaller dots in the empty blue sky. “Don’t they attack the flocks, though?”

  “Not with a mitema around. What’s most important, though, is how vultures get rid of disease-attracting carcasses. Sometimes you just have to be pragmatic about those things, y’know? Getting rid of the vultures is way worse in the long run than learning to live with them.”

  Valentino looked into the distance and didn’t reply, so I seized that chance.

  “I’m afraid of too many things already. You don’t wanna hurt me, so I don’t see why I should feel afraid of you.”

  I hadn’t pnned to say the truth. It just turned out to sound more convincing than any lie I could think of. Isn’t it weird when that happens?

  The saleswoman came out and occupied the bench next to ours, and the conversation was dropped, ‘cause neither of us wanted to discuss this with other people listening in. Then the farmhands came to sit close by, too. I passed the pasankal bag around, and everyone took a handful. The thing is, pasankal will make your hands sticky, but it’s delightfully sweet and crunchy so it’s hard to mind. Krish krish. We made some small talk. The farmhands would stop in Omedura, but the saleswoman would continue her journey north. Valentino and me would turn east.

  I wanted to ask them if they had any news from High Tomenedra, but of course I couldn’t do that with Valentino listening in. The radio and papers completely ignored all protests and strikes, with only a mention here and there of unforeseen deys in the test iron shipment or whatever. When something went wrong, they’d try anything before they admitted as much. But then, you didn’t follow the news to find out what was going on. You did it to find out what the Megarchon wanted you to think, ‘cause it was very likely that at some point you’d have to toe the official line for your own safety.

  The farmhands had a lot to say about what went on in Vi. I’d been there a few times, but then, I’d been all over I Doronte. I’d been as far to the south as Avadantul and as far to the north as Mahumi. Listening suited me just fine, even if I didn’t hear anything useful. I wasn’t interested in discussing what I was going to do. Valentino said nothing at all. We were like this when a puff of steam rose up in the northwestern horizon.

  One by one, all of us stood up, turning to the same direction like weathervanes. The station crew came out and waited along us. The steel dragon grew closer, eleven wagons glinting in the sun, until it slowed down before us with a deafening screech and shook once and stood still, its vapor thinning to a finger-width. A handful of passengers poured out of its belly, all farmhands or small time salespeople. The station crew and the train crew began downloading bags of grain and crates of meat to carry into the warehouse. Valentino went to find out where to put his motorcycle and I went to find our compartment.

  A few moments ter, he found me stretched on the upper bunk. I liked how close the roof was. It gave me a cozy feeling. The bunk was a bit hard, but that wouldn’t keep me from sleeping peacefully. Nor would the smell of heavy-duty soap lingering in the sheets.

  Valentino picked up my boots, strewn carelessly on the floor, and lined them next to one of the bunkposts. I flopped on my belly and watched him.

  “I make you work too hard,” I said.

  He chuckled. “Hey, at least Your Excellency admits it.”

  He sat on his bunk and started taking his boots off. When he lowered his head, I felt compelled to reach down and tug at his braid. I didn’t do it ‘cause people from Vorsa are so weird about anybody touching their hair. They fear getting cursed. Of course you should always burn your hair and nail clippings so that nobody can use them to curse you, but there is such a thing as being too wary.

  Then again, a necromancer had attempted to murder my entire family st night, so maybe I shouldn’t say anything.