Chapter 13
Out from Behind the Curtain
Champs des Bleuets, Ingonde County, Republic of Artagna
When Marx would peel a potato, he would cut from top to bottom in strips. Sunny, however, would cut around, making a single unbroken spiral. Marx's fingers were not quite nimble enough for a trick like that, but one technique was not necessarily faster than the other, and as the skins were going to the pigs anyway, presentation was not so important.
It took some asking around to find this inn that was willing to put transients like them to work for a few days before sending them on their way. Working here in the storeroom peeling potatoes and such was not back-breaking heavy labor and it kept them out of sight. As they were still in Artagna, they still had reason to fear Colonel de Villein coming after them. Surely the dreaded Le Boucher would not rest until he had his pound of flesh. And then there was also whoever Sunny had out looking for her.
"Sorry to have you doing stuff like this," Marx told her and not for the first time.
"It's fine," she said, also not for the first time. "We need the money and there are far worse ways to get it."
"That's true..."
They might have just gone back to quietly doing their work, but Marx did not find it easy to maintain his usual reticence. Maybe their little encounter in Sainte-Camieux had put him more on edge than he cared to admit.
"Have you remembered anything about those gypsies?"
"Roma," she corrected, "and no. If your asking was enough to make me remember, I would have done it by now."
There was more bite to her words than usual. He was touching on a sore spot and needed to lay off or else he would probably get to see what it was like to make her angry. After that fire trick at the station, he was quite sure that making her angry was the last thing he wanted to do.
It almost seemed like she was being vindictive when she asked him, "Do you want to tell me about Chasseur Weissman?"
"Not really," he said.
"Then I would like you not to ask me about my memory," Sunny replied. "If I remember anything that will help us, I'll tell you when I'm ready."
That would have been a fine place to end the conversation, but perhaps because he thought that she might open up a little if he were to do the same, he went against both his nature and his better judgment to take the first step.
"Carlos Weissman is my real name," he said. "I was drafted into the Villadot 'Volunteer' Militia. They say the Hessians are massing troops near the border and going to invade. I didn't want to be on the front line when it happens."
"So you deserted," Sunny said. "Do you not have family you want to protect?"
"None that I'm willing to die for."
"And where did Marx Kaarlsen come from?"
"Around where I grew up, he led a peasant revolt some two hundred years ago. Not his real name. A nom de guerre. Took it from somewhere. I don't know.
"In the schools they paint him as a villain. Traitor to the Crown, not that there's a Crown anymore. Guess you could call it a bad joke."
"So do I keep calling you Marx or are you Carlos now?"
"Stick with Marx. A traitor and a villain's name suits me better."
Things went quiet and it was not until after Sunny peeled couple more potatoes that she spoke again.
"If you thought telling me that would work as a quid pro quo deal, I have no quo for your quid."
"What's a quo? Is that what the Qing call their money or something?"
"Never mind," she said. "Let's just focus on our potatoes."
So they focused on the potatoes. All those eyes and no mouth. They might have been on to something.
* * *
Marx and Sunny were lined up with the rest of the day staff to collect their wages. The proprietor of the inn, Mr. Perrin, was a bit of a skinflint, but what he lacked in generosity he made up for with discretion. In fact, he was probably more willing to employ vagrants and such for menial labor as he knew they would be willing to work for less.
When their turn came up, Mr. Perrin arched an eyebrow and said, "Kaarlsen, Sunday, you said this was your last day?"
"Yes, sir," Marx replied. "It's like I said. We're just lookin' to earn enough to get where we're goin'."
"Well, I'm sure the potatoes will miss you," Mr. Perrin said. "You may not find an employer as understanding wherever you're going. You sure I can't tempt you to put in another week or two?"
"We really need to be movin' on," Marx said.
Mr. Perrin shrugged and handed over the two little envelopes with their pay, saying, "Well, if you ever find yourself out this way again, I may still have some potatoes for you to peel."
"Something to keep in mind," Marx said. "Nice doin' business with you."
Mr. Perrin waved him off, saying, "If you're not going to work, get moving. You're holding up the line."
That was as warm of a sendoff as they were going to get, so Marx took the opportunity to take the money and go. He and Sunny made their way out and once they were a bit out of the way, he stopped to check that they were actually paid what they were owed. It would, after all, have been poor manners to count it out right in front of Mr. Perrin.
"Let's see," Marx said. "Thirteen ninety-two for me and, ah... six ninety-six for you. Exact change. Damn old miser couldn't round up for us. It's not like another twelve centimes would've put him in the poorhouse or anythin'."
"Why am I only paid half as much?" Sunny asked.
Marx gave her a confused look.
"That's what women get paid," he said.
"But I did the same work as you."
"Hey, I don't make the rules. If women made the same as men, you'd never get them to stay at home."
"It's discrimination. Aren't there laws against that?"
"Not that I know of. Why? Is it different where you're from?"
"It..."
Whatever she was about to say, she stopped herself and averted her eyes.
"I... I don't know..."
She then promptly changed the subject and asked, "Will it be enough?"
"Just barely," Marx said. "We might be in for a hard time when we get to the Capital."
"It's like you said," Sunny replied. "We need to be moving."
As she was saying that, the alley they were standing in darkened a little. A caravan was blocking the way they came and another blocked off the opposite end. The timing was too convenient to be a mere coincidence. Marx looked back and forth, trying to figure out which side was worth risking. Before he could make his decision, though, Sunny stretched out her arms out to the left and the right and powerful gusts of wind flung the caravans aside. The horses attached to those caravans could be heard shrieking as they were tossed about as well, but even if Marx would have been concerned about that, he had no time to think about it, as something came rushing at them. Marx would have moved to shield Sunny, but she actually moved in front of him first to meet the attack head on.
The collision struck with the force of a cannon shell, shattering the walls around them. Rather than being torn apart by the blast, Marx was left completely unharmed. The most that happened was that Sunny was pushed back a little. Sunny did not hesitate to go on the offensive and Marx did not really understand what happened until it was over. The thing that collided with Sunny was a gypsy girl about the same age as her, maybe a little younger. Sunny seized the girl by the face and slammed her into the pavement, then used some Art that caused the ground to crater in. Marx was not sure if the girl was dead or not, but she was not getting back up again.
Another gypsy appeared, shouting in a language Marx could not understand and the air shimmered around them as little balls of light rained down on them, bursting on the invisible shell.
Sunny grabbed Marx's wrist and pulled him along. They went back the way they came, opposite of the direction of the two gypsies that confronted them. They went past the overturned caravan before slipping into the next alley.
Sunny's steps were decisive. There was no panic or confusion in her movements. She was like a seasoned infantryman moving under fire. Her eyes were set in front of her, but she would frequently glance up at the rooftops, anticipating another invisible ambush.
However, there was no follow-up attack all the way to the train station. As they moved out of the cover of the alley, Sunny became even tenser.
In a low voice, she said, "Go get our tickets. I'll keep an eye out."
Marx was reluctant to leave her, but clearly she could handle herself. Doing what he could to remain aware of his surroundings, he got in line for the ticket counter. He did not think he had ever been in such a slow-moving line, but it was probably just nerves.
He tried to be as casual as he could when he would look back to check on Sunny. She was partially concealed by a pillar. The way she was leaning into it would have been unassuming if she were a male loiterer, but it was not particularly ladylike. If she was trying to be inconspicuous, it was not working.
"Where are you headed?" the man behind the counter asked when Marx's turn came up.
"Aix-Clovin," Marx replied. "For two. Third-class."
"Two third-class to Aix-Clovin. That will be twenty eighty-two."
Fortunately, Marx had not lost the two envelopes with their pay in all the excitement. The fare did not leave them with much to spare, but they could worry about that when they got to Aix-Clovin.
"Here you are," the man behind the counter said, handing Marx the tickets and his change. "You will be in Car 12. Platform 3, departing at six forty-eight."
"Platform 3," Marx repeated. "Thanks."
As Marx stepped away from the counter, he waved the tickets a little so Sunny could see. She did a quick scan of the area before leaving her position to meet up with him. She was still wound rather tight, but to be fair, there were no assurances that they were out of the woods yet.
"How much do we have left?" she asked.
"Not much," Marx replied. "Anyone else after us?"
"Not that I can see. Once we get to the Capital, they shouldn't be able to try anything this big. I'm surprised they tried it here."
"You care to tell me who the hell 'they' are supposed to be?"
"No," she replied bluntly.
Despite having seen what Sunny could do to people who got on her bad side, Marx grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back, saying, "I don't appreciate bein' kept in the dark. You're holdin' out on me."
There was a brief flash in her eyes that made him recoil a little, but it quickly cooled as she replied, "You want to get off?"
As annoyed as he was at the moment, Marx had not quite been pushed so far that he wanted to part ways with her. He would not admit as much, though. He did have his pride, after all.
"I've already paid for my ticket," he said.
"Then let's get going," she said. In the way of a partial concession, she added, "I'll tell you what I can when things settle down, but there's still a chance they could try hitting us again between here and there. I need to concentrate."
He would have to accept that because he could not count on getting anything more. They made their way to the platform and while they were waiting for the train to roll in, Sunny remained on high alert, trying but not exactly succeeding at hiding her anxiety.
Sparing a measure of her attention for Marx, she told him, "I'm glad you didn't choose to leave me."
For a moment, Marx's heart nearly skipped a beat. Was this the start of some sort of confession of her feelings for him?
It was a good thing he did not let himself get carried away with what ifs and maybes, as Sunny quickly put a damper on things.
"If you would've gone your own way, they would be sure to catch you. The things they would do to you to get information about me... You don't know anything, but that wouldn't stop them..."
Just when he thought she had drained all the romance out of the moment, she took his arm in hers and drew herself closer to him.
"As long as we're together, I can protect you," she said. "I owe you my life and I have to return the favor."
Marx could feel his pride chafe a little having this girl swear to protect him, but if it meant they would be together a while longer, it was probably worth it.