I watch the canyon dropping away beside the tracks and imagine what it would be like to fall. In my mind's eye I see myself climbing out through the open carriage window and plunging into the depths. And then I believe the fall would not harm me, because I've already fallen far enough.
Besides, it's cold this time of year. I should close the window; the rush of air is stealing the warmth from the bread on the tray before me. At the very least I should tilt it shut, since opening it all the way is strictly forbidden. If the engineer caught me, I might even lose my job.
The sound of a key sliding into the compartment lock from outside makes me flinch. I slam the window closed and turn back to my work. The service cart won't fill itself. But soon I relax, for the key is withdrawn, replaced by another. Not the engineer – he knows his keys. So it must be Keath, the new one.
The door swings open and Keath steps inside. I give the rookie a brief nod and keep stocking the service cart. A few more candied nuts. They sell especially well.
"Arth," Keath says to me. The young man always wears that cheerful face, as though this train were carrying him somewhere better. "I've got a question for you."
"Did you check the ticket of the man in compartment four, car three? He was in the lavatory earlier," I ask.
"Well, listen..." Keath pauses, scratching his head. "Uh, yeah, he came back just now. All in order."
I nearly forget the cigarettes. They sell well too.
"Oh right. Hand me the cigarettes? In the cupboard behind you. Second shelf from the top."
Keath passes me the pack. I arrange everything neatly, then say, "I'll just make my round, excuse me."
I'm about to push the service cart down the aisle when Keath swings around to block me, pointing a finger at my chest.
"Arth! You're doing it again!"
"Serving passengers? Yes, that happens to be my job as a steward."
"No! You dodge questions by asking more questions. You always do that."
Now the cheer is gone from his face. He looks wounded, arms crossed tight across his chest. A walking advertisement for earnestness.
"Sorry," I say, sounding as honest as I can.
But the truth is, I haven't felt sorry about anything in a long time. Not even for Keath. He holds a copy of 4C-News, but nothing in its pages could touch me anymore.
Keath sighs, yet of course he can't read my thoughts. The brightness snaps back into his face as he offers me the paper with a kind of devotion.
"My question was: what would you do with half a million Chits?"
I shrug and take the paper. "I don't know. You?"
"Oh, I'd probably... hey, you're doing it again!"
I chuckle and glance at the front page. My brow furrows as I read aloud: "Blackwood Spire restored after a year of reconstruction..."
My eyes trace the image of the steel frame thrusting into the sky, and my stomach knots. But I let nothing show and keep reading.
"After last year's devastating explosion, Blackwood Steel has restored its headquarters to former glory after arduous rebuilding. The CEO of Blackwood Steel states..."
Keath waves his hand, cutting me off. "No, second page."
I blink, biting back the question of why he didn't hand me the paper opened to the second page in the first place. Then I read.
500,000 Chitons for Alaric Redsong! Bounty doubled!
No picture accompanies the name. My eyes linger a moment longer on the headline, then I return the paper to Keath. He takes it, still looking at me expectantly.
The train jolts pleasantly over the rails. The canyon is behind us now. Instead, a barren moor spreads beyond the window. My fingers grip the cold frame of the service cart, smudged with fingerprints and scattered crumbs I never bothered to wipe away. I squeeze tighter and tighter until my knuckles turn white. Then I imagine myself out there, standing alone in the empty land, and the grip loosens.
"So, what would you–"
"Now I know," I cut him off. "I'd buy a horse. Ride across the open land. Ah, but I'd need a saddle too, wouldn't I, Keath?"
I shove the service cart forward, both to clear Keath from my path and to erase the puzzled look on his face.
"A horse? I've never even seen one... sounds almost antique. Do you even know how to operate a horse?"
I snort. "You don't operate a horse, you lead it!"
"So you know how to ride, then?"
I pause.
"No."
Silence descends on the compartment. I keep my gaze fixed on the service cart, refusing to look at Keath. I haven't said anything strange, so why should I act as if I had? Slowly I push the cart again, until Keath bursts out laughing and claps me on the shoulder.
"You're teasing me again. Stop it. I'm patient, but I've got my limits. A horse! Ha! Where would you have ever seen a horse?"
His words carry no real menace. Still, he seems truly puzzled.
"I mean, how old are you? 16? 17? Whatever, horses and old houses aren't around anymore anyway... probably."
"Sure."
I smile back and move to leave the compartment. I only manage to take two steps before Keath's voice halts me once more.
"Now that you mention it, didn't House Redsong always use horses? A bit ironic, considering they fought against airships... but who can make sense of those old-world types anyway?"
I glance over my shoulder. Keath doesn't look at me anymore – he's already filling out his patrol log, still talking as he writes.
"Five hundred thousand Chits..." he mutters. "I can't believe it."
I open my mouth, though I should really keep it shut.
"Wasted money," I say.
Keath looks up, frowning.
"Excuse me?"
Another shrug of the shoulder serves as a final reply. The service cart begins to roll. I keep telling myself, the goods won't sell themselves. Though now other thoughts linger. Even if someone were to buy the entire service car, it would not cost more than 20 chitons.
Half a million for the last surviving prince of the old world is nothing but waste. With that money, you could buy an entire city quarter. No one will ever see those Chits.
Alaric Redsong has been dead a long time.
There is only Arth, the steward.