Checkmate

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Yesterday, tailing his speech, Nathiel had announced the time and place for our rendezvous.  However, his booming speech had been audible by the many, many women standing in the broad towns square, watching him – the crowd bunching about at the base of the railroad only drives the illogical point of his decision home. 

Steam puffs into the air.  It twirls up in a plethora of spiraling fumes, issued both from the lips of the hopeful women gathered and the mouth of the smokestack on the great engine growling from the track. 

Though often I’d wondered, I’ve never really seen one of these fabled trains up close.  I’ve glimpsed it briefly from afar, shining black hide visible from rooftops away.  I’ve heard its roar quaking the earth beneath my feet.  But never before have I seen the monsters the nobles had tamed to drag them from place to place. 

Steam chugs angrily from the pipe.  The slick black metal is glossy, as though oil coats its surface.  The wheels are large and round, spokes connected by a slender rod.  Car after car is bolted to one another.  A round face pockmarked with nails heads the machine, a single eye taking form of a light bulb in the center of the plate.  The gears hiss and pop.  Perhaps the very attitude is a portentous omen, indicating the failure of my trip already. 

Wreathed in early morning mist, Nathiel stands behind a row of pugnacious guards.  His face is haughty and arrogant as always, his eyes searching the growing crowd of women.  He does not have a clue on my appearance, and I, in turn, have no other way to reveal to him my identity other than my voice.  Any utterance made by me will be lost in the din of these gathering women.  It is unlikely they’ll let within ten feet of the Prince. 

From the alley, I watch vigilantly.  I await Gay’s return; he’d darted off into the shadows to deal with dirty work.  Last night, we’d agreed for his fantasy concerning stealing away onto the train to become a reality.  However, for the plan to be set in action, there needs to be a sudden and unexplained vacancy, one not to be noticed by the other staff; a kitchen boy or perhaps one butler among many. 

Footsteps crunch over the gravel layering the ground, heading down the alley.  Instinctively, I’m aware of who approaches me from behind.  My eyes meet the hazel irises of Gay in one smooth movement, our gazes locking. 

“Is it done?” I question softly.  Gay nods.  He joins me, hanging by my shoulders. 

Whistling quietly, Gay chuckles, “That’s a whole lot of impersonators.  You’ve acquired a fan-club.”  Before I can respond, he meets my eyes.  For the first time, my gaze skirts down to his hand, where something is gingerly clutched in his fist.  “Here.  I got you these.”  His fingers unfurl, his hand extending, his palm up. 

The gesture is strangely touching.  Lying in his hands are three topaz feathers, dappled with black spots along the airy material.  The very feathers Gay had painstakingly attached to my flashy mask.  They quiver in his hand, affected by the small breeze.  Slowly, I reach over to scoop them up.  The gentle fingers are tender to my palm.  The slightest blush coloring my cheeks, I slip the three feathers into my pocket, careful not to crush their delicate stalks.

“Thanks.”  Though my voice does not venture beyond a whisper, there’s emotion in my tone.  My gratitude isn’t hidden.  “But this isn’t goodbye.”

Gay smirks.  “Please.  You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.  It’s just something for you to remember me by.  Leave it in your room, lying on a table or something, and when I play maid, I’ll find them.  Then I’ll know you want to talk.  Secret messaging system, you could say.  Now, we need to figure out how to get you past those women.”  Gay eyes them with scrutinizing disdain, his nose wrinkling.  “Princy-Pie won’t recognize you.”