Gwendolyn
There were some behaviours that people didn't grow out of.
It was usually the awkward mannerisms, the way you behaved when you hadn't quite acknowledged the motivation for your actions. Gwendolyn had seen enough flirting and budding romance over her few years stewarding that remedial work camp that she privately wondered if getting young people to hook up wasn't the place's primary purpose. The kids were awkward, hyper-attentive, laughed too eagerly, and were often the last people to even notice how their behaviour had changed.
And as far as Gwendolyn had seen, the way the kids did it never changed, no matter how old they got. Or the colour of their coat.
Crafter Olivia Polden was animatedly explaining something about the comm station that Valen had been working at. Her right hand was gesturing from switch to switch, her voice had taken on an almost musical tone, her breathing was slightly exaggerated, as if her diaphragm had taken the day off, and her left hand rested on the corporal's shoulder as if she were trying to undo the stitching on his coat.
Gwendolyn found her own feelings, upon seeing this, were very mixed.
Part of her actually liked the Crafter more because of it. Fawning over a corporal posted as far away from high-society as anyone in the City could get did suggest an appreciation for character over status. And as much as Gwendolyn wouldn't admit it aloud, it also suggested the Crafter had good taste.
Whatever other feelings Gwendolyn might have about seeing this were muted, substantially, but the fact that Valen would notice absolutely nothing about her behaviour. Olivia's red coat was probably more intimidating than an officer's sword, and his mannerisms were already reflecting the severe military deference shown to respected officers.
Though Gwendolyn's ear did perk up a little when the Crafter said something about being in a lot of trouble. Though knowing Valen, that trouble would fall exclusively on his shoulders. But the shift in the conversation, to the Crafter that turned on the others, that part now had her full attention.
"Gwendolyn, is anyone injured?" Valen asked. His question was so unexpected she nearly jumped when she heard him.
She sorted her thoughts as quickly as she could, and nodded. "No, sir," she managed to say before the pause in her response turned awkward. "Not so much as a singed coat. The Crafters were thorough."
"Good," Valen nodded. "Muster at the train. We're leaving as soon as we confirm the fields have been set alight. Hopefully our departure is less dramatic than last time."
"Doubt our Gloamtaken troubles would bother either of these two much," Gwendolyn noted.
"It would," Valen replied. "If you'll recall, their power might draw the Golem. If the Gloamtaken have gained the walls, it'll be up to us to get everyone out in one piece."
Gwendolyn nodded. "Sorry, sir."
"More latrine duty, I guess," Valen replied, with a warm smile that belied the threat. Seeing it on his face felt like a warm bath after walking through a storm. "Go make sure the engineers have warmed up the train. I'd like to wait as late as possible for a response, in case we have different orders for Crafter Polden."
"Will do, sir," Gwendolyn nodded, and turned away.
Distracted by her thoughts, she almost didn't notice the smell of smoke as she strode back up the tower. Her nerves struck her hard, and she clutched her hands together as she took a breath to steady herself. But as she calmed down, the particulars of the smells washed over her. Pungent, bitter smoke, fragrant, and light in colour. No acidic tinge of burning metal, or slagged stone. Just crops burning.
An accomplished duty. A small victory on their part, all things considered.
At the exit to the top of the all, Mildred and Fauth were deep in conversation, speaking in hushed tones that Gwendolyn couldn't pick words out of until she was almost in arms' reach.
"Ashes of the end, but they broke the wall!" Fauth exclaimed quietly. "That breach was as big as the one the Golem made, and it didn't take that Crafter half an hour to make it. So why didn't that Golem go down?"
"This isn't the First," Gwendolyn found herself saying. "We have beaten them before. Golems have fallen before. And there's more strength in the City than six Crafters."
Both of the specialists looked at each other for a long moment, confusing Gwnedolyn. Eventually, Mildred lunched Fauth in the shouder, and laughed. "My, Corporal Redgrave, how your voice has changed."
"Oh, spit and ash, did I?" Gwendolyn asked. She covered her mouth with her hand in mock surprise. She then struck a dramatic pose, setting one foot on a nearby box, and rested her left hand on her sword. She tried to lower her voice, and stared off at a corner of the room. "Then fear not, mere mortals! Should the worst come to pass, even the Golem is no match for my sword! I will cleave the monster atwain, and stand humble and solemn in the victory parade the City will hold on my behalf!"
Mildred doubled over, laughing. Even Fauth found the mirth infectious, and was trying to stifle its verbal expression.
Gwendolyn kept the pose, but then pointed at Fauth, and then Mildred. "But you still have latrine duty. Now get to work, while I stand on this mountain of Gloamtaken I personally killed and pose for my appearance on the Fifth Tapestry."
That line broke Fauth, and he doubled over, leaning in on the wall as laughed. Mildred, in the midst of struggling upright, collapsed to her knees and punched the wall, howling in laughter.
As the laughter died down, Gwendolyn asked, "So, does this mean the fields are lit? And there's no one out there who needs evacuating?"
Fauth's expression darkened, and he looked down at the ground. Mildred only nodded, and said "Evacuation orders were given long before the Crafters arrived. There shouldn't be anyone in the fields right now."
"Thanks for that," Gwendolyn said, as she stepped around Mildred and reached for the door. "And Mildred?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for coming to save my ass. And the kids. More the kids, come to think of it. I don't know how I'd have handled not being able to get them out."
"We're square," Mildred replied. "Valen said he wouldn't have made it back without you."
"He said that?" Gwendolyn asked, surprised.
Mildred nodded in affirmation, and stood straighter. "Did Redgrave have any orders?"
"He asked me to have the train engineers prep to leave. Said he wanted to be ready to leave after he gives a few minutes for new deployment orders to arrive. Figure we shouldn't linger."
"Good call, ma'am," Mildred said.
"Ma'am?"
"Sorry, it's something I need to bring up with the corporal. Carry on, soldier. Fauth, I believe Hendricks and Roderick are still outside. Have them stay close to the train, so we can leave quickly," Mildred ordered.
Gwendolyn nodded, and stepped out.
It wasn't hard to find that ostentatious beast of a locomotive. The massive engine hissed and thrummed, fidgeting in place like an eager child. Something about it seemed, to Gewendolyn, almost too eager to be moving. The machine sounded one more hiss, belched a cloud of steam and started to roll.
Gwnedolyn cursed and dashed to the train, jumping up and reaching the door before it had gone more than a few yards. She pushed her way inside, relieved to see it was still unlocked, and opened the door to the engine room.
Gwendolyn stepped inside to see the two engineers were already turning the levers, and the train began to move faster. "What the burning hell are you two doing?" she asked.
"We're leaving. The Golem's already hitting the walls, and the Crafters failed," one of the engineers said. "We wait too long, and the Golem might cut us off when it takes the next wall down."
"Stop the train," Gwendolyn said, and she tried her best to imagine how Valen would give that order. Slow and level, not too loudly. Giving instructions, and brokering no argument. "We have more passengers to collect."
"Go throw yourself off the wall," the same engineer, the older of the two, said. The other one took his hands off the controls for a moment, until his companion's defiance inspired his own choice.
Gwendolyn drew her sword. The menacing whisper it made caused both engineers to whirl about. The younger man put his hands up into the air, but the older woman wrapped her fingers around a lever, and squeezed the locking handle.
"I've killed Gloamtaken already," Gwnedolyn said slowly. "And I've seen them kill friends. If I have to cut either of you down, I promise I'll put a hole in your lungs so that you don't rise up as our enemy. That's the best offer I can make, unless you stop this train and wait for my people."
"Listen, there's no need for that," the older engineer said, one hand still grasping the lever. "You could just sit down, enjoy the ride back to the City."
"Do I actually need both of you to run the train?" Gwendolyn asked in response, and she pointed the blade at the older engineer's chest.
"Release the boiler pressure and hit the brakes," the older engineer said. Her companion turned around and pulled a switch, which made something on the train hiss, and the churn of the engine felt much less potent beneath her feet.
Gwendolyn kept her sword pointed at the older engineer until her companion yanked hard on a second lever, and the train slowed to a stop. "Very good," Gwendolyn said. She then sheathed her sword, hoping she didn't reveal the fact that they were the first people she had ever pointed a sword at.
She turned around, and nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw Mackaroy leaning against the doorway. "Mechanical trouble?"
"Yeah, a bit of cowardice turned on the engine prematurely. It's sorted out," Gwendolyn said.
"Glad to hear it. Crafters hate walking, and they have no problem letting you know it. In excruciatingly thorough detail," Mackaroy said. He opened the door and lead Gwendolyn through it, into perhaps the single most opulent room Gwendolyn had ever seen.
The glass panes stretched from below the floor to the ceiling of the train car, and lacked the usual streaks and grease smears that came from grease-smudged coats, smoke, or the oily fingers of children. Instead of the rows of simple metal benches and bars to grip once those benches were filled with people, there were three marble tables, surrounded by a dozen heavy, plush looking chairs.
Glassware lined nearby cabinets, and the ceiling was a mural of the Guild's sigil, a ——
"Hey, they have liquor," Mackaroy said as he sauntered across the car. Gwendolyn shook her head, both amazed and appalled at the extravagance packaged in a single train car.
At that moment, Valen stepped on board the train, followed closely by Roderick. Hendricks followed up the train a moment later, glowering darkly, and went straight for the liquor cabinet that Mackaroy was examining.
"Hendricks," Valen said. The High-Central boy turned, and wordlessly acknowledged Valen. "In moderation. One drink, not a large one."
As the others stepped aboard, Valen ammended his original order. "That applies to everyone here, or I chuck the whole cabinet off the train."
"What am I pouring you, corporal?" Mackaroy asked Valen.
"Beer, in one of the small glasses on your left," Valen replied, and he sat down at the table. The others in the squad sat down, as did the other shadow, Cameron. A moment after, both Crafter Polden and her apprentice sat at the same table.
Gwendolyn knocked on the engine room door with the bottom of her fist, giving it two hard raps. "That's everyone! Get us the burning hell out of here!"
No one responded, but the car began to shake as the engine hissed and shined into the night, and the world outside with the windows began to move.
Wordlessly, Mackaroy went around the table and set a small glass of something in front of each of them in turn. Asides from Valen, Mackaroy hadn't made even the slightest effort to accommodate anyone else's tastes.
In front of Roderick, he set a small glass half-full of what Gwendolyn believed to be an ale so blonde it was barely more than wheat juice.
Hendricks had been given a single finger of scotch.
Fauth had a half-shot of Vodka.
Crafter Polden had a small glass of wine so red she might as well be bleeding into it.
Vincent was sitting in front of a shot of some kind of dark-amber liquid that Mackaroy had managed to light on fire.
Mildred was holding a cup of frothy ale.
Cameron was eyeing a cup full of white wine.
Mackaroy himself had just sat down with a small glass holding an inch of some kind of bright green liquid.
In front of the only empty seat there was a glass of dark whiskey.
And Valen had a small glass of ale in front of him.
Gwendolyn eyed her drink as she sat down, and frowned at Mackaroy. "I hate whiskey," she said.
"I know," Mackaroy replied.
"I'm not a fan of wine," Cameron admitted.
"Mouldy grapes have never been my cup of tea," Olivia agreed.
"Why is mine on fire?" Vincent asked. "This is just going to taste like engine cleaner when I drink it."
To Gwendolyn's surprise, Valen started to laugh. Everyone turned to him, just as he rested his arms on the table and took his own glass in his right hand, and raised it up in the air. "Mackaroy knows you hate what he served you. That's the point."
"Someone gets it," Mackaroy acknowledged, as he raised his own glass into the air. "This is what defeat tastes like. You're not supposed to like it. I sure as flaming shit don't. Now drink."
"Why did Redgrave get to pick his drink?"
"Because Redgrave is the reason we're all still alive, for keeping us from being dumber than we were out there," Mackaroy said. "Plus, I might be afraid of him."
"If we're drinking to anyone," Valen replied, and he raised his glass in the air. "I'd like to suggest Crafter Breckan Howel. For getting us out alive."
"To Howel," Gwendolyn said, and she tipped her glass up and drained its contents down her throat.
She swallowed quickly to try and keep the taste out of her mouth, and to keep the vicious burn down. She still coughed hard, slammed her fists on the table, and had to wipe tears from her eyes. Not all of those tears were from the shock of the alcohol.
"To Howel."