Prelude (Underworld Lucian Fanfiction)

17 - Chapter XVII: Murder on the Orient

The Orient Express, 4:30 am.

"Be still, Sabine."

"Will she be able to breathe?"

"Yes." Lucian did not look up, maintaining the steady pace of his handwriting. They sat in their four-bed sleeping car, the ornate brass lamps sustaining a warm glow on their faces. Though the train rattled like a horse-drawn reaper, the movement had become imperceptible after the first twelve hours on board. The window drapes were shut.

"How?" Placed on the top-bunk and not allowed to leave its boundaries, Sabine was skipping over the small, tanned-leather bag Allegra had packed for her. Her bed was cluttered with its contents. She had the weary pitch of a child that had been confined for too long. "Do they breathe differently?"

"Ask Raze." He drew a line beside 1896, adding three slanted marks beside the date.

She crawled to the side of her bed, peering over the side, her hair falling amok. "Raze, can she breathe?"

"Yes." Raze was grinding a bone between his teeth, working away at the last bits of marrow as if he wanted to savour every bite. "...and there are enough holes that she will not suffocate unless we leave her behind."

While explaining this, the lycan casually reached into his bag, untying one of the waxed paper bundles Allegra had packed for them. Beef rations. Removing his pocket-knife, he sliced a sizeable chunk from one of the rations and passed it to the girl. She snatched it up quickly and retreated behind her bed-drapes to feed, pacified for the moment.

Neither lycan made any issue over her lack of manners. It was not common for lycan children to thank the hand that fed them. Most were spoiled for what they represented: life, progression, advancement...the next generation of soldiers under constant threat of eradication.

When the sound of gnawing stopped, she crawled out from behind her bed-drapes and wiped her fingers on her shirt. The meat had been smoked, so the stain was more greasy than bloody. Dressed in breeches, at least she was starting to resemble a boy. A nine-year-old girl travelling in the same compartment as a gentleman and his manservant raised too many questions. She was listed as "William Eichel" on her ticket.

"Lyosha, I want to leave my bunk," she moaned.

Without comment, he drew another line.

"Please." She had an expectant look on her face, as if 'please' could make miracles.

"I will play a game with you, Sabine," he said pleasantly, closing his book for a moment. "For every hour that you are silent, you will receive a minute off your bunk." Contrary to his orders, the girl had left their compartment, hiding in another sleeping-car to play a game of tacks with mortal children. Whether Sabine knew it or not, she could have been spotted. He had carted her off before any harm was done, but the potential had been there.

"I will be very still." She crouched, wiping her nose on her arm. "I promise, I will be quiet and good like...like a mouse."

"Mice are not still."

"But I did not mean to do it." She knelt on the bed, pleading and wrapping her fingers together. "Alena wanted to know about my ear and Edward said I could play with them if I pretended to be a girl, but I told them I was a wolf, and they said that was..."

"Enough, Sabine." He opened his book again, determined at least to finish the margin of this journal entry. He continued writing in code, each letter standing for another letter depending upon where it resided in the sentence. It took patience and thought to write in code, but he had mastered his focus enough to be able to do it without interruption.