Chapter 1
On a cold winter morning, the Steel Train slumbered on the tracks like a giant black snake, its sinister surface foreboding the journey Amelia needed to take. Her finger wandered to her thumb as she hid behind a column, and she pulled at the already torn skin of her cuticles, the burning sensation keeping her in the here and now. The train that would take her far away from this place was only a few feet away. Still, she sensed her master’s icy fingers around her throat, squeezing as if he were standing behind her.
“To the gods,” she said under her breath, her stomach churning at the sight of the gigantic vehicle. The tip of her nail dug deeper into the sensitive spot on her finger. A bizarre pattern of dents and scratches covered the train’s entire steel sheath. It looked like it had barely made it through the wastelands.
Billows of steam seeped out of the locomotive’s smokestack and filled King’s Station with the stark aroma of burnt coal. At half past six on this freezing morning, the platform was vacant except for the sleeping man in a corner next to the tattered cargo. His clothes were a dismal pile of rags, as colorless as Amelia’s, and the ammoniacal smell of his waste wafted to where she stood. Here, of all places, he had chosen to sleep it off–a place where rich folk would rather cut off their hands than endure the sight of people like him.
Or her.
She swallowed a lump of choking unease, adjusted her turban, and stepped forward, intending to wake the fool with a nudge of her boot before someone else saw him. But the echo of footsteps made her pause. Quickly, Amelia retreated to the column’s safety. A railroad worker wearing round goggles emerged from a passageway and approached the train. A sigh escaped him as he placed a hand on one of the gouges and then caressed the surface with an almost loving touch. A clicking and locking sound made Amelia’s ears perk up, and with a pounding heart, she observed as the man’s attention shifted to the sleeping beggar. He pushed his goggles on top of his head, revealing a golden brightness among his otherwise dirty and oil-smeared appearance. She could have sworn the mechanical eye whirred with rage.
He was her contact person—the one who could smuggle Amelia onto the train. Her breath hitched when he scowled at the human heap of misery on the ground, every line of his grimace burning into Amelia’s memory as he moved the back of his hand to his nose. The bastard is going to do it.
Her blood turned to ice as the worker yelled, “Guards!”
Slipping to the farthest corner the column offered, Amelia pressed herself against the marble stone. Another shout echoed through the station, and the metal sound of several sabbatons chimed in the near distance, getting closer and closer. Amelia dared to look. Golden helmets and bright cloaks whizzed past her. She recoiled back into her hideaway.
Red Coats.
“Over there,” the railroad worker’s voice rang out. Running feet, and then the kicks and punches started, muffled and dull as they met flesh. Amelia squeezed her eyes shut as the beggar’s moans and cries synchronized with the attacks of his tormentors.
“Mercy,” the poor sap whimpered, but the beating went on and on, and clutching her arms around her chest, Amelia held herself tight. The man was turned into a bloody mash of bones and tissue, yet she remained in the shadows, rooted to the spot, leaving the beggar to his fate.
After what felt like an eternity, the cries lapsed into silence, and finally, the assault stopped.
“Take that stinking shit away,” the railroad worker said, his command followed by the grunt of one of the guards and the shuffling sounds of a limp body being dragged away. Amelia didn’t know the man; she had never seen him when her master had sent her to the streets. But she knew the Red Coats would do the same to her if the worker decided not to hear her out.
Clenching her hands, she searched for that place deep inside herself that would turn paralyzing fear into a burning rage, a spark of courage.
She peered around the column. The guards were gone. So was the beggar. Only a trail of blood testified to what had just happened. The railroad worker appeared as if nothing had transpired as he studied a slip of paper, then leaned in and scrutinized the train and its scratches–long and deep.
“Fucking beasts,” he said and spat on the marble floor.
Amelia emerged from her hiding spot with careful steps and stopped as a few workmen trudged through the station, carrying welding equipment and other tools. No one minded the platform she stood on, so she risked taking another step toward the railroad worker, who, absorbed in whatever was written on his clipboard, turned the other way and continued his maintenance. She followed him, the massive train now shielding them, and sucked in a breath before she spoke. “Good sir.”
The railroad worker faced her, his golden eye moving in all directions. Then, his lens flickered and narrowed with a whir. Amelia summoned every ounce of her willpower to suppress the trembling in her knees. The train was so close, yet there seemed to be a whole universe between them. Time was running out with every second she hesitated, so she searched for that place inside herself once more.
The man’s face twisted into a snarl. “I don’t talk to scum,” he said and was about to turn his back on her.
Amelia reacted instantly. “I was told you are the one who gets people onto the Steel Train.”
The worker went still. Slowly, he faced her again, taking in her patched-up clothes, her face, the worn-out turban covering her filthy hair. A possible foothold to reach the roof—a gas lamp attached to the stone wall—caught her eye. How fast could she climb to the skylights if things went utterly wrong?
“Is that so?” the man asked. “And who gave you this bold piece of information?”
“It doesn’t matter. I can pay you.” Amelia’s body turned rigid when he scoffed, and his golden glare again took her in from head to toe. She was used to not being seen, to walking in the shadows of streets and alleys. Yet his stare … as if he could see through all the dirt and dust she was covered in.
“I doubt your lot can meet my price.” He nodded to the trail of blood on the ground and gave her a crooked smile. “A friend of yours?”
Amelia pulled her sleeve up and showed him the inside of her wrist, where an accumulation of tiny circles was arranged into an innocuous triangle-shaped tattoo. “No,” she said.
The man burst into a laugh, making her flinch as the sound reverberated through the station. Yet none of the Red Coats came to check on him. “You are from the Burrow. What an interesting morning this is.” Another chortle. “Please forgive me, missy, for thinking you were a beggar when stealing is your great passion.” He shook his head and wiggled his index finger before her face. “I need to see coin first, or I won’t let you anywhere near the train.”
Amelia imagined her fingers around the man’s throat, squeezing until all the air was cut off and his unique eye became static in its socket.
“Besides, what reason could you possibly have to leave the city?” he asked. “With all the thieving for your master, I assume you have quite the life.”
Amelia only half smiled at him, allowing venom to eliminate her last ounce of fear. She pulled her sleeve up further and showed him the other tattoos on her lower arm, those cutting lines made by the bone breakers her master had hired.
And there it was–a tiny twitch in the man’s face as he took in the fine lines that marked where to cut, saw, and swap flesh and bones with wires and plates. Her master called her impending procedure her improvement, an asset to his underground kingdom, the Burrow.
“Tell me,” Amelia said to the man. “How did it feel when the bone breakers hammered that thing into your skull?” She gave a dismissive nod to his eye. “Was it done voluntarily? Did they hold you down? Gave you something for the pain and your screams?”
“Careful,” he warned.
Amelia sighed, yet an inner voice told her not to go too far. “Just say your price, and I’ll get the money. The rest of my story, the why and how, is none of your bloody business.”
He smirked. “Do you really think your little sob story will soften me?”
Amelia gave him a nonchalant shrug.
“I could call for the guards, missy.”
“And let all that money slip through your fingers?” She made a whistling sound and gave him her brightest smile. The man mirrored her expression, then took a deep breath and opened his mouth. Amelia held up both hands, motioning him to hear her out. With her heart in her throat, Amelia licked her dry lips and beseeched the gods to take her side for once. “A thief I am, but I’ve also made a name for myself among my peers.”
“Good for you.”
“I can get you whatever you want,” Amelia said, emphasizing every word. “I’m my master’s favorite, a position one can only earn through outstanding achievements.”
The railroad sucked on his yellow teeth and leaned into her. “I don’t know who I’d rather have on my heels when things get dirty–the authorities when they find out about my business or the thugs of that Burrow you belong to.”
Amelia leaned in as well, their faces almost touching. “What a stupid missy I’d be if I let my master find out about my plans.”
They both pulled back, and he spat on the ground beside Amelia’s foot. “You realize you can’t ride in the car with the rich people.” He walked to the train and kicked an elongated hatch with his leather boot. The thick iron emitted a lazy, muffled sound in response. “This is where the cargo goes. Down there is as safe as up there.” He nodded in the direction of the car. “The crossing takes twenty-four hours. You have to stay in there for the whole trip.”
Amelia studied the hatch. Huge round bolts sealed the hold, and she wondered if they were strong enough to withstand what awaited them in the wastelands. Her hair lifted on the back of her neck. “Has the Steel Train ever failed to cross the country?” There were no windows on the car, only narrow slits along the train’s upper side. For oxygen or weapons, she couldn’t tell.
“No,” the railroad worker answered. “The Steel Train has always stayed true to its purpose.” He gently tapped one of the massive dents. “But the last crossing was a close call.” His eyes whirred again, and he tilted his head to the side. “I’m curious–why bother crossing the wastelands to the other side of the country when cities like Copper Hill are only eight hours away? Why do you need to go to Ivory Hill?”
Amelia averted her gaze, her mind searching for an answer that wouldn’t jeopardize her plan.
“Listen to me”–the man pointed his finger at her–“you get caught, I get caught. Money or not, you’d better tell me what you’re up to, or–”
“I need two tickets. Copper Hill is not safe for my companion. Not since they introduced the new law.”
The man’s brows furrowed. Then his eyes widened with realization. “You’re traveling with a fera,” he whispered.
“Yes,” Amelia replied in a flat tone. “Copper Hill has proclaimed the death penalty for them, so we must go somewhere else.”
“I hate to spill the beans, missy, but feras are as much hated in Ivory Hill as here or elsewhere.”
“But at least we would be far away from the Burrow.” Her will to live a life without fear and abuse gave her the confidence she didn’t know she had as she boldly stared back at him.
“The King should’ve taken care of your master a long time ago. He would do everyone a favor by getting rid of him and all those thieves working for the Burrow.”
“All those thieves will end up on the streets in a city where everyone wants them dead.”
The man shrugged. “Can’t really blame them, can you? Your people did a lot of damage with all the stealing and robbery. You made yourselves outcasts by joining the Burrow.”
“This city made my people outcasts, and the Burrow is where someone ends up if nothing is left.”
“And look what it does to you.”
“Exactly.” She outstretched her arm with the tattoos to him. “Look what it does to us. So do we have a deal?”
The railroad worker didn’t answer, his mechanical eye rotating in a wild dance to the left and right. “Maybe your fera friend could try to coax their breed when they attack the train in the wastelands.”
“There is no evidence the creatures out there are fears.”
But the man stayed defiant. “There is also no evidence that speaks against it.”
Her hand wandered to her arm, and she clutched it in anticipation of a pain she had yet to endure if she didn’t manage to get on that train. But she would never, never leave this place without Desmond.
The man took a handkerchief from his trousers and wiped his face. “It’s twenty thousand thalers.”
The air left her lungs.
“Twenty thousand thalers for you and that animal-human you call a friend. I open the hatch, look the other way when you crawl in, and ensure the bolts sit right. I’ve received word that the next train will depart after King’s Parade.”
“What,” Amelia said, her voice was little more than a breath. “But that is too late. They might start surgery–”
The man grabbed her by the collar and pulled her face to within inches of the steel sheath. “Look at her,” he said. “Look closely.”
Amelia had no choice but to take in the deep scratches and furrows; the layer split open like soft clay. The man’s face appeared next to hers, and his breath smelled of liquor as he whispered in her ear. “We need to remove the plates, then weld and reinforce them so nothing happens to your pretty neck.” He slid his finger over her skin and paused at the pulsing point of her artery. “If that’s not fast enough for you, try reaching Ivory Hill on foot and see if that’s better. You’ll still have to pay me the twenty thousand thalers, though, because just talking to you about it could cost me my head.”
His touch felt like spiders crawling over her, and Amelia ripped herself from his grasp. “And what if I don’t?”
The man grinned. “Then I’ll inform the authorities about your little visit here. A Burrow thief who dares to enter King’s Station is enough reason for a hefty bounty. Your master will surely be pleased with the fame you gain.” His grin widened. “And I’m always up for making some extra coin.”
“My master will be delighted to make you suffer. Ever thought of that?”
He snickered. “You like to cherry-pick, don’t you, missy?”
Suddenly, his golden eye buzzed and stared past her. “The train leaves at eight o’clock in the morning, the day after the parade. Make sure you bring the money, or…” He slid his finger against his throat. “Now, fuck off. Red Coats are coming this way.”
Amelia whirled around but couldn’t see anyone. “From which direction?” she asked, adrenaline deluging her system.
“From both sides,” the man said, his eye prancing around as if in a frenzy.
Without losing another second, Amelia ran to the stone wall, grabbed the handle of the gas lamp, and heaved herself up. Her swift feet found every little ledge or bump in the wall until she finally reached one of the tilted skylights. Not waiting for the guards to appear, she stepped onto the roof. Almost silent, she slid and climbed down the east wall of the station and landed on the cobblestones of a side alley. Sighing, she dusted off her trousers and came face to face with a young gentleman wearing a fine frock coat and a vest. He stared at her, mouth open and eyes bulging.
Surprised to see people at such an early hour, Amelia first blinked at his sudden appearance but then gave him a cheeky grin. “Aren’t you rich shits supposed to be in bed at this time of the day?” But it was her turn to gasp when the pallor vanished from the man’s face to be replaced by a tightness of his features. His lips flattened as he raised his silver-plated cane above Amelia’s head with a trembling arm.
The next moment, she was on the ground, blood pouring from her nose and forming a puddle of deep red on the dusty stone. With a grunt, she turned onto her back and found the man bending over her.
“This is a rat-free zone. So why don’t you scurry to that stinking hole that spat you out?” He tucked back a loose strand of his slick hair and gave her a smirk of his own as he took an intentional step over her.
“Sure,” she said with another groan. The first rays of the winter morning sun shone on her face and bathed the streets of Shifting Bay in a glorious red and yellow light. I won’t survive this place, Amelia thought, blinking back the tears.
