The man was looking frazzled. “Very well. I guess we can use every man.”

“Sorry, sir,” Wayne said, leaning in. “Lord Evenstrom is excitable, sometimes. I know how it goes; this isn’t the first time he’s sent me to help someone who didn’t need it. Bren and I will stay out of your way.”

“Bren?”

“Oh, he was right behind me,” Wayne said, turning around, looking confused.

Wax ducked out of the station, wearing a uniform similar to Wayne’s. He also had a fake paunch of some size, hiding some specific materials he’d need for the night.

“There he is,” Wayne said. “He’s a dull-minded lout, sir. His father left him the position, but you could hit his steel against flint all night and not get a spark, if you know what I mean.”

“Well, stay here,” the captain said. “Guard this post. Don’t let anyone approach the train car, no matter what they look like.” He left, running over to the batch of noblemen.

“ ’Ello, Wax,” Wayne said, tipping his hat to the other man. “Ready to get swallowed?”

Waxillium glanced back toward the station building. Civilians were still scattering. The ground was littered with hats and handkerchiefs. “You need to make sure they still send the train, Wayne. No matter what, it must go forward.”

“I thought you said they’ll be too embarrassed not to launch it.”

“For the first part, yes. Not so sure about this next part. Make it happen, Wayne.”

“Sure thing, mate.” Wayne checked his watch. “She’s late—”

A sudden series of cracks split the air. Gunshots. Even though Wayne was expecting them, they still made him jump. The guards around them cried out, shouting, looking for the source of the shots. Waxillium fell, screaming, blood spraying from his shoulder. Wayne caught him as another guard spotted flashes coming from atop the building.

The guards opened fire as Wayne dragged Waxillium out of harm’s way. He looked about, then—acting frantic—shoved Waxillium into the open door of the railcar. Several of the guards looked at him, but nobody said a word. Waxillium’s eyes were staring dead into the air. The other guards had probably lost mates to bandits or house skirmishes, and they knew. In the heat of the fighting, you got the wounded to safety, and it didn’t bloody matter where.

The firing stopped from atop the building, but it started up again from a rooftop nearby. A few bullets sprayed sparks from the top of a nearby girder. A little close there, Marasi, Wayne thought with annoyance. Why did every woman he met try to shoot him? Just because he could heal from it. That was like drinking a man’s beer just because he could order more.

Wayne plastered a worried look on his face. “They’re comin’ for the cargo!” he yelled. Then he grabbed the door to the large cargo car, kicked the counterbalance lever to the side, and ran forward. He slammed the door on the Breaknaught shut—Wax inside the railcar, Wayne himself standing outside—before anyone thought to stop him.