“Where?” Miriam whispered, tensing. Feeling for her shoulder bag, the small pistol buried at the bottom of it. No, not on a train…

“At court. He is a corporal of honor in service to Angbard. Called Edsger something. I’ve seen him a couple of times in escort to one or another of the duke’s generals. I don’t think he’s recognized me. He is reading one of those intelligence papers the tinkers were selling at the palace of trains.”

“Hmm.” Miriam frowned. “Did you see any luggage when he got onboard? Anything he carried? Describe him.”

“There is a trunk with a handle, like yours, only it looks like metal. He has it beside him and places one hand on it every short while.”

“Ah.” Miriam relaxed infinitesimally. “Okay, I think I’ve got a handle on it. Is the case about the same size as mine?”

Brill nodded slowly, her eyes focused past Miriam’s left shoulder.

“That means he’s probably a courier,” Miriam said quietly. “At a guess, Angbard has him carry documents daily between his palace and Manhattan. That explains why he spends so little time at court himself—he can keep his finger on the pulse far faster than the non-Clan courtiers realize. If I’m right, he’ll be carrying a report about last night, among other things.” She raised a finger to her lips. “Trouble is, if I’m right, he’s armed and certainly dangerous to approach. And if I’m wrong, he’s not a courier. He’s going to wait for the train to stop, then try to kill us.” Miriam closed her hand around the barrel of her pistol, then stopped. No, that’s the wrong way to solve this, she thought. Instead she pulled out her wallet and a piece of paper and began writing.

Brilliana leaned forward. “He’s doing it again,” she murmured. “I think there’s something in his jacket. Under his arm. He looks uncomfortable.”