Ferran came upstairs later that night, allowing Talon to vent his frustrations at the Honch's attitude. Verden, as was his name, was a man whose brain chemistry might be a little out of sorts.
'So you're saying I can't blame him for ridiculing me like a child?' Talon said, though he was aware his fourteen-year-old self was on shaky ground with this argument.
Ferran closed the door to the small room. 'I don't want you getting in his way. You should already know that he's prone to mood swings.'
'But I didn't do anything wrong!'
'Listen.' Ferran sat on the bed, next to the youth. 'It might actually be a good idea to keep the puppethead problem to ourselves on the way to the capital.'
Talon ventured a quizzical look, but in this state he simply seemed rebellious.
The teacher tried again. 'The Honch was concerned that we might alarm the coachmen, but I think there may be a more tactical reason. We're still unsure of how many people have been taken by the puppetheads.'
His fingers twiddled aimlessly, hesitantly, seeming unsure if he wanted to continue.
'When I...' he paused, 'wasn't myself – it's all so hazy now – the other captives mentioned that they had been taken when fishing on or near the lake. Some had been there for a long time.'
'What is it?' Talon asked, again giving the wrong impression, this time of impatience.
'Let me finish,' Ferran said. 'It's possible that people outside of Yerz have been replaced, or commandeered, or whatever you want to call it. Maybe it's paranoia, but if I were planning an invasion I would have agents as far and wide as I could.'
'That makes sense,' the youth agreed. 'You don't have to talk about it though. I know you don't like remembering all that stuff.'
'I just wanted to say be careful.' Ferran stood up and went to leave. 'Verden's contained the situation downstairs. We have to leave early tomorrow, you should get some rest.'
FRIDAY
Between his being roused in a half-sleepy torpor and the feeling of the stagecoach bumping along, Talon remembered little. When the sun eventually showed itself, he opened his eyes to take in the cramped cabin and realised that the coach wasn't moving.
Though there wasn't enough space to stretch out either forward or along the padded bench seats, Talon imagined that, sitting straight, six people could be passengers on this leg of the Train. Maybe four, if they were all as big as Ogard. Currently Talon was its sole occupant.
The youth wiped the sleep from his eyes and stumbled out the door. They had stopped on a section of the highway that meandered lazily over the rise to the south. These were the dregs of the same mountains that the sun was only just rising above – an undulating, wild land that was sparsely populated by woods and even less so by humans.
Something on the other side of the carriage caught his attention. Ogard, Leyh and the Honch had grouped together, staring into the bushes. From the sound of it, Ferran was being sick. Talon saw the teacher stand up and wave back at him, confirming his suspicions.
'Lightening the load for the horses!' he called out. Talon approached the others.
'Seasick on land?' he asked. Leyh turned around slowly. Talon thought this was to show she wasn't concerned with very much this morning. She was eating a large apple.
'A lake fisherman would know all about seasickness, wouldn't he? It seems your friend hasn't travelled anywhere for very long... at least not by coach.' Leyh took another big crunch.
Talon paid the horses at the front of the travelling-contrivance a cursory glance. 'Montigers are better anyway.' The girl ignored the comment and returned to patiently waiting for Ferran.
The youth was still trying to pretend the Honch wasn't standing at his right when the teacher rejoined them several minutes later.
'Well, I think it's best that we allow the traders to continue on. Good morning sleepyhead,' he nodded to Talon. Then Ferran locked eyes with the Big Honch, regarding him with something like condescension, though Talon was unsure. 'Verden, I would like to take your seat up front. I'll do better to be in the fresh air.'
Surprisingly, the sudden flash across the Honch's face was not anger or frustration, but fear. He looked at Talon and back to Ferran.
'But – there's only enough space up the front for three.'
'It's my turn on the reins,' Leyh muttered. 'And Oge here doesn't like being cooped up.'
The big man shrugged non-committally and walked back to the front of carriage. Ferran grabbed the other two by the shoulders.
'Play nice.'
***
Not for two hours after the motion sickness adventure did the Honch or Talon speak. Wedged hard into opposite corners of the passenger cabin, they passed the time with arms folded, periodically glaring at each other.
Finally, after a bumpy stretch of road caused them to wobble about, Talon was fed up.
'What did you mean the other day?'
The Honch looked confused and then sighed. 'What are you talking about?'
Talon massaged his temples, perhaps the motion sickness was getting to him too.
'When you said that you should have seen all of this coming.'
Verden rolled his eyes. 'It's a long story, shouldn't we –'
The youth looked through the window at the passing countryside. Soon they'd be on the wide plains, dotted with the huge estates and agriculture plantations that had boomed since the collapse of Old Ryndia. Dotted with highwaymen, a darker, thrill-seeking part of his mind told him.
'We won't reach Gaimswick for seven hours or more,' Talon said. 'I think we've got time. You need to convince me that you aren't one of them.'
The Honch appeared to be weighing his options and didn't speak again, so Talon tried a different tact.
'If we're going to beat this thing together, we need to trust each other,' he said, annoyed at himself for acknowledging it. 'Can I trust you?'
Verden moved to the back seat and spoke in a hush. 'Just keep this to yourself.'
Talon shook his head. 'We're all in the same boat.'
The Honch clenched his hands in response, but Talon could sense he was close to breaking point.
'You've probably heard of the Keepers,' the Honch said. 'Shouldn't surprise you to hear that I'm one of them.'
Like a load had come off his back, Verden rambled on. He told Talon about the annals from before the Quandomen disappeared, about how the Keepers weren't just humans from Ryndia and Brooksland but also guannas and tirans from the other side of the Ash Straits.
'Most importantly,' he said, 'there was always a possibility that the Quandomen would return. The Keepers were told to be on the lookout for three signs, the first is “when a man is not himself.”'
'Whoa,' Talon said, though the Honch continued without stopping.
'My master always thought that the signs were literal. You can't get more obvious than when the puppetheads start stealing minds.'
Talon leant forward to grab the Honch's attention. 'So you're saying that the puppetheads might be the Quandomen?'
The Big Honch stopped and held his hands in front of his face. They writhed about and pushed away at Talon. 'I don't know! Leave me alone!'
With that, Verden was once again cold. He sat back on the other bench and Talon remained speechless for the rest of the morning.
