"Damn it, where did that kid come from? How's he so good?"
One-Ear rubbed his remaining ear, his expression shifting as he walked, glancing back in terror lest someone be following him.
He hurried through four or five carriages in one go, squeezing past the scattered passengers, and only breathed a sigh of relief when he reached the sleeper carriage.
A middle-aged man in an animal-hide vest and a melon-cap sat on a seat along one side of the carriage. His hands were tucked into his sleeves, a thermos sat by his feet, and a drooping mustache adorned his upper lip. Leaning against the swaying carriage, he seemed to be dozing, but his narrow eyes slanted toward the uneasy One-Ear.
When One-Ear signaled him with his eyes, the man shook the peanut skins off his clothes, rose, and went to knock softly on the wooden door at the far end.
"Eighth Master, Fourth's back."
"Let him in."
A soft, low voice came through the door.
One-Ear hurried over at once and squeezed through the opening as the door was pushed ajar.
There were two people in the compartment: the little old woman, and someone nestled beneath a thick quilt with his back to the other two. The table beside him was laden with food, with everything from meat to dried fruit.
"Could you tell where he was from?"
The little old woman's eyes were vicious. "Couldn't tell. That kid's methods were strange, and he struck like lightning. Our people went down at a touch. Downright uncanny."
The person in the berth fell silent for several seconds, then asked One-Ear, "What about you, Fourth?"
Sweat appeared at One-Ear's temples. "He touched me earlier, and my arms and legs just stopped doing what I wanted, like I was too drunk to