009 -- Rufus Xeno

Rufus looked down at the bicycle, wiping the sweat out of his eyes. He was pretty sure that it had broken again. The flimsy contraption hadn't lasted more than a few days since he'd taken it from the shop in Merrech. The hard roads and blowing sand had taken their toll on the fragile cogs and spokes quite quickly. Rufus had already bent one of the wheels upon striking a pothole in the road, and as much as he tried to bend it back it kept folding in on itself. Further inspection showed that the metal was thin and weak under the fancy paint job.

Must've been owned by someone rich.

This time, though, there was no fixing things. Rufus had slid off of the road and the wheel had totally collapsed. He picked the bike up and started walking.

He wasn't too surprised that the bicycle had given out. The road that he was taking from Merrech to Asfar was a minor one, close to the Southern edge of the Iram Desert, and was poorly maintained. Its cracked stones stretched in a straight line ahead and behind him as far as he could see through the heat shimmer. He had decided to come this way because it was one of the more isolated paths through the wastes, but Rufus was beginning to wonder if the privacy was worth it.

He wiped his forehead again. The ground was too rocky and dry for any sort of shade giving plants to grow, and the only plants he could see were small shrubs and some whispy grasses. Even the breeze was hot and dry, blowing straight across the baking dunes in the North. Every once in a while a swirl of wind would throw sand in his face, a reminder of the desert's constant encroachment.

Rufus walked for the rest of the afternoon. The ground gradually became more hilly, the road winding between sharp, rocky ridges on either side. Finally he began to see a smudge of black on the horizon, which gradually turned into a whisp of smoke, and then a group of low buildings, and finally a small village nestled in between two bluffs. This was a welcome sight, because Rufus was beginning to get thirsty.

The village itself was no more than ten low buildings, variously constructed from plaster, masonry, and wood. There was a small stream that ran from the center of town out down the hillside, fed by a small spring. The stream had been dammed in the center of town to form a deep pool, and there was a metal pipeline snaking out of the pool down the bluff. Scattered palm trees swayed gently in the breeze around the village square.

Rufus drew a few interested looks as he walked into town with his broken bicycle. Taking hold of the bucket rope near the pool, he helped himself to a long draught of water before doing anything else. Turning, he noticed that a group of people had formed around him. They seemed curious, but not threatening.

"Is there anyone who has any bread?" Rufus asked in Abdunne. The villagers looked on, uncomprehending. Rufus tried a few other tribal dialects before getting a response. One of the elders came forward, speaking an old desert tongue in broken phrases. Working through him, Rufus was able to trade what was left of the bicycle for a loaf of bread which he ate quickly. After finishing his meal, he asked if the water was free. It was, and so he took another long drink and filled his canteen. He was about to thank them and depart when he noticed the long metal pipeline again.

"What is that for?"

The elder struggled . . . there was no word quite right, apparently. Something about metal, and road . . .

"Does that lead to the railroad tracks?"

The man smiled. Yes, he said, it goes to the railroad tracks.

"Thank you. Rahm be with you."

And with you as well. The old man made the sign of Jemahl.

Rufus left the town and the road, following the pipeline towards the railroad tracks. It led back down out of the hills to the flatland below them. The pipe itself was on stilts, gradually sloping so that water could flow along it powered only by gravity. The tracks were about a quarter mile from the bluffs, and a small, rusted metal reservoir sat next to them.

Rufus climbed up on to the tracks, looking either direction, but there was nothing to be seen except rocky desert in either direction. He clambered back down the gravel embankment and laid down in the shade of the water tower, quickly falling asleep.

He awoke with a start several hours later. It was almost dusk, the sun was turning orange as it sank towards the horizon. Rufus didn't know what had awakened him at first, but after listening carefully for a moment he was able to detect a faint humming sound coming from the rails.

A train!

Rising quickly, Rufus looked around for a place to hide. There wasn't much cover nearby except for the water tower, and that wasn't going to work at all. Finally he settled on crouching in the long shadow cast by a boulder half-buried in the dirt. It wasn't perfect, but in the setting sun he doubted anyone would notice him.

Another few minutes passed before Rufus could begin to hear the locomotive. The steady, rhythmic throb of pistons grew quickly, cutting through the evening quiet. As the train grew closer, it became a riot of sounds -- the hiss of steam, the rumble of steel wheels, the whine of an air compressor. With a sharp clank and roar of escaping steam, it finally lumbered to a stop at the water tower. Rufus could hear voices chattering as the crew and passengers hopped off to stretch their legs. While the crew refilled the locomotive's water supply, the passengers were headed to a spigot lower down on the tower to refill their own canteens. This was Rufus' opportunity.

Waiting until most people had exited the train, Rufus casually stepped out from behind the boulder and strolled up to the tracks. The train was a short one -- the rusted and sand-pitted locomotive led a pair of passenger coaches and a few dull gray freight wagons. Most of the passengers were wearing traditional head-scarves and robes, but he could spot a few wealthier businessmen wearing Cimbrian garb. Ha! They must be miserable in vests and hats with this weather.

No one noticed as Rufus slipped back onto the train with the rest of the passengers. Both carriages were equipped only with long wooden benches that were already full. Pondering where he was going to sit for a moment, Rufus saw a pair of youths slip out a window and climb up the side of the carriage. He squeezed through the crowded interior of the carriage to the window and stuck his head out, only to find a ladder. Climbing it, Rufus found himself on top of the carriage with all of the luggage. A metal rail ran around the edge of the roof to keep it from falling off, and most of it was carelessly tied down. The two young boys were nowhere to be seen, but Rufus assumed that they were nested somewhere comfortably among the luggage and decided he would do the same.

A few minutes later, he was comfortably sandwiched between a bale of cloth and someone's large traveling trunk. With a lurch, the train began to move, and staring up at the stars Rufus felt a sense of contentment spread over him.

It's not often that an assassin gets a chance to relax, after all.