7:33 PM, 9th of December

<27 minutes before scheduled departure>

There was a time when Viktor “the Conductor” Gabbro had been well on his way to becoming one of the most revered Boilersmiths in Kronvall's history.

He’d been among one of the first batches of children brought up in the Urlking’s Royal Academy, where he topped his class in every subject except Lore (which he was still indifferent to). From an early age, he’d travelled far and wide on the Kronvall Express as one of the Urlking’s personal aides, absorbing everything he could about what it meant to be a disciplined and dedicated soldier. His excellence had also extended to the combat arenas where, even as a young cadet, he’d held his own and then some against grizzled veterans of the Industrial Corps.

Yes, he’d had all the makings of becoming a celebrated leader and stalwart servant of Goblinkind. All that changed, however, after he went to Bullcross, met a girl there, and started a family with said girl.

It was a likely story, at least on the surface. Promising young talent has his head turned by pretty lass; gives up career for love. Yet, in Viktor Gabbro’s case, that story contained a certain wrinkle that made it about as unlikely as they came.

And that wrinkle weighed heavily on his mind now, as he glanced at the boiler room’s signal board, which had just now started flashing green. The Urlking had given the orders to start the train—almost half an hour ahead of schedule.

If anyone else had been in Viktor’s position—relegated to a mere train conductor despite the promising start to his career—they would’ve had no reason to hesitate. The Urlking had given an order, and all the Conductor had to do was follow.

But Viktor did hesitate, as his sense of duty wrestled with the implications of the train’s imminent departure for him personally. He couldn’t, however, hesitate for long, lest he rouse any suspicions from the colleague with whom he shared the boiler room.

“Vell, I guess ve’re leaving early,” he said, nodding to his Stoker partner Mladen Dinamoff. “Fire her up.”

Mladen, a skinny man with unusually hazy eyes that made it difficult to read his thoughts at the best of times, stared back for a moment with an even blanker expression than usual. He then wordlessly turned to the boiler and did as he was bid.

As soon as Viktor felt the heat in the room rise, and as he attuned to the flames that raged inside a state-of-the-art boiler, hesitation gave way to duty. For at this point in his life and ‘career’, this was all he was good for—the one and only way for him to serve the people he cared about. Might az vell do a good enough job that the Urlking vill keep me around. Then, maybe zomeday…

The job itself was simple enough. Far too simple for a talent like Viktor. For conducting a perfect machine like the Kronvall Express amounted to not much more than a glorified checklist, which he dutifully went through now. Check the water levels. Monitor pressure. Blowdown. Now to test the safety val—

Bzzzt!

It was a sound he’d heard only once before, back in university when Professor Vatt had demonstrated a ‘catastrophic power surge’ in class. Along with the sound, the already dim lighting inside the boiler room went out at once, including the green light on the signal board.

Now left purely in the boiler’s orange glow, Viktor exchanged a look with Mladen, his own expression just as blank as his counterpart’s.

“What vaz that?”

“You tell me. You’re the geniuz around here.”

Heart pounding with an emotion that couldn’t be fully attributed to anxiety, Viktor stood still and waited. He waited for about a minute, expecting either the power to come back on or for one of the Urlking’s men to pop in and explain the situation. When neither transpired, he nodded again at Mladen.

“Can you go check?”

“What? Why me?”

“I need to start the train.”

The logic was unimpeachable, and in any case, Viktor still outranked Mladen, such as he was. The Stoker stared blankly for another second, then turned toward the door with a pointed sigh.

With Mladen out of the room, Viktor resumed his work. By now, however, ‘duty’ had been well and truly kicked to the wayside, as his mind raced with speculation on just what or who had caused the presumably train-wide power outage. It could very well have a boring explanation: improper design (Viktor doubted this very much, given his familiarity with the man that had designed this train), shoddy construction, or Goblin error. But what if—?

Along with speculation, Viktor’s head filled with memories. One of his earliest memories, in fact… of the very first train ride of his life…

By the time the door to the boiler room swung open again, Viktor had already finished the pre-departure checks. Now, he needed but to wait for the Urlking to give his second order, then Viktor would disengage the brakes, and the train would be off. He turned to the door, expecting to see a surly Mladen grumbling about one inconvenience or another.

Instead, he was met by a widely smiling Mladen, who then announced cheerily, “Change of plans, mate! Urlking says to cancel the departure. In fact, you could probably go ahead and shut off the engine. We might be stuck here a while yet.”

Viktor stared, speechless, first at his entirely unrecognizable partner, then at a second Goblin in a soldier’s uniform that had accompanied the Stoker. He was now more confused than ever, but one thing was absolutely certain: whoever was smiling at and speaking to him right now… wasn’t Mladen Dinamoff.

“… Iz that zo?”

“Yes! But you best hurry, mate, before we… you know… waste too much fuel and whatnot.”

Despite his fraying nerves, Viktor somehow found it in him to be insulted by this. If you’re going to imperzonate one of uz, the least you could’ve done iz study up on how a steam train workz. Not to mention your atrociouz accent! And just why do you keep fiddling with your ear?

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Before he could answer Mladen’s impersonator, however, a third figure joined the fray, in the form of a porter who sprinted into the boiler room as fast his short legs could carry him.

“Message for Mr Conductor!” the porter panted. “Urlking iz zaying ve are to depart now. Like, right now! And he iz alzo zaying, while the lightz are out, to be uzing a runner to communicate. I am that, your runner.”

The porter-turned-runner looked up at Viktor with an expectant smile. The Conductor had zero doubts as to the genuineness of that smile and the Goblin-ness of the porter, which also meant this was a legitimate order, passed down from the Urlking himself. Time for the train to leave the station.

He glanced at not-Mladen, and noted a new hitch in their smile. He then turned his attention to the probably-not-a-soldier, and barely managed to hide a gasp of alarm as he saw them reaching for the baton hidden inside their uniform.

“Thank you,” Viktor said quickly to the porter, while not taking his eyes off the ‘soldier’, “and I’ve already got a job for you. Go find Officer… Ostburg, and tell him I need to speak to him about the smokestack.”

Now even the porter’s smile faltered, as he asked timidly, “Oz… Ostburg, zir? I’m not knowing… zorry, which one iz—?”

“Iz this a joke?” Viktor glared at the porter, not without a pang of guilt as he did. “Do you vant me to come vith you? Then ve can both explain to Officer Ostburg how you didn’t—”

“No! I am going! I am going, now!”

Viktor poked his head around the door to make sure the porter was well out of earshot. As he did, he noted the mangled remains of the switchboard in the next room over, which… at least partially explained what had happened. Finally, he turned to face the impostors again, noting that the soldier still had a hand on their baton.

Without a word, Viktor stepped past the impostors and got back to work, restarting a portion of his checklist to ensure it was still safe for the brakes to come off.

“What’re you doing?”

“What doez it look like I’m doing? You’re a Stoker, how do you not know thiz?”

“I thought I told you to shut off the engine.”

“You did. But the Urlking vants the train to depart, zo the train must depart.”

The soldier finally made a move, sliding out their baton in full and raising it in a ‘stance’ that existed nowhere in the Industrial Corps combat manuals.

“If you vant to get off this train alive,” Viktor spoke quickly, even as his eyes and hands persisted with his task, “then stop that and listen to me very carefully. Whatever you think you’re doing—whatever you think you need to do—I can help. But only if you agree to help me too.”

For a second or two, not-Mladen and their soldier friend stood completely still. Then the ‘soldier’ grunted, with baton still raised over their head.

“Salt says—ahem—by which I meant to ask, just who the bloody hell are you and why would you help us?”

Viktor did glance over at the pair then, with one bushy eyebrow raised. He then answered the question with another question, “Are you two members of the Volfpack of Shved Mountain?”

Not-Mladen’s eyes bulged, and the soldier slowly lowered her baton.

“I know who you ladiez are,” Viktor explained with a calmness that belied the pounding of his heart. “You might believe yourzelvez to be ancient history, but I… I have a perzonal interest in thiz topic.”

The soldier snorted.

“And what if we are the Wolfpack?” Not-Mladen translated. “What’s it to you?”

“I’m guessing thiz pover outage vaz part of your plan,” Viktor said, even as he proceeded with his final checks, “and judging by the fact the Urlking is still alive, I’m guessing your plan failed.”

“Watch it, young man—”

“I’m alzo guessing… that you vant the train grounded zo you can rescue one of your own. Iz it maybe… your Assassin?”

Viktor cut his eyes again to check for a reaction, and saw none. Good, he thought to himself, you’ve finally calmed down enough to be your professional zelvez again.

With the final checks completed, all that was left for the Conductor to do was pull down a lever. He placed his hand on this lever, then stared at the impostor pair with unblinking eyes.

“Ve don’t have much time, so listen and decide. Az zoon az I pull this lever, the brakez vill come off, and the train vill depart. If you can’t trust me, then strike me down right now and do vith the engine what you vill. But if you do that, the Urlking vill know you’re still scurrying around. He’ll smoke you out in no time, and that vill be that.”

Another grunt, followed by, “You fixin’ to offer us an alternative solution or what?”

“Let the train leave. Pretend everything iz going according to the Urlking’z plan. I’ll help you avoid detection, and ve can come up with a new plan of our own. Rescue your Assassin-in-distress. Kill the Urlking and take hiz Crown. And… free the children.”

The soldier narrowed ‘her’ eyes at him, then grunted softly. Not-Mladen started in on a translation, but Viktor didn’t need one.

“Elshka,” he said, voice shaking slightly for the first time. “My daughter. She iz one of the children the Urlking iz ferrying back to Kronvall. I… vould like to stop that, if I can.”

“What? But that doesn’t even make any sense. What would the Urlking want with a Goblin child? Unless—”

Not-Mladen’s eyes bulged some more, which was a rather grotesque sight, given the Stoker’s usual complete lack of expression. Beside ‘her’, the soldier grunted again, this time with a noticeable upward inflection.

“Yez.” Viktor nodded. “Elshka iz human. Half-human, at any rate. My vife—Elshka’z mother—iz a Franzishvoman.”

Not-Mladen let out a low whistle. The soldier snorted again, and Viktor waited for a translation.

“Now I’ve really seen everything. How did that even happen, anyway? What are you, a… a deviant? You got a weakness for us human women or what?”

Despite his fraying nerves, Viktor found it in him to rear up in familiar anger. Well… perhaps not so familiar. He’d certainly never witnessed a Goblin soldier refer to himself as a ‘human woman’. Nevertheless, the soldier’s casual taunt hit too close to home—for Viktor had been copping the same sort of abuse from his fellow Goblins, since around the same time as his career prospects had taken a downturn.

But now wasn’t the time to give into anger. Now, he needed to win a Wolfpack’s trust, and to do that, he needed to lay himself bare, warts and all.

“If you must know,” he said through gritted teeth, even as his bony cheeks turned a darker shade of green, “you’re not far off, in a manner of speaking. I’ve… alwayz been fascinated by human vomen. Ever zince… vell, I can’t zay for sure myzelf, but I think it haz to do with zomething that happened to me when I vaz little. You zee, I—”

Viktor was interrupted by the soldier booming with laughter.

He gaped at the soldier, stunned, while not-Mladen looked between the two of them with an expression that was almost as blank as real-Mladen… until the Stoker impersonator’s eyes bulged again, widest and roundest they’d ever been, as ‘she’ pointed at Viktor’s face and shouted,

“Lord Almighty, you’re that Goblin! The one we saw in one of the paintings at Bullcross!”

Viktor frowned. He did vaguely recall posing for a portrait at one of the alumni events. But how did—?

Then even his thoughts were interrupted, this time as the soldier stepped across and gave him a hearty slap on the back, along with a loud grunt, the happiest and most enthusiastic it’d ever been.

Not-Mladen too smiled at Viktor, eyes now glowing with genuine warmth.

“We thought we were all joking, but this is just too good! Wait till Wolf hears about this young Goblin fella that’s been smitten with her for thirty bloody years! Say no more, my good man, and start the train! I’m Salt, and this here is Pepper. We better all get nice and cozy with each other, cause yer goin’ to help us finish this feckin’ job!”