Tall trees, thick and dense surrounded the elevated rail. The ground was about thirty feet below.There were bird noises all around, that I didn't hear inside the train. The trees were leering overhead, the top crown of the trees high above and choking out the sunlight to make the surrounding a perpetual gloom.

I spied the last of the scouts jumping naruto style through trees.

The train had about ten carriages, and people had left from each one. We had been in a train car near the back, and I could see a dark purple smoke ahead.

There were about twenty people heading up to the engine, carefully minding their steps as the progressed.

I had to be impressed with these people. Hawthorn had given some very dangerous and bad news, and so far no one was freaking out. Did they have fire drills for if your train broke down in the forest?

So...

Who to watch?

The brit rated people seemed like a good basic pool. Who better to stab Ceaser in the back than a nearby senator? Likewise, who better to stab the stern constable than someone passing him a wrench?

But as we passed another train carriage, and the piercing gaze of those passengers followed us, I had the sense that perhaps that was another group to watch.

And what about the scouts? They were literally doing the naruto run through trees right now! One or more could double back and prey on us.

And what if the saboteur was not in any of those groups?

I would just have to watch, and be ready.

I wish I had more time get information about who I should look out for, instead of "someone who doesn't belong".

I didn't belong! Out of everyone here, I 100% did not belong.

Also, I realized that I had yet to see another person with red hair.

Why had my genetics have a mutated melanocortin 1 receptor (MC1R)? It produced more pheomelanin, which led to more reddish hair. That was the leading cause of red hair, by the way. Everyone else around me had brown hair, black hair, or even some fair blonde, but no red.

My foot almost slipped, and I almost tested fall damage. But Hawthorn's hand plucked me supernaturally quickly. "Watch your step, Miss. If you fell, it might count as breaking your vow." he said, seriously.

"Yessir." I said. I wanted to ask more. But I also realized that whispering conspicuously may hamper my chances of remaining somewhat anonymous. I couldn't exactly announce 'Excuse me, everyone! Is anyone evil and or trying to strand or kill Deputy Constable Hawthorn or myself? If yes, please go hug Barney. Thank you.'

Some of the Brit rated people joined us as we neared the smoking engine.

The engine was huge.

Okay, I wasn't really a railfan (british term for train watcher, if that one international exchange student hadn't been lying.) When I say engine, don't think engine like in your car or lawnmower.

Think big.

Long.

At least a hundred feet long, including the part that kept the coal (I thought it was coal, but it looked bluer than any coal I knew). The train locomotive was massive, tall, long, and beautiful. It was any 5 year old kid's dream, and even watching it shudder in distress I was awed by it. Think sharp smart black body, with bright copper tubes and lines. I didn't know enough about trains to know the different, but it was the real McCoy. There was thought and design placed in that train. For the first time I almost wished I'd gone into engineering instead of accounting, just so I could have more understanding of what I was looking at. There were sliding panels which had been peeled back that exposed boilers and tubes and even some circuits.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

A wave of warmth hit us as we approached. At first, I thought all these brit rated people were overkill. But now I realized that the train was so large that find the missing mcguffin or stolen part might require even more people.

"Constable." Said the older man in the process of peeling back another set of panels. He had either left his coat on the train or something, as he was the least formally dressed person I had seen beside myself that day, dressed only in a dress shirt, vest, and dark tweed pants, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He gestured for another person to finish what he was doing, and he went to the constable. "Sam Craig, retired refiner."

"Hawthorn. What did you see?"

"I've only been here about a minute, as I was in the train carriage nearest to the engine. There was no team piloting it..." the older man's eyes were worried.

"I am aware of what that implies, Mr. Craig. I suspected as much."

"Then we really need to get this train going." Sam Craig said, understanding.

I was feeling less special that other people were aware of what was going on. That was my thing.

"What did you find?"

"I literally only had time to remove two covers. All the elements are aligned, and the gauges are full power. Only think I can think is to check the lines."

Hawthorn frowned, then turned to me.

"What do you think?" he asked.

He remembered me! I was special! Take that Craig, Hawthorn likes me best! "He seems like he's not lying. But I don't think he really understands how steam works."

"Do you?"

"Nope." Outside of steaming my dress pants before an interview, I never had much to do with steam. "But is there another reason why it wouldn't be working? Another line of investigation we could be perusing? Is the parking brake on? How are the dual trunion rods? Did they fit the hydrocoptic marzel vanes?" I asked, slipping into my favorite Rockwell Retro Encabulator verbage.

He paused. "This is a new model. No one uses hydrocoptic marzel vanes anymore."

"Oh, of course. I don't know anything about steam."

"But it's not a bad idea...You keep watch."

I nodded. I also looked around in case any of the scouts looped around to snipe us (please don't have sniper rifles, fantasy world. Please.) I also looked under the tracks, feeling a wave of vertigo wash over me as I feared I would fall. I did not see any barney clinging to the underside of the track.

Minutes passed tensely. I could do nothing to help.

I looked at the canopy far overhead, smothered by the oppressive dark forest and the noise. As I stood there uselessly, I heard the bird noise change, and I felt real fear that the birds left as the steam-starved drew nearer.

There was someone new on the track. It was that older lady who had lamented not being able to throat punch puppy kicking guy. She drew near, and paused. I realized that she was not going to get closer. I turned to look for Hawthorn, but I found him busy, up to his elbows as he and two middle aged women were discussing 'hygrolized molyphosphenate conductors'. He must feel a little safe, because he appeared completely engrossed in his work.

I jittered for a minute, then decided to risk it. I went to meet the old lady.

"Hello, little red flower." she said, sounding soft and kind like Yu Lin.

Was this Yu Lin in disguise? Time travel? Or was that a common nickname for someone with red hair? As remarkable as naming a dog with a spot Spot?

"Greetings." I said.

The older lady spoke softly. "I found someone amongst the wounded who can help."

"Okay."

"She works on the Atala project as a steam engineer."

"Sounds fancy." If she was a spy, it was better to have her where I could see her. But I had the feeling stopping the train was a last minute thing. If they just wanted us stopped, they could have unpinned the carriage car Hawthorn and I were in. I had the feeling that this attack was thrown together quickly.

"But she does have some bleeding. I think it would be worth the risk."

I listened to on of the brit rated people cuss, and say bad words like 'crud'. I had the feeling that there was no progress.

"Have her remove any and all clothes that are bloodied, and wrap a clean bandage around the wound." I said. "I will ask the good constable. If he thinks it's too dangerous, you need to pull her into another carriage car." Wow, I sounded all fancy.

"As you say. This is already done."

The older lady left quickly.

I was left observing the rail. This must have been a major feat of engineering to build here. This was not like how I imagine Brittian's countryside, with meadows and pastures and random Robin Hood forests. Then again, I think I read somewhere that England and Ireland used to be covered in dense forest, but the locals cut them down for farmland. It was starting to get cool. My little silky bathrobe was not a good insulator.

I went back to Hawthorn. "There is a steam engineer amongst the injured, apparently."

He clenched a fist.

"It could be our great saviour." He said, putting a U in the word.

"Or it could be a trap." I added.

"Well then, we should be prepared for anything." he added.