Read Online Heart of Steam & Rust (Empires of Steam and Rust) by Stephen D. Sullivan - Free Book Online Page A

assassins here somewhere. But where? And why did the Section’s previous investigation not turn them up?”
    “The actual culprit may be gone,” she replied, using the same faux-romantic tones, in case someone might be observing them, “but perhaps by listening, we can discover some information that might lead us to the assassin.”
    She, of course, intended to do more than just listen, but who knew how effective random mind-reading might be? Because they were undercover, they needed to be careful about asking direct questions.
    He looked around, carefully observing the other people in the bistro. “With luck, the locals will have their guard down, now—not like when Section officials were swarming the streets, looking for the person who shot you.”
    “With luck,” she agreed.
    For dinner, they ate lamb-stuffed pelmeni with sour cream. Lina avoided the side dish of potatoes with mushrooms—not wanting her stomach full in case she needed to move quickly later on—but Pyotr wolfed down everything she passed over. His frame and athletic metabolism could easily support such extravagances; she envied him that.
    The food proved saltier than Lina liked, and the wine tasted watery and a bit sour, appropriate, as it was no more than a peasant couple might expect or be able to afford, but not very palatable. The two of them spoke casually to the bistro staff as they ate, probing about local points of interest they might see and—more important to their investigations—about places or people they should steer clear of.
    A local ruffian named Andrei Rostov came up as someone to avoid. “A big bear of a man with a golden front tooth,” their waitress, a plain-looking twenty year old, told them. “He hangs out by the docks, though I seen him at the Black Dog late some nights, too.” Apparently, Rostov had a fondness for robbing tourists. “Nothing he won’t stoop to for some coin,” the girl warned.
     Pyotr recalled Rostov from a previous briefing on the area; apparently the man had a thick finger in many of the local rackets. “Don’t you remember, Lina?”
    She didn’t, of course, though she could see in Pyotr’s mind that she—or rather her twin—had attended that meeting shortly before she’d been killed. “I only remember that briefing vaguely,” she lied. “Many things from my life before the … accident are still a blur.”
    Pyotr took her hand sympathetically, and her guts gave another small, traitorous twist.
    After dinner, they went to the Black Dog for drinks. Pyotr tried the local beer—a dark, heady brew—but Lina stuck to vodka. At least she had some idea what the clear liquid contained, and by being cautious, and letting Pyotr be the boisterous newlywed, she managed to nurse one drink for most of the evening.
    She systematically scanned the minds of those whose attention Pyotr attracted. Mostly, her subjects’ thoughts were puerile—focused on food, drink, and sex. Three spent a small amount of time sizing up whether Pyotr and Lina were good candidates for robbery. All three decided Pyotr was probably more than they could handle, but Lina memorized the faces of the would-be bandits and what details she could glean from their minds. The name “Rostov” even flashed through one of their brains, but that man vanished out the door before Lina could follow.
    As the night wore on, frustration built within her. Playing foolish newlyweds was doing them little good. The information they needed was not coming in fast enough. In her world, Lina would have marched into a place like this with her operatives, kicked some ass, asked questions, and read minds—quickly separating fact from fabrication and the guilty from the innocent. She could not do that here, though.
    Or could she...?
    “Darling,” she said, laying her hand on Pyotr’s arm, “it’s getting late.” She smiled at him the way she thought a newlywed might.
    “It is at that,” Pyotr replied gulping down the last of his beer.