“Mallow, you really are an idiot,” Bertrina always travelled light. Small, well secured suitcase by her side, she waited impatiently for a sweaty plain-faced man on a train platform. He had packed three cases, and had hired just as many Jousen men to carry them. The swarms of people moving on and off the carriages bustled and jolted the porters and the wide-berthed Mallow, they were ultimately moving further into the train than onto the platform, where Bertrina Humphries - and most of Malasrion’s ‘Executivery’ remained, growing ever tired.
“He’ll redeem himself somehow, he’ll take a bullet for me, or something like that,” Shrendig turned to Bertrina. She and her aide, Foolio, carried nothing. Their faces were unbound from their usual dust-cloths, their eyes still concealed behind heavily tinted goggles, their brown knickerbockers a cause for concern amongst the general public - who were these two agents? These men and women were shadows, only rumours amongst those who feared the long arm of the Malasrionese Executive Ministry, the most lethal force of swift justice. To have them sporting knee-trousers in broad daylight was a sure sign of an emergency.
With Mallow in his own steam-car, the other four in another, this elite group of Malasrion’s dictators moved to the front, where they could really mix this war up.