“Who knows? They never spoke again.”
“But they did before. There was some sort of a language…”
“Pan Elven. It was never widely used, but after the battle, dragons stopped speaking it and seemed not to understand it any longer. Fortunately, that last horrible battle, combined with the reinforcements from our allies, sent the few remaining invaders running.”
“Did the dragons return?”
“Well, yes. I don’t think they would have done, except that the war effort had used up a lot of livestock and there was very little left for them to eat. The Frostingdungians introduced the formula for the food pellets and helped set up the farms that produce the pellets themselves, modifying them with certain ingredients imported from Frostingdung, Although the dragons never spoke again, they had to continue to live among men in order to get the pellets, which was the only remaining source of food plentiful enough to sustain them.”
“So they could work for us?”
“Oh yes. The Frostingdungians were very clear that there would be no free rations for anyone if Argonia wished to return to pre-war prosperity. Very strict they were about such matters.”
Verity was silent for a long time and Ephemera returned to her nap.
“All out for Rowan’s Keep,” the conductor called. “Next stop, Little Darlingham, Wormhaven, and Everclear”
“Are we almost there then?” Verity asked, though she wasn’t sure where there was exactly.
“Oh yes. I wish we had time to get out so you could see Rowan’s Keep, but you’d have to get out alone, anyway. I’ve had quite a bad reaction to the pollens there—rowan berries, you know.
“Actually, I don’t.”
“They’ve never agreed with the witches in our family.”
“The whole idea of witches seems so terribly old-fashioned.”
“Only in the city, my dear. Only in the city.”
“I’ve never been out of the city except to go to school—well, not very far. Dad was going to take me on a long train ride, but…”
Ephemera changed the subject. “You saw something out there when you got off the train, didn’t you?”
“I thought I did. It looked real and I didn’t think I was dreaming.” She described the battle as she had witnessed it.
“I think I see,” Ephemera said when she had finished. “I mean, I think you could see what transpired.”
“But you said it happened a long time ago?”
“It did. But perhaps if you can see the truth, it doesn’t matter when it happened. Have you ever experienced such a phenomenon before?”
“No…”
“Perhaps it’s a coming-of-age thing then,” she suggested, yawning and fell asleep again.
Chapter 12.5
(We can’t take a chance and have a Chapter 13. Too risky)
Troll Toll
The promise of future stops at Little Darlingham, and Wormhaven turned out to be more of a long-range prophecy than an announcement of imminent arrival. The train rolled through the mountains, down into a long valley. Winter had not yet arrived here, although it must be far north of Queenston, but meadows sprinkled with yellow, purple, and white wildflowers spread as far as Verity could see on both sides of the tracks. Soon little streams punctuated the fields and as they rounded a bend, the stream running alongside the tracks turned into a river, at first narrow and then broadening until it occupied most of the view from their compartment window.
Suddenly, once more, the dragons bellowed and the train hissed. “Now arriving, Majestic River Bridge.”
Verity looked out both windows for a station but saw nothing. However, within a few minutes, the doors opened and the conductor announced, “Please be ready to pay passage across the bridge or collect your baggage and disembark.”
“Pay passage?” she asked, as Ephemera blinked and sat up. “Wasn’t our passage paid for when our tickets were bought?”
Ephemera pulled her satchel into her lap and began rummaging through it. “This is a special arrangement the railroad had to make with the trolls. It is annoying and inconvenient, but not, I think, dangerous.”
Verity momentarily had reason to wonder why she would think that.
Heavy footfalls clomped down the corridor and rough voices growled in accents so guttural she couldn’t understand what was being said. She did hear responses from their fellow passengers that ranged from frightened squeaks through calm acceptance to indignant squawks and bellows. “Absolutely not!” a male voice cried, but soon afterward, on the left side of the car, several people emerged into the field and began removing shoes and stockings, kilting up their skirts and rolling up their trousers.
When their turn came, Verity finally saw what all the fuss was about when a large, wide, green individual with bright purple hair and beard jerked open the door to their compartment. When she saw how he was dressed, she couldn’t suppress a giggle.
“Something funny, Girly?” the green individual demanded.
“Why are you wearing florals?” she asked, nodding at his multi-pocketed pants, tunic, and jacket with red, purple, yellow, and white flowers dotting the green background.
“I’ll have you know this here is meadow cammo, it is. So we blends in, like. What have you two biddies got for your fare?”
“How much is it?” she asked.
“How much you got?”
The troll turned to Ephemera. “You, old woman, you got any more of them shells? The ones you give us on the way down were dull. They won’t work no more.”
“They’re all I have,” Ephemera lied as if the troll couldn’t see the shells on her dress and in her hair.
The troll was more of a goal-oriented individual than an investigator of truth. As the pain of the lie zinged through Verity’s head, he pointed to Ephemera and jerked with his thumb in the direction of the exit. “Off you go, then.”
“No, wait!” Verity said. “I have a nice pair of woolly trousers in my bag. It would keep you warmer than your—er—camouflage—after the air gets nippy.”
“That’ll do. Got any jewelry?”
The bead was hidden. He couldn’t see it. And if he could, as he could Ephemera’s shells, he apparently needed her to say that she had it. But of course, being her, she had to answer honestly. “Just an old bead that was a parting gift from my mother.”
She dutifully dug it out and held it up to show him.
“Give it,” He—or perhaps it was a she?—demanded.
“Sorry. It was a gift from my mother.”
“Give it!” the troll said, now holding out his—or her hand and flicking his—or her thick hairy fingers toward himself (or herself).
“No.”
“Come along, Verity,” Aunt Ephemera said, grabbing her bag in one hand and Verity’s arm in the other. “We’ll wade, thank you.”
Another florally camouflaged troll, this one with hair in variegated bright colors, appeared behind the first. “You need those pants, Nigel. They would fit you and so many of these people are puny. Never mind that they’re not camouflaged now. I’ll embroider darling little flowers all over them and you’ll blend right in.”
“But I want that bead, Petal. That’s magic, that is,” he hissed, no doubt supposing that Verity couldn’t understand them, as she was puzzled to find she could.
“How about a riddle, dear?” his wife asked Verity in wheedling tones. “If you guess, you and the crone may cross the bridge. If you lose, you walk and we take the bead and everything else.”
Verity thought it over for a moment. She knew she wasn’t good at trick questions. The truth was not always the correct answer. “I don’t like riddles. Instead, why don’t you take the trousers and let my aunt ride across the bridge. I’ll wade.”
Before the male troll could say anything, the female snatched the pants. Verity left the train and walked to the well-worn path leading to the riverbank. People from other cars were slipping and sliding down it already.
How deep is it here? she wond
ered. She didn’t know much about rivers, since there weren’t any in or near Queenston. But she knew there were currents and some places were easier to cross than others. If this was an easy place to wade across, would they have built a bridge here? On the other hand, the train could hardly be expected to wade, could it? Away from the tracks, the embankment was bordered by trees and sloped down to the river instead of plunging. That was good.
Nobody was in the water yet, but lined up the banks, anxiously eying the flow.
“River’s higher than it was on the trip down,” a man remarked.
“Perhaps we should wait for the next train?”
“What? Next week?”
Verity had no wish to remain here. While she wasn’t exactly worried about Ephemera, since she barely knew her, she could tell that the old woman could use some help and that Uncle Nic apparently felt she should be the one to provide it. “I don’t suppose anyone has a rope?”
“Well, of course, I do,” another man said. He was sunburned and wore a sturdy felted hat and rough clothes that stank faintly of manure. “Don’t go anywhere without one.”
Having survived a fall from the sky into a freezing bay, she felt it couldn’t be all that hard to cross an open river. Obviously people did it often, even if current circumstances were a bit trickier than usual. She reached out to the man with the rope. “Give me that and I’ll carry it across so people can use it for a lifeline.”
“Best tie the end round a tree first, Girly,” he replied.
“Good idea,” she said.
He tied it around a sturdy trunk and secured it with a sailor’s knot. She looped the loose end over her shoulder and waded into the river, her boots slung over the other shoulder by the laces. An elderly man with a pointy hat hobbled up to her before she stepped into the water and handed her a tall walking stick, “This’ll help you keep your footing, my sweetheart,” he said, reaching up to pat her on the ear since he couldn’t reach the top of her head.
The water was swift and cold, but her size and weight stood her in good stead as she stepped cautiously forward, one foot at a time, unlooping the rope from her shoulder as she went.
Midstream, the water reached her waist, but she thought her fears had been groundless. The river really was not very deep at this place. The current might be treacherous at times, but the water was basically pretty shallow. Confidently, as she had done ten times before, she lifted her borrowed stick and thrust it toward the bottom of the stream.
This time it kept on going and she fell forward when it failed to land on solid river bottom, losing her balance and feeling the freezing water close over the top of her head. Bother! I’ll be wet clear through for the rest of the trip! she thought, but panicked when she failed to surface at once. Perhaps she would not be continuing the trip with the others? She kept hold of the stick and the rope, and the boots tangled under her arm.
For a moment, she saw the sky, the bridge, and then the rope somehow was looped around her neck and pulled her back under.
A lot of help that was!
Trying to untangle it with the hand not still clinging to the stick, she grabbed hold and though the rope tightened in her hand, the bit looped around her loosened. She bobbed to the surface, securely anchored to the tree. Anxious faces watched from onshore. Possibly some were concerned for her safety, but the others seemed to be taking bets, no doubt on whether she’d make it or not.
“Bit deep here!” she yelled to the crowd in a husky voice, then more cautiously raised and planted the stick again a little farther out, and this time it found solid riverbed. A few more steps and she slipped and slid up the bank.
When she had beached herself, she tied the rope to another tree so it made a taut line across the water, and gestured the others to cross while she put her squishy boots back on and climbed the embankment to the far side of the bridge.
The train dragons let out a long howl and the engine began a slow chug and rattle across the bridge, its passage supervised by two trolls at each end.
Shivering, her teeth chattering and her skin in goose bumps, she cast a disgusted look at the trolls and climbed back aboard, dripping. Entering the compartment, she shut the door behind her. Ephemera wordlessly shoved her case at her and Verity pulled off her wet clothes. At least she had a change of serviceable if not elegant or warm unmentionables, including a droopy petticoat and stained camisole. She lay her wet clothes across the little table next to the window between the benches and tried to use her hands to wring out her hair without soaking her dry undies.
Ephemera removed her shawl and handed it to her. “I think you need this worse than I do, my dear.”
Her aunt looked uncomfortable for a moment then moved from her bench to Verity’s and put her arm around her, pulling her close. “Here, I’m warmer than you are.”
It helped a little.
Someone knocked on the compartment door and Verity rose to open it. A wet man, a dry woman carrying a dry baby, and two wet children, came in, bearing a basket.
“Would you like a biccie, Miss?” the oldest child, a boy, asked Verity. “You were awfully brave going into the water like that so we could cross, too.”
“I like the chocolate ones best,” said his younger sister.
“Deirdre always carries an entire tea-shop with us when we travel, on account of the kiddies,” the man said, and pulled a flask from his damp coat pocket. “No way to get hot tea till the next station, but this should warm you up.” Looking at Ephemera, he added, “Purely for medicinal purposes, ma’am. Good girl you have there.”
A woman about Sophronia’s age, but with gray streaks in her hair and unfortunate jowls, held up a blanket. “My mother thought you might like to borrow her travel rug to warm up, dear. Thanks to you, none of the rest of us got the soaking you did.”
Verity took it and awkwardly tucked it around her lower half. “Ta,” she said. “So k-k-kind.”
While she was thanking everyone, another woman, tall and angular, with damp skirts and hugging a shawl to her, came in. “It’s very posh having a compartment all to yourselves, but there’s a wee stove in the main saloon. Why not come in there and warm up with the rest of us?”
“What a good idea!” Verity said with alacrity. At the compartment door, she noticed Ephemera was still sitting down. Now her toe was tapping and her head bobbing slightly—no doubt to the music from a shell she had tucked into her ear. “Aren’t you coming too?”
Ephemera looked up. “Eh? No, no, you go dear. I’ll be along later. I’m not at all uncomfortable. I’m used to cold. I’ll just finish up here and be along directly.”
Strangers on a Train
The main saloon, though much larger than their compartment, had much the same layout, with long benches facing each other, but in the front of the car, right by the door, a little pot-bellied iron stove pumped out a surprising amount of heat. Verity’s face felt the warmth like a sudden fever. The stove’s interior glowed red through the see-through panel in the door. Verity stood near it and held her hands out.
When all of the passengers who had been forced to wade had re-boarded the train, the dragons bellowed again, the brakes released with a clank, the wheels rattled, and the train rocked back and forth as it picked up speed. More of the other waders joined Verity at the stove and several stopped by to say hello and thank you to her, much to her surprise. More biscuits, more tea, even a few bits of fruit, cheese, bread, and sausage emerged from bags and satchels so that the saloon took on a festive air.
“Why didn’t the trolls take the food?” she asked.
“They don’t seem to care for the food we like,” the woman with the hamper replied.
“Trolls don’t know what’s good,” put in her son, who had a red face and a nose that needed wiping.
“More for us,” his little sister said through a mouth smeared with jam that had magically appeared in the mix.
“I’m surprised the railroad hasn’t done something about the troll toll,” Verity said, th
inking that when she came into her inheritance, she would see to it.
A woman with wet skirts but a dry bodice and hair sleeked back like black glass spoke. Verity had seen the man who lent her the rope carrying this female across the river on his shoulders. “That’s probably because the trolls usually don’t force the first class passengers off the train.” She sounded very starchy, like a senior girl at school or a headmistress, her nostrils pinched and lips pursed as she looked at Verity, who was surprised she didn’t sniff.
“You mean those riding in the main cars have to wade a lot?”
“If they neglect to bring the price of the toll or can’t pay it, yes.”
“But surely they’d lose passengers if none had a rope or could make it through the water…”
“Usually there isn’t any water, or not much,” the man with the rope said. “No more than a trickle, a couple of inches underfoot, and there are stepping stones across. But she’s in flood at the moment from the late thaw in the mountains. It were very brave of you, lass, to cross like that so the rest of us could.”
“I’m usually the tallest person in any given crowd,” she said with a shrug.
“I suppose that accounts for you doing what is more conventionally a man’s job,” the starchy woman said.
“Well, a gentleman could hardly carry me on his shoulders. My feet would drag the riverbed.”
The woman looked distinctly un-mollified.
“You did a fine job, Miss,” the man with the rope said and several others added their approval. “Not every lady would pitch in like that to see we all got across.”
“Indeed she would not,” the starchy lady said. “You would not find Miss Hepzibah Heatherspoon doing something like that. We do not all have this creature’s vertical gifts. If you have basked in the adulation of your fellow passengers quite enough, I suggest you move away from the stove and share the warmth with others.”
Verity was about to tell her that when the train reached the next bridge, she would be happy to throw Miss Hepzibah into the flood and watch her float away. Nasty cow.
The Dragon, the Witch, and the Railroad Page 12