by Ken Brosky
Except for right there, on the aisle’s blue carpeting: a golden trail.
“Grayle,” I whispered. “You jerk.”
I took a step forward, searching the men in suits for any hint of golden glow, not caring anymore what they might think of the rude American girl with the violet striped shirt and cropped jeans. Instinctively I noted that the aisle was tight … too narrow for fighting. Maybe that was the point. Maybe every step I took brought me closer to Grayle’s horrible trap.
My feet kept me moving down the aisle, my eyes desperately searching each person. There were two women up ahead, speaking quiet French with two men. Both women wore sharp-looking blue blazers and skirts. They were frantically passing around pieces of paper, commenting on each one in a heated way. Their sharp tones made my heart race. Outside, the landscape sped by, making me dizzy.
“Control yourself,” I whispered, clutching the back of an empty seat. I pulled the magic pen from my pocket, holding it as nonchalantly as I could. There was a man up ahead, at the rear of the car, eyeing me strangely. Who was he? What did he suspect?
I walked closer, unable to prevent my hand from clutching the magic pen like a knife. So much for being inconspicuous. Better to have it out here, at the end of the car, so the others can at least flee in the opposite direction in relative safety.
OK. Here we go. Make your move.
The man watched me for a moment, then broke eye contact and returned to his tablet.
I opened the sliding door into the next connector, exhaling a whole lot of tension.
“Gawd,” I said to the empty space. The metal connector groaned with a heaviness, as if it melodramatically wanted to point out the challenge in keeping the L car and the M car in place. I took a deep breath and massaged my temple, trying to will away my anxiety and the headache that was beginning to take hold. I glanced down. The trail. It was brighter here.
Fresh.
I slid open the door leading to the M car. The salty smell of cured meat hit my nostrils, hollowing out my stomach. I was in the dining car. Square tables sat beside the big horizontal windows. Outside, the large city of Budapest gave way to beautiful rolling hills and dry yellow farmland. Beyond the tables was a curved countertop where young people dressed not unlike me were sipping at cups of tea and playing on their silver laptops. On the left side of the car was the sandwich counter, complete with a glass cooler for bottled drinks with strange names and an old, coffee spattered espresso machine.
The gold trail seemed to stop at the sandwich counter, then curved around the tables at the far end of the car before finally disappearing underneath the far door. I followed the trail, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible as I weaved my way around the tables. I gave each person a scrutinizing look. Whoever this Corrupted was, he or she couldn’t possibly be transformed to the point where it was impossible to hide among humans.
Which made me even more nervous.
The door on the other end had a red sign—in multiple languages, of course—warning passengers that the next car was for authorized personnel only. I stood by the door a moment, feeling the train moving under my feet. Very casually, I glanced over my shoulder. The two young women behind the sandwich counter were preoccupied with the espresso machine—it was the perfect moment.
I slipped through the door, shutting it quickly behind me. “Great,” I muttered over the metallic knocking of wheels, “Now I’m an international criminal.”
The door leading to the N car—the second to last car—had a big blue sign posted on it, the words written in German. It looked like a list, maybe some kind of inventory for the dining car. This wasn’t promising … unless this Corrupted was less interested in killing me and more interested in stealing a bite of sandwich.
I opened the door, not quite ready for anything.
… Which was why the glowing figure standing in front of the open stainless steel refrigerator caused me to jump back, letting out a very un-hero-like “Eek!”
He closed the refrigerator door, mumbling something as he finished chewing whatever sandwich he’d stolen. He was also clutching a little porcelain cup for espresso, holding it in a dainty sort of way. I shook off the shock long enough to take him in: tall, handsome in a Germanic sort of way, with tussled blond hair and a square jaw. He was wearing a trendy striped shirt with a sharp collar and jeans that were borderline bell-bottoms, like he’d picked them up at a secondhand store. He had long sideburns that seemed to be glowing even more than the rest of his body, as if they might come to life and attack.
“Sorry,” he said, chewing furiously. “Just give me a minute, if you could.”
“Sure,” I said, crouching down. I kept my eyes on him, glancing down only once to make sure the saber blade I was drawing was actually a straight line. I pulled it from the floor, hefting its weight.
The Corrupted man chuckled. “Ah, a hero. It has been some time,” he said with a musical German accent. He swallowed the last bit of his sandwich and finished off his espresso, then tossed the little cup on the floor. “How may I be of service to you?”
“Oh I dunno.” I shrugged, taking in the car. It was a storage room, with two large stainless steel fridges and one freezer on one side, and dozens of tall aluminum shelves on the other side. The shelves were full of cans, bottles, and bags of coffee. The aisle was wide, plenty of room to do battle. “Maybe you could tell me your master plan?”
“Of course.” He bowed low. “My name is Hans, at your service. Do you recognize me from the fairy tales?”
I rolled my eyes. “Everyone in Grimms’ Fairy Tales is named Hans.”
“Ah, of course. Well, no matter.” He reached down, grabbing the knapsack at his feet and hefting the leather strap over his shoulder with a grunt. “If you must know, I’m taking this to my master, Tom Thumb.”
“I …” The saber wavered in my hand. I risked a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure the door behind me was still closed. Something wasn’t adding up. “Wait, are you really telling me your master plan?”
He nodded.
“How is Sam Grayle involved?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I can’t say I know the fellow.”
“All right, so who’s Tom Thumb?”
“He’s the little guy. From the fairy tale.” His eyes narrowed. “Just how new are you to this hero thing? Do I need to explain it all to you?”
“No, you don’t need to explain it all to me,” I snapped. “I’m just trying to get my bearings here. I’m a little weirded out.”
“He’s a wonderful fellow, by the way. Very kind. Took me in when no one else would. Kept me safe from the heroes, he did. Oh, there was the business about the giant, but I’m not one to judge.”
“The gi-ant?” My voice cracked.
He sighed, checking the silver watch around his right wrist. “I have other things that need to be done here, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to tell you the rest of our master plan without interruptions.”
I bowed sarcastically. “By all means … proceed.”
“Thank you. Like I said, I’m working for Tom Thumb. Being a man of small stature, he cannot leave the confines of his lair without risking bodily harm or drawing attention to himself. So naturally I go out and procure whatever he needs.” He opened his knapsack, rifling through the contents. “Let’s see … we have three strands of virgin’s hair … salt … a dead fly … eyeball of newt … some cinnamon …”
I felt my stomach turn. “Just tell me what it’s for.”
“Why, for Tom Thumb’s potion.”
“To do what?!”
“To grow tall.”
I took a cautious step forward, eyes narrowing. I pointed the saber blade at him. “Cool story, bro. Why are you telling me all of this?”
Hans spread his arms in mock defenselessness. He smiled, revealing glowing golden teeth. “Because you can’t kill me, my dear. Though you are certainly welcome to try.”
I took another step forward. The tips of my fingers tin
gled. What was his game? I was only one more step away from running him through and ending his story for good and yet he looked about as frightened as a tiger in front of a rat.
“Go on,” he said soothingly. “Don’t dally.”
“All right …” I stepped forward with a quick attack. The blade was parried by the refrigerator door as it popped open, nearly knocking me over.
Hans took a step back. “Oh now that is strange. What are the odds that the refrigerator would fly open like that?”
I took another step forward. Below us, the wheels of the train clanged ominously, and the entire car shuddered. Something moved in the corner of my eye and I turned just in time to get one hand out as the tall shelving unit to my left fell right onto me. I landed on the floor and felt a painful stinging sensation run across my shoulder. The shelving unit was heavy, and the collection of pots on the top shelf nearly knocked me in the head, banging loudly on the floor and rolling to a stop at Hans’s feet.
Dark, smoky-smelling espresso beans poured out of one of the bags, burying my feet.
“This isn’t my idea,” Hans said. “And I do apologize for this. But you see, I was simply written to be very, very lucky.” He stepped closer, grinning a devilish grin. “You, on the other hand …”
Chapter 4
“Well, well,” said Hans, as he stroked his hair down on his head. “Who would have thought it? Certainly it is a fine thing when one can slaughter a beast like that for oneself. What meat one has! But I do not care much for beef, it is not juicy enough for me. But to have a young pig like that! It tastes quite different, and there are sausages as well.”[i]
I kept the sword aimed at Hans’s foot as he stood over me, putting pressure on the shelving unit. One of the shelves dug painfully into my ribs and I cried out, pushing on it with my free hand. I dared not let go of the saber. As long as I had the saber, Hans wouldn’t get any closer.
Or would he?
“This is enjoyable,” Hans said, surveying the fallen shelves. “Only one previous time has a hero attempted to destroy me. This was long ago, when my luck was not quite as good. I’d been stealing food and causing a general ruckus in a small town east of Berlin. One day, a hero arrives with a musket! Wouldn’t you know it, the musket jams, rendering it quite useless. But then the clever fellow pulls out a knife! He had me cornered and quite frightened.”
“Wonderful,” I said, pushing hard on the wooden shelves. They were thin, not too heavy. I could push the entire shelving unit off if …
Hans pressed his weight down again. “And who should save me but a tiny little man! Tom Thumb himself, no taller than a man’s foot! I’d rather not go into the gory details of what he did to this particular hero, if you don’t mind.”
“Thank you.”
Hans smiled, stepping off the shelves. I felt the pressure on my ribs cease. “Tom Thumb saved my life. And so I asked him how I could repay him. He said he needed help designing a growth serum. I gave him my word that I would do his bidding until he achieved success. Now, did I think this would take more than a hundred years? No. But Hans in Luck keeps his word no matter what. It is how I was written.”
“I’ll remember that,” I growled. The blade of my saber rested gently on the shelf. I slid it down the thin edge, scoring it.
“Are you sure you don’t want to write it down?” he asked. “You are a girl after all.”
Warm anger crept up my face. “You know, I seem to recall Hans in Luck being a bit of a dimwit.”
“You are wrong. If you’ll excuse me, I have a few more things to grab,” Hans said. “And so I must end this. Do not take it personally. The world is an unfair place sometimes.”
He stepped on the shelf that had my upper body pinned, putting his full weight on it. Bad idea. The shelf cracked right where I’d scored it with my blade, then snapped in two. I pushed hard, lifting the top of the shelving unit. Hans fell back, his foot caught. He tumbled over, giving me enough time to slip out from under the shelves.
“You’re not the only one with a little luck,” I said.
“Ach!” he spat, his grin finally wiped away. “You still do not understand, do you? I cannot be defeated! The Corruption has only made me luckier! Should I speak slower for you, little girl?”
“Ooh!” I hissed, bounding over the fallen shelves. I stepped forward with a wicked stab, jumping right as another shelving unit came tumbling toward me. Hans watched, bemused, as I stepped closer again. This time, there was nothing that could happen. Nothing that could protect him.
Suddenly, the entire train lurched, slowing rapidly with a massive jolt. Under the floor, the wheels screeched like a dozen angry violins. Hans stumbled backward against the rear door of the car, and I fell forward, landing hard on my sore ribs. I rolled over, groaning and trying to regain the wind that had been knocked out of me.
“You see?” Hans turned as he opened the door to the next car and I could see that his smug grin had returned. “You are clever and talented, but this is a fool’s errand and I am running out of time. My stop is coming up soon, so let us part on amicable terms, eh? We need not be enemies.”
I got up, watching the door shut. My ribs hurt. Breathing hurt. What would happen if I followed him through that door? I’ll tell you exactly what’ll happen, Alice: bad luck. For you. And good luck for Hans. Because that’s how he was written.
But he was also a man of his word, wasn’t he? And he was cocky.
That gave me an idea. I knelt down beside the freezer, drawing two objects in the floor. The first object was a big, sharp tack. The other was a coin.
I hid my saber behind the freezer, then followed Hans into the O car. The car was dimly lit, full of wooden crates and other shipping boxes that lined the walls. I wrinkled my nose at the smell: dirt.
Hans was at the far end, rifling through a cardboard package and murmuring to himself, haphazardly tossing its contents on the floor. Spices and jars of condiments landed at his feet until finally he pulled out a small vial. “Tom knew it would be here! He just knew it!” Hans said with a laugh. He held it up. “Maybe he ordered it. That would make sense, actually.”
“Hey lucky boy.”
He turned. “Ah, you’re back! Well, now I will definitely have to kill you. I believe I’ll throw you off the train … you know, for fun.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?” I asked, cocking my head. I took a step closer. My entire body tingled. Go back and get your saber, it was telling me. No. A sword wouldn’t win this battle.
“Why would it not be a good idea?” Hans asked, shrugging. “You are a hero. I am a Corrupted. It was foolish of me to think you would listen to reason.”
“Watching you tumble over in the N car gave me an idea,” I said, tossing the big pointed tack by his feet. “I have this funny feeling your luck is running out.”
Hans guffawed, setting down his knapsack. “Care to test that theory, girl?”
I held up the coin. “Heads, I win, and you have to step on that tack.”
He raised his eyebrows. His shiny sideburns glowed brighter. “And if it’s tails?”
“Then you can watch me throw myself off the train.”
“Oh, you are a brave one,” he said, nearly salivating at the thought of watching me kill myself. “I haven’t had this much fun since I hitched a ride on a gambling boat fifty-odd years ago and took every single fool’s money, right down to the last penny. Flip the coin.”
“Give me your word that you’ll abide by our deal.”
“Fine, fine, I give you my word. Now flip it!”
I flipped the coin. It landed on the floor between us. Heads up.
“That’s impossible!” he shouted. “My … my luck …”
“… Has run out,” I finished. “Now, are you a man of your word, Hans?”
He glared at me, the muscles in his face strained. He seemed to be fighting himself, clenching his fists, shaking. “I am … a man … of my word!” he shouted, stepping on the sharp tack. Burning blackne
ss spread up his foot, consuming him quickly.
“Poof!” I said, watching the ashes fall to the floor. I picked up the coin, staring at the crudely drawn head. I flipped it over. Another crudely drawn head. My best recollection of George Washington’s mug.
Alice: 1, Corrupted: 0.
“A risky move.”
I spun around, the toe of my athletic shoe pulling the tack closer to me. I nearly kicked it right at Briar. “You doofus!” I shouted. “Do you have any idea how much adrenaline is running through me right now?”
He stepped out from behind the wooden crate at the far end of the room. A little disgusting gray rat followed him.
“Uh …” I pointed to his feet.
Briar looked down. “Ah, yes! This is Nibbles. He and I had quite the adventure.”
“Do tell,” I said, tossing him the coin. I lifted my shirt, wiping sweat and a little makeup off my face.
“Ah, a coin with identical sides!” Briar said, scrutinizing the coin’s design with a keen eye, then setting it down before its magic could burn his paw. “A decent drawing, too.”
“My dad made me memorize all of the presidents’ faces on coins when I was younger.” I sat down on one of the smaller crates, stretching to give my sore ribs a little solace. “Then we moved to Canadian money. Then Euros. It was one of his weird summer activities to keep my brain fresh while I wasn’t in school.”
“And what if Hans had seen through your ruse? What then?”
“He didn’t.”
“Yes, well.” Briar gave the ash pile—and the tack—a wide berth. His weird little rodent companion did the same, whiskers twitching.
“Awwwww, his whiskers twitch just like yours!” I said with a sweet voice. “So are you going to explain the rat or what?”