Steampunk Hearts

by Jordan Reece

  In the first class cars, people were reclining in comfortable chairs and accepting drinks. The doors were opened occasionally to admit more wealthy passengers. The platform was still in a hubbub, although calmer than before since the new arrivals to Lowele had left. There were people going south for business, evident by their dress and briefcases, and others were headed there for a holiday. Five dark-haired girls and boys in red vests were entertaining upon a mat laid out on the platform, juggling and doing gymnastics beside a hat for money. They were part of a frivolity circuit, adults standing near them holding large cases all printed with Top Line Tricks. A sixth child was doing pratfalls beside the five experts, and the people watching the routine chuckled and donated pennies.

  Scoth was watching them as well. “I used to do that. Ono always said genuine clumsiness was as good as talented fakery, and I certainly was incompetent at standing on my head and juggling. I learned their routine and did my pathetic best at their side.” Just then, a woman dropped a whole dollar into the hat. All six children clapped hands to their foreheads and fainted. The audience roared with laughter and produced coins.

  “Five minutes, boarding! Five minutes, boarding! Second and third class, five minutes boarding!” the man with the booming baritone shouted. Seats were assigned in second class, and third class was a free-for-all. They moved away as people queued up noisily for the third class cars, Scoth checking the tickets for the number of their quarter compartment. Jesco made a rueful sound and said, “The captain is going to suspend you for the money slipping through your fingers.”

  “Let him. I’ll take those days off to patch Horse back together. A quarter compartment is wiser for you. The last thing we need is a bit of luggage falling on your head, or the car attendant coming up behind our seats and thinking she’s being helpful by putting a neck pillow around your shoulders.”

  When boarding started, they joined the back of the group for second class and moved up slowly to the cars. Then Jesco stepped in and climbed three steps, giving a nod to the car attendant as she greeted him. He had only been on a train once before, so this was still a thrill for him, and this train was finer than the first. Polished wood on the walls and burgundy seats, there were latched compartments above for small luggage and carpet all down the aisle. People sat two to each side. Behind him, Scoth said, “I read it wrong. We need to go up one car to our compartment.”

  The attendant opened the door, and they walked across metal plates to get to the car. There were chain handrails, but a careless step could spell disaster on a moving train. The attendant in the next car let them in and pointed out their compartment, which was only steps away. Jesco rolled open the door to a tiny room with two cushioned chairs facing a grand window. Between the chairs was a slim dresser bolted to the floor. Sitting down, he undid the latches and opened all three drawers. The first held snacks, the second chilled bottles of fizzy drinks and water, and the last had napkins and the newspaper. “You are so suspended, Laeric.”

  “First class and it would be champagne and shrimp,” Scoth said, sitting in the other chair and swiping the newspaper. “But this isn’t bad.”

  Out the window was a view of the empty land beyond the train station. There wasn’t much to see but grass waving in the breeze, a distant curve of the track, and miniscule farms far beyond that. The train would loop around on the curve and head into the Squasa Badlands. The scene would not be so bucolic then. While Jesco had never been to the badlands, he had seen desolate pictures of its craggy peaks and sandy sweeps.

  People filed past the compartment as a stream of shoulders through the window in the door. Realizing he had to use the lavatory, Jesco stood. It would be easier to do it now than when the train was moving. “I’ll be back shortly.”

  “Don’t touch anything,” Scoth said grumpily as he turned a page.

  Jesco started up the car. The platform was visible through the windows on his right side, and it was clearing rapidly. The only people still there were waving to others already on the train, all of them shouting, “Goodbye! Goodbye!”

  The small gymnasts were gone. A family rushed for the train from the ticket exchange, a mother snatching the hand of a toddler girl who had stopped to pick up something from the ground. The child wailed to be dragged along, her older siblings shooting out ahead with bags tucked under their arms. They came to the same car Jesco was on, and the attendant said, “You made it!” The children filed in past Jesco, calling out their seat numbers and pointing to them, and the mother climbed in with the shrieking girl and went straight into the lavatory, a pungent scent trailing after them.

  Jesco waited for a minute, but the girl was crying and the mother scolding, and it didn’t seem that they were going to be coming out any time soon. Noticing him, the attendant said, “The next car up is also second class. Why don’t you try there?”

  He crossed the metal plates to the other side and walked through the car. No one was in the lavatory or waiting for it. Going in, he made use of the facilities and was out in seconds. Everyone was laughing in their seats at a man in a pinstriped suit and top hat. Even though the train had yet to move, he was sprinting for the first class cars like they were already pulling away. His hand was clapped to his hat to keep it from flying off.

  Jesco laughed as well and watched him go. He vanished from the windows beside the seats and reappeared briefly in the one within the door. First class was just ahead of the car that Jesco was currently in. He looked through the window and across the metal walkway to the gold-lined car on the other side. As grand as he was finding second class, first was that much grander. He could see a bar at the back of the car, and a bartender wiping off the counter. A man came down the aisle to order a drink, and Jesco’s merriment died upon his lips.

  It was Morgan Kodolli. Looking unhappy, he loosened his tie and spoke to the bartender. Then he bent down to peer out the window to the platform as his drink was fixed. Backing away, Jesco turned and hurried down the car to the far door. They weren’t here for Morgan Kodolli, but Scoth still had to know that he was a passenger. The train whistle blew as Jesco was crossing the plates between cars. He almost ran through his own, the mother and young daughter still having a row in the lavatory, and flung aside the door to their quarter compartment. “Laeric, I saw Morgan Kodolli!”

  Scoth pulled down the newspaper. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. I had to go to another car to use the lavatory, and I saw him plainly through the window-” The train lurched and began to move. Through the walls of the compartment, he heard people cheering.

  Scoth got out of his chair and joined Jesco in the aisle. “Where?”

  “No, not in here,” Jesco said, holding onto the wall to steady himself. “He’s up in first class, the last of the first class cars . . .”

  Suddenly, Scoth stepped away and dove toward two pairs of seats facing one another. None of the four were occupied. Sitting upon the edge of a seat closest to the window, he lowered it and exclaimed, “It’s them!”

  Jesco took another seat and looked out. Latecomers were running desperately for the train, two women grabbing hold of a railing and heaving themselves up into a second class car. Much farther back was a man whose luggage opened and spilled his clothes everywhere. He stopped running to pick it all up, two more people swerving to go around him.

  Grance Dolgange. And the fellow at her side had to be her brother Yvod. She had her skirt gathered in one hand and a heavy bag swinging in the other; he carried nothing and pulled out ahead of his sister. He was a good-looking man, his hair the same dark blond as Grance’s but rakishly shaggy, and his features were finely chiseled.

  The train was gaining speed. The man who had dumped the clothes waved at it in dismay, a station worker coming out to help him gather his things. Grance and Yvod were still running, car after car passing them by. Some of the people in Jesco and Scoth’s car cheered for them to make it.

  It looked like they were aiming for the second class cars, but those wer
e sweeping past. They changed course and headed for the third. Then Jesco couldn’t see them anymore, the train curving away from the station. Standing up abruptly, Scoth got his arm. “Come on.”

  They returned to their compartment and Scoth pulled the little curtain over the window. “What are we doing?” Jesco asked.

  “They’re likely to come through here to get to first class,” Scoth said.

  “They don’t know what we look like.”

  “But Morgan Kodolli does, and if he saw them running, he might head back. I’ve got to find train security. I want all three of them detained and ferried to the police station in Port Adassa for questioning. Wait here.”

  Jesco waited impatiently in the little room. The train went around the broad curve of the track and picked up much more speed as it straightened. Out the window was a sea of grass rolling in the wind. It lifted along a slope and plunged down steeply, the train going down a smooth cut beside it.

  They approached the badlands rapidly, the grass turning more pale and thin by the minute. Pools of earth appeared between the thatches of it. Still Scoth did not return, and Jesco had just made up his mind to leave the compartment in search when the door opened. Scoth closed it and said, “The train guard has a private compartment beyond first class, and I can’t get to it without Morgan Kodolli seeing me. He’s sitting right on the aisle.”

  “Can an attendant get the guard?” Jesco asked.

  “I asked one to carry a message to the front for me. But when the angels were doling out brains, some demon slipped by and stole his. He went ambling up there and still hasn’t come back. I never saw Grance and Yvod go past. Maybe they’ve decided to try and lose themselves in the morass of third to escape the ticket punchers if they didn’t have time to buy them.” Scoth leaned on the back of his chair, his brow furrowed. “I don’t want to tip them off prematurely. They can’t jump off once we’re in the badlands-”

  “Do you honestly think they would jump off a speeding train?”

  “I can’t speak for Morgan or Yvod, but Grance? Her father must have mentioned that a couple of detectives came to the office asking questions about Jibb. A murder at her home, her rucaline involvement, that’s why she left for her summer holidays early. She’s got to get to the Sarasasta Islands or she’s going to land in prison.”

  “But the timepiece,” Jesco said tiredly.

  Scoth met his eyes with equal exhaustion. “I can’t even begin to tell you why that was there, and I won’t try. But we need to have her restrained well before the port.”

  Time dragged by. When the train guard finally knocked on the door and hobbled in, Jesco’s heart fell. This was no burly, well-trained man or woman of the law but a spindly, bald old man with a mild hunchback. He wasn’t much taller or heavier than the homeless child that Jesco had given a pretzel. Shrunken within his clothes, which were trousers and a polkadot shirt with a star badge attached to the pocket, he was the least imposing authority in imagination. “I’m Cheffie, guard of the Blazing Star. Help you fellows?” he asked in a reedy voice, and covered his mouth to yawn. His breath revealed that he’d been drinking.

  Scoth showed his badge and explained. Blinking, Cheffie said, “Well, we can stow the fellows in the brig. That’s past third class. And the lady I can keep up front with me. Nicer accommodations.” He tipped his head in a chivalrous move as if he were wearing a hat.

  “I’m not worried about supplying her with nicer accommodations,” Scoth snapped at the guard. “She is a suspect in a murder. Do you carry handcuffs? I only have two pairs on me.”

  Cheffie reached around to his back pocket and freed a pair from his belt. “I got a pair. Look, why don’t you fellows sit tight for a bit? First things first is that I have to see if the brig is freed up. Sometimes the freight workers stow luggage in there if they run out of room. Can’t stick three people in the brig if there’s already an autohorse standing there!” He slapped his chest and laughed. “I’ll look for this man and woman on the way so I can come back and tell you which car they’re in.”

  Scoth described them in detail. Then they stuck their heads out of the door when the guard left and watched him hobble between the cars to the one traveling behind them. Once the old man was safely inside, Scoth said, “This case. This case. Not one part of it has been easy, and all to culminate in Cheffie the drunken, demon-damned train guard.”

  “It hasn’t been easy, but we’ve still gotten here,” Jesco said. “If they do jump for it, are you intending to go after?”

  “In the badlands? No. I’m not going to die by the venom of a click-clack snake, or in the claws of a mountain cat, or the hundred other dangerous creatures out there. There’s a reason this train doesn’t run at night, and why nobody lives out here. If Grance jumps, good luck to her.” They sat down. The thatches of grass had turned to naked ground, and it was cracked like a giant pane of brown glass to fall from the heavens. Coming up were massive, scattered boulders and towering crags, and they too looked like they had been dropped from the stars to shatter upon the earth.

  Every time footsteps went by their compartment, Scoth got up to see whom it was. An eternity passed before Cheffie returned, and he was shaking his head as he entered. “They’re not on the train, your people.”

  In exasperation, Jesco said, “We saw them running for it!”

  “But you didn’t see them make it, did you? I walked every car on the way to the brig, and had to walk them again to get back here. Plenty of ladies and plenty of gents, but none matching your descriptions.”

  This was absurd. Jesco wondered if the old man’s vision was failing. With dangerous calm, Scoth said, “Is the brig free and clear?”

  “Oh, yes, they didn’t put anything in it this time. I got on them after the last. Are you going to arrest the man in first class then?”

  “Not at the moment. I’ll walk the cars and have another look.”

  “They’re not there. I checked real carefully both times. They’re back at the station, I tell you, and planning to ride the train tomorrow. If you swing back on the morning train from Port Adassa, you can arrest them on the platform.”

  “Thank you,” Scoth said, and the guard went away.

  “Well?” Jesco said.

  His lips thinning, Scoth said, “This is ridiculous. He must have missed them. I’m walking each car. Stay-”

  “No.” Jesco followed him out the door, and they crossed the shifting metal plates to the next car. Scoth gave him a dirty look and Jesco understood that it had much more to do with this new problem than anything Jesco had done. They turned to the passengers and got to work.

  No one was in the lavatory when Scoth opened the door, and Jesco proceeded down the aisle. There were men and women reading newspapers and bouncing babies in their laps, sleeping with their hats tilted to shield their eyes, and gazing out the windows. Old and young, dressed everywhere from demure to brazen, a few of them looked at Jesco and Scoth in disinterest and most didn’t bother to look up at all. The car was only three-quarters full, and some had stretched out over the unoccupied seats with jackets for blankets and pillows. One had covered himself up from head to foot, and Scoth lifted the jacket off the sleeping man’s face to peek at him. It wasn’t Yvod.

  There were many cars in the train, and the wind was very strong in the times they were crossing between them. It made Jesco nervous, and he was always relieved to get inside the next car. They went from one to another, waiting outside lavatories to see who exited, and knocking on quarter compartments that had the curtains drawn. There were only two of those, and when people answered, Jesco apologized for disturbing them accidentally.

  When they came to the third class cars, it became harder to search. The seats were smaller and all of them were occupied. There weren’t nearly enough to go around, so dozens of people were standing and holding onto bars for balance. Anyone who got up for the lavatory or to retrieve luggage from overhead had their seat stolen, and several voluble arguments were going on as Jesco a
nd Scoth walked through. A child of about eight was whining to his father that he couldn’t stand for six hours, and when he was ignored, he punched his father’s side in a tantrum. A white-haired woman exclaimed, “Aren’t you a great big baby? For shame!” Outraged, the child shrieked, “I’m not a baby! I’m not a baby!” The father still did nothing. The boy’s shrieks only cut off once Jesco got to the end of the car and closed the door behind him.

  The little gymnasts were a sharp contrast in the next car. One was holding up another on his shoulders, and the child on top was holding the bar. People chuckled at the picture they made. The children smiled and waved. The others were squashed onto two seats, eagerly trading postcards, and one was minding a watch so that they could trade off with the children who were standing. In the back of the car, several women were singing and holding onto a stretcher, where an extremely aged woman was laying down under a woolen blanket. She looked over to Jesco when he passed and cried with joy, “Arlen! You’re Arlen!”

  “No, I’m not,” Jesco said, but in a gentle voice.

  Eagerly, she tried to take his hand. Seeing that she had on no rings, and not wanting her memories in his glove, he removed it and let her grasp his bare fingers. Hers were very cold, but her eyes were warm and full of recognition. “You come to the shore with me. Come to the shore, Arlen, with these girls. We’re going so I can watch the tide come in one last time.” The women smiled at Jesco. They were hospice workers, according to the blue bands on their arms.

  One leaned forward and said, “Tell me about Arlen, Mrs. Kamb.”

  She let Jesco go and faced the woman. “He was my beau in university. I was in the first class of women admitted to Nuiten and he couldn’t take his eyes off me.” Another worker motioned for Jesco to move on while the dying woman was distracted. He slipped away to the door, putting his glove back on. There were few attendants minding the cars in third class; each appeared to have several cars to oversee and strolled about between them.