by Tonia Brown
“I was being serious,” Boon said.
“So am I,” Dodger said. “He speaks from that tiny little mouth of his like he was a full-grown man. Commander Rex is still a human, just in the body of a dog.”
“Commander Rex?” Ched said. “More like Canush Rex.”
Dodger snorted. “Canus Rex. Wow. Yeah, I don’t think he would appreciate that.”
“Then conshider it a gift.” Ched winked at Dodger.
“Fascinating,” the doc said. “A talking dog, you say? Oh but I would so love to meet with such a thing.”
“I’m glad you feel that way, sir, because you already have. Sort of.”
“How show?” Ched asked.
“Well, you see …” Dodger started, then lost the nerve to explain when he saw the anticipation on the doc’s face. He just couldn’t tell the crew that they were responsible for giving Rex half of his information about the train and themselves. Maybe more than half. Dodger racked his brain for a plausible lie, to keep from telling them the awful truth, when Feng did the dirty deed for him.
“He’s talking about Jo-Jo,” the cook said with a sigh.
Dodger gave the Celestial a curt frown.
“Rex was that damned mutt we kept aboard for a month,” Feng said.
“No,” the doc whispered. “Not my little Jo-Jo.”
“I’m afraid so,” Dodger said.
“I can’t believe it.”
“I can,” Lelanea said, and crossed her arms.
“You hush,” the doc said. “You never did like that dog.”
“He hated me.”
“Hates you,” the doc hissed. “You speak of him as if he is dead.”
“We wish,” Boon said.
“Stop it!” the doc shouted. “I refuse to believe this is true. Jo-Jo was a sweet doggy. Not like that … that … animal!”
“He had a message for you,” Dodger said. “He said your little cuddly wuddly misses your special time.”
The doc gasped.
“And something about sausage balls?” Dodger added.
The doc gasped again and began wringing his hands. “Then it’s true? Oh dear, oh dear. What a wretched turn of events.”
“Go on, Dodger,” Lelanea said. “Finish telling us what happened. We can worry about Rex later.”
Dodger was never much for tale telling, but he pressed on, spurred by their excitement. The moment he reached the death of Bottle, the enthusiasm waned to remorse. Upon revelation of the contraptions, the crew became enraptured. At the sharing of the riddle, everyone was on the edge of their seat, including Dodger. He got as caught up in the telling of the tale as they were in the listening. He almost didn’t want to end. Yet the ending arrived, the tension of the moment snapped, and the crew sat back to digest it all.
“My, that was thrilling,” the doc said.
“Certainly,” Feng said.
“Poor Bottle,” Lelanea said. “I would love to get my claws on that Kitty.”
Dodger looked away, shamed by his inability to stop Bottle’s suffering. “I did what I could, but I wasn’t fast enough.”
“You handled yourself admirably,” Boon said. “And with amazing restraint.”
“Yes,” the doc said. “Krishna knows what would’ve happened had you attacked that woman right away. We might still be back at Celina. Well, bits of us would be, at least.”
Dodger knew they were just trying to make him feel better about it. And he appreciated the effort, but it didn’t bring the man back.
“What about thish map?” Ched asked.
“Oh, yes,” the doc said, rubbing his hands together. “Show us.”
Dodger produced the section of map from his back pocket and spread it across the doc’s desk, showing almost half of the United States, from the east coast to the Kansas territories.
“That don’t help much,” Boon said.
“I thought he wash on the wesht coasht?” Ched asked.
“Yes, where is the rest of it?” the doc asked.
“I have an unpleasant idea,” Dodger said.
“What ish that?” Ched asked, pointing to the name scrawled across the page.
“That is the name of who might have the other half,” Dodger said.
“I shouldn’t think so,” the doc said.
Dodger furrowed his brow. “Why not?”
“Because he’s been dead for years.”
“Who has?”
“Aloysius Enfield,” the doc said, pointing to the name. “He used to work for me years and years ago. He exploded. Not on purpose, of course, but as an unfortunate side effect.”
Dodger didn’t want to get into how one could explode as a side effect. Instead, he focused on the name. “I don’t think Rex meant your Aloysius.”
“Ah, good.”
“Yeah,” Ched said. “It’ll shure be hard to make a two-week deadline if we have to shtop and dig up a grave.”
“We might have to do that after all,” Dodger mumbled.
“Dodger?” Lelanea asked. “What does the name mean to you?”
Dodger took a long look at her, at all of them, then said with a sigh, “Once upon a time, it meant everything.”
“Ish thish why we are headed easht inshtead of wesht?” Ched asked.
“Yes. If he is still around, that’s where we will find him.”
“Who?” Boon asked.
“My old mentor,” Dodger said.
“The man who taught you how to fight,” Feng clarified, though Dodger was fairly sure the mystic already knew the answer.
“And how to handle a gun.” Dodger didn’t mention the other things Aloysius Jackson had taught him. If he had his druthers, he never would. “I haven’t seen Al in years, but I assume he’s still living in Kansas.”
“Then to Kansas we shall go,” the doc said.
“What if we can’t find him?” Boon asked.
“I’m fairly sure he’s still there,” Dodger said. He pointed to the man’s name written in blood. “See that ‘O’? The way it’s thicker than the other letters? Well, it’s right about where Al’s ranch was. Or hopefully is. At least last time I was there.”
“Shtill,” Ched said, “we’re talkin’ a tight shpin to Kanshash and back to California in two little weeksh. ‘Shpeshially if we shtop to shpeak with shome old flame of Sharge’sh.”
“What I don’t understand is why that dog wants the entire line,” Lelanea said. “I thought he just wanted Boon.”
“It’s not just the line or Boon,” Dodger said. “He wants all of it, including all of us.”
“Us?” the doc asked. “But why on earth would anyone want this bedraggled crew of miscreants?”
It took everything Dodger had not to laugh aloud at the professor’s naivety.
He wasn’t the only one.
“Seriously?” Feng asked with a laugh. “Are you kidding me? Look around, Hieronymus.” Feng pointed at each crew member as he called them out, save for the clockwork man still at the helm. “You’re a certifiable genius, your driver defies death on a regular basis, your niece is a shape-shifter, your cook is an ageless mystic, your manservant is made of clockworks and attitude, one of your security men is a specter and the other … well, you’ve seen what he can do. This train alone is worth a king’s ransom, and the combined talents of her crew doubly so.”
Rather than conceit or vanity or any other permutation of pride taking the doc at the declaration that he had gathered one hell of a crew aboard one hell of a machine, he slumped in his chair and sighed. “And it’s all my fault.”
“No,” Lelanea said, flying to his side to comfort him, as she always did. “No, no, no. We all willingly joined this crew.”
“Shure thing,” Ched said. “We shought you out, shir. Not the other way around.”
The doc raised his long face to the others. “I don’t mean that. I love you all dearly and would be nothing without you. But it is my fault you are in peril, all because I let that wretched dog aboard.”
“Don’t take it to
o hard,” Feng said as he patted the doc on the back. “We all told that dog things we shouldn’t have.”
“We sure did,” Boon said.
“I didn’t,” Lelanea said.
“No wonder he knowsh everything about ush,” Ched said.
Lelanea practically beamed with satisfaction. “That will teach you to talk about things better left unsaid.”
“Yes, but I … um …” the doc started. He lowered his eyes as he picked at the hem of his vest. “I didn’t just tell him things. I may have shown him things.”
Feng tilted his head to the doc. “What you talkin’ ‘bout, Hieronymus?”
“You have to appreciate that I didn’t think he could understand me. I thought he was just humoring me by feigning interest. He was a very curious dog, so I gave him access to everything. And I do mean everything.” He dropped his voice to a low growl at the last word.
“Even the-” Lelanea started, then caught herself as she glanced at Dodger. She finished in a low whisper with, “You know what?”
The doc looked up again with a sheepish grin. “Yes?”
“You’re kidding me,” Feng said. “Hieronymus. Really. What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking that dog was just a dog,” the doc said.
“Did you show him your undiesh too?” Ched asked.
“Chester!” the doc shouted. “That was totally uncalled for.”
“Show wash showin’ him shuch a big shecret.”
“Excuse me,” Dodger said.
The four stopped arguing and looked to him.
“I hate to impose like this,” Dodger said. “But would someone mind telling me what a ‘you know what’ is?”
“Yes,” Boon said. “What is a ‘you know what’?”
Saints be praised! Dodger wasn’t the only one in the dark this time. He joined Boon in a long, hard stare at the others. After all of the speeches about sharing information and the importance of full disclosure, Dodger couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed with the crew. Though, to be fair, there hadn’t been much time for sharing here lately. For the last few weeks, everything seemed to be rushing headlong toward certain doom.
The four grew visibly uncomfortable at the question.
“I should go shee how that bucket of boltsh ish doin’,” Ched said.
“I’ll go with you,” Lelanea said.
The pair scurried to the engine cab without another word.
The doc spun in his seat, turning his attention to some random paperwork.
“You both need to come with me,” Feng said, then took off for the back of the train.
Dodger looked to the shadowy form of Boon, who shrugged and followed the Celestial.
With little choice, Dodger fell in line.
****
back to toc
****
Chapter Four
Feng’s Story
In which Dodger finds out what he never suspected
“Ever since you’ve joined our crew,” Feng said without turning about, “you both have repeatedly asked me how I know what I know and why I act so unusual at times. Well, time is the answer, you see.”
“What about time?” Dodger asked.
“I am out of it.”
Out of what? Boon asked from somewhere ahead of him. Thanks to the sunlight pouring through the windows, the spirit remained invisible, but Dodger could feel him lingering between himself and the cook.
“Out of time,” Feng said.
Dodger pushed through the quarters-cab door after the cook, wondering just what that meant.
You’re not that old, Boon said. You have plenty of time left.
Feng chuckled. “That is not exactly what I meant.”
“Out of time?” Dodger asked. “You mean you aren’t part of the normal course of things?”
“Very good, Mr. Dodger.”
Dodger thought he heard the spirit give a soft huff.
“And no, I’m not,” Feng said as he stepped through to the next quarters cab. “What I am about to show you will explain why. But first, I want you to know that I didn’t keep this from you because of a lack of trust. I know for a fact that I can trust you with my wallet, the keys to my house and the company of my youngest daughter. Trust was never the issue.”
You have a daughter? Boon asked.
“I was being figurative.”
Of course. Sorry.
“Then what was the reason for not showing us?” Dodger asked.
Feng ignored the question as he pushed open the door to the doc’s lab and passed through. In the low light of the windowless cab, Boon’s distinct outline came into view as he stepped inside. Dodger trailed behind.
Feng strode confidently through the laboratory, then paused outside of the door to his own cab, drew a deep breath and turned to face the pair of them. “Secondly, I want you both to know it also had nothing to do with smarts. What I am about to share with you will seem both logically and scientifically impossible. But we all know that our mutual host doesn’t know the meaning of that word.”
Boon furrowed his brow. “Is this going to be something really hard to understand? Because I’m not as clever as Mr. Dodger here, and certainly not as smart as you.”
“It will be hard to comprehend, but not in the way you expect. It is … let’s just say that you will have to take some of it on faith. As for the rest, you will just have to believe what I am telling you.”
“What’s the difference?” Dodger asked.
Feng grinned and nodded. “I’m sure you will figure it out. Come now. Let me show you.” He made a few motions over the prayers attached to his door—the same prayers that had kept the spirit from entering in the past—then opened the door to his cab and welcomed them into the kitchen car.
Only it wasn’t just a kitchen car. Sure, one half was a kitchen of sorts, complete with a potbellied stove, a sink, two long counters, lots of cabinets and an oversized icebox. Though where the cook got a regular supply of ice, Dodger couldn’t imagine. Perhaps from the same place he got his livermush? Pots and pans hung from a plethora of hooks, occasionally tapping against one another with the rhythm of the moving train.
The left half of the cab consisted of a comfortable living quarters decorated with a distinct Asian flair. A neatly made bunk rested against the wall, made up in silk cushions and furry blankets. At the foot and head of the bunk, there sat a matching pair of bamboo tables, each with its own wicker chair. All of the furniture and coverings boasted various oriental designs, rich with cultural and historical symbolism. About the place lay a number of things Dodger didn’t recognize, strange contraptions no doubt created by the doc to either entertain the cook or ease his lifestyle. Dodger made a mental note of each one, squirreling away the need to know what they were for a later date.
“Here she is,” Feng said, coming to a rest at the back of the cab.
At first glance, there appeared to be an ornate wooden door, but the longer Dodger looked at it, the more he realized there was a lot more to the thing than just a fancy style. For starters, on either side of the frame rested a set of matching contraptions—a pair of waist-high metal pedestals around which twisted a bundle of copper wire as thick as Dodger’s forearm. Each pedestal was topped by a silver orb the size of a man’s head. The gadgets were attached to the door via a series of branching wires, as if the pedestals had reached out and fused themselves to the door of their own accord. Another set of wires led to a metal box hanging from the wall beside the door. Scrollwork adorned the door, the mechanisms and the wall around it. An ancient proverb was painted above the door, arching across in a flourish of script.
Guang yin si jian.
“Time flies like an arrow?” Dodger asked.
“Does it not?” Feng asked in return.
The odd thing about the whole affair, aside from the mechanisms and scrollwork and delicately painted proverb, was that Dodger didn’t remember seeing a door to the kitchen from the caboose. So where did this door lead?
<
br /> “That’s it?” Boon asked. “That’s the big deal?”
“What is it?” Dodger asked.
Feng turned about with a sly grin. “Something you can’t possibly imagine. But it is high time you learned.”
The emphasis on that one word—time—sparked something in Dodger’s brain. Neurons fired. Synapses connected. Words played upon words in his fertile mind. Out of time. No, Feng wasn’t just out of time, he was out of sequence. He knew things before they happened, other things that no man should rightly know, and now Dodger knew it had nothing to do with the man’s mystic nature. It had something to do with that door.
A door that led somewhere other than the next cab.
Dodger didn’t remember seeing a door to the kitchen from the caboose, because there wasn’t one. This door in front of him opened not to the caboose, but to some other place, and possibly some other time. Dodger’s eyes widened at the idea.
“Is that what I think it is?” Dodger asked, pointing to the door.
“What is it?” Boon asked, a little more than confused by Dodger’s sudden excitement.
“What do you think it is?” Feng asked.
“It’s a …” Dodger started, but his words trailed off when it came to saying them aloud.
There was no way it could be that. The idea was preposterous, not to mention impossible. Dodger had read a bit of the science of such things here and there, all conjecture, of course. Classic literature was rife with the idea, from fables to religious myths and beyond. Even the modern authors were beginning to show interest in the idea. But that was just it, an idea and nothing more. Wasn’t it?
“Say it,” Feng said. “You already know, Dodger. You are clever enough to work it, so you tell me what it is.”
“A time manipulating device?” Dodger asked.
“The doc calls it a Time-Ascension Portal.”
“Yeah, right,” Boon said. He started up with a laugh, clipping it short when he realized he was the only one amused. “Come on. You can’t be serious.”
“You know I despise seriousness, Wash,” Feng said. “But on this occasion, I shall make the exception. What you see before you is exactly as Mr. Dodger described. A time machine. Under normal working conditions, the TAP allows me to travel forward into time, and back here again.” Feng stroked the device with great care, as if caressing the mane of an excitable mare, or the thigh of an equally temperamental woman. “This, gentlemen, is one of the main reasons that mutt wants our train.”