by Guy Adams
Billy was far from sure how much he agreed with that.
“And you?” he asked Father Martin, “how does your order come into this?”
“We have religious obligations,” the monk explained. “We are a philosophical order. We consider it our purpose to explore and question such possibilities as Wormwood. For many years, I have also been convinced of its existence. I have conducted similar investigations to my learned friend”—he nodded towards Forset—“and had come to the same conclusion that the town would appear again on the date Mr Quartershaft confirms.”
“So it’s not just his papers?” Billy asked. “You have your own calculations?”
“Indeed.”
Which was something of a relief. Roderick Quartershaft was not a man that Billy would choose to put so much faith in.
“That given,” continued Father Martin, “we see it as our duty to try and find the town, to understand the religious implications and spread what we learn.”
“I thought you just operated on faith?” said Billy. “Aren’t you supposed to accept miracles?”
“We are. But we are also supposed to question, to prove the faith that our God has placed in us. Why has He created Wormwood? What is it for? To understand that, we must first see it.”
Billy’s opinion was divided. They were discussing something that he could scarcely conceive of as real. Yet they were doing so in a way that was more reasoned and balanced than he could ever have imagined. Perhaps, as Forset had said, the goal of their expedition really didn’t matter. Either he would be proven wrong in his doubts, or he wouldn’t.
“I guess our destination makes no odds to me,” he said. “I’m just the driver. I go where I’m told. You say there may be dangers ahead; that’s fine. Aren’t there always?”
“Perhaps you’ll change your mind when you experience them first hand,” said Father Martin. “Though I still think it would have been better had you been told.”
“If I have endangered you under false pretences,” Forset said, “then I apologise. I can be rather self-centred, I’m afraid. My determination to see this expedition through outweighs almost everything else in my mind. I dare say Father Martin is right, I should have given you the choice.”
Billy shrugged. “If you had told me all this before we set off, I don’t think it would have made me stay away.” He wondered how honest he should be. His determination to be polite was one thing, but in the open spirit of the room, he felt he should speak his mind. “Perhaps I would have viewed you all slightly differently,” he admitted, “but that’s neither here nor there. We’re together now, and I’m a man that believes it’s important to stand by his companions, so consider me a willing—if skeptical—member of the expedition.”
Forset clapped his hands. “Excellent! And if that doesn’t call for the brandy bottle to be opened, I don’t know what does.”
“One thing, sir,” said Billy, holding up his hand, “and I would have said this whatever the goal of this trip. I am the engineer here, I am the man responsible for keeping this locomotive running safely. If I say that we can’t go on, or that we have to alter our route, then my voice is the last you will hear on the subject. I will not put us all at danger over what may just be a myth. I intend us all to get back to Omaha alive and well.”
“Accepted,” Forset agreed. “Though there are bound to be some risks, yes?”
“Some risks are fine,” Billy replied, “but I will be the one who decides if they are worth taking, as far as this engine is concerned. Once you’re off it, I can’t stop you, but while onboard, my word is the law.”
Elisabeth looked to her father, suspecting he would argue. He did not.
“I have wanted to find Wormwood for many years,” he said, “and were it my life to risk, and mine alone, I cannot promise to what lengths I would or would not go. But we are a big party”—he reached out and took his daughter’s hand—“and one of us is a woman so precious to me that her safety overrides all other concerns. I agree to your terms, young man. In fact, I insist on them.”
“Then I guess we’re all good,” Billy said. “Where’s that brandy?”
AFTER A NUMBER of the monks had made their discomfort clear, it was agreed that those who wanted to smoke cigars could do so outside.
Quartershaft was first out of the carriage, Billy following and Forset with Elisabeth bringing up the rear.
They each held a sizeable measure of brandy, and Billy had to admit a real liking for the stuff. In his world, you drank beer or whisky, but he could see himself developing a taste for the liquor and the smooth fire it set off in his belly.
He smiled to see Elisabeth help herself to a serving just as large as the gentlemen. She was not a woman who believed in separate rules for women, clearly. He half expected her to take a cigar, but she just passed the case on to him, staring up at the wide-open sky above them.
“It’s an amazing country you have,” she said. “I can’t pretend to like everything about it, but sat here looking up at all that space, I find I have to admire it.”
“It does us well enough,” Billy agreed. “There’s everything a man could want in it, from the snow and mountains, to the greenery, to the desert. We are a hundred different worlds in one.”
“That you are,” she agreed with a smile.
“Shame it’s filled with such idiots,” said Quartershaft, before suddenly thinking what he had said through. “Present company excepted, naturally.”
“Naturally,” Billy replied, taking no insult. He had found the measure of the man and knew to dismiss most of what he said.
“So,” he said after a quiet moment, “if you do find this place, what then?”
“Well,” said Forset, “then we will have the greatest opportunity a man could hope for. A chance to explore Heaven.”
“Is that the greatest opportunity?” Billy wondered. “I’m not sure it would interest me much.”
Elisabeth looked sideways at him. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Really? I just can’t see the point. It seems to me that one of the main problems with people is that they refuse to make the best of what they have.” He stamped his foot in the earth. “This is our world, and we spend our entire lives upon it. What’s the point in always looking to what comes after?” He took a sip of his drink.
“My Ma was the same,” he continued. “A real religious lady. And whatever happened to her, she would always think of it in terms of the hereafter. Say a man was rude to her. ‘He’ll get his comeuppance at the time of judgement,’ she would say. Or she was in pain after a day working in the fields. ‘That’s fine,’ she’d say, ‘I can rest when I’m dead.’
“Now, to me that just seems foolish, though I would never have told her so. I know that life can’t always be one long holiday, but if you hate your job, find one that suits you better. If someone hurts you, then you tell ’em. You don’t wait for God to do it. What’s the point in deferring the important stuff? That’s nothing but a great way to stop living your life.”
“I can see that,” said Forset. “And you’re quite right. But wouldn’t you want to see what Heaven was actually like?”
“No. If it’s going to be there for me when I die, then I’ll see it then. If it’s so all-fired wonderful, then it’s only going to make me see the real world in a lesser light, and why would I want to do that? Would I end up wanting to stay there and never come back? Think of all the things down here I haven’t seen. What a waste that would be. Much better to get the most out of Earth before you start hankering over Heaven. I’d rather see Europe any day...”
Forset laughed. “You talk a lot of sense, lad. I only wish I could be so grounded. I often forget to look at where am because I’m too busy looking at where I might be. I just can’t resist the pull of the unknown. I want to understand.”
“You’ll never understand everything,” Billy suggested.
“No,” Forset agreed. “And that is the saddest thing I can imagine.”
&
nbsp; “What about you?” Billy asked Quartershaft. “Is it just another continent for you to set your eyes on? Another landscape to map?”
The explorer shuffled his feet in the dust, clearly uncomfortable at the question. “I’m here at the behest of my publisher.”
“Fine, but you must feel a certain way about it.”
Quartershaft drained his brandy. “Frankly, it terrifies me,” he admitted.
Elisabeth felt sorry for him then. He’d finally offered a truthful answer. Though the sudden surge of sympathy was soon replaced by a fear of her own.
“What’s happening over there?” she said, pointing to the sky ahead of them. “All the stars are just... vanishing.”
The rest of them followed her pointed finger. It was just as she had said; a black mass seemed to be spreading across the sky, widening ever further and blotting out the light of the stars as it went.
“Clouds?” Quartershaft wondered. “Perhaps there’s a storm on the way?”
“If so, it’s moving damned quick,” said Forset. “We should get back inside.”
Quartershaft needed no more encouragement, pushing his way past them and climbing up the steps into the carriage. Forset and Elisabeth followed, Billy loitering to watch the darkness creep ever closer.
“I don’t think it’s a storm,” he said, turning to join the rest of them inside. “Get the doors shut and the windows closed!” he shouted.
“You think it’s a swarm of something?” Forset asked, having wondered the same thing himself.
“You want to take the risk of assuming it’s not?”
The peer nodded and moved into the dining carriage.
“Gentlemen,” he announced, “I need you to move as quickly as you can along the length of the transport. We need to make sure everything is sealed, all doors and windows firmly closed.”
“What’s wrong?” asked Brother Michael.
“Probably nothing, we’re just being careful, but please do it quickly.”
As the monks spread out, Forset unlocked a cabinet above one of the bookcases, revealing three rifles. “Better to be safe than sorry,” he said. He turned to Quartershaft. “I would fetch your rifle if I were you, Roderick.”
“Right,” Quartershaft replied, nodding. “Yes...” He ran towards the sleeping quarters, the panic cutting through his drunkenness.
“If it is a swarm,” said Billy, “I can’t see that shooting at it is likely to be much help.”
“Indeed not,” Forset agreed, handing Billy and Elisabeth rifles, “but it might make us feel a little safer.”
Billy shrugged, took the rifle, cracked it open to check it was loaded and then moved over to the window. “Whatever it is, it’s nearly on top of us,” he said. “It’s too dark to know what we’re facing until it hits.”
“We could do worse for cover,” said Forset. “I’d rather be inside here than a tent or a caravan.”
Billy nodded. “We should be able to weather most things as long as the glass holds.”
“Might it not be an idea to turn off the lights?” Elisabeth suggested. “We could be attracting whatever it is.”
“Excellent idea,” her father agreed.
“Everything’s secure,” announced Brother Clarence, shuffling back into the dining carriage, the rest of the order filing in behind him.
“Then might I suggest you retire to your compartments?” suggested Forset. “We’re going to turn off all the lights, and you’ll be safer there than here.”
“Safer or less of an obstruction?” Brother William asked, smiling.
“Both,” said Billy. “Now go, quickly, and make sure the doors are closed behind you.”
As the monks departed, he moved to the far end of the carriage, pulling back a heavy rug to expose a panel beneath. “I’m going to disconnect the batteries,” he explained. “The corridor lights stay lit as long as the charge lasts, so it’s the only way to get complete darkness.”
Forset moved to the door between them and the sleeping carriage. “Going dark now!” he shouted.
Billy unscrewed the wire connectors and the train went black.
A few moments later the entire transport shook, as whatever it was that had been heading towards them hit.
The carriage tilted a few degrees backwards and for a moment Billy was quite sure they were going to topple. Then they fell back again, the air filling with the sound of falling crockery and glass.
QUARTERSHAFT HAD RETRIEVED his rifle just as the lights went out. When the carriage rocked, he fell back against the far wall, tumbling to the floor.
His panic broke; he was quite convinced in that moment that he was facing the death he had always known was forthcoming. The carriage righted itself and he curled on the floor, hyper-ventilating. The fact that he was still breathing took a moment to register. The idea that he might continue to do so for some time was slower to develop.
I am a pathetic man, he thought. Barely a bloody man at all.
That surge of self loathing was what pushed him forward, reaching out into the darkness for the rifle he had dropped. If he was going to die, then at least he should make a pretence of doing so bravely.
He felt his way out of the compartment and into the adjoining corridor.
“What’s happening?” asked a frail voice from an open compartment next to his. One of the monks; he had given up trying to remember who was who.
“I haven’t the foggiest notion, old chap,” he replied, “but I’m on my way to try and find out.”
While the carriage now seemed to be stable, the narrow corridor was filled with the sound of pounding as whatever it was outside beat against them. It was too dark to discern a thing, but he kept his back toward the compartment doors and inched his way along, fearful that the glass windows could shatter at any moment and let their attackers in.
The carriage had become a drum, playing a fast, staccato rhythm that accompanied him all the way along the corridor.
His shoulder bumped against the end of the sleeping carriage. It was only as he half-turned the handle that he realised he would be opening the door to the outside.
“If you open that, you might let them in,” said Father Martin from behind him.
Quartershaft found himself irritated by the comment, entirely because it had only just occurred to him.
“Naturally,” he replied. “I was just making sure it was secure.”
There was a loud cracking noise from the far end of the corridor.
“The glass,” said Father Martin. “It isn’t going to hold!”
“Get inside and stay inside!” Quartershaft shouted, reaching out blindly to shove the monk back inside his cabin. He groped for the door and tugged it shut, just as the corridor filled with the sound of shattering glass and the thrashing of wings.
“Oh, God,” Quartershaft whispered as he realised the sensible thing to have done would have been to jump into the monk’s compartment after him.
There was a high-pitched screeching and he raised his rifle, panic consuming him as he pressed the trigger. Light flared as the rifle fired, and he saw a glimpse of countless dark shapes thrashing around in the confined space. In a moment they were on him, beating at his body, smacking against his screaming face. He dropped the rifle and fell to his knees, covering his head with his hands.
“WHAT IN HELL is going on?” Billy shouted, on hearing the rifle shot. He ran towards the connecting door, but slipped on a fragment of a shattered plate, hitting the floor with a resounding crash.
“Careful!” Elisabeth shouted, her voice barely carrying over the pounding noise. “You won’t help anyone if you break a leg just getting to the door.”
Then, so suddenly that it was almost as alarming as the attack had been, the noise ceased. Light from the moon outside returned to the carriage, showing the wreckage the shaking had wrought.
“They’ve passed,” said Forset, looking at the opposite window and tracking the dark cloud as it shrank away in the opposite direction.
/> “The lights,” Billy said, picking himself up and working his way over to the battery panel.
In a moment the lamps glowed back into life, and Elisabeth was running towards the connecting door.
“Wait,” Billy said. “It may not be safe.”
“Of course not,” Elisabeth replied, opening the door anyway. “That’s precisely why we need to check.”
The cool of the outside air hit them as the door opened, and she and Billy dashed across the gangway and opened the door to the sleeping carriage.
They were in time to see a small cloud of bats vanishing through the smashed window. Quartershaft was lying on the floor, arms over his head, the bodies of more stunned bats littering the corridor all around him.
“It’s alright now,” said Billy, patting the explorer on the back. “They’ve gone.”
Quartershaft slowly lifted his head and Elisabeth was embarrassed to see he’d been crying.
“I thought I was done for,” he said. “There were hundreds of them.”
“Just bats,” Billy said. “Probably as scared of you as you were of them.” He looked at the damage on the far wall where the rifle shot had punched a hole in the wood. “Especially after you started blasting away at them.”
“I didn’t know what they were.”
The compartment doors all began opening, the monks peering out.
Father Martin went to Quartershaft. “My dear man, I hope you’re all right?” He turned to Billy and Elisabeth. “He pushed me out of the way of danger, with no thought as to himself.”
Both were surprised at that, as indeed was Quartershaft. In truth, he simply hadn’t been thinking straight, but it was such a rarity to have someone speak highly of him he couldn’t bear to explain.
Billy began to pick up the fallen creatures, tossing them out of the open window.
“God knows what damage they’ve done to the outside,” he said. “Never seen anything like it. There was so many of them, what could have spooked them so much that they’d flock like that?”