“Miss?”
Annabelle felt her shoulder being touched and gently shaken. She opened her eyes and looked up into the face of the kindly country gentleman.
“We’ve reached a stop miss,” he said, his eyes full of concern. “Is it yours?”
Attempting to rouse herself, Annabelle looked out the window and read the station sign.
“No sir, ‘tis not.”
The man nodded and smiled lopsidedly, sitting back and looking a bit sheepish for having bothered her. As she had already spoken, she felt it would be acceptable to speak a bit more, if only to put him at his ease.
“Thank you for your kindly concern,” she said.
The gentleman’s head popped up, his face alight.
“Tis nothing miss, nothing at all,” he said enthusiastically. “May I introduce myself? My name is Woodhead, Basil Woodhead.”
Annabelle took his proffered hand, shaking it and returning his bright smile. She thought it best not to introduce herself, so she merely averted her eyes and awkwardly muttered: “Charmed, sir.”
The man seemed a little taken aback by the snub. He responded with a stuttering “ah, yes quite.”
She was glad that her cloak hid the pinkness of her cheeks. She felt badly for being so rude. But she was jolted from her embarrassment when the train jerked to a halt in one screeching, violent motion, right in the middle of a black field. She looked up, shocked, while the Mr. Woodhead looked about as well, his expression equally put out. Nothing beyond the normal shaking, puffing and vibrations of the engine could be felt as they sat waiting. Several moments passed with all seeming quiet and commonplace. Then, just as suddenly as it’d stopped, the train jerked back into motion, sending them rocking in their seats. This was her first train ride, so she wondered if such events were commonplace.
“Excuse me, sir,” she asked Mr. Woodhead. “But, was that quite normal?”
“Hmm,” the man acquired a quizzical look, suggesting that he wasn’t quite sure himself, but believed it wasn’t exactly commonplace. “As we are now on our way, I shouldn’t worry about it.”
She smiled and nodded, though her heart was troubled. Nothing was beyond suspicion anymore. The things she’d witnessed of late would likely curl this burly man’s toes. She smirked at the thought of it, and chanced a closer look at the man. She noticed a nervousness she hadn’t before, the man seemed agitated. His strong, farmer’s hands were draped over his knees. A mark on his wrist caught her eye, it was almost completely covered by the cuff of his sleeve. Studying it, she realized it was a small tattoo that curled delicately over the top of his wrist. She couldn’t quite make out it’s form, but it seemed very unusual for a country farmer to have such a thing. The longer she studied it, the quicker her heart beat. Something wasn’t right.
Suspicion overtaking her, she looked up to the man’s face slowly, finding that he’d been watching her. Something had changed in his expression. He no longer looked like the innocent, good-natured farmer of a few moments ago. A ferocity materialized in his eyes that held her steady as his mouth turned up into a toothy smile. Perhaps he hadn’t realized what she was thinking. But his eyes stayed upon her, and she knew he’d seen her suspicion.
Feeling frightened, she stood and attempted to leave. But as she rose, the gentleman grasped her wrist, holding her back. The strength of his grip told her that it was not meant as a courtesy, to either steady her or ask a question before she left. And his skin was far too smooth to have ever plowed a field. He was clearly no farmer. She jerked her arm away as violently as she could manage, but his grip was too strong. She turned on him, glaring hard.
“Leave me go, sir!” she said in the sternest, most intimidating manner she could.
But her threats disintegrated before his steely countenance like a puff of smoke. Looking into his eyes, in an attempt to intimidate him, had been a mistake; for in them she saw stores of darkness and knowledge her own couldn’t match, not unless she lived fifty years more. It alarmed her, inspiring more struggle against his grip, but to no avail. In a calm but malevolent voice, quite changed from his earlier amiability, he commanded her to sit.
“Give me any trouble,” he said, his voice low. “And you’ll be sorry for it.”
Just then, the door to the compartment burst open, and a scruffy-looking man stepped in. Clearly one of Blackall’s thieves, he sized her up in an instant, then turned back and cried into the hallway.
“Oi, she’s ‘ere!”
The man sized up Mr. Woodward, whose face was twisted with surprise.
“An’ we got a new friend to play with!”
Just then, half a dozen rough-looking men, who she recognized as minions of Blackall, rushed up the corridor. They burst into the compartment boorishly, all at once, causing Mr. Woodward to jump out of his seat and retreat against the window. He seemed to be trying to explain something to them. But he was unable to do so, for the men attacked him so brutishly that within a few seconds they’d subdued him, piling on top of him like dirty, muscled potato sacks.
The man who initially discovered them remained at the compartment door, guarding her escape. He approached and grabbed her by the upper arm, gripping her so tight that she squealed. She struggled against him wildly as he pulled her out of the compartment and up the passageway, grappling for an escape route. She couldn’t stand to be an underground captive again.
So, in place of a planned escape, her limbs settled for a desperate, clawing, mindless one. To her surprise, she emancipated herself by forcing his wrist into a backwards bend that no human limb could accommodate and sprinted down the corridor. She ran and ran, uncertain if her pursuer followed or not, blasting through doors and pounded through train cars, occasionally bumping into bystanders. She burst into new car after new car, finally arriving in one where a group of thieves blocked the passage. They cut tall, dark, lean figures hunching into an uneasy circle, as if uncomfortable above ground in the open spaces. They looked up at her appearance. Among them was the tall, potent figure of Mr. Blackall.
CHAPTER 28
Removing the Dross
She’d been barreling forward with such ferocity that it was difficult to slow herself down. Her booted feet slid over the slick floors as her fingers grasped the walls for hold, but to no avail. Unfortunately, the man behind her had also caught up and his large form blocked her retreat. As they watched her struggles, the expressions of the men shifted from surprise to acknowledgment. They stepped forward to detain her, her heart sinking as their sturdy forms closed in. Desperate, but realizing her defeat, she glared angrily into Blackall’s eyes. In them she saw his usual look, one both far away and acutely aware of something. But there was something else there that she’d never noticed before, something she couldn’t quite read.
“My uncle won’t give ransom!” she cried to the men surrounding her. “He won’t!”
She fought off the nearest figure, delaying his approach but not stopping it. Didn’t they realize that her uncle didn’t care about her? That he wouldn’t do anything to keep her safe? That all she had was her own freedom, and in taking that away, they took all she had? Through the uproar, something broke through her emotions, telling her there was something more than ransom that Blackall sought. But she blocked the thought out, grasping tightly to her chosen version of reality and it’s simplicity.
“Leave me go! Please, leave me go!” She cried, struggling against the men. “My uncle won’t give you a thing! Nothing!”
Reluctant tears rolled down her cheeks as the men pulled at her. But Blackall’s tall form broke through and grasped her by the upper arm, his grip unflinching, and drew her into a nearby compartment. The sight of his face so close to her own made her freeze. She recalled what he’d done in the courtyard and wondered what on Earth, Heaven or Hell he could be. He threw her inside the compartment where she landed on a cushioned seat, his figure a dark, territorial marker hovering in the doorway. His entrance was delayed by an old man with a thick, white mustache an
d deep lines around his eyes popping out of a nearby compartment. The old man inquired, in a righteously scandalized manner, if everything was ‘quite alright out there.’ But after taking a closer look at the pack of rough-and-tumble thieves, armed and ferocious, scales of fear fell over his eyes. Blackall leaned out of his compartment door, turned on the man and made a tiny gesture with his hand. Instantly, the old man’s eyes glazed over as if dazed. He muttered dumbly, something along the lines of “all... in order,” and wilted back into his own compartment.
Annabelle’s hopes were crushed. The other passengers had been her last hope for aid, but as they sidled down the passage, their eyes glazed indifference; like animals thinking only of their next meal. She knew she’d been foolish to hope, for surely, they were just as powerless as she against a man like Blackall. She was going back to the underground. She’d be locked up. And she couldn’t help but deflate under the thought.
Blackall joined her in the near-dark compartment, his tall form gently closing the door with an ominous click. They were alone by the light of a small red bulb. Blackall’s tall form was covered with a dark cape, his hair streaming wetly against high cheekbones. He moved closer and her heart pumped fast with fear. She’d no idea what he meant to do. She tried to be brave, raising her chin, but her other limbs betrayed her, trembling and leaning away as his own powerful frame loomed close. His eyes pierced hers in the semi-dark, his features chiseled in crimson light, accentuated by shadows cutting deep. But he simply stood before her, studying her silently. He’d an expression like none she’d ever seen. She couldn’t say why, but something in the shapes and contours of his face spoke to her imagination of far off places and ancient armies fought and lost. She was dizzy with the thought. It shook her center of gravity from somewhere in her chest. But there was something else, something much deeper in his face that she couldn’t place.
He reached out and pushed her cloak’s hood back. She flinched, trying to hide her alarm, but realized that her whole body was trembling, and any attempt at pretense would be fruitless. She couldn’t control it, not if she tried with all her might. And she knew that she couldn’t fool him. He said nothing, only studied her, each moment of silence increasing her anxiety. Her hair had fallen messily about her shoulders and her breath came in short gasps as she observed this lord, magician, god - she knew not what - awaiting his next whim.
“Do you know who we are?” his voice rumbled from his chest, tearing the silence. She shuddered at the sound, closely watching his lips shape the words, not sure if he meant a threat or a sincere inquiry. Her first thought was “of course I do” and “a group of ruffian thieves haunting my very nightmares.” But as she recalled the events of the past day, she realized just how ignorant she was, and abandoned all presumptions.
“No,” she muttered in a small, dazed voice.
His brow furrowed in the dim light, his eyes narrowing beneath heavy lids.
“No conception,” he said calmly. “None at all?”
Her breath caught in her throat as she looked back. Blackall moved closer, and she saw something flicker and soften far back in his eyes. It wrung something deep within her and in a moment, her stomach was wrenching as tears poured from her in desperate gushes. She hid her face, letting her hair fall forward to disguise her contorting cheeks and jaw. Some desperate feeling was spilling from her, one she didn’t understand, one that felt like redemption. A light was breaking through, like a gush of wind blowing away the dross. It felt as if all was clearing, like sunrise illuminating a new dawn; one fresh, clean and alight with possibility. It ground through her heart, wrenching away long-held pain. But her mind couldn’t keep up with it. The feeling moved through her like a song she couldn’t remember once sung, or a language she didn’t speak. And when it was over, she felt empty and foolish.
A loud knock sounded at the door, offering a welcome distraction from her state. Blackall grabbed her by the arm in a possessive manner, then turned to answer it.
“Enter,” his voice came out harsh and intimidating. It was only one of his own men.
“Sir,” he said. “We’ve brought him, the man as was found with the girl.”
Annabelle heard a scuffle outside in the passage, and the sound of Mr. Woodward protesting.
“Release him,” Blackall said. “And let him come.”
She watched as Blackall pulled something from the confines of his cloak and handed it to Mr. Woodward with his rough, thick hand.
“Off with you,” he said simply, and the man skulked away into the darkness.
She listened to the sounds of Mr. Woodward’s retreat, feeling jaded. Then, Blackall turned back to her.
“I trust,” he said flatly. “That he did you no harm?”
She found it shocking that Blackall would inquire after her well-being after the night that’d just passed. A man of his power owed her no courtesy, and surely meant to have his own way by force. She wondered at the gesture. And at the prospect of having been safe with Mr. Woodward. But she shook her head all the same, finding it somewhat difficult to form words at the moment.
“He is a spy in my employ,” Blackall said. “Let that be enough. You were in no danger from the man.”
Again, his courtesy was jarring and unexpected to her. Just then, another of his men came and leaned into the compartment, speaking into Blackall’s ear, beyond her hearing. Blackall turned away, distracted, his face strained and his body already half way out the door. He looked back at Annabelle, hesitation written in his features, giving her a long, hard look. Then he turned and left to deal with the trouble outside.
Within moments, loud BOOMs shook the train and sent the whole car into a panic. Luggage fell out of compartments. Great grinding and screeching noises sounded as the train wobbled down the tracks. Blackall’s men yelled and scrambled about, running toward the back of the train at Blackall’s direction to investigate, feeling their bodies for weapons they already knew were there.
Like a sudden shock running through her, Annabelle knew this might be her only chance for escape. So, she pulled her hood back over her head and slithered out into the passage, taking advantage of the men’s distraction. All was in chaos, with passengers asking questions of Blackall’s men as if they were railroad employees, and receiving dubious, cold replies.
Right as she reached the door to the car ahead, she heard someone call after her. She turned and saw Blackall cry out, looking angry as he watched her disappearing out the door. He attempted to push past the riled men and passengers, but the rattling sound of the next BOOM sent the car’s occupants into even deeper chaos. By then, she’d torn off down the next train car, and out of sight.
She barreled up the passage, hoping that none followed, or at least that she might get a decent head start. As she reached the front of the train, dodging confused railway employees and passengers making their way toward the ruckus, she realized she had two options. She must find a proper hiding place aboard the train, or a way to exit it. Since they were moving at high speeds, and the countryside hereabouts was likely populated with nothing but darkness, mud, wild animals and brigands, she thought it best to do whatever she could to stay on board. Plus, she guessed that her pursuers would expect the opposite.
Loud cracks and bangs continued at the rear of the train as she peered into cabin after cabin, spotting angry men, frightened women, hysterical children and other passengers in similar states of distress. She finally came across a cabin inhabited by what appeared to be a blind man. He wore dark, round spectacles and a top hot, and leaned forward onto a cane held steady with a gnarled hand. He didn’t appear to notice as she slipped inside. He may not have even heard as she crouched down and climbed into the small closet, crushing herself into a compact ball and pulled the door closed behind. But despite all the ruckus rattling her nerves, she could do nothing but sit and wait. As time progressed and the noises ebbed, exhaustion overtook her.
~
She awoke in a startled, uncomfortable way, realizing a
ll in one panicked instant that she’d been asleep, and that her every muscle was intolerably cramped. When her thoughts cleared, she realized the train was still and all was strangely silent. Pushing the cupboard door gently open, she saw that the blind man had gone. She climbed out, desperate to stretch her limbs, first peering carefully around the door to make sure all was clear. Then she inched up to the compartment’s window and glanced outside. It was just after sunrise. All around were rolling green fields, grasses swaying in the wind and rock walls lining them. Deep-colored hills rose in the distance, covered by an overcast sky.
She guessed the train must’ve stopped in a small rural station, but there was no platform to be seen. So she turned and stepped lightly into the passage, finding it also desolate. There were no passengers, attendants, thieves - no one. Creeping like a mouse, she risked looking inside another compartment, only to find it empty. Then she checked another, and another, and found them empty as well. Only traces of abandoned luggage remained.
Moving further up the train, she found that the previous car’s emptiness hadn’t been a fluke. The rest of the train was just as abandoned and silent, and there were signs of disturbance all about. Curtains were ripped, molding gouged, along with other symptoms of struggle. When she stepped off the train, her boots sinking into the stones bordering the tracks, she found that the train hadn’t stopped in a station. It was marooned in the middle of the country with nothing in sight in either direction. Her heart ran cold at this, wondering what could’ve happened, and what on Earth she should do next.
Looking all about in search of some reference point for her next move, she caught a ghastly sight. The back of the train was twisted and broken. Thankfully, no fire burned and the train hadn’t left the tracks. But it looked warped and burst as if it’d exploded. And it was then that she saw the bodies scattered along the ground by the back of the train. A chill was paralyzing her now, cutting through her as she stumbled towards them, her feet catching as her heart tripped. Morning mist caressed their motionless backs. They were scattered near the tracks far into the distance, as if dusted from the train while it still moved. They weren’t civilian passengers, but scores of Blackall’s men.
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