Strangeworlds Travel Agency

by L. D. Lapinski

  He would have to get back to Five Lights without leaving from Strangeworlds. But where from? And what would he do about returning to Strangeworlds after?

  He badly wanted to ask another Custodian what to do. He was an adult, technically, but right now he needed a better adult. An adultier-adult. Except there wasn’t one here. He would have to travel to find one, to find any help at all.

  The trouble was, where to start?

  “This,” he said to the empty travel agency, “was not how I intended to spend my summer.”

  There was no reply, of course, but Jonathan closed his eyes and nodded anyway, listening to his own thoughts.

  Not only did he have to find a way to Five Lights without traveling from Strangeworlds, but he also needed a suitcase to bribe the Thieves with, in exchange for Felicity. Jonathan tapped his chin as he thought. Could the Thieves be tricked? They were certainly single-mindedly focused on escaping Five Lights. Jonathan suspected they might not examine a suitcase handed over to them too carefully. He was banking on that.

  But what are they trying to get away from? he wondered again. What was wrong with Five Lights?

  He pushed the thought aside, for now—there were more pressing matters at hand. He went over to the large metal trunk that sat in the wall, opposite the fireplace, and dragged it out. The metal edges dug into his hands and his legs complained about the exercise, but he ignored it all, dragging the trunk over the floorboards until it was far enough out from the wall to open the lid.

  A blast of cold air hit Jonathan in the face as he lifted the curved top. There was a smell of cold, too, the sort that bites at the inside of your nose before snow begins.

  Unlike with the suitcases, Jonathan did not simply clamber in. Instead, he swung his legs over the edge carefully, feeling for the rungs of a ladder that he knew was propped against the lining of the trunk. Once he had his balance, he descended the ladder, down into the darkness of the trunk, until his shoes met stone and he let go. He took out his keys and twisted a small, bullet-like item on the key ring. Light shone from the tiny flashlight, spreading ahead of him in the gloom.

  The view ahead was almost entirely suitcases. Endless shelves of them. Case after case after case after case, all sitting quietly on wooden shelves that had, once, been painted white. Now they were a sort of rusty green-brown that had started to creep, like an organism, over some of the suitcases on the lower shelves.

  Jonathan held his flashlight up and started walking.

  This was the Back Room. It was a cave of darkness, used by the Society for storage.

  Human beings needed very specific conditions to be able to spend any amount of time in a world other than their own. They needed a particular temperature range, the right cocktail of chemicals in the air to breathe, and gravity that wasn’t either too strong or too weak. As a result, the number of suitcases that were off-limits greatly outnumbered those that were suitable for traveling. Any schism that wasn’t suitable to be kept in the warmth of the travel agency was locked into the Back Room.

  Other types of suitcases were locked into the Back Room as well. Duplicates. Secrets not even Jonathan had been told about. And suitcases that led to the Strangeworlds Society outposts.

  He walked carefully over the stone floor, flashlight shining onto the shelves.

  Many of the suitcases had scraps of card and paper with names and descriptions of where they led carefully pinned onto the handles or pasted onto the sides. Jonathan felt a little rush of gratitude for whoever had attempted this curation. There was a large pile of cases heaped together on a shelf simply labeled WATER. Others had tags with a deep red cross marked on them.

  There was one case—a white leather affair with swirling silver locks—that had a crude skull-and-crossbones drawn onto the lid.

  Jonathan carefully but quickly read each description that he came across. He found a desert, a war zone, three different jungles, a coffee shop, and a prison, but nothing that told him it was one of the Society outposts he was looking for. It was taking more time than he would have liked. Time moved differently in different worlds and it was already early evening here.…

  Frustration seized hold of him, and he kicked the closest case across the floor. Feeling reckless, he grabbed an unmarked case and pushed hard at the catches, but they stayed shut.

  “Locked, then,” he said, sounding calmer than he felt. He fished a permanent marker from his inside pocket and wrote LOCKED on the suitcase lid. He knew he should note the suitcase description down in his guidebook, but there was little time.

  Besides, he told himself, he knew all there was to know about locked worlds.

  And they were not important.

  ON THE SUBJECT OF LOCKED WORLDS

  Much in the way that a conventional suitcase may be put under lock and key, a suitcase containing a schism may also be locked.

  World-locking is a skill that must be taught. Not everyone in possession of magical sight can master the art, in the same way that not everyone can become a competent cartographer. The method is difficult to master, as the schism within the suitcase still exists, but access to it is denied. Given enough time, and without a source of magic, it is assumed that the schism within will shrink and disappear.

  Only the one who locked access to a world may unlock it, though even they do not have the ability to close or erase a schism entirely.

  To date, no member of the Strangeworlds Society, not even our founder, has been able to close an airborne schism completely. It is doubtful that such a thing is possible, due to schisms’ hunger for magic. Even those schisms that eventually heal over and close up take many decades to do so. Starving a schism of magic by locking it away for many years may be the only way to guarantee removing it from the multiverse.

  It had taken longer than he wanted, but Jonathan finally hauled two suitcases up and out of the trunk and back into the relative warmth of the travel agency. He’d finally found the suitcases that were listed as being outposts for the Strangeworlds Society and had taken the cleanest-looking ones. Even if the outposts didn’t have a case that led to Five Lights, he could ask someone there for help. The Society wouldn’t let him down.

  Ever since his dad’s disappearance, Jonathan had tried to look like he knew what he was doing. He had wanted to be good at running Strangeworlds. He’d never been much good at anything that wasn’t reading or drawing. But he was more alone than he had let himself really admit.

  Even when his dad was around, Strangeworlds Travel Agency had never felt like somewhere he belonged. Not really. It had first been too secret and then too full of bad memories. His dad had done his best, Jonathan knew that. But Daniel was a grieving man, trying to teach his child about the very thing that had taken his wife from him.

  Jonathan had thought he knew everything, but he was beginning to suspect he had only been told about the very tip of the Strangeworlds iceberg. He hadn’t even been told exactly where the outpost cases were stored.

  Rather than making him feel sad, the thought stewed under Jonathan’s skin. Felicity was the first person he’d spoken to in years who didn’t make him feel as though he was strange and weird. She was happy, brave, and clever, and he’d had no right to keep information from… to lie to her.

  He’d been a terrible person.

  When he got her back, he promised himself, things would be different. And if she chose to leave and never come back…

  Well. He’d only brought that on himself.

  He pulled the first case over. The label read:

  Phaeton’s Trading Post

  Snow and Ice. Cleats recommended.

  Large settlement, good hot chocolate, wrap up warm.

  TSS Custodian Contact: Maskelyne

  The lure of a named contact had made Jonathan choose the case. He would find the Custodian, ask them if they had a suitcase that led to Five Lights, and make his next move from there.

  He pushed the catches and lifted the suitcase lid quickly.

  Icy air hit him
in the face. Slow flurries spat out into the shop’s warm air, falling to the floor as rain. Wherever this suitcase led, it was not the warm indoors of a Strangeworlds Society outpost. This was outdoors. Very outdoors, judging by the drop in temperature.

  Jonathan leaned over the case to try and get a better look. All he could see was mist and snow. He briefly thought about going to get a hat and gloves… then his hand slipped on the slick case edge.

  He tried to stop himself, but he was grabbing at thin air. The gravity inside the suitcase pulled him forward. He toppled headlong into the case and plummeted down. At the last moment, Jonathan’s hand found the case handle, and he dragged it through with him.

  For a second, there was only empty, frozen air.

  Then, stone rushed up to meet him.

  Jonathan raised his arms to catch himself a fraction of a second too late. His top half smacked into a jutting rock and he fell hard, rolling over on the frozen surface. Blood slicked from his palms onto the ice as he ended up face-down on stone and snow.

  He stayed still for a moment. Common sense and a blurry memory of something he’d once read about first aid told him that trying to get straight up wasn’t the best course of action. His vision was slightly off-kilter, and he panicked for a second before he realized it was because one of his glasses lenses was cracked. He gently flexed his fingers and toes. To his relief, they all moved. But then pain started to blossom under his ribs. It was bearable, though.

  Slowly, Jonathan got to his feet. His legs were shaking with shock, and he couldn’t get his balance. He ended up leaning against the rock face, his unsuitable brogues skidding on the frost. The ledge he had landed on was little wider than his desk at the travel agency. And then he saw the suitcase. He had dropped it in his fall and now it teetered on the cliff edge. The gale made it rock to and fro.

  One false move, or one sharp gust of wind, was all it would take.

  Jonathan wiped his nose, wincing at the line of snotty blood that painted his sleeve. Carefully, he knelt back down and inched across the ledge toward the suitcase. He didn’t know where the Strangeworlds outpost in this world was, or why the suitcase had brought him out onto a barren mountainside, but he wasn’t in any condition to start exploring this wilderness. He would have to go back to the agency and try another case. But as he reached for the handle, the ground beneath him gave a rumble.

  The mountainside swayed violently. There was a noise like a thunderstorm crashing into a marching band.

  Masses of ice and chunks of snow landed around him. Jonathan threw himself forward and grabbed for the suitcase.

  Then the shelf of stone beneath him fell clean away.

  He didn’t scream. There was no time.

  Jonathan dropped through the air like Icarus. The suitcase fell as well. He reached in a blind panic, grabbed for the handle… and missed.

  He fell down, tumbling through the frozen air. The wind raged around him, blowing the suitcase against his knuckles. The ground was rushing to meet him at an alarming rate. His entire body screamed at him to act; he grabbed for the suitcase again, this time getting a hold and wrenching it open. He shoved one hand inside and scrabbled on the smooth floor of the travel agency, searching, reaching for something, anything…

  He grasped a chair leg.

  Jonathan would never know quite how he did it. With a great deal of effort, he dragged himself into the suitcase, the heavy chair acting like an anchor as he pulled his torso back into Strangeworlds, the wind of the icy world still whipping at the lower half of his body as the sudden stop promised by the jagged ground came closer and—

  Jonathan landed hard, chin-first on the travel agency floor. One hand had hold of the chair leg, the other was tight on the suitcase, which he had towed through with him—along with a flurry of snow. He lay on his face on the floorboards, spread-eagled in shock.

  After a moment, Jonathan rolled over on the floorboards and stared at the ceiling. “Oh… fudge,” he almost said.

  Flick gave the front door of the Waiting Room a shove with her shoulder. Then she grabbed the handle and pulled, bracing her feet on the doorframe and yanking with all her might. The Receptionist had agreed to let her try to open the door, to prove she wasn’t being lied to.

  “It won’t get you anywhere, little girl,” the Receptionist sighed. “You can’t break out of this world. It’s impossible. Now do you believe me?”

  Flick let go of the door handle. When she pressed close to look through the pane of glass set in the door, all she could see was a heavy sort of darkness that seemed closer than the dark she was used to. She shivered. “This isn’t right.”

  “I can’t let you out,” the Receptionist said. “Until you’re collected. I can’t.”

  Exasperation made Flick want to scream. “Then what good are you? How are people collected from here?”

  “I won’t tell you that.”

  “Won’t?” Flick’s eyes narrowed. “Or can’t? Do you even know? Have you ever seen anyone be collected? How long have you been here?”

  “That’s none of your—”

  Flick raised a hand to stop her, an idea starting to grow in her mind. “Is Receptionist actually your job? Because you don’t seem to know very much.” She paused and then continued, in a softer voice. “Were you left here?”

  There was a horrible pause.

  Darilyn nudged her husband and they watched the Receptionist turn a worrying shade of maroon.

  “You were left here, weren’t you?” Flick said. “Maybe you were with some other people at first, but eventually it was only you, on your own. And you thought—say, there’s no one behind that desk. I should sit there. And you gave yourself a job and a title and when they brought new people you told them you were in charge, didn’t you?”

  The Receptionist’s eyes were now rather glossy.

  “And you liked being in charge, didn’t you?” Flick said, not unkindly. “I bet you did a good job of keeping the place running, but it was never supposed to be your job in the first place. You couldn’t do anything else, could you? You’re stuck here. Like us.”

  The Receptionist sat down. She looked thoroughly miserable.

  Flick went over to the desk. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

  The woman nodded.

  Flick felt rather guilty. “I’m sorry. Who was meant to come for you?”

  The woman sniffed. “I don’t know. Someone.”

  “You’ve been here a long time?”

  “It feels like years and years and years. But time moves differently here. I had to do something to make it feel like I had some sort of purpose.” She gave a sad laugh. “They even brought me things. The Thieves. To keep me happy.” She gestured at her desk. “They must have thought I was so stupid.”

  “I don’t think you’re stupid,” Flick said. “Just lonely.”

  The Receptionist looked at her.

  Flick took a deep breath. “So, how are people brought here?”

  The woman sighed and wiped her eye with a cat-patterned tissue. “I don’t know. I’m telling you the truth about that. People are brought in by the Thieves. I don’t see it. No one sees it. It’s a blank bit of memory.” She frowned at Flick. “What do they even want with you? You’re only a child.”

  Flick felt too deflated to lie. “They want to trade me. For a suitcase.” It sounded ridiculous.

  But Greysen sat up sharply. “A suitcase? You mean—you’re not a Strangeworlder, are you?”

  Flick started in surprise. “Yes?”

  Greysen collapsed back in his chair. He looked as if he’d seen a ghost.

  “What is it?”

  “A bit of hope,” he said breathlessly. “We’re Darilyn and Greysen Quickspark.”

  Quickspark. Flick stared, her eyes going wide.

  “We ran the travel emporium on Spectre Street,” Greysen said.

  “But we went there and all the suitcases were gone,” said Flick.

  “Ah.” Greysen tapped his nose. “We had a tip-
off. The Thieves aren’t as united as they’d like to think they are. One of them sent us a letter telling us to expect a raid. We hid the cases and waited for the Thieves to come.”

  “And they did,” Darilyn added bitterly.

  Flick felt a rush of relief. The suitcases were safe. “Where did you hide them?”

  “That would be telling.”

  “You can trust me,” she said. “Jonathan’s my…” She paused.

  Darilyn and Greysen exchanged looks.

  “Jonathan Mercator?” Greysen asked.

  She nodded.

  He hummed ruefully. “That boy… stopped in recently, asking after his dad. Nothing we could tell him of course. I can remember when he first came into the emporium. Eyes like dinner plates, asking questions left and right. He didn’t know whether to be afraid or excited.”

  “He’d not long lost his mom, I remember,” Darilyn added. “Poor lad. His dad was showing him the ropes. How suitcases worked. The history of the Strangeworlds Society. He wanted him to know all about it, but…”

  “But?” Flick asked.

  Greysen folded his hands together. “You have to remember, my girl, that grief isn’t a straight road. It twists and winds. Sometimes Daniel Mercator would be an attentive father and a good teacher. Other times, he’d be a ghost. I’ve got no doubt he tried to teach his son as best as he could, but he wasn’t a well man. He tried to protect his son by only telling him what he needed to know. I don’t doubt he would have finished his training properly if he hadn’t… disappeared.”

  “You knew about him disappearing before Jonathan came looking for him?” Flick said.

  “Guesswork, I’m afraid. He asked to use the emporium for a few hours, alone. When we came back, the place was empty, and the key was sitting neatly on the desk. Nothing missing, nothing stolen. We assumed he’d gone back home. It was only later, when Jonathan came searching for him that we realized something more sinister might have occurred.”