The Train to Impossible Places--A Cursed Delivery

by P. G. Bell

  Suzy tried to make herself as small as possible as they stepped in through the DOWN doorway and onto a narrow spiral staircase of wrought iron that had obviously been designed with only trolls in mind—she had to stoop to avoid grazing her scalp on the low ceiling. Hundreds of work boots rang out on the stairs, and a chaos of troll voices echoed off the walls. The crowd swept on, forcing her farther down, down, down the tight curve.

  “What’s the Underside?” she shouted.

  “Yes, it is!” Wilmot shouted back, cupping a hand to his mouth. “Very noisy!”

  Suzy grimaced and covered her ears as the crowd carried them down below ground level. She was beginning to feel uncomfortable echoes of the claustrophobia she had experienced in the diving suit, until all of a sudden the walls surrounding them were gone and the staircase was descending through an echoing space the size of a large aircraft hangar. Suzy gawked in astonishment. It was some sort of factory, but its machines were still and silent, and the whole space was cloaked in shadows and dust. In the vague distance, she could dimly see other staircases like theirs spiraling down through the darkness. The sound of thousands of footsteps rang like a great, dull bell in the huge space.

  Suzy tapped Wilmot on the shoulder. “Is this where we’re going?” she shouted into his ear.

  “No,” he called back. “This is the old manufacturing level. It’s where we used to make technology for the whole Union.” He gestured to the broken machines. “But these past few years it’s all fallen apart. Not the machines,” he added hurriedly, “although that does sometimes happen. I mean … everything else. Nobody wants troll tech anymore. Nobody wants the postal service. Everything we do is starting to, well … stop.”

  This elicited a chorus of resigned sighs from the trolls around them, and more than a few resentful looks.

  Trying to fend off her mounting unease, Suzy reached into her pocket and, after making sure that Wilmot wasn’t looking, pulled out the snow globe and held it up to her mouth. “Frederick,” she whispered. “If we make it to the Ivory Tower, what happens then? How are you going to break the curse?” She moved the snow globe to her ear and was just able to make out Frederick’s reply over the din.

  “I’ve already told you,” he said. “With magic.”

  “But you’re trapped in the snow globe. You haven’t even got any hands.”

  “That’s easy,” he retorted. “You’re going to do it for me.”

  “Me?” She almost raised her voice in surprise. “But I don’t know any magic.”

  “Really? Then why are you carrying around that wand?”

  “What wand?”

  “The one in the pocket you keep shoving me into, of course.”

  The wheels of Suzy’s mind spun fruitlessly for a few seconds. What on earth could he be talking about? The only thing in her bathrobe pocket was …

  “That metal thing I took from Fletch?” she said. “I thought it was just some sort of tool.”

  “A troll wand is a tool,” he said. “And a very basic one—not much more than a blunt instrument, really—but it might still be useful. Anyone can perform magic if they have the will, the knowledge, and the wand. We’ve got two out of three already, and if we ever make it out of here, we might just get the third. There’s a book at the Ivory Tower that can help us: Harmful Spells and How to Break Them. It’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

  Suzy returned Frederick to her pocket, where she felt the cold length of the wand against her fingers. It didn’t feel very magical, but Frederick’s words had sparked a new worry—if she didn’t make it home in time, not only would her mom and dad wake up to find her missing, they’d find themselves in a house that was bigger on the inside, with two open tunnel mouths in the hallway. Because what was it Fletch had said before she’d jumped onto the train? Can’t do the job without it … She had taken his wand. How was he supposed to put the house back to normal if he couldn’t use magic?

  She remained preoccupied with the question as the stairs carried them down through the factory floor, and the walls closed in again.

  “Almost there!” shouted Wilmot.

  “Thank goodness,” said Suzy. “I’m not used to being this deep underground.”

  He gave her a curious look. “We’re not underground,” he said.

  She was about to tell him how absolutely ridiculous that was—of course they were underground, where else could they be?—when the stairs took them down into the open again and into … daylight? Yes, dull and half-hearted perhaps, but definitely daylight.

  Suzy looked around in confusion, but before she could process what she was seeing, the stairs ended and she stumbled off them onto a metal walkway, bumping into half a dozen trolls as she did so.

  “Are you all right?” Wilmot said, turning to her with concern. She didn’t answer. She couldn’t take her eyes off what she was seeing. Nor could she believe it.

  She wasn’t underground anymore; she was above it. A very, very long way above it. The walkway was suspended over a canyon so deep she couldn’t see the bottom, and so wide its rocky walls were hazy with distance. She staggered to the nearest handrail and clung to it, fighting the sudden onset of vertigo that threatened to make her legs go all weak. “Where are we?” she gasped. “Are we in a new Impossible Place?”

  “Of course not,” said Wilmot in obvious confusion. “We’re just on the Underside, that’s all.”

  A gust of wind pulled at Suzy’s bathrobe. “But we’re so high up,” she said. “Where’s Trollville?”

  Wilmot gave a chuckle of polite embarrassment. “It’s exactly where we left it,” he said, and raised his eyes to the sky. Except there was no sky, she realized as she followed his gaze.

  Instead, a vast expanse of stone, brick, and iron arched above their heads, stretching from one canyon wall to the other, and at least a mile from side to side. It was like an immense, dirty rainbow and, even more impossibly, Suzy could see houses clinging to the underside of the arch. Lots of houses. An entire town, in fact—shops and spires and blocks of apartment buildings, all hanging by their tops from the arch like stalactites from a cave roof. Lights burned in windows, washing hung from lines, drainpipes disgorged water into the bottomless chasm below.

  “Suzy? Are you sure you’re all right?” Wilmot put a hand on her arm. She shut her mouth, which had been hanging open, and blinked away her disbelief. “I’m seeing it,” she said, “but I’m still not understanding it.”

  “It’s quite simple, really,” said Wilmot, holding his hand out flat in front of him, the palm facing down. “We were here, on the Overside.” He tapped the back of his hand with a finger. “That’s where all the civic buildings like the post office are. Y’know, the stuff we show the tourists.” He grinned. “Then we came down through the superstructure”—he drew his finger down the side of his hand toward the palm—“and now we’re here, on the Underside.” He tapped the finger against his palm. “It’s the residential district.”

  She took a moment to reevaluate her surroundings. “The Underside,” she said, testing the name. Understanding was beginning to creep into the edges of her mind, but she wasn’t sure she believed it. “Wilmot, are we … are we underneath a bridge?”

  Wilmot laughed. “Well, where else is a troll supposed to live?” When she didn’t laugh back, he blinked at her in astonishment. “You mean you really didn’t know?”

  She shook her head.

  “Oh.” It took a moment for him to take this fact on board. “I’m sorry. I just sort of assumed you did. I mean, everyone knows.”

  “That your entire city is a bridge?”

  “The greatest troll bridge ever built,” he said, puffing with pride. “The Fourth Bridge.”

  The name made her start. “My world’s got a Forth Bridge as well. It’s in Scotland.”

  The tips of his ears twitched. “Oh yes? How did you lose your first three?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Our First Bridge fell down,” he said. “The
Second Bridge fell up. The Third Bridge … well, nobody’s sure quite what happened to that one, although bits of it still phase in and out of reality sometimes. But this one’s stood strong for centuries.”

  “How?” she said. “A bridge this size shouldn’t be able to exist. It should collapse under its own weight.” He opened his mouth to answer, but she cut him off. “And don’t tell me it uses magic, because that’s cheating.”

  He stood there with his mouth open for a few seconds before finally speaking. “Let’s just call it a testament to troll determination, shall we?”

  Suzy smiled, but redoubled her grip on the railing. “That’s great,” she said. “Now, where are we actually going?”

  17

  THE OLD GUARD

  It didn’t take Suzy long to realize that the iron walkways were like sidewalks in the sky. They all interconnected and finally led them in among the suspended buildings at the lower curve of the bridge’s huge arch.

  Wilmot halted in front of a large, square house called the Valley View Rest Home, according to the plaque by the front door, and, instead of knocking, he produced a key from his pocket and let them in.

  Suzy looked around, glad to have something solid beneath her feet again. It looked like a perfectly normal building on the inside, albeit one built at a scale more suitable for trolls than humans. They had stepped into a spacious entry hall, whose wood-paneled walls were decorated with large paintings of various troll locomotives. One depicted the Belle de Loin, its funnel spewing sparks and steam, its wheels a blur. The air smelled of mint and lavender, and the whole place had an air of patient quiet about it, despite the team of trolls in gray nurses’ smocks who shuttled constantly back and forth, bearing trays and stacks of linen and pushing carts. Like the traffic on the Overside, they gave the impression of a well-choreographed routine, but with none of the fanfare. Suzy immediately felt safer, just watching them.

  “Oh, hello.” One of the nurses—older and rounder than the others, with honey-colored skin—spotted them and diverted her course, giving Suzy a quick appraising glance as she approached, but saving most of her attention for Wilmot. “Is that our Wilmot?”

  “Hello, Aunty Dorothy.” Wilmot beamed and inclined his head to accept the loud wet kiss she planted on his nose. “Sorry to drop by unannounced, but we need some help. Is Mom around?”

  “I’ll just check,” said Dorothy, and filled her lungs. “GERTRUDE? GERTRUDE, YOUR BOY’S HERE!” Suzy and Wilmot both winced at the noise, which echoed around the hall for several seconds. As one, the other nurses all paused and took up the cry, and Suzy heard it carried away to distant and unseen corners of the building. Then, the message delivered, the nurses all carried on as though nothing had happened.

  “She’ll let us know where she is in a sec,” said Dorothy, smiling. “So I see you’ve brought a girl home?” Her eyes flicked to Suzy again. “Not much of a nose on her, but she’s good ’n’ tall, I’ll give her that.”

  “What?” Wilmot’s ears went such a shade of red that Suzy thought they might combust. “Oh no, Aunty, it’s not like that, it’s—”

  “I’ve been waiting for the day,” said Dorothy, ignoring his embarrassment and addressing Suzy directly. “His mom keeps telling me to mind my own business, that he’ll find someone when he’s old enough, but I keep thinking, how’s he going to manage that? I mean, there’s no opportunity for a young troll to step out with anyone when they’re holed up by themselves in a sorting carriage day and night, is there? But here you are.” She stepped back, the better to take Suzy in. “I don’t mind admitting you’re not quite what I expected, but I’m sure I’ll get used to it. Welcome to the family!”

  “Aunty!” Wilmot was wringing his cap between his hands and chewing his lip as though he were trying to eat himself. “I’m only a hundred and fifty! I don’t want a girlfriend!”

  “It’s never too early to start planning for your future, dear,” said Dorothy, before turning back to Suzy. “He always was a bit sensitive. You’ll have to get used to that.”

  Suzy, who had been deriving a slightly guilty pleasure from Wilmot’s discomfort, laughed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But I’m not his girlfriend.”

  “Oh.” Dorothy’s face fell a little. “Are you sure? ’Cause he’s available. And he’s very clean.”

  “Show her your badge,” said Wilmot, straining the words through his teeth. Suzy nodded, and flipped over the lapel of her bathrobe. Dorothy leaned in, squinting at the badge. Then her eyes widened, her mouth popped open, and she jumped straight up in the air. When her feet hit the floor again, she was staring at Wilmot.

  “It’s not true!”

  “It is,” he said, unable to stop the smile creeping across his face. “I finally have a staff.”

  “Oh, just wait until your mother hears about this!” said Dorothy, sweeping them both up into a ferocious hug. “She’ll be over the moon!”

  A new call echoed in another part of the house. It was repeated, closer, taken up by one nurse after another until it reached the hall. “I’M IN THE RESIDENTS’ LOUNGE.”

  “There, see?” said Dorothy, releasing them. “I told you she’d get back to us.”

  * * *

  The residents’ lounge was a long, high-ceilinged room, with tall arched windows along the back wall. Suzy could see a broad balcony outside them and, beyond that, nothing but the void beneath the town. The lounge was littered with armchairs and sofas, which in turn were littered with elderly trolls wrapped in tartan blankets and woolen shawls. Some of them chatted together quietly, some snoozed, some just sat and stared into nothing. One of them, she noted, was bright orange and had a pair of carrots up his nose.

  “This is the Old Guard,” Wilmot whispered in Suzy’s ear as Dorothy hustled them in through the door. “Veteran posties, all of them. There’s nowhere they haven’t been, nothing they haven’t delivered. They’re heroes.”

  A matron glided from one old troll to another, tucking in blankets, pausing to rest a comforting hand on a shoulder, refilling water glasses with the jug she carried. She was taller and thinner than Dorothy, but the family resemblance was unmistakable. She turned an imperious look first on Wilmot, and then on Suzy.

  “Look who’s stopped by, Gert,” said Dorothy, giving Wilmot a little shove in the back.

  “So I heard,” said Gertrude with a slight knotting of her brow. “Wilmot? What brings you here outside visiting hours?”

  “Sorry, Mom,” he said in a small voice. “I know you’re busy, but I’m in a bit of a fix, and I think the Old Guard might be able to help.”

  There was a creak of old bones as some of the elderly trolls turned to watch the conversation. Then Suzy saw a funny thing happen: A ripple of delighted recognition ran out to the far edges of the lounge, and within a few seconds every troll in the room was looking at them. No, not at them, but at Wilmot. Smiles broke out, hands were raised in greeting, and a buzz of excited conversation rose all around them.

  Gertrude noted this with a sideways glance. “Can it wait? I’ve just settled them all down.”

  “Not really,” he said, his eyes darting around the room in nervous acknowledgment of the attention he was receiving. “I need someone who can withdraw a Fact of Entry from the post office vault.” He swallowed. “Suzy, my new postal operative here, is making a delivery to the Ivory Tower.” His smile wavered as he watched his mother’s face for her reaction.

  At first, there wasn’t one. She simply looked Suzy over again, from her (by now filthy) slippers to the crazed bird’s nest of her hair. The assessment complete, Gertrude directed her gaze back to Wilmot, and arched one pencil-thin eyebrow. Then the other eyebrow rose to meet it, and her own smile blossomed, big and bold and sincere.

  “Oh, my boy, I knew you could do it!” She dropped the water jug, rushed forward, and scooped him up in her arms, planting a barrage of kisses on his nose. Then she danced with him, spinning him around in a circle so quickly his feet didn’t touch the floor. They both
laughed, and the room erupted in applause. “Postmaster to your own postie,” she said, finally setting him back on his feet, and fanning herself with her hand. “Just like your dad. He’d be so proud.” She reached up and wiped away a single tear.

  “So you’ll help?” he said.

  “Oh, darling, of course I will.”

  She looked around at the elderly trolls, smoothing down her apron and bringing her smile under control. But she couldn’t keep the happiness from her voice. “Ladies and gentlemen? The Impossible Postal Service needs your help. If any of you has a Fact of Entry in the post office vault, please make yourself known to the Postmaster and his new staff.”

  The words had barely left her mouth before Suzy and Wilmot were surrounded. The elderly trolls all sprang from their chairs and closed in on them with surprising agility, gummy lips smiling, withered hands stretching out to shake theirs, clap them on the back, and finger Suzy’s deputy’s badge.

  “Welcome to the club!” they said.

  “Never thought I’d live to see another delivery to the Ivory Tower.”

  “Always good to see new blood.”

  “Are you taking dinner orders? I’ll have the jelly rolls.”

  Suzy smiled and shook as many hands as she could, as the crowd shuffled ever closer. Wilmot, to her surprise, seemed to have put the matter of the Ivory Tower to one side for the moment and was lapping up the attention, greeting the trolls like old friends.

  “Mrs. Horne! So good to see you. How’s the leg?” and “Mr. Litch! Are those teeth still giving you trouble?” and “Yes, yes, I’m thrilled, Mr. Rumpo. She’s already got two successful deliveries under her belt.”

  We’ll never get anywhere if he keeps on like this, she thought, and was just about to say so when a strong hand seized hers and pulled her clear of the throng. Dazed, she found herself eye to eye with Gertrude.

  “You’ll have to excuse them,” she said, releasing Suzy’s hand. “They don’t often get visitors, and between you and me, I don’t think Wilmot meets enough people, either.” She gave Suzy an appraising stare. “Although I might be underestimating him.”