After a few moments of silence he looked sharply at me. “Well, why’d you come here, then?”
“Word got round where I’m from too.”
He smiled and chuckled. “That it would. I knew it. Yes, I knew it.”
I looked at the shacks. “There’s the train station and these shacks. Who built them?”
“Dunno. They’ve always been here, least I think so. Nice place. Plenty of wood for the fires. Food in the woods. Fresh water from the river.”
“Why haven’t you been picked to go on the train?”
He stopped whittling and considered this. “Fact is, missy, I don’t know why. It’s not like they give you a reason.”
I pounced on this. “Who is ‘they’?”
“Blokes.”
“What blokes?”
“Them blokes in suits and hats.”
I stiffened and thought, Blokes in pin-striped suits and bowler hats?
He continued. “Right fancy clothing. They must be rich. Now, I wouldn’t mind being rich neither. Don’t know where they come from. Odd chaps. But nice enough.”
Nice enough, I thought, for barbaric murderers.
He started whittling again.
“Yeah, right funny chaps. Like to know how they pick who goes and who stays. Don’t know how much time I’ve got left. Might keel over before I gets my turn on the bloody train.”
“What do the blokes in the suits and hats do?”
He pointed around with the tip of his knife. “Well, when we hears the whistle, we all rushes down to the station like. Now, them blokes in the funny hats, they get off the train and they looks round and they talks to folks. And they lines up those what’s going on the train. They boards and then off they goes.”
“And the others just stay behind and come back here?”
“Some does. Others get fed up and just go back to wherever they came from. Not me; I ain’t moving from here ’less it’s on the bloody train.”
“You said they talk to people? Have you ever heard what they say?”
He shook his head. “I tried to ask somebody once, but they told me it weren’t allowed.”
“Allowed?” I exclaimed. “Why wouldn’t it be allowed to answer a simple question?”
“Well, aren’t you the curious one?”
I glanced to my right and saw a strange man standing there staring at me. Behind him was … Daphne.
I inwardly groaned.
“She was asking us questions too,” said Daphne huffily. “And now she’s pestering him the same.”
I said nothing.
My gaze remained on the stranger, who also never took his gaze off me.
He had on a long coat, but I could see the lapel of the pin-striped suit where the coat held a gap. I wondered where his bowler hat was. Perhaps magically shrunk and in his pocket.
“You want to come with me, luv?” he said smoothly.
My gloved hand slid inside my pocket and curled around my wand.
“Not really, no.”
“Just over there,” he said, pointing to his left. “I can answer all your questions.”
My gaze drifted to the left, and I rose and said, “All right, let’s go.” I motioned for him to lead the way.
He did so. I followed him for a few minutes. As soon as we were far enough away he whirled, his wand out.
But I had been expecting this, and if my time in the Quag had taught me anything, it was to be prepared with an action plan.
As he tried to cast his spell, I flew above him, lashed out and delivered a thundering kick to his head with my booted feet. He toppled over and hit the dirt, his wand flying away.
A moment later I heard Petra’s voice. “Vega, what do you want us to do?”
“Give me a mo’.”
While the man was struggling to his feet, I said, “Subservio.”
A white light shot out from my wand and hit the bloke directly in the head. He slumped back down.
I knelt next to him and spoke in low tones. I was basically erasing everything that he had heard or experienced to do with me. I then dragged him deeper into the woods and placed him in a sitting position against a tree and put his wand back in his hand.
I searched his pockets and came away with one item that staggered me.
I couldn’t believe it. I really couldn’t.
It was a picture.
Of my parents.
I COULDN’T TAKE MY eyes off the image of my mother and father on the paper.
“Vega Jane?” whispered Delph.
I broke out of my trance and refocused. I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath and it came out in a rush.
“Just give me a sliver,” I said desperately, my mind whirling.
I vacillated on what to do with the picture. It wasn’t a drawing; the images seemed real, burned into the paper. For a terrifying moment I thought that, like the poor people in the looking glasses back at the Maladons’ castle, my parents had also been trapped in this thing somehow.
I turned it over and received another shock.
The writing there was crystal clear.
Be on the lookout for these campions.
I turned the paper back over and stared at the images of my mother and father. I thought back to that awful night at the Care in Wormwood when my parents had been engulfed in flames and then had disappeared. I felt my lips tremble as I traced their features with my shaky finger.
Mom? Dad? Where are you? How can I find you?
I felt something touch my arm.
“Vega Jane?” hissed Delph. “Are you all right?”
I slowly put the picture away in my pocket. “I’m fine.”
“What was that thing you were holding? We couldn’t see.”
“It was a picture of my parents,” I said slowly.
“Blimey!” Petra exclaimed.
“Your parents?” said Delph in disbelief. “But how can that be? The Maladons? I … I … Are your parents okay?”
“I don’t know. But it was them.”
I took the picture out and held it up to them.
“You look like your mum,” said Petra, studying the image. “She was very beautiful.”
I looked at her in surprise. This was the last thing I had expected to hear from her.
“Thank you, my mum was very beautiful. I mean, she is very beautiful.”
“So what now, Vega Jane?” asked Delph.
“I need to talk to that man again.”
“What, the old bloke?” said Petra.
“He might have seen them come through here.”
“But what if more suits and hats show up?” said Delph.
“It won’t take long,” I said.
And that’s when we heard it.
The whistle!
I said, “The train. It’s here! Come on.”
I joined the invisibility shield and we ran as fast as we could back to the shacks. Then we stopped.
Geoff was no longer on the porch.
There was no one around at all.
“They’ve all gone to the bleedin’ station,” exclaimed Petra. “To try to get on the train.”
And that meant that the Bowler Hats would be there. Perhaps Endemen as well.
But we had no choice. We had to go to the train station too.
We reversed our course along the path and soon found ourselves at Bimbleton Station.
There could not have been a greater difference from when we had been there previously.
First, a shiny black train was parked next to the humble station.
And where before there had been only one small boy, now the place was jammed with what I estimated to be hundreds of people jostling one another to get closer to the train.
Then one of the carriage doors opened and he appeared.
And the four of us took a collective step backward.
It was Endemen.
He smiled and doffed his hat, and the crowds around the train instantly quieted.
“Hello,” he said. “I
welcome all of you to Bimbleton Station. My associates will be going through the lot of you to have little discussions and ask certain questions and then we’ll be off. Does that sound all right to you?”
He was being ever so polite, and I wondered how this would go over with such an energetic crowd, many of whom I’m sure had gone through this before, only to be rejected and left behind.
To my mild surprise, they all instantly stepped away from the train and allowed space in between them and their neighbors so as to give some privacy for the little discussions.
When I looked up near the head of the train and saw a Bowler Hat surreptitiously putting his wand away, I knew magic had been the reason for the sudden mass acquiescence.
Endemen, still smiling, stepped off the train. He was followed by over a dozen of his men. They spread out among the crowd and started interacting one by one with the folks congregated there, while Endemen watched with great interest.
“Come on,” I whispered to the others.
We drew as close as we dared and, ironically enough, found ourselves within a few feet of Russell and Daphne, the couple from before. I was still irked that she had ratted me out to one of the Bowler Hats, but my anger was quelled some by the nervous expression on her face.
It took a while, but one of the Bowler Hats finally made his way over to them.
He was about my height, thin, with a shiny black mustache and flinty cheekbones.
When he smiled at them, it came out more as a leer.
Russell looked nervous but Daphne stood her ground and stared back.
“So you’re the one what decides if we get on the train or not?” she said firmly.
He said nothing at first, appraising her and then Russell.
“From where do you come?” he asked, his voice low and throaty.
“Clarendon on Hillshire,” replied Daphne. “Just got in a bit ago. It’s a long hike.”
“I imagine it is,” said the man. “But you’re in good hands now. And your surnames?”
“He’s Everett and I’m Lloyd. But we’re going to get married. Our given names are Daphne for me and Russell for him.”
“Nice, very nice.”
The bloke pulled a book from his pocket, opened it and riffled through the pages.
“Lloyd, you say?”
“Yes, Daphne Lloyd.”
“Have you had others in your family take the train?”
“No. Least not that I’m aware of.”
The man swiveled his gaze to Russell. “And you, Mr. Everett?”
He nodded. “My grandfather George — that was long ago of course, before I was born. We never heard from him again.”
“Because he went on to a better life,” noted Daphne.
“Right you are,” said the man. “A much better life. Might I see the backs of your right hands, please?”
Daphne and Russell looked at each other. Russell was about to raise his when Daphne, with proper spirit, said, “What does that have to do with anything?”
“It has to do with a great deal. Just let me see the back of your right hand.”
Russell said, “Daph, just do it.”
She muttered, “Bloody Hel,” and raised her hand.
Russell’s hand was blank. But with a thrill of horror I saw a faint outline of a shape on the back of Daphne’s. The mark of the three hooks! I wondered why I hadn’t noticed it before.
“Very nice, thank you,” said the man. “That will do. You can lower them.”
They did so and waited expectantly.
“That mark on your hand?” he said, looking expectantly at Daphne.
“What of it? It don’t come off, case you’re wondering. It’s … it’s like a birthmark, I guess. Had it always, I have. Ain’t nothing wrong with it. Or me.”
She self-consciously covered it with her other hand.
“Well, I wouldn’t exactly agree with that.”
The man did it so smoothly I almost missed it.
“Subservio,” he muttered. And then I saw the tip of his wand poking out of a hole in one of his pockets.
Daphne and Russell instantly went rigid and their eyelids fluttered.
“Now, Ms. Daphne Lloyd, let’s go to the train, shall we?” said the man. “We have a very special carriage for you. Your friend will be riding on another one. My mate will be along presently to toddle him off.”
She immediately followed him, while Russell simply stood there like a stone.
I glanced at Russell, and my plan came together in an instant. I pointed my wand at him and said softly, “You will go back to Clarendon on Hillshire and tell them that the train is a trap, an evil trap. It carries folks to their doom. Anyone with a mark on the back of their right hand is at particular risk. You must all go into hiding after spreading the word to never to come to this place, do you understand me?”
Russell nodded dumbly.
I looked around. Others were either under the Subservio spell or else being led away toward the train because they had “passed” the bloody test, whatever that was.
The Maladons were all preoccupied with escorting people onto the train. “Go now,” I said. “As fast as you can.”
Russell turned and raced off. He was soon out of sight.
“Now what?” asked Petra.
“Now we get on the train and do what we can.”
There was something else of course. I knew that Daphne Lloyd and others like her were headed to one place and one place only.
Maladon Castle.
Where their magic would be drained, and the only future they would know would be that of a slave.
And so that’s where we were headed too.
WE SNUCK ON at the last instant and shrunk back against the wall of the vestibule connecting one car to its neighbor. I watched, my anger building as Daphne Lloyd and the others were led to their seats and shackled. Under the Subservio spell they could offer no resistance.
This car had no windows, so no one out there could see what was happening. And the passengers who were in other cars and not shackled were also under spells and could not fight back. The ones who had not been chosen had either walked back to the shacks or else started their journeys home. I had to admit it was all very well planned. And yet the Maladons had had centuries to perfect what they were doing: unobtrusively enslaving an entire people while at the same time destroying all those who could rise up against them.
I did wonder why some had been left behind. I could understand ferreting out all the ones with brands on their hands, but why not take all who came to Bimbleton?
I took out my wand and muttered the magnification spell. Instantly, I could see up and down the train carriages.
And now I knew how they chose whom they did.
The ones on the carriage without brands were all young, most under thirty. There was not one old person on the train. And I had seen some folks back there, though young, who were on wooden crutches, or had some other type of disability.
Delph, who was privy to what I was seeing, whispered, “They just take the young and healthy. They mess with their minds and put them to work. They leave the old and sick and damaged behind.”
“To die off,” said Petra, also looking at the images. “It’s the young and strong that will challenge them. They’re nipping that right in the bud. Pretty soon there won’t be any of ’em left.“
I had never heard of anything so devious. And yet I knew in my heart that they were exactly right.
The carriage we were in had two guards, one at each end. One was the bloke who had taken charge of Daphne. He was at the far end. His mate was at our end, just inside the carriage, barely five feet from where we stood in the vestibule.
Then I wondered why the Maladons could not simply track all those who had the mark across the land like they had me. Why invent this Bimbleton Station falsehood? Was the mark perhaps too faint to be traced?
But then another possible answer occurred to me.
If they started swooping into pla
ces and forcibly removing people, they would be inviting reprisal from others. I knew it was magic versus no magic, but for all I knew there were far more “Ordinaries” than there were Maladons. Just at Bimbleton Station on one night there had been hundreds of them. And magic or not, a war might not be won by the Maladons, or if they did prevail it would be at a high and perhaps unacceptable cost to them, especially if some with the mark figured out they could do magic as well. Far better to induce those with the mark to come to them. Then they could be quickly and quietly gotten out of the way. And their families would just believe they had gone on to a better life and would never think of attacking those who took them.
It really was quite brilliant.
But more diabolically evil than brilliant.
Our dilemma was quite apparent now.
Did we attack the guards and free the branded folks in the car?
Or did we stay on the train until we reached Maladon Castle? That would be useful since I didn’t know how to get back there.
As the train pulled off, the guard nearest us moved down the car and toward his companion. They began to chat far enough away that I felt comfortable whispering to Delph and Petra.
I voiced my concerns about what we should do.
Petra hissed, “How can we be sure they’ll take all these blokes to Maladon Castle?”
“Because they need to steal their magic. And for that they need to go there.”
“That’s right,” said Delph.
“Okay,” she said in a hushed voice. She glanced at the shackled passengers. “We can’t let that happen to them.”
I understood exactly what she was saying, but if we tried to free them now, we could all be killed and no one would be saved. I didn’t know how many Bowler Hats were on this train but we had seen at least thirteen. We had a sum total of two wands, and Petra was relatively inexperienced and had not been trained up as I had.
I said, “We need to just stay invisible and see what happens. We can’t fight them all yet, Petra. We’ll lose. And then so will everyone.”
She scowled at me, obviously disagreeing with my assessment.
Delph said, “She’s right, Petra. We just have to see what happens.”
Petra nodded at Delph. Not me. It was clear she respected his opinion, not mine, despite my words to her at Empyrean. I didn’t know what to do with her, I really didn’t. We had shared our blood with each other, made an oath that if broken could kill us, and here she was, seemingly as opposed to me as ever.
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