Ann was reading a novel in one of the big chairs in the front room. There was an open box of chocolates on the end table, empty except for the scattered wrappers. Mordecai felt absurdly as if she were going to yell at him for being out late screwing around.

He lifted his violin case like a shield. Just out doing my job, Ma!

Don’t you want a real job? You’re so smart, you could be a doctor!

The words matched the creased expression, but what she really said was, “Em, I’m sorry. This is Milo’s business, but I’m the one who can talk. He needs your help.”

“If he stabbed another doctor, I’m disowning him,” Mordecai heard himself say. He covered his mouth with a hand and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean that.” He did, but he shouldn’t have said it. “I was thinking about my family. You got me on the defensive. What happened?”

Ann frowned, “This is not at all his fault, Mordecai! I wish you wouldn’t make these hurtful assumptions!”

“You knew exactly what you were getting into,” he replied acidly. “I said I was sorry. Are you going to tell me what happened or do you want somebody competent?”

“You are competent.” Ann cast a glance towards the closed door of Room 103 and lowered her voice, “Calliope’s father is incompetent. Will you come in the kitchen so she’s less likely to hear?”

He followed her, mystified.

◈◈◈

The violin case went into one of the kitchen chairs. Mordecai didn’t unbutton his coat or sit down. “Is this a coffee, tea, or liquor conversation?”

“I don’t know. I’d prefer tea, but I suppose it’s a coffee-edging-into-liquor sort of thing. Lola has a little sign on her liquor cabinet that says ‘I drink because other people are stupid.’ It’s like that.”

Mordecai took out the tea box and went looking for a glass pot. “We can always upgrade the tea. But for heaven’s sake, explain yourself while I make it.”

“I don’t know where to begin. I don’t understand it myself. Apparently Calliope’s father thought she didn’t love him anymore until the lights went out, but I have to explain why that makes sense — except it doesn’t make sense.”

She sighed. “Calliope’s parents sent her a telegram while you were out. A singing telegram. The man had a red uniform and balloons. What he sang was that Calliope’s father accidentally sent her their electric bill, with a cheque enclosed.

“What he — I mean, Calliope’s father ‘he’ — what he meant to send her was a letter with a cheque enclosed asking her to come visit for Lucy’s birthday. The cheque was for the train tickets. Only he mixed up the envelopes and he sent the electric company that letter and a cheque made out to Calliope with ‘I love you princess, kisses’ and little hearts in the note section. This was in September…”

“Wait, wait,” said Mordecai. “A man sang this to you?”

Ann groaned and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Yes.”

“To the tune of…?”

“‘Camptown Races.’ Mordecai, people get irritated with me when I get distracted by…”

He had his eyes closed, picturing it. “Were there doo-dahs involved?”

“There were multiple doo-dahs, can we please focus on the letter?”

“Why didn’t they send a normal telegram?”

“Calliope seems to think that is a normal telegram, so I suspect her parents think the same. The point is that her father thought he invited her to visit and when he didn’t hear back from her he was very upset! He’s done nothing but mope around his study and teach lessons on some Thessalonian tragedy I’m supposed to have heard of where the daughter stabs her father to death and then pokes her eyes out with a brooch. He broke off right in the middle of Boudica’s Wall.”

“Oedipa.”

“What?”

“The tragedy. It’s a whole series. She ends up marrying her brother. Didn’t the electric company have anything to say about a cheque addressing them as ‘princess’?”

“Well, they couldn’t cash it, and they shut off the power. Calliope said he must’ve been answering a final notice, he’s… Apparently he’s an idiot and he does things like this a lot.”

“Didn’t Calliope call them when she got the electric bill?”

“No, she put it in another envelope and sent it back. As I said, apparently he does things like this a lot. She thinks maybe she used a postcard stamp by accident, but the mail is slower since the war. Anyway, it’s just as well, because otherwise her father never would’ve figured it out about the cheques.”

“So what we have here is the polar opposite of that cartoon thing where a light bulb goes off and the funny rabbit has an illuminating realization.”

Ann slapped both hands on the kitchen table, “We need you to be serious about this!”

He suppressed a laugh, but he couldn’t hide the smile, “Why?”

“Because her father tried to send her enough money for two tickets, and she wants to go anyway and take Milo! This Woden’s Day! She already called them from the drugstore and said she’d be there for Lucy’s birthday! They’re calling ahead to reserve the seats on the train!”

“And tomorrow morning you’ll find out they accidentally ordered a pizza instead, oh, doo-dah day.”

“Mordecai!”

“Ann, he has to work, doesn’t he? You have to work. If he doesn’t want to go, just explain why you can’t.”

“He does want to go,” Ann said helplessly. “Calliope wants him to meet her parents. This is huge. He’s afraid to ask the factory to let him go, but I know they will, they always do, and the club will too. He’s just so scared he’s going to screw this up that he can hardly stand to be in his own skin. Em, we want you to come with us. We can afford a ticket for you, and Lucy rides for free. Please.”

“For me?” He abandoned the dry tea bags in their cups. “What about half a ticket for Erik? I’m not going to take off on him like that.”

“Erik thinks this is hilarious, too, and I believe he’s waiting up in your bedroom right now to see if he gets to stay home and eat sugar with Auntie Hyacinth for five days.” She folded her arms. “But he wanted to come with you in case you needed his help.”

His expression fell. “You’re playing on my insecurities to get me to do what you want. He didn’t really.”

“Maybe I am, and I’m sorry, but I’m not lying to you. I’m sure he wanted to meet Calliope’s family, too, maybe it was just an excuse, but he thought we’d let him go so he could be your support system. And I don’t think we should do that, even if we could buy half a ticket.”

He slumped against the counter, looking at his curled fingers on the scarred wooden surface. “Milo wants a security blanket, but you want to take me on a field trip like a mental patient.”

She put her hand on his hand. “Milo wants the closest person he has to a father to back him up. And Erik needs the same thing, just in a different way. You know, I don’t think he’s ever been apart from you and had that just be a normal thing and okay. He worries, even when it’s just a few hours like tonight. I do want you for Milo, but I think it would be nice of you to help Erik gain a little confidence that you can both take care of yourselves.”

“Do you honestly think this household is going to stay normal and okay for five days while I’m taking care of myself?”

“If you’re willing to adjust your idea of ‘normal’ a bit.”

He turned toward her. “Normal for this house includes people trying to burn it down and kill everyone in it.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “Would you feel safer leaving Erik anywhere else?”

He turned away again and shook his head.

The water was boiling on the stove. She leaned past him and poured it into the cups. “Please, Em? It’s dad stuff.”

He gave an irritated click of his tongue. “Can’t I get away from ‘dad stuff’ for five minutes?”

“I’m offering you a five-day vacation in a gorgeous mountain city, and I’m positive Milo won’t need you as much as he thinks he does.”

He sighed. “Do Calliope’s parents have real running water and electricity?”

“Er, well, I’m sure about the running water, and Calliope’s mother said they ought to have the power back on by then, but her father told us to pick up some ice as long as we were coming and it was on our way.”

He cocked his head at her. “This is a vacation. You’re trying to sell this to me as a vacation. At least I’m used to the brand of crazy we have around here.”

She smiled at him. “Perhaps it will be a refreshing change of pace!”

◈◈◈

Milo emerged from the train station toilet with both suitcases in tow. There were stalls in the men’s room, thank goodness, as well as wood panelling, paintings, brass fixtures and white oyster tile. Train stations were fancy! Even the outdoor parts had vaulted ceilings and skylights.

There were ornate ironwork clocks with glowing yellow faces and schedules and maps on them about every twenty feet. Some of these had signs as well. Platform 1A, Platform 1B, Platform 2A… Welcome to San Rosille! Now Leaving San Rosille! Restaurant. Shops. Tickets. The wood was shiny. The glass was bright. This crystal palace was painted in white and yellow light, with billowing clouds drifting through like heaven.

Just about everything they had, including the Lu-ambulator, was stowed in Calliope’s magical suitcase that — according to a long-ago radio ad — could hold an entire dinette set with plates securely. However, Milo was not about to cede control of his suitcases. He loved Calliope very much, but Ann was in there, and she shouldn’t be stored off in slipspace where he couldn’t even see her things. He might need her later.

On the other hand, while Ann was perfectly suited for the bus, he wasn’t going to let her have the train station — and the train! He’d never been legitimately on a train where the people were supposed to be, and he didn’t have to hide to get near. Trains were like those buffalo in the cowboy movies — a huge distant wall of living beast that was real in an academic sense but might as well be a matte painting for all you got to play with it. Now he got to ride one!

The nearby freighters were hot and wreathed in steam. He could hear them breathing. There was a metal walkway above that they’d need to take to get on the westbound track. Above it, the pale grey sky was boxed in by a canopy of glass and steel.

He would’ve been hanging out up there already, like an angel, except Calliope and Mordecai were getting the tickets and he didn’t know where he was going to board the mythical steam monster, exactly.

He didn’t even care about the dresses in the shop windows.

…Much. Did that skirt have revolution pleats? Were they bringing those back?

Maybe he ought to buy a fashion magazine. Just in case — although this seemed impossible — five hours on a train with a break for lunch got boring.

How could they be boring? They’re magical!

…Metaphorically. There was some magic involved, but it was tightly regulated due to the magic storms. Five months out of the year, an inescapable magical malfunction was possible, if not likely. After a few spectacular disasters in the early days of rail, the latest designs were insulated, with a main and auxiliary switch to shut off anything that might attract a magic strike. They also had to be able to keep chugging along under their own power and not, say, stall in a tunnel and gas everyone to death with the coal smoke.

Some of the cheaper models, he’d heard, could only manage a dismal five miles per hour with the magic off. He hoped they got a good train, with lots of complicated electric, and the steam heat, and the turbines…

Oh, gods, I hope it’s okay if I touch it. I know they’re not gonna let me play with it, but they can’t stop me from touching it, can they? Even if it’s insulated? Oh, I’d die. I’d just die if I had to be on a train for five whole hours and I couldn’t see how it was working. I have got to get a fashion magazine. I’m gonna need the most interesting fashion magazine in the universe, or else I’m gonna take hostages…

He sort of wished he’d done a card.

Let me stay where I can touch a magically-conductive surface of this fantastic animal or I will stain this brakeman’s nice uniform and it will NEVER come out!

Calliope and Mordecai were approaching from the ticket counter. She was holding the baby and waving, but he looked concerned.

I didn’t mean it about the hostages, Dad, Milo thought, wincing. He lifted a hand halfway and managed a tiny wave at Calliope.

Mordecai jogged ahead. “Milo, we have a problem. Your tickets are in first class…”

Milo dropped his suitcases and pressed both hands to his face. First class? I’ve never been first class in anything before!

“…and I can’t ride with you.”

Milo quickly drew out his wallet. He leafed through it. Oh, gods. Okay, I guess I don’t need a fashion magazine. Or lunch. Or souvenirs… How much is first class? Is it like hundreds?

Mordecai reached out and did not touch his hand. He tapped the wallet. “Milo, no. I mean they’re not going to let me in first class no matter how much you pay them. I can only ride in third. It’s not assigned, I don’t even know if we’ll be in the same car…”

Milo scowled. What? TRAINS are racist? He wheeled and regarded the trains. What the hell, you guys?

“I can probably meet you for lunch, but I can’t come see you on the train. And you probably can’t come see me, either, even if we do end up in the same car. Not until the fuel stop in Havredete. I’m really sorry. Are you sure you still want me to come?”

Milo was still addressing the trains, pointing a finger at them. I thought you were cool!

Calliope had closed the distance between them. “What’s going on?”

Mordecai sighed. “Well, Milo isn’t happy about it, but he seems to blame the trains.”

“What, like they just won’t go if a coloured guy is sitting in first class?”

“I’m never sure if I need to tell you these things, but that is not how trains work.” He gingerly touched Milo’s shoulder. “I really am sorry, Milo. I never even thought about first class. It’s not that I don’t want to come. I will if you want me to. I don’t mind. I just can’t ride with you like we thought.”

Calliope shoved the baby at Mordecai. She stepped up onto a lovely wood and iron bench with a tasteful russet stain and addressed the busy platform. People in fashionable fall drabs were rushing back and forth with luggage in tow, some of it pushed by blue-coated attendants with bright brass carts. The volume of their voices was low and polite.

Calliope was neither polite, fashionable, nor subtle. She held the tickets over her head and waved both her arms, “Hey! If anyone’s headed to Ansalem on the 10:05 in third class, I got a free upgrade here for ya! We want to ride with our friend!”

Milo turned with a flinch, and then a sigh. Several people in shabby clothing were already approaching. Oh, no. There goes first class. I bet they had free coffee out and, like, waitresses or whatever in cute short skirts.

He scowled again and kicked the neat gridwork of cement blocks that made up the floor. A bright yellow line of paint reminded him to mind the gap, please. Stupid racist trains. You mind your own gap in Hell.

◈◈◈

They were departing from Platform 2A and would ride third class in whichever car had room for three people together, a baby, and a large suitcase. Since San Rosille was the easternmost end of the line, everyone on was going to get off, and 4.5 (if you counted Ann, in the suitcase) happy wanderers ought to be able to claim enough space for themselves if they were quick about it.

Milo and Calliope’s suitcases had gone behind the ticket counter with tags on them. Milo refused to relinquish Ann to the baggage car, and was still clutching her suitcase like a life preserver. They had managed to get that one accepted as a carry-on with things for the baby, despite its size. A little optical subterfuge involving the wooden box used to measure it may have been involved. (“Sure it fits!” Calliope said, refusing to let go of the handle and let the attendant confirm this himself.) There was enough room to add a couple toys, juice and crackers, so it wasn’t a lie about things for the baby.

Milo and Ann had known there was no way to cram five days worth of dresses in the suitcase in the first place; they had packed conservatively. They brought the pink dress — their newest and nicest, since the old one died during magic season — two pairs of matching shoes, a corset and some makeup.

Milo had also purchased a single fashion magazine, but he wasn’t reading it. He was sitting on a bench with a person on either side, relatively secure, and trying to think about the trains instead of where he was going to end up after the trains.

Calliope needs them to like me and they won’t. They won’t. I’m too weird. She’ll be mad at her family or mad at me, and either way it’ll be all my fault for being so weird.

That’s stupid. I’m being stupid. I’m just upsetting myself being stupid.

Milo…

The freighters had buggered off towards Candlewood Park ages ago. There weren’t any damn trains. It was supposed to be a train station!

They liked Ann on the phone. Calliope’s mom said she was just like Calliope’s grandpa.

But that’s Ann. You can’t not-like Ann.

Milo…

There were just all these dumb people running back and forth and they probably thought he was weird too.

I’m just being stupid. I don’t have to do this. There will be trains. I like trains. Trains are cool. They’re not racist on purpose. It’s the system. Stop being stupid.

Milo, please. You’re running like a train yourself. Those electric ones that do the figure eight. This loop over here is “I’m scared” and it feeds right into “I’m stupid,” and then back again. It’s okay to be scared. Just know it’s okay and try to let it go.

Can’t. I’ll screw up if I let go. I’ll fall.

Okay, but then it doesn’t help to keep calling yourself stupid just for trying not to fall.

Oh, yeah? What does help, then?

Well, I suppose… Talking? She seemed pained.

To you?

No. Outside of your head. It’s… I love you very much, but there’s too much going on in here. Can you talk to someone who says real words?

Calliope’s art stuff is in her suitcase and I can’t draw right now.

What about Mordecai?

TALK to him? He barely understands me!

What else were you planning on doing with him? Football?

I want a hug but he doesn’t like those sometimes and I’m too scared to try it. I should’ve done some cards about that or something. I should have so many more cards. I should have a box of a thousand cards that say “I’m sorry” on them. I’m just going to sit there and stare at him for six hours like a crazy person. Now he won’t like me anymore either. I’m so stupid.

Please, Milo.

Incrementally, Milo leaned down and released the suitcase onto the cement floor. He kept the fashion magazine. He rolled up the fashion magazine and nudged Mordecai’s shoulder with it.

Mordecai said, with a weak smile, “No thank you, Milo, I’d rather stare into the distance and imagine the train falling off a mountain and the house burning down.”

“At the same time?” Calliope said.

“Sure. Why not?”

Milo shook his head. That is not how trains work. He unrolled the magazine and indicated the featured article on the front page. A woman in a dark brown skirt was extending one leg playfully to the side with a pointed toe. A brilliant plaid flannel petticoat peeked out along with it, revealing that the skirt was slit all the way up to the hip, concealed by a set of pleats that closed again when she brought her heels back together. Blinking red letters overlapping her left shoulder declared: Revolution Pleats Aren’t Just for Summer!

Milo pointed at Mordecai and cocked his head to the side.

“Oh,” said the red man. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck with a hand. “Yes. But I didn’t come up with them.”

“What?” said Calliope.

“I think Milo is asking me whether revolution pleats have anything to do with my revolution. They do, but it was Gen… A girl I knew…” He shook his head. “I can’t say ‘a girl I knew’ the whole time. Snip, okay? We came up with nicknames for everyone so the papers wouldn’t know who we really were. The girl I knew was called Snip. She worked in a dress shop. She was really brilliant. I’m pretty sure she’s still alive and I don’t want anyone to find her and arrest her, so let’s just say Snip. Hobble skirts were in back then. Do you guys know hobble skirts?”

Milo nodded. Calliope shook her head. Lucy continued to chew on her cat doll.

“Well, Lucy and Calliope, like a lot of women’s fashion, hobble skirts are nice for men to look at and awful for women to wear. They’re specifically made so you can barely walk in them. We were terrorists and we all needed to be able to run, but it was really hard for the girls. They couldn’t afford a bunch of new clothes — that was why we wore black, everyone had at least one black thing, for funerals.

“We were only in black when we were actually shooting at people, though. We had other things to do, a lot of us tried to hide and keep up with our jobs, but we might get caught and have to break away running at any time.The girls’ skirts were going to get them killed. So our hero Snip broke into her boss’s shop every night for a week and ran the sewing machine until dawn. She fixed as many skirts as she could, and drew up a pattern so the other girls with sewing machines could fix skirts too.

“That was version one, Milo, and it was called revolution slits. One up each side to the hip. The trouble was, they were incredibly obvious. If the poor girl didn’t have a matching petticoat, she was sunk. You could see these little darts of a different colour going up. The cops could tell if a girl was going to take off on them by looking at her clothes from across the street.

“Because they were obvious, other girls in other places who wanted to look like troublemakers started to copy them. Just not in San Rosille, because we were ground zero for the Cut-Flag Revolt and revolution slits could get you shot. There weren’t enough fake troublemakers for the real ones to blend in.

“So Snip came up with version two, the overlapping pleats to hide the slit. But they weren’t real pleats, because the skirts didn’t have enough material to do that. Revolution pleats were made out of this stuff called bias tape. It’s hard to match colours, even black, but that stuff comes premade in a whole rainbow. You can’t tell unless you get right down there and stare at it or grab the skirt, and the police don’t like to be rude. That was our Snip, saving lives with cheap fabric.

“Version two really took off. You could only see it when the girls were running, like bird wings. It was very dramatic. But the people watching the newsreels only saw what it looked like, not how she did it, so the fashion designers came up with a few dozen different ways to get the effect. This lovely lady has a dress designed with enough fabric to make the pleats with the rest of the skirt. They match. So that is not a true revolution pleat, but I doubt she knows it.”

Oh my gods, I want revolution pleats, Milo thought. It’s just bias tape? Did anyone ever do them with contrasting colours? He couldn’t ask. He sighed.

I don’t want to pressure you, Milo. I love you just the way you are, and I always will. But… Have you considered… Not right now, not right away. Maybe just… Working on talking? The real way?

I thought there was too much going on in there, Ann.

It’s quieter now, but I’m sorry. I know it’s still a lot. I’m here if you need me.

Calliope tugged the magazine out of Milo’s hand. “Boy, when these guys say ‘revolutionary new designs’ they have no idea what they’re talking about. Did Snip figure out something for shoes and underwear, or were they still trying to outrun the cops in high heels and corsets?”

Mordecai frowned. “You know, I like to tell myself I give women a lot of respect, but sometimes it occurs to me it’s still not enough.”

She patted him. “You’re trying!”

The yellow line with the advice about the gap blinked orange and further advised: CAUTION.

A man in a royal blue uniform jogged onto the platform and barked an announcement, “The 10:05 to Havredete! Ansalem! Vignoble! And all points northwest! Is arriving in five minutes!” He began strolling down the walkway towards the shops. “Havredete! Ansalem! Vignoble! And all points northwest! Arriving on platform 2A in five minutes! Five minutes!”

Milo stopped breathing and clasped his hands. Train. He fumbled for his watch and drew it out with numb fingers. 10:57? Oh. I hope it’s not hurt, or sick. Train, I promise if you need fixing, I will fix you. Don’t worry! They’ll never figure out it was me! You can be faster. We’ll make it to Ansalem right on time, so Calliope’s parents won’t be disappointed!

Calliope winced. “Hey, Em, could you hold Lu for a second? And cover her ears? I just want to cover mine when it gets here. They’re so…”

Milo had just pressed both of his warm hands to the sides of her head like he was making a Calliope sandwich. She smiled at him and tugged one down, holding it in both of hers. “I love you, babe, but can I get my fingers in there? I really don’t like the noise.”

He nodded and let her. He put his hands over her hands. “Thanks, babe.”

“Ma?” Lucy asked.

“Big train, Lucy!” Mordecai replied, bouncing her. “Oh boy! New experiences that hopefully won’t make us cry if we stay positive! Yaaay!”

“Aaayyy,” said Lucy, smiling.

He heard the approaching whistle and covered her ears as requested. “Just noises, Lu. No biggie. Here we go.”

Holding Calliope’s head, Milo watched the train. The engine was clad in bright copper, an upgrade from the usual steel. The insulation would be tucked underneath, protecting the moving parts from magic strikes that could fall from clear blue skies without warning. Some of the older models were still using silica sand, which accounted for their being so godawful slow without magical compensation for the weight. This one looked like a…

The brakes were already engaged, screaming like an enormous teakettle amid boiling clouds of steam, but nothing came out of the engine itself, not even smoke from the boiler. It rolled past, followed by the tender, the baggage, and then the passenger cars. On the painted side of the engineer’s cab, Milo read the words: Foudre á Vapeur! Steam Electric 1377. He emitted a faint, high squeal that was lost under the noise of the train itself.

Steam heat! Condensers! Turbines! That cool new ultralite spun silicate insulation he’d read about! This baby was practically a prototype!

“Babe, you’re crushing my head,” said Calliope, muffled.

He eased up apologetically but did not quite take his hands down. He moved them slightly, indicating his intent, and watched her expression for clues. It was quieter now, the train had stopped, but still loud.

She moved her own hands, and nudged his down with a smile. “It’s okay. Thanks.”

He dropped her head and ran off, abandoning Ann’s suitcase and the people he was supposed to be travelling with.

“Da!” Lucy noted, but not with enough distress to warrant a response.

“Milo!” said Mordecai. He clicked his tongue. “Damn it, we can’t ride the engine. We’re going to be stuck standing up all the way to Havredete!”

Calliope just smiled. “He’ll be right back, Em, he just likes trains.” She collected a wide-eyed Lucy from his arms and handed him Ann’s suitcase. “Who’s my brave girl? You like trains too? Cool!”