“This is our hideout!” Maggie declared, with her hand on the sliding door. It had a single round window with a blue curtain drawn across it. “Three beds, and a private bath with a…”
There was a muted thud, the door rattled, and a flash of purplish light was visible through the thick drape.
Maggie took her hand off that door and walked to the next door. It also had a round window, but the curtain had not been drawn across it. “And this is also our hideout! It’s smaller, but we didn’t want strangers in the room between us, and this is all the extra space we need!”
She pulled the door aside and showed Erik two wide bench seats, a single large window, a side table with a flower vase, an ashtray, two bottles of sparkling water, and four foil-wrapped mints, beaming like a game show presenter the whole time. Two people could easily stretch their legs across the tiny space and rest their feet on each other’s seats.
The curtains, carpet, lampshades and upholstery were blue. All the same shade, classy and very dull. It was like a theme or something, probably a trademark of Prokovian Rail, though not very original.
“It’s like a retreat!” she said. “If we’re being too annoying over there, like Mom and Milo are right now, you can just come over here and relax!”
“Oh,” said Erik. He pressed a hand on each seat, testing the softness. When he looked up, he noticed a handle, which he gave a tug. A latch clicked and a folded bunk bonked him lightly on the head, knocking the crooked top hat to the floor.
Maggie yelped and pushed the bed back into place. “No big deal! That locks into place! It won’t bother you! The room is not evil!”
“This is just like a regular train!” Erik said with a smile. He picked up the hat and tucked it under his arm.
“It is a,” Maggie began. She shook her head and smiled back at him, even brighter. “Yeah! You like this one?”
Erik peered out the window with a frown. He pulled the tie from one of the curtains and tugged it across, then back. He did that a couple times, and finally decided to tuck it back into the tie. He offered Maggie a weak smile. “I’m not sure. Kinda. It’s better.”
“Maybe even better with a violin and some ducks?” Maggie asked. “And a hamburger? I’ll go get one right now!”
He latched onto her hand with a wobbly frown. He shook his head. “Sit with me?”
“Sure! Um…”
Mordecai had touched her shoulder. He looked worried, but only for an instant, as if a literal shadow had crossed his face, but the offending twig or leaf had blown away in the wind. Now he smiled at Erik. “We’ll take turns. Will that be okay, dear one? I know all of us at once is a lot, so we can take turns. Then you don’t have to be alone…?”
Erik nodded. “Can you get the hamburger, though? I’d… I’d like one.”
Mordecai kept smiling, although there was no way in hell he could get that hamburger. “Sure. I’ll just grab Hyacinth first.” He looked past Erik, making eye contact with Maggie. “If she doesn’t have someone to watch her and grab her, she might inflict healthcare on someone and get us into trouble. Somebody needs to be responsible.”
Erik frowned. “Hyacinth is responsible.”
“Not reliably,” Mordecai said firmly. “I love and respect her very much, but I don’t get confused and start trusting her, dear one. I know how she is.”
Erik glanced back over his shoulder. Maggie was frowning, but she quickly smiled. Erik sighed. “Okay.”
When Mordecai had gone, Erik sat on one of the bench seats, Maggie took the other, and Erik nudged the door closed with his foot.
“So, my uncle thinks if you leave me alone for two seconds, I’ll find a pack of matches and set myself on fire, huh?”
She smirked and folded her arms. “Oh, I see. You got me alone for an interrogation.”
He responded with a somewhat ironic frown. “Yes, but that’s not what I want to ask.”
“Okay, okay.” She put up her hands. “Look, I know that kid knocked some stuff loose when he banged into your brain. We don’t want to hit you where it hurts, but I don’t want you to keep a lid on everything that’s bothering you because you don’t want to hurt us. That’ll hurt you too. Ask away, and if I can’t answer for reasons of emotional security, I’ll be honest about that.”
The mild irony faded, replaced by surprise, then caution. He drew back for a moment, then nodded gravely. “Okay. So, when you grabbed that kid…” He sighed. “Were you so smart you figured out he got rid of Greg, or were you so dumb you grabbed a god?”
“Oh, the second one,” she said, nodding. “But I was one-hundred-percent positive it was Greg, and he doesn’t hurt people.”
“Ah-ha.” Erik nodded too. “Yes, you are correct. Greg doesn’t hurt people, but Marc wanted to hurt us, and you didn’t grab Greg, you grabbed him. If he wasn’t basically a good person who snapped out of it when he saw how hurt I was, he could’ve killed you. He could’ve killed everyone in the room.”
She frowned, but only for a moment. “I could take him.”
“Maybe, but you sure as hell couldn’t take St. George.” He sat forward. “This is like when you tried to ‘fix’ the eggbeater and it chewed up your whole finger, Mags. Only we’re not kids anymore. Adjust your compass and stay on course. Don’t get dead trying to help me, okay?”
She sighed, shaking her head. “We all want you to be okay and we’re all going to be stupid about it in our own special ways. So your uncle tries to micromanage you and I try to punch gods.” She shrugged and smiled. “I won’t stick my finger in the eggbeater again. Is that all?” He wasn’t smiling, so she leaned in and smiled even more. “Want me to go steal you some fun shit from the racist club car when your uncle gets back? Liquor? A lighting fixture…?”
He shook his head, still not smiling. “I can’t tell him, I can’t talk to him, I… I can’t do this. The train. I can’t…”
“Whoa, okay.” She put her hand on the door. “Yes you can…”
“No.” He shook his head faster, looking down and away. “I don’t need you to convince me or reassure me. I know I need to, I understand that, I just can’t.” He shuddered and curled up in his seat, pulling his knees to his chest with his back to the window. “I don’t know what it is. I can roll with a lot, but I don’t like it here. This is the best thing for all of us, but I don’t think I can do it, and I don’t know what we’re going to do if I can’t.” Now he turned to look at her. “Wh-what if I have another freakout and jump?”
She laughed. “Jump? Off the train? That’s what you’re worried about?” She raised a hand as if pulling up a marionette’s strings, picked him up and held him, hovering just shy of hitting his head on the bunk again.
“Geez…” He put out a hand to steady himself, but it wasn’t necessary. He pushed off the back of the seat and turned a slow somersault, just like goofing off in the deep water at the beach.
“Jump your little heart out,” she said with a grin. “If I can’t catch you, there are two other people here who can. And the other ones are all great at all that mental health stuff. You’re safe, even if you don’t feel like it. Get me?”
He laughed, a little, regarding her upside down. His unkempt hair made a point at the top of his head like a Kewpie doll. “Guess so.”
A red hand knocked on the little round window. “Dear one?” said a muffled voice. “Do you…?” As soon as the red face peeked through the glass, the door slid open and Mordecai stuffed himself inside with them, closing the door behind him and racking the curtain across the little window. “Honestly! People can see you!”
“So?” Maggie replied.
Erik produced a little burst of gold glitter. As it floated downwards, it formed letters, some of which were facing the wrong way: YOU’RE GOING INSANE!
He could only write I LIVE ON TIPS and THANK YOU! with all the letters going the right way, because Maggie helped him with those.
The missive faded and the “glitter” vanished before it hit the floor.
Mordecai frowned at Erik. Slowly, he lifted one finger, and pointed it. “Did you…”
Erik inclined his head with a small, innocent smile — much like the angelic version of him Maggie had pictured. “Uncle, I have no idea what I’ve done. Want my best guess?”
Mordecai sighed and pressed a hand over his eyes. “Maggie, please just put him down. And what do you want on the hamburger?”
Erik folded his hands. “Can I get a lighting fixture?” he asked, with a straight face.
◆◆◆
A voice outside the train hollered something in Prokovian, which was echoed from the nearby cars, then lost under the increasing engine noise.
By this point, Erik had collected a flat hamburger in a cardboard box (both of which had similar textures), a bag of chips, a bottled soda, the duck painting (it fit well enough against the door) the violin and its case, and a small wall sconce with a blue shade and a flame-shaped light bulb. He’d taken off David’s coat, and the boots, and wrapped himself in a blue blanket from the folded bunk. He looked almost like a normal Erik having a normal train trip, albeit a more expensive one than he or his family could ever afford.
Maggie had been playing with the light bulb, trying to get it to light up with magic alone. Erik was playing with the violin, almost silently. There wasn’t enough room to use the bow, and the bandage on his hand made that a difficult prospect. He fingered the notes and plucked the strings, and occasionally Maggie hazarded a guess about the half-audible melodies.
The train began to move, slowly at first, with a lot of steaming and puffing that obscured the view.
Erik set the violin aside and grasped the edge of his seat with a hand. Maggie reached across and put her hand on top of his. As the train sped up and the picturesque city slid by, she felt him relax and let go. “Better?” she asked.
He nodded and took an absent sip of soda. He looked out the window at the cobbled streets and soaring spires. They blurred and vanished into the rainy afternoon. The snow was melting into the gutters too. Spring was on its way, but they weren’t going to be there to see it.
Maggie said, “I’ve got a magazine, do you want…?”
He put up a hand. “Could I just… just watch it go away for a sec?”
“Yeah.”
They both looked out the window and said their silent goodbyes to Cyre, and all associated traumas and triumphs.
Erik disengaged first and racked the curtain across his half of the window. He sank back against his seat with a sigh. “I want to remember it. I-I mean, I don’t want to snap back to reality with no idea I was ever here. I don’t want to lose it.”
Maggie nodded.
He shook his head. “But I can’t remember being here. I just get little pieces when I think about it, and I can see how much must be missing between them. How much they… they took from me.” He curled up tighter. “I don’t feel good.”
She opened one of the sparkling waters for him. He took it and drank a few swallows.
“How’s the hand?” she asked.
He passed the bottle to his left hand and held up the right, showing the bandage across the palm. Hyacinth had changed it in the station bathroom, hours ago, and there was no blood showing through the gauze. He flexed his fingers easily. “Itches. No big deal. I’m still magical, it’s just not gonna take the dents out of my brain. Heh.” He shrugged. “I don’t want the bandage anymore, but I don’t wanna forget and scratch it open again, so I’m stuck with it.”
“You want that magazine? A distraction? It’s…” She snickered and dug her hand lower into her altered pants pocket. “Hang on…”
Erik put up both hands. “If it’s the one with that smiling lady who teaches me how to make tuna casserole even though I already know how, I do not need to see her again…”
Maggie cackled. “That one’s Ann and Milo’s.” She put the folded magazine on the table. “Pulp sci-fi. I can barely read it, but it’s got lots of fun pictures. That’s not what I’m after, though. I got you a souvenir.”
He picked up the lighting fixture. “Yeah.”
“Nah.” She set a glittery snow globe on top of the magazine. Cyre’s jagged skyline was faithfully reproduced in cheap plastic, with large Anglais letters beneath, C-Y-R-E. “For your Memory Box! See? You won’t forget…”
He heaved a watery sigh and curled forward, pressing both hands over his eyes.
Her hand was still hovering near the snow globe. She covered it and drew it away. “Or we don’t necessarily have to… I mean, I sure as shit wouldn’t want to remember… I will set this on fire right now if you…”
“I do.” He took it from her. He shook it up and watched the sparkles fall. “I do want to remember. I just… I just need more than a plastic city and a lamp. I don’t even know how long…” He looked up and peeked behind the curtains. “Snow’s melting, finally. Spring?”
“March,” she allowed.
“My uncle’s birthday?”
She paused, frowned, and laughed. “Yesterday. I’ll ask my mom in a minute and make sure, but I think we all forgot. We were busy. You’re a gift — ‘cos you’re present.”
He laughed, too, a little. “Cousin Violet has a sense of humour. Or ‘kismet,’ as my uncle would say. That’s way snappier.”
“We could get him a cupcake and surprise him.”
Erik shook his head. “He’d hate it. Too much going on, and I might get scared. Hell, I might, you know. Don’t let on. We’ll surprise him when we’re home.”
She nodded. “Yeah. Once we’re home… I’ve got way more stuff. It’s not just the snow globe. I wrote down everything about how we tried to find you. I knew you’d want it. We’ll get to it, but it’s probably too much right now.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah. Two… Three months…” He touched a hand to his patch. “It’s a lot. It’s like when I lost all my baby teeth, and I could feel the empty spaces all the time.”
Maggie looked pained, and she tried not to think of why. There were way more empty spaces than that. “Magazine?” she offered. “Ooh.” She showed him the cover. “Look. Sexy bug lady with a raygun. She means business. If we can’t figure out what she’s up to, we’ll make something up!”
He scooted over to one side, away from the window. “Sit by me?”
She hesitated, but only for an instant. That was definitely not “distance,” as recommended by Uncle Mordecai. But she’d had enough goddamn “distance.”
Anyway, they’d been sitting near each other for hours already.
She cuddled up, stole some of the blanket, and spread out the magazine in their laps. “I can habla the lingo a little, but the writing is a crapshoot. Only the numbers are the same…”
They “read” for an uneventful half hour, laughing at the overdramatic art and trying to make up the most ridiculous narratives imaginable, but they didn’t see the bug lady again. Erik got impatient and flipped back to the cover. “I bet I can match up the title, if it’s on here…”
“Can you read it?” Maggie asked, blinking.
He adjusted his metal eye. “No, but I’m great at matching shapes. You remember the tangrams? And ‘Frustration,’ at the arcade?”
She grinned. “Betcha can’t. This shit’s in two dimensions, with backwards letters.”
“Oh, well, now I gotta.” He peered at the writing. “Let’s see… C-K-A… E? N…”
“Fool, that’s the title of the magazine.”
“I’m just getting a feel for it… M-A-P-T…”
“That’s the…” She frowned. “Wait…” But it was too uncertain, and too late.
He gasped and looked up at her, with tears already gathering below his eye. She was near enough to understand, though he couldn’t say it aloud, (Eighty-eight?)
The idea of a birthday with a cake and nineteen candles occurred and vanished — cancelled, irretrievable, gone forever.
And she saw something she’d seen before. He’d told her it was a nightmare he kept having, one thing he wanted to forget, and he couldn’t. It came back at the worst times. He didn’t know where he was, but he was alone, and when he looked down, he saw a wheelchair and a hospital gown, and his hands were spotted and wrinkled and old. And he knew, he knew something bad had happened and he’d lost everything, and everyone who could help him get it back was gone or dead, and soon he’d be dead, too, and he’d keep waking up and not remembering his whole family was gone, until… until…
His eye whirred and adjusted, so loud and sudden and near it sounded like screaming, and he knocked back against the seat. He gasped and sobbed, and the words and images recurred — Eighty-eight? I’m nineteen. I missed my birthday. I’m going to die alone with nothing — and he reset again.
Maggie snatched the magazine and burned off the date with a spell — but it happened again.
Too close, she thought. She scrabbled into the opposite seat and drew up her legs.
He blinked, rattled his head, and reached out for her hand. (Let me see it!)
She swatted him with the magazine. “Cut it out! You reset three times trying to get your head around it! Let it go! Leave my brain alone!”
He covered his face with both hands and wept quietly.
She put on both her gloves, leaned forward, and set her hand on his back. “I’m sorry. I know how important it is to remember. But not like that. Don’t do it like that.”
He shook his head. “I can’t help it. It’s too scary. I need to fill in the blank. If it’s there, I’ll grab it.”
“Is this easier?” She held up her gloved hand.
He frowned. “It’s harder.”
She glanced out the window, and she pushed a thought at him. They were leaving Cyre, going from the city to the countryside, and he was suddenly terrified he’d forget it. (What about that? Can I show you?)
He drew back with a flinch, then nodded. (That’s easier.) He sighed. “I’m sorry.”
She hugged him, but she kept the gloves on. “It’s not your fault. I won’t leave you. I won’t let you forget. And as soon as we’re home, we’ll write everything down and put it away, so it’s always there for you, even when I’m not. I will beat your side of the story out of John if I have to.”
He tapped the side of his patch with a fingernail. “We have to record it, Mags. I forgot how to read, before.”
She nodded. “Then we will.”
He smiled, a little. “Oh, hey, cool magazine.” He reached for it. She cringed, but let him. She’d burned every number out of it, it was safe — just with a few suspicious holes she might need to explain away.
Not unlike Erik’s memory.
“I can barely read it,” she said with a smile. She sat down beside him again. “But there’s lots of pictures. We can make up some fun stories…”
◆◆◆
Erik woke up, just a little bit, and reached up to put his arm around Maggie.
So Milo politely knocked on the metal door frame.
Erik startled, but only a little. He smiled and tipped Milo a small salute.
Milo smiled too. That lady in the leopard robe tried to tell them that other kid had a radar in his head, but Erik had way better radar. So there.
He signed: BOTH ASLEEP. I/ME WATCH. SAFE.
Erik signed: CREEPY [SMALL, SILLY] ONIISAN [SHORT]. «kinda creepy, little big brother.» He grinned.
Milo covered a smile with his hand. SAFE [x3], he reiterated. NIICHAN [TALL]. He signed it so high he brushed the underside of the bunk, even though Erik only had a couple inches on him, and none at all on Ann in heels.
Calliope had given them a way to sign what everyone was already saying out loud, ever since Erik shot up like a weed around age fifteen. Wakoku had a lot of words for “big brother.” Erik could have one for being taller, and being Mordecai’s responsibility longer, and Milo could have another for actually being older. In Anglais, they just said “little big brother” and “big little brother,” but Milo thought it lacked nuance. “Niichan” was much cuter.
Erik didn’t forget that even a little. It was better than a hug!
Erik yawned and grabbed his eye out of the ashtray. He clicked it back into place. It spun around once and settled. He signed: YOU SLEEP [ASK]?
Milo spread his arms extravagantly. NO [UNICORN]. «no, that’s impossible!»
TRAIN FUN [ASK]?
Milo waggled a hand. SO-SO. TRAIN [FUN NEW EXPENSIVE RACIST STRESSFUL]. FOOD [SHITTY]. He glanced aside at Maggie, who was still curled up under the blanket. MACHINE [EVIL] DRAG [MAGIC] STOP HELP YOU. «that evil thing dragged me around with magic and stopped me from helping you.»
Erik frowned. He spelled it, the most formal way possible, scolding: B-R-I-G-A-D-I-E-R G-E-N-E-R-A-L G-L-O R-I-O-U-S D-I-V-E-R OR SIR. He saluted again.
Milo saluted and scratched his nose with his thumb, like Lola did. That was a starcatcher thing, which she said they’d adopted to keep them distinct from the real military, but also indicative of general disdain. Or General disdain, in this case.
Erik gave up and allowed a snicker, though a quiet one. He signed, FIX VIOLIN, just as Milo began to sign, HUG, and they both broke off before adding any tags. Milo put both hands up, offering space, and Erik said, “Aw,” aloud.
(Milo, look at me. That’s not it. It’s easier for you to give me things, so that’s what I asked for. It’s…)
Milo looked stricken. (Would you rather have Ann?)
Erik signed: NO [x2, SLOPPY] HUG [OPTIONAL, SLOPPY] GIVE TOY [OPTIONAL, SLOPPY] I/ME UNDERSTAND [SLOPPY]. IUL. «hell naw. hug me or gimme somethin’, your call. i get you. i love you.»
Milo tumbled across the small space between the seats — reclining one halfway had eaten most of it — and wrapped both arms around Erik. He drew back, uncertain. (Wait. I mean, “I love you too”…?)
Erik hugged him. (Don’t worry, I get ya.)
(Okay. I’m sick of being crammed in that little room with that awful lady. Please, please, please let me hang out and play with the violin? Is that a lighting fixture? Can I take that apart? Do you need that?)
Erik breathed another low laugh and shook his head. “Maggie, stop pretending to sleep. Milo wants to switch out. And you can keep the bulb, but the rest of the lamp is forfeit. Okay?”
She groaned and peeled down the blanket, “Oh, fine.” Milo goggled at her and banged into the door in his haste to withdraw.
She smirked. “Milo, for gods’ sakes. Nobody else knocks on the wall to say ‘hi.’ I knew that was you. Get out of the way so I can have a nap in a real bed.” She paused and looked back, “Just don’t leave him alone.”
◆◆◆
Milo took that to heart. When the lamp-to-kick conversion got past the design stages and required Hyacinth to make some real-life modifications, he took Erik with him, though Erik preferred to remain in the narrow hall.
As Milo was just beginning to show her the preliminary sketches, Erik executed a flawless double-take and narrowed his eyes. He snatched up David’s ruined coat from the other room and put it on, brushing at the sleeves and making a show of straightening the shredded lapels.
Most of the others were waiting to translate for Milo, and Hyacinth was, admittedly, trying to focus on the sketches he’d produced — but she did notice the coat. It was like a spectre appearing out of the corner of her eye. She knew who that really was and dismissed it, until…
“Oh, Alice,” Erik said airily. “Do try and focus on what my dear protégé is trying to impart. This bizarre creature,” here, he laid a hand across his own breast, “is so dreadfully fixated on having a Shiny New Toy,” here, he tipped his head playfully back and forth, once per word, “to play with — the gods alone know why!”
Most of the others reacted with horror. Milo dropped his sketches all over the floor. Maggie opened her mouth and was about to try punching a god again.
…But Hyacinth cackled. She leapt up on the bench seat she’d just vacated and declared, “Darling!” Here, she smoothed back her ragged bob with a hand. “One really mustn’t do such gauche things with oil and solder in first class, where people might see us.” Here, she narrowed her eyes with a pointed grin. “One ought to get Utterly Fucking Wasted” — she tipped her head back and forth too! — “on complimentary champagne and canapés, and do something really impressive.” She glanced around the little room with guarded disdain. “Provided one can find them.”
Erik finally deigned to enter the room, striding while pleading with both hands, “Ah! Oh! This can’t be first class! Can this Wretched Little Hovel really be first class?” His expression said he was almost in tears, his dry left eye said otherwise.
Hyacinth clasped her hands, similarly distressed. “What is wrong with this nitwitted, bass-ackwards country? Have they an austerity fetish?” She tore at her hair with both hands and stamped her feet. “I did not consent to this kink! I refuse to participate in it! Safeword! Safeword!”
Erik jumped up on the bench seat opposite her and declared, “Fetch me a bottle of Cointreau, a Marselline flag and a match this very instant! We shall burn the place to the ground!”
They leaned across, clasped each other’s hands and cried out together, “For Marsellia!”
Erik broke off with a scowl, but Hyacinth continued, “…Home of Cygnet, and Hennessy’s — blessèd be its name! — and most importantly…” She frowned. “What happened?”
“‘Most importantly me,’ is that what you were gonna say?” Erik gestured to the vacant seat behind Maggie. “He started doing it too. ”
Hyacinth grinned. She jumped down. “Oh, we have an audience?”
Erik nodded grudgingly, still pouting. “He keeps hanging around you, hiding behind lampposts and stuff like he’s thin.” Judging from his expression, this did not have the desired effect on the occupant of the empty seat. “He saw the coat and he was all,” he touched a hand to his chest and put on the persona again, but only halfway, “‘We had that tailored,’ but now he’s happy. He’s clapping.”
Hyacinth lifted a finger, “Imitation is flattery, my dear young…” She glanced at her finger, put it down, and put her hand behind her back. “…kiddo. He loved it when I did that. If he was pissed, he’d try to outdo me, but he still loved it. If you want to annoy him, be someone else.”
She cast about for an example and picked up a bag of the sub-par, stale train chips. “This tastes terrible and I’m eating it anyway. That’s fun for me, I don’t even care. I’m talking with my mouth full and I’m going to swallow.” She did, and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “I’m never going to condition my hair no matter how bad it looks. And here comes another chip!”
“I like grape soda better than champagne?” Erik said uncertainly.
“Who cares if it dyes your teeth purple?” Hyacinth added, crunching.
Erik took a chip too. “Image isn’t everything.”
Hyacinth sprayed crumbs on him, “Image isn’t anything! It’s nothing at all. No substance.” She flung a gesture. “Nobody loves a facade. That guy, whatsisname, he practically raised me and he made almost no impression at all.”
“He hijacked my body,” Erik replied, “and I couldn’t care less. Didn’t cramp my style in the least.”
She grinned. “What style?”
“Totally. Who needs it?” He brushed at the ripped coattails. “This is an improvement. It’s my coat now, I’m keeping it. Tailoring is a total waste of time, all you need is a scissors and…” He winced. “He’s screaming.”
Hyacinth sniffed. “What? Who is? Ignore him.”
Erik smiled. “Ignore what?” He laughed and applauded. “He’s gone. I’m positive! Uh…” Only now did he notice the variously poleaxed, terrified, and irritated expressions of the rest of his family. “Heh. Sorry. I had a thing.” He cast his eyes aside and shooed a reluctant gesture. “We dealt with it, it’s cool.”
Maggie swatted his arm with her gloved hand. “Never do that again!”
“Sorry…”
Hyacinth looked away, out the window, though she had no idea where or how he’d gone. “Yeah, I… I kinda feel bad…”
Milo broadly shook his head. He patted her.
Mordecai pulled Erik by the arm. “Let’s leave David and Auntie Hyacinth alone for now, dear one. What would you like for dinner? We’ll get it for you.” He smiled.
Erik did too. “Definitely something sloppy that tastes terrible.”
◆◆◆
From the dining car menu in the smaller room, Erik ordered a bowl of “Marselline Onion Soup,” which looked like dirty dishwater and tasted about the same. When Hyacinth delivered it, he declared it perfect. Mordecai opted for a “Frikadelle,” which turned out to be pretty much a hamburger, but worse. It would be better once they switched to Marselline Consolidated Rail, he said, before matter-of-factly fixing the taste and texture of both.
Erik couldn’t even find it in him to protest for the sake of annoying David. It had been so long — he’d forgotten he could do that too. He abandoned the soup and gave his uncle a tearful hug. It was quite some time before they were able to eat anything at all, but it was still warm when they got to it.
They looked out the window at the dark countryside, pale moon, and skeletal trees, saying kind words that signified little. They laughed politely at things that didn’t really require it. Finally, Erik sighed, stopped smiling and said, “Do you have to do that?”
Mordecai had been agitating a cup of near-boiling vending-machine-style herbal tea with a wooden stirrer, looking at it instead of Erik. He stopped and looked up, sheepishly.
Erik was shaking his head. “Not that. You always need something to do with your hands, I don’t mind that.” Now he looked up, too, pained. “Is whatever you’re really thinking that bad?”
Mordecai set the tea on the table. “No, dear one. I’m just not fond of the way my brain works and I don’t want to inflict that on anyone else.” His focus wobbled and he almost dropped it right then and there, but he composed himself with effort and asked first, “Does it bother you?” Diane had never mentioned it bothering her. She noticed him doing it, she’d tease him about it, but she never came out and said it bothered her.
In retrospect, he guessed he should’ve been paying more attention to how she teased him about things and tried to work out why.
Erik waggled a hand. SO-SO. “People are like swimming pools. Hyacinth is kinda muddy, but I could still dive in if I really wanted. You’re a skating rink right now, and I know you’re freezing it on purpose. It’s like you don’t trust me.” He winced and touched a hand to his patch. “But I guess you shouldn’t. I get grabby when I forget something, I might take a chunk out of you like a scared cat.” He laughed weakly. “Or myself, that’s more likely. You’d really hate that.”
Mordecai cringed. “I didn’t make it less scary at all, did I?” He put up one hand, begging a brief pause. “I’m beating myself up under the ice, and I already know it’s pointless and I shouldn’t. The best I can do is try to keep it somewhere you don’t have to look at it — it’s not because I don’t trust you, it’s because I know you’ll try to help me. Now is the time when we help you. All the way home.”
Erik snickered. “I guess I don’t trust you.”
“I don’t trust any of us either. You are not alone in that.”
Erik kicked back and put his feet on his uncle’s seat. “You do alright. Whatcha wanna play together when we get back? What’s at the top of the charts back home?”
It was another off-ramp to a light topic of zero importance, they both knew it, and they both knew the other knew it. Mordecai felt a little bit melancholy about it, but he had no idea if Erik felt the same. Growing up felt different from the outside.
When you’re on the airship, he thought, it feels like taking off. When you’re left on the ground, it looks like pulling away.
Men — as both of them were bound to be — had a way of communicating sideways with each other. With your bog-standard male, it would be sports, or cars, or some other thing neither he nor Erik bothered with. Music was a little better, but the intent was the same. Togetherness, with a spacer to keep the intimacy from getting too intense. Direct connections were for parents and children. Erik was shedding that aspect, and they had both lost some of the time they should’ve had to get used to it.
Gods, but he was grateful to have any time at all. This pain was preferable. This was the pain of being alive and together, not the amber-frozen heartache he would always feel for Erik’s mother.
Besides, there was still a little childhood left. It was just weird right now because they were wounded and they didn’t want to hurt each other. They both knew that.
Mordecai accepted Erik’s courtesy with surface-level grace, and the expected sardonic expression. “You can sort through the top ten list when we get home, I only play music with experience.”
“And at least an inch of dust,” Erik disdained, with equal dishonesty. “Yes, yes…”
“The Beatles don’t have time to get dusty! No DJ worth his salt would hesitate to spin any record they ever…”
“‘Why Don’t We Do It in the Road,’” Erik deadpanned.
“A triumph!”
They regarded each other with fixed expressions for a stubborn instant.
But Mordecai couldn’t keep a straight face, and they both broke down.
“One and a half very good albums! One and a half!”
“Yeah, on four fucking cylinders! Whaddya wanna call the rest of it?”
“A necessary evil! As you get older, dear one, you will find that sometimes one must compromise one’s ideals with reality, such as the immutable fact that a standard forties-era phonograph would only accept cylinders in groups of two!”
“…And rock-and-roll music sounds way better with drums.” Erik grinned. “So you’re gonna help Milo and me upgrade Prue tomorrow, huh?”
“Ah!” Mordecai touched a hand to his chest, struck. “I walked right into that.” He grinned too. “But, no. Never. You do evil on your own time.” He toasted Erik and sipped his tea, which was cool enough now… and about as flavourless as the frikadelle. He frowned at it. “This needs serious help.”
Erik held out a hand. “Gimme. I’ll fix it. It’s my turn.”
He did it with spearmint, lemon and honey, but not too sweet — a known favourite. Mordecai was so overcome with emotion that all he could do was look out the window and comment on the weather.
◆◆◆
After a “fair and reasoned” — and audible! — discussion in the hall, pyjama-clad Maggie and Mordecai presented themselves and explained they were both going to sleep with Erik because there was “room enough.” The seats folded down into what Prokovian Rail insisted was a double bed, it would be fine.
“Sweet!” said Erik. “I call top bunk!” He pulled it down and climbed up, pyjamas be damned.
Mordecai regarded Maggie, and Maggie’s pyjamas, with horror, “Dear one…” She just grinned. “No, it’s fine. That’s cool. You comfy up there, fool?”
“Yeah!” He stretched out and his feet thudded the wall, with his knees still bent. He had to spread his legs into an isosceles triangle to fit. “It’s my own little…” He tried to fold his arms behind his head and knocked an elbow on the wall. “My own little…” He turned on his side and bumped his head. He frowned at the ceiling and pressed it with a hand, but it didn’t budge. “…aspirin capsule.” He rolled over and stared at the ceiling. “Coffin.”
He sighed.
“I can’t sleep up here, you guys.”
Maggie nudged Mordecai. “The fool ain’t dumb. Sometimes he just needs a minute. Come on.” She hit the recline button on both seats and waved him down. “There’s more space down here. Give it a try. Window or aisle?”
“Window,” Mordecai said firmly, though Maggie scowled at him. “He’ll wake you if he tries to leave,” he told her.
She sighed, and nodded. “You mind the window, fool?”
Erik considered it, and the street lights currently whizzing past it. “Nah, it’s all right.”
◆◆◆
Maggie was half-asleep and vaguely aware that the train had stopped and Erik was sitting up and looking out the window. It was just after dawn and he had the drape open, but it was overcast, not yet bright enough to be really annoying. She’d put her hand on his leg and left it there, to be reassuring, before drifting off, but she wasn’t really asleep, just not ready to get up yet. That tiny bathroom was really annoying. She wasn’t sure if she even wanted a shower…
So when he pushed off her hand and crawled over her, she figured that was where he was headed, and she woke up right away to let him past.
She heard him rattling the latch on the sliding door. She thought he just couldn’t see it, so she sat up and clicked on one of the lights. “Hey…”
He was wearing David’s coat and boots with her spare pyjama bottoms and his own funny T-shirt, clutching the violin case and the smashed hat, and clawing at the door. “Open, open, open…”
That woke Mordecai up. He banged his head on the ceiling and groaned. “Damn it…”
“Hey-hey…” She tried to take the violin case, just to get it out of the way, and he sobbed, shaking his head. “Okay, okay,” she said. “You’re okay, just…”
“Open it!” Erik shrieked. His eye whirred and adjusted. His gaze slid past her, out the window. He shook his head, whimpering, “Go. Go now. Go…”
Mordecai leaned down from above, “Dear one…” but they were both jammed up by the door and there was no room for him to exit the bunk.
“Hang on.” Maggie opened the door and spilled out into the hall with Erik, while Mordecai tumbled out of the bunk and onto the reclined seats underneath.
The duck painting was lying on the floor, with a boot print on it. Maggie collected it first and set it aside, perhaps a fatal error, but it might not have made any difference. Anyway, Erik picked himself up and started walking down the hall, and he got far enough away that she couldn’t just grab him to stop him. “Erik, wait for me!” She had to put on her boots and coat at least…
Mordecai had similar priorities. He banged on the door to the larger room. “Wake up! I need my shoes!”
While they were scrambling to get dressed, Erik made it to the end of the hall and paused with a cry, baffled by the two large silver buttons on the door, and their Prokovian labels. Both doors of the loading area were open and he could see the outside where he wanted to be. He began clawing at this door, too, breaking a nail in the tiny gap between the door and its metal frame.
“Whoa!” Maggie grabbed at his hands and tried to hold him still. “Hang on, hang on…”
He knocked her in the chest with the violin case and set off a huge burst of gold glitter — no words, just light, like a Thessalonian regiment armed with burning mirrors.
“Shit…” She waved a hand, trying to dispel it, but that didn’t put her night-vision back, and she thought she’d heard the door slide open. “Mom!” she hollered. “He’s using magic, get out here!” As soon as she could make out the two buttons on the door herself, she kicked the lower one and stormed out.
She supposed, as she peeked out of one doorway, then the other, that she’d also summoned and insulted Ann and Milo with that, but that was fine. If they wanted to help out, that was one more person for Erik to blind, even if they were shit at countermagic.
There were awnings and benches on either side of the track, with a few people standing or sitting and smoking, and one woman rapidly consuming a sweet roll and a cup of coffee. Many of these people were also haphazardly dressed, and the sweet-roll woman had curlers in her hair. Thus, Maggie felt perfectly safe clambering off the train in boots, coat and pyjama bottoms — the instant she discerned Erik striding away from the train station altogether, towards a wide street lined with dark storefronts.
“Erik, get back here!”
She was already constructing a rudimentary forcefield to block him when a voice behind her echoed, “Here!”
Erik shrieked and began to struggle against an invisible force that was pulling him back towards the train, paddling with both feet against the damp concrete and getting zero traction.
Maggie glanced back, and up. “Not the best choice from a mental health standpoint, Mom…”
The General was in boots, stockings and coat, standing in the open doorway and holding her hand out to prevent the object she had summoned from hitting her in the face — or crashing into her whole body, depending on what she’d specified. “An improvement over smacking face-first into an invisible wall,” she said breathlessly.
Mordecai didn’t seem to approve, regardless. He shot out from behind the General and leaped from the train car with a cry, “Erik! It’s okay! We won’t hurt you!” He was wearing shoes with no socks, no pants, and a long blue coat that made him look like a flasher. He hit the ground running, which was probably not good for his physical health, but Erik was being dragged towards him with increasing speed, so maybe he wouldn’t be running for long.
“Please tell me you didn’t grab him by the underwear,” Maggie said.
“I have no idea what Erik’s underwear looks like,” said the General. “I doubt it is specific enough.”
Hyacinth and Milo appeared behind her. Milo was already fully-dressed, he was a pathological early-riser. He was the only one. Hyacinth was in an unmitigated plaid flannel nightgown and socks, no coat or shoes at all. She observed Erik’s trapped-animal-like distress with horror that became irritation. She swatted the Marselline military’s supreme countermagical virtuoso (retired) on the arm, “Cut that shit out!” and also jumped off the train.
Milo followed her without violence or comment, but he did aim a brief scowl at the General.
Mordecai had finally reached Erik, lifting a hand to catch him or comfort him. Erik responded by clocking his uncle in the head with the violin case, knocking both man and instrument to the ground. That got the General off the train too.
“Invisible wall was better,” Maggie muttered, now also running.
Meanwhile, now that Erik had both arms free, he struggled urgently out of David’s coat. The coat completed its journey to the General’s waiting hand unimpeded, and Erik took off in the other direction, as fast as the rain-slick ground would allow.
He smacked face-first into an invisible wall and wiped out on the concrete.
“How is that an improvement?” said the General.
“He stopped, didn’t he?” Maggie snapped. “Erik!”
Milo got there first. Hyacinth had peeled off to collect Mordecai. A policeman was also approaching, but when Milo noticed him, yet another invisible force launched the cop through the air in the opposite direction, over the rooftops and far away.
“Okay, that might not’ve been the best idea either,” Maggie said. She dropped to her knees beside Erik. “But I’m not one to judge…”
Erik offered nothing but a low moan, and a hand raised to ward them both away.
Maggie tried a smile. She focused on one simple, safe thought, (You flipped out, we’ve got you, it’s fine,) and wrapped her fingers securely around his.
She felt a single brief touch like a raindrop, and then it was like a blast from a firehose knocked her into a pool. It was brief; she fell in and through and back out again, all in one smooth motion. She felt cold fear, uncertainty, then chagrin, (Aw, man,) and then she was kneeling on the pavement and holding Erik’s hand.
He offered her a weak smile. “Did I jump, or…?” His expression cratered. “My uncle!”
His eye whirred and adjusted, and he clapped both hands over his face.
By the time Hyacinth and the General scraped Mordecai off the ground and presented him, Erik had already reset four or five times — and it didn’t take them that long!
Mordecai didn’t have the wherewithal to plan or hold back, he just sat down and hugged Erik.
Maggie was nearest and she felt something pass between them. Milo was also near, and much easier to access. He got the whole thing.
(Hurt you, hurt you, I hurt…)
(Shhh. I’m okay. We’re okay.)
Erik clung to him and began to cry. Maggie and Milo clung to both of them. Hyacinth was about to, but she straightened with a yelp. “Uh, you guys…”
Most everyone else replied with various permutations of “Shh! Shut up!” but the General turned, pushed up her glasses, and saw. She departed at a run, not that it did much good.
Thus, a few moments later, when Mordecai felt it safe to pull back and ask with a smile, “Can we get back on the train?” Erik replied, likewise smiling, “What train?”
Now everyone saw. Maggie thought, Oh, gods. The evidence! Mordecai thought, Oh, gods. The money! Milo thought, Oh, gods. Ann’s dress!
And Erik shrieked aloud, “Oh, gods! The CAT!” His eye whirred and adjusted, and then he was crying and had no idea why. Doubtless, he would figure it out again soon.
