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‘Where’s that train going?’ Nick demanded. ‘When’s the next train coming here?’
‘I … I … saw a real monster!’ said the man. His eyes were wide with what Nick at first thought was shock but slowly realised was actually delight. ‘I saw a monster!’
‘You’re lucky it left you alive to remember it,’ said Nick. ‘Now answer my questions! You’re the stationmaster, aren’t you? Get a grip on yourself!’
The man nodded but didn’t look at Nick. He kept staring after the train, even as it disappeared from sight.
‘Where’s that train going?’
‘I … I don’t know. It’s Mr. Dorrance’s private train. It’s been waiting for days, the crew sleeping over at the house … then the call to be ready came only an hour ago. It got a slot going north, that’s all I know, direct from Central at Corvere. I guess it’d be going to Bain. You know, I never thought I’d see something like that, with those huge eyes, and those spiked hands. Not here, not—’
‘When’s the next train north?’
‘The Bain Flyer,’ the man replied automatically. ‘But she’s an express. She doesn’t stop anywhere, least of all here.’
‘When is it due to go past?’
‘Ten-oh-five.’
Nick looked at the clock above the waiting room, but it was electric and so had ceased to function. There was a watch chain hanging from the stationmaster’s pocket, so he snagged that and drew out a regulation railway watch. Mechanical clockwork did not suffer so much from Free Magic, and its second hand was cheerfully moving round. According to the watch, it was three minutes to ten.
‘What’s the signal for an obstruction on the line?’ snapped Nick.
‘Three flares: two outside, one on the track,’ the man said. He suddenly looked at Nick, his attention returned to the here and now. ‘But you’re not—’
‘Where are the flares?’
The stationmaster shook his head, but he couldn’t hide an instinctive glance toward a large red box on the wall to the left of the ticket window.
‘Don’t try to stop me,’ said Nick very forcefully. ‘Go back to your house and, if your phone’s working, call the police. Tell them … Oh, there’s no time! Tell them whatever you like.’
The flares were ancient, foot-long things like batons, which came in two parts that had to be screwed together to mix the chemicals that in turn ignited the magnesium core. Nick grabbed a handful and rushed over the branch line to the main track. Or what he hoped was the main track. There were four railway lines next to each other, and he couldn’t be absolutely sure which one Dorrance’s train had taken heading north.
Even if he got it wrong, he told himself, any engineer seeing three red flares together would almost certainly stop. He screwed the first flare together and dropped it on the track, then the other two followed quickly, one to either side.
With the flares gushing bright-blue magnesium and red iron flames, Nick decided he couldn’t afford explanations, so he crossed the tracks and crouched down behind a tree to wait.
He didn’t have to wait long. He had barely looked over his shoulder at the expanding pall of smoke from Dorrance Hall, which now covered a good quarter of the sky, before he heard the distant sound of a big, fast-moving train. Then, only seconds after the noise, he saw the triple headlights of the engine as it raced down the track toward him. A moment later there was the shriek of the whistle, and then the awful screech of metal on metal as the driver applied the brakes, a screech that intensified every few seconds as the emergency brakes in each of the following carriages came on hard as well.
Nick, on hearing the horrid scream of emergency braking and seeing the sheer speed of the approaching lights, suddenly remembered the boast of the North by Northwest Railway, that its trains averaged 110 miles per hour, and for a fearful moment he wondered if he’d made a terrible mistake. It was one thing to risk his life pursuing the creature, but quite another if he was responsible for derailing the Bain Flyer and killing all the passengers on board.
But despite the noise and speed, the train was slowing under total control, on a long straight path. It came to a shrieking, sparking halt just short of the flares.
Even before it completely stopped, the engineer jumped down from the engine and conductors leapt from almost every one of the fifteen carriages. No one got out on the far side, so it was relatively easy for Nick to run from his tree, climb the steps of a second-class carriage, and go inside without being observed—or so he hoped.
The carriage was split into compartments, with a passageway running down the side. Nick quickly glanced into the first compartment. It had six passengers in it, almost the full complement of eight. Most of them were squashed together trying to look out the window, though one was asleep and another reading the paper with studied detachment. For a brief second, Nick thought of going in, but he dismissed the notion immediately. The passengers would have been together for hours, and the appearance of a bloodied, blackened young man with burnt eyebrows could not go unnoticed or unremarked. Somehow, Nick doubted that any explanation he could provide would satisfy the passengers, let alone the conductor.
Instead, Nick looked up at the luggage rack that ran the length of the carriage. It was pretty full, but he saw a less-populated section. Even as he hoisted himself up and discovered that his chosen resting place was on top of a set of golf clubs and an umbrella, the engine whistled twice, followed by the sound of doors slamming and then the appearance of a conductor and two large, annoyed male passengers, who had just come back aboard.
‘I don’t know what the railway’s coming to.’
‘Wrack and ruin, that’s what.’
‘Now, now, gentlemen, no harm’s done. We’ll make up our time, you’ll see. We’re expected in at twenty-five minutes after midnight, and the Bain Flyer is never late. The railway will buy you a drink or two at the station hotel, and all will be right with the world.’
If only, thought Nicholas Sayre. He waited for the men to move along, then wriggled into a slightly less uncomfortable position and rearranged the flower chain across his chest so it would not get crumpled. He lay there, thinking about what had happened and what could happen, and built up plan after plan the way he used to build matchstick towers as a boy, only to have them suffer the same fate. At some point, they always fell over.
Finally, it hit him. Dorrance and the creature had gotten away. At least, they’d gotten away from him. His part in the whole sorry disaster was over. Even if Dorrance’s special train was going to Bain, they would arrive at least fifteen minutes ahead of Nick. And there was a good chance that Ripton would have made it to a phone, so the authorities would be alerted. The police in Bain had some experience with things crossing the Wall from the Old Kingdom. They’d get help—Charter Mages from the Crossing Point Scouts. There would be lots of people much more qualified than Nick to deal with the creature.
At least I tried, Nick thought. When I see Lirael … and Sam … and the Abhorsen—though I hope I don’t have to explain it to her—then I can honestly say I really did my best. I mean, even if I had managed to catch up with them, I don’t know if I’d have been able to do anything. Maybe my Charter-spelled dagger would have worked … maybe I could have tried something else … Nick suddenly felt very tired, and sore, the weariness more urgent than the pain. Even his feet hurt, and for the first time he realized he was still wearing carpet slippers. He was sure his shoes had been wonderfully shined, but by now they would be ash in the ruins of Dorrance Hall.
Nick shook his head at the thought, pushed back on the golf bag, and, without meaning to, fell instantly asleep.
He woke to find something gripping his elbow. Instantly he lashed out with his fist, connecting with something fleshy rather than the scaly, hard surface his dreaming mind had suggested might be the case.
‘Ow!’
A young man dressed in ludicrously bright golfing tweeds looked up at Nick, his hand covering his nose. Other passengers were already in th
e corridor, most of them with their bags in hand. The train had arrived in Bain.
‘You’ve broken my nose!’
‘Sorry!’ Nick said as he vaulted down. ‘I’m very sorry! Mistaken identity. Thought you were a monster.’
‘I say!’ called out the man. ‘Wait a moment. You can’t just hit a man and run away!’
‘Urgent business!’ Nick replied as he ran to the door, weaving past several other passengers, who quickly stood aside. ‘Nicholas Sayre’s the name. Many apologies!’
