11. Stowaways (Patreon)

Update: Unlocked for all patrons.

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Rain falls on and off through the early morning, but it’s not enough to slow Hallon and Milo’s trek down the mountain. If anything, the rain is a blessing, masking their trail.

Hallon weighs the difficult decision of what to do with their soldier uniforms, but the risk of them looking like army deserters is too great. They also throw their borrowed uniforms off a cliff. Anything that draws attention is a potential danger, and Hallon would rather be careful now than pay for it later. They keep the picnic basket though. The goods left inside may come in handy later.

A break in the trees gives them their first view of Barada. The town sits at the base of the mountain, with buildings dressed in white stone and roofed with blue-glazed tiles. A gold dome at its center marks an important building. On Hallon’s home world, it’d be a mosque, but here it’s probably a chief’s house or town hall. The rest of Barada expands from there along straight streets and well-ordered lines.

Hallon asks Eratosthenes for a closer look, and he obliges—swooping down to walk among the people. Most of the women wear long dresses embroidered with intricate bead work, but there are a few in frilled blouses and skirts. Their hair is either loose, tied up in pins, or plaited into braids and then worn around the neck.

The men’s clothes have fewer variations, but they’re just as colorful. They wear shirts or robes covered in richly-dyed vests. One man sports a dagger at his side. Its scabbard is covered with gold and set with precious stones. An elder walks the street with a cane, each of his fingers covered with rings. A servant in livery trails after him.

The whole place smacks of wealth, and anyone as trail-worn as Hallon and Milo would be arrested as soon as they stepped into town. And there’d be a Gloop test shortly thereafter. Hallon would bet on it. Her stomach rumbles, but there’s no helping it—they’ll have to bypass the town. Instead, they’ll head straight for the train station two miles past, right next to the storm wall. No doubt, the town’s residents placed it there to keep the noise and smoke away.

Eratosthenes confirms that the train tracks parallel the pipeline through desert, and he guides them through the rest of the descent. It’s nearly eleven by the time they arrive at the station. From across the tracks and behind a screen of trees, they watch as two large families crowd the station’s platform.

Milo whispers, “We’re not buying tickets, are we?”

“We don’t have any money. Besides, we don’t look like we belong here.”

“First bandits and now stowaways,” he says. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“We do what we have to,” Hallon says. “Now get ready.”

The train emerges from the tunnel, billowing black smoke, its whistle piercing the air. With a gust of steam and screeching brakes, it pulls into the station. The people waiting on the platform collide with those disembarking, and the attendants have their hands full keeping order. There’s a preference for the back of the train, so Hallon and Milo run for the first passenger car.

The entry is thankfully empty of people. Inside, walnut panels cover the walls, and the trimmings are all brass. On the left are windows looking out onto the station. On the right a row of compartments, each with a nameplate by the door. None of the compartments are occupied, and the nameplates are all empty. On the platform, an argument is brewing—a car’s arrived late and is asking for the train to be held.

Hallon pulls Milo into one of the compartments and shuts the door. Two padded seats face each other, while a window looks out onto the trees from which they’d just come. She opens the window in case they need a quick escape. Milo puts a hand on the sill, readying himself.

In the corridor, a conductor passes by their door, writing in a small notebook. He passes through to the second car and helps a lost passenger find his family. He checks the family’s name in the nameplate against his records and moves on.

Milo is halfway out of his seat, their stolen picnic basket in hand, when the whistle blows and the train slides forward. With a clack clack clack-clack-clack, the train loops around the station to head east, back under the storm wall. The world turns a furious dark as the storm rages above the tunnel.

Hallon is ready to intervene, but Milo forces himself to stay seated. “This fear doesn’t serve me,” he says to himself. “It doesn’t serve me.”

Fortunately, they’re not in the tunnel for long, and the light soon returns, flooding through the open window along with a blast of hot dry air. Hallon closes the window and leans back to test her seat. Milo takes a deep breath and follows suit. They both sigh at the same time.

###

Mary returns to the world with the broken sky and finds the spirits of Eratosthenes and Hallon waiting for her atop a train; the landscape rushing by at a dizzying pace. Their young charge, Milo, appears to be resting in the compartment below, along with Hallon’s body.

The two immortals don’t seem to be bothered by the vehicle’s speed. They sit calmly discussing the weather, while Mary’s senses tell her that she’s about to fall at any moment. The problem is that there are no trains on Mary’s world. She’s not even sure the Elder Trees would allow them, not with all the rushing from place to place and the dreadful smoke and noise. Sensible witches walk or ride horses or in carriages.

It would help if she could ground herself in the Green, but there’s hardly any to be found in the land around them. The sand stretches for forever, and a single life feels meaningless in the face of the desert’s terrible immensity. She’s never been anywhere this hungry for water before.

“Good we’re all here,” Hallon says. “Do we think the strange weather is related to the Calamity?”

“It’s too early to know,” Eratosthenes says, “but on a world as tortured as this, anything can happen.”

“This is my first desert,” Mary says. “Is it typical?”

Hallon rubs her chin. “Yes and no. If we were back on my version of Earth, there’d be a desert here, but it wouldn’t be this extreme. This is more like the Sahara or the Gobi. The days are blistering hot and the lack of water makes people resourceful. You’d find the places interesting.”

Interesting is such a careful word and encompasses so much that’s both good and bad. And these two are fascinated by interesting things. “I’m sure I would,” she says aloud. “Now, how do we determine if the weather is connected to the Calamity?”

“We don’t,” Eratosthenes says with a grin. He points through the floor at Milo sitting in his seat, looking out the window. “The boy’s doing the work for us. Hallon hasn’t been paying attention to his mutterings, but I have. The mathematics is surprisingly sophisticated, and if we give him enough time, I’m sure he’ll be able to unravel the weather’s mysteries for us.”

“So that’s his role in all this?” Mary asks.

“That, we don’t know. Not yet,” Eratosthenes says. “It’s possible the weather is the context, a contributing factor, but not the cause of the Calamity, in which case, his role is yet to be determined.”

“Our first step,” Hallon says, “is to find Dawrtaine.”

Eratsothenes’s grin spreads, his teeth showing.

Hallon sits up. “Don’t tell me. You found it—”

He laughs. “More like it was handed to us. Where do you think your train is headed?”

“No,” Hallon says.

“Yes,” Eratosthenes says. “Dawrtaine. I saw the listing at the train station.”

Mary shakes her head, having a hard time believing…well… any of this. “We were lucky you landed nearby. I was worried we’d have to hunt the whole world to find our next clue.”

Hallon snorts. “I’m pretty sure luck had nothing to do with it.”

“The gods?” Mary asks.

“Likely,” Eratosthenes says, “or any number of celestials or powers influencing events.”

“Let’s go,” Hallon says. “Right now. I want to see Dawrtaine with my own eyes.”

Eratosthenes rises and transforms into his dragon shape. The reptile’s head, the black feathered mane, and the lion’s body are striking—the early illustrations included with the witches’ lore don’t do him justice.

The dragon is as eager as Hallon. “Let’s go!”’

There’s the sensation of being pulled and suddenly Mary materializes in the air, sitting on the dragon’s back. Down below is a city with white walls. The walls are at least sixty feet tall and ninety feet wide at their base. They contain the center of the city while a ring of settlements and farms stretches out from them like a giant spider’s web. Wind towers rise from the walls and throughout the city, but instead of being turned by the wind, they turn the air into wind, cooling the city’s residents.

Dawrtaine is situated in what once must’ve been a river plain. Two thick lines—rivers now dry—are scratched into the earth, and the easternmost one runs through the city, crooking in the middle. It must’ve been dry for decades, because the riverbed is thick with buildings.

Four broad thoroughfares—north, east, south, and west—radiate out from the city center. Otherwise the streets are a maze of narrow, twisting alleys, especially on the west side of the city. They’re crowded with people on foot or riding in hand taxis pulled by giants with red tattoos. What automobiles there are, are clustered in the middle and eastern parts of the city.

Most of the buildings are made from fire-baked mud bricks, including those in the riverbed, except in the eastern side of the city where the buildings are made of quarried white stone. The east side also has land given over to estates, parks, and gardens—lush and plentiful with water. Some of the Green things note Mary’s presence and call to her, but she defers for now, sending her regrets and a promise to return.

“Huh,” Hallon says. “It’s Baghdad. This world’s version anyway. It makes sense when you think about it—when those rivers were still running with water, it would’ve been a perfect place to build a city.”

“Where should we explore first?” Eratosthenes asks. “We have some hours until your train arrives.”

“Nothing looks familiar, so we’ll have to start from scratch. That’s probably for the best. Any assumptions based on similarities to our world will likely bite us later.” Hallon’s face clouds over. “Hold on. Something’s happening on the train. I have to go back.”

“Should we go with you?” Mary asks.

“No, you two stay and investigate. I’ll deal with whatever it is.” Hallon’s spirit disappears as she returns back to her body.

“It’s just us then,” Mary says. “Where to?”

Eratosthenes doesn’t respond right way.

“Is everything all right?”

“I hope so,” the dragon says. “There’s an uncommon number of shadows in the city below.”

###

“Hallon, Hallon, wake up.”

She opens her eyes to find Milo beside her. “What’s wrong?”

A door opens and closes in the corridor. Then a second door opens and closes. Hallon frowns. There shouldn’t be any passengers in their car.

“Someone’s opening them in sequence,” Milo says. “Coming this way.”

“I hear it,” Hallon says, nodding.

There’s no lock on their door and nowhere to hide. Their only other exit is the window. If need be, they could climb out onto the roof of the carriage.

Milo follows her gaze. “We’re traveling at sixty-three miles per hour. A fall would be catastrophic.”

“It’s that or get caught,” Hallon says.

Another door opens and slaps closed. Whoever they are, they drag their footsteps, bored. Not a conductor then, and if that’s the case—Hallon grabs the door handle and braces herself. The footsteps try their door, but she doesn’t let it budge. The handle jiggles and the footsteps try again to no avail. The pressure drops, and the footsteps move away, only to come back a moment later, joined by a second set of steps.

“This one’s locked,” a boy says.

“Nonsense,” a girl says. “The doors don’t lock. It’s for security.”

“You’d think we’d be able to lock the doors then,” the boy says.

“Not that kind of security,” the girl says. “The staff don’t want the Silent locking themselves in with bombs and things.”

Hallon and Milo look at each other in surprise. The voices are familiar—it’s their picnic basket in Milo’s hands.

“I’m bored,” the boy says. “I wish the Silent were here now. I have all kinds of questions for them.”

“But how would they answer?” the girl asks. “They’re Silent.”

“Oh,” the boy says. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

The handle jiggles as the girl gives it a try. “Funny. The door must be stuck. Or—”

“Or it really is locked,” the boy says. “Because it’s a special compartment. For important people.”

“Or important things,” the girl says. “Secret things.”

A heartbeat passes, and they say at the same time, “We have to see what’s inside.”

Milo slaps his forehead, and Hallon would join him, except the door could open at any time.

“Should I get a conductor?” the boy asks.

“A conductor won’t tell if it’s a secret, will they?” the girl says.

“True.” The boy pauses. “We could go around. You know, through the windows.”

“Rashid Mansur Barmaki, you will do no such thing.”

“But Dananis, Dana, it would be so exciting.”

“And dangerous. Khem would kill you, assuming you didn’t kill yourself first. Not to mention what mother and father would say to me for letting you do such a stupid, foolish, gloopy thing.” She takes a breath. “I absolutely forbid it.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” Rashid says.

“I’m not, but I am your older sister,” Dana says.

“By two minutes!”

“All the same, I—”

Milo’s apparently had enough of their bickering, because he steps past Hallon to crack open the door just enough to peek through. “Excuse me,” he says in Arabic, “but could you children keep quiet? We’re trying to rest.”

Dana lets go of the door with a start. “Oh, I’m so sorry. We didn’t know the compartment was occupied. There’s no nameplate.”

“Yes,” Milo says, “some of us prefer to remain anonymous when we travel. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Your accent’s very strange.” Rashid’s face scrunches up in thought. “What House are you?”

Dana prods her brother with an elbow. “He just said that he doesn’t want his family known.” She smiles at the crack in the door. “So sorry to have disturbed,” she says and drags her brother away.

Milo makes sure there’s no one else in the corridor before closing the door.

Hallon laughs. “That was brilliant.”

“We had to do something,” Milo says. “That Rashid was determined to find out who’s in here no matter what. The numbers in his voice were stubborn.”

Hallon nods. She’d heard it too. Well, not the number part—that’s a peculiarity of Milo—but she’d heard the stubbornness. “Your Arabic is atrocious. Did you learn it from your father?”

“Yes, a little. The rest at university, so that I could read the Arabic mathematicians without translation.” Milo adjusts his spectacles. “Al-Khwarizmi is considered the father of algebra. His work—”

The door to the compartment next to theirs opens and closes. Then they hear the window slide open. Hallon’s stomach sinks, Milo blinks in disbelief, and the both of them run to look outside. They see Rashid climbing out onto the side of the train, his legs reaching for a foothold.

Hallon opens their window and gets a blast of hot air in the face. “What are you doing? Get back inside!”

The wind buffets Rashid, and he misses a foothold. Concentrating, he tries again.

His sister Dana pokes her head out of a window farther down the carriage. She screams. “Khem! Rashid’s trying to kill himself again.”

Milo yells, “Can you pull yourself up?”

“Yes, yes, I have it,” Rashid says, but his hand slips and he’s left dangling, the ground whizzing past in a blur.

He’s not going to make it. Time slows as the fire pulses through Hallon. She is up on the sill, her legs bunched under her. Rashid loses his grip and the whole world narrows to the boy’s panicked face and his outstretched arms. She jumps. One hand grabs the boy’s wrist and the other onto the train. The boy’s weight jerks her arm, but she holds on and hauls him up, tossing him through the window, back into the next-door compartment.

Milo stares with his mouth open, but this is no time to be impressed. The carriage will soon be crawling with anxious servants. Hallon gestures to him to start climbing for the roof. Milo nods and hooks the basket through one arm before clambering outside. His long legs make it easy for him to reach the roof and pull himself up.

They meet on top of the carriage, the desert flashing by and the wind whipping her hair into a frenzy. In the compartment below, there’s chaos.

“Rashid, there you are! I—ooh, I’m so furious at you—ooh—I, I’m speechless.”

“I’m fine. I’m fine. Don’t fuss, Dana. I hate it when you fuss.”

“Young Master, that was incredibly foolish. Your parents will be very disappointed when they hear—”

Hallon doesn’t stay for the rest. She heads towards the gap between carriages. All attention should be on the rescued boy, but she weaves a Look Away before dropping down, just in case. Milo joins her, and they duck into the second carriage together. Thankfully, the corridor’s empty. The first two compartments have nameplates that read Bakir, but the third one is empty. Milo swipes one of the Bakir nameplates and puts it into their compartment’s slot.

Hallon holds the door shut, while Milo clutches the basket in his hands. They hear the door to the carriage open and close. Footsteps approach the compartment next door.

“Excuse me! This is occupied.”

“Oh, I’m very sorry,” Dana says. “I must’ve gotten turned around.”

“Do you know who I am, I’m—”

“Yes, yes, you have my deepest apologies for intruding. Please excuse me.”

The door closes. Another opens farther down. More footsteps enter the carriage, a group this time.

“Miss Dananis, there you are. Please don’t run off. I think we’ve all had enough excitement for one day.”

“I was looking for the hero who helped Rashid,” Dana says. “To thank her.”

“Why, you’re the hero, Miss. Wasn’t it you who pulled him inside?”

“No,” Dana says. “It was someone else, a girl with yellow hair.”

“Are you making up stories again, Miss?”

This must be a common complaint, because the girl’s voice turns petulant. “No. No, I’m not.”

“Mmm…if you say so, Miss. Now we need to head back. Khem is waiting for us.”

If Dana says anything in response, it goes unheard. The door between carriages opens and closes.

Hallon takes a deep breath and sighs it out. “They’re gone.” Her laughter starts as a hiccup, not quite controlled, and quickly grows.

Milo looks at her, worried.

“Sorry, sorry. I just—” The sight of him climbing the outside of the train with that ridiculous basket. “Just found it funny is all.”