Railsea

nothing-symbol under his foot.

The Medes crew had three days to turn a middling moletrain into a travelling fortress of philosophy-hunting. Hammers hammered, spanners spanned. The trainsfolk ran tests on the engines & the backup engines. Sharpened harpoons, stocked up on gunpowder. They patched up leaks in the cladding. The Medes hadn’t looked so good for years. It hadn’t looked this good when it was first made.

“You know what the stakes of this are,” Naphi said. She wasn’t much of a one for speechifying, but she couldn’t not. As her officers had told her, the crew needed to hear something. “We may be at railsea a long time,” the captain said, voice cracking through the tubes. “Months. Years. This hunt will take us far. I am prepared. Will you come with me?” Ooh, nice touch, Sham thought.

“There are no trainspeople I’d rather have with me. We hunt for the glory of Streggeye, for the owners of this fine train.” A few knowing smirks at that. “For knowledge. & if you will, you hunt for me. & I won’t forget it. We go south—& then we go where knowledge takes us. Gentlemen & ladies of the rails—shall we?”

The crew cheered. They raised raucous support for the hunt, for the end of the uncertainty. “For the captain’s philosophy!” The shout was taken up across the decks, from every carriage of the train. Really? Sham thought.

“Sham,” said Dr. Fremlo as the crew went to their tasks. “The harbourmaster delivered this.” The doctor handed over a sealed letter, at which Sham stared in consternation. He muttered thanks—not every crewmember would have handed it over, certainly not so honourably refusing to read it first. Sam Saroop, the letter said. Close enough, he supposed. Honourable or not, the doctor was not uncurious, & waited while Sham split the seal.

SPECIAL OFFER! Sham read. TO THE VISITOR TO THE SHROAKES. GOOD RATES PAID FOR INFORMATION ABOUT THEIR PLANS! VISIT HARBOURMASTER TO FIND OUT MORE. ACT NOW TO RECEIVE FREE GIFTS!

“What is it?” Dr. Fremlo said, as Sham scrunched the paper up & curled his lip.

“Nothing,” Sham said. “Junk mail. Rubbish.”

“I DON’T KNOW WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME,” Sham said, “that I just don’t feel it.” He’d been telling the Shroakes of Naphi’s rhetoric, her galvanising the crew.

Caldera shrugged. “Neither do I,” she said. “But maybe you’re lucky.”

“Lucky?”

“Not to want to throw your hat in the air.” Caldera was counting what looked like pins or screws or something on the kitchen table. Dero was packing tins into suitcases.

Sham was getting better at sneaking away from the Medes. When he had turned up at the Shroake House, the siblings had greeted him without surprise.

“Come in.” Caldera smiled. “We’re just at the end of lessons.”

“Lessons” turned out to be Dero & Caldera sitting opposite each other in the library, amid a scree of books, ordinator tablets & printouts. On the shelves around them were as many bones & bizarreries as books. Dero was sorting & stashing the materials of learning, according to some incomprehensible system. “What are your lessons like in Streggeye?” Caldera said. “What’s your school like?” She blinked under Sham’s gaze. “Don’t know that many people your age here, let alone elsewhere,” she said. “I’m curious.” Was she blushing? Well, no. But she was a bit bashful.

“We went to Streggeye,” Dero said. “Didn’t we?”

“Oh, they took us all over,” said Caldera. “But I can’t remember. I can’t say we know anywhere.”

So Sham told her a little about Streggeye Land. He was blushing, even if she was not. He stumblingly turned an anecdote or two from his quite ordinary childhood into stories of an exotic land, while Dero finished putting away the bits & pieces.

Sham continued, & Caldera listened without looking at him, & Dero left the room. Sham heard the door to Byro’s room open & close. & he kept talking, & after a minute it opened again, & Dero returned. His face was set & his eyes red. Dero stood between Sham & Caldera. Sham’s stories faltered at last. The young man from Streggeye & the quasisalvors’ daughter turned away from each other.

“My turn,” said Caldera, & slipped out of the room.

“Turn for what?” said Sham. He did not expect Dero to explain, & Dero did not. He just stood with his lip out as if ready for a fight, in increasingly lengthy & uncomfortable silence, until Caldera came back. She carried a picture of Dad Byro, a scarf, a battered old foldable ordinator from his desk.

Her face was as stricken as her brother’s, but when she spoke, she made her voice sound normal. “Where’s your bat?” she said.

“Hunting somewhere.” Sham steepled his fingers thoughtfully. “Someone sent me a message,” he said. “Offering me stuff if I’d tell things about you.”

“What did you say?” Caldera said.

“What do you think? I threw it away. & I came here the back ways you told me. But seems like there’s more & more rumours about you. & I know there’s rumours about the Medes.”

Caldera put a fingertip thoughtfully to her lips. “There are lots of rumours about your train, yes,” she said. “Rails & rumours. How you got here, where you’re going, what you’ve found on the way.”

“I been asking people what they think of when they hear about this end-of-the-world stuff,” Sham said, “& I have to tell you, it don’t sound pretty.”

“Are you coming with us, Sham ap Soorap?” Dero said.

“Wh-What?” Sham said.

“Not now, Dero,” Caldera said.

“Wait, what does he mean?” Sham said.

“Not now,” Caldera said again. “What is it you were saying about your captain’s speech, Sham?”

“Oh, well. Just that it didn’t … work on me. I really don’t think I want to get on another moletrain.” Sham looked around the house, at all the salvage.

“There are people,” Caldera said, “who say all of us have a Task—they’d say it like that, they wouldn’t say task, they’d say Task—& you’ll know what it is when you hear it. That it’s out there, waiting for you.”

“Maybe,” Sham said thoughtfully.

“I think that’s rubbish myself,” Caldera said. Dero giggled. Sham blinked.

“So none of us have tasks,” Sham said.

“I didn’t say that. Did I say that? I said maybe you don’t have a task. My task right now is to carry stuff.” She lifted various bits of luggage. “No, Dero, your task right now is to stay here & sort through this all. What do you think yours is, Sham?”

Dero tutted & grumbled as Sham followed Caldera, past boxes tied with string & strapped into place, past trunks distended from within like glutted snakes, out into the drossland garden. In sight of the landmark white metal arch, she placed a key in a coffee tin, under a polished tortoise-shell, under a bucket.

“I’m glad it was so important to you to find us & tell us,” Caldera said. “What was it happened to your parents?”

Sham looked up at her. “What?” he said. “Why?” She looked at him until he slumped. Sham pushed after her through the salvagey garden, & muttered a brief version of the story of his father’s disappearance & mother’s grief. “Voam & Troose look after me, though,” he said.

“I believe you,” Caldera said.

“They’re well pleased I got to work on a moler,” he said. “Get to see the world.”

“Some of it,” she said. “I knew what you were going to tell us the moment I opened the door, you know. I mean about our parents. & I hadn’t known until then how much I’d been waiting. I wish someone could’ve found your dad’s wreck. Or where your mum is. Told you. Done that for you, like you done for us.”

She smiled at him. Very quickly & kindly. It was gone almost immediately. Caldera held the ragged weed aside for him. “The world’s fine,” she said. “But you got to wonder what comes after it.”