Den of Stars. Christopher ByfordЧитать онлайн книгу.
Attempts at small talk
The end carriage of the Morning Star was an observation car. It sported large windows, quite ornately decorated – much like the rest of the train – with walnut panelling, symmetrical bound curtains and flowered glass oil lamps connected to the carriage sides. The observation car was split in half, the first accommodating two lines of large leather chairs with side tables for each. The rear end of the car was domed, with two tiers of windows that provided a splendid panoramic view for those in motion. When in show, it became the locomotive’s smoking lounge.
It was here that Misu tucked herself away.
The windows were lashed with a shock of rain that trailed in thin rivers as they moved at speed. The cloudburst covered the sky in deep greys, built up from the region’s uncompromising heat. When rain fell in Surenth it had a tendency to fall hard and this was no exception. The cool wet breeze wafted through the car’s brass vents. Thankfully the deluge was little consideration to the Morning Star, which puffed on regardless. On the horizon a crack of lightning split the sky, landing somewhere on a hillside, its accompanying boom taking its time to reach the train.
Misu looked both at the window and through it, her eyes sometimes focusing on her reflection that seldom looked as tired as she felt. Quite the opposite in fact. The perfect duplicate seemed to stare back, even when Misu gave the slightest of squints as lightning fell once more.
‘Here you are. I’ve been from one end of the train to the other looking for you. Wait, do my eyes deceive me or are you actually relaxing?’
Misu snapped her attention away from the window as Corinne strolled inside. If it wasn’t for her announcement it was possible that she would have been totally oblivious to the company. Misu gestured to the paperwork on a smoking table beside her chair, accompanied by a plate of cake and a white china cup of pink tea seated on a dainty saucer. ‘Evidently not.’
‘What do you call the sweet, then?’ Corinne seated herself beside Misu in one of the high-backed leather chairs with unusually large armrests. It, and the others in the observation car, held people comfortably upright for taking in the view when the locomotive was in motion. Corinne often likened the chairs to a large hug. A couple of the shorter employees referred to feeling as if they were trying to eat them.
‘I call it a welcome break before the carnage is brought before me.’
‘You’re exaggerating.’
Misu pointed once more to the inch-high pile of paperwork she needed to review before reaching their destination. The train’s manifest was double-checked for accuracy, ensuring their last purchases matched what was on board. It was a painfully numbing experience and no way to entertain a few hours. A single detail out of order could spell disaster when checked, given that it was travelling over territorial borders regularly. The Morning Star could be refused entry, impounded, or worse. She didn’t know exactly how much worse things could get than the train being impounded but Franco once threatened it was somehow possible.
‘Trust me, the Star doesn’t run on kind wishes. There’s plenty to busy myself with.’ She leant forward and took the first portion of the dessert onto a silver fork and placed it into her mouth.
‘And that’s why you’re our manager. It comes with the role.’
Misu breathed through her nose, rolling the cake around with displeasure. It wasn’t terrible by any means, but nowhere up to the quality she had been accustomed to the last few years. It was begrudgingly swallowed and the fork placed upon its accompanying plate.
‘Talking of coming with, I honestly thought Kitty would rejoin us. I miss having a decent cook.’
Corinne took the fork as her own and poked the slice, scrutinizing the uneven wobble.
‘What is that?’
‘Colette’s attempt at coffee cake.’ Misu washed away the taste with some sweet pink tea. ‘Try some.’
Corrine obliged, taking a larger piece and mulling it over. When done, she went for a second. ‘There’s nothing wrong with that.’
‘We have different tastes. Mine are clearly superior.’
Corinne drew the cake plate towards herself. ‘You can’t blame Kitty for deciding not to come along. That restaurant was her life’s dream. It was a perfect package with us working there. Some people settle down and take root like plants. She’s one of them. It would have been cruel to take that away from her.’
‘You’re right. I know.’
‘They’re also not accustomed to seeing dead people stroll in through the door.’ Corinne waved the fork in the air. ‘You both damn well gave us heart attacks.’
‘Actually that wasn’t my idea. That was Franco’s. My suggestion was to do things subtly but he’s not one to take my advice. I remember a few of you needing to sit down.’
‘I remember Kitty bloody fainting! When she came to the poor girl thought she had died. That probably had something to do with her decision to pursue different avenues of employment.’ Corinne laughed with a mouthful, scattering a couple of crumbs. Misu took to the windows once more. The thunder rode through the clouds, making the glass windows shake in their frames.
‘It would have been easier if we died in that explosion. For everybody I mean. I’m not being morbid; it would have just made things … smoother.’
‘Smoother.’
‘Yes.’
Corinne finished the last of the cake and slipped the plate upon the side table, careful not to nudge the papers.
‘I think you should stop envying the dead and focus more on the living. You’ve got a long wait until the Angels take you somewhere bright and you don’t want your talk to speed up that process. I suppose the big man would take objections to that. Talking of which, have you had any word from Franco yet?’
A flash of light danced from the sky, striking the rock-littered wasteland. The rain kept up its barrage. The drumming on the car rooftop built and waned with the will of the wind. It was as if it wanted to lift the vehicle from the tracks and hurl it into the air.
‘Yes.’ Misu’s voice faded as she stared outward. ‘Recently, in fact.’
‘Is he still in Eifera?’
‘See for yourself.’
Misu reached inside her jacket breast pocket and removed a plain envelope with her name upon its face. The single slip of paper was removed. Upon its header was the company logo, a lightning bolt across a mountain surrounded by trees and the name of the provider – Post Haste Communications – in large, capital lettering on either side. Beneath, emboldened and underlined, read the word telegram. A heavy red stamp of authenticity marked the communication. Corinne read the typed document aloud.
TO: THE HARE, BY WAY OF THE MORNING STAR #1129
INSPIRING PLACE FOR PERFORMERS. HAVE PLENTY OF IDEAS RE: MSTAR TO DISCUSS ON RETURN. AM SPENDING TIME IN GOOD COMPANY. GOING WESTWARD WITH NEW FRIENDS. YOUR THOUGHTFULNESS APPRECIATED. NO DATE ON EXPECTED RETURN. GLAD TO HEAR TAKINGS ARE UP. GIVE ALL MY BEST.
F.D.M.
PS: KEEP MSTAR TIDY
‘That’s the last wire I’ve had from him. He said he didn’t know when he was intending to return but told us not to fret. Everything was under control, I said.’ Misu leant her head back in the chair.
‘When did you get this?’ she asked.
‘That last checkpoint we went through.’ Misu glanced to the windows for a second.
Corinne interlinked her hands after placing the telegram to the side. ‘I suppose he’s off having a jolly. Never could keep that one down in one place, but at