Discovering Magic, page 4
part #2 of Anaïs Blue Series
A great, thunderous horn bellowed out just above her head. The noise made her duck. Anaïs clapped her hands around her ears and grimaced. It sounded more like the foghorn of an ocean liner than a train and had approximately the same volume. The noise was made even louder by the confined space in the tunnel. The reverberations continued to echo off the solid stone walls for some time. Eventually they were swallowed up by the brickwork.
Anaïs jiggled a little finger in her ear and flexed her jaw. The engineer chuckled at her and turned his head to one side. He pulled up one of the flaps on his hat and showed her a wad of cottonwool jammed into his ear.
He winked and smiled at her. ‘Sorry, I should have warned you.’
When he smiled she noted the blackened build-up of coal dust between his dentures. He bent over and set her down. Pulling the instrument out of his coat, he consulted his watch once again.
‘Time to go,’ he said. ‘I could use the companionship but you better get down now. Unfortunately we have rules.’
‘Pity,’ she said.
‘There’s nothing to see really. You’ll be safer in the carriage.’
‘Safer?’
‘You’ll see,’ he said.
Anaïs climbed down the steps of the ladder and dropped herself onto the platform. She hesitated and looked up at him.
He cocked his head towards the rear of the train. ‘Go on now. I’ll see you at the other end.’ He stepped back and gently closed the cabin door with a click.
Anaïs looked around her. The platform was deserted. Above her, the vaulted tunnel arched over her head. The brickwork was intricate, each individual stone hand painted. She was pleased to see a proliferation of purple. Dwarfed by the enormity of the locomotive, she stepped back to admire it once more. It was an impressive piece of machinery. Emblazoned on its side in bold lettering were the words: PUFFING DEVIL.
A blast of steam shot out from its underbelly. She jumped back to avoid it but the cloud caught her in a warm hug. It completely enveloped her and obscured everything. She waved her hands in front of her face to clear it but with little effect.
A clear, loud, male voice sounded in the mist. ‘Miss Blue?’
‘Thistle,’ Anaïs murmured to herself.
Again the voice called out in the fog. ‘Miss Blue, this way please.’
Anaïs followed the sound of the voice, feeling her way out of the cloud of steam and walking towards it down the platform. As the steam cleared, it revealed a man smartly dressed in a nineteenth-century uniform. The breast of his coat was decorated with two lines of shiny buttons. Wide, stiff epaulets sat on his shoulders like two thin planks of wood. A box-shaped cap adorned his head, with the small peak pulled down low over his eyes. He stood on the platform in front of the door to the train’s solitary passenger carriage. It was coupled behind the coal tender.
As she approached him, he opened the door with one hand and stepped back. He waved with his other hand, indicating that she should board. Anaïs stopped in front of him and studied his face. It was the engineer. Or at least she thought it was. The two men’s faces were identical. The only difference, this man’s face lacked the engineer’s handlebar moustache. This version of him was clean shaven. She furrowed her brow. It seemed pretty unlikely he had managed to shave in the short time it had taken to get from locomotive to carriage.
‘But—’ stammered Anaïs.
The man gave her a friendly smile. ‘Is there a problem, madam?’
She pointed at the locomotive. ‘Weren’t you just in—’
He shook his head. ‘No, that would be my brother. He’s the engineer and I’m the conductor.’
She scratched her head. ‘I see. But he said he was alone.’
‘Please stop dillydallying, Miss Blue,’ said the conductor, impatiently. ‘We have a schedule to keep.’
Anaïs folded her arms, stood her ground and glared up at him. ‘My name is Miss Thistle!’
The conductor took a deep breath. He straightened his overcoat by pulling on the front panel and smoothing it down. He systematically checked the buttons on his jacket. He tilted his head from side to side and stretched, cracking the bones in his neck. Finally, he straightened his arms and yanked down on his sleeves, snapping them taut. He fixed Anaïs with a stern look. ‘As you wish. Now please board the train, Miss Thistle.’
There was another tremendous blast from the horn of the locomotive. A fresh jet of steam shot from its underbelly and rolled down the platform towards them. Anaïs leapt in surprise at the sound and scooted up the steps.
The conductor blew his whistle, mounted the steps and swung the door shut behind him. Anaïs stood in the vestibule watching him. The train jolted forward, almost throwing them off their feet. It then settled into a slow trundle.
The conductor unlatched another door, leading into the carriage itself. He set a hand on the little witch’s shoulder and gently guided her through the doorway. ‘Please hurry and take a seat, Miss Thistle.’
Anaïs stepped through the doorway and surveyed the interior of the carriage. Her jaw dropped.
‘Wow!’ she exclaimed.
THE DINING CAR
Anaïs stood in awe, staring at the ceiling. It was arched and constructed entirely of glass. Where it joined the wall, an intricately carved cornice ran around the circumference of the room. What she saw through the glass mesmerised her. The ceiling was, in fact, some form of enormous skylight.
Above her, Anaïs could see dark clouds swirling. A storm was brewing. Occasionally a wayward leaf floated by. Seagulls hovered on thermal draughts and swept in and out of view. Droplets of rain hit the glass intermittently and ran in rivulets down the sides of the domed structure. In the corner of the skylight, Anaïs could see one of the turrets from the island fortress. It gradually disappeared from view. They were moving away from the island and out to sea. The seagulls were left behind and the sky began to clear. The storm clouds that had been building receded into the distance and gave way to pristine blue sky.
None of it computed and Anaïs wondered how it was possible to see all of these things. They were perhaps hundreds of metres under the sea. There was no indication the glass was a video screen. What she saw was not a projection. She was looking through a window.
The sun revealed itself and illuminated the entire room. It glinted off a crystal chandelier, which hung in the middle of nowhere. It was suspended from a ceiling rose that seemed to float in the sky. Strangely, there was still the feeling they were on a train. Anaïs felt the vibrations beneath her feet and the soft sideways sway of the carriage. Even the chandelier shuddered.
The ceiling was not the most impressive thing about the carriage. The interior of the carriage was completely out of proportion with its exterior. It was huge. She stood in an expansive hallway which had the dimensions of a sprawling eighteenth-century mansion and looked like one too. Floating staircases ran up both side walls and joined together at a small landing one storey above. Under the landing was a set of double doors. They were open and led through to a rather grand-looking dining room.
Through the doors Anaïs could see Nan and Immi seated at a long, heavy oak table that split the dining room. The table laboured under a vast amount of food. The librarian was stuffing handfuls of it into her mouth and wolfing it down. Nan sat opposite her with a look of dismay clouding her eyes.
Anaïs took a step back to admire the room she was in. She bumped into the man standing behind her.
‘Oops, sorry,’ she said apologetically.
The man carefully measured his words and spoke with an impeccable Oxford English accent. It was not the voice of the conductor. ‘No need to apologise, madam.’
Anaïs spun to face him. He was identical to the engineer and the conductor, save for a set of generous mutton-chops. He was dressed in a stiff butler’s uniform: a black suit with swallow-tails, grey waistcoat, starched white shirt with winged butterfly collar and a thin black tie. His leather shoes were buffed to a high shine.
‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ Anaïs muttered under her breath.
‘Excuse me, madam?’
‘Er, you wouldn’t be related to the conductor by any chance?’
‘Why yes, madam, he is my brother,’ replied the butler.
‘And the engineer? Is he your brother as well?’
‘Certainly, madam.’
Anaïs cocked her head. ‘There wouldn’t, by any chance, be any more of your brothers floating around here somewhere?’
The butler slowly shook his head. ‘No, madam, not that I’m aware of.’
‘Good.’
‘Is there anything else you would like to know, madam?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Anaïs.
‘Excellent! May I take your coat, madam?’
Anaïs hesitated.
The butler smiled at her. ‘It’s ok, madam, I will give it back.’
Anaïs smiled back at him and nodded. She slipped off her coat and handed it to him. He folded it and slung the coat over his arm. He held out his free hand. ‘And your hat, madam?’
Anaïs reached up and placed her hand on her beret. ‘No, I’d prefer to keep it on. And can you please stop calling me madam.’
‘As you wish.’ He stepped to one side. ‘Would you care to follow me, miss? Breakfast is served.’
Anaïs frowned. ‘Breakfast?’
‘Yes, or have you already eaten?’
‘No, I just forgot the time of day.’
‘Of course,’ said the butler. ‘I fully understand. The tunnel does tend to confuse the senses.’
Anaïs looked up at the skylight. The sun went momentarily behind a cloud and a shadow flitted across the room.
The butler indicated the dining room. ‘Shall we?’
Anaïs nodded and followed him across the hall and into the room. The butler wrapped her jacket around a coathanger and hung it in a rack next to the door. He walked over to the table and pulled out a chair. He offered her the seat. She climbed up on it and let him slide the chair back under the table. For Anaïs the tabletop was neck high, her chin resting on its edge.
She looked up at the butler. ‘Do you have a cushion for me?’
The butler saw her predicament. His eyes widened. ‘My apologies, miss. One moment please. A cushion will not be necessary.’ He flipped a switch on the rear of the chair and it began to rise. Once Anaïs was waist high with the table, he flipped the switch a second time and the chair stopped moving.
‘Is this better, miss?’
‘Perfect!’ Anaïs grinned at him. ‘Thank you very much.’
The butler stepped away from the table and clasped his hands behind his back. ‘A pleasure to be of service, miss. If there is nothing more, I have matters to attend to.’
Anaïs nodded. ‘I think I’ll be fine now.’
The butler bowed his head. ‘Then I wish you a pleasant meal.’
‘I think that should be no problem,’ said Anaïs.
The butler did an about-turn on the spot, his shoes squeaking on the polished floor, and left the room.
Anaïs watched him leave and then turned to survey the table. There was an enormous amount of food on it. Rows of steaming dishes were lined in front of her. There was a peculiar mix of smells. Salty fried bacon competed with the sweet waft of freshly cut fruit, the baked doughy odour of pancakes and the punchy pungency of aged cheese.
To her left, at the head of the table, the librarian appeared to have satisfied herself. She slouched in her chair and sipped a cup of coffee. Blowing across the black liquid to cool it, she looked over the cup at Anaïs and smirked.
‘I could get used to this,’ she said.
Anaïs rested her elbow on the table and cupped her head in her hand. ‘I’m sure you could. Remind me not to get too close to you next time you’re eating. I wouldn’t want to become part of the meal.’
Immi grunted at her but was too satisfied to muster a reply. Anaïs looked across the table at Nan.
The shade folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. ‘Please eat something, Anaïs.’
Anaïs wasn’t particularly hungry. She never was. She reached out to the nearest plate and pulled it towards her. She selected a slice of pepperoni pizza. She nibbled on the crust but it wasn’t to her liking and she discarded it. She hooked her hand around a dish of pitted green olives. She slid it under her chin and popped one into her mouth. They were good. She fed them into her mouth in one long, continuous flow, only pausing when the dish was empty.
The food made her lethargic. Her five-year-old body gave up on her. Her eyelids drooped and it required all her energy to keep them open.
‘Nan,’ she whimpered, ‘I’m really tired.’
‘Then sleep, Anaïs. You’ve done enough for one day.’
Anaïs yawned. ‘Ok.’
She pushed the olive dish aside, folded her arms on the table and rested her head on them. Her eyelids fluttered and then shut. The last thing she heard before she fell asleep was the familiar snipe of the librarian.
‘Wow! That’s one heck of an after-meal dip.’
FOOD AND TRAINS AND TIME
Witches require very little food to survive. They can’t do without it altogether, but a little goes a very long way. If anything, food is a symbolic thing associated with celebration. The witch metabolism is excellent at conserving energy. As everything about the physical growth of witches progresses at a leisurely pace, this should come as no surprise.
The fact that the dining table was so heavily laden had more to do with choice than anything else. If the scent or mere nibble of a piece of food is enough to sustain you for a day, then it’s nice to have a wide variety of options to choose from.
In an emergency a witch can even conjure up a phantom smell to get her through the day. Naturals are also prone to this strange phenomenon, which has a fantastic name: phantosmia.
For naturals this affliction can be distressing and unpleasant. Quite often these episodes are triggered by perfectly non-mysterious factors. Sometimes it is outside influences at play, but usually a natural’s neurones are simply running rogue. The root cause stems from the brain. Like many other properties in the universe, witches have found a way to control this nasal sensory peculiarity.
Neurons are electrically charged nerve cells that send signals in the body. Astrocytes are star-shaped cells that provide the glue, connection, support and protection of neurons. Witches are able to harness the amazing cerebral superpower of astrocytes and redirect neurons at will. They do what most naturals do not. They put all that wasted space up there to good use.
The naturals among us who experience phantosmia perhaps have witch tendencies they are unaware of. There is, after all, a little bit of witch in everyone. Although witches can control their cerebral signals much more efficiently than naturals, and can invoke this sensation at will, the effect is not permanent. It will gradually wear off. It is not a satisfactory substitute for physical sustenance. Fast food chains have made a dubious science of something similar and use certain chemicals to trigger the opposite—recurring hunger. But we are getting off track here. Let us just sum it up by saying witches can stave off hunger, but not indefinitely.
On the subject of tracks, witches also encouraged the advancement of the railroad. Not merely so they could eat in comfort but in order to get around faster. Horses and other animals had previously been used, but, unfortunately, entities made of flesh and blood do not respond efficiently to magic. Every living thing has a mind of its own and controlling them requires a great deal of energy. Not only that, a restaurant looks slightly out of place when towed by a team of horses. As I have said before, attracting attention to yourself as a witch is not conducive to getting the job done.
Following the introduction of trains—and people took some convincing before they were readily accepted; beasts of iron and steel are scary things if you’ve never seen them before—witches had them stationed at strategic positions around the globe. The railway never would have become so widespread, and in such a short time, had it not been for the witch community.
Naturally, a witch train needs to have a few extras. If you are going to so much trouble, you might as well put magic to good use. Otherwise it would be a wasted opportunity. Thus the spectacular interior Anaïs had been confronted with. It should be noted that witches not only have private railway cars, but entire railroads. Over time these have become increasingly onerous to run and maintain. The main problem being: a railroad is a little difficult to conceal. They are just plain big. Not only that, they are complicated pieces of engineering. Unfortunately, real train systems cannot be broken down, folded up and put away in a box like a toy.
Witches not only maintain their own private lines, they also borrow public ones on occasion. Sometimes, you need to get your locomotive from one part of the world to another. You need the connections.
Unfortunately, increased traffic on existing railroad networks has meant they have become incredibly congested. Often they cannot cope with what they already have. Throw a ghost train into the mix and you will surely create havoc. In general, witches have a knack for timing, so this is not necessarily a problem. But why make your life more difficult than it needs to be? The overriding reason witches use rail travel is for relaxation and recuperation. Keeping a strict timetable does not necessarily figure into the equation.
There has been one unfortunate by-product. Witch advancement in railways has had serious ramifications for the natural world. We now keep time by trains. Initially clocks had only one hand, a natural progression from the sundial. There was no need to count the minutes and seconds. Every town kept its own time. If you travelled to a neighbouring town there could be as much as an hour’s difference in official time. In order for trains to operate efficiently, even witch trains, time had to be adjusted. It had to be standardised. If we go back a couple of centuries we will see that keeping time had less importance. Now we do more than just set our clocks by it. We set our entire lives according to the swing of a mechanical hand.
