The Train

Mama had given her a toy once; a snake made from a handful of wooden blocks connected by string, so that it could bend and slither. She added more over time, block after block until it was as long as her room, but it still twisted and turned as naturally as the real thing.

That was the train. The fetch of a toy snake. Its blocks were long, metal, and hollow. Its strings were bars and thick wires and chains. It didn’t slither on the rails, but the rows of wheels on either side hugged them tight, and where the track bent, the train bent smoothly with it. Through the windows she could see people inside sitting alone in lush chairs, or together at tables. Some of the blocks had whole rooms built into them that looked like taverns. There passengers drank, and ate, and some even looked like they were gambling. She wondered if there were beds, too, somewhere.

What might it be like to live in a giant metal snake?

When the train finally came to a halt and its doors slid open, Mayfly expected the passengers to come pouring out. Instead, no one inside even acknowledged that they’d stopped. They kept sitting, and talking, and minding their own business. With how empty the station was, it seemed like Mayfly might be the only one coming or going.

Someone shouted.

She whirled, only to realize it hadn’t come from behind, but from the train. A few cars down, a man stepped out onto the platform. He wore a sharp uniform of rough, black fabric highlighted with orange. In his hands was a metal tube, but he held it like she’d seen Valley hunters hold crossbows—it even had a trigger. The same voice shouted again from inside, and then a woman in the same uniform shoved a young man out. Her colleague took him roughly by the arm, hauled him several feet from the train, and then shoved him to the ground. When he scrambled to his feet and came back spitting fury, the uniformed man cracked him across the jaw with the butt of his metal tube. Mayfly gasped.

“I didn’t—” the man hissed, touching his bloody lip. “I paid for the whole trip! It’s on the ticket!”

“No toll, no seat.” The uniform said.

“I don’t have the money on me! I have business partners in New Cazzer, let me back on and I can pay as soon as we reach the station!”

“No toll, no seat.”

The uniform didn’t wait for another response, just turned and went back inside the train. The man seemed to understand that if he tried to get on again, he’d just end up back on the ground. Instead he scanned the station, and when he found Mayfly she could see his eyes fill with desperation, even from where she was.

“Hey! Kid! You got any money?”

Mayfly held up her coin. He wasn’t satisfied with it.

“Fuck. Fuck!” He got back up, desperation melting into anger again, which he focused right back onto the uniformed pair. “You stupid fucks! Think you can just leave a man to die out here? Fuck you! Fuck the Board! Fuck the Fox! When I get back home, I’ll find you—I’ll shit on your fucking doorsteps, how about that?”

He got no response, and when it was clear that wasn’t going to change, he dusted himself off, spit on the ground, and stomped away. Mayfly watched him look between a few of the buildings, sag pitifully, and then disappear through the door of the one labeled: “Maud’s Loan House.”

Suddenly, she appreciated the only-mildly dirty mouth of her drunken friend just a bit more.

Mayfly made her way to the booth labeled: ‘Tickets and Information,’ making sure to give the train and its uniformed guards plenty of space. The woman at the desk clicked away at a typewriter connected to a thin metal screen that glowed from the front. She looked down at Mayfly, brow cocked expectantly, but said nothing.

“Hoo-boy,” Mayfly said instead. “That was a little violent. I know he swore a lot, but they didn’t have to hit him like that, did they? I mean, he said he had his ticket and everything.”

The woman shrugged. “He didn’t pay the toll. Everyone who comes through Flytrap Station has to pay the toll. Board policy.”

“What Board?”

She scoffed, then when she realized Mayfly was serious, she pursed her lips. “Cazriel Board, what—can I help you with something?”

“Oh! Yeah, I’d like a ticket please. Do I have to pay the toll too?”

“It’s included in the price. Cash or credit?”

“Uh…treasure, I think.” Mayfly placed her coin onto the desk and slid it under a slot in the glass.

The woman stared hard at it. She picked it up, turned it end to end, and then looked at Mayfly like she’d made a bad joke.

“If there’s any left over, do you think I could take it with me? I might have to use it to buy a flower, and I don’t know how expensive they are yet.”

“Kid, this is a copper count.”

“Right, yeah. It’s no big deal if you don’t have the change. I’m sure can figure something out on the way.”

“Okay,” the woman sighed, tossing the coin back through the slot. “Did Destin put you up to this? You tell him I’ll file another complaint if he keeps this shit up.”

“I don’t know who Destin is. Did I mess up? Oh gosh, I’m sorry. This is supposed to be enough for a moonbloom so I thought—”

“Look, if you’re not here to…just…ticket’s five-hundred counts. Per. Train leaves in forty minutes. Now unless you’ve got a couple thousand more of those in your pockets, I can’t help you.”

A couple thousand? Surely a moonbloom couldn’t be so cheap. Or perhaps riding on a train was just that luxurious. Either way, she couldn’t afford it, and by the way the woman was scowling at her, Mayfly could tell she was very close to making another person mad, which she absolutely did not want.

“I’m sorry,” she said, collecting her copper count and scurrying away before she could make things worse. She said a silent thanks that the station was empty, and that the passengers were too focused on themselves to notice her.

She found herself standing right where the ejected man had stood, just as wilted and desperate. Five hundred counts, how was anyone supposed to leave? No wonder her drunken friend had been stuck for so long. Perhaps she could find a little work? But who knew how long it would take to save up. Leaving on her own was still an option; however bad getting lost could be, it was still better than staying put. Her count might not have been enough for a ticket, but maybe it could nab some food for the road.

Or maybe it could nab something else…

A mechanical clock above the station marked noon. Five hundred counts, forty minutes to find them. Or someone who already had them.

Mayfly broke into a sprint down the street. Years of dashing through the dense Valley forests had made her every bit as quick and nimble as a stray cat. She had expected her metal body to be cumbersome, but to her delight it moved as lightly and as naturally as her own skin. If anything, she felt faster, more energized; there was no air to catch, and no muscles to strain.

People noticed her now, not impressed but confused. That made sense. She hadn’t seen anyone else run, or move faster than a listless shuffle. Perhaps that was just another one of Flytrap’s dangers. She wouldn’t stick around long enough to be made an anchor.

There at the same crossroads she found the man who had wanted to play a game with her. He wasn’t alone anymore, a small crowd had gathered around his table, and each looked just as curious as she was. With some maneuvering, some squeezing, and a polite nudge or two, she managed to get close enough to see him.

He stood at one side, and on the other was a bald man in black clothes. Spread out on the table, Mayfly was surprised to see a trio of copper counts exactly like hers. All were face up. The bald man stared at each coin as if they’d told him a riddle.

“It’s the left,” said another man in similarly dark clothes, who had a hood pulled over his head.

“No,” said a woman to his other side. “It’s the middle.”

The hooded man clicked his tongue. “Foste, I’m telling you. Left. I saw the swap.”

The bald man—Foste—nodded contemplatively, then tapped the leftmost coin. “Flip it, conman.”

With enough theatrical flourish to match a Valley mummer, the conman took the coin and spun it on its edge. As it turned, its faces indistinguishable, he grinned with anticipation. “What do we think?” he asked the crowd.

The people around Mayfly mumbled their own guesses. Most sounded supportive of Foste’s choice. When the coin finally warbled and fell flat, it showed the star pattern of its tail-face.

The crowd collectively cringed. Foste glared daggers at his hooded companion, the woman outright smacked him on the arm.

“I fuckin’ told you.”

“She did,” the conman said, and then flipped over the middle coin to reveal another star pattern. “She was wrong, but she did tell you.”

Chuckles from the bystanders. The conman turned the rightmost coin over, only instead of a star pattern on the back, it had another face, exactly the same as the front. A trick-coin?

“Another go, friend? What’s a few losses if you can win it all back and then some?”

The trio whispered amongst themselves as the conman stood patiently, twirling the two-faced coin between his fingers. Mayfly heard the word ‘train’ hissed with urgency; they must have come for the same reason she had. Looking around, she wondered if the rest of the crowd had all gathered for the same purpose: win the counts for a ticket out of here.

Finally, Foste shook his head. “No, that’s it.”

“We don’t have enough,” the woman said, not as quietly as she meant.

“Not wasting any more money on this rigged bullshit,” he spat, all but literally. “We’ll figure it out.”

Not waiting to hear any more arguments, he stalked off, and the other two followed behind. The conman shrugged, flicked the coin into the air and caught it again.

“And I even rolled up my sleeves,” he said. The crowed murmured, smiled, but didn’t laugh. Perhaps it wasn’t as funny if they were the ones who might lose. “Anyone else care to try? Despite the words of sore losers, I assure you this is a game of skill. A difficult game, make no mistake, but a fair one. And, one with incredible rewards.” Once more he produced the metal card in a flick, and then vanished it again. “So, who wants out of this hellhole?”

There was a moment of hesitation from the crowd, and it was easy to understand why. Most of them had likely been scrounging for counts, and losing them for nothing could add months, or maybe even years to their stays. Mayfly wasn’t fond of the idea either. Even if her single copper wasn’t enough for a ticket, she hated the idea of parting with it.

But not more than she hated the idea of being stuck.

She found her courage before the others, and stepped up to the table. “I will,” she said quickly. “I’ll play.”

The conman grinned wide, his gold-speckled eyes gleaming.

“Well hello again, shiny-girl.”