‘Look, I do have a promotion available at the moment, and I really would like you to try out for the position. It was my daughter’s job, you see.’ He opened his wallet, showing me a photograph. Inside there was a woman with strawberry blonde hair and pale blue eyes. ‘You remind me a little of her,’ he said. ‘And I don’t mean the hair or the eyes – although yours are very similar. It’s the forthrightness in your manner. And the way you strive to get to the truth of the matter at all times. I think you could do very well in this role.’
I pulled my eyes away from the picture. My hair hadn’t got quite so much strawberry mixed in with the blonde, but I could see why he thought there were similarities. ‘Why has your daughter left the job?’ I wondered. ‘Has she been promoted? Or moved to another of your papers?’
He shook his head. ‘She’s writing crime novels now,’ he said. ‘And she’s loving every minute of it. She’s tried to juggle the Daily Riddler and her own writing career, but it’s no longer feasible.’ He closed his wallet and put it in his breast pocket. ‘I need to be upfront, though, Miss Smith. Other journalists have tried out for the position, and none have been successful. The Daily Riddler isn’t your everyday paper. We need a certain sort of person there. I’m hoping you’ll be that person, but I’ve hoped the same before. So there’ll be a trial period involved. One week is the amount of time I’ve allotted for this. All of your travel expenses will be paid, along with your room and board.’ He took a spoonful of his mud pie, a smile of satisfaction on his face as he tasted the dessert. ‘So you see,’ he said once he’d swallowed. ‘This is not an act of charity on my part. Not at all. If it doesn’t work out, you’ll go back to the Daily Dubliner.’
I tried to eat some of my own dessert, but the coffee had made me sick to my stomach. Instead I moved it around the bowl, digesting everything he’d said. ‘I’ve never heard of the Daily Riddler. And you mentioned travel and room and board. Where exactly is this job based?’
He stopped eating and looked hopefully my way. ‘Are you saying you’ll take part in the trial?’
‘Maybe,’ I replied with a shrug. ‘Even though you have just made it sound like doctors in white coats are about to experiment on me. But … where is this job? And could I see a copy of the Daily Riddler?’
He pushed his empty bowl away and looked through his notebook once again. ‘It’s in Riddler’s Edge,’ he said. ‘A lovely coastal town on the west of Ireland. You’ll love it, I’m sure. And no, I don’t have a copy of the Daily Riddler to hand at the moment, but you’ll find it quite the interesting little paper. Or at least I hope so.’ He pulled a page from his notebook and passed it my way. ‘Everything you need to know is written down,’ he said, opening his wallet again and throwing a wad of notes onto the table. ‘Now, I’ve really got to be elsewhere. It was truly fascinating to meet you, Miss Smith. I hope to see you again.’
Before I could ask anything more, he picked up his cane and strode out of the café. I spun in my seat, looking out the window. But he sure moved fast for a guy with age-appropriate hips, because he was already gone.
3. Life Is But A Dream
The thing about growing up in the care system, is that you don’t tend to accrue much stuff. Sure, you want stuff. You covet stuff. You might well drool at shelves full of books, wardrobes stuffed with clothes, and beds covered with cushions and cuddly toys galore. But you know that when the latest foster family have decided you’re a bit strange, you won’t get to take much more than one suitcase to the next family – who are also going to think you’re a bit strange.
And old habits die hard, as the cliché goes. I’d gone through my adulthood in much the same way as my formative years. So when I arrived on the platform at Heuston Station the following Monday, I had one suitcase, a laptop bag, and a handbag. It was all that I’d need for a one-week stay, but it also happened to be everything I owned in the world.
I had checked and re-checked the timetable, oh, about a hundred times since Arnold Albright gave me my instructions. Much as I wished I was wrong, there was only one train going to Riddler’s Edge that day, and it was leaving at five a.m. – so if I wanted to be on time for my meeting with the paper’s editor, then getting up at crazy o’clock was a bit of a necessity.
The train was already there when I arrived. A stout man with a moustache and a whistle was marching up and down, saying, ‘Last call for Riddler’s Edge! Last call for the Riddler’s Express!’
Last call? I glanced at my wristwatch, then at the clock on my phone just to be sure. It was ten minutes to five.
I looked at the train. It had a definite air of impatience about it, but I wish I could say that was the most remarkable quality. The train was old. Verging on antique. It sure wasn’t expecting a lot of passengers, either. There were only two carriages.
‘This is the train for Riddler’s Edge?’ I asked. ‘It looks … well … it looks …’ I paused, trying to think of a polite way to say that it looked like an exhibit from an old-timey museum. ‘It looks … I mean, it’s a long journey, isn’t it? Is this train up to the job?’
The man looked me up and down and said, ‘You getting on or what? Train’s about to leave the station.’
I readjusted my stance, preparing to ask him why he was being so rude – I mean, it would have been fine for him to be ornery if I was actually late, but not when I was ten minutes early. He blew the whistle right in my face before I could work up a decent amount of bluster, then moved even closer to me and shouted, ‘Doors are about to close on the Riddler’s Express!’
I’m not usually one to stand down from an argument. Foster-mother number three, in fact, described me as a stubborn little goat. I found it a bit unfair at the time, I’ve got to say. I mean sure, a lot of kids think they want to run away with the circus. But I doubted a single one of those kids would have wanted to be in her circus. She was an elephant trainer. We disagreed about her methods, and I might have set some of the elephants free – and taken some footage of her training methods so that she’d never get to work with elephants again.
But I digress. Yeah, I was never one to stand down from an argument, and I really wanted to argue with this whistle-blower. And if the doors hadn’t actually been closing, I might have told him precisely where he could stick his whistle. I settled for glowering in his general direction and picked up my suitcase, running onto the train. I was barely on board before the door shut behind me with a clang.
I looked around, feeling a tad wobbly after the exchange. I appeared to be in the train’s dining car. A dining car that had a distinctly Poirot-esque quality. The tables were laid with white linen, and sparkling glasses and silverware were ready and waiting. For what, though? There was only one other woman in the carriage, and whilst I could imagine some passengers from the other carriage might fancy a snack sooner or later, did they really want silver service with their doughnuts and coffee?
I glanced at the other passenger. She was all wrapped up in black and wearing a pair of designer sunglasses. She waved over at me and patted the seat next to her. ‘You must be the new reporter,’ she said. ‘Come and sit next to me.’
Seeing as the train had begun to lurch beneath me, I was going to need to sit somewhere, so it might as well be there. Although I couldn’t see her face (her scarf and hat covered everything the sunglasses had left behind) her voice sounded old. I lugged my bags across and sat down. ‘I’m Ash,’ I said, extending a hand.
Her own gloved hands wrapped warmly around mine, and she said, ‘I’m Bathsheba, my dear. It’s very nice to meet you.’
She pulled a Thermos from her bag. ‘Don’t worry, I don’t drink this early,’ she said, laughing. ‘It’s just coffee. My husband makes me three flasks every time I have to go to Dublin for my medical treatment. One for the journey there, one to have in the hospital, and one for the journey back. He’d much rather come along with me, but I won’t let him. He knows how much I hate my condition, and that I’d rather go through the treatment on my own, so h
e does the only nice thing that I’ll let him do. He gives me a lovely kiss, then sends me on my way with the best coffee in the world. I’d offer you some, but I take quite a lot of sugar.’
‘That’s okay,’ I said as I watched her slowly sip the drink. I wasn’t about to ask her what she was doing in hospital, or the fact that I couldn’t see even an inch of her skin, so I decided to ask her something less personal instead. ‘It must be a very fancy Thermos,’ I said. ‘How long does it keep drinks warm?’
‘Oh, at least two days,’ she replied. ‘Now, don’t go getting disappointed when you get off the train. Riddler’s Edge isn’t a big town, but it’s a good place to live. I don’t actually live there myself – my house is in another town close by. But I’m staying there at the moment, and it really isn’t as boring as it looks, so give it a chance. I’d love to see you stay longer than the last three journalists Arnold hired.’
I bit my lip. So she knew Arnold? I’d better tread carefully, then. ‘Um, yeah. He mentioned he’d trialled a few people for the position before me. I guess his daughter’s shoes are kind of big to fill.’
‘Big?’ She shook her head. ‘Try enormous. But you have a nice look about you. I think you’ll fit right in.’
I was just about to reply when the most surly-looking guy I’d ever seen arrived at the table. He was about eighteen or nineteen, with pale skin and red-rimmed eyes, and an expression that said he’d rather be anywhere but here. He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt that seemed to be made entirely of stains, and he had a silk scarf wrapped around his neck. ‘I suppose you’ll be needing a red smoothie soon,’ he said to Bathsheba.
I heard the old woman gulp, and her voice was shaky when she spoke. ‘Yes, Gunnar. That would be lovely.’
He grunted, jotted her order down and turned to me. ‘What’ll you have?’
‘Is there a menu?’ I asked.
As the train jerked on the tracks, his silk scarf slipped from his neck. He tied it in place almost immediately, but not before I’d managed to see an enormous tattoo, wrapping its way all around his neck. ‘Vlad’s Boys?’ I read. ‘Is that a band?’
He smirked and looked at Bathsheba. ‘Ask the old lady. She knows all about Vlad’s Boys.’ He reached across to another table and threw a menu at me. ‘Now, either order something or go into the next carriage, because these seats fill up fast.’
‘Wow,’ I said. ‘Whoever does the hiring for the rail service should be taken out and shot. I’ll have a red smoothie, too.’
He snorted. ‘You don’t want one of those.’
‘He’s right,’ Bathsheba whispered. ‘It’s got an awful lot of iron in it. For senior citizens, only. It’ll give you a tummy ache, dear.’
‘Oh.’ I looked over the menu. I wasn’t used to eating this early, and would probably only get a coffee, but I was curious to see what was on offer. And maybe a very small part of me wanted to make him wait, too. The menu seemed to be divided into three sections. The first was titled: Standard. The second was titled: Special Diets. The third was titled: Vegan.
The standard menu was fairly, well, standard. I could get a toasted cheese sandwich, a croissant, some porridge or a full Irish breakfast. I flicked through to the vegan menu. There was a toasted vegan-cheese sandwich, a vegan croissant, porridge with a choice of soy, almond or oat milk, or a vegan Irish breakfast.
The special diets menu only had two items. There was the red smoothie, or something called a Special Irish Breakfast. According to the menu, it was served extra rare.
I closed the menu and handed it back to him. ‘I’ll just have a coffee.’
Gunnar grunted, then walked off into the kitchen area.
As he walked away, Bathsheba turned to me. ‘He’s a troubled young man. You’ll find out all about him and his ilk if you decide to stay in town.’
I was going to ask her more when he returned with our drinks. Bathsheba’s smoothie looked like it was bursting with berries, but she was probably right about the iron. It had a metallic smell that turned my stomach. Perhaps it was turning her stomach, too, because she had yet to touch a drop.
‘Not to your taste?’ I asked.
‘Oh, I’ll have it in a minute,’ she said. ‘I don’t like to eat when it’s dark.’
Seeing as I was still half-asleep, I went ahead and downed my coffee. I’d just finished when the door to the next carriage opened, and a couple of dozen people milled through. ‘I’ll move next door for a while,’ I said. ‘So someone else can have my seat.’
I couldn’t be sure but I think she smiled, somewhere beneath the scarf, hat and glasses. ‘You go on, my dear. Enjoy the journey.’
I brought my belongings into the next carriage. There was a shelving area close to the door, and I stowed my suitcase there while I looked around. There were plenty of seats empty, but I couldn’t be sure if they were only temporarily vacated, while their occupiers were grabbing breakfast.
In one of the empty seats, about half way down the aisle, a guy gave me a grin that made my knees turn to jelly. He sat with his legs wide apart, patted the seat next to him and said, ‘You can sit next to me. I promise I won’t bite, darlin’ – unless you want me to.’
Oh dear. I really hoped there were other options. Yes, I found him devastatingly attractive, but I wasn’t altogether sure why. He was attractive in a way that had never turned me on before. He was long-haired and skinny, which just didn’t do it for me. He looked like he loved himself, too, which definitely didn’t do it for me. And also – just a minor point – there was a woman sitting across from him who glared at him and hissed, ‘What are you doing, Jasper? You said I was your forever girlfriend!’
I was just about to go and hide in the loo, when a female voice called out, ‘You can sit here!’
I looked in the direction of the voice. A tall woman was standing up at the back of the train. She had braided, dark hair, and she appeared to be wearing … I squinted, wondering if all of those eye tests had been wrong after all. The woman definitely seemed to be wearing what I thought she was – some sort of jumpsuit, with a silver breastplate on top.
But hey, what did I know? I was a twenty-nine year old who wore flat boots every day, and I’d worn the same style of jeans since I was fifteen. I hadn’t left my fashion sense behind – I’d never had one in the first place. Silver breastplates could be the latest thing.
I shuffled along the centre aisle, glancing through the windows as I walked. It was still dark outside, and there were plumes of smoke, rising all around the exterior of the train. Maybe this thing really was as old as it looked. I could just picture the engine room right now – some poor guy shovelling coal like crazy, wearing a flat cap and a red neckerchief.
When I reached the seat I sank into it, smiling gratefully at the woman. ‘Thanks so much,’ I said. ‘This train is a lot busier than I thought it would be, considering it’s going to a town I only heard of last Friday.’
She smiled at me. ‘I know. I keep saying they need an extra carriage, but no one ever listens to me. I’m Gretel, by the way.’ She extended a hand.
‘I’m Ash,’ I said, shaking her hand and glancing at the two seats opposite.
Each seating area in the carriage was arranged like a booth, with two long seats facing one another and a table in between. There were two guys across from us. One was a teenager, with short blond hair. He was slurping a carton of chocolate soymilk and reading a comic. He gave me a brief wave, then returned his attention to his comic.
The other guy … well, I had no idea what he looked like, because he was wearing the exact same get-up as Bathsheba had been. Sure, his glasses were a different style, and his scarf, hat and gloves were woollen, but just as with Bathsheba, I couldn’t see an inch of his skin.
I looked at the woman again. She wasn’t just tall. She was practically Amazonian. She seemed to be leafing casually through a magazine, but there was something alert about her. Every few seconds, I could have sworn I saw her eyes dart to the window.
I pulled my e-reader from my bag and turned it on. I had some good books on there. Surely one of them would be exciting enough to take my mind off the fact that this whole morning was a little bit odd. I opened up a fantasy novel I’d been reading, and tried to concentrate on the words. But all the while, the events of the last few days were going through my mind. My special notebook. My lunch with Arnold. And now this train.
I’d long grown used to odd. My life had been filled with it, after all. But usually I had people telling me that I was the strange one, that I was seeing weirdness where it simply didn’t exist. Since my meeting with Arnold, though, I’d started to wonder.
I had done an internet search on the Daily Riddler. There wasn’t a single mention of it online. I did find the town of Riddler’s Edge, though. Apparently it had a population of two hundred and three. And yet there was a busy train making its way there, each and every day.
When I was a kid and I was trying not to notice odd things happening around me, I used to play an old song over and over in my head. You probably know the one: Row, Row Row Your Boat.
So I sang it now, inside my mind, hoping it would calm me down the same way it had back then. I’d gotten as far as the Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily line, when the covered-up man opposite me began to sing in his sleep. His voice was low and even as he sang, ‘Life is but a dream.’
My eyes darted towards him. Judging by the way he was sitting, slumped in the seat, it was fairly safe to assume he was sleeping. But was he? I glanced at Gretel.
‘You okay?’ she asked.
I bit my lip. ‘This might sound strange,’ I whispered, shuffling closer to her. ‘But … did I just sing out loud?’
Her brow furrowed. ‘No.’ She nodded at the covered-up man. ‘He just sang out loud. He does that sometimes, in his sleep.’
‘In his sleep? Are you a couple?’
A Magical Trio Page 18
