Railroad! Collection 2 (The Three Volume Omnibus)

by Tonia Brown

  “I thought as much,” Boon said, smiling shyly at the lady.

  Lelanea smiled in return.

  Dodger wasn’t ready to go down that road again, so he quickly moved the conversation along. “And what about me?”

  “What about you?” Feng asked. He winced as his belly rumbled once more. “My stomach is thanking me every time I swallow. Anything to eat on that trolley?”

  Lelanea set to checking for something edible as Dodger repeated his question.

  “Why can I see Boon?” he asked. “I’m not dead, nor did I know him in life.”

  “That one’s easy,” Feng said.

  “Here we go,” Lelanea said. She pulled forth a tray of bread and cheese from the bottom shelf of the trolley. “Uncle must’ve been ready for you.”

  Feng rubbed his hands together. “Good ol’ Hieronymus. Always prepared.” He held his hands out and motioned for the tray. “Gimme, gimme.”

  “What’s so easy about it?” Dodger asked. “Why can I, of all people, see Boon?”

  Just as Lelanea was about to hand over the silver tray, Feng said, “Because you’re marked.”

  The word must’ve meant something impressive, or terrible, or possibly both, to Miss Leleanea, because no sooner had the Celestial said it than she dropped the tray of food. It slipped right through Feng’s outstretched hands and clattered to the floor, scattering grain and dairy products all over the meeting-cab floor.

  “Marked?” Lelanea asked. “He’s marked?”

  “Yes,” Feng said. He eyed the fallen fare. “Ten-second rule applies to trains too. Right?”

  Lelanea stared at Dodger for a moment, as if seeing him for the very first time, then backed away slowly while a look of utter horror crossed her beautiful face. “He is. I don’t understand how I missed it. I didn’t sense the mark on him before.”

  “You didn’t?” Ched asked. “Hell, I shaw it the shecond he shtepped onto the Schleipnir the firsht time.”

  “You be quiet!”

  “Don’t take it out on the village idiot,” Feng said. He bent double to scoop several pieces of bread and cheese from the floor, blowing on them lightly before stuffing them in his mouth. “You just weren’t expecting it, that’s all. I mean, look at the man. He looks as about as marked as you look a werewolf.”

  “Feng!” Lelanea gasped, holding the back of her hand to her mouth in mortified shock.

  “What? I’m just stating the obvious. You missed it because you weren’t looking for it.” The Celestial thought about this for a moment, then added, “Well, that and I suppose both of your hormones and pheromones were mucking up the signals a bit.”

  Boon cocked his head at that suggestion, while Lelanea turned away in a huff.

  Ched didn’t hide his chuckle this time.

  “None of this makes a lick of sense,” Dodger said, choosing to ignore the Celestial’s insinuations. “I saw his spirit before I went to the Desert Rose. So whatever happened there to mark me has nothing to do with this.”

  Around a mouthful of cheese, Feng said, “That’s because what happened to you at the Rose has nothing to do with you being marked.”

  “I thought the vampire blood was-”

  “You thought wrong.” Feng gnawed off another hunk of bread and swallowed it with a wince. “Lelanea, be a dear and get me a cup of something wet. Will you?”

  Lelanea moved to the trolley to do as asked, giving Dodger a wide berth as she did.

  Wasn’t that grand? In just a few hours, she’d gone from enjoying a moonlit stroll with him to avoiding his personal space. Dodger tried to ignore the circumventing as he stared at the Celestial. “Are you going to explain that one to me, or will this just be another great secret everyone is in on but me?”

  “It’s very simple,” Feng said. “Being marked is not a product of your time spent in the arms of those lovely ladies. You were marked long before then, my friend.”

  “That isn’t helping.” Dodger huffed in frustration. “Let’s start with something simpler. What in the heck does this whole marked thing mean?”

  Feng contemplated this question as he chewed on a mouthful of cheese. He gave another dry swallow, then asked, “In all of your reading, have you ever come across the idea of someone being marked for death?”

  Shakespeare leaped immediately to Dodger’s mind. The Bard had a habit of killing off a few characters just to move along a plot. Dodger didn’t like where this was going. “I guess so.”

  “You, my gifted friend, suffer the opposite affliction.”

  Which made about as much sense as anything else the Celestial had said all night. “Then I’m what? Marked for life?”

  “In a way. It is better said that you are marked for a purpose. And you will remain on this earth until you fulfill that purpose.”

  “Which means what to me, exactly?”

  “A whole lot. For starters, there are the obvious side effects. Seeing spirits. Utilizing underspeak.”

  “He underspeaks?” Lelanea asked as she passed the Celestial a cup of tea.

  “He sure does. And took to it like a champ. Dodger, I’m sure there are a plethora of other abilities you possess that you always thought were random talents. Your unerring aim, for instance.”

  “I don’t think that has-” Dodger started.

  “You took right to the gun, didn’t you? From the first time you lifted a weapon, you have always hit your mark. Yes?”

  Dodger nodded, unable to deny the accusation. Even as an untrained youth, he had no trouble hitting his targets, and that was just firing the family rifle at tin cans or the occasional coon. When it came time to turn that talent on humans, Dodger was well beyond caring where his unusual ability came from.

  “It’s more than just a bent toward marksmanship,” Feng said. “A keen eye and a steady hand are both well-documented gifts of the marked. Some say they are abilities granted to help the bearer complete his issued task.”

  “I’m nobody special,” Dodger insisted.

  “Come now, Dodger. I thought you would’ve learned by now that everyone is special in his own way. I am sure you wonder who marked you, but that would be powers higher than we can possibly understand. Call it Fate. Call it Destiny. Call it Ishmael. As to when, I would say you’ve been a marked man your whole life. I dare say you were born with the task on you. Now as to the task itself, that is something you will have to find out on your own.”

  Before Dodger could argue further, the far door all but burst open, spilling a very excited professor, sporting a pair of goggles atop his forehead, into the room. The man gasped for breath as if he had run the entire length of the train. He stared at the stunned group for a quiet moment before he slid the pair of goggles over his eyes. The moment the SPECS slipped into place, the doc’s face lit with unbridled joy.

  “Washington!” he shouted, then laughed aloud.

  “You can see me?” Boon asked.

  “I thought I would never see you again,” the professor said, patting his hands together in excitement as he stepped toward the spirit.

  “You can see me?” Boon echoed, as if he didn’t believe the proof before his own ethereal eyes.

  “Hieronymus!” Lelanea squealed as she hugged the doc to her. “This is marvelous. I’m so pleased for you.”

  “As am I,” Boon said. “I thought I’d never get to talk with you again.”

  “Wait now,” the doc said. “His mouth is moving. Is he speaking?”

  Boon looked to Dodger. “He can’t hear me?”

  Dodger caught on to the situation right away. “Yes, sir, he is speaking. The goggles must let you see him, but not hear him.”

  “And to think I almost forgot about these silly old things.” The doc tapped the side of his SPECS.

  The goggles boasted a few more buttons than the normal SPECS, as well as a dial across the bridge of the nose. Each eyepiece was crafted from what looked like a topaz, deep in color, thick and so convex that they protruded a good inch or more from their inset
s.

  “They are based off of my SPECS design,” the doc said. “I call them the Spectral and Poltergeist Image-Capturing Spectacles. I was working on the SPICS for a grieving widow who thought her husband was haunting her. But we abandoned the project when all of the spiritual trouble turned out to be a raccoon hiding in her attic. I never suspected they would actually work. Then again, I never had the chance to try them out.”

  “Tell him I’m glad he can see me,” Boon said. “And that I am sorry he can’t hear my tacky voice.”

  Ched related the strange message for the spirit.

  The doc gave a soft giggle before he turned to Dodger and explained, “I always told him he had a certain grind to his voice that made his listeners feel as though they were chewing on tacks. It was the endless questions, you see? He never stopped asking questions.”

  “I’ve heard as much,” Dodger said.

  “Ched,” the doc said. “Please tell him I’m sorry as well.”

  “What for?” Boon asked.

  “He can hear you,” Dodger said.

  “Ah,” the doc said. “That’s convenient, I suppose.” He drew a deep breath and started again. “I’m sorry, Washington Boon. I am sorry for dragging you into this line of work, and I am sorry you died because of me. I am sorry we never got a chance to-”

  “That’s not true,” Boon said while the doc continued his apologies. “Tell him I went into that town on my own because I had business there. He didn’t send me.”

  Ched repeated the spirit’s words over the continuing speech, to which the doc fell quiet and held up a hand, silencing the driver.

  “I will have my say,” the doc said. “Boon suffered that awful fate in Celina because of his association with me. Not a single soul here can deny it.”

  Not one did.

  “For that,” the doc continued, “I am sorry. He may have endangered himself by traveling alone and unarmed, but I will not let him shoulder the burden of what transpired by himself. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” Boon said with a dramatic nod for the doc’s benefit. “And thanks for that.”

  “He shaid yesh and thanksh ya,” Ched said. The driver then muttered, almost under his breath but just loud enough to hear, “And he alsho shaysh you should up my whishkey allowansh. Shays it’sh a shame to keep shuch a thirshty man on a shingle bottle a week.”

  The doc narrowed his eyes at the driver. “I think it might be best if you don’t act as a mouthpiece for our Boon. I can see it will be difficult to wrest the truth from you.”

  “I thought dead men told no tales,” Feng said.

  “Feng, my old friend,” the doc said, pushing the SPICS onto his forehead as he joined Feng on the couch. “I didn’t realize you were awake.” The doc grabbed up the man’s wrist and removed a pocket watch from his own vest, obviously checking the Celestial’s pulse. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I could eat a horse.”

  “Excellent. Then, in my professional opinion, I am pleased to say you are on the mend.” He returned the watch into his vest pocket with a grin. “I suppose what they say is true. All is well that ends well.”

  “I wished that it were at an end, Hieronymus. I’m afraid there is much left at hand before we see any sort of rest. We still have to get our Mr. Dodger to his date with destiny.”

  The doc wrinkled his nose. “I’d forgotten about that bit.”

  “Yes, there are miles to go before we sleep, folks. Miles to go before we sleep.”

  As the Celestial repeated what sounded like a pleasant bit of poetry, Dodger began to ponder that single question that burned ever brighter in his mind.

  What task was Rodger Dodger marked to complete before he could finally lie down and sleep?

  ****

  back to toc

  ****

  Chapter Nine

  Taking a Moment

  In which Dodger prepares to meet his fate

  Dodger didn’t know what to think about the idea of being marked. It was intriguing and terrifying, as well as a little on the depressing side. Was his entire life just a passion play for some grand, uncontrollable purpose? Did he have any effect on his own actions, or had there always been a greater power pulling his strings? Dodger wasn’t sure, but he didn’t like the idea of someone else taking credit for his choices, his decisions, his life … whether that thing was good or bad. The whole notion left a foul taste in his mouth.

  It also made attaining anything that resembled rest almost impossible.

  Dodger tossed and turned on his bunk, the worry of the night’s events—as well as the oncoming day’s—keeping him just at the edge of sleep.

  “Don’t over think it,” Feng said.

  Dodger opened his eyes to find the Celestial leaning in the open doorway of his berth. “I appreciate your input, but I need to grab a few hours before we get to Celina.”

  “While I agree that sleep is good for the body as well as the mind, I thought you would like to know that we’ve arrived.”

  Dodger pulled the slats aside on his shuttered window. He winced at the sunlit outline of a small town. “That was fast. Feels like I just laid down.”

  “A worried mind plays trick with time.”

  “My mind isn’t the only one playing tricks. What time is it?”

  “Just after noon.”

  “I thought it was supposed to take us much longer to get to Celina.”

  “I suspect Hieronymus had something to do with our speedy arrival. Turned some screw on his grand machine to give us the extra speed we needed. The Sleipnir is more powerful than even he is willing to admit at times.” Feng ran a hand across the door frame, almost reverent in his touch. “She is more than just a beast of burden. She has her own soul, this one does.”

  “You talk about her like she’s alive.”

  Feng gave a sly wink. “Who says she isn’t?”

  “My last boss man said the same thing. There’s a rumor going ‘round that the Sleipnir runs on the blood of the professor’s enemies instead of coal.”

  “Really? That’s a new one to me. What about you? Do you think our gal runs on the blood of our enemies?”

  “While I don’t think she runs on blood, I doubt she runs on coal either.” Dodger stood from his bunk with a stretch before he sat again to pull on his boots.

  “There is brunch in the meeting cab.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Brunch. It’s like breakfast and lunch together.”

  Dodger wasn’t sure about this business of messing with a man’s meal times. “As tempting as that sounds, I think I’ll pass.”

  “It will be all the rage in twenty years or so.”

  “I have no doubt about that. But I don’t like to go into a fight on a full stomach.” Dodger nodded to Feng. “Can you give me one straight answer before I go?”

  The Celestial grinned. “I will try.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I promise you I am exactly who you think. Just an old man trying to get by.”

  “Then how about this, how did you manage to end up here?”

  “Like the rest of you, I am here because I need to be.”

  Dodger closed his eyes as he balled a fist and punched the mattress. “You can be so confoundedly frustrating!”

  “I met our mutual employer when he was just a lad.”

  Dodger glanced up to the aged cook.

  Feng had a distant look, as if struggling to remember the details of his own life. Which Dodger supposed might be a bit difficult, considering how old the man was.

  “I was already very old then,” Feng said. “I’d been on the run from Lei Gong for many, many a year. I was so tired. Hieronymus was a little bundle of energy. He was about eight or so. I remember his little knickerbockers. Such a chunky little kid.” Feng paused to give a soft laugh, lost in his reminiscence. “We use to meet in the park to play chess. I had to teach him how to play. He was very good, for an eight year old.”

  Dodger tried to imag
ine the scene; the older Chinese teaching a young doc the complicated game of chess. It was a surprisingly easy thing to picture.

  “I was ready to give up,” Feng said. “I resided myself to my fate and was just waiting for Lei Gong to come and find me. Then I met Hieronymus, and I saw something in him that I hadn’t seen in a long time. There was …” Feng paused as he glanced up to Dodger again. “Well, you know how unique he is. Even at eight I could see he needed protection. But with my woes, I couldn’t be his guardian. I couldn’t stay with him. I would end up drawing more troubles to him then a kid should even know about. I had to go. I tried to explain things to him, but you know Hieronymus. He always had this naïve idea he can fix things. He has to make them all better.”

  Dodger smiled at that. “I’ve never met a man who wanted to repair the whole world.”

  “And at eight he was even worse, because he really thought he could.”

  “I’ll bet.” They shared a chuckle before Dodger asked, “So, tell me, what became of that old man and young boy that lead you both here?”

  Feng smirked and with it Dodger knew the easy answers were gone again. “It’s a long story.”

  “Then you can tell me when I get back.”

  “You’re really going to do this?”

  “I don’t see how I have a choice.”

  “We always have a choice.”

  “That’s not what you just got done telling me a few hours ago. I thought I was put on this earth to complete a specific purpose. What kind of choice does that leave me?”

  Feng groaned. “Being marked isn’t the same as being controlled. What you choose to do still matters. You still matter. Even when it comes time to fulfill whatever task fate has set aside for you, it will be up to you to complete it. No one else can make that choice for you.”

  Dodger slid his gun belt around his waist. The weight of the girls settling on his hips was comforting, but at the same time, troubling. “Tell me what to expect. What does this Rex look like?”

  “From what I could tell, he is big, both broad and tall. An older man, bald as a babe, and very well dressed.”