The Train of Lost Things

by Ammi-Joan Paquette

  * * *

  • • •

  Pretty soon, Dina and Marty had done all the searching they could do inside the carriage they were in. They’d checked every bin, box, and barrel. They’d found nothing. Dusting off his hands on his pants, Marty walked to the door that led to the next car.

  He pulled on the handle. The panel hissed open, and Marty and Dina stepped into the accordion-shaped connecting tunnel. It jogged and swayed from side to side, way more wobbly than the main train cars (which suddenly seemed super smooth by comparison). Inside, the wind whistled nearly as loud as it had up on the roof. Marty felt like he’d been dropped inside a T. rex’s lung. Which would have been pretty cool, if he’d had any brain space to properly enjoy it. Instead, he pushed right through to the opposite door and stepped out into the new carriage.

  Barely one step in, Marty came to a short stop. He felt Dina crash lightly into his back. “Whoa!” Marty said, blinking. If the last car was cluttered, this new one was a disaster zone. Without even turning his head, he could see a shiny red ukulele, a glass bottle shaped like a bridge, an enormous gray sweater that looked hand knitted, a puffy pillow shaped like an owl . . .

  And a zillion other things. All scattered across the storage space and floor alike. Scattered everywhere.

  “Good grief,” muttered Dina, who had come to stand next to him. With a shake of her head, she tucked her sleeves in tighter over her hands, slowly and with purpose.

  Marty grinned at her. “You up for this, partner?”

  “Super up,” she said. “Let’s whip this space.”

  They fell upon their search with gusto, digging, sifting, sorting, heaping, piling. There was something quite satisfying about going through a stack of junk: top to bottom, side to side, not missing a single thing. You have one thing—okay, in this case, two things—on your mind, and you can sharpen your whole world to that and shut everything else out. Marty felt like a boy-shaped lighthouse with a giant spotlight on his forehead. The beam was his super-searching power and it scoured every bit of the space with the accuracy of a laser. (He also thought that would make a cool online game.)

  As he moved through the room, Marty found so many interesting things—some he couldn’t help watching the memory clips for—but by the time he reached the other end of the car, he had not found either his jacket or Dina’s locket. From the grim set of Dina’s mouth, he could see she hadn’t had any more success.

  “Never mind,” she said through gritted teeth. “Tons more cars to go.”

  And so it went on. They walked and searched and sorted and scoured. But every search left their shoulders drooping a bit lower; each new car was a great big fancy-wrapped present that you opened to find that it contained nothing at all. Less than nothing: the kind of black-hole nothing that sucked out your hope and zapped your energy. By the time they reached the end of their fourth car, Marty had realized something: It wasn’t actually the searching he enjoyed, it was the finding. And this ridiculous imbalance—looking, looking, looking, but never actually getting to what he was after . . . well, he hated it.

  It was like in each new train car, he lost his jacket all over again.

  12

  THE THIRD TRAINHOPPER

  How much longer can we keep doing this?” Marty said, pausing in the accordion space between two cars. The weight of all this not-knowing and not-finding felt like having a cow sitting on his head.

  Stopping next to him, Dina considered the question in silence. Then she shrugged. She reached up behind her head, pulled the elastic out of her hair, and smartly redid her ponytail. It was an impressive move, Marty thought, somehow showing that now she meant business. He was even more impressed when she followed that up with a firm “Until we find the stuff. Or get to the front of the train and run out of cars. Right?”

  She was right (of course), and Marty opened his mouth to say so. What else could they do but keep going? Before the words came out, though, there was a thump over their heads. He looked up.

  “Did something just fall on the roof?” Dina asked.

  They were still in between the cars, so the rooftop here wasn’t see-through. Dina started to say something else, but Marty grabbed her arm and put his finger to his lips. He had a feeling . . .

  Sure enough, not three seconds later, in the same spot where the bump had been, there was a scuffle, then the unmistakable pitter-patter of running feet.

  “Or someone!” said Marty.

  They dashed into the train car ahead of them and ran for the twisty stairs to the roof.

  “Over there!” crowed Dina, who was above Marty on the staircase. It turned out that the gummy-glass texture of the skylight exits was great for sneaking up on unsuspecting trainhoppers. Dina’s enthusiasm, though, unlocked a new level of achievement. She sprang up the last few stairs in a quick bound, and Marty half wanted to remind her that she was climbing onto the roof of a magical train that was hurtling through space. But it didn’t seem like the right time. Anyway, Dina was halfway down the car by the time he got out into the brisk night air.

  For a second he was caught by the feel of the wind blowing his ears flat against his head, by the hot magic of the stars as they winked out from their black blanket, by the twisty-winding of the ground way, way below. Once again he had that feeling of being inside the greatest role-playing game ever made—and having a starring role, no less.

  The feeling was strong enough to blow everything else from his mind for the shortest of seconds; enough to make him pause as he exited the trapdoor, fling himself into a pose (left hand on hip, right arm thrust into the sky, head thrown back), and call out: “Marty Torphil, Trainhopper!” Not very loud, though, and he yanked his arm back down quick. He didn’t want Dina to hear.

  Still, he was glad he’d done it. He thought he might always like to think of himself that way. Then he put all that aside and dashed across the car to catch up with Dina (carefully, still, staying to the center and well away from the edges; he really didn’t want another scuddering tumble like he’d had last time).

  It was pretty dark up here—the moon just coming out from behind a cloud—so he couldn’t see very clearly up ahead. But he made out a darkish blob halfway across the car and heard the sound of squirming and grunting and muttering. He dashed over (as dashingly as he could on the sticky surface), only to realize that Dina had flattened herself on top of a wriggling, thrashing lump. She was barely holding it down.

  “Help me out!” Dina yelped, looking over her shoulder at Marty. “You sure took long enough—what were you doing back there?”

  “What are you doing?” asked Marty.

  “The intruder! I’m holding it down!”

  “Intruder?” Marty said. “Um. Isn’t that actually what we are on this train? What if you tackled someone who’s, you know, in charge?”

  Dina went abruptly still and the lump under her took the chance to buck up, sending Dina toppling over onto her backside. Marty caught her and they both turned to the lump, which unfolded itself into a quite small, quite disheveled young person, with raised fists and a fierce scowling face.

  Marty and Dina scooted backward.

  “Easy,” said Marty. “We’re, uh, sorry about tackling you.” He cut his eyes to Dina.

  “Yeah,” she muttered. “Sorry, or whatever.”

  “Who are you guys?” said the voice. A matted curtain of hair was scuffled down over the front of the small face, so you couldn’t see any features clearly.

  “Marty Torphil,” said Marty.

  “Dina Khan.”

  “How long you been on the train?”

  “Just a few hours. Since it stopped in the park back there. We’ve both lost a heart’s possession, and we’re here on the train to find them. For me it’s”—Marty swallowed—“a jean jacket. It’s super important. And . . .” He didn’t think it was his place to spill Dina’s secrets, and from Dina
’s glare, she agreed. “Dina’s looking for something she lost, too.”

  “Who are you?” Dina’s voice was a smidge less challenging, but not much. “You’re too small to be in charge, so don’t think I won’t tackle you again.”

  Marty elbowed her. There was a time for fierceness, but as far as he could tell, this really wasn’t it. He liked going things alone as much as the next kid (maybe more, honestly), but what if the newbie knew stuff? Stuff they could use? It was basically a rule of questing: You didn’t just go beating the baggage out of everyone you ran into before you even knew what they were about. It made sense to wait and see.

  The new kid shook Dina the rest of the way off and stood up straight and proud, tossing back the mop of messy hair to reveal a round elfin face. “I’m Star,” she said, her mouth set in a grim scowl. “And you’re wrong: I do run this place.”

  “You what?” said Dina. “You’re not the conductor! You’re a kid!”

  Star turned and ran expertly toward the hatch leading back down to the car. “Shows how much you know.” With that, she ducked into the trapdoor and scurried down inside, pausing only to call over her shoulder, “Be careful up there, you guys! A fall from that height could kill you.”

  Could kill you? No kidding, Marty thought. He tested the air cushion, which was firmly in place. He edged back toward the safer center anyway. “What do we do now?” he asked Dina. “Do we believe the kid’s story? She does seem to know her way around.”

  “That doesn’t mean she’s the boss of the train. It doesn’t even make any sense. She’s, like, my cousin’s age.” She shook her head. “My cousin is in kindergarten.”

  “I don’t think she’s that young. She could be small for her age. Anyway, it’s a magical train. Who knows how it runs?”

  Dina narrowed her eyes. “Well, this train’s a mess. If that kid’s running it, then I guess I’m not surprised things are falling apart. Come on, Marty. Let’s go chase her down.”

  “What? Why?” Marty ran to catch up with Dina, who was marching stiff-legged across the platform toward the hatch to the inside.

  “Whether she’s in charge or not, she definitely knows stuff. And that’s what we need, right? An insider. I think I made a great starting impression. Now we’ve just gotta reel her in.”

  Marty gave a long sigh, then turned to follow Dina down the stairs into the car below.

  13

  WHAT IF YOUR IMAGINATION COULD FILL YOUR STOMACH?

  They found Star in the car below. She seemed to be waiting for them, standing between a lamp shaped like a smiling squash (a label on its base said SOPHIE) and an action-figure kangaroo. Star stood so the lamp’s yellow glow lit her up, from her pink polka-dot tights to her long gray sweater to the jaunty orange scarf looped around her neck. Her mouth had a faint green ring around it, but Marty didn’t have the chance to wonder about that for long, because Dina came at her with question-guns firing.

  “You say you run the train? Prove it. What do you know? How did you get here? What’s up with all the mess everywhere? Are you really that bad at stuff?”

  For a second Star looked ready to run away again, so Marty said, quickly and super gently, “Don’t go. We just want to know more about you.”

  Star’s shoulders slumped. “Okay, okay,” she said. “I’m not exactly in charge. But I’ve been here for ages. I’m trying my best. The train is . . . stubborn or something? Just . . . Somebody’s gotta run things ever since . . .” She swallowed.

  Marty and Dina exchanged a look.

  “Since what?” Marty asked, before Dina could bark at her and muddy the mood.

  Star sighed. “Since the last driver left.”

  “Left?” yelped Dina.

  Star looked up suddenly, considering them. “Are you hungry? I’m hungry. Let’s get something to eat and I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

  Marty thought of the granola bar he’d eaten back at the train station. It seemed like ages ago, and his stomach growled at the prospect of food. But more than anything, he really wanted to keep searching for his jacket.

  “We don’t have time to sit down for a story,” Dina said, obviously on the same track as Marty. “We’ve got searching to do, stuff to find.”

  “Can’t you tell us as we search?” he cut in.

  “Nope. If you want to know what I know, you’ll have to come along. I haven’t eaten for hours and I’m starved.”

  They could have just left her, Marty supposed. But a quick glance at Dina showed that she was thinking like him: Star had information. She probably had answers to questions they didn’t even know they had. And as any good finder knows, the best way to get to what you’re looking for is to first make sure you know everything there is to know about your search. So they set off after Star.

  Thankfully, she didn’t walk far. In between the car they were in and the one up ahead was a little round cab. Star pushed expertly inside, where they found a cozy room arranged with a few sets of tables and chairs, and a couch-and-loveseat area. If there’d been a TV, Marty thought, the room would have been pretty much perfect. Not that they’d want to watch any shows right now (magical train and all that) but it would have been nice to have the option. Just in case.

  On the other hand, maybe there was something even better than a TV. Marty noticed a strange contraption on the wall. It looked a bit like a microwave, but it was neon green and purple, with a snazzy lightning bolt on the front door. Star zipped right over to the keypad. She tapped at it for a bit, then pressed a START button. Less than a minute later, the machine dinged and Star yanked open the door. She pulled out a plate containing three bright-green-frosted chocolate cupcakes.

  “See?” she said proudly. “Snack time.”

  Marty’s jaw dropped. “Did you just—? Did that—?”

  Star grinned, her mouth already plastered with frosting. That explained the green lip smudges, Marty thought. He ran for the machine and got there a second before Dina. “How does it work?”

  “Type in whatever you want to eat,” said Star around her stuffed mouthful of cupcake. “Anything you like.”

  “That’s it?” said Dina.

  “I’ve found”—Star swallowed her last bite, apparently to get the words out more easily—“that it helps to think hard about what you want. Making a picture in your head works really well. I call it the Thought Machine.”

  “You’re kidding,” said Dina.

  “Also, it only seems to work for stuff to eat and drink. Not just making up random things you want.” Her mouth twisted. “Too bad.”

  Marty was already typing. He knew exactly what he wanted. BURGER, he typed, AND MILKSHAKE. In his mind he pictured that meal he had with his dad, the birthday meal, maybe the best meal of his entire life.

  “It doesn’t have much imagination,” said Star, who had finished her first cupcake and was halfway through the second. “No fancy name-brand stuff. I tried to do a Coke once and it was gross. You’ve gotta stay pretty basic. But it does the trick.”

  The Thought Machine took longer to do Marty’s order than it had Star’s. Maybe it got better with practice? Green-frosted cupcakes seemed to be her thing. After two or three minutes, the machine dinged. Holding his breath, Marty yanked at the lightning-bolt door handle. Inside was a round white plate. On the plate was a steaming burger inside a fluffy white bun. Golden cheese oozed around a crispy meat patty, and a splash of red ketchup dotted one edge. It even looked like his lettuce-but-no-tomato order had come through. Next to the plate was a yellow paper cup holding a frothy chocolate milkshake.

  Marty pulled his food out and walked to sit next to Star at the table, while Dina started pecking away behind him. His hands were shaking as though they, too, remembered the last time he’d had this meal. With Star watching curiously, he took a bite of the burger. He chewed. He thought. Then he smiled. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”
<
br />   It wasn’t the birthday burger, not exactly. But it was close enough.

  He dug in with relish, and after Dina sat down holding some kind of wrap stuffed with way too many vegetables for Marty’s liking, the three of them spent the next few minutes eating in silence. It was a good sort of silence, offset by the pleasant hum of filling bellies.

  After a few minutes, Star pushed her empty plate away. While they continued to eat, she told them her story.

  14

  STAR SPILLS HER SECRETS (SOME OF THEM)

  I first saw the train in the wintertime, when I was out on the street late one night. The night was cold, and I was cold, and everything looked pretty bad.”

  “The winter? That was ages ago,” said Dina.

  Star nodded. “That’s what I said, isn’t it? I guess you might as well know: I’ve got no home. Not out there.”

  “You ran away from home?” Marty asked.

  “Nah. I just don’t got one. Not for a long time. No matter why, it’s ancient news, not important. But that night . . . well, I was cold, like I said. Really cold. It got me thinking about being warm, and places I’ve been warm, and with one thing and another I was thinking about my old home. Way back when I was little.”

  “Wait. You live alone on the street?” said Dina, sounding shocked.

  Star’s eyes hardened. “I’m tougher’n I look. And I’m not alone, not exactly. There’s a whole pack of us. We look out for each other. Stay out of sight together.”

  She shook herself, like waking out of a little trance. “But none of that’s important. Not anymore. Don’t you see? I lost my home a long time ago, and mostly I was used to being on the street. I got by. That night, though . . . well, I started thinking. Getting a bit soggy in the eyelids. And then—”

  Marty caught her shy smile and felt it stretch tight between them. “You heard the horn.”

  “Heard the horn, saw the fog . . . I had no idea what any of it was, obviously. But what else did I have to do with my night? I started following that sound. Like, I couldn’t get it out of my head, right?” She broke off suddenly and frowned. Marty had the strangest impression she was trying to remember something. Then she shook her head and sighed. “Anyway, that’s it. I heard the train, I followed it, I got on. It’s the Train of Lost Things—I figured that out pretty quick. And as soon as I got here, I knew I’d found exactly what I’d lost. Different, but here it was.”