by P. G. Bell
The second was an idea that lit her mind up as bright and clear as the strange constellations outside.
“Would you like me to deliver the parcel?” she asked.
Wilmot looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you don’t have to ring her doorbell and get shouted at. I could do it for you.”
“But you can’t!” he said. “Only I’m allowed to make deliveries.”
“Your father and grandfather had people to do it for them,” she said. “And you said you’d like to have your own team.”
Wilmot rolled his cap around his head. He seemed caught somewhere between confusion and excitement. “But that was different,” he said. “They were all professional postal trolls. They’d had years of training.”
“What if I just ring the doorbell, give her the parcel, and get her to sign for it?”
Wilmot’s face lit up. “So you are qualified!”
She smiled and held out a hand for the parcel. He was about to pass it over when she pulled the hand away. “There’s just one condition,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“If I help you, you won’t call HQ or Stonker or anyone else. I get to ride along for a bit, see a few of these Impossible Places of yours, and then you take me home before my parents miss me. Plus, I get to remember it all afterward. None of Fletch’s brain surgery. Do we have a deal?”
He licked his lips and turned the parcel over and over in his hands. “I’m not sure. It’s highly irregular.”
Suzy said nothing, but put her hand back out, ready to accept the package. She did her best to look calm, but inside she was as nervous as he looked. She was gambling everything on his decision.
The Postmaster dithered, clutching the parcel tight to his chest, looking from Suzy to the old-fashioned rotary phone on his desk and back again. His nostrils flared. He chewed his bottom lip.
“I suppose you’ll need a uniform,” he said at last.
Suzy smiled. “Perfect,” she said.
5
ENCOUNTER AT THE TOWER
The train’s whistle cut through the night air like a knife. Suzy wondered how far the sound must carry across the empty sands, and who might be out there to hear it.
Wilmot had disappeared into a storage closet at the back of the carriage, so she crossed again to the window and looked out. The desert raced by in a blur. She would have thought they’d be slowing down as they approached their destination, but they actually seemed to be getting faster. That didn’t make any sense.
But then, nothing about this train made any sense, she reminded herself.
She heard Wilmot clattering around in the closet, and she was turning from the window, when she caught sight of something new out in the desert sands. It streaked past too quickly for her to make out, but it didn’t look like a tree. It was too small, too gray.
She cupped her hands around her eyes and pressed them to the glass. For a moment, nothing stood out. Then, very close to the train, another gray object flashed past. Then another, farther out into the sands. Then a third, and a fourth. Soon, she was seeing them everywhere.
They were statues, she realized. Hundreds and hundreds of statues of people with arms outstretched and legs raised, as though running. Some were arranged in rows, others seemed to be on horseback, and although the train was moving too quickly for her to be sure, they all seemed to have been carved wearing armor and helmets and carrying swords. And they were all facing the same direction.
She angled her head again, looking ahead along the curve of the train as it followed the tracks snaking in and out among the dunes. What she saw made her gasp.
Rearing up from the desert was a tower so huge, the broad crown of its battlements seemed to prop up the heavens themselves. It was blacker than the night sky surrounding it and reflected nothing of the kaleidoscope of starlight. Instead, the light just seemed to fall into it and be snuffed out. It was like looking at a hole in the world. Suzy shivered. She couldn’t help herself.
The statues grew more numerous as the train hurtled closer. They clustered around the base of the tower in great crowds, weapons raised. There were more figures on horseback here, and some riding what appeared to be rhinos.
Rhinos?
Suzy didn’t have time to worry about them, though. The base of the tower was rushing closer and closer, wider than a football stadium, and the train showed no sign of slowing. There was no tunnel mouth ahead, just an expanse of black wall.
We’re going to crash. The fact popped into her head so matter-of-factly she almost laughed. She just had time to throw herself onto the floor before the whole train bucked beneath her, raining letters down on her from the shelves and sending the lamp flying from Wilmot’s desk. She shut her eyes and waited for the splintering of wood.
“Typical. I’ll have to pick all this up again now.”
She opened her eyes to find Wilmot standing over her, his hands on his hips, surveying the mess with a critical frown. She sat up and looked around. The carriage was still intact, and the rocking motion of the train continued as though nothing had happened.
“They told me they were going to iron out those gravity shifts when it went in for servicing last week,” Wilmot went on, flitting back and forth across the carriage, picking up fallen letters as he went. “I haven’t got time to re-sort the post every time we go vertical.”
“Vertical?” Suzy got uncertainly to her feet and went back to the window. They were still racing along at the same speed, but now the ground beneath the train was jet-black and curved sharply away from them. The same lurid sky was still above them, but something had changed. She looked to her right, the way they had come, and a wave of dizziness hit her so hard she almost fell over. The desert rose like a wall into the sky behind them. She shut her eyes for a moment and looked again. The dizziness passed, and she finally understood what she was seeing. The rails hadn’t stopped—they had simply turned at right angles up the side of the tower, and the train was climbing them toward the summit. Far below, she saw the army of statues shrinking into the distance and wondered who had put them all there.
“How is this possible?” she asked, turning to Wilmot. “We’re going up. But down is still down. I mean, our feet are still on the floor. The gravity…”
“Is negotiable,” he said. “I don’t really know how it works, other than it’s a mix of troll ingenuity and a bit of borrowed magic. I think it just tricks gravity a bit.”
“But gravity’s a force. You can’t trick a force.” Suzy realized she was breathing too quickly and willed herself to slow down. “Can you?”
“Some of them,” he said. “And they do say gravity’s one of the more gullible ones, don’t they.”
“No, they don’t,” she said firmly. “Not where I come from.”
“Oh.” Wilmot gave an apologetic shrug. “But look what I found in the closet.” He produced a battered red cap with a black leather peak and smiled as he reached up to place it on Suzy’s head. It was a shade too small, but by tugging it down as far as she could, she persuaded it to stay put. “I couldn’t find an entire uniform, but at least you have something official. Oh, and this, of course.” He reached into his pocket and produced a badly tarnished bronze badge. “I checked the regulations, and they say a Postmaster may deputize any suitably qualified person should he have need. And a deputy needs a badge of office.” He handed it over. It was a depiction of the same spiral horn embroidered on his jacket, surrounded by a ribbon on which she could just make out the words
UT APOLOGIZE PRO INOPPORTUNITAS
“What does it mean?” she asked.
“It means we must always be thinking of our customers. Do your best to remember that and you won’t go far wrong.” He drew himself up to his full height, which still only brought him about halfway up Suzy’s chest, and raised his right hand. He looked at her expectantly until she did likewise. “Do you solemnly swear to uphold the ideals of the Impossible Postal Express, risking life, lim
b, and reason in the execution of your duty?”
“Um…” Suzy felt the first doubts creeping into her thoughts. “Is it really that dangerous?”
“Never,” said Wilmot. “Almost. Almost never.” He gave her a big, encouraging grin.
She wet her lips. If she backed out now, he would have no reason not to call HQ and have her sent back home to have her memory scrambled. But if she agreed, what was she getting herself into? She thought again of the strange sky outside; there was a whole new world out there to be discovered. That itch of curiosity hadn’t gone anywhere.
“I do,” she said.
“Then I now pronounce you officially deputized, Postal Operative … uh, sorry, I don’t think I ever caught your name.”
“I’m Suzy,” she said. “Suzy Smith. And you’re Wilmot, right?”
He went red. “Uh, yes, but never while on duty. You should really address me as Postmaster. Please.”
“Right,” she said. “I mean, right, Postmaster.”
He forgot his embarrassment in an instant. “A staff!” Wilmot beamed and jumped up and down on the spot, clapping his hands. “I finally have a staff! Oh, if only old Grandpa Honks could see me now. I’ve just doubled my productivity!”
The train lurched again as it crested the top of the tower, and the gravity swung back to its normal orientation. Wilmot’s enthusiasm died as quickly as his embarrassment had. “We’re here,” he said. There was a squeal of brakes as the train came to a sudden stop, hurling more letters from the shelves.
Very slowly, and with a trembling hand, he took the Lady Crepuscula’s parcel from the desk and held it out to Suzy. It was only a few inches across on each side, but when she took it, it felt surprisingly heavy.
He darted past her and opened the door. A blast of icy wind pushed its way into the carriage and ruffled the remaining letters on their shelves. Suzy shivered.
“You’d better be quick,” said Wilmot. “The later you are, the angrier she’ll be. I mean, she’s always angry, of course, but she’ll be livid when she sees you.”
“Wonderful,” said Suzy, her doubts growing. What was it Wilmot had said? The most powerful sorceress in the Union? “Thanks for telling me.”
“Oh, you’re welcome,” he said, apparently immune to sarcasm. “Just remember the plan. Ring, deliver, sign. And no matter what happens, be polite. She puts great store in that sort of thing. Oh, and you’ll need this.” He plucked a sheet of paper marked PROOF OF DELIVERY from a nearby shelf and thrust it into her hands.
“Wait, what do I do if—” she began, but he planted both hands in the small of her back and propelled her to the door. She stumbled out to avoid tripping on the steps. “Hey, wait! What about—”
The door slammed in her face. “You’ll be fine,” he called from the other side. He pulled the blind shut.
* * *
Suzy took in her surroundings. She was at the very top of the tower, in the center of a large circular courtyard surrounded by high battlements. The floor and walls were the same uniform black stone as the rest of the tower, and a tall archway stood on either side of the courtyard to allow the train access. The Impossible Postal Express bridged the full width from one to the other, idling quietly.
The wind blew stronger, driving a few flecks of ice before it, and she pulled her bathrobe more tightly around her. The air was thin up here, and the stars seemed close enough to touch. So did the familiar shape of the full moon, which was just rising over the battlements.
In front of Suzy was a gatehouse, its large iron doors flanked by torches that burned with sickly green flames. She started toward it, clutching the parcel to her chest with one hand and defending her cap from the wind with the other. She was beginning to understand Wilmot’s reluctance to leave the sorting car—the idea of simply dropping the parcel on the doorstep and running was starting to feel like a good one. But she hated being scared, and she wasn’t going to act it, even if she felt it.
There were more statues here. They were the same as the ones at the bottom of the tower—knights in armor, with shields and swords at the ready. Perhaps a dozen stood above her on the battlements, pointing down into the courtyard, where a handful more had been placed. They looked human, but now that she was closer to them, she saw that they were larger than life-size—maybe seven or eight feet in height. She passed very close to one and was able to make out what little of its face was visible inside its helmet. It was horrible, twisted in fear or anger, or both. She locked her eyes on the doors ahead of her and tried not to look at any of the other figures, although she couldn’t avoid glancing up at the large gargoyle that squatted on top of the gatehouse. It looked like a cross between a bat and a crocodile, its wings folded behind it and its long, tapering snout reaching down almost to the doors themselves.
She tried to ignore the feeling that its black glass eyes were watching her as she stopped underneath it and searched for some way to alert whoever was inside. There was no door knocker, and when she tried knocking with her fist, her knuckles barely made a sound against the thick metal.
She looked back over her shoulder at the train, hoping for some encouragement. The Express sat and steamed, but there was no sign of movement from the crew. She wondered if Stonker and Ursel were as scared of this Lady Crepuscula as Wilmot was.
“And exactly what time do you call this?”
Suzy jumped and spun around. The doors stood wide open (But how? Surely she would have heard them?), and she narrowed her eyes in confusion at the figure they revealed.
It was a little old lady, who might have been about Suzy’s own height but for a slight hunch and the fact that she leaned on a cane for support. She wore a dress of heavy black lace that fell all the way to her feet, with a knitted black shawl pulled tight around the shoulders. Suzy caught the discreet glint of a pearl necklace beneath it. Her hair was silver, and her skin was so pale it almost glowed, like the desert sands far below. She studied Suzy with piercing lilac eyes.
Suzy tried to speak, but only a nervous croak came out. She cleared her throat and tried again.
“I’m looking for the Lady Crepuscula.”
“And should I tell you when you’ve found her, or would you prefer to guess?” the woman said in a voice like cut glass.
Suzy forced a smile, knowing she was being made fun of. “You’re the Lady Crepuscula.”
The woman’s own smile was tight and humorless. “You must be new.”
“Yes,” said Suzy. “It’s my first day.”
“It shows.” The woman looked Suzy over from cap to slippers. “And what manner of troll are you?”
“I’m not,” said Suzy. “I mean, I’m a girl. A human being. From Earth.”
The smile snapped off in an instant, and Lady Crepuscula leaned forward to examine her more closely. “From Earth, you say? How curious.” She extended a finger and prodded Suzy in the chest, as though checking she was really there. “You’re a long way from home, my girl. A very long way indeed.”
Suzy, who didn’t appreciate being prodded one little bit, did her best to banish the image of her parents that the old woman’s words conjured in her mind. “I’ve got a delivery for you,” she said, proffering the parcel.
“I know,” said Crepuscula. “But since you’ve seen fit to make me wait this long for it, I think it’s only fair that I take a little of your time in return, hmmm?”
“Um…” Suzy wished she didn’t feel so nervous. “I’m very sorry, but I’ve already apologized for being late, and if I stay any longer I’ll be even later for my next delivery.”
It was a perfectly reasonable point, but as she watched the Lady Crepuscula’s expression sour, she realized it had also been completely the wrong thing to say.
“Then it seems to me, my girl, that you should have been more punctual to begin with.” The shadows surrounding Crepuscula seemed to gather and deepen. “And if you will not give it up willingly, perhaps I should just take it from you.”
“What do you mean?�
�� said Suzy, but the Lady Crepuscula had already raised her cane and waved it in a circle above Suzy’s head.
“There,” she said with cold satisfaction. “Half an hour from your life. Now we’re even.”
Suzy examined the woman’s features and tried to discern whether she was being made fun of again. “You can’t do that,” she said.
“Oh, but I can, my girl. I just have. Half an hour of your time for the half an hour of mine that you wasted.” The grim little smile crept back onto her face.
“I don’t believe you,” said Suzy, who honestly didn’t know whether she did or not, but was angry, and still a little scared, and certainly wasn’t going to let herself be picked on like this.
“Oh, don’t you?” Crepuscula raised her cane again. It was jet-black, with a silver tip that flashed in the lamplight. “I could take more, if that would persuade you. How about a year? Or a decade? I could take a century and turn you to dust where you stand.”
Suzy took a deep breath and held up the parcel and delivery slip. “Sign here, please.”
Crepuscula’s eyes narrowed. For a moment she seemed poised in indecision, but then she reached out with her spare hand and snatched the parcel from Suzy. “I shall open it first,” she said. “I won’t sign anything until I know you’ve delivered the right package, and in good condition.”
“Fine,” Suzy said, and watched as Crepuscula grappled with the parcel. It was small and well wrapped, and her wrinkled fingers had trouble getting underneath the layers of parcel tape. She began hissing with the effort. “Would you like some help?” asked Suzy.
“Certainly not,” snapped Crepuscula, but it was another minute before she finally tore through the brown paper to reveal a wooden box, like a jewelry box, but quite plain. Hooking her cane over her arm, she opened the box and withdrew something small and spherical, which glinted in the starlight.
