Chapter 13: Reasons Why
Compared to the Suite cabin I’d enjoyed up to this point, the Club cabin is perhaps half the size in absolute terms. Instead of a full double bed, surrounded by amenities laid out like a traditional bedroom, my new cabin featured twin bunk beds, the topmost doubling as a luggage space when in my case, there was only a single occupant. Instead of a desk, the sink in the main room beneath the window, saving space in the considerably more cramped bathroom, which barely fit a toilet and a shower. Altogether, it was like moving down from a 4-star hotel down to a traveller’s hostel.
It didn’t really matter, since there was little enough time between loops now that I’d barely be spending any time inside it, any more, but it was the principle of the matter that irked me. I didn’t complain about it though, instead just heading inside, tossing my bag onto the desk, and climbing into bed. Like each time the course had shifted, I was determined to at least sleep once, to see if I’d be woken up at 10AM by the cleaning staff at Fort William, hurrying me off the train so they could prepare for the journey back towards London. Despite not having been up for long, it turned out that a bare knuckle brawl was quite tiring, after the fact, so it didn’t take long before I was out like a light, even despite the discomfort of the small bunk bed.
—
I woke up at half past seven, which was some degree of progress, at least. Not enough to have cleared the time loops, but once again enough that I wouldn’t be forced to relive the changing of carriages multiple times. The amount of time spent between advancing was shrinking, as I grew more attuned to what was going on around me, and somehow, I could feel that I was approaching the endgame. The train had shortened, one carriage at a time, to the point where what was once a sixteen coach behemoth was down to just a single sleeper car, the Club Car and the locomotive pulling them both along. With most passengers, well, asleep, and my intervention with the steward, the only source of the soporific fog now came from the latter, which meant I needed to find a way inside to plug the hole, or otherwise block it from reaching me.
The biggest barrier was my lack of tools: I’d see a man-portable battering ram be used, but had no idea where it might be stored, if it was even kept on the train itself, rather than being something provided on an ad-hoc basis by law enforcement. Even if I had it, I’d still need help, as it took two men standing side by side to swing it properly. That didn’t stop me from heading into the corridor to go looking for it, which predictably turned up nothing of note. There were no storage compartments in the sleeper car, or at least none accessible by passengers: my luggage had to be stored somewhere, but I hadn’t a clue where that was. After a final, fruitless look around, I gave up on the effort and returned to the Club Car, to think over some breakfast.
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Taking what had become my usual table, I helped myself to the menu, and was halfway down the list of drinks when I realised something strange: the Waiter wasn’t around. He’d always been present to greet me, for every meal across every loop so far, and whilst repeating my preference of drink had become annoying, there had nonetheless been a degree of reassurance to his presence. Now, the Club Car was entirely empty save for myself, which was unnerving, though it also presented some new opportunities. I walked around the carriage, taking a look under each table and behind each seat, looking for clues. There wasn’t much, just a thick layer of dust along every surface that didn’t usually face the customers, indicating a lack of diligence by the cleaners, but nothing else.
Disappointed but not particularly surprised, I then made my way to the front of the car. Previously, I’d been planning to wait until breakfast was over before attempting to access the front of the train, since that was when the Club Car would be staffed only by the now dead steward, but this allowed me to accelerate my plans. The front section was nominally closed to passengers, as it contained the kitchen and staff area, but the only barrier was a thin strip of security tape, which was circumvented as easily as stepping over it. Heading over to the door to the locomotive, I found it locked as expected. The door to the kitchen, surprisingly, wasn’t, and opened at a touch. Inside, I found the chef, or at least, what remained of him.
“You’re still awake,” the Waiter stared at me, one hand holding a bloody meat cleaver, and the other the Chef’s severed head. “Good.”
He was also glowing, a faint translucent blue coating his body in a way that lent him an ethereal look, for all that he was very solid.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” I replied, entirely honestly, even as my legs tensed, prepared to sprint back towards my cabin and the knife I’d left there, for all the good it would do.
“Normally, everyone’s gone by now. Locked in slumber, safe for the extraction to begin. Not much, you see, just a day’s lifespan from each and every passenger. Can’t take too much, can’t make it obvious, or he’ll draw too much attention.”
“Who is ‘he’?” I had to ask, if only to confirm my suspicions.
“The one who cursed this line with his dying breath, of course; only, he’s not as dead as his journal would have you believe. The conversion is horrible, and he needs a lot, but eventually, if nothing stops him, he’ll be back.”
“A day’s lifespan?” I stared at him, incredulous. “All of this, because he wants a day off from me? I’d have given it willingly, instead of going through all this trouble.”
“So would I,” the Waiter agreed. “Most people do, coming and going without fuss, or even memory of what happened onboard. But it doesn’t quite work right for people like us, people with the gift, the potential for magic. Mages are jealous creatures, you see, they don’t like to share, so for us, it’s all or nothing.”