Chapter 16: The Last Question

I confess, part of me still expected the old Physician to pick himself back up and continue where we left off. The lack of blood only contributed to this impression, as at no point had the man lost any, despite my best efforts with a blade in his heart. All I remembered, in truth, was the knife clattering down to the floor, the rush of adrenaline from my fight or flight response well and gone by that point. I fell to the floor, heedless of the aching scratches all along my arms, and before I even had a chance to exchange words with my ally, I was out like a light.

—

I woke up again, still in the Club Car at one minute past nine, and was rather surprised that after everything I’d been through, the time loop still hadn’t ended. Not that this was a bad thing, in this particular instance: arriving at Fort William with both arms bleeding freely and a dead man in the carriage wouldn’t have ended well. Life on a train was hardly the height of luxury, but it still handily beat the accommodations at His Majesty’s Prison, Wormwood Scrubs. I grimaced at that: it was still strange to label anything as His Majesty’s, just as it still felt bizarre to hear the song God Save the King, after decades of singing a different tune in honour of his mother.

Shaking my head at the very thought of it, I picked myself up to find myself the first to wake, and the last, because nobody else was in the car with me. Frowning, I headed to the back of the Club Car, wondering whether I’d been the only one not returned to bed, for whatever reason, only to find that the sleeper carriage was still gone, meaning that the other passengers, given their absence, were probably stranded somewhere near the Rannoch Moor, right about now. I wasn’t quite sure how they were supposed to get home from there, but quite frankly, I was happy enough to leave that to the taxpayer funded services of Network Rail, as I felt I’d done more than enough for them already, keeping them alive in debacle leading up to this point.

“Give Scrooge McDuck my best regards,” I quipped, feeling quite pleased with myself at that bit of trivia, before I returned my attention to the Club Car.

It was odd, not seeing the Waiter in any capacity, and even when I headed to the kitchen, I found only an empty chamber where he’d once greeted me. It made sense though, in a certain, esoteric manner to which I’d slowly become accustomed. The Waiter had sacrificed his stolen life, to prevent the Physician from stealing mine. A worthwhile sacrifice, both of us had agreed at the onset of the plan, but one that he would not be returning from. He was a taciturn man, down to the last, and even now after all the action, I still hadn’t gotten so much as his name. Nonetheless, I wished him the best in the afterlife, free from the perils of public transport, and decided not to spend too long mourning him: he wouldn’t have wanted it that way, I knew down to the bottom of my heart.

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The complete absence of staff did leave a slight problem for me, however: whilst I was blessed with many talents, none of them featured overly in the kitchen. I had no idea how cooking on a moving train was supposed to work, but I decided to opt-out, lest I discover what it felt like to die in a burning carriage. Instead, I picked out some of the more ready-made ingredients: some fresh fruit, a bottle of mineral water and a pot of yoghurt, and made a simple meal out of it.

Only after filling my stomach did I return my attention to the time loop, and what it meant that it was still intact. I’d been operating under the assumption that the Physician had been the cause of it: a reasonable enough approach, I figured, given that he was my first true taste of magic, by my knowledge. It made sense, and was a motivating factor during difficult moments: defeat the bad guy, and the problems all end, a framing that was most attractive in its simplicity. Except, now that I had time to think freely, that never quite made sense. The Physician, by the Waiter’s explanation, had expended his final efforts in preparing a means to revive himself, a painstaking approach that would require decades of existence as an entity trapped between life and death: hardly the most enjoyable experience, even if it led to success.

Why would someone capable of reversing time, need to bother with such formalities? Wouldn’t he have been able to simply go back far enough that he could get himself checked into a hospital by the time his heart started giving out? That would have avoided the train entirely, and even if his attempts at treatment hadn’t worked, he wouldn’t have died here.

“I’m clearly missing something,” I concluded, heading back to my table and pulling out the one possible clue that I still possessed: his journal.

I’d been hesitant to do this before, mindful of my first attempt at it, but now that the Physician was dead, whatever spell he cast should have ended, right? That was my thought as I reached the final page, flicking it open to find an empty circle drawn in chalk, with no sign of the debilitating pain I’d experienced from reading it before.

“Not a trick then,” I heaved a sigh of relief, because alone as I was, I really didn’t fancy a second round against the ghost.

Thus reassured, I headed back to the kitchen, and brewed myself a cup of tea, being confident enough to do that much at least. Then, as the clock ticked half past nine, I settled myself down at my favourite table, and waited to arrive at my destination. I did nothing particular, to try and deal with the time loop this time around, but somehow, I had a gut feeling that said this was the right thing to do, here at the end. But why?