The Alchemists Of Vra

Opening Chapter-7

With a mew of satisfaction, he closed his eyes. From the train’s rhythm arose that tickle of imagination: a hint that something far greater lay beyond the noise of world.

And so he began.

Creatures I have never met,

Have breathed upon this window pane,

And sitting then as I do now,

They dreamed beyond this glass of train.

Swayed beneath its thundering,

While watching blur of world pass by,

Yet regardless of such hurtling,

Surely dozed as content as I.

Momentum screaming merciless,

A whistle offers faith at least,

To storm on rails ever ahead,

Toward the Alps of the Mahlese.

Were I now to fall asleep,

Careering through this shredded night,

Certainly with nowt to fear,

This cradled sleep. This safest flight.

As always, its spontaneity was surprising, and he wondered about writing it down. He didn’t, however, because of a reflection in the window. He turned to see a beautiful cat scowling at him. With a mug in one paw, the other rested on the door’s handle. Oscar rose, happy to oblige.

When he did, her scowl worsened.

“Must you travel in this cubicle?” she said.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’d hoped to travel alone.”

“Oh,” said Oscar, before glancing around the cubicle’s capacity to accommodate several passengers who enjoyed stretching.

“I had only left to acquire this,” she said, lifting the mug in a manner suggesting negotiation wasn’t a hobby. “I’d hoped that upon my return it would have remained vacant.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realise this particular cubicle was occupied.”

“What do you think those are?” she asked, pointing at an assortment of purple suitcases on a shelf above a seat.

Having not noticed them, he said as much. “And even if I had,” he added, “I wouldn’t have anticipated their owner imagining they’d own the seats opposite as well. Unless they have serious problems with their knees, by which I mean they hadn’t any.”

Her scowl deepened. “Then you ought to consider another cubicle in lieu of the possibility.”

“Well, perhaps you should have returned with two mugs in lieu of persuading me to.”

The cat’s look hardened. “There’s no need to be impertinent,” she said. “I’m being perfectly civil.”

“How interesting. So am I.”

The standoff continued until a whistle blew. The carriage rocked when they shot over a junction.

The beautiful cat relented. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking away. “I don’t mean to be so rude, it’s just that I’m not very good company at the moment.”

Oscar humphed. “Of course. I understand. Most choose the silent carriage for that very reason.”

She looked at her mug as though not knowing what to do with it.

“Don’t worry,” he said, reaching for his little suitcase. “I’ll find another cubicle.”

He shuffled past, determined to find one that was devoid of anything resembling assortments of anything.

Three hours later, there was a tap on his cubicle door. He awoke to see a ticket inspector glaring at him.

“This is Plempt,” the inspector said, sliding it open. “The last stop. And unless you are particularly comfortable and wish to return from whence you came, then you might as well stay where you are. But I’ll have to clip your ticket again.”

Oscar stretched and tried fluffing his pantaloons from a sitting position. “That won’t be necessary,” he said. “Plempt is my destination.”

“How fortunate.”

“I must have fallen asleep.”

“Oh, really? I thought you were dead.”

He stopped fluffing. “Dead?”

“Yes. On account of the slovenly way in which you were draped across the seat.”

“Draped?”

“Yes. As though you owned the thing.”

‘What thing?”

“The seat.”

“I wasn’t draped,” said Oscar, indignantly, “I was sitting. And even if I was draped, it certainly wouldn’t be in a slovenly manner.”

“No? Then in what manner would it be?”

He shrugged. “Well, a sort of fluffy one.”

“Considering you had your eyes closed, I don’t think you’re in any position to comment on your state of draping.”

“Considering it’s my draping, I think I most certainly am.” He wondered if this attitude was a cultural thing. “Tell me, are you from Plempt?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Not much, other than giving me some idea what to expect during my stay.”

The inspector scoffed. “I suggest you get off my train before I render your ticket invalid.”

“But won’t it then clash with your personality?”

With a sneer, the inspector left, and Oscar scowled through his window, indignant at having been welcomed with sarcasm.

Great clouds of steam billowed across the platform from an engine that had thundered unimpaired for hours through night. An engineer and driver patted it flank, soothing its temper with appreciative words.

The station was most picturesque, and he craned to see along the platform. Lamp posts lit its length, illuminating swirling snow, and the drifts that had piled around them. Rugged up animals passed by, some laden with luggage, others looking for some and a small assortment realising they’d left theirs in Asquith. He stood, fluffed his crumpled pantaloons and thanked the carriage for its company. Taking his little suitcase, he left the cubicle, wandered through the corridor and hopped down to the platform. Night was cold and fragranced with an agreeable combination of pine and train. The station was busy with animals bustling through swirling snow. He passed some arguing with the ticket inspector, who tried clipping their ears. Oscar would have intervened, but because they outnumbered the animal, the only thing ending up being clipped was the inspector’s tail, which cheered Oscar enormously.

“I say, it’s a lovely evening.”

He turned to see the politically-attired dog he’d passed in the carriage.

“Snow at night has an even more delicate quality than during the day, I feel.”

Oscar smiled. “Yes,” he agreed. “What a splendid observation.”

“I just feel sorry for all the snowflakes we smashed to pieces while getting here. Are you here for the Assembly?”

“In a manner of speaking,” said Oscar. “Although purely in an observational capacity.”

The dog nodded. “I must say, I’m looking forward to the D’dôdôSette’s recital enormously. We’re all rather lucky to have him perform, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know,” said Oscar. “I’ve never heard him before.”

“Really? Well, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. I understand Plempt’s fit to burst these next few days.”

“Yes. I imagine his ego would take some accommodating. Tell me, do you know much about him?”

“Oh, yes,” the dog said. “A wonderful animal, apparently. Very talented, quite brilliant and utterly charming.”

“I see. So you haven’t met him either.”

Some animals pushed past with masses of luggage, which the dog stared at when realising some of it was his. Excusing himself, he hurried after them.

Oscar stood beneath crowning snow and sighed. Although he considered himself a poet in the loosest sense of the word, he was not looking forward to meeting a successful one, lest the word fell apart altogether.

Passengers trudged past, hauling luggage towards steps that led to a walkway over the railway lines. Pulling his scarf tighter, he followed. At the top of them, he looked out across the city. It twinkled like sparks of a fireplace locked in crystals of ice, and he felt the immeasurable mass of mountains it lay cradled in. He felt to be at the highest point of world and took a deep breath of air so crisp that it made lungs bleed. Animals descended to the far platform and left the station through a gate where they vied for waiting taxis. Headlights made the night glow white, and after pulling away, they disappeared among buildings nestled so snugly, that he doubted there was room for streets between them.

He crossed the railway lines and descended with others to the gate. Through it, he waited on a pavement where he watched more arguments over luggage and the vehicles to put it in.

A taxi driver approached. “Mister Teabag-Dooven?”

“Yes?”

“I have transport to your hotel, sir.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Your office thought it might be sensible, considering your prior experience with taxis.”

“My prior what?”

“Experience with taxis. You know, it having been painful and illegal when shredding the things all over the place. Apparently, they don’t want the same happening with the Assembly imminent.”

“How can you possibly know about that?”

Well, I subscribe to Global Taxi Quarterly, for a start. And also they told me.”

“Who did?”

“Your office. For legal reasons.”

“Legal reasons?”

“Yes. And other ones that involved insurance premium wavers and a free crash repair voucher.”

“I see.”

“They asked for a particularly strong taxi to meet you.” He pointed at his. “Mine has all its bits intact, and I intend to keep it that way. I added extra sticky-tape this afternoon. Oh, and I was also instructed to show you my licence.” He held it up. “To put you at ease.”

Oscar stared at it.

“May I take your suitcase?”

He surrendered it indignantly. “Did they tell you that the taxi-shredding to which you refer was not my fault?”

“No,” the driver said, carrying it to the bonnet. “Although they did tell me not to let you touch the steering wheel under any circumstances.”

“I didn’t shred any taxis,” Oscar said, irritated. “I was a passenger, that’s all.”

“Well, that’s not what it says in Global Taxi Quarterly,” he said, inserting the suitcase as though it were full of rubbish. “It had pictures and everything.” He slammed the bonnet shut. “Tell me, was that hearse really giving birth to that police car?”

“Inadvertently.”

“Amazing.” He opened the door for him. “Was your trip pleasant?”

“Well that one wasn’t, no.”

“I was referring to the train trip.”

“Then yes, actually,” he said, getting in. “I rather like trains, you see. Primarily because they don’t resemble taxis—”

He stopped when noticing the beautiful cat a distance away. She stood beside a stack of purple suitcases. She wasn’t vying for taxis like those around her, nor did she appear to be waiting for one. Instead, she looked forlorn and distanced, and stared into the night as though somewhere else entirely. An animal bumped her and knocked a smaller suitcase to the ground. She didn’t notice, however, and continued staring at nothing. Amidst passengers bristling with enthusiasm, her absence of any was stark.

“Would you mind waiting a moment?” said Oscar, alighting.

He fought through several disputes, some involving acute suitcases insertion, until reaching her. She was very beautiful, and snowflakes on her whiskers lent a distinct delicacy.

“Excuse me,” he said, “but I was wondering if you might like a lift somewhere?”

Her gaze remained unbroken.

After retrieving her fallen suitcase, he asked again. “I’d be happy to offer one.” He indicated the waiting taxi, the driver of which was fighting off two eager fares. “It would be safer than waiting here, considering the growing number of arguments.”

A suitcase hurtled past them in convenient illustration.

She gave a weak smile. “That’s very kind of you,” she said, in a tone even weaker. “But I don’t think so.”

The driver hurried over to inform that they’d better hurry before he lost a second fender.

Oscar turned to see two passengers hurrying away with one, presumably in a bid to build their own transport.

“You don’t want the same thing happening to you, surely?” he asked her.

With a sigh, she relented, and the driver gathered her suitcases. When she got in the taxi, Oscar did the same and they waited while the driver battled the incongruence of suitcases and limited bonnet space. She stared from her window with an indifference that left Oscar wondering whether he ought to leave again.

“Despite your preference for no company,” he said, “I must ask where you’d like to be delivered.”

“You make me sound like a parcel,” she said, her stare unbroken.

“Oh? Well, I was just trying to be clear so I wouldn’t have to repeat it in case you become impertinent again.”

There was a thud when the bonnet closed. It was followed by some rocking and cursing from the driver.