13 February 1875 of the 6th Era, the restaurant carriage, The Iron Giant

  There were a lot of words that could be used to describe this room. Luxurious. Spacious. Pretentious. Yet, somehow still elegant. The ornaments Antony had seen in his compartment were also present here, adorning the ceiling and the counter. The tables were sleek, made of lacquered redwood, with thin gilding along the edges. These rich colours were offset by the white tablecloths, the reserved green of the carpet, and the velvet upholstery of the armchairs. To finish off the design, the tables were decorated with bouquets made from dried lavender and some tiny white flowers the names of which Antony did not know.

  Despite the early hour, the restaurant carriage was quite packed with people. Many of them were enjoying a late breakfast, while others savoured hot beverages and sweets that were on offer before lunchtime.

  Antony looked around, finding Dorian and Professor O’Neill occupying a table for four in the farther corner of the carriage, right next to a group of people having a rather lively discussion. As he strained his hearing, he realised that it was probably a continuation of yesterday’s poetry salon.

  “Agatha, my dearest, you completely misunderstood what Lord Miles meant by that phrase. The purple vase on the table is an allegory to the discrepancy between the upper and lower classes. See how he describes the vase? Solid, a single colour, old and somewhat brittle. Made of expensive porcelain with a gold finish. And now the flowers. First, they’re wild flowers, which is obviously a hint at the simple ways of the lower classes. Second, the poor things are already wilting at the start of the poem, and are completely gone by the end of it. Isn’t it the way those less fortunate live? Bright lives full of colour and not the slightest care in the world,” the dwarf raised his hand in a theatrical gesture, as if trying to further stress the point he was making. He looked young still, probably around a century old, with dark beady eyes, neatly combed black hair, and an impeccably maintained beard.

  “I still think that Professor Stein’s analysis is the right way to look at it,” the hobgoblin woman on the opposite side of the table retorted. She was in her late twenties, possibly early thirties, with blond hair and attentive grey eyes. What especially stood out about her though was her dress. Antony could call it worthy of a member of the royal family, given the quality of the fabric and the intricacy of the embroidery that decorated the hem and the sleeves. “The vase is the embodiment of the long-lived species, whereas the flowers symbolise those with shorter lifespans, such as humans, minotaurs, and even dwarves. There’s even that one flower… Now what was the name of it?”

  “Allium,” a catfolk woman who had been up until now silently listening to their debate readily supplied. She was wearing a very loose blouse with an extravagant bow tied around her neck and a simple black skirt made of coarse wool, a material typical for garments affordable to the lower middle class. Her posture, too, was quite timid, as if the exuberant interior weighted on her. She was the odd-one-out at this table, as if her two companions had invited her to be witness to their debate. From the way she acted, she could be an artist, or perhaps a playwright. Or maybe a mechanic, as Antony noticed how nimble her fingers were.

  “Right. Every other flower had wilted away, yet the allium remained. Isn’t it to show that some species live longer than others, but even they don’t live as long as your average elf or sylph?”

  “Isn’t that explanation a bit too simple?” the dwarf pouted. “Lord Miles was known for hiding symbols behind symbols. In my opinion, Professor Stein’s analysis simply lacks depth.”

  “Are you saying that because you really believe that or because you just dislike being proven wrong? Also, George, dear, just for the record, that vase was blue, not purple. It’s in the name of the poem itself, The Flowers in the Blue Vase are Wilting,” the way she leaned forward a bit, and her overall tone, while outwardly friendly, felt more and more patronising the longer Antony listened to the exchange.

  “Perhaps that’s another allegory! The blue being–”

  “Just admit that you’re wrong for once,” the phrase came out harsh and cold, startling the catfolk woman.

  However, the dwarf continued to pout, completely ignorant to the sudden shift in atmosphere. The hobgoblin woman tilted her head, then laughed and changed the topic to flower arrangements and general gardening. In a minute, the dwarf was back in the debate, disagreeing with everyone around him and confidently claiming that magnolias and rhododendrons were the same plant.

  “Is something wrong?” Antony leaned slightly towards Charlotte, noticing that she was barely able to hold back laughter.

  “It’s just that… I knew Lord Miles personally,” she whispered. “I was there when he wrote that poem, and I can assure you, that vase was just a vase that was standing on his coffee table. His editor wanted an extra poem or two because she felt that particular tome was a bit too thin, and he had one evening to fill a dozen or so pages. This is how The Flowers in the Blue Vase are Wilting, The Bird at my Window, and That Yapping Dog That Ruins my Sleep came to be. The last one was a crown of seven sonnets if memory serves me right. He almost made it into a heroic crown. Really had to restrain himself when he came up with that idea.”

  “Isn’t that one considered part of Lundhaven’s Literary Legacy?”

  “You remember right. Supposedly, a harsh critique of the class system that Lord Miles was part of, masterfully conveyed as ramblings of a sleep-deprived man about his neighbour’s ill-mannered terrier,” Charlotte’s voice sounded serious, but in an incredibly fake way. She sighed and continued as the two of them finally started moving towards Dorian and Professor O’Neill, the latter having waved his hand at them. “He did write many poems with deep symbolism, but that one wasn’t one of them. Though he did enjoy the fact that people still searched for it and found something. There was a lot of sadness around him, sadness he was trying to mend, but could not. I wish he lived to see today. Lindau would have brought a smile to his face, I’m sure of it.

  “Good morning once more. Simon insisted I should come along. I hope you don’t mind my company.”

  “Not at all. I was actually hoping that Mr Dahl would invite you,” Dorian gratefully nodded as the waiter placed a coffee cup in front of him. “And Alex wanted to talk to you, too. The world seems quite small, considering the distance between Quillivia and Lindau.”

  “It is indeed. Or perhaps Professor Ethan Goshawk was just that good at uniting people,” Professor O’Neill warmly smiled. “Thank you once again for aiding me last summer.”

  “It was the least I could do,” Charlotte’s smile, too, became warm from the memories as she sat down next to Professor O’Neill, while Antony took the remaining free seat next to Dorian. Then, she somewhat cheekily added, “The world is even smaller, considering that we have another acquaintance in common. A certain Mr Antony Levy. He mentioned you in so many of his letters that by the time we actually met, I felt like I had known you for a decade, if not longer.”

  “Did he now?”

  “Don’t worry. He is quite fond of you,” she looked past Antony and out of the window. “His only complaint is that you don’t visit him often enough.”

  Professor O’Neill shook his head, burying his face in his hands, while Antony did his best to not show any emotion, “I fear that might be the case. Unfortunately, while I do know teleportation spells, my life for the past decade was a bit too busy, with all of these university reevaluations and Lord Blumendorf’s constant nagging.”

  “I beg you, let’s talk about something more pleasant,” Dorian’s face would have probably been less sour had he eaten an entire lemon. “How has the trip been so far? Seven days must be quite exhausting.”

  “It’s nothing compared to having to travel by boat while being prone to sea sickness,” Charlotte placed her order. “But I won’t lie, I’m glad that I can return to Lindau by teleport.”

  “Not staying in Stolberg?”

  “Oh, I am, for a week. I want to see all of those famed spires and towers. Speaking of which, does your offer to accompany me still stand or did your plans change?” She addressed Antony.

  “Provided whatever Mr Holmes wants from me will take as long as he claimed it would.”

  “It’s a minor thing, I assure you.”

  The waiter soon returned with tea for Antony, a cake stand with assorted small pastries, and a piece of chocolate cake covered in chocolate chips and decorated with whipped cream and fresh berries, which he placed in front of Charlotte.

  “This one’s good, but I am yet to find anything that would top that chocolate cake at the cafe you took me to in Ledavia,” she picked up her dessert fork.

  “As far as I know, it still exists, and even serves that very same cake,” Antony picked up his cup, a warm smile spreading across his face as he recalled her reaction all those years ago. “We can visit it, but… Perhaps it’s a discussion for another time.”

  “Right.”

  The doors leading to what Lord Dawntreader called “the more dignified” part of the train opened, letting in a hobgoblin woman in her forties. The years were slowly beginning to show with silvery strands in her auburn hair, and there was a barely visible net of wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and her mouth as she warmly smiled, having noticed Charlotte. Yet, her attire and her mannerisms were better suited for someone in her early twenties. She was promptly followed by two men, a human and a dwarf, with that unmistakable air around them of bodyguards bored out of their minds. The waiter instantly walked up to her, ready to show her to the table that was reserved for her for the entire duration of the trip, but she gratefully raised her hand, stopping him.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “Would there still be room for me? Oh, Mr Holmes, what a pleasure to see you.”

  “Ms Sharrock,” Dorian politely bowed, with Professor O’Neill and Antony following suit, while Charlotte merely nodded. “Of course, if the gentleman would be so nice to arrange for one more chair.

  “Ms Sharrock, may I introduce to you Professor Alex O’Neill from the University of Arts and Mr Simon Dahl, a private detective from Lundhaven.”

  “A pleasure,” she looked both of them up and down, as if assessing their worth.

  The group of poetry lovers meanwhile stood up and walked out of the room. The dwarf and the hobgoblin woman went in the same direction Ms Sharrock came from, while the catfolk woman returned to one of the front carriages. Before that, though, the hobgoblin woman, who introduced herself as Lady Agatha Flowers, approached Charlotte and Ms Sharrock, expressing her utmost joy to see them, and acted utmost delighted to finally make the acquaintance of the famed head of the Adventurers’ Guild in Quillivia. With the doors closing on either side, the restaurant became blissfully quiet. The only sounds that disturbed the peace were the clacking of the cutlery against the plates and the hushed conversations of other patrons.

  “Quite the cheerful lot,” Ms Sharrock noted. “Mr Flint spent two hours yesterday arguing with Professor Stein. I am surprised he wasn’t strangled in his sleep as a result.”

  “There are a fair few bodyguards, and now SIU agents onboard,” Charlotte shrugged. “Besides, he’s insufferable, but in a rather endearing way.”

  “I wish I had your outlook on life, though I guess that’s what happens when you get to live for a couple of centuries and spend a good portion of that time fighting all sorts of monstrosities. The likes of Mr Flint just stop bothering you altogether,” she sighed as the waiter placed a cup of tea in front of her.

  “It’s definitely one way to look at it. Uhm, if I may, why the sudden desire for conversation?” Charlotte asked bluntly.

  “Oh, just wanted to know if there are any developments. You know me,” she looked at Dorian, “I am not the type to sit down and twiddle my thumbs, and my forced companions are beginning to get on my nerves. I think the same goes for them, too, but they’re getting paid to tolerate me, so there’s that. Truly, I should have done the same as Mr Perkins and boarded the train in Quillivia instead of travelling all the way from Lindau. The time difference is also killing me.”

  “Unfortunately, nothing yet,” Charlotte took a bite of her cake. “Honestly, it does look like someone’s ill attempt at scaring people. I wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out to be one of Lady Angdor’s ‘harmless’ pranks, but I cannot hold it against Mr Perkins for being overly cautious.”

  “Oh, please, don’t mention that woman’s name. She might hear you.”

  “And what if she does?”

  “She might just decide to grace this train with her presence,” Ms Sharrock looked appalled. “Have you heard of what she did to poor Sir Heidel? The man still hasn’t recovered!”

  “I would say she was quite mild in her treatment of him. He shouldn’t have tried cheating on his wife,” Charlotte reasoned.

  “And Lord Blackwater? That awful box of confetti she… Is everything alright?”

  “Yes,” Antony continued to cough as Dorian patted him on the back. “Just got something in my throat.”

  The look on Andrew’s face when the confetti filled the office was priceless. A mixture of disbelief, bewilderment, and anxiety at the realisation that some of it managed to land on the bookshelves. And Andrew was very particular about his bookshelves. The two of them spent an entire week cleaning the place. And then another week trying to decipher what Lady Angdor was trying to say with all of that, for her pranks were never truly pranks. They were well disguised warnings.

  Oh, the stories he could tell about Lady Angdor. And if people ever found out her true identity… Now that would be a scandal for all times to come.

  “She is a handful, isn’t she,” Dorian’s eye twitched as he said that. “Truly, Lady Dawntreader, don’t wake up the sleeping dragon. It’s not worth it.”

  “Alright, alright,” she raised her hands. “Besides, it doesn’t look like her, anyway. For one, the note would’ve been much more cryptic. Or she would’ve sent a toy train instead of a note. And as you rightfully pointed out, there would have been confetti. Lots of confetti.”

  Ms Sharrock seemed to be in agreement, then turned to the others. “Mr Dahl, was it? What brought you to Quillivia? Were you also hired by Mr Perkins to investigate our little conundrum?”

  “No, the request came from Mr Holmes yesterday evening, albeit he didn’t ask me to look into this situation directly,” Antony finally caught his breath, though his face was still somewhat flush. “As to how I ended up here, I am in Enua because of my own investigation, where Mr Holmes was most helpful.”

  “So you’re returning a favour.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you?” She addressed Professor O’Neill. “Also a fellow detective in disguise?”

  “Oh, no, nothing like that. Mr Perkins asked me to deliver a lecture on the Period of Discovery. That would be five hundred years before the Great Flood that ended the Third Era.”

  History seemed to interest Ms Sharrock little, so she merely nodded to that as she got up, “As much as I would like to continue this chat, I fear I have a meeting scheduled with Mr Styles. He showed interest in the engine powering The Iron Giant. Wish you a pleasant remainder of the journey.”

  As Ms Sharrock was about to leave, the door opened again, letting in an elderly autumnborn sylph.

  “Mr Perkins, you finally joined us!”

  “Always a pleasure to see you, Ms Sharrock. How was the trip so far?” The two of them exchanged curt bows.

  “No issues whatsoever, but that is only to be expected,” she said with full confidence.

  Almost everyone’s heads turned towards the man. Even by the standards of the long-lived species, he was ancient. His lively face was criss-crossed by wrinkles every time he smiled, and he smiled a lot. His hair, jet black many centuries ago, was now a dignified silver, as was his hallmark moustache. And the walking cane he was using was now not a fashionable accessory, but an aide.

  He could be called a living chronicle, having witnessed well over a millennium of Enua’s history and participated in many of the events that laid the foundation of today’s politics and society. He went through a lot – from the Great Mana Drought of 512 of the 6th Era and the Kirschbaum tragedy of 1524 to the more recent Nakaran conflict of 1761 and the drought, famine, and unrests that followed. Mr Perkins wasn’t just a passive observer, but as a renowned explorer and later a natural philosopher he took active part in the making of history.

  However, despite his many accolades, he always remained humble and tried to keep to the background. The Iron Giant was one of the few exceptions he ever made to that rule. The other was his direct and active involvement in the signing of the Trade Agreement with Lundhaven all the way back in 1624 of the 6th Era. One could only wonder if him inviting Lord Dawntreader to The Iron Giant’s maiden voyage was due to that, as the latter, being the Minister of Foreign Affairs of Lundhaven, was the one who had put his signature on that document all those years ago.

  In a way, The Iron Giant was the result of several centuries of seemingly unconnected events all coming together, with Mr Perkins serving as their unifying point.

  Mr Perkins exchanged a few more pleasantries with Ms Sharrock, both of them praising the job done on interior design and the comfort of the sleeping arrangements, and then proceeded towards a table on the opposite end of the room. He only stopped to bow to Charlotte and acknowledge her companions with a curt greeting.

  “You promised!”

  The guards tensed as a springborn sylph woman rapidly stood up, almost hitting the table with her palms.

  “Lydia, calm down. I promised, yes, but–”

  “I want to hear nothing of you. We’re done,” she rushed out of the carriage and towards the front part of the train, slamming the door behind her. The summerborn sylph who was accompanying her remained seated, wrapping his hands around his head and muttering something. Then he, too, stood up and hurried after her.

  “Who was that?” Professor O’Neill frowned. “The woman looked familiar.”

  “Lydia Adamska and her husband, Emanuel Adamski,” Charlotte sighed, turning back to what little was remaining of her cake. “She’s an opera singer, and Mr Adamski is an actor from what I know. They’ve been bickering nonstop from the moment they boarded the train.”

  “I thought entertainers only joined briefly,” Dorian sounded surprised.

  “Most of them, yes, but these two… I’m not sure what’s going on there. Mrs Adamska is originally from Lundhaven, but performs at the Enuan Royal Opera nowadays. She moved to Stolberg once she got married. I guess they were offered a ride home. Also, neither have performed as of yet, and given tonight’s program, I doubt they will.”

  “But isn’t The Lord of the Storms–”

  “The excerpts mentioned are of The Prophet, and it is a soubrette role, whereas Mrs Adamska is a famous contralto,” seeing Dorian and Professor O’Neill’s faces immediately become blank, Charlotte explained, “To put it simply, Mrs Adamska’s voice is too deep. And while the organisers might not care for such a detail, no professional opera singer, especially one so well known as her, would agree to this. Unless, of course, it turns out that she is so pressed for money that she is ready to forgo principles. Or she owes Mr Perkins or Ms Sharrock a favour and simply cannot deny the request. I still doubt that is the case, as I saw Ms Hearting on the platform, and she had performed as The Prophet in the past.”

  “You sound almost like one of my acquaintances, who happens to be an opera critic,” Professor O’Neill shifted in his seat.

  “I’m just a curious enthusiast. Similar to Simon when it comes to the Third Era or Sir Fleming’s writing.

  “You can ask Mr Perkins about their arrangements, I guess, if you feel so inclined.”

  “You’re not curious?” Antony quizzically looked at her.

  “I am, but unlike Mr Holmes or you, I’m not here in any official capacity. Just along for the ride,” she finished her coffee. “What are your plans for today?”

  “Spend most of the time among this colourful crowd,” Dorian said after a short pause, with Antony and Professor O’Neill nodding to the sentiment. “So far, everything seems to be quite orderly, so let’s make sure it stays that way. And you?”

  “I have a few things to discuss with Cardinal Whitesand now that he’s boarded the train, but I should be free by 4:00 P.M., for the poetry salon. Keep a spot for me if you happen to arrive sooner,” a sly smile crossed her face. “I look forward to hearing Mr Flint’s next theory.”