Where This Mystery Takes Us: Part 3 of 6
Erland and Hedda struggle for control of the family. Erland has to make a decision.
This is part three of a six-part serialized mystery story. For the first part, see Part 1.
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While they waited for Erland to return to the vending machine, Hedda brushed stubborn potato-chip crumbs from Buddy's fur.
"When we get to the City," Buddy said, "I want you to read the story to me again."
"I won't have to. We'll be in the City of Light."
"But I like that story."
"You know we don't have the book any more."
"I want it back."
"We're here now, and we're going to the City of Light, like in the book. Did you tell Papa?"
Buddy nodded.
Hedda sniffed him with the corner of her nose. "Are you sure?"
"I did!"
"Then let's get to the train."
"Where are we going?" Buddy said.
"You know where," Hedda said, weariness seeping into her voice.
The porter looked at them curiously with that wary sideways look that seemed to the the default expression of every Cow.
Hedda bent toward Buddy and whispered, "Remember when you ask questions like that, people will think you're not clever."
"Why do I have to be clever?" Buddy said at normal volume.
Hedda continued in a hushed tone, hoping that Buddy would get the hint. "Two reasons. First, people only like Foxes when we're useful. Papa's useful because he learned how to fix machines. Second, Foxes get blamed when things go wrong. Even things we can't control."
"Like the floods."
The porter grunted and motioned for them to board the train.
Hedda patted Buddy’s shoulder and nudged him toward the steps of the car. "Right,” she said. “See? That's a clever thought."
His family had disappeared. Erland squinted at the dusty tiles for clues. He sniffed the air around the vending machine. He moved in an ever-widening circle. He caught something. They must be nearby. Erland rushed to the next platform, then the next.
He stopped at a platform which he'd never seen before. It sat far from the others, in an annex that didn't appear to get much use. The floors gleamed under buzzing, blue-white lights. He sniffed the air and tried to sort through the reek of hot diesel fumes.
A train idled at the platform.
By the train were three Pembroke Corgis, who had hair so gray that it looked almost white under the platform lights, and purple bandanas tied loosely around their necks, quite fashionable at the time. A grandmother and grandfather, Erland surmised. The grandmother held the paw of a female puppy about the same age as Buddy. A porter herded the grandmother and the girl up the stairs into coach car. Erland watched the grandmother plant her paws on the step before moving up to the next, and then watched the puppy follow, wheezing from the effort. He thought about Pip.
The grandfather bid a farewell, then ambled back toward the station, favoring one leg.
“Begging your pardon, sir.” Erland doffed his hat as the elder Corgi approached. “Have you seen a vixen, with two kits, one swaddled like so, and the other about the age of your little one?”
The old dog looked at him suspiciously down the stubby length of his nose. “A few minutes ago," he gruffed. "She seemed so desperate that my wife let us get scammed out of my token. My wife always had a soft heart. Now I'll have to wait for the next train. Whenever that may be.”
“May a thousand lights shine down,” Erland said, then dashed to the nearest passenger car.
He clambered up the steps and into the car. He saw the backs of the high seats, and, mounted from the ceiling, wire luggage racks. The racks were filled with valises and boxes. He sniffed the warm, cedar-scented air and slid on the waxed wooden floor.
"Papa!" Buddy called from the front of the car.
Erland rushed to his family and embraced them.
"This isn't the train for Stone City," he said.
"No, it isn't," Mama said. “A very nice Pembroke Corgi gave me a token for this train.”
"We talked about this. We're going to go to Stone City, because, you know…" He glanced at Pip.
"I like my plan better."
Erland stamped his paw. "Stone City is our only option. There could be a doctor there. Stone City is it. We have to go there."
"I never agreed to that."
"We don't have tokens for this train."
"I do," Mama said.
"What about Buddy? Pip?"
"Children ride for free."
"You know that's not what I meant."
Erland looked around for help. The grandmother, with the bandanna, shrugged. Her gaunt, shivering puppy huddled beside her and sipped tea from a mug. Steam from the cup curled around the puppy's muzzle. He thought the little one looked quite ill.
He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and turned back to Hedda.
"Let's back up. You said you have a token. A token to where, exactly?"
"The City of Light."
"The City?" Erland almost shouted. He dropped his voice to a whisper, and leaned in close to Hedda. "No one knows how to actually get there. You certainly can't... you can't get there on a train!"
Hedda unfolded the token and showed it to him. Erland squinted at the tiny lettering; he'd sold his reading glasses a week ago.
TRAIN: 610 SPECIAL - NO STOPS
RESTRICTIONS: ONE WAY ONLY - NO RETURN TRAVEL
DESTINATION: CITY OF LIGHT
FARE: ADULT (1) CLASS: COACH - REWARDS #: N/A
"It makes sense if you think about it," she said. "How else would someone get there?"
"It's not an actual city," Erland said. "It's a… a fable. It's a story, with a moral. That's a fable, right? It's what all Foxes tell their children when they ask—"
"It's not a fable," Hedda corrected. "It's a mystery. And how do you know it's not an actual city. Have you traveled that far?"
"To the frontier? Of course not. When have I ever had the money? And besides, no one has ever come back from the frontier."
"If no one has come back, how can we say what's not there?"
"The frontier is impassable. There's a wall, or an edge, or something. Maybe the City is on the other side, maybe it's not. Doesn't matter because we can't get there. A train can't get there."
"This train can."
"Let's get this straight." He counted off the pads on his paw as he spoke. "Stone City. Weaver Heights. Harborton. East Farmingdale. And City of Industry, not that we could ever afford to live there. In all the world, there is no City of Light."
Mama tsked and tended to Pip.
"I'm leaving," Erland said. "I know you get into these, these turns of mind, and you need to work through it. I'll be on the platform when you're ready."
He went back out to the damp cold. He sat on the platform, carefully tucking his tail around his bottom.
He looked back at the train with his most determined expression. He watched the porters—mostly Holsteins and a few Jerseys—lumber along the platform, checking the doors to each car, their breath billowing from wide-set nostrils. He watched the conductor, uniform stretched across polar-bear shoulders, reach down from the bottom step of the last passenger car and scoop up the wooden step with a massive paw.
The conductor growled: "Six-ten special! All aboard!" The conductor looked up and down the platform, then stared, head tilted in curiosity, at Erland.
He didn't respond.
The conductor signaled the engineer.
The train shuddered and let out low, mechanical groans. The sluggish diesel engine boom… boom of the locomotive became a more urgent boom-boom-boom.
The train crept away. The conductor stepped inside the gleaming metal car.
A whine slipped from Erland's throat.
The locomotive horn made a long, sad sound that pierced his chest.
Erland waited. And waited. He waited until the last few seconds before the train cleared the end of the platform.
Erland readied himself to run.
The door of the last passenger car hung open.
He burst after the train, and when he ran out of platform, he leapt for the dark doorway of the last car, his forelegs stretched out as far as he could reach.
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