Where This Mystery Takes Us: Part 2 of 6
The Fox family begins to lose each other as Erland and Hedda put their plans into action.
This is part two of a six-part serialized mystery story. For the first part, see Part 1.
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Erland headed for the station agent's booth. He'd forgotten that Hedda had a plan, too.
Buddy gazed at the colorful packets of chips and other snacks just out of reach behind the glass panel of the vending machine. He imagined the salty, sweet, and savory flavors hidden inside each packet. The sound of Hedda singing softly to Pip broke him out of his reverie.
"Will every Fox leave the city?" Buddy said to Hedda.
"No, honey. Only us." She smoothed the downy tufts between his ears. "You remember my plan?"
Buddy nodded.
"What's my plan?" Hedda said.
"Get on the train to the City of Light."
"Right."
"Why aren't we going to Stone City?"
"For Pip."
"So Pip won't die?"
"Yes, Buddy. The City of Light is a sanctuary for Foxes."
"That's in the book you read to me."
"Right. The Book of Foxes."
Buddy chewed his paw. "Is Papa going to be mad?"
"For a little while."
"He's not going to stay mad?"
"No, honey, he won't."
"Why doesn't Papa think the story is true?"
The story of the City of Light was the central mystery of the Fox. It was at least as old as the Fox themselves. It had been passed down for generations as part of an oral history of the Fox before being written into the Book of Foxes. In turn, the Book had been passed down for generations.
Hedda would never admit it to anyone, but she sometimes wondered if the ancient story were true. Many of the Fox these days, Erland included, dismissed it as a patchwork, stitched together from other, older tales, possibly even borrowed from other Folk like the Dog or the Wolf. In this modern age, the story with its idea that there could be a place where even the lowly Fox could find refuge seemed like a fantasy. When she looked at Pip, though, Hedda couldn't imagine the world without a City of Light.
Hedda checked a large board above them, which displayed arrival and departure times in numbers that flowed and changed as if made from formations of copper-winged butterflies. Erland once explained that the numbers were not actually composed of butterflies, but were tiny machines themselves, which were controlled by means of a hidden, larger mechanism. Erland explained everything as a type of machine.
"It has to be true," Hedda said.
"I hate that story."
"You don't mean that. You have to say what you mean, remember?" Pip fussed and Hedda rocked her. "Now go tell Papa. I'll meet you back here. Then we'll all get on the train."
Buddy scurried out of sight. Hedda waved over a porter for their suitcase.
Erland found the agent's booth, a boxy structure off to one side of the station's center hall. Above the main window, a rectangular sign displayed "TOKENS" in faded letters. Erland saw the agent behind the age-yellowed glass. The old groundhog stood on the wooden counter and yanked a lever above his head, which appeared to be stuck.
Erland spoke through a grille in the center of the window. "Four to Stone City, please. Two adults, two children."
"We're closed. Or will be, if I can get this stupid shutter down."
"If it's possible..."
The agent sighed and climbed down from the counter. He turned one eye toward Erland, nostrils flared, as if assessing a threat.
"It's three-eighty-nine and ninety-nine cents," the agent said.
Erland whistled. He counted the bills in his wallet. Not enough.
"Is there a cheaper fare?"
"Children already ride free, though I can't say I agree with that policy. They take up space. Tear up the seats. Doesn't seem right, if you ask me."
"Please, sir."
"That's the cheapest."
"I have a wife and two kits, you see—"
"Yeah, you mentioned that."
"—my youngest is sick. I would be so grateful for any help."
The agent ignored Erland and dug through a tool box, chucking tools carelessly around him.
"I had to quit my job. We sold everything we had yesterday. We're hoping to get Pip to another doctor, and maybe..."
The agent glowered and made a chittering noise with his teeth.
Erland's voice trailed off.
"Foxes!" the agent said. "You're all the same. I have a family of my own, OK? And grandchildren! I'm tired of paying for every random person who says 'I need help!' 'I lost my job!' I never see any of my people asking for a free ride." He picked up a newspaper and slapped it with the back of his paw, as if offering evidence. "Look, pal, who takes care of Groundhogs?"
"Please. Just this once."
"The answer you're looking for is: Nobody. We take care of ourselves!" The agent scowled and pointed behind Erland. "He one of yours?"
Erland followed the agent's direction and, surprised, saw Buddy. "Why aren't you with your mother?"
Buddy chewed his paw, thinking about Hedda's plan and Erland's plan and what he needed to say. Like someone learning a foreign language, he knew what he wanted to say, but he couldn't remember the words. He saw Erland watching him, expecting an answer, which only made it worse.
“I hate Mama."
“You don't mean that,” Erland said. "Go back and wait with your mother."
Buddy shook his head, trying to get the words to work out. He wished that everything would slow down so he had time to think of the words he wanted.
"Buddy," Erland began.
“Dangit."
"You don't need to cuss."
“Daaaaangit.”
"Not now," Erland said, with the exasperation of a parent who has, indeed, tried everything. "Go back and wait. I'm almost done."
"You let him get away with that?" the agent said, his lips working around his enormous front teeth. "My little ones try that, they get a good spanking."
"Are you going to spank me?" Buddy said to Erland.
He knelt beside Buddy and, trying to sound calm, said, "Go back to your mother. I'll be right there."
“Mama’s getting on the train.”
"Of course. We’re all getting on the train, after I get the tokens."
Buddy stamped his paws. He knew what he wanted to say but the words kept slipping away. "I love you," he said.
“I love you, too.” Erland sensed something wrong, but he’d sensed that so often since Pip's birth that he ignored it. "Go on. I'll be right there."
He watched Buddy scamper away in the direction of the vending machine.
"He's going to need military school, that one," the agent said.
Erland reached within himself and found a bit of patience, like a an old paperback, forgotten, fallen behind a bookshelf. "He's a good kid. They tell us he's not clever. But I don’t know. He’ll do something clever when you least expect it." He leaned against the grimy wall of the booth, relieved to have something not collapse underneath him.
The agent whacked the shutter mechanism with a wrench.
Erland examined the mechanism. "I can fix it from this side."
The agent checked the time. His wife would be angry if he were late for dinner again. "No tricks."
Erland used his multi-tool, an anniversary gift from Hedda that he refused to sell, to adjust the shutter's ratchet mechanism.
"Try it," he said.
The agent tested the lever and grunted.
"If that's satisfactory, sir?"
"I gotta have some cash."
Erland slid a few bills through the gap at the bottom of the window.
The agent reluctantly shoved tokens back. "You're in the baggage car."
"May a thousand lights—"
The agent yanked the lever and the shutter slammed down.
Erland dropped the tokens into his coat pocket and dashed away from the agent's booth. Perhaps this is a sign? he thought. Perhaps my plan is a good idea?
When he got back to the vending machine, however, his family was gone.
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Check out the Behind the Story post for some background on this series.