The Wanderlands : Fall Of The Authority Chapter 2 CHAPTER 1

THE OLD BETTY

THE PYRE

SOMEWHERE IN THE BARRENS, WINTER 430PT

AGE OF INDUSTRY

Chapter 1

She raises a lighter to her cigarette, hearing the horn of the trackless train she commands. She can feel the trackless train through her body as it dives deeper into the snow, rising and falling with the hills, humps, and bumps of the Barrens.

Swick-Swick. The woman is in all black leather, garnished in brown fur, and leans back in a wide-body recliner chair. Her hair stands out in the contrast—that of the deepest black you've ever seen, followed by a cut jawline and deep black eyes. Her legs extended outwards onto a fur futon. Across from her is a library of many books. From books with worn, stained, torn, and burned leather bindings. To books with yellow pages whose words are written, faded, and depending on the source—crossed out entirely. Then there are the books in pristine condition despite their age, whose pages are yellow but not brittle, written on but legible. And the odd books, like sparse droppings of curiosity, those that are so brittle and burnt, each page must be turned with the delicacy of holding a newborn. Or books that appear to be one of a kind, still stained with the blood of the man who wrote in them—the personal journals clawed from the dead man's hands. Above the library and wide-body recliner chair, a large lantern sways, and above that lantern, bolted to the cabin wall is a silver etched plaque that reads The Old Betty. The train cabin is of high stature, its size is formidable at fifteen feet long and twelve feet wide. The walls are painted in vibrant pink. The windows are closed off for privacy, and from the early teenage boy that stands in his long shirt and pants by the arctic stove as he feeds the flames with coal, the cabin is well insulated from the outside temperatures.

"More coffee, Madam E?" a girl, stands beside the woman in the chair—Madame E—the girl is well dressed in velvet red winter attire, her cheeks rosé and her nose dripping from the cold as her hands wrap around an overtly large jug of coffee. The steam escapes the lid. The way she's dressed from head to toe, one would think she was a velvet red marshmallow.

"I'm good darling," Madame E answers as she cocks her head to the side, looking at her half-full white china coffee mug, with a gilded gold crest of a lion.

"Yes, Madame E," the little girl answers as she steps back, bows, and turns.

She isn't taking this transition well, Madame E thinks.

The Horn of the Old Betty blares again, this time a second longer. The train lurches slightly, a sign that the Old Betty was picking up speed.

Madame E places the lit cigarette in her mouth, her eyes dancing off the over bundled figure of the little girl—Claire. How long has she been on my train? A week? Two at most? She reminds me too much of myself. Her golden hair—as vibrant as mine once was. But she has been gifted and cursed by God with beautiful blue eyes. It's a shame what happened to her father. I can only wonder if Old Betty rose from the dead at the sound of this girl's cries in Rim City.

Madame E tips the end of her cigarette into her ashtray, eyeing the dying embers of the tobacco ash. And that, right there, would have been her future. All because her father was at the wrong place at the wrong time. A wealthy manager of The Henry's Steel Factory who had no business being on the ground floor. And yet, the old man goes to see his workers, shakes their hands, tips his hat, and right next door a prototype had a misfire in one of the chambers. The man lost his leg, but surely—his life went with it.

Madame E exhales.

"Come back here,"

Claire's hair on the back of her neck stiffens, pivoting to face Madame E like a soldier ready for a beating. Her lips tremble and her eyes water. However not a tear is shed as she bites her lip with such force—as if pinching a worm—the trembles stop.

"Madame E," she answers through her china doll face.

An interesting girl. Is this what I looked like all those years ago? Inside the Pyre? Is this what the men saw over and over... a piece of young meat to put their cock in?

"Chester, my darling," Madame E calls, and the boy stands pin straight.

"Yes Madame E?"

And Madame E, without taking her eyes off Claire—

"Please be so kind as to take over coffee duties for the darling here, she will replace you today for fire duty."

"Y-yes Madame E," The boy, Chester, says. And while his words sounded gleeful—his actions, slow and dutiful, are that of a boy who thought today was his day to relax from the elements. He had earned time to stand by a fire and not suffer the wrath of the world. And yet, it had been taken from him, for no reason other than Claire was an attractive young girl.

The train lurches back slightly this time, the tremble felt, as a signal of the train slowing down in speed.

"Please. Set the coffee down. Strip down to your underlayer." Madame E speaks. Quickly, Claire does as she's told. The mittens first, followed by the hat, then the top coat, the middle layer, followed by the boots. After the boots came the snow pants, followed by the wool socks. Stripped from the elements, Claire stood in an extra thick long-sleeved shirt and green thermal pants. Chester, hiding the bitterness from his voice, but not his young face, approached.

"Look here, Chester." Madame E snaps her fingers, to which Chester responds instantly.

"You deserved the fire today, your hard work shows for it. But this girl is still a flower, not hardened by the world such as yourself. If you have anyone to be bitter with, be angry with me. Your Captain."

"I-I'm not bitter Madame E," The boy clamors for redemption, clearing his throat.

"In Madame E we trust, mother to us all orphaned, forgotten, and broken."

Madame E smiles as she looks from Chester to Claire with wonder.

"Do you want to touch her? To see her in the flesh Chester?"

"I-I-I, no, yes, I-jus-just." Chester clamps down on his lips, crushing his eyes closed as he clenches his fist. "I-I-I I'm just in awe of her beauty," He stutters out, with a smile. It takes Madame E by a grin, for sure. Chester has been on the train for four years, he just turned fourteen—

"How old are you, Claire?"

"Tw-twelve," Claire answers as she curls her lips and looks at Chester.

"Chester... my boy, come here." Chester does as he's told, as he approaches Madame E's side. Madame E stands, standing a foot taller than her darling.

And like a mother, she smiles, brushing his hair from his head.

They all grow up eventually. And yet, it's their loyalty that stays forever.

"Are you dreaming of girls such as Claire, my darling?" And while Chester can only respond in a no, the way his eyes ogle, and his cheeks blush red.

"There is no shame in becoming a man, you know. Look at her, she is beautiful. Because that was and still is her purpose."

"Come here, Claire." Madame E steps aside, extending a hand. And Claire reluctantly approaches, eyeing Madame E's extending hand, accepting it gracefully. Madame E pulls her into her, feeling the good fat above Claire's hips.

"Look at her Chester, and look at her well. She's got growing breasts and fresh hips. She's got fat on her from her wealthy past. But she is still far from being a woman. But none of that matters to you, you know why? I think you're a man now, Chester. " Chester looks up from Claire with red rosy cheeks, smiling—his lips eager and chin dropped, his cheeks raised.

"A-a man?"

And Chester putting his brain together quickly forgets the girl in front of him. His eyes caught into the future.

"If I'm a man now, does that mean I can go be a Coal Hand? I can go see Allan, Jonathan, Jody?"

"Indeed." Madame E releases Claire's hand and drops to both knees, staring up at her darling no more.

"Report to Conductor Velheim. Chester. And you make me proud. You don't forget what I've taught you as a darling. Your loyalty knows no bounds to the Old Betty and Her Captain. And if anything, anything is ever a problem you come speak to me. And next time we're in Port City, I will do as I've always done. Personally organize a night to forever cement your presence in manhood. You remind me, alright, now get going."

And Chester in excitement turns and clamors for the door. And all Madame E can do is smile as she watches Chester pull open the latch. I'm excited for you... I truly am Chester. For all the time, money, and energy spent on you as a Darling... I know your loyalty will far outweigh the cost. I feel it in my gut.

As the door opens, snow flies into the cabin entrance. The wind howls as the sound of the train plowing through the Barrens fills the void.

Lines of men, standing on the platform, walking snowmen, are seen before the door slams shut. The heat of the cabin with it.

"W-what is a Coal Hand?" the sullen voice of a girl she nearly forgot existed.

"It's something for the boys. When my Darlings graduate they become Coal hands. If they're lucky, from there they become Clean Hands after a few years. "Madame E stands and rescinds to her chair.

"It's the filthiest, dirtiest, hardest job," she answers as she bites down on her cigarette, her eyes falling to the dozens of books behind Claire.

"They man the sentries. They work with coal. They load and unload. They are the ultimate laborers and the cheapest fodder."

"C-clean hands?" Claire asks, halting Madame E, thinking of a—

Marshmallow... yes.

"You're a rich girl... How do I say this... For sure you've had a marshmallow?"

"I—I have! I love marshmallows, we used to have them every time around Colonial season!" Madame E see's the mention of marshmallows has sparked such a decadent innocence. What are you imagining, girl? Are you thinking of Colonial season and the dozens of parades the city would have, as the inventors and factory workers would trot out their well kept secret inventions with the hope that the city would mass produce them? While your rich father and your family sat in their ivory towers eating the finest of meals, decadent chocolates and sweet fresh berries from the Islands? And your dirty marshmallows...

Madame E clears her throat.

"Good, good... so think of the Coal hands like those marshmallows that get burnt, stuck in the fire—not very good tasting, but you know, they're still pretty good... and the Clean Hands are like those golden yellow marshmallows, perfectly crisped, perfectly gooey, and still close to the fire... well—just remember they're still fucking marshmallows, alright? they just have it a bit better. But at the end of the day, they still freeze together, piss together, shit together, fuck together." And Claire, wide eyes, near tears, is what brings Madame E back from her deep engrained memories with a giggle.

"Oh, my beloved dear, you won't have to worry about that." Madame E smiles as she pats the footrest. Claire, picking up the coffee pot, returns to Madame E's side.

"Only the ugly flowers, and boys go to be Coal Hands. Think of that, if you're a boy, you're going to be a Coal Hand no matter what... but girls, no, they are given a lucky chance by God. The Question a girl must ask herself is, has God blessed you to be a rose, or weed?" Madame E grins to Claire. "But no worries my dear, as you and I both know you aren't a weed."

She's frozen. And the way her lips purse. Maybe I pushed her too far. Maybe she's being a soft little princess like daddy taught her. No matter. She will grow up, quite soon. They all do in this environment.

"Be grateful my dear... Be grateful you're not a boy as boys are fodder." Boy comes out very brittle, the sharp slap of the tongue.

"Girls however... Girls are not fodder. They are orifices of pleasure, and let me tell you, in this world—an orifice of pleasure is a very good profession... Please my dear, if your teeth chatter too much, you're going to lose all that good fat on you." Madame E smiles, trying to ease the fear in the air. It doesn't work, and yet Madame E continues.

"Please my darling... don't give me those eyes of a fearful exchange. Life is very liberating at the rear of the train. For those who survive the back of any train, they grow to be strong men, and stronger fighters. Sure, they're constantly covered in dirt and filth. Sure, their lungs cough up black. Sure, they make mistakes and may pay their life for it. But, through the death of the weak... you get strength. And let me tell you, because of that strength, the Old Betty has developed the best crew and leadership throughout the Wanderlands."

"W-what about the girls back there? Do they become strong as well?"

"The girls? Well—no. They're usually exhausted, with boys lined up night after night to ride the cock carousel."

"Cock ca-rou-sel?" Claire repeats with fluttering eyelids. Madame E takes a second to look, before reaching for her cup of coffee, ignoring the question. "Eventually, it gets better. Eventually, if you play your cards right you become a Clean Hand, and as a Clean Hand, you learn the intricacies of the engine, the coal, supplies, and movement. You learn weapon systems and how to fight. There was a time you'd need a few battles under your belt, but eventually, you become a master Clean Hand which puts you in charge of a section, you receive orders and give orders, you help your Quartermasters understand the job, and it continues to climb, to the eventual Captain. It's not a complicated system. And one would argue that it's never the best who rise the ranks, just whatever's left."

Madame E takes a sip.

"In another life, a long time ago, I was a Coal Hand once."

"But you-you said the ugly girls—"

"This is my train, so I make the rules." Madame E says with the same bitterness as the burnt coffee that she swashes around in her mouth.

"But alas, again, my darling, nothing for you to worry about.

I don't get a lot of children in my crew with fat on them quite like yours. Those with good blood, genetics, and a well-positioned family in society."

Madame E sits up straight, pulling her legs off the futon. Claire sits, the warmth returning in the air, the sound of chattering teeth dissipating.

"I don't mean to scare you," Madame E says as she extends a hand, grazing Claire's cheek. Feeling the soft plump skin, still of a noble.

"But make no mistake my dear, I will not hide the realities to protect you from the outside. You're not in an ivory tower any longer, and shell shock is not good for the soul. And our train has strict rules, and you have power... so you must not take advantage of it."

"P-power?"

Madame E nods. But refuses to elaborate.

"I must ask, how has your transition been?"

"I-everything is fine Madame E, I promise you that. Your guards are nothing but gentlemen to us, we have time to play and to learn."

"And the Barrens? It's much different from your time in Rim City I imagine,"

"Oh, it is, out here it is cold... But the air is clean in the Barrens. And the snow is white here. I did not know that snow could be white. Back in Rim city, the snow was only different shades of gray and black. I also didn't know what it was like to breathe... out here in the Barrens, despite the bitter cold... I feel like I can breathe. In fact, the first few days on the train I was coughing like a girl with the sicknesses, constantly coughing out soot and cloudy black mucus... I thought it was normal until I realized no other darling—it was light as the weeks went by... and the smell of coal, gas, burning rubber—again—I thought all those smells were the world." Claire says, as she speaks, her voice quavering, then not, as she rolls off her memories in her head.

She speaks with intellect well beyond her years.

"And how are you faring, with your change in scenery... or more precisely, how you're faring from life itself? Surely a child of your stature must be struggling emotionally perhaps, to go from the tight coffers of society, the ivory tower, to the Old Betty."

"I—I do miss mother, I do miss father," Claire admits as she takes her eyes off Madame E and looks to the recliner.

"I miss my little brother Teddy, he always had this smile you know... and this little rabbit momma made me, then when I got old enough... I passed it off to him... it was his favorite... But I'll see them again, won't I?" she asks, her cheeks rising with a smile as her eyes lock to Madame E.

While smart, articulate, and intelligent. She is still only a child. And a child is what I need for this.

"I can't make it happen... As I am nothing but a Dog for the Authority... "Madame E licks her lips, the word 'authority' leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. "But as a dog for the Authority, I imagine there will be a bone to fetch in Rim City at one point or another."

The glow on Claire's cheeks lightens as she offers a thin smile.

"However, before I do something such as trek eight thousand kilometers from Port City, across the Barrens, to the tip of the Rustbelt for a twelve-year-old girl, I must ask, surely you can read and write?"

"I-I can," Claire answers.

Madame E points to the library, as she takes another drag of her cigarette.

"Prove it. Grab a book, any book, and read it to me."

***

Claire stands and turns. As she walks to the library behind her—her pale white skin contrasts like a ghost on the dark leather binds.

Claire brushes her index finger across the many book spines—

The World Before... The Origin of the train without tracks, The Catacombs of The Pyre, The Barrens of the Rust Belt, The memoir of Charles Davidson. Charles Davidson... Dad spoke of him a few times—

Claire looks up to see Madame E staring at her as she struggles to open the leather binder that contains Charles Davidson's personal diary.

"Be careful now. I've read Charles Davidson's personal diary enough times to know it line for line. Don't ruin it."

Claire, feeling the pressure, opens the book down the middle and reads.

"Chapter Five: The Passage Beyond the Wanderlands.

Beyond the Passage brings gold and riches for those who wish to venture forth. With a stroke of luck, and the greatest navigator in all of the West, John Bergensen—

"The Coward, the man, to think his name and not mine is mentioned in that damn Journal." Madame E spits, "John, John, John."

Claire looks up from the book. "You met the man? I hear he is the most dangerous man in the Wanderlands."

"Met the man?" Madame E cackles, "I've fucked and born children with the man. For he is my husband, who claims himself the King of the Wanderers. But what title is that when the Wanderers are dead? He's an empty craven man, with an emptier title to boot. King of the Wanderers, ha! The last King was Charles before he disappeared at Freelanders Port, along with all his gold and his train. And John... John left me, and his children to die at the battle. The man deserves to be scratched out of the Journal—" Madame E has an epiphany moment, smiling as she extends a hand.

"Which is an easy feat when it is I who owns this personal diary of Charles."

Madame E's nostrils flare.

"Scratch out that disgusting name and continue to read!" Madame E demands, sending fear into Claire as she does as her Captain wishes.

Claire clears her throat, before continuing.

I-I-I have managed to venture forth, trekking across the Passage, that of endless blizzards and whitewashes. And on the other side of the Passage, I must speak of an oasis that transcends the word beauty. A land where snow and grass live harmoniously, where the fruit is overabundant on bushes and trees, surrounded by endless baths of hot springs. Springs of water that are so hot and beautiful, that getting too close—your fur and winter clothes shall fill with water that floats in the air. And beneath the hot springs, that of a teal blue—is the endless soft sand with sparkles of gold—Gold—GOLD! Go forth. Beyond the Barrens, beyond the Rustbelt, beyond the Freelanders Port, and venture towards the Passage. Venture forth and connect the two worlds.

Down with the Authority!

On the last page, I have highlighted the directions to the entrance of the Passage—as that is all I can do. And take notice, as the Passage rises with snow, and falls as it melts—the rocks buried, or caverns covered. The Passage is the truest test for the best crew. For it is the navigator that must signal to the captain when to steer, for it is the captain to signal to the Coal Hands when to slow down or accelerate.

For if you go too fast and hit a buried rock, or if you go too slow over a hidden cavern—your crew and train will be swallowed by the belly of the beast. And when night befalls the crew, as you run circles in place with no vision... the Wanderbeasts shall come out to play... "

Claire looks up to Madame E, who, three cigarettes down, has crossed her legs, and slouched back, listening with closed eyes—picturing the new world beyond the passage.

"You read elegantly my dear." Madame E says, as she thinks deep into her imagination.

"The New World is beautiful,'' I heard. I've been told it's the only place where you can strip naked and settle into a nice hot bath to the outside world. A place where you can bare your skin and your feet are massaged by flecks of gold."

Claire looks back down at the diary, covered in blood and corners frayed and burned—

She swallows, her mouth dry, trying to restart her locked jaw as she stares at the next chapter and the dreadful word: Wanderbeasts.

She thinks back to her time in Rim City. At the Authority private school, they spoke of these dreaded Wanderlings that the Authority had to fend off to establish Port City. Evil, savage things that live for battle, and only battle—

"Chapter 6: Wanderbeasts

While the Wanderlings are not unknown to the fairest of Captains and Crew who travel from the Rust Belt, to the Pyres, to Free landers Port and beyond—the Wanderlings, that of the trained beast who stalk and hunt trains in the middle of the night are nothing compared to the ones in the Passage. It appears from my experience, that the six feet tall beasts with the warmest of pelts, and large claws that can pierce through the body of man as easy as butter and a blunt knife... and that pestering growl that crews are well aware of, the kind of growls that when heard above the sound of a roaring train engine in the middle of the night—will place any crew on high alert—is, unfortunately, the runts of the Wanderlands. The weakest of beasts pushed south from their stronger counterparts.

Inside the Passage, are what I have termed The WanderBeasts. These gigantic specimens stand at eight to ten feet tall, with enough power in their legs and hands to rip the roof off a train cart or disconnect a train cart entirely. Their eyes glow yellow in the night, as they hulk on the edge of the snow walls and blizzards.

There is solace to knowing that your navigator is doing well, keeping away from the blizzards and snow walls... however, it then falls onto the Captain. Pick a battle, either lose a third of your crew to a Wanderbeast... or two... or risk being sunk by white mother herself?

Either way, take solace in that no matter what your decision—you will lose a third of your crew—at least...

Unless you're Charles Davidson, that is."

* * *

[THE WANDERLINGS OR WANDERBEASTS IMAGES]

By the end of the passage Claire trembles from the image. It is only here that Madame E realizes, perhaps, that Claire was not aware of the Wanderling's existence, until now—

"The reading was excellent my dear, but Alas, have no fear. You're with an experienced Captain who's killed plenty of Wanderlings along with a fair-weathered crew of the Old Betty." Madame E grins, her eyes projecting the last time she fought a Wanderling, a most exciting of times, for sure.

"You-you've killed one?" Claire's eyes illuminate in fear with a spark of curiosity as she closes the book and swallows her tongue. She rushes to the futon, eager to sit down, and for her fear of being killed by a Wanderling—a monster larger than any man on this train—to vanish from the words of her Captain.

"Oh, my girl—let it be known, I have killed three of the Wanderlings in my time... "I've killed two as a true Wanderer... a true adventurer... One of their pelts is used as my blanket to sleep in. One I wear to keep me warm during battle, and the last Wanderling I killed, I gave to the Authority council as a Government dog. However, all three times have been a lesson learned. When a Wanderling does appear, even the best of crew knows ten to twenty men will die that night. But make no mistake. They are not Wanderbeasts. I must stress that. Wanderlings and Wanderbeasts are different. While Wanderlings are—"

"H-how do you know the difference?" Claire interjects, that of a curious child.

Madame E smiles. Naivety is a strength sometimes. As well as ignorance.

"Let's just say you will know when you see one. For a Wanderbeast are a rare sighting of their own. They stand twice as tall as a Wanderling, and there is something between their legs that is a big indicator."

Claire blushes as the innuendo.

"As for the Wanderlings, they are bred to fight like ice warriors of the land. And every Wanderling we encounter, it's never the same. They are always experienced in combat, always death-defying. And if you ever have the unfortunate privilege of staring one down, you will know the experience of a Wanderlings from the scars on her body. Deep-rooted scars from claws, bullet holes, swords. Some have missing eyes—ears—patches of fur, some have even been known to jump on a train, still covered in blood from their previous encounter. They live and breathe to fight, cannibalizing their own to produce the harshest most durable offspring. It wasn't even six months ago that Cornwallis had his second kill of a Wanderling. It was on this very train in fact."

"I... could you tell me about it?" Claire asks, to Madame E's surprise, as to her, the little darling appears shaken in her boots over the Wanderling and yet, she can't help but want more... a little sadist Madame E grins.

"I suppose, if that's your fancy my darling." Madame E takes a cigarette from her pack, and fills her lungs until she can inhale no more, feeling the beloved burn and rush of nicotine, before exhaling into the cabin.

"We were one hundred kilometers outside Port City. In the middle of the night, it jumped onto our Storage cart. Our poor Coal Hands, William, Frederick, Ally, and Johnny. One of the Master Clean Hands, Theo—"

"A Master clean hand?" Claire interrupts.

"Look, darling... It's not hard," Madame E raises her open palm.

"It goes Coal hand, the burnt marshmallows," she begins, raising her index finger to Claire.

"Then it goes Clean hand, they are golden brown with tinges of black marshmallows, remember?"

Claire nods, as Madame E raises the finger beside her index finger.

"And then it goes to a Master Clean hand. He's the guy who's in charge of the Clean hands and Coal hands. Think of him as like the metal prong that holds the marshmallows above the flame. it's a Four to One ratio."

"Ratio?" Claire tilts her head, as Madame E, closes her eyes, exhaling her frustration through her nostrils.

She's just an over-curious child. Take a breath. This curiosity will serve her well in her age, and your goa

"Look Claire, would you like to hear about the battle we had six months ago on this train against a Wanderling?"

"Y-yes!" Claire exclaims, closing the distance between her, and Madame E.

"Alright, then sit down and no more questions, alright? Now... where was I?"

"Johnny Master Clean hand!" Claire says immediately. Madame E smiles.

"Not Quite right. It always goes Rank then name. So, Johnny was one of the dead Coal hands. It was Master Clean hand—" Madame E scrunches her brow as she looks up to the ceiling. "Theodore... Master Clean Hand Theodore I believe. It was he who found the poor coal hands William, Frederick, Ally and Johnny. It was he who informed me that their bodies were cut in half, limbs torn from their sockets... Ally, the only girl, had her head and chest stomped in. When they found her body, it was frozen to the cart, they had to warm up her upper torso with hot water before they could scrape her bits off. They didn't even have a chance to scream. But even if they did—well, no one would hear it over the howl of wind and snow that night, nor the sound of the train trudging through the thick snow as we headed towards the Pyre. We estimate the Wanderling was on our train for thirty or so minutes before the first ring of the bell. Lucky for us, with the style of Old Betty with the wider than normal platforms, we're able to fight these beasts, not within the confines of the carts, nor their extended reach. But alas, we have an experienced crew and managed to isolate the Wanderling to the twenty-sixth cart. The fight lasted about an hour. We unloaded as many shots as we could into the beasts, our single-shot pistols doing minimal damage. It wasn't until Cornwallis, my second in command, made the daring move to rush the beast as it tore through the secondary cabin, killing two men who couldn't crawl from their bunks fast enough. He grabbed this solid metal spear that we use to snag enemy trains to board and sprinted towards the Wanderling, which, due to sheer size, couldn't defend itself nor move its large overbearing arms and claws to deflect. Right through the stomach, the spear went."

Madame E chuckles as she lights another cigarette.

"It was funny really, as the beast shifted her body with so much torque, the Wanderling popped Cornwallis's shoulder out of his socket and launched him off the platform into the Barrens. It took four hours and two recovery crews to find the bastard. But we did... next time you walk into the secondary command quarters you can look on the left wall. There you will see Cornwallis' 'makeshift spear, and the head of the Wanderling he slayed."

Claire ogles at the story.

"Can you imagine the roaring Wanderling as it squirms, fighting for its last breath, before collaps—"

The Old Betty blows its horn again, twice, and then shifts. Beneath their feet, they feel the steady slide of the large train.

"Get dressed! It appears we're stopping in the middle of nowhere. Which can never be good." Madame E stands, feeling the delicate balance of weight shift as she slowly walks towards the wall adjacent to the fire. There, a large cape and face-covering—both made of Wanderling pelt—hang to dry in front of the arctic stove. On the floor, in a rack, is a leather belt with a single-shot pistol and a curved scimitar the length of her leg. And besides that, a single dagger the length of her calf. She draws the scimitar, that of a fine golden hilt and leather wrapping. The hilt, crested with a large Ruby. And then the dagger, a dozen embedded rubies, along with a hilt, again tilted gold. And on it, a single embedded compass to tell direction.

Quickly, Madame E dresses.

"You stay here, maintain the fire—when I'm back, we speak. If anything comes to fruition... do as a girl does to—"

"Captain!" the door swings open to the cabin, as a burly man, that of a Viking look-alike steps in. His beard appears to descend to his belly button. It's covered in snow and ice. His face was dry from the wind, and his forehead white and clammy from years of frostbite. His large chest the width of the door, with his arms, shoulders, back, and head, covered in the fur of a Wanderling. He has a spear that folds in two, with the spike pointing above his fur cowl. To Claire, this man could pass as a beast himself.

"Yes, Thor?" Madame E answers, dressed and ready to go.

"Cornwallis, Velheim, and Peters require your counsel. We have what appears to be the wreckage of a train... its platforms are stuck in the snow, and a dozen carts are split and broken from the main engine. Conductor Cornwallis is sending scouts out on their skeesleds... But if I may?"

"You may," Madame E answers, as she places her hands underneath her armpits, feeling the bitter draft.

"I know the front of that train, That bullet style, and thin frame. It's part of the Glider class. That's a very fast train and if it couldn't outrun that whitewash we're chasing... well, we may want to stay away until it passes,"

Madame E drops her hands to her hips, as her eyes gaze up at the ceiling decor.

"I'll take that into consideration for sure. But for now, I'll take counsel from my men in waiting."

Madame E cranes her neck to one side.

"Let's move quickly. Fill me in on the status of the crew."

Madame E commands as she treks towards the corner of the door, her attire for the weather in waiting. "Specifically the Coal Hands," Madame E adds.

"Boomstick has kept them well fed. He's cooking up barley soup tonight. I've cut their shifts in half to feed flames... Those bitten by mother white are recovering nicely... Their cabins are fair, negative thirty Celsius. They're getting weary about the whitewash in front of us though Captain, they want assurance of it... it's larger than a lot of them have ever seen. After all, one must remember. We have a lot of young blood on this voyage, a few whispers through the Coal Hand cabins of their first time getting away from Port City."

Madame E smirks, "A lot of soft city dwellers that fear the cold, what else is new?"

"Perhaps some frozen games."

"A few lost fingers and toes might do them good... I'll think about it. Maybe Clean Hand promotions to the winners... How are those dirty Coal hands doing? They still bitching,"

"By rights from God. It's the day the Coal hands aren't bitching, that you know there's a problem." Thor laughs, "Although, I did catch a boy cornering one of your new darlings."

Madame E turns to Claire, who is clutching the journal of Charles Davidson with white fingertips. Her eyes are so engrossed in the journal, she may as well be a ghost.

"And?"

"Twenty lashings to start... "Thor's tone turns into a serious one, that one would expect from his size.

"I wanted to tie him to the pole, let his frozen body be a reminder to all the crew. A darling is Captain's property to do with as the Captain pleases.

"And who stopped you?"

"No one stopped me. I am the Quartermaster. But there is a boy, his name is Clean Hand Witten. Bright prospect... he told me the boys and he would take care of it."

Madame E smirks, unable to contain her excitement—the lawlessness of the rear ten cabins.

"Good. We need men on this train, not boys."

"Indeed," Thor rebukes, both their eyes alight.

Thor bows and prepares his exit. "Now if I may?"

Madame E nods, followed by a turn to Claire.

"I may be a while my darling, shut the door, and feel free to read a few books. I'll be back."

"Yes Madame E," Claire answers, bowing again. Her eyes watch as the Captain follows the hulking man out of the cabin.

"Thor. Thor. Thor." Claire mutters beneath her breath, as she mulls his words over her teeth and tongue, like the thick savory maple fudge she used to eat as a child—no longer.