R. Anderson - Wayfarer

Dazed with relief, Timothy was still gazing stupidly at the place where she had stood when a voice echoed from the speakers above: “The train to Birmingham New Street is now boarding from Platform Seven.”

Timothy hefted the backpack, gritted his teeth, and ran.

“Rob said there were other faeries who didn’t like the Empress,” Linden whispered to Timothy as she settled into the seat beside him, human-sized once more. They’d caught the train just in time; already it had slipped free of the station and was picking up speed. “But I didn’t expect one of them to help us just like that. Did Rob send her a message, I wonder? The same way Veronica talked to that other faery before?” She looked at her open palm. “I wish I knew how to do that.”

“Maybe you can,” said Timothy, but his voice sounded thin, and his eyes were half closed. “Has it stopped bleeding yet?”

Linden peeled the makeshift bandage away from his side. “It’s not quite as bad now,” she said, though privately she was glad she’d spent enough time with Knife not to be squeamish. She folded the sodden rag over and pressed it back against the wound, then moved Timothy’s elbow down to keep it in place. “I’ll see if I can make a better bandage-”

“Conductor’s coming,” gasped Timothy, and Linden ducked down, hastily casting a glamour to hide herself and Timothy’s wound from view. She could only be glad that the backs of the seats were high and there was no one sitting across the aisle to notice her disappear. She held her breath until the man had looked at Timothy’s ticket and moved on to the next carriage, then willed herself visible again.

“Will he come back?” she asked.

Timothy shook his head fractionally, his eyes shut tight now. “Not until we stop at the next station.”

“Good,” said Linden. She pulled the remnants of Timothy’s undershirt out of his pack-she’d used part of it earlier to stanch the wound, but there was still a good bit left-and began ripping it up to make bandages. Passengers in the seats ahead of them stirred at the sound, and Linden’s face grew hot, but she kept working until she’d torn off several long strips of the soft material. Carefully she knotted them together, then made Timothy sit forward and pull up his shirt while she wrapped the makeshift bandage around his waist.

“Is that better?” she asked.

He took a slow breath, and a little color eased into his face. “Yeah.”

Linden sank back into her seat, wiping her blood-smeared hands. Until now she’d been so focused on tending Timothy’s wound that she could think of little else, but now the enormity of their situation pressed in on her again. “I’m so sorry, Timothy,” she said miserably. “I dragged you into this, and everything’s gone wrong, and it’s all my fault.”

Timothy made a creaking noise that might have been a laugh. “Right. You forced me to come to London with you, and then you beat me up and stole my wallet.”

“That’s not what I-”

“Linden, shut up a minute, will you? It’s true this wasn’t how I imagined things would turn out. But it’s still better than being stuck back at Greenhill and hating every minute of it. At least I feel like I’m doing something here. Something that might actually matter.”

That quieted her. She slid down a little, picking at a ragged edge on her thumbnail, and said in a small voice, “But if we don’t have any money, then how are we going to-”

“I don’t know, all right? Maybe you could try thinking of something.”

His voice sounded harsh, and Linden shrank back, disconcerted. What had she done wrong?

“I’m going to rest for a while,” he said flatly. “Wake me if anything happens.” And with that he turned his face away.

The city was falling behind them now, ugly square buildings and heaps of rusted metal giving way to grassy banks and stretches of open countryside. Linden pressed her cheek to the window and watched, the hurt inside her fading to fascination as the train passed one village after another-dreary places, all built of the same red brick with roofs of moldy-looking slate, but it made her realize just how many people must be living in those towns, and how enormous and complicated the human world was compared to the Oak.

But as their journey lengthened, even Linden’s enthusiasm began to wane. She hadn’t eaten a proper meal all day, and by the time their train finally stopped in Birmingham, her stomach felt bruised with hunger. Then they had thirty minutes to wait for their next train, so all they could do was wander around the station and watch other people eat. When they passed the sandwich shop Timothy gave her an exasperated look; but when she asked him what was wrong, he only shook his head.

She felt a little better when they boarded the train to Aberystwyth. Not only because the Empress’s servants still hadn’t caught up with them, but by that time she and Timothy had found a water fountain and drunk enough to make their stomachs feel bloated, if not exactly full. And as Linden gazed out the window and watched the scenery change from the gentle flats of the English midlands to the mountainous grandeur of Wales, the sight filled her with such awe that she could think of nothing else.

But eventually the spectacular view blurred into fog, then vanished as the sky grew dark. Exhaustion crept up on Linden, and at last she wilted onto Timothy’s shoulder and fell asleep.

“Linden. Wake up.”

It felt as though only seconds had passed since she laid her head down. Her stomach held nothing but a gnawing hollowness, and she felt dirty all over. “Unh?” she mumbled, sitting up and knuckling her eyes.

“I said, wake up. We’re here.” Timothy climbed out of his seat, wincing as he bent to pick up his backpack. “Come on.”

They stepped out into a cold, spitting rain. An icy wind swirled along the platform, smelling faintly of salt, and Linden shivered. “Where do we go now?” she asked.

“It’s too late to get a coach to Cardigan tonight,” Timothy said. “Even if we had the money. So I guess we just wander around and look for a dry place to sleep. Unless you have a better idea?”

Linden shook her head.

“Didn’t think so.” He sounded angry again. “All right then.” He limped toward the archway at the end of the platform, and Linden hurried to follow.

The streets of the town were deserted, its shops and most of the restaurants already closed. Linden and Timothy walked for what seemed ages, passing one blank-faced building after another, the rain soaking into them all the while. Every few minutes they paused in a doorway to escape the biting wind, but the chill and the dampness followed them everywhere.

Teeth chattering, they ducked into a fish-and-chip shop to warm themselves. Timothy studied the map of Aberystwyth hanging on the wall while Linden read the notices posted beside the door. But they couldn’t see anywhere that they could sleep-not without money, anyway-and when the woman behind the counter noticed they weren’t buying anything, she shooed them out into the street again.

Now they were tromping along with the sea wind at their backs, hugging themselves and shivering. Linden was almost certain they’d been this way already, but the scowl on Timothy’s face made her afraid to say anything, until-

“All right,” snapped Timothy, rounding on her. Rain dripped from the ends of his hair, and his eyes were as cold as stone. “I’ve had enough of this. Are you being insanely stubborn or just stupid?”

Linden recoiled. “I…I don’t know what you mean.”

“We’ve been walking around this miserable town for nearly an hour, and we haven’t found one decent place to spend the night. Think, Linden! I figured out we needed to go to Wales and how to get there. I paid for the train tickets. I got stabbed trying to protect you, and had my wallet stolen by one of your people. And after all that, you expect me to conjure up food and shelter for us out of nowhere, too? You’re the one with the magic- you do something!”