Patrick deWitt - Undermajordomo Minor

“They’re a handsome couple.”

Lucy closed his eyes, not to sleep, but to be alone in the well-appointed room he housed deep within his mind.

The train headed east, crossing the great green valley and ascending into the mountains, winding ever higher as they followed the broad back-and-forth swoops of the track. As the stars assembled it looked to Lucy that the train was hurrying the night along by plunging into the stomach of the sky. He slept sitting up, propped by a body on either side of him.

In the night there occurred an untoward happening. Lucy awoke or partially awoke to find two men, one tall and one small, creeping into the compartment. Their movements were stealthy beyond the call of good manners, and this, combined with the fact of their faces being obscured behind the upturned collars of their coats, brought about a wary interest in Lucy, and he watched them with half-shut eyes.

The compartment was quiet, the dozing occupants’ faces cast in silvery moonlight, and the men moved to stand before a bony older woman clutching a tartan satchel to her chest. Her mouth hung slackly and a rill of spittle drew down the side of her face; the larger of the men regarded her with a cocked head, then set to work removing her fingers from her bag. This was accomplished in delicate stages, one finger at a time, and Lucy was expectant that at any moment the woman would come to and let fly a bloodcurdling shriek. But the man was so adept, as though he were precisely aware to what extent he might molest the woman’s person without interfering with her slumber, that she gave no indication of disturbance. Soon her grip was unfurled, and so the man could gain access to her bag, from which he removed unknown objects, passing these to the smaller man, who tucked the booty away in his long coat. After gleaning all he could or cared to, the larger man returned the bag to the woman’s grip and stepped to the side, that he might focus on the body to the woman’s left. It was in this workaday manner that the duo robbed each person on the bench opposite Lucy; and now they were doubling back to do the same to him and his benchmates.

As the men drew closer, a fearsome unease came over Lucy, for he had not a clue what he should do. He might put up a fight, but there were two men against his one, and it was a safe assumption that these bandits were all the more familiar with the ways of violence than he. Mightn’t he leave the compartment? Simply stand and go, without a glance back over his shoulder? But no, the men would notice his exit, and perhaps it was that they wouldn’t want him to leave. What option remained, then? In the end he could think of no alternative other than feigning sleep and letting the men make away with his meagre possessions. A shameful conclusion, it was true, but still preferable to the other chilling possibilities, and so there Lucy sat, awaiting the inevitable.

The men were just setting upon him when a train travelling on the westbound track hurtled past, rocking the compartment, drenching it in flashing light, and disturbing most everyone’s rest. The thieves quit the compartment like shadows thrown across the wall; and though many passengers were momentarily awakened by the passing train, none had seen the pair go, and so none realized they had been robbed. Lucy looked about for a body to speak with, but all had resumed sleeping. He buttoned his coat to the throat and looked out the window at the world of night. The moon held its position admirably and unwaveringly, pegged as it was to its corner of the sky.

Lucy awoke in thin winter sunlight, lying on his side, now. The train had stopped any number of times and the compartment was empty except for a shabbily dressed man sitting on the bench across from him. The man was staring at Lucy expectantly, as though waiting for him to awaken, that they might make discourse. But Lucy didn’t want to speak to anyone just yet, and so resumed his window-gazing.

They were above the snow line, well beyond the first pass and into the deeper ranges where the drifts formed impossible meringue shapes and were painted blue and green in their shadows. The first-and second-class compartments were heated with engine run-off, but not so the third; the wind rattled the windows, and Lucy could make out his breath before him.

Lucy studied the man in the reflection of the pane. He seemed to be neither young nor old, or rather, young and old — his eyes were adolescent, full of verve and mischief, yet the flesh beneath the sockets drooped to water-filled crescents; his hair was thick, swept back in a high-crested roll, but its ink-black colouring was run through with white strands, these creeping upwards from the sideburns to the crown. The man could have been eighty years old or he could have been forty. He removed a handkerchief from his breast pocket and blew his nose; as he returned the kerchief to his coat, the visual of the man’s fingers slipping past a lapel reminded Lucy of the thieves from the night prior, a recollection which must have upset his composure, for the man asked, “Are you quite all right, boy?”

“I am, sir,” said Lucy, “but tell me, please, did you pass the night on this train?”

“I did.”

“You’ll want to check your purse, then, for there were two thieves preying upon the passengers while we slumbered.”

A look of dread came over the man. “Oh, dear,” he said. “Is it really so?” He patted the pockets of his coat and trousers; finding his possessions accounted for, he told Lucy, “No, all is where it should be.”

“You’re a lucky one, then. Luckier than the others, anyway. You should have seen the way these devils roamed about the compartment. It was as though the notion of consequence never entered their minds.”

“Is that right?” the man said. “They do sound devilish, anyway. And what about you, boy? How did you fare?”

Lucy waved the thought away. “Nothing to worry about there. It was I that chased them off when they came too near.”

The man leaned forward, visibly impressed. “Did you really?”

“I did.”

“Chased them right off, eh?”

“Indeed.”

“That was very daring of you.”

“I’ve no patience for shirkers and thieves, is what.”

“That much is clear.” The man stood and bowed. “I salute you.”

Lucy thanked the stranger; he was pleased to be making such an impression. Again he looked out the window. They were passing through a dense forest, now. A deer stood in the distance, away from the track, considering the train with a sidelong glance. When Lucy returned his attention to the compartment he found the man was studying him much in the same way.

“Yes, sir?” said Lucy.

“Well,” said the man, “it’s just that I find myself wondering, at what point did you do this chasing away?”

“At what point, sir?”

“Yes. That is to say, did you actually see these thieves robbing anyone?”

“I did indeed. Half a dozen people at least.”

“And why did you not intervene before they got to you, I wonder? As one who proclaims to have no tolerance for thieves, for shirkers — for devils, as you yourself call them — I would think you’d have leapt into action at the first sign of wrongdoing. And yet you did nothing, until they came your way.” The man blinked. “Or perhaps it is that I’ve got the story wrong.”

“Well,” said Lucy, “yes, hmm,” and he sat awhile, thinking about what he might say in his defence. In the end, all he could come up with was to state that he’d been slow to act due to his being heavy-minded from slumber.

“Ah,” said the man, nodding. “Still sleepy, were you?”

“I was.”

“A foot in each world?”

“Correct.”

“That explains it, surely.”

Lucy felt he had deflected the interrogation handily, and yet he also wondered if he couldn’t identify a suppressed smile upon the man’s lips. Was this frayed individual making fun of him? No time to ponder this, however, as there were more questions being put to him: