13 February 1875 of the 6th Era, the restaurant carriage, The Iron Giant

  “Lady Dawntreader, do join us!”

  Charlotte turned towards the voice and saw Lady Flowers wave at her. The poetry club was sitting at their usual table, having now assimilated Mr Holmes and Professor O’Neill into their ranks. The latter seemed quite at home in this company. He and Ms Glancy were having a lively chat about the reign of King Theobald VI and how he took great interest in the afterlife, which eventually led him down the slippery path of worshipping the Undeath. Ms Glancy was hurriedly taking notes in a small exquisite notepad, with dignified aged pages and small ornaments adorning the edges. Mr Holmes was less fortunate, as his conversation partner happened to be Mr Flint. And he still had not fully recovered from the shock. Mr Holmes was sitting there, politely nodding and shaking his head as Mr Flint continued to berate Cardinal Whitesand for not doing away with the issue immediately.

  Just loud enough for Bernard to hear bits and pieces of that conversation, but not loud enough to breach etiquette. What a deliberate display.

  “Gladly. Hopefully that illusion earlier didn’t give you too much of a scare.”

  “At first, maybe. But now I think it’s quite thrilling,” Lady Flowers’ laughter was quite pleasant to the ear, almost like the chiming of bells caressed by the wind. She then looked at Antony. “And what were you doing back there?”

  “My job,” Antony replied levelly.

  “I forgot to ask you about it earlier today, didn’t I?” Lady Flowers beamed at him. “Seeing that you talked so much about university life, I just assumed you were some kind of natural philosopher. I guess I was mistaken. Are you a mechanic?”

  “None of the above. I’m a private detective, Lady Flowers.”

  “Oh.”

  This was the only sound she uttered after a prolonged pause. While her face betrayed only surprise, Charlotte could not get rid of the feeling that just now, Lady Flowers meticulously went over everything she had said to Antony.

  Meanwhile, Ms Glancy uneasily shuffled, while Mr Flint rather excitedly asked, “And what is a private detective doing on this train? Are you, perhaps, chasing an international criminal that is hiding among this fair lot? Is that ghost sighting somehow connected to it? Or were you interested in the exploding lightbulbs? I will let you know, I am not the one you’re after! Moreover, I had nothing to do with any of that!”

  “Oh, no, no international criminals, though the events of earlier today did interest me,” Antony quickly raised his hands in protest. “I’m merely returning a favour to Mr Holmes. He required my help with a small matter in Stolberg, and insisted I board the train with him. I’m not sure how that happened, but he had a spare invitation.”

  “Is that really so? And Lady Dawntreader?”

  “I was assisting him.”

  Charlotte could not help but notice the shift in their behaviour following this short statement, though all three did well to hide it. Lady Flowers and Mr Flint briefly looked at each other questioningly, then back at Charlotte. Lady Flowers straightened her back and leaned forward while Mr Flint began stroking his beard, a sign that he was in deep thought (and usually about to ask the most obnoxious question, or give one of his incredibly wrong opinions).

  Ms Glancy, on the other hand, did not seem to be surprised at all. Rather, she hurried to show surprise when she noticed the others do so. It was almost as if she knew of Charlotte’s present occupation.

  This, now, was interesting. Charlotte never made a secret of it, but never talked about it much, either, with many still believing that she was a researcher.

  Curious indeed. None of you were in the least bothered by Mr Placek or Mr Holmes here, but mine and Antony’s statements got you riled up.

  Lady Flowers turned to Charlotte, “So astronomer and hobby detective, then?”

  “Far from a hobby. I am an exorcist and investigator of the Church of the Lady of the Dead Moon. You could also call me a free agent of the Nightmare Poets, given how much I work with them and how many requests to join their ranks I have received and have declined. I guess I failed to mention that earlier.”

  “You only said you were an astronomer,” Mr Flint looked almost hurt.

  “I think I am to blame for that,” Ms Glancy’s eyes shimmered as she seemed to remember something. “When we were being introduced to you, I was the one who mentioned your background in Astronomy.”

  “Right,” Lady Flowers visibly relaxed. “And then the two of you talked about some space rock for three hours straight.”

  “Not just any space rock!” Ms Glancy’s voice suddenly rose to an indignant crescendo. “Melchior’s fourth moon!”

  “Alright, alright. It was a moon. I think we all should choose something from the menu. The poor waiter has been eyeing us for five minutes straight now,” Lady Flowers hurriedly proposed.

  “I feel there’s an entire story hiding behind this exchange, but I’m not sure I’m ready to hear it,” Antony grinned, picking up the small and elaborately decorated sheet in front of him.

  “Not much of a story. I got slightly carried away,” Charlotte, too, looked at the menu. A fairly broad choice of starters, three main dishes to choose from, and two desserts.

  “Slightly being talking for an hour straight?”

  “More like five, and only stopped because she didn’t want to ruin her colleague’s presentation,” Lady Flowers chuckled. “Don’t misunderstand, I quite enjoyed it, and I did learn a fair bit about that… moon,” she quickly looked at Ms Glancy. The latter was too busy trying to decide if she wanted the apple tart or the chocolate fondant for dessert to pay attention to the conversation. “Your delivery was charming. So charming, in fact, that I remembered the better part of my student days.”

  “You graduated four years ago,” Mr Flint pointed out.

  “For us, four years is a fairly long time, George.”

  Mr Flint scoffed at that, mumbling something about vases of an indescribable colour and flowers with names he could not care to remember. Then, in a much louder voice, he proceeded to complain about the lack of a third dessert option.

  Charlotte finally made her choice and looked around the carriage. Mrs Adamska and Mr Adamski were still not talking to each other, it seemed, as they were sitting at separate tables. The former pretended to not see her husband. Instead, she was happily laughing and sharing the latest rumours with a few more opera people. Mr Adamski, on the contrary, kept stealing glances at her, lost in his own thoughts and ignoring everyone else around him.

  Mr Perkins was sitting together with Ms Sharrock and Mr Placek, having a quiet conversation. If Charlotte had to make an educated guess, it probably concerned the earlier incident.

  Bernard sat a few tables away, having a lively discussion with Professor Stein about the nature of ghosts. Among other things, he patiently explained how they differed from the lingering souls that clerics talked to during investigations. And why the latter could provide evidence, while the former, at best, could give jumbled unreliable hints. Unless, of course, it was the Destined Avatar of the Lady of the Dead Moon asking the questions. But, according to Bernard, even if one existed in this day and age, she, too, would have had to carefully think things through.

  “I don’t see Leopold,” Antony, too, was looking around.

  “He is in a meeting with either Mr Styles or Lady Schubert. Or possibly both.”

  “Does he even get to enjoy the ride?”

  “I’m yet to hear him talk about the weather,” she shrugged. Noticing Antony’s confusion, and the curious faces of the other people present at the table, she chuckled and continued to explain, “He’s been bored out of his mind lately. When that happens, or when he’s generally annoyed by something, he resorts to talking about the weather.”

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  “An average Enuan wouldn’t even notice that,” Mr Holmes politely cleared his throat, but Charlotte caught a glimpse of a grin that he was trying to hide with that action. “Complaining about the weather is a national pastime.”

  “Oh, I know,” she heartily laughed. “A good acquaintance of mine lived in Ledavia for a couple centuries. She moved back to Lindau since then, and she still starts conversations with complaints about the weather. She even manages to complain about it while talking about her children’s latest accomplishments.

  “You know, sometimes I cannot help but wonder if Simon secretly spent a century or two in Enua. He, too, enjoys weather-themed conversations.”

  “Who knows,” he winked. “I jest, of course. This is not my first visit to Enua, but the amount of time I’ve spent in this country amounts to maybe a month across the four hundred odd centuries of my existence. And most of it is this trip.”

  No, this isn’t my imagination. All three of them are very uncomfortable hearing this.

  Her musings were interrupted by the waiter bringing starters, which were soon followed by the main dish. The topics of conversations, too, shifted towards cooking, gardening, and the landscape they were travelling through.

  As desserts were brought in, Ms Glancy looked at those gathered at the table, her eyes two narrow slits and her face the very picture of a conspirator about to try and recruit some hapless souls to her noble cause.

  “What do you say to continuing the topic of today’s debate? Only that, instead of discussing the depiction of the Other World in poetry, we directly communicate with it?”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Lady Flowers frowned. Others around the table, too, displayed different levels of distress and confusion.

  “Don’t worry, I have no plans to summon a spirit into this room. I don’t think Lady Dawntreader or Cardinal Whitesand would approve of such a thing. Half of the people present in this room have received enough of a shock from simply seeing a well-crafted illusion. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for loss of sanity or, worse, lives, if someone happens to be weak of heart or… a tad too impressionable.”

  “I doubt getting two ghosts for the price of one is reasonable, yes. And everyone is allowed their weaknesses. Ghosts can be quite dangerous, right, Lady Dawntreader?” Mr Flint tried to pretend that Ms Glancy’s little stab in his direction did not bother him, but by the way he shifted, huffed and puffed, it was clear that it had reached its mark.

  “Ghosts are generally nothing more than emotions and particularly strong desires left by the deceased,” Charlotte tried to keep her voice as neutral as possible, leaving it to Mr Flint’s imagination to determine if she thought his fears reasonable or not. “However, there are entities that are close to ghosts in nature. For those with limited or no knowledge of the Undeath, they very well are one and the same. Even those who have devoted their life to studies of the subject sometimes make this mistake.

  “What is it that you would like to propose, Ms Glancy?”

  “A round of ‘Spirit Talks’.”

  “But isn’t that a children's game?” Mr Flint raised his brow, visibly relaxing as he heard that.

  “Come now, George,” Lady Flowers, too, brightened up. “We need to pass the time somehow while we wait for Ms Hearting to take the stage.”

  “Hmph. That would imply I was planning to stay here for that long.”

  “You can leave if you wish,” Lady Flowers replied in a bored tone. “What about you, Mr Holmes? And Professor O’Neill?”

  “I think the last time I played it was four or five centuries ago,” Mr Holmes shrugged, “but I do remember it was quite a thrill. Especially when someone got a pattern no one could understand, and we took turns trying to decipher it.”

  “I see no reason to decline, either,” Professor O’Neill looked at Antony and Charlotte, who both simply nodded. “However… I hate to admit it, but I’ve no clue what you are talking about. I fear I might have been quite the impressionable child, so I avoided anything that had to do with ghosts, ghouls, spirits – frankly, just anything scary.”

  “You almost sound like Ethan,” Charlotte laughed as she remembered Ethan almost throwing a fireball at his own shadow. “As for how to play it, it’s quite simple. And there’s nothing even remotely disturbing about the entire process, I assure you. It’s akin to fortune telling using the tea leaves or coffee grounds, whatever you’re having. You say, ‘Oh, Benevolent Spirit from the Other Side, Please Give me a Sign as to my Future’... That is, unless you people say something else.”

  “It’s the same,” Mr Holmes assured her, then continued with a mischievous smirk, “Once you’ve said that, you gently shake the tea cup, tipping it to the left, then to the right. And then you try to make sense of the pattern made by the tea leaves. Or, as Lady Dawntreader said, by coffee grounds.

  “From what little I remember, a butterfly means a new beginning. Anything resembling a moon means that you’ll be lucky on the next day, or that you might meet the love of your life. Then… There was also a branch that heralded a peaceful conclusion to whatever strife you were having. A bird meant an unexpected journey, and… I think half of the patterns and their meanings were invented on the fly.”

  “Were there any that were bad omens?” Professor O’Neill asked calmly, but clutched his tea cup as he did so.

  “Not that I can remember. We tried to avoid making any up,” Mr Holmes said.

  “I and my friends had a few,” Ms Glancy thoughtfully stirred the contents of her own cup. “We considered anything resembling a raven bad luck, and obviously anything that looked like a skull or a ghost. But that’s neither here nor there. Truly, as Mr Flint pointed out, it’s nothing more than a silly game. Most of the time, there aren’t any patterns to begin with. Just a bunch of leaves and your imagination.”

  “I got it, I got it. This is just a game to pass the time, nothing to be truly worried about,” Mr Flint grumbled. “Are we staying here or do we need to move to the lounge? Light up some candles? Ask the staff to turn off the light?”

  “I fear that candles are forbidden on the train. Fire hazard. Even smoking isn’t allowed outside of the two specifically designated areas,” Ms Glancy sighed. “Besides, we’re not trying to perform a proper seance or call upon those that came before. Just a harmless divination.”

  “Hmph. Just say you’re afraid to go back there.”

  “Maybe a little.”

  “Ha. We all have our little weaknesses. Well, let’s see what we get,” Mr Flint said soothingly, picked up his cup and finished the drink in two gulps. He then proceeded to speak the invocation, substituting “benevolent” for “deft”, and started quickly stirring his cup, completely ignoring all instructions.

  Ms Glancy and Lady Flowers, on the other hand, were taking the game surprisingly seriously. They unhurriedly went through the required steps, making sure to pronounce every word correctly, and then proceeded to examine their fortunes with the utmost thoughtful expressions.

  “I thought you were joining us?” Mr Holmes put down his cup, propping his head with his fist and looking at the writing in the leaves. It was clear that he was treating this as yet another social interaction. And as a means to study those around him, judging by how little attention he paid to the contents of his cup and how much of it went towards observing the people sitting at the table.

  “I’d rather not. While this is nothing but a game, and I am yet to hear of anyone successfully summoning a spirit through these motions, I am a trifle more attuned to the Other World than an average person,” Charlotte touched her brooch, a stylised symbol of the Lady of the Dead Moon. “With my luck, a spark of Her Will might get infused with this innocent prayer, and I might end up summoning a real ghost. I don’t want to create work for Cardinal Whitesand, nor do I want to frighten people further. Today’s apparition during the poetry session was more than enough,” she instead leaned over to Antony’s cup, trying to spot a pattern. “It vaguely looks like a tree, doesn’t it?”

  “It does, though it could also be a road with branching paths,” Antony smiled, then stirred his cup again, letting the leaves reform into a new image. “What would that mean?”

  “If it is a road with many paths, I think there’s no explanation needed. You’re at a crossroads, and you will need to choose a path soon,” Lady Flowers offered. “If it’s a tree… It could be the need for guidance, for example. Trees are often considered symbols of knowledge. They’re also believed to be the symbol of prosperity.”

  “So either I’m about to be faced with a difficult decision, or walk into an unexpected inheritance,” Antony thoughtfully ruffled his hair. “Quite the contrast. I prefer the latter, but with my lifestyle, the former is all but guaranteed. And what did you get?”

  “I got a rabbit, I think. And Ms Glancy’s leaves formed a nice circle, so I would guess a moon?” Lady Flowers proceeded to say. “And you, George?.. George?”

  Mr Flint was sitting still, staring at his cup as if the thing was particularly offending, muttering something under his breath. Ms Glancy, who was sitting next to him, leaned over slightly, then, puzzled, looked at the rest.

  “It somewhat resembles a dead bird,” she offered. “Going from the shape of the beak and the wings, a crow or a raven, maybe?”

  “It’s just a pile of gibberish,” Mr Flint vigorously shook his cup.

  “It formed the same pattern again. How curious.”

  “Indeed,” Professor O’Neill, who was sitting on the other side from Mr Flint, too, stared at the contents of the cup. “You didn’t add sugar to it, did you? Or syrup, or something else that could form a sticky surface?”

  “No, nothing of the like,” Mr Flint shook his head. He slowly looked at everyone present at the table, his mouth having become a thin line and his beady eyes now full of suspicion and doubt. “You lot aren’t playing a trick on me, are you?”

  “Why would we, George?” Lady Flowers seemed genuinely offended. “Also, can we see the cup? I’m really curious now.”

  The others at the table, too, expressed the same notion, and Mr Flint begrudgingly passed the cup around.

  “It does indeed look like a dead crow,” Mr Holmes concluded, trying not to tilt the cup accidentally as he passed it over to Lady Flowers. Who, in turn, passed it to Antony. “I’d say you should be careful, Mr Flint. You might trip, or lose your wallet somewhere.”

  “It’s just a nonsensical game,” Mr Flint continued to grumble, completely ignoring the evident sarcasm in Mr Holmes’ tone. “Only kids believe in bad omens.”

  “I don’t think you need to worry much. I’m certain that if there were anything amiss, I or Cardinal Whitesand would have noticed already,” Charlotte peered into the cup that Antony was still holding and promptly stopped smiling. In front of her was indeed a dead raven, only that it did not consist of tea leaves. She was looking at an actual dead bird.