Chapter 065

Chapter 65: “The Train”

The subway at rush hour was always so packed it made people doubt life. The cars were crammed so tight you could swear the whole of Boundary City was inside. If he had a choice, Song Cheng would not ride the subway at this time.

But he had no choice. Under normal conditions, the Train showed up most reliably as the second train of the morning rush. There were sightings at other times, but they were random.

The broad-shouldered Song Cheng squeezed into the crowd and felt the car sway as it pulled away and picked up speed. Everywhere he looked were office workers racing toward their companies. Every gap between bodies was filled with a mixed smell of people and heat.

In an iron cage, meat was packed tight and hauled through a concrete pipe. Deep underground, it roared from one place to another. Electric light chased the dark from the pipe, but beyond the pipe in the soil, darkness and the unknown were the real shape of the underworld. [That is the truth of what lies below.]

Song Cheng closed his eyes and repeated the picture in his mind. He imagined this iron “meat cage” tunneling through the earth like a blind, strange worm, felt the soil’s smothering press, and smelled the cold, damp rot.

Eyes shut, he moved slowly through the people. The car stayed crowded, yet bodies shifted without thinking and made a path. The tall man walked at an easy pace to the very end of the car, then opened his eyes.

The sign on the door said this was the rear of Car 2. Ahead lay Car 3.

Behind him, the chatter around the car softened without him noticing, as if a thick wall had slid into place. Only a few faint voices drifted through from far away.

Without turning back, he took a strip of parchment from his pocket. It had been soaked ahead of time in Anointing Salve. He slid it into his mouth and chewed slowly. A sharp, icy burn rushed to his head. Then he stepped forward.

Through the door, he entered a new car that was empty.

The last car had been full of commuters, but this one had no one. A few old newspapers lay on the worn seats, and their date was tomorrow.

Song Cheng looked back. The automatic door behind him now read Car 16.

The burning taste spread through his mouth. He turned and kept walking, passed through Car 16’s door, and reached the next section. This car was streaked with rust. Dirt filmed the windows. Now and then a small light flashed outside, not like tunnel lights, more like eyes sliding by in the soil, watching this steel worm howl past.

This was Car 12. He kept going, checking each number as he moved forward. With every step, the cars grew stranger. One car was packed with plastic mannequins. One had mushrooms sprouting everywhere. One had no roof and no walls, just a bare floor racing through a heaving, rippling dirt tube.

All the car numbers were scattered between 1 and 21, with no order at all.

A warm candle glow came into view. The next car had lost all subway shape. He stepped into a big wooden carriage. Several gorgeous, brightly dressed ladies sat on both sides, chatting with excitement and ringing laughter. Fog drifted past the windows. Sometimes a streetlight slid by and lit a street in some unknown city.

One glamorous lady noticed the sudden intruder. She rose and came toward him, asking what he wanted.

Song Cheng did not answer. He only glanced at the number over the door. Car 23.

He turned to go back.

A normal subway car appeared next, bright, clean, and wide. Only one rider sat near the window in the middle, a newspaper raised to hide the face.

Song Cheng checked the door sign. Car 22. He let out a breath and walked toward the lone rider.

The rider wore a black coat. A black briefcase rested by the feet. A black umbrella hung from the rail beside the seat. From coat to case to umbrella, everything had a strange rubber feel.

Song Cheng sat down next to the rider and tapped the edge of the newspaper.

The rider lowered the paper and looked at him.

The face was smooth and faintly shiny, like rubber. The features were those of a thin, middle-aged man. On the head sat a stiff old-fashioned black hat that did not belong to the modern day.

“Hello,” the odd rider nodded, voice quivering and off-key but polite: “What would you like to talk about today?”

This was an Entity, the Passenger of Car 22. It appeared on the Otherworld Train and usually stayed in Car 22. It had reason and could talk. Sometimes it even helped outsiders escape the Otherworld. Under certain conditions, it could turn hostile. Today, it was friendly.

“Have you heard of the address Wutong Road 66?” Song Cheng asked as if chatting with a regular person. “A man named Yu Sheng lives there.”

The rubbery rider shook his head: “The train has no such stop.”

Song Cheng’s face turned serious at once.

Passenger 22 knew a lot about places. Except for some extremely strange or hidden sites, if you asked with clear directions, it could describe almost any Otherworld location, even one a million light years away. At the very least, it could say whether a place existed and whether it sat inside the Borderland.

But now it had said the train had no such stop.

It was true the Train did not actually go anywhere, but “the train has no such stop” meant it did not know anything about that place. Since the Special Affairs Bureau recorded information on Passenger 22, this answer had shown up fewer times than you could count on one hand.

After a short silence, Song Cheng asked, “What about the person named Yu Sheng? Have you heard of him on your travels?”

“If it’s people you want to know, ask the Storyteller. He knows many things about people,” the rider said, unhurried. “He is in the park, telling stories to the Cursed Children… Do you need directions? I can tell you when the ‘park’ is.”

“Thanks, but I know where the park is,” Song Cheng shook his head. He felt the Anointing Salve’s effect ebbing, so he hurried on. “Any news from Night Valley lately?”

“Night Valley… ah, a traveler left there, but I do not know the details,” said Passenger 22. “If you want to know what happened after, I cannot help.”

“Why not?”

“Because that stop has been canceled,” said the rider, rubber face calm as he rested the paper on his knees.

Song Cheng’s eyes widened. He sat there, stunned. [This answer has never appeared before.]

“The train has no such stop” was at least in the records, but “that stop has been canceled”… he was sure this was the first time.

“Why was it canceled?” he blurted, gaze sharp.

“Who knows?” Passenger 22 gave a very human shrug. “I only know things along the line. What happens outside the line… I do not know.”

Song Cheng blinked. The salve was fading. Faint voices were rising around him. He had more to ask, but then his eye caught the newspaper on the rider’s knees.

It was the only thing on that Entity that did not feel like rubber. It was a real paper.

The front page held a large black and white drawing. In this age when even the cheapest street rags used color, the print looked old-fashioned, and the picture itself was blurred and warped. It did not look like a photo. It looked like a clumsy painter had guessed at a story and smeared the scene onto a canvas.

A barren valley. A giant eye floated above it, slowly moving away.

Under the picture was the headline: “After the Feast.”

“We are about to arrive,” Passenger 22’s voice came from beside him, pulling Song Cheng back.

Song Cheng snapped his head up. Passenger 22 was watching him and had already taken the umbrella from the rail. Rising, the rider asked as if in passing: “How is the weather now?”

Song Cheng dropped all stray thoughts and studied the Entity with care.

Passenger 22 had brought an umbrella today, but the umbrella was dry.

“It’s overcast,” he said.

Just then he noticed a thin line of wet on the briefcase, as if a bead of invisible rain had fallen on it.

“But the rain has started,” Song Cheng added at once. “Taking an umbrella is the right call.”

“Indeed,” Passenger 22 smiled. The rubber face made a faint tearing, rubbing sound. “Have a good trip. Be safe when you step off.”

“Have a good trip,” Song Cheng breathed out and nodded with a smile.

Noise swelled from all around as body heat filled the crowded car.

The big-shouldered Song Cheng stood packed in with the morning crowd and felt the car sway as the subway slowed into the station.