The Celestial Steam Locomotive (The Song of Earth) (24 page)

Nearby, a tall person of indeterminate sex—who had introduced himself earlier as Psycaptain Hilary Yes—leaned forward, caught his eye and began to relate the tale of the Invisible Spaceship on a foray near the dread Red Planet. He’d heard the story twice already, when the psycaptain had told it to a heavy-jowled man and then to a bejeweled blonde. The psycaptain’s crew had aged forty years in ten minutes, so the story went, and their teeth had dropped out. Their bones had turned to jelly and they had collapsed to the ship’s nebulous deck, quivering blobs of protoplasm. The psycaptain
 

himself had escaped with a flesh wound. The little passenger didn’t want to hear it again.
 

“What do men fear most?” the psycaptain asked. “Not death. Not maiming. But
age.
The gradual, horrible rotting away of mind and body. And that is the weapon of the Red Planet. They have the power to—”
 

“Excuse me.” The little passenger stumbled to his feet and fled. He ran up the central aisle, through the connector, and found himself in a dark passage leading through the tender of the Locomotive. He paused, then pressed forward again. He would talk to the driver of this train, and ask to be let off...
 

But when he saw the scene in the cab of the Celestial Steam Locomotive, he very nearly went right back to his seat.
 

He heard the singing first, a solitary, rough voice raised in lusty song:
 

Broach me a bottle of Old Jamaica,
 

Heave-ho! and down she goes!
 

Drink with the Devil and meet your Maker,
 

Heave-ho! and down she goes
 

The cab held two men lit by the fearsome glow of the furnace, one bent and shoveling coal into the roaring flames with a long-handled shovel, the other leaning against the spectacle plate, a bottle of dark liquid in one hand, steadying himself with the other hand, singing at the top of his voice.
 

“Heave-ho! and down she goes!” And on each ho! the fireman’s shovel clanged against the open doors of the firebox and another load of coal scattered across the inferno. “Steady there, me old shipmate!” called the driver. “Avast there! That’s enough for now!” But the fireman shoveled on, working steadily and inexorably. The driver shrugged, raised the bottle to his lips and took a deep swig, then caught sight of the little passenger lurking in the shadows. “Ahoy there, my lad!” he shouted. “And who might ye be?”
 

“I have no name.”
 

“Yesself, are ye? By the Powers, I admire ye for it!” The driver put down the bottle and lurched forward, and it became apparent that he was a cripple, with a wooden leg and crutch. He swayed with the motion of the Locomotive, a big, strong figure with a large, pale face, smiling. “And what might an upstanding fellow like you be a-doin’ here, among the muck and din?”
 

The Locomotive heeled and shuddered as it clattered over phantom crossovers with a shriek of chafing steel. The fireman shoveled on, an apparition clad in a swirling black cloak and a hood that covered his head and concealed his features—
Unsuitable dress for his work
, thought the little man.
 

“I’ve come to ask a favor...” He was even more nervous. The smiling features of the driver failed to reassure him. There was a
wrongness
about the hectic scene in the cab. The furnace seemed to draw him, the flames churning within the firebox like a maelstrom. Why didn’t the fireman stop stoking and close the doors? There was a red mark on the pressure gauge at 250, and the needle stood slightly beyond it.
 

The driver suddenly observed this, and with an oath he hurled himself at the regulator and jerked it wider. The throbbing of the exhaust deepened and quickened. “Blessed safety valve’s jammed tight, messmate!” he shouted back at the little man. “Only way to get the pressure down is to use more steam going faster. Lay off stoking, will ye, else ye’ll blow us all to kingdom come!” he said to the fireman, who ignored him, shoveling on. He turned back to the little man. “A favor, ye say? Never let it be said that Long John Silver refused a shipmate a favor!”
 

“I’d like to get off the train.”
 

Silver’s face changed instantly, becoming deadly serious. He staggered close, speaking quietly. “Well, now, that ain’t so easy, my lad. Y’see, you’re important to the voyage. Each and every passenger has a dooty to the train and ye wouldn’t be shirking yer dooty now, would ye? Ye wouldn’t spoil the ship for a ha’porth o’ tar, would ye?” He took a long drag at his bottle, belched and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.
 

“I don’t understand. What difference does it make if I get off?”
 

“Well, shiver me timbers.” Silver was laughing, tears running down his broad cheeks. “Here’s a pretty state of affairs. Here’s a pretty kettle o’ fish. What d’ye think keeps this here Train going, eh? Has there ever been a Train like it before, eh? Can ye tell me, lad—has there ever been a Train as can fly to the stars like a comet? Has there ever been a Train as can sail through the sun and come out the other side no hotter’n she went in? Messmate, this here ain’t no ordinary Train. Why, ye’re free to walk the full length, a thousand cables and more—free and welcome. Ye’re free to enjoy yesself more’n ye ever thought a poor man could—there’s fun enough for all on the Train. But ye must stay. And above all, ye must
believe...
” His voice dropped to a portentous whisper and he leaned forward, propped on his crutch, staring into the little man’s eyes. “What d’ye see on my shoulder, shipmate?” he asked quietly.
 

“Nothing... Coal dust maybe. What do you mean?”
 

“Mebbe a parrot?” Silver’s tone was menacing. “Mebbe a parrot named Cap’n Flint?”
 

“Well, maybe.” Terror chilled the little man’s spine as Silver loomed over him. The shovel rang against the firebox like a knell.
 

“Damn your eyes, ye lie!” Silver shouted the words into the little passenger’s face. “There ain’t no parrot on my shoulder, nor ever will be—leastwise,
unless ye believe it!
” Balancing unsteadily on one leg he raised his crutch as though to smash it upon the other’s skull.
 

“There is! There is!”
 

And there was.
 

Captain Flint sat on Silver’s shoulder, shuffling emerald wings. He stared at the little man with a knowing eye. “Pieces of eight!” he screeched.
 

“Ah-hah!” Silver backed off, tucking the crutch under his arm. “Now get this into that head o’ yers, lad. If ye can believe in the parrot, ye can believe in the Train. And if ye can believe in the Train, then there ain’t no way we can afford to let you off. Because y’see, shipmate, we need every bit o’ belief we can muster!”
 

“You mean...” The little man passed a tongue over his lips. The furnace seemed to be sucking the moisture from his body. “You mean this is all a composite smallwish? The Locomotive, the rest of the Train—a smallwish?” Now the terror was in every bone of his body, chilling him despite the heat. “What would happen if everyone stopped believing? Where would we be?”
 

“Ah, now—that’s a thing we’d never want to find out, would we now? Because I tell ye this, shipmate—I figger you and me would be nowhere. Just nowhere, somewhere between Jupiter and Pluto. All alone in the cold, cold Nothing, in our birthday suits, falling forever. Frozen dead like a schooner lost in the ice.”
 

“I’ve got to get off!”
 

“Ye knew ye were coming on an adventure when ye joined. The greatest adventure of a lifetime, they call it. The biggest thrill of all, for the cost of a smallwish. False fear ye’ve known, a lifetime of it. Now ye know real fear. Shiver me timbers! But you’re a craven dog!”
 

“I thought we were on... on Earth. This is impossible!” Lips trembling, the little passenger turned and stumbled back through the passage of the tender. He didn’t believe. He didn’t—couldn’t—believe.
 

And the walls of the passage turned soft.
 

A roar of rage sounded behind him and he heard the irregular thumping shuffle of the one-legged man. “Back here, ye dog!”
 

The Locomotive hit a curve and the little man, off balance, fell full-length through the corridor connector and onto the carriage floor. People gaped at him, glasses pausing on the way to mouths. A Neanderthal woman asked, “What are you lying down for? Get up and join the fun!”
 

“Avast there!” thundered the voice from behind him, and the Locomotive let out an unearthly shriek. “This dog will be the death of us all, ye may lay to it!” Silver towered above the little passenger, standing on one leg, his crutch raised in both hands. “I’ll crack him like a gull’s egg, and we’ll hear no more of his bellyachin’. Make yer peace, Mister!” And he swung the crutch back.
 

“Stop!”
 

At that moment an odd figure appeared—a girl, or something very close to a girl. Dressed in a white robe that failed to conceal her ungainly figure, she lumbered forward and thrust herself between Silver and the fallen man. One or two passengers cheered.
 

“Ah-hah! Now what do we have here? A circus freak? Out of me way, girl!”
 

“Get up.” She addressed the little passenger, ignoring the fuming Silver. “He won’t harm you, I’ll see to that. Come and sit over here with us.” And then he found himself sitting with two new arrivals, an elderly man and a barrel-chested youth. Meanwhile the Girl—for it was she—faced Silver. “Pick on somebody your own size next time.”
 

“Why, ye... ye... I’ll...” Inarticulate, Silver hefted the crutch.
 

And the parrot reappeared on his shoulder.
 

He glanced down at it in surprise. Evil-eyed, it leaned sideways and pecked viciously at his cheek. He yelled with pain, dropping the crutch and clapping a hand to his face. Grabbing a stanchion for support, he watched the Girl, the fury in his expression quickly changing to a shrewd look.
 

“Might I suppose ye wished that bird on me, me girl?”
 

“You might suppose that. Next time it’ll be a griffin. You’re just a big bully, you know?”
 

Silver smiled easily, all trace of fury gone. “That’s as may be, me girl, and mebbe you’re right. Old Barbecue gets carried away occasional, but all in the line o’ dooty... So ye three be new passengers, eh? Well, now. Shiver me sides!” And he laughed heartily, playing the welcoming host, picked up his crutch and swung forward, his hand extended to greet his guests.
 

The little passenger was still watching the Girl in awe and admiration.
 

He didn’t recognize her, though. How could he? Neither did the Girl recognize him—which was fortunate, because the Ifalong held more important matters than the Girl’s love for a little man who used to be called Burt. This love, which to her had seemed the most important thing in Dream Earth, was already beginning to fade under the influence of Reality.
 

In time the Girl would forget Burt altogether, which is one of the minor tragedies in the story of the Triad.
 

"Pleased I am to meet ye!” Silver shook hands with Zozula, Manuel and the Girl, and even nodded affably to the little man. “Welcome aboard.” He glanced at the parrot, now sitting quietly on his shoulder, and shook his head in admiration and disbelief. “Never seen the likes o’ that, not I. Anyways... Beggin’ your pardon, but I must discuss matters of importance with me shipmates here.”
 

Zozula spoke quietly to the Girl. “Be careful. You can get hurt here. This isn’t Dream Earth, you know.”
 

“I smallwished the parrot on him, didn’t I?”
 

“True. And if he’d hit you with that crutch, I think you’d have felt it. Just as he felt the parrot’s beak.”
 

Manuel said, “This place is strange. Can we get off soon?”
 

“I don’t think the one-legged man will let anyone off,” the little man told him. The rattle of the wheels had settled down to a steady, soothing rhythm. Faintly they could hear the beat of the Locomotive’s exhaust.
 

Silver was moving among the other passengers, chatting, bowing obsequiously, smiling a lot. Every so often he would indicate his parrot and ask somebody to try to make it speak. “Pieces of eight!” the bird would squawk in varying tones of conviction.
 

“He’s gauging their psy.” Zozula was concerned. “This train has closer links with Dream Earth than I’d realized. You can call a unicorn into existence and you can ride it across a meadow. But to sustain your belief in the creature for more than a couple of hours is nearly impossible—unless other people see it, too, and reinforce your belief. A lot of people must believe in this train, right now. I hope they can keep it up...”
 

“Smallwishes drain you,” the Girl agreed.
 

“So Silver will welcome new passengers with fresh psy.”
 

“Messmates! Give me yer ears!” The roaring voice of Silver broke up their deliberations. “‘Tis time to discuss the voyage and the destination. And the reason for you fine folk being on the Train. Aye—we have a powerful assemblage here, to be sure. Smart as paint, ye are!” Standing at the head of the aisle, dressed in his picturesque uniform, he cut an impressive figure as he dominated the carriage. The parrot clung to his shoulder, darting quick, cold glances around, and the whole regalia was surmounted by a salt-rimed cocked hat. “Now, we all know why we’re here. We’re here for adventure. Adventure the likes of which ye’ve never clapped eyes on afore! Death we’ll face, and the most terrible fear, and monsters like ye’ve never dreamed of in your worstest nightmares. And we’ll win through, shipmates! We’ll win through!”