Post by Lorpius Prime on Dec 31, 2006 4:03:55 GMT -5
Jay snorted and muttered as he emerged from his sleep. He propped himself up on his elbows as he waited for his groggy head to clear. The compartment was almost completely dark, but Jay could hear scattered drops of rain pattering against the window. It had to be several hours yet until they pulled into station at Exeter, but he was having trouble sleeping through the journey.
He had been lucky, too. There was a free compartment in one of the sleeper cars of a late-night standard service train, and Jay had been glad to fork over the extra pounds to reserve it. Now, though, that was beginning to seem like a bad decision. Mumbling nonsense curses, Jay felt around in his clothing for some matches. Striking one, he used its dim light to locate a lamp and light it, shaking out the match just as it started to burn his fingertips. He stuck his thumb in his mouth to relieve the stinging, and rolled out the wick on the lantern before hanging it on a hook.
"Great," he said.
He sat on the fold-down bed for a few minutes, not having any idea for something better to do. After a while, Jay pulled on his coat; it was cold in the compartment and his bedclothes were thin.
"Great," he said again.
The sleeper car rattled a little as it passed over some minor flaw in the tracks. Jay sighed.
He leaned down to rummage in the pile of clothes at his feet some more, and pulled out his pocket watch. He angled the face to catch the lantern light without a reflection. It was a quarter past one o'clock.
"What am I supposed to—"
"HOW ARE YOU, MY DEAR BOY?"
Jay yelped and fell off the fold-out bed as he recoiled from the noise, sending the silver watch flying through the air. The door to his compartment had flown open, setting the oil lamp to swinging dangerously. A large, balding man with wild eyes and an enormous grin leaned through the opening; he looked at Jay expectantly.
"Uhm..." Jay was still shaking slightly. He'd landed in a heap against the outer wall of the car and was now trying to figure out who this odd man was. More importantly, why had he just burst into Jay's sleeping compartment at a quarter past one o'clock? And perhaps even more importantly, why was he shouting loudly enough to wake everyone on this train as well as the one that would be following in six hours?
"Blake? Jay Thomson Blake? Of the Times?" The stranger didn't move from his position, but nodded his head at Jay as if that would help with recognition.
"I'm... uh… yes?" Jay was absolutely bewildered. If he'd ever seen this man before, he certainly didn't remember it. And Jay usually recognized at least the faces of people he'd met, if not their names. He was drawing a blank on this man. "Who...?" He was still too shocked to be worried.
Fortunately, the rude stranger did not seem to be interested in robbing Jay. He threw back his head to let out a booming laugh, positively howling with mirth.
"You don't remember!" he announced, not much quieter than when he'd first entered. "Well that's a shame. A man ought to remember his teachers, those who made him what he is today, eh?" He winked, and his grin widened to a preposterous size.
This was not helping. Teacher? Jay was sure he would remember if any of his professors or even primary school instructors had been this obnoxious. He would have remembered a nursery-school teacher like this, probably because Jay would still be having nightmares about him.
He shook his head helplessly, "I'm sorry, I don't..."
The stranger guffawed again. "Startled you, did I?" he asked. Jay thought that quite an understatement. "Well perhaps it's no wonder, you can't ruddy well have expected to meet me again like this, eh?" He thumped his enormous chest and laughed again.
The man pushed his way into the already cramped room, and Jay felt powerless to stop him. He had a silvery flask in his right hand which he raised to his mouth. The stranger twitched his rather boisterous yellow mustache as he swallowed, and gave a satisfied sigh. When his eyes found Jay again, he beamed in delight.
"Winslow Bradshaw, Mr. Blake," he waggled the flask at Jay as if scolding him. "Professor Bradshaw to you, but you don't have to call me that anymore. I chair the European Political Studies department back at old Oxford, and I daresay you went through my introduction lecture, same as the rest."
Jay coughed and looked away from Winslow Bradshaw. The old and rather drunk professor was quite misguided. Jay had indeed graduated from Oxford and he was indeed a Foreign Correspondent for the Times—and a rather good one if you wanted his own opinion—but he had never taken a single course from Bradshaw's department. In fact the closest he'd come to any kind of foreign political studies was a year of French language instruction, and that had turned out to be a right disaster. Mon Dieu! "Erm..."
Again Bradshaw laughed. Jay wondered just how much the man had been drinking.
"Slept through the class, eh? Slacker, were you?" He waggled the flask again and chuckled, "Well I won't tell anyone. Already graduated haven't ye'? Old Winslow will keep your secret safe," he winked and mimed nudging Jay with his elbow.
Jay just stared. He was beginning to doubt that he would ever be able to believe his present situation, it was too ridiculous. Winslow for his part, seemed to notice for the first time that something was out of the ordinary, he quirked an eyebrow at Jay.
"What're you doing decked out like that, eh?" he asked. "What time is it anyway?" He swiveled his head to look for a clock.
Jay blinked, "I-it's... it's... erm..." he swallowed to regain his voice. "It's a quarter past one... sir."
Winslow did not seem to have expected this, and he stared at Jay in silence for a moment or two. Then his mouth opened to emit yet another bellowing laugh.
"Ah, well no wonder you're crouched over there in your pyjamas," he said once he stopped rumbling. "Where are my manners, bursting in on a poor bloke while he's trying to catch some shuteye? Well, I'm terribly sorry about it, I'm a might tipsy at the moment, y'see. But I was talking to this conductor, and I guess the other passengers must've been sleeping, well of course they would be. But he was reading the paper, y'see? And I told him how I taught a few of you Oxford boys, eh, Wainwright and Barnaby and Mills—good chap—and you, of course. And then he says to me—and I nearly died—but he says you were on board, he'd seen you get on. He was a good chap too, told me how to find you even. And I told him that was wonderful, but he says I can't disturb you, private car and all, and I guess because you were sleeping too—but I told you I didn't even think of the time. But how could I not say hello to my old student, big newspaper man, when he's on the same train as me, right? I waited 'til he'd gone forward a car, and I came back here. But it won't do leave you like that. Here, care for a nip?"
He'd waddled forward and offered his flask to Jay.
"Uh, no, thanks," Jay waved him off. He pushed off against the floor and managed to struggle to his feet. Bradshaw, apparently deciding that it wouldn't do to let the offered drink go to waste, consumed it himself.
After swallowing, Bradshaw screwed the top back onto his flask. "So, what brings you to the number eleven train to Exeter tonight, m'boy?" he asked.
"Er... I live there. Or my family does... professor." He thought maybe it was best to spare the fellow the knowledge that Jay had never seen him before in his life.
"Ah, of course, of course," Bradshaw nodded as if he'd known this all along. “Making a visit before shipping out again, then? Newspaper can’t keep a star correspondent like yourself lounging about for long, can it? Be a waste of your education, wouldn’t you say?”
Jay looked out the window away from the old man, “I’m booked on an airship for Germany Saturday morning."
“Germany!” Bradshaw exclaimed, then lowered his voice conspiratorially, “doing something for the celebration are you? Wave the flag, make the lads back home feel good their great-great-granddaddies socked the krauts, is it?” he winked.
Jay furrowed his brow, “Something like that, I suppose.” He wouldn’t have said it nearly so crudely, but Bradshaw had the general idea more or less correct.
“So what does the Times have in mind for this year? Got you going to Bavaria, I assume, might you have found some surprising new story to shock the readers?" Bradshaw leaned forward and winked yet again. "If you don’t mind me asking.”
Jay shrugged, “Not really. I haven’t thought much about it yet, just found out about the whole job myself.” He managed a laugh of his own, “Far as I’m concerned, the whole story’s been beaten to death for half a century, wouldn’t you agree?”
Winslow Bradshaw stared at Jay in silence. Jay had been expecting more drunken laughter and was a little unnerved when it didn’t come. After an uncomfortable minute or two, he tried again.
“Er… so what about you, sir, do you live in Exeter as well?”
The grin returned, and to Jay’s relief so did the booming laugh, “Oh, I'm not going to Exeter. Passing straight on for St. Ives," he moved one hand in imitation of a train. "Got myself a summer home there, and a mistress." This time he did poke Jay with his elbow, and the correspondent gave a half-hearted chuckle to appease Bradshaw's mischievous smirk. "Sweet lass, she. Best cook in town and she drinks her whiskey like a sailor."
The professor talked for a while about his mistress while Jay only half-listened and nodded politely. Bradshaw was proving to be harmless after all, despite his worrying curiosity earlier. When he asked if Jay would mind if Bradshaw took a nap on his bed—"my head's just a bit wobbly"—Jay let him. He didn't believe that he had much chance of sleeping anymore himself.
Instead, he pulled on his pants and strolled along the corridor of the car, letting the drunk snore in peace.
Eventually, after pacing for a while, Jay made his way to the back of the car and slid open the flimsy wooden door.
There was a tiny platform at the end of the car between it and the next one, just large enough to allow someone to step easily over the coupling below. There was a waist-high railing for safety, and Jay leaned against this. Wind roared by around him and coal smoke from the locomotive gave a slightly acid flavor to each breath.
He considered how funny he'd look if someone else came through one of the doors. There he was, loitering outside on a train in his trousers and coat, without a proper shirt or a hat in the middle of the night when any rational man would be sleeping. He clucked his tongue in laughter at the thought. The train was scheduled to arrive in Exeter a little before noon. It was going to be a long night.
The train rumbled westward through dark.
<<1<<_>>3>>
Book One, Chapter:
-1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12-13-14-15-16-17-18-19-20-21-
-22-23-24-25-26-27-28-29-30-31-32-33-34-35-36-37-38-39-40-41-42-
-43-44-45-46-47-48-49-50-51-52-53-54-55-56-57-58-59-60-61-62-
Appendix: -A-B-C-
He had been lucky, too. There was a free compartment in one of the sleeper cars of a late-night standard service train, and Jay had been glad to fork over the extra pounds to reserve it. Now, though, that was beginning to seem like a bad decision. Mumbling nonsense curses, Jay felt around in his clothing for some matches. Striking one, he used its dim light to locate a lamp and light it, shaking out the match just as it started to burn his fingertips. He stuck his thumb in his mouth to relieve the stinging, and rolled out the wick on the lantern before hanging it on a hook.
"Great," he said.
He sat on the fold-down bed for a few minutes, not having any idea for something better to do. After a while, Jay pulled on his coat; it was cold in the compartment and his bedclothes were thin.
"Great," he said again.
The sleeper car rattled a little as it passed over some minor flaw in the tracks. Jay sighed.
He leaned down to rummage in the pile of clothes at his feet some more, and pulled out his pocket watch. He angled the face to catch the lantern light without a reflection. It was a quarter past one o'clock.
"What am I supposed to—"
"HOW ARE YOU, MY DEAR BOY?"
Jay yelped and fell off the fold-out bed as he recoiled from the noise, sending the silver watch flying through the air. The door to his compartment had flown open, setting the oil lamp to swinging dangerously. A large, balding man with wild eyes and an enormous grin leaned through the opening; he looked at Jay expectantly.
"Uhm..." Jay was still shaking slightly. He'd landed in a heap against the outer wall of the car and was now trying to figure out who this odd man was. More importantly, why had he just burst into Jay's sleeping compartment at a quarter past one o'clock? And perhaps even more importantly, why was he shouting loudly enough to wake everyone on this train as well as the one that would be following in six hours?
"Blake? Jay Thomson Blake? Of the Times?" The stranger didn't move from his position, but nodded his head at Jay as if that would help with recognition.
"I'm... uh… yes?" Jay was absolutely bewildered. If he'd ever seen this man before, he certainly didn't remember it. And Jay usually recognized at least the faces of people he'd met, if not their names. He was drawing a blank on this man. "Who...?" He was still too shocked to be worried.
Fortunately, the rude stranger did not seem to be interested in robbing Jay. He threw back his head to let out a booming laugh, positively howling with mirth.
"You don't remember!" he announced, not much quieter than when he'd first entered. "Well that's a shame. A man ought to remember his teachers, those who made him what he is today, eh?" He winked, and his grin widened to a preposterous size.
This was not helping. Teacher? Jay was sure he would remember if any of his professors or even primary school instructors had been this obnoxious. He would have remembered a nursery-school teacher like this, probably because Jay would still be having nightmares about him.
He shook his head helplessly, "I'm sorry, I don't..."
The stranger guffawed again. "Startled you, did I?" he asked. Jay thought that quite an understatement. "Well perhaps it's no wonder, you can't ruddy well have expected to meet me again like this, eh?" He thumped his enormous chest and laughed again.
The man pushed his way into the already cramped room, and Jay felt powerless to stop him. He had a silvery flask in his right hand which he raised to his mouth. The stranger twitched his rather boisterous yellow mustache as he swallowed, and gave a satisfied sigh. When his eyes found Jay again, he beamed in delight.
"Winslow Bradshaw, Mr. Blake," he waggled the flask at Jay as if scolding him. "Professor Bradshaw to you, but you don't have to call me that anymore. I chair the European Political Studies department back at old Oxford, and I daresay you went through my introduction lecture, same as the rest."
Jay coughed and looked away from Winslow Bradshaw. The old and rather drunk professor was quite misguided. Jay had indeed graduated from Oxford and he was indeed a Foreign Correspondent for the Times—and a rather good one if you wanted his own opinion—but he had never taken a single course from Bradshaw's department. In fact the closest he'd come to any kind of foreign political studies was a year of French language instruction, and that had turned out to be a right disaster. Mon Dieu! "Erm..."
Again Bradshaw laughed. Jay wondered just how much the man had been drinking.
"Slept through the class, eh? Slacker, were you?" He waggled the flask again and chuckled, "Well I won't tell anyone. Already graduated haven't ye'? Old Winslow will keep your secret safe," he winked and mimed nudging Jay with his elbow.
Jay just stared. He was beginning to doubt that he would ever be able to believe his present situation, it was too ridiculous. Winslow for his part, seemed to notice for the first time that something was out of the ordinary, he quirked an eyebrow at Jay.
"What're you doing decked out like that, eh?" he asked. "What time is it anyway?" He swiveled his head to look for a clock.
Jay blinked, "I-it's... it's... erm..." he swallowed to regain his voice. "It's a quarter past one... sir."
Winslow did not seem to have expected this, and he stared at Jay in silence for a moment or two. Then his mouth opened to emit yet another bellowing laugh.
"Ah, well no wonder you're crouched over there in your pyjamas," he said once he stopped rumbling. "Where are my manners, bursting in on a poor bloke while he's trying to catch some shuteye? Well, I'm terribly sorry about it, I'm a might tipsy at the moment, y'see. But I was talking to this conductor, and I guess the other passengers must've been sleeping, well of course they would be. But he was reading the paper, y'see? And I told him how I taught a few of you Oxford boys, eh, Wainwright and Barnaby and Mills—good chap—and you, of course. And then he says to me—and I nearly died—but he says you were on board, he'd seen you get on. He was a good chap too, told me how to find you even. And I told him that was wonderful, but he says I can't disturb you, private car and all, and I guess because you were sleeping too—but I told you I didn't even think of the time. But how could I not say hello to my old student, big newspaper man, when he's on the same train as me, right? I waited 'til he'd gone forward a car, and I came back here. But it won't do leave you like that. Here, care for a nip?"
He'd waddled forward and offered his flask to Jay.
"Uh, no, thanks," Jay waved him off. He pushed off against the floor and managed to struggle to his feet. Bradshaw, apparently deciding that it wouldn't do to let the offered drink go to waste, consumed it himself.
After swallowing, Bradshaw screwed the top back onto his flask. "So, what brings you to the number eleven train to Exeter tonight, m'boy?" he asked.
"Er... I live there. Or my family does... professor." He thought maybe it was best to spare the fellow the knowledge that Jay had never seen him before in his life.
"Ah, of course, of course," Bradshaw nodded as if he'd known this all along. “Making a visit before shipping out again, then? Newspaper can’t keep a star correspondent like yourself lounging about for long, can it? Be a waste of your education, wouldn’t you say?”
Jay looked out the window away from the old man, “I’m booked on an airship for Germany Saturday morning."
“Germany!” Bradshaw exclaimed, then lowered his voice conspiratorially, “doing something for the celebration are you? Wave the flag, make the lads back home feel good their great-great-granddaddies socked the krauts, is it?” he winked.
Jay furrowed his brow, “Something like that, I suppose.” He wouldn’t have said it nearly so crudely, but Bradshaw had the general idea more or less correct.
“So what does the Times have in mind for this year? Got you going to Bavaria, I assume, might you have found some surprising new story to shock the readers?" Bradshaw leaned forward and winked yet again. "If you don’t mind me asking.”
Jay shrugged, “Not really. I haven’t thought much about it yet, just found out about the whole job myself.” He managed a laugh of his own, “Far as I’m concerned, the whole story’s been beaten to death for half a century, wouldn’t you agree?”
Winslow Bradshaw stared at Jay in silence. Jay had been expecting more drunken laughter and was a little unnerved when it didn’t come. After an uncomfortable minute or two, he tried again.
“Er… so what about you, sir, do you live in Exeter as well?”
The grin returned, and to Jay’s relief so did the booming laugh, “Oh, I'm not going to Exeter. Passing straight on for St. Ives," he moved one hand in imitation of a train. "Got myself a summer home there, and a mistress." This time he did poke Jay with his elbow, and the correspondent gave a half-hearted chuckle to appease Bradshaw's mischievous smirk. "Sweet lass, she. Best cook in town and she drinks her whiskey like a sailor."
The professor talked for a while about his mistress while Jay only half-listened and nodded politely. Bradshaw was proving to be harmless after all, despite his worrying curiosity earlier. When he asked if Jay would mind if Bradshaw took a nap on his bed—"my head's just a bit wobbly"—Jay let him. He didn't believe that he had much chance of sleeping anymore himself.
Instead, he pulled on his pants and strolled along the corridor of the car, letting the drunk snore in peace.
Eventually, after pacing for a while, Jay made his way to the back of the car and slid open the flimsy wooden door.
There was a tiny platform at the end of the car between it and the next one, just large enough to allow someone to step easily over the coupling below. There was a waist-high railing for safety, and Jay leaned against this. Wind roared by around him and coal smoke from the locomotive gave a slightly acid flavor to each breath.
He considered how funny he'd look if someone else came through one of the doors. There he was, loitering outside on a train in his trousers and coat, without a proper shirt or a hat in the middle of the night when any rational man would be sleeping. He clucked his tongue in laughter at the thought. The train was scheduled to arrive in Exeter a little before noon. It was going to be a long night.
The train rumbled westward through dark.
<<1<<_>>3>>
Book One, Chapter:
-1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12-13-14-15-16-17-18-19-20-21-
-22-23-24-25-26-27-28-29-30-31-32-33-34-35-36-37-38-39-40-41-42-
-43-44-45-46-47-48-49-50-51-52-53-54-55-56-57-58-59-60-61-62-
Appendix: -A-B-C-