In the Heart of the Iron Conundrum: Part Two

She had finally done it. After months of boring stakeouts, being in places she shouldn’t, and lying through her teeth to all kinds of wealthy people, she’d got herself a ticket. The Iron Will was a one-of-a-kind opportunity that this journalist wasn’t going to pass up. Trixie had been given a job from her boss that was going to change her entire career. Getting aboard the Iron Will and exposing any secrets and gossip the wealthy was inevitably going to overshare was going to get her into the high ranks of the Wall Street Journal. It was only going to take a little bit of espionage and deception to get there.

Trixie was going to the ball. She’d be a Lady Esther, daughter of a very wealthy jeweller from America, and she’d been given a seriously elegant purple gown with literal gold filigree lining the hem. She’d never been one for dressing up, except for the occasional splash of make-up whenever she went on a date with her long-term partner, Rosa. But this time, she’d finally understand the saying ‘Bell of the ball’.

Arriving at the Iron Will the morning of the ball, Trixie was so excited she could barely stop her lower lip from trembling. She had to remember that she was going to be a refined and proper lady for the evening, so tempering her excitement was a must. The exterior of the train was beautiful, and although steampunk was an acquired taste, the aesthetic made her feel like she was part of some kind of old western film. Trixie’s bags were taken by a splendidly dressed attendant and was escorted to a private room aboard the train. Despite the classic exterior, the interior of the Iron Will was much more familiar to Trixie. Neon blue lights lined the corridors, shining an ethereal blue down on the gold and white marbled floor. Each door was automated, as were every door and window in first world countries in the 2300’s. There were screens on every cart that could provide guests with any kind of information they could need about the trip. And the décor of the entire interior, although modern and swish, had a wealthy flair to it. The holograms on the walls had gold frames around them, couches had silver and gold finishes to them, and door handles, although only required a touch to open, were embossed with gold leaf. Even the waiters had hovering golden platters that sparkled slightly when light hit them at just the right angle. It was seriously ritzy, and almost unbelievable that the entire train had been funded by Obscura Labs, a scientific research company that wanted to use the train to ferry cargo around France on occasion.

“Excuse me Madam, you are blocking the way,” came a snooty but smooth voice.

Trixie jumped, and immediately pressed herself up against the wall as a tall and exceedingly skinny woman glid past her. The woman might well have been a living statue, given the way she held herself. She was stunningly pale, with black hair that was so long and perfectly straight, Trixie wondered how long it had been drowned in hair spray. Trixie then cringed, remembering she was supposed to be a high and mighty lady herself, so changed her posture to seem annoyed.

“You mustn’t scare such a lady so! I almost broke… a nail!” Trixie said, using a fake British accent before remembering she was supposed to be acting as a well-spoken American.

The tall woman pursed her lips and stooped down slightly to peer into Trixie’s cherub face.

“Hmm. Certainly not a Brit. Certainly dressed like an American. Certainly here, on the Iron Will, so most likely someone I should care about,” she sighed. She had a way of pronouncing all her Ts in a way that felt like she was trying to shoo people away with each exhale. She straightened back up and extended one long taloned hand. “You may call me Lady Cerule Cartland, daughter of the great Lord Wayland Cartland, founder and woefully under appreciated lead chemist of the pharmaceutical company Cartland and Co. You, little American, need to have more of a presence if you’re to survive the evening. Shrinking violets get gossiped about and plucked until there is nothing left.”

Trixie looked at Cerule’s hand and raised an eyebrow, shaking it after sighing deeply.

“I have no need to explain myself, but clearly you misunderstand. I have a nervous disposition that is triggered by lights as ghastly as these. Besides that, the golden frames over there are at most two carats, and make my skin feel itchy just thinking about touching them,” Trixie said snootily, the lies flowing freely from her mouth. “Given how courteous you have been in giving me unneeded advice, I’ll allow you to call me Lady Esther. My name should be known by even the likes of you, so I don’t need to explain my life’s story.”

Cerule smirked, a twinkle appearing in her otherwise dull brown eyes. Nodding once and looking over her shoulder to frown at her two attendants, she walked away, leaving an air of superiority that smelled faintly of bourbon in her wake. Trixie watched her go, allowing herself a small moment to allow her heart to stop pounding in her chest, before continuing to follow her own attendant to her room. She needed to get ready for a ball after all.

. . .

It was time. Evening had come. Every guest had preened themselves until they literally sparkled in all their finery. The Iron Will’s engines had been stoked and fluffy steam billowed from its smokestack. Most of the guests had already made themselves known in the dining cart, choosing their favourite beverages to take the edge off – after all, it was difficult trying to one up each other. And sneaking around the exterior of the steam train, slinking from shadow to shadow, were five people, all looking for a way into the cargo carts. Jonah was at the front of the pack, his eyes darting around, fearing any especially dark shadow for what armed guards it could be concealing. It’d been a long wait in that warehouse with his four new allies. He’d not spoken much. In fact, none of them had except for Briar, who’d seem to be the spokesperson for the others. Now that the time had come for them to move, however, Jonah appreciated the silence.

The number of guards that were patrolling the exterior of the Iron Will, not to mention the security on the train, was very suspicious to Jonah. Several times he had to get his group to press themselves into small crevices between various boxes that were waiting to be loaded onto the train to avoid a group of armed guards that patrolled by. And several times more he had to stop Briar from walking into the line of sight of a camera. The twins were quite good as keeping themselves safe, although their inability to communicate with words made it hard to give them commands. Trucker was clearly struggling to see in the dark, given how cracked their glasses were. It took a painstaking amount of time to get close enough to the Iron Will to see which carts the group could sneak onto. But Jonah was observant, and would thank his previous job for that if it wasn’t for the fact that it was due to his job he was in this situation in the first place. A single door had been left open whilst some attendants were being escorted back to a warehouse to pick up some more crates. Jonah quietly snuck his way to the door, peering through the crack at the dimly lit interior, not seeing nor hearing anyone inside. He beckoned the group over to him, one by one, as he fully opened the door, seeing several crates they could stow away in until the train set off.

Briar sent the twins first, the pair scurrying over in perfect tandem, climbing inside, and rushing to open one of the crates to see if they could fit inside. Trucker was next, going slow so they could see where they were going. Somehow, they managed to avoid the stacked crates around the place and get to the cart, allowing themselves to get pulled up by Jonah, and then joined the twins in their search for a suitable hiding place. Jonah gestured to Briar to wait as two guards appeared, one stepping out of an adjacent cart with a lit cigarette whilst the other leaned in the doorframe, wiping his nose with a handkerchief. Jonah focused on the two guards, holding his breath, and hiding just behind the door. The five minutes they spend smoking and chatting dragged. When they went back inside, Jonah sighed, relieved, and turned his attention back to Briar.

Neither of them had been paying attention to her surroundings.

Neither of them saw the group of guards approaching her from behind. But it was Briar who didn’t see her end coming, after the guards spotted her and rushed her. Jonah watched as the wiry-haired woman was tasered, sparks flying from her immobile body, and then shot on the spot. Turning away from the scene, disgust and horror that an unarmed woman was essentially executed without trial, Jonah ushered the rest of the group to climb into some crates, who’d stopped their search with mouths agape in light of their leader’s death.

“Come on, come on! She’s gone. We still have a chance, a chance she’d want us to take. So, get in these damn crates an-” Jonah whispered, stopping when he saw what was in one of the crates. Uniforms. Attendant uniforms. Jonah whipped out four outfits and threw three of them at Custard, Prickles, and Trucker. “Put these on. Wipe your faces. You know what to do.”

The twins got dressed immediately, hands shaking as they buttoned up their uniforms for each other, wiping away silent tears. Trucker had to be coaxed several times by Jonah, until they eventually began to get changed, their face white, mouth still agape. Once the four of them were now attendants, their previous clothes and Trucker’s broken glasses stowed in the bottom of the still full uniform crate, they began to stack crates. They weren’t interrupted when some other attendants came in with more crates, nor questioned where they’d come from. In fact, another attendant had given the four of them a small glass of wine when they’d finished stacking crates, a reward for their hard work. They sat on some of the crates, looking down at the blood red wine, swaying slightly both from shock and from the motion of the Iron Will starting its journey. It was never going to be an easy journey, they knew that. But none of them expected a murder to happen on the train. No-one ever expects a murder on a train.

And then there were screams. Murder on the Iron Will was indeed something no-one was expecting. Least of all the most recent victim.