Vega Jane and the Rebels’ Revolt Read online

  ‘It’s just a shelter really,’ whispered Delph. ‘For folks to gather under and wait for the train.’

  Still invisible, we drew closer. There was a sign hanging from one of the support posts.

  ‘Bimbleton Station,’ I said. ‘Apparently. Bit weird, isn’t it? A station in the middle of nowhere.’

  Petra nodded and said, ‘I never saw that name on the schedule sign at True Station.’

  Neither had I.

  A moment later, a young boy dressed shabbily with dirt smudges on his face and no shoes on his feet came out of a nearby copse of trees. He was carrying a wooden basket.

  As we watched from the shadows, he started picking berries off a bush and putting them in his basket. When the basket was fairly full, he walked around the shelter and stopped and gazed up at the sign.

  He reached up on tiptoe and ran his finger along the letters spelling out the station name, then walked on.

  ‘Let’s go,’ I said.

  ‘Where?’ asked Delph.

  ‘Wherever he’s going,’ I replied.

  We made up the ground quickly and soon gained sight of the boy. The walk through the woods took about twenty minutes, and I wondered at the boy’s family allowing him to wander alone at night. Was this place safe?

  Delph noticed it first.

  ‘The light,’ he whispered.

  I looked up ahead, to where the boy was heading. Light was filling the sky there, only we didn’t know what the source was.

  I instinctively reached into my pocket and gripped my wand with my gloved hand. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Petra do the same.

  The boy disappeared around a bend in the path and we hurriedly followed.

  When we cleared the curve, I stopped so fast that Delph bumped into me.

  The lights we had glimpsed before were coming from wooden shacks, clustered around a small central patch of grass. Smoke was rising from stone chimneys. Maybe a hundred people or more were gathered around porches or walking along paths dimly lit by the shack lights.

  They were of all different ages. Most were dressed poorly, like the boy, who had disappeared into one of the wooden houses with his basket of berries.

  Delph whispered, ‘What now?’

  I whispered back, ‘Let’s watch and listen a bit.’

  He nodded, and we drew closer to one group clustered on a crumbling porch.

  ‘But when will it come again?’ asked one young woman a little older than me. She wore corduroy trousers, a ripped and dirty coat and worn shoes. An old tuck was slung over her shoulder.

  An old man in a slouch hat with a droopy moustache was seated on the top step busily whittling down a piece of wood with a small pocketknife.

  ‘The train, you mean?’ said the man. ‘’Tis hard to say.’ He scratched his forehead with a gnarled finger. ‘I hear tell that other trains show up in other places. Not that I’ve been to those places, but I hear things from folks ambling down the road from time to time.’

  ‘So there are other trains, then?’ asked another man.

  ‘Guess so,’ said the first man. ‘Lots of people, lots of trains.’

  ‘Do they all go to the same place?’ asked the man.

  The man shook his head. ‘Dunno. Now, I can tell you that it does show up at odd times. Nothing scheduled about it, you see. But you hear the whistle. And right after that, it appears.’

  ‘And do they take everyone?’ the dishevelled young woman asked.

  The old man shook his head. ‘No. Look at me. Been here a long time now. And I’m still here. And lots of you folks will still be here when the train leaves next; just the way it is.’

  ‘How do they decide, then?’ asked a young man who was standing next to the young woman. He held an old battered canvas bag in one hand.

  The old man pointed his whittled stick at the fellow. ‘No rhyme or reason that I can see. They just pick.’

  ‘How many?’ asked the man.

  ‘Now, that varies too, don’t it? Sometimes a lot. Sometimes not too many.’

  ‘And it’s a good place, that they go to?’ asked the woman anxiously. ‘Better than here?’

  Another man said, ‘No one’s ever come back to complain, I can tell you that.’

  ‘Course it’s better,’ bellowed the old man. He looked around. ‘I mean what wouldn’t be better than here? Work our fingers to the bone and for what? Imagine somewhere that looked after you. Roofs over your heads, food in your belly, medicine when you need it, education for the young ones. Who wouldn’t want that?’

  They all nodded. Apparently life for all of them was as hard as it had been for us in Wormwood. When I thought about what I’d seen in True and Greater True, it was like two different worlds. The ‘have-alls’ and the ‘have-nothings’.

  The old man said, ‘I thought as much. So I mean to stay here until I gets on that damn train.’

  ‘What does a train look like?’ asked the young man.

  ‘You’ll know it when you see it,’ said the old man. ‘Long and metal and it runs on those little tracks you see at the station. Folks climb on, and off it goes. Fast it is. Gone in a blur.’

  Many people looked around in wonderment, as though they couldn’t believe what they were hearing. But then again, I had never known that a train existed until I got to True.

  I noticed the young man and woman draw aside from the group. I nudged Delph.

  ‘I’m going to become visible and follow those two. I want to talk to them. Find out where they came from.’

  ‘This seems like a bad idea, Vega Jane,’ Delph began to protest.

  ‘Delph, I’m going to do this, OK?’

  He frowned. And Petra glared at me. But I didn’t care. I needed answers.

  I slipped off the ring and passed it to Petra. She slid it on, making sure to keep the ring turned inward. Petra used her wand to maintain the magical link among the three of us. I headed off after the pair while the others, still invisible, followed.

  It didn’t take me long to catch up to them.

  ‘Hello,’ I said.

  They both whirled around to stare at me.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you. My name’s Vega. I’m here for the train.’

  The man said, ‘I’m Russell; this is Daphne.’

  ‘And where did you come in from?’ I asked, trying to keep my voice casual.

  Russell was about to answer when Daphne said, suspiciously, ‘Why do you want to know?’

  Russell said, ‘Daph, she’s just curious.’

  Daphne folded her arms across her chest and said, ‘OK, so am I. Where did you come in from?’

  I folded my arms and glared back. ‘Wormwood. And you?’

  ‘I’m not telling,’ she replied with a smirk.

  ‘Daph,’ said Russell.

  ‘Shut it, Russ. For all we know she’s going to bump us off the train. Less said, the better.’

  ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Good luck.’ I turned and walked away.

  ‘Oi, wait,’ called out Russell.

  But I heard Daphne exclaim, ‘Oh, let her go. She’s no bleedin’ use to us. And I’m not going back to our village. I’m not, Russ.’

  I walked back to the group gathered around the porch. Delph, Petra and Harry Two were right behind me under the invisibility shield.

  The people were still standing there, hands in pockets, talking among themselves. The old man who had been whittling had set down his work and was drinking from a pewter flask.

  They all glanced at me before going back to their conversations.

  I sat down next to the old gent. He lowered the flask from his lips, and I could smell sweet wine.

  ‘Who be you?’ he asked.

  ‘I be Vega. And you?’

  ‘Geoff. You just in?’

  I nodded. ‘And you?’

  He capped the flask and chuckled. ‘Oh, I’ve been here a while, missy. May be here a while still. One day I’ll get on that train.’

  He had on woollen
gloves with the fingers cut off, revealing dirty fingers. He blew on his hands and stuck them in his pockets along with the flask.

  ‘Geoff, how do you know the place the train goes to is a good one?’

  He looked at me strangely. ‘What?’

  ‘Well, if no one ever comes back, how do you know?’

  He laughed, took up his knife and began whittling again. ‘You’re a funny one.’

  I could tell that he so very badly wanted to believe that a better life was just a train ride away that no logic I might employ would persuade him otherwise.

  ‘How long have you been here?’ I asked.

  ‘Two years.’

  ‘Why did you come here?’

  He shrugged. ‘Where I come from, there ain’t much there. Been hard times for as long as I can remember.’

  ‘Why is that?’ I asked.

  He shrugged again. ‘Just has been. Since the old war. Not that I saw or fought in it. I’m old, but t’were long before my time. But it still lingers, you know. People never did get back on their feet. My little village, you can’t rub two coins together. No work, people just getting by. No . . . hope. That’s why I’m here, waiting for the train. Even if I don’t ever get picked to go on it.’

  ‘Why do you have to wait for it?’ I asked curiously. ‘Why don’t you just follow the tracks to wherever it goes?’

  Geoff snorted. ‘I’m not stupid. I tried that.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I was following the tracks, like you said, and . . .’ He stopped, and his face took on a confused expression.

  ‘And what?’ I prompted.

  ‘Well, I got lost. Couldn’t find the tracks. Got turned around and ended up back here. Tried it another time and same thing happened.’

  I looked around at some other people who were listening to this. They were nodding. One man said, ‘Aye, me too.’

  Of course. The Maladons had used a spell, maybe something like Transdesa hypnotica. We had encountered that in the Third Circle of the Quag. These people would never be able to find their way to True. The train was their only option.

  ‘How did you know to come here?’ I asked.

  Geoff shrugged. ‘Word gets around. Want a better life, get yourself to Bimbleton Station. Least, that’s what I hears in my village.’

  I looked around at the shacks. ‘Who built these?’

  ‘Dunno. They’ve always been here; least I think so. Nice place. Plenty of wood for the fires. Food in the woods. Fresh water from the river.’

  ‘Why haven’t you been picked to go on the train?’

  He stopped whittling and considered this. ‘Fact is, missy, I don’t know why. It’s not like they give you a reason.’

  ‘They?’ I pounced on this. ‘Who is “they”?’

  ‘Them blokes in fancy suits and hats. They must be rich. Odd chaps. But nice enough.’

  Nice enough, I thought, for barbaric murderers.

  He started whittling again.

  ‘Yeah, right funny chaps. They decide who goes and who stays.’

  ‘How does it work?’

  He pointed around with the tip of his knife. ‘Well, when we hears the whistle, we all rushes down to the station like. Now, them blokes in the funny hats, they get off the train and they looks round and they talks to folks. And they lines up those what’s going on the train, they board and then off they goes.’

  ‘And the others just wait here?’

  ‘Some does. Others get fed up and just go back to wherever they came from. Not me; I ain’t moving from here, ’less it’s on the train.’

  ‘But why—?’

  ‘Well, aren’t you the curious one?’

  I glanced to my right and saw a strange man standing there. Behind him was Daphne.

  I inwardly groaned.

  ‘She was asking us questions too,’ said Daphne huffily. ‘And now she’s pestering him the same.’

  I said nothing.

  My gaze remained on the stranger.

  He had on a long coat, but I could see the lapel of the pinstriped suit beneath it. I wondered where his bowler hat was.

  ‘You want to come with me, luv?’ he said smoothly.

  My gloved hand slid inside my pocket and curled around my wand.

  ‘Not really, no.’

  ‘Just over there,’ he said firmly, pointing to his left. ‘I can answer all your questions.’

  My gaze drifted to the left, and I rose and said, ‘All right.’ I motioned for him to lead the way.

  He did so, taking me round a corner. As soon as we were out of sight, he spun round, wand out.

  But mine was already in my hand. I had been expecting this, and if my time in the Quag had taught me anything, it was to be prepared. I flew above him, lashed out and delivered a thundering kick to his head with my booted feet. He toppled over and hit the dirt, his wand flying away.

  As he staggered to his feet, I said, ‘Subservio.’

  A white light shot out from my wand and hit the bloke directly in the head. He slumped down.

  I knelt next to him and spoke in low tones, erasing everything that he had heard in the last few minutes. I then dragged him deeper into the woods, placed him in a sitting position against a tree and put his wand back in his hand.

  ‘Come on,’ called Petra. ‘Hurry.’

  ‘Hang on,’ I said. ‘Might as well check his pockets.’

  I began to dig through the man’s coat pockets, searching for anything useful. I pulled out a picture and glanced at it.

  My heart flew into my mouth.

  The picture was of my parents.

  20

  ONWARD

  ‘Vega Jane?’ whispered Delph.

  I blinked. I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath and it came out in a rush.

  ‘Just give me a sliver,’ I said desperately, my mind whirling.

  I stared at the picture. It wasn’t a drawing; the images seemed real, burned into the paper. I turned it over. There was something scrawled on the back, in bold writing.

  Be on the lookout for these Campions.

  I turned the paper back over and stared at the images of my mother and father. I thought back to that awful night at the Care in Wormwood, when my parents had been engulfed in flames and then had disappeared. I traced their features with my shaky finger.

  Mum? Dad? Where are you? How can I find you?

  ‘Vega Jane?’ hissed Delph. ‘Are you all right?’

  I held out the picture. ‘He had a picture of my parents.’

  ‘Your parents?’ said Delph in disbelief. ‘But how can that be?’

  ‘You look like your mum,’ said Petra, studying the image. ‘She was very beautiful.’

  I looked at her in surprise.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘My mum was very beautiful. I mean, she is very beautiful.’

  ‘So what now, Vega Jane?’ asked Delph.

  And that’s when we heard it.

  The whistle!

  I said, ‘The train. It’s here! Come on.’

  I joined the invisibility shield and we ran as fast as we could back to the shacks. They were deserted. We kept on running until we reached Bimbleton Station.

  This was probably a mistake, I thought. The Bowler Hats would be here and perhaps Endemen too. But we didn’t have much choice.

  The humble train station was transformed from earlier. A shiny black train had arrived. And where before there had been only one small boy, now the place was jammed with what I estimated to be hundreds of people jostling one another to get closer to the train.

  Then one of the carriage doors opened and he appeared.

  The four of us took a collective step backwards.

  It was Endemen.

  He smiled and doffed his hat, and the crowds around the train instantly quieted.

  ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I welcome all of you to Bimbleton Station. I do hope we can take as many of you with us as possible. But first, my associates will need to ask you all a few questions. Does that
sound all right to you?’

  He was being ever so polite, although I saw a wand up his sleeve. The crowd waited meekly as his Bowler Hats began to move among them, taking certain people aside and conversing quietly. Endemen watched them, smiling faintly.

  ‘Come on,’ I whispered to the others.

  We drew as close as we dared and found ourselves within a few feet of Russell and Daphne, the couple from earlier. They had been approached by a Bowler Hat with a shiny black moustache and flinty cheekbones.

  ‘So you’re the one what decides if we get on the train or not?’ Daphne said.

  The Bowler Hat said nothing at first, appraising her and then Russell.

  ‘From where do you come?’ he asked, his voice low and throaty.

  ‘Clarendon on Hillshire,’ replied Daphne. ‘A long hike.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ the Bowler Hat said smoothly. ‘And your surnames?’

  ‘He’s Everett and I’m Lloyd. We’re going to get married. Our given names are Daphne and Russell for him.’

  ‘Nice, very nice.’

  The bloke pulled a book from his pocket, opened it and riffled through the pages.

  ‘Lloyd, you say? Have you had others in your family take the train?’

  ‘No. Least not that I’m aware of.’

  The man swivelled his gaze to Russell. ‘And you, Mr Everett?’

  He nodded. ‘My grandfather George – that was long ago of course, before I was born. We never heard from him again.’

  ‘He went to a better life,’ said the man. ‘A much better life. Might I see the backs of your right hands, please?’

  Daphne and Russell looked at each other. Russell was about to raise his when Daphne, with proper spirit, said, ‘What does that have to do with anything?’

  ‘It has to do with a great deal.’

  Russell said, ‘Daph, just do it.’

  She sighed but raised her hand.

  Russell’s hand was blank. With a thrill of horror I saw a faint outline of a shape on the back of Daphne’s. The mark of the three hooks!

  ‘That mark on your hand?’ the Bowler Hat said, looking expectantly at Daphne.

  ‘What of it? It don’t come off, case you’re wondering. It’s . . . it’s like a birthmark, I guess. Had it always, I have. Ain’t nothing wrong with it. Or me.’