“When one is a big fish in a small pool,” Arlen said, taking off his spectacles and rubbing them with a kerchief, “one must be content with what one has.” It was one of those sayings his father marched out every time something wasn’t going quite the way Arlen wanted it to. Another way of saying, “don’t forget how small you are and how little you matter.” Arlen loved his unflappable father. He’d love him even more now that an entire continent was between them.
“Exactly,” Sterling said, smiling beatifically at him. He couldn’t help but think that Sterling saw a ten-year-old boy when he looked at Arlen. It was exhausting, this need to eternally prove himself to others. To constantly be trying on his father’s shoes, and finding they still didn’t fit.
“What’s the plan?” Arlen asked. He knew the outline, the rough draft, but he’d been so caught up in the journey, he hadn’t thought to ask about the details. Anything, to stop focusing his nervous energy on the impending Boundary.
“We’ll stay in Freetown for a few days before we move on out, toward the shine fields. We’ll stay in Grove while we tour the wells. Depending on how things are going there, we may stay a while or move on up north to the mines.” Sterling’s pause was heavy and full of meaning.
“You don’t like the mines,” Arlen surmised. He’d heard stories but never probed to learn more. Sterling’s pursed-lip discomfort piqued his curiosity.
“No towns near the mines,” the man said, the words carefully measured. “None you’d want to stay at, anyway. A few gambling dens, some places where the shine-addicted can get their fix, places where fallen women work. Mind, usually your father will have a missive waiting that will change all of our plans. We won’t know what to expect until we get to the Transfer office.”
“Sirs, please fasten your lap belts,” the conductor was an ancient fellow, but he walked with the bowlegged gait of a sailor, and seemed completely comfortable on their rolling, jolting train car. “Here’s your bag,” he said, handing each of them a hefty paper sack. Elroy roused himself, rubbed his eyes, and grabbed the proffered bag, blinking away his confusion.
“Almost to the Boundary?”
“Just about.”
Elroy fumbled around, patting at the pockets of his coat. He let out a relieved sigh and pulled the small vial out, flipping the cap off with his thumb, and threw his head back and downed the clear liquid in one easy gulp.
“You’re certainly cutting it close, Elroy.” Sterling’s voice was just tart enough to thicken the air and make a lasting impression.
The train started to bump and jostle as it decelerated, wheels screaming, and suddenly the need for lap belts became perfectly clear as Arlen’s body was thrown uncomfortably about on the plush leather seat. Finally, they leveled out, the tracks on either side hemmed in by pine trees so tall they looked like fingers scraping against the sky, plucking at all of its diamonds.
“Why does the train slow down?” Arlen asked. “Other than to give us time to recover before Freetown?” Nerves again, they were eating him up inside. Why hadn’t he asked this before he’d left Union City? Why hadn’t he prepared himself? For that matter, why hadn’t his father prepared him? Arlen should know these things. He should be ready.
He was not full of butterflies, but bees. His excitement was gone. Now, they were here. There was no avoiding it. He clasped his hands in his lap and ground his molars together. Elroy’s small, private smile told him Arlen wasn’t hiding his anxiety as well as he’d hoped.
“It takes time to go through the Boundary. Can’t travel through it fast. Trains have to slow down to nearly a walking pace or none of us will survive, tonic or no. Don’t think anyone has ever figured out the why of it. The conductors and engineers know what they are doing, Arlen. Your father only hires the best.”
Arlen had taken the tonic, but still, doubt was a dark voice whispering in his ear. What if he didn’t survive?
Would anyone even notice? He felt so… inconsequential.
The train inched forward. Elroy opened his bag with fluid, purposeful motions. Sterling closed his eyes as though not seeing the Boundary would somehow make it easier. He leaned his head back in his chair, the muscle in his jaw pulsing as he ground his teeth, and waited.
Arlen saw it.
Saw the Boundary coming at him with all the inevitability of tomorrow. Nearly translucent, but rainbow-hued, it gleamed and glittered as it drew near, a few inches thick, not much more. Such a small thing to have such a massive impact. At the front, a few people moaned and clutched their heads as that shimmering wall moved slowly through the train car. One person vomited loudly in his bag. Arlen’s heart thumped. Sweat beaded his brow.
And then it was on him, and he felt… nothing. He watched, mystified, as the shine coated his body. He turned his hands this way and that, marveling in the glow.
Relief flooded him. He was fine. No vomiting. No wetting himself. Nothing to tarnish the proud Esco name. All that worry, for nothing.
Across from him, Elroy was emptying out everything he’d eaten in the past year. Sterling was clutching his head, moaning. He pulled a vial of something out of his coat pocket and drank it. Even the conductor, at the front of the car, was noisily sick, yet there was Arlen, feeling absolutely nothing.
No stomach upset.
No sweating.
No headache.
He felt fine. No, he felt better than fine. He felt stronger. More alive. Like he could climb up the nearest mountain and touch the moon if he wanted to.
Arlen looked out the window again, pondering the mystery of the Boundary, and his non-reaction to it. It meant something. He just wasn’t sure what, yet.
He breathed deep and focused on the world outside his window. The sky was brighter. The landscape, more colorful. The world was so full of intention, it was reaching out to write itself upon his heart.
“Never saw anyone make it through without at least getting a headache,” Elroy muttered. He fished out a similar vial to Sterling’s and downed it.
It was then that Arlen realized his father never gave him a curative to take. It was as though Matthew hadn’t expected him to get sick. He had known, somehow, that Arlen would pass through untouched. As if the tonic was just a show, something he took to fit in with everyone else.
Nothing Matthew Esco did was ever without a reason.
Arlen had been different all his life. This just made him that much more aware of it. Suddenly, his relief vanished. In a room full of sick people, he was obviously the one standing out, already attracting attention. Should he pretend to throw up? Would it help?
“The Boundary is beautiful, is it not?” Arlen asked, carefully staring out the window rather than his companions. The Boundary was fading behind them, and the mountains were starting to level off. No houses yet, no lights from any towns or cities. They were still in the middle of nowhere, and the train was picking up steam. They’d be arriving at Freetown soon. Within an hour, he guessed. He flipped open his pocket watch, an ancient thing that still required winding, rather than the shine powered ones everyone else used. Ten o’clock.
He saw, out of the corner of his eye, Sterling and Elroy exchange a loaded glance.
“What?” Arlen asked.
“Are you well?” Sterling asked, looking worried suddenly, eyes probing Arlen, seeking some malady.