The Great Brain Robbery, page 2
“Save your breath for pumping,” Fletch said, a lopsided smile hiding just under the surface of his habitual grimace. “We’re nearly there!”
* * *
They rocketed out of the tunnel and straight into the jumble of dirty yellow industrial buildings that made the upper layer of Trollville. The troll capital wasn’t just a city—it was an enormous bridge, spanning the fathomless depths of a rocky gorge. The upper surface of the bridge, known as the Overside, was home to all the civic and industrial quarters on which the trolls had made their reputation—chimneys smoked, cranes performed stately pirouettes, and dozens of trains shuttled back and forth along the expanse of train tracks that ran like a steel river through the middle of town.
Suzy was overjoyed to see it again. She had only had a brief taste of the city’s lively, unpredictable atmosphere on her last visit, but she had missed it ever since. She wondered if she would have a chance to visit the Underside—the residential quarter where Wilmot lived, suspended beneath the bridge with nothing but the dizzying drop into the gorge below it.
Fletch shut his eyes and drew in a long draft of air through his prodigious nostrils. “Ah, sniff that!” he said, his nose hairs twitching. “No smell like it in the Union. One of these days I’ll bottle it, you see if I don’t.”
Suzy sniffed. The air of Trollville smelled like smoke and engine oil, with a faint aftertaste of bananas. It wasn’t unpleasant, but she couldn’t imagine anyone but the trolls wanting to smell it wherever they went. Then she wondered what her own world must smell like to Fletch—cooking oil, fresh laundry, and her mom’s jasmine perfume, probably—and decided it probably wasn’t such a strange idea after all. Home was always good to have around.
All thoughts of home soon fell away, though, as the track the pump cart was following peeled away from the others and plunged deeper into the city, winding through the streets at ground level and forcing them to lower their speed. This was a part of Trollville that Suzy had never seen before; grand townhouses reared up on either side, their brickwork scrubbed and shining, and string pennants hung between their balconies. The streets were busy with trolls, all dressed in their finest clothes, but the crowds parted to let the pump cart roll through. Suzy saw parasols, and ludicrously tall stovepipe hats, a few of which seemed to have been fashioned from actual stovepipes. Long tables had been set out on the cobbles and were being piled high with food. Buskers congregated on every street corner, armed with instruments that looked like reclaimed scrap, pouring out their music in a cheerful collision of toots, whistles, and clanks. It looked like the biggest street party she had ever seen.
“Wow,” said Suzy. “I had no idea it was going to be this big.”
“Didn’t you?” Fletch looked surprised. “The Express is the most famous train in Troll Territory, my girl, and it’s not every day it gets a new lease on life. The king’s declared a citywide holiday. Everyone’s goin’ all out.”
Perhaps that explained why so many heads were turning to follow them, Suzy thought. It felt a little odd to be the center of so much attention, but at least everyone looked pleased to see them. She raised one hand from the pump handle and waved at the crowd. Many of them waved back enthusiastically.
“Less wavin’, more pumpin’,” Fletch grumbled.
Suzy returned both hands to the pump. “How far is it to the reception?” she asked. “My arms are getting tired.”
“See for yerself,” said Fletch, and pointed past her.
Suzy turned to look in the direction they were heading. Their track, along with a host of others emerging from nearby streets and cuttings, was heading toward an enormous spherical building of greenish glass and wrought iron. It was easily six hundred feet tall, and had several broad openings up and down its sides, from which tracks issued, snaking away across the city on tall viaducts.
“It’s incredible!” she said.
“It’s Grindin’ Halt,” Fletch replied. “The biggest station in Trollville.”
Suzy marveled at it as they left the townhouses behind them and approached the sphere. Now that they were closer, she could see the station’s different levels through the glass, stacked one on top of the other like the layers of a gigantic wedding cake.
And they were moving.
Suzy forgot all about pumping and simply stared in astonishment as one of the levels halfway up the sphere began revolving like an enormous turntable. It was loaded with trains, all facing out toward the glass, and when the right one was lined up with the nearest opening, the rotation stopped. A moment later, the train was fired out of the station like a bullet from a gun, and went screaming away along one of the viaducts. In just a few seconds, it had vanished into the distance.
“Wow!” said Suzy, laughing.
“Keep your eyes in your head and your hands on the pump,” said Fletch. “I’m not doin’ this all by myself.”
There was a moment of darkness as the cart entered the sphere through an opening at its base.
It was like gliding into a massive machine, and Suzy almost let go of the pump again to cover her ears. The air was hot, and filled with a chorus of hisses and whistles from the trains that stood panting at platforms all around them. The platforms and tracks all radiated outward from the center of the sphere, where a huge iron column, twice the width of Suzy’s house, held up the levels above. The cart coasted toward it, through an opening in its base, and into a wide circular chamber, where Fletch applied the brake so suddenly that, had she not been holding the pump handle, Suzy would probably have been thrown off. She fished a strand of hair out of her face and glared at him.
“Royal reception, is it?” a voice called.
Suzy looked around. A young female troll in a green-and-white station uniform stood against the chamber wall, a small megaphone to her lips. A large control panel covered with flashing buttons was fixed to the wall beside her.
“How did you guess?” said Fletch.
“The postal uniform’s a dead giveaway,” said the troll. She mounted a small stepladder that stood in front of the panel, until she could reach the uppermost button. The chamber door slid shut, and with a juddering and grinding of gears, the three of them began to rise.
The troll hurried back down the ladder and folded it away. “Yeah, I’ve been ferrying people up there all afternoon,” she said. “Looks dead fancy.” As the elevator finally jolted to a stop, the troll announced, “Top Floor, Platform ninety-two. Short-stay parking. Enjoy the bash.” She tipped her hat as they pumped the cart out through the doors.
“Ha!” said Fletch, looking around in admiration. “There’s some pretty flash wheels up ’ere. Look!”
The platforms were shorter here at the top of the sphere, which meant there was little room for the lengthy passenger trains that had crowded the lower level. Instead, a collection of small locomotives stood buffer to buffer at the platforms. Most of them didn’t even have carriages behind them, and Suzy guessed they were the rail-faring equivalent of luxury sports cars. They were painted in rich reds and golds, and sprouted all manner of elaborate exhaust pipes, flywheels, and, in one puzzling case, wings.
“A Mark Three Puffing Devil!” said Fletch, who didn’t seem to know where to look first. “And a Telford Dragster Classic! Blimey.”
The pump cart came to a final stop, nuzzling the buffers of a tiny open-topped locomotive that looked like a steam-powered chariot.
Before either of them could step down onto the platform, a middle-aged troll in a gold frock coat and white powdered wig appeared, and greeted them with a curt nod. A royal courtier, Suzy guessed. For some reason, the tip of his nose was flat and shiny, like worn stone.
“Are you Deputy Postal Operative Suzy Smith?” he said.
“I am,” said Suzy with a flush of pride.
“And are you Senior Interdimensional Engineer Fletch?”
“Yup,” said Fletch.
The courtier looked between them both. “If I may see your invitations, please?”
Suzy shrugged her backpack off and retrieved her invitation from inside it. Fletch, meanwhile, dipped into one of the pockets of his overalls and produced a badly crumpled and slightly oil-stained scrap of card that was just about recognizable as an invitation. “It’s well traveled,” Fletch said. “Same as me.”
The courtier took both invitations, although he kept Fletch’s between finger and thumb, and at arm’s length. After a moment’s consideration, he said, “The invitation specifies formal dress, sir.
“And I’m afraid your current attire is a little…” He pursed his lips. “Basic.”
Suzy could hardly believe what she had heard, and flooded with angry embarrassment on Fletch’s behalf. To her surprise, though, he just laughed.
“I’d like to see you knock holes through reality in that fancy get-up,” he said. “But as it happens, I’ve brought me suit.”
He unzipped his overalls and stepped out of them. Suzy stared. He was wearing a pin-striped suit, once black, but now soft gray and shiny with age. The elbows had been patched, and one of the shoulders had been repaired with blue thread. Nevertheless, he looked smarter than she had ever seen him before.
“Will this do?” he asked, giving a little twirl. “I wear it to everything. Weddings, funerals. Court hearings.”
The courtier looked him up and down, and huffed. “That will be adequate. Now if you would both care to follow me, His Majesty and his esteemed guests await the pleasure of your company at the reception on Platform 100.” Without waiting for an answer, he turned on his heels and strode away, his flattened nose in the air.
“I can’t believe how rude he was to you!” Suzy hissed as she and Fletch fell into step behind him.
“Not worth makin’ a fuss over,” Fletch whispered back. “The thing to remember about snobs is they’re always terrified you’re better than them in some way. And most of the time they’re right.”
Suzy felt her anger cool a little as she pondered this, though she sincerely hoped the king would be nicer than his courtiers.
They followed the courtier along the platform and up a flight of steps onto a footbridge that ran in a ring around the entire level. The bridge was busy with other guests, all finely dressed and heading in the same direction.
“Make way!” the courtier cried. “Make way for His Majesty’s personal guests!”
Suzy smiled apologetically at the people who whispered and stared as she passed. Most of them were trolls, although there were other species present as well. Suzy saw a trio of people who looked like cats, complete with whiskers and tails; a tall blue flamingo-like creature in a fabulously elaborate hat; and a flock of fairies with jet-black wings, hovering in place like hummingbirds. People must have come from all five corners of reality to be here, she pondered. It added a tinge of nerves to her excitement.
The crowd thickened as they went, finally gathering into an untidy knot at the top of the stairs leading to Platform 100.
“What is the meaning of this?” said the courtier, fighting his way through. Suzy tucked her elbows in and followed close on his heels, with Fletch behind her. “You’re blocking the thoroughfare!” the courtier continued. “Guards? Why are all these people waiting?”
They emerged from the throng to find two troll guards in polished armor and gold Wellington boots blocking access to the stairs. They were armed with long tubes of dented brass, flared at one end, which looked alarmingly like rocket launchers. She hoped they were simply ceremonial.
They certainly didn’t seem to be intimidating the small human figure in the pearlescent white suit who stood facing the guards. Suzy couldn’t see his face, but his folded arms and stiff back suggested he was angry.
“Sorry, sir,” said one of the guards. “We’ll be able to let people through once we’ve persuaded this young gentleman to be on his way.” He nodded with weary patience to the figure, who huffed in frustration.
“I’m not going anywhere until you double-check the guest list!” he said. “Don’t you know who I am?”
Suzy blinked in surprise. She certainly knew who he was—she recognized the slightly nasal whine of his voice from her last visit to the Union, when it had been speaking to her from the confines of a snow globe. This was only the second time she had seen him in his true human form. “Frederick?” she said. He whirled round to face her. It was Frederick all right—he was pale, with a pinched face and a mop of dirty-blond hair.
“Suzy!” he said. “You’re here! You can tell them.”
“Tell them what?” she said.
“To let me in, of course,” he said. “There seems to have been some mix-up with my invitation.”
“Is this true?” the courtier asked the guard who had spoken.
“The young gentleman doesn’t have an invitation, sir,” said the guard.
“And that’s the mix-up,” said Frederick. “Clearly. It must have been lost in the mail or something.”
“They were sent directly via remote spell,” said the courtier. “I saw to the deliveries myself.”
Frederick flushed, though whether through anger or embarrassment, Suzy couldn’t tell. “But I must have been invited. I’m the Chief Librarian of the Ivory Tower!”
Many of the people around them gave a low hiss of displeasure at these words. Frederick’s face fell, and Suzy caught a flicker of disquiet in his eyes. She felt similarly nervous—what was happening here? She knew Frederick could be annoying, but he was a good person at heart. He had helped her save the Union.
“Then I don’t know why you expected an invitation at all,” said the courtier. “Now stop blocking the way, or I’ll have the guards escort you out.” The guards took half a step forward, ready to act, and that’s when Suzy made a decision.
“Let him through,” she said.
Frederick looked shocked, although not as shocked as the courtier.
“That is absolutely out of the question!”
“Why?” she said. “I’m sure the king won’t mind if I bring a guest with me.”
A look of barely restrained horror crossed the courtier’s face. “You can’t do that! It’s against protocol!” He seized her arm and tried to pull her toward the stairs. “Now come along!”
“No.” Suzy wrenched her arm free. “I’m not going anywhere without Frederick.”
A scandalized whisper rippled out through the onlookers.
“With the greatest possible respect, miss,” said the courtier, fighting to keep his voice under control, “I must insist that you leave this boy behind and follow me.”
“What happens if I don’t?” Suzy folded her arms and hoped that her nervousness didn’t show. Would she get in trouble with the king? All she knew was that Frederick needed her help, and that was enough to make her stand her ground.
“If you don’t? But you must!” He flapped his hands in mounting distress. “His Majesty can’t inaugurate the new Express without every member of the crew present!”
Suzy felt a touch of confidence return. “Then it looks like a lot of people are going to be very disappointed,” she said. And just to reassure herself, she took Frederick’s arm and linked it through hers. There, she thought. Now we’re inseparable.
Frederick gawked at her with a mixture of shock and admiration. The courtier, meanwhile, ground his teeth.
“Perhaps…,” he began.
“Yes?” said Suzy. “Perhaps what?”
“Perhaps on this occasion,” he said, “it might just be possible to arrange access for the young man. As your plus-one.”
Suzy felt Frederick stand a little straighter, and she gave the courtier her warmest smile. “Thank you,” she said. “That would be fantastic.” She ignored the mutters of disapproval from the crowd.
“About blinkin’ time,” said Fletch. “Can we get a move on?”
“Very well,” said the courtier through clenched teeth. He nodded to the guards, who snapped to attention and stood aside. Then he moved to the top of the stairs and cleared his throat. “My lords, ladies, and gentlemen,” he announced. “Pray welcome our honored guests, Senior Interdimensional Engineer Fletch and Deputy Postal Operative Suzy Smith.” And then, under his breath, “Plus guest.” He bowed so low his nose scraped the ground.
So that’s why it’s flat, Suzy thought. Then, together with Fletch and Frederick, and with a renewed feeling of excitement that made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle, she stepped past the courtier to get her first look at the royal reception.
3
A ROYAL DISASTER
Platform 100 looked spectacular. Its entire length had been covered with a thick red carpet, and the guests—hundreds of them, glittering like stained glass in their fine dress and jewelry—mingled between enormous vases filled with bouquets of exotic flowers. Troll waiters in white jackets cruised through the crowd on motorized roller skates, distributing drinks and nibbles. A string quartet played. It was every bit as wonderful as Suzy had imagined, but she hardly noticed because her eyes were drawn to the track beside the platform, where the Express was waiting.
At least, she assumed it was the Express—it was certainly a train of some sort, but it had been covered over with a vast sheet of white silk. She frowned as she tried to trace the familiar outline of the Express through it, and failed.
When she had first encountered it, the Express had consisted of a large locomotive called the Belle de Loin, which pulled a tender full of nuclear-fusion bananas, a submarine-like Hazardous Environment Carriage, and a sorting car that acted as a post office on wheels. Very little of the train had survived her last adventure, however, and the shape beneath the sheet looked … different.
“How many changes did they make during the repairs?” she whispered to Fletch as they descended the stairs.
