Beautiful Blue World (8 page)

I SAT IN AN
empty compartment, staring at the last views of Lykkelig as we pulled away from the station.

I'd ridden on a train twice before.

One summer, our family had gone north, to the seaside.

Another summer, Megs's father had taken just the two of us south to the mountains for a picnic day. Before he went away. Before there was no money for extra things like train fares. Before there was nothing to put in a picnic basket.

Before the war.

The train attendant came back. “I'll see your papers now.”

She read them, and smiled at me as she handed them back. She took out a ticket and punched it several times.

“We should be there late tonight. I'll come by to make sure you're not asleep. There's a washroom at the end of the corridor in each car, and there's a dining car two cars back. I've punched your ticket to show you have two prepaid meals, so you can eat whatever you like.”

“Thank you.”

Who'd have thought joining the army would have gotten me treated like the Queen of Eilean? Two paid-for meals on the train!

What would the food be like wherever I was going?

Chugging along through the countryside, you might not have known there was a war. Peaceful snow laced fields of chill winter green. Gray stone steeples peeked up from between the hills. Cows huddled together along fences.

But in cities, and just outside them, workers sifted through heaps of rubble with shovels. Blackened shells of aerials littered bombed aerstrips.

None of these places had names. All the signage had been painted over black.

If there was a station left to stop in, we picked up khaki-clad soldiers. Sometimes we stopped to collect them in the middle of woods or fields. How did they know to meet the train there?

The sky grew overcast, and the gray threatened to settle inside me. I decided to go for a walk and have something to eat.

I took my ticket and walked back a car. It was full of soldiers sitting on rows and rows of bench seats, some facing each other. I kept my eyes down as I walked through.

I sat at an empty table in the dining car and a waiter handed me a menu with a few choices on it. Any choice was still more than I'd ever had at home. I ordered a meat patty with gravy and beans. When every bite was gone, I scraped my fork against the plate and didn't leave a single drop of sauce.

I made my way through the soldiers' car again on the way back to my compartment.

“Hey, little sister,” one of the soldiers called.

I froze.

Several soldiers were looking at me.

“Aren't many civilians traveling on this train. You lost?” the same soldier asked.

“I'm supposed to be here. I'm in the service now, too.”

“Are you?” The soldier leaning forward a bit, elbows lazily on his knees. “And what do you do in the service?”

“I don't know.”

“Hmm…” He raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. “A mission so secret you don't even know what it is?”

I shrugged.

“Sending little children on top-secret missions now? How did they find you, little sister?”

“I'm nobody's little sister.”

“You're everyone's little sister. What you're doing on this train is beyond me. Budge over, Henning,” he said to the soldier beside him, and looked back to me. “Have a seat.”

I sat—what did I have to do for the rest of the day anyway? I might as well be friendly and get used to soldiers. Maybe I was going to the same place they were.

“You play?” He shuffled a deck of cards.

“No.”

The boys started to play, and I watched for a few hands. I studied the cards they put down, and when they picked up new ones. The one called Henning would scratch his nose before selecting a new card, so I knew if he liked his hand. The one next to him would sit with his feet crossed until he knew that he liked his hand, and when he relaxed, his feet uncrossed.

“You in?” the first soldier asked eventually.

I nodded.

He dealt me in, and on my first game, I won.

“MATHILDE…
MATHILDE
…”

A gentle hand shook my shoulder.

“We'll be arriving at your stop shortly. I've gotten your suitcase down for you. Here, put your coat on….”

The train attendant held my coat behind me as if I were as young as Tye. I sleepily extended my arms to each side in turn. She pulled my braids out for me and tugged the coat closed in front of me.

The drowsiness was hard to shake off. For the first time in weeks, I'd fallen asleep without being afraid. Trains and their tracks and stations were often bombed, as I'd seen earlier, but I hadn't worried about hearing sirens, about being jolted from my sleep. The train's movement had kept me feeling safe and sleepy, and my stomach was full for the first time since I could remember. I'd had my second meal with the soldiers, and then eaten my glazed bun for dessert back in my compartment.

“Come, stand by the door….”

I followed her, carrying my suitcase. Out the window, the dark grass and trees racing by slowed and suddenly a platform appeared.

When the train stopped, the attendant opened the door, looked around, and nodded to me to exit.

“Goodbye, Mathilde.”

“Goodbye.”

She was already latching the door shut. As the train pulled away, I waved at the windows where the soldiers slept, cards put away and dinners eaten.

I looked up and down the dark platform.

A light flickered. I covered my face with my arm as it flashed into my eyes.

A figure walked toward me: a woman.

When she reached me, she said, “Your papers, please.”

I handed over my papers with a steady hand, which she seemed to notice by the way her eyes and flashlight moved momentarily from my hand to my face, and she nodded her approval. She turned the flashlight to read my papers. Then she snapped the flashlight off and my eyes adjusted to the starlit night.

The woman started to walk down the platform and I hurried to keep up, lugging my suitcase.

“We have a bit of a carriage ride ahead of us,” she said. “No car. We've got a cart and pony. But maybe—you like ponies?”

Did I like ponies?

I didn't answer. I hadn't been expecting such a question.

We came off the platform steps—no station house here—but the creature attached to the waiting cart didn't look small enough to be a pony. I stood, gaping at him, until the woman said, “Let's go, or we'll have no sleep whatsoever tonight. Put your suitcase in the back and come sit with me up front.”

I hurried to do what she asked. When I plopped down beside her, she told the giant pony to go with a shake of the reins.

“I'm Miss Ibsen.”

“Yes, Miss Ibsen.”

We traveled on what seemed to be a dirt road through woods. The darkness, the lull of the turning wheels, and the pony's clomping made me sleepy again. But there wasn't anywhere good to lean—I would either slump sideways onto Miss Ibsen, or tumble out the open side of the cart.

I yawned.

“I know, it's awful. But we can't choose the train schedules, I'm afraid. We'll get you to bed soon enough. So, what are your interests, Mathilde?”

“What?” The question surprised me, like the one about ponies.

“I'll keep you awake by talking to you. Unless you'd prefer to curl up in the back with your suitcase?”

Was that really an option, to curl up with my suitcase? “Oh—talking is fine.”

“In that case, what
are
your interests?”

What
were
my interests? Was it just my being sleepy that made my brain sluggish?

“I guess what I like best is playing with my friend Megs.”

“Where do you play?”

“In the woods outside the city.”

“You are from Lykkelig?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have brothers and sisters?”

“Sisters,” I said, a tight knot forming in my stomach. Not for thinking of them, but for having
not
thought of them until now. How had that happened?

“I grew up in a town up north, not as large as your city, but not too small, either.”

“And what do you do now?” I asked. Maybe it would be a clue as to what
I
was meant to do.

“You'll find out in time.” She laughed. “As far as you know, I'm some sort of midnight cart-and-pony chauffeur.”

No aerials disturbed our ride. The train must have traveled northwest, deeper into Sofarende, farther from the border.

A large manor house rose up out of the gloomy darkness, surrounded by a wall at least one story high.

“Welcome to Faetre,” Miss Ibsen said.

Two soldiers stood at the gate.

“Miss Ibsen,” one greeted her. “Another one?”

“Another one!”

“We need more?” the other soldier teased.

“We do.”

“Won't we be full to bursting?” They were like the soldiers on the train—not at all serious.

“Nonsense. There are still rooms to spare,” she answered as they waved her through.

If there were still rooms to spare, then why had the Examiner been so insistent that she didn't want Megs to come?

“We don't like the security to look too tight,” Miss Ibsen said. “Not from the air, anyway. There are more soldiers here than just them, don't worry.”

Was that a reason not to worry? Or a reason
to
worry? Was this a known military base? A secret place?

I thought of a safer question as we pulled along the side of the impressive building: “How many rooms are there?”

“One hundred forty!”

“Really?”

“Originally, this was the summer house of a baron, and then it was a boarding school. It's ours now.”

We rode to stables around the back. Another soldier handed me my suitcase as I hopped down from the cart, and took over the pony.

“Come along,” Miss Ibsen said to me. I followed her to the main entryway, which she opened with three different keys. She held the door open, and I stepped inside into the pitch-dark.

Miss Ibsen followed me inside, shut the door, and rebolted all the locks. Then she lit a match and a candle from the hallway table. “Best save my flashlight for when I'm outside.”

The tiny flame illuminated a large foyer with hallways and rooms leading off in several directions, and a grand staircase. The great windows to the front of the house had been covered with black curtains.

“So aerials can't see us at night,” she explained. “Though we tend to have rather quiet nights around here. It's just a precaution. This way.” She led me through the largest archway off the foyer. We walked toward a large, open living room, which also had black curtains over its two-story windows, though it was brighter because of a lit electric light on a side table. The room contained clusters of comfortable chairs around both low and high tables, and all the tables were set with board games. Miss Ibsen paused in the doorway.

A head of shoulder-length light brown hair peeked over the back of one of the sofas.

I followed Miss Ibsen around to the front of the sofa.

A girl my age was sitting there.

“Annevi!” Miss Ibsen said. “What are you doing up?”

“I had an idea.” She didn't look up from her board game.

“You couldn't think about it in your room?”

“I needed the board.”

I stiffened. What was the punishment for being out of your room at night?

“Solve anything?” Miss Ibsen asked, warm curiosity rather than sternness in her voice.

Annevi shook her head. Disappointment and slight frustration crossed her face. But not shame or fear.

“Try again in the morning. Maybe your mind will solve it in your sleep.”

Annevi nodded, though she didn't seem sleepy. She stood, but kept her eyes on the board. She reached out and moved a couple of pieces.

“Come upstairs with us. This is Mathilde.”

“Hi,” Annevi said, though she didn't even look at me. She didn't seem at all surprised to see a new girl showing up at nearly dawn.

“The light, Annevi.”

Annevi switched off the electric light.

We proceeded upstairs, and up some more stairs to the third floor and a corridor lined with doors.

“Good night, Annevi. I'll see you at breakfast.”

Annevi disappeared behind one of the doors.

“We're putting you just a few doors down, along here.” Miss Ibsen opened another door on the opposite side.

I stepped into the tiny room and looked around.

I'd assumed I'd share sleeping quarters—if we slept inside at all—but there was a single, unoccupied bed; a desk; a window with its own heavy black curtain; and several bookshelves full of books.

Miss Ibsen snapped on the electric overhead light with a switch by the door. “Always make sure your curtain is pulled before putting on your lights at night.”

I nodded.

“There's a washroom down the hall.”

I nodded again.

“Get some rest now.”

She left, shutting the door, but she didn't mention breakfast. Or seeing me in the morning. Or what to do if sirens sounded in the night.

Her footsteps faded away, and it was too late to ask; I'd wake everyone up by calling or running after her, and she'd been so careful to be quiet.

I left my door open and tiptoed to the washroom. I flipped the light switch and found three separate toilets behind their own doors, three bathing tubs behind pull curtains, and three sinks along the wall.

I went back to my room, turned out the lights, and lay down.

What kind of job was this, what kind of place, where you could get up in the middle of the night just to think about your board game and not get in trouble for being out of bed?

I stared into the darkness.

How would I ever get to sleep?

No Kammi and Tye, softly breathing, occasionally turning over.

They hadn't even given me other girls sleeping near me that I could imagine were my sisters.

The night was eerily quiet.

I got up and opened my suitcase to find my nightclothes. Instead, I lifted out the handprints painting, and hugged it to my chest.