Tremble in the Dark: A Gwen Farris Novel (13 page)

"I
see that
this
will be a comfortable trip then? Again, I apologize for
earlier." He was clearly trying to smooth things over, so Gwen yawned, not
being able to help it and smiled gently.

"Sure.
We might as well make nice, if we're headed the same way. I'm Gwen, and this is
Bethany. Pleased to meet you."

"Eugene
Hadley. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

From
behind them, there was a voice, the shorter woman from before. The one the Gwen
decided really was the smart one in that pair, based mainly on her ability to
not be a raging bigot in public.

"Gwen
and Bethany? But..."

Yes,
she was clearly the bright one indeed, because she didn't bother to finish the
sentence.

Then,
as they stood in the doorway, the porters came, along with an older man that
looked at each of their tickets.

"Now
that's rare, this early in a ride. All of you are headed to the same
destination. I guess that's because of the recent happenings..." He seemed
slightly baffled by it, but Bethany looked at her and nodded, with a lot more
emphasis than she'd have normally bothered to use.

It
was clear, one way or the other, that their work was starting earlier than
they'd thought it would.

They
didn't speak about the coincidence, but Bethany gave her a
look
. It was
the kind of thing that said a lot about the situation, without really making
sense to Gwen at all. She was too tired for things to make sense about what the
woman wanted, but hoped that it had to do with telepathy and reading these
people's minds. Otherwise the next few hours might just be a little
uncomfortable for her friend. Especially if she had to read the thoughts of
that bigot, Clara.

Beth
shook her head a little though, and gestured with her head as they moved onto
the train, a black man in a porter's uniform coming up to help them with their
bags, then hesitating as he got closer. The man was in his late thirties or so,
and had a slightly round face, but in a muscular way that showed he had some
kind of physical hobby at least, or possibly worked out, however that was done
here.

He
didn't have the look of a runner, but was decently muscled. Like an amateur
bodybuilder, though as far as she'd ever heard that wasn't a thing here.

Beth
however didn't speak, and simply clutched at her bag a little more tightly. The
plan was for them to not let go of the things, but social convention said that
they should. That meant the detective was conflicted about it, since her
training made her want to do what was normal, if she didn't need to do
otherwise for her job. Mainly. There were clearly some gaps in that line of
thinking. She'd never really done that kind of thing before, had she? So maybe
Gwen was just wrong, and it was something else.

For
a moment she wished that she had a guidebook as far as things like that went.
One that told her why other people did weird things without her having to ask,
and most often have them pretend they didn't know what the hell she was talking
about.

She
had to keep herself from grunting as the man, who was about five-nine or so,
meaning two inches taller than her, more or less, dithered. He grinned nicely
though, and was clearly looking at both of them with more trepidation than not.

"Special
Service. We're on duty, so the bags have to stay in our sight at all times.
There are weapons in them, so if you see someone trying to run off with one of
them, tackle them before they can get it open." She nearly tipped the man,
but that wasn't a big thing in the Western Kingdom. You could get away with
accidently overpaying at times, if you were in a hurry, but people just
expected to do the job they were paid for and that was it. The fellow didn't
seem too hurt by that part, though his eyes still seemed worried for some
reason.

"I...
Are you coming to check the North line, where all those deaths have been
happening?"

It
wasn't a secret, and they were both dressed up in uniform, so were kind of hard
to hide at the moment. Gwen thought about it for a second, then nodded.

"Yes.
Do you ever work on that line?"

"Yes,
ma'am. I was on it when that poor girl, Stacey Renaldo, the second one, was
taken. The train just stopped dead for three days after that. I haven't been
back since, but I hear all sorts of strange things from the other porters and
servers that have been up there."

Beth
watched the man closely, in a way that seemed nearly hawk like. It took a
moment for Gwen to realize that she was in her analytical mode already. It was
a highly logical state that would allow her to memorize everything she saw or
heard, but that didn't do Gwen any good at all. That meant moving to the side
while gesturing to the fellow, placing her bag on one of the seats. They were
made of leather, but had cracks on some of them, and were in mismatching
colors, as if they'd been replaced at some point, but no one had really cared
about making it look good for some reason.

Digging
in her pack, her right knee on her clothing bag, she managed to find the
smaller of her two writing pads. The work one that she planned to use for note
taking.

"I
know that you have work to do right now, but do you think you could tell us
about all that later? I'll need your name, age, and that sort of thing right
now." She brandished the little pad, in case he missed the point.
"Notes, so I don't have to keep hunting you down to ask the same questions
over and over. It saves time."

The
fellow smiled again, and then looked at Bethany as if she might be dangerous.
Of course, he wasn't that much of a coward really, if he thought that they were
both Westmorlands and might blow up at any second. How calm would she have been
if she were standing next to a nuclear bomb? Thinking about it, she decided it
would be something like this man. Nervous, but hiding it, knowing that it
probably
wouldn't hurt her.

"Samuel
Waters, ma'am. Thirty-eight. I normally live in Bracksburg, up north and east
of here. I'll be with this train for the whole trip though, since the line has
been having trouble getting people to work the North section lately. The missus
and I have another little one on the way, so I need the mets." There was a
simple and heartfelt manner to his words.

Gwen
sort of liked it. He was lacking in a lot of the stuffy pretension that people
often seemed to have in the Kingdom. Even Europa was better that way, as long
as you stayed away from their politicians.

"Oh?
Congratulations! You must both be very pleased. How many do you have?"

"Just
the one other, my boy, Howard. He's just now turning seven." There was a
look over her shoulder, at the main door, which probably meant someone else was
actually going on the trip with them. Sam the porter nodded at them and started
to move, then froze.

"I
should see to this gentleman?" There was a question in his voice that
showed a lot more awareness of the situation than most of the entitled people
of this world would have gotten. He was, after a fashion, being questioned by
the police and knew it. Just as a witness though. For now.

"Of
course. If we can speak later?"

"Yes,
ma'am." Then he moved past smoothly, the decently wide aisle a lot of
turning even. Gwen realized that she was staring at the back of him as he
moved, his muscular behind shifting in his tight porter's slacks enough to
catch her attention, in a way that no doubt meant she was being crude and
lusty. It was a nice enough view that she didn't let go of it for a moment,
meaning she was slow on the uptake as to who was trying to board the train,
ticket in hand.

It
was a vaguely familiar face, but she didn't get it until Beth, in her
analytical state, spoke the name out loud. She sounded flat and unexcited about
the announcement though. Everything in that mode would, Gwen knew. She'd seen
it before.

"Martin
Cordell."

Of
course
it was him. Gwen didn't know what to do at first, but then
decided that, if she had to be faced with an unpleasant person, she could at
least do it with grace and enough style that
she
wasn't the one that
looked bad.

"Martin!
Over here!" She let her hand go up, and waved to the man, who at first
looked confused, took in the uniforms and seemed momentarily scared, then, a
second later he...

Waved
back.

"Ah,
Miss Farris! Miss Westmorland! So nice to see you both. Are you traveling on
business?" The porter had his bags, and moved toward them, with Martin
right behind.

Sitting
with her smart, but ferrety looking friend, Clara the bigot looked mightily
baffled at the scene. She clearly understood who Mr. Cordell was, but didn't
get what he was doing, speaking in a friendly manner with an evil Westmorland.

That
made two of them, possibly three, so Gwen couldn't blame her at all.

"We
are. Here, sit with us. You can keep the mashers from taking liberties."
That was a thing here. Apparently, as socialized as most women were, they
wouldn't mention it if some man rubbed up against them in public, being too
mortified in general to speak up about it. The men would be beaten by any other
men around, if they were
caught
at it, but the risk was considered a
small one, most of the time. No one had ever tried that with her really. Well,
once, but she'd done the beating for that one herself, so it might not count.
Then, she didn't get out in public a lot. Not alone.

To
his credit, wacko bigot or not, he smiled and gestured to Sam, as if saying
that his bags should go into the rack over the four facing seats where Bethany
and Gwen were standing.

"Naturally.
I'm actually going to visit some friends. You know, hate rallies to plan, Telesar
programs to speak on." He waved this away as if trying to make it seem
only natural that he'd be sitting with them, out of all the people, or even
empty seats on the wheeled box they were in.

Considering
the first thing he'd ever said to Beth had been calling her a Westmorland
whore, that seemed a little out of place. They all got situated, and Sam looked
happy enough about everyone's manners, clearly thinking that this wasn't a
chance meeting at all, but rather their chaperone. If anything the porter
seemed to relax a bit. Why that was she didn't know.

Only,
she did, didn't she? It made sense. His job would be protecting them, Gwen and
her, from mashers and that sort of person. If it came down to it, his job,
along with the conductor and anyone else that was nearby, would be in
delivering those beatings if they were needed. Gwen really thought she could
handle that part, and had mentioned being armed, but the presence of a man with
them seemed to make him feel a lot more at ease.

That
or he really liked Martin Cordell.

Gwen
smiled at him, and then leaned into her friend, all of them still standing.

"Beth,
would you please return to your normal state?"

She
did, instantly, actually smiling.

"Mr.
Cordell! So nice to run into you like this. Gwen and I were just speaking of
you the other day in fact."

The
man looked suspicious then, but finally sighed.

"All
good, I take it?" Now he was a bit more like his normal self, Gwen
thought. Sarcastic. She'd heard him on the TS, and he only ranted about a third
of the time. The
real
danger he held was that he was smart enough to
make himself sound intelligent, even when saying stupid things. There was a
smooth and controlled presence about the man, most of the time. Worse, he was
sort of nice looking. Cute enough, at least for her standards, but he actually
looked
like he should be a friendly and gentle person. He was clean cut, and his dark
brown hair and slightly olive colored skin were both close to flawless, without
being pretentious. It was annoying in the moment, but that feeling passed
quickly enough. She was probably just feeling too tired for things like this at
the moment. That and her head still ached all the way through.

"Actually,
it
wasn't
bad, as amazing as that might sound. Ethyl Vernor is having a
party in a few weeks and Beth was thinking about asking if you'd attend with
her, as her date? It will give you a chance to make the papers, as well as
redeem yourself in Ethyl's eyes. We might have to bribe Robert Vernor and
Merchant Admiral Welk not to beat you, but that can probably be done, if we
start early enough." She let her eyes stay dead, not able to muster enough
hardness to even seem mean at the moment.

The
bigot slowly started to let his head bob, side to side, and then he flipped his
palms up.

"Miss
Westmorland, would you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you to the
party?" It was a decently polite and formal way of saying things even. Men
were supposed to do the asking, even if the woman was allowed to drop
incredibly heavy handed hints that they
wanted
to be asked.

Like
saying, hey, invite me to this party, and things like that.

Bethany
smiled, actually seeming happy about it. She was very cultured that way, when
you got down to it. After all, if you weren't seeing someone, and didn't have
another date, you were
supposed
to say yes to an invitation. Gwen didn't
know if it was a rule, but from what she'd seen, people didn't really fear
being rejected all that much.

Not
even hate mongering bigots, who were humorously enough, asking out the object
of their derision.

"I'd
love to. Thank you so much for asking. I know that everyone will be pleased to
see you there."

So.
It wasn't really news to Gwen that Beth could lie like a pro. Her job sometimes
demanded it, and really this entire culture did too, after a fashion. It was
their social rules that did it. Like right now, how both of these people, ones
that had every reason to personally hate each other, at least in theory, had to
make nice and pretend they weren't as close to enemies as could be without
bloodshed.

Not
that her world had been a lot better. As an outsider she'd noticed it, perhaps
more keenly than someone with a lot of good and healthy interaction would have
been able to. There was a difference though. Her people told little lies to get
ahead, or to preserve the peace. These people lived the lies they told, and
embraced them as if nothing else was holding the world together.