In a Weary World

Chapter V: The Capital City

Once you make a decision, the universe conspires to make it happen. -- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Hjalmar sat down to breakfast with an aggrieved air. He buttered a slice of toast to within an inch of its life and sawed a piece of bacon in two with such force that it was a wonder he didn't break the plate. All the time he pointedly avoided looking at Solvej. She sat across the table from him, daintily nibbling at a slice of toast and looking like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. From time to time her eyes stole to his still-damp hair, and she had to fight back a smile.

"Most people," said Hjalmar, addressing his remarks to his cup of coffee as if merely thinking aloud, "would allow someone to wake in their own time. If they had to wake someone, they would do so by calling their name or shaking them. They wouldn't throw things at them!"

"I didn't throw things at you. I dropped something on you. There's a difference. Don't you have any siblings?"

"Not much of a difference," Hjalmar muttered. "And yes, I have two sisters, if it's any of your business."

"No brothers?"

"No," Hjalmar said through gritted teeth.

"That explains it." Solvej sat back in her chair with the air of one who had solved a great mystery.

"What does it explain?" Hjalmar asked, feeling once more the bafflement caused by prolonged exposure to Solvej. Whether being dead had done something to her, or whether she had always been like that, he couldn't say. But there seemed to be two ways of looking at the world -- the normal way, and the Solvej way -- and rarely did the twain meet.

"Why, if you had brothers, then you'd be used to that sort of thing. But sisters..." She shrugged as if there was no more to say.

"Did you have any brothers?" Hjalmar asked, suddenly realising how little he knew about his self-appointed travelling companion.

"Four brothers. Two sisters," Solvej said around a mouthful of toast.

Hjalmar gaped. "Seven? My mother used to complain that three were enough to drive her mad!"

"My mother said similar things every time she got tired of all of us talking at once. Though she used words I'm sure your mother would never dream of using." A melancholy, far-away look crept into Solvej's eyes.

Hjalmar thought of his mother and the things she said when angry. "You'd be surprised. When she finds us especially annoying she uses words that would make a sailor blush."

They were silent for a moment, lost in their memories of their families. Then Solvej started to giggle.

"What's so funny?" Hjalmar asked, surprised.

"I was just wondering what your mother would say if she knew you were travelling with a ghost -- and for that matter, what my mother would say."

Hjalmar tried to imagine the scene. 'Oh, and by the way, Mother, I have a new travelling companion. She's a ghost with a habit of throwing sponges at people. Why, yes, I am perfectly sane. No, I haven't been drinking.' Hmm. Perhaps he should conveniently forget to mention Solvej in his letters.

"We should be on our way soon," Solvej was saying. "It's seven miles from here to Therlund."

"We can get the train," Hjalmar said, remembering an article in the newspapers back home. "They've finished laying the tracks between here and Therlund."

Solvej blinked. "What is a train?"

~~~~

There had been many new inventions and discoveries made since Solvej's death. The train was one of those. Such a thing had never been dreamt of when she was alive: a metal wagon that moved of its own accord.