Mislaid Tracks

Those behind the trees

The lanterns were out, for about a mile down.

It was not unheard of, just extremely uncommon. The inspector said guards had been sent ahead; we'd be moving again in about an hour.

The lanterns were out.

That was the most curious part. Not destroyed- out. Destroyed lanterns could be passed off, a herd of forest deer had raced from one tree line to the next and the lanterns were a consequence, or something along those lines. The lanterns didn't just go out. The inspectors assurance it was the wind didn't sit right with me.

My employer, the prestigious Lord Dolsing, had sent me to Holland, to catch the train I was currently on, then stay with his friend in Geneva for a night, before heading further east on the 206 to Vienna. There, I was to bid on -and inevitably win- an antique chair which formerly sat in Tsar Peter's personal quarters. Peter had been an uncle to the Lord and the chair held fond memories. Then I would catch a private carriage west to Calais along the 106. A charted boat would take me to England and Arthur had a cart to take me and the chair home.

A simple journey only spanning three to four days and the pay was excellent- I had been lucky to be offered it and not some other envoy. The sheer amount however for such high tickets and transportation for a mere chair was mind boggling. But it was an easy trip.

The lanterns weren't supposed to go out in the middle of the Wallen Weil.

I stood and slid the door to my compartment back. The hallway was void save for the burning lanterns and an old lady pottering further down. I stepped out, sliding the door shut behind me and turned right towards the back of the train.

All trains of prestigious account, such as the one I was on, held a viewing balcony at the back of its final carriage on the top floor. This was to allow those who bought premium class tickets an uninterrupted view of the landscape they passed and to allow fresh air to the queasy among the first-class passengers.

I reached it and opened the door. An eerie silence met me, much unlike the screeching of steam that was supposed to be heard. It jutted about seven foot out, ending in a railing. Two benches faced the back of the train. To my left was a man in the blue J.Q uniform of the Nederlands guard, gun slung over his shoulder. He nodded at me as I emerged before speaking.
''All passengers are advised to stay inside while we are travelling through these parts Sir, especially if we aren't moving''
''I am sure I will be fine- you look perfectly capable of fighting of some rogue bear'' I offered a light chuckle. The guard shrugged ''company policy I give you the warning, stay out here as long as you like''

I nodded and took a seat. The lanterns behind us were still lit, illuminating the tree line crowding either side of the rail, shadows dancing on the trunks that rose a hundred foot up, before the twisted wood sprouted their tough green leaves. Barely visible through the thick foliage above the tracks were the stars, glowing their omnipresent white and blue. At the trees base was thick foliage that I was sure would come to about my hip. It too was eerie silent. The crackling of lanterns the only consolation to me.

''So how long have you been a guard?''
''Apologies sir, but I cannot make idle chat. The train is static and requires my uninterrupted attention''

And so with no conversation I let my eyes wander back to the gnarled world before me. The forest stretched itself across was what known of land, from Lisbon to Khrov, up through Scandinavia. It was rumoured it went down through the Middle East too, and stretched to Shanghai. I had never seen the forest in the flesh before, and I wondered if the tales had greatly exaggerated it, like drink and time do to many stories. The next horrifying moment confirmed the rowdy stories held truth in them.