A young man with wavy brown hair to his shoulders and a bum-fluff moustache was standing over them. He grinned at them from the top of three brass carriage steps that unfolded and rested on the platform edge. He looked no older than twenty-one. His uniform suggested that he worked on the train, but he looked nothing like any Transport for London employee that any of them had ever seen. His jacket was livid blue, with tails and shiny gold-coloured buttons running in two straight lines from his shoulders down to his belt buckle. Horizontal braided stripes ran across his narrow chest. At his left breast were two small, tarnished silver medals. At the collar of his jacket was a long thin gold pin with the same winged 'W' logo they had seen on the train driver's top hat. He was wearing an old fashioned high sided cap, with a shiny ebony peak and a larger, gold badge that matched the one at his neck. It was pushed back on the top of his head. Resting on the peak of the cap was a pair of round, metal-framed goggles that attached to the hat with press studs above his ears. He was wearing tight trousers and knee-high jet-black leather boots that were shinier than the medals. His left sleeve sported an embroidered patch that read 'CONDUCTOR' in gold lettering.
"Customers!" he hailed again. "Welcome, welcome," he gestured enthusiastically, waggling a spoon. "Step on board the Shadow Kiss and please do not mind the gap, it is only narrow." He licked the spoon and slid it into the top pocket of his jacket.
"He's a much better actor than Isaac," admitted Rose.
They warily stepped up into the carriage and the heavy metal doors hissed closed behind them. It was a goods compartment. There was a strong smell of coal and oil. And sticky toffee pudding. Cardboard boxes were piled haphazardly against the walls, blocking some of the windows. Nestled amongst the collection of brown square packages was a small writing desk with a decorative, unlit lamp sporting a floral shade with fringe and tassels. A bowl with the remains of a meal sat on a thick book in the middle of the desk. A series of stained blinds shaded the carriage windows. It was dark. The young man clapped his hands twice and the desk lamp flickered into life, shedding a small pool of yellow light at their feet.
"Eeleye Slugcandle, at your service," said the man, giving a short bow.
Jack laughed out loud at the guard's name. "Seriously?" he sniggered. "That's the best name the tour company could come up with?"
"It is the best name that my parents could come up with," countered the conductor with a puzzled expression.
"That would be Mr. and Mrs. Slugcandle?" scoffed Rose, joining in the fun.
"Yes, of course!" said Eeleye, his face lighting up. "Do you know them?"
"Oh, you're good!" sniggered Rose.
"Unfortunately, the next departure is not for hours," said Eeleye, shaking off his confusion and continuing his patter. "Might I suggest a quick trip around the Emporium while you wait?"
"What's the Emporium?" asked Isla.
"Probably the gift shop," surmised Elliot. "These tourist attractions always get you to walk through it before you leave so they can get more money out of you."
"Everyone should visit the Emporium when they travel on the Wonderground," said Eeleye proudly.
"Excuse me," said Charlie. "Did you just say 'Wonder'? 'Ground'?"
"Wonderground," replied Eeleye, "one word." He pointed proudly at the large gold 'W' on his cap.
"It's a dusty, old, abandoned platform," said Jack disdainfully. "I'd hardly use the word 'wonder'!"
Eeleye moved to a small recess and pulled down on a large bronze handle. After a short burst of escaping air, the doors slowly hissed open again. "I beg to differ with you, young man," he exclaimed as a bright cobalt light flooded into the goods compartment from the platform.
The six inched to the doors in disbelief. Elliot removed his glasses, rubbed them on his lapel and popped them back on his nose. The platform was bathed in bright light from all the wall lights, each one pulsing with power. Pools of light reflected along the length of the platform surface which was now restored with graphite and black tiles laid in a diamond design. The platform was clear of rubbish. Not a crushed Starbucks cup in sight. The cream and jade green tiled walls sparkled and matching pillars arched over their heads, creating a series of stripes that looked like oversized zippers. Between the arches, the ceiling of the space was finished with enormous stained-glass motifs, lit invisibly from above, depicting creatures of all sizes and shapes, deserts and mountains, oceans and forests. It was beautiful. And silent.
"Pretty good special effects for a ten quid ticket," uttered Charlie breathlessly. They stared at the transformation to the platform. How was this possible? The awed silence was punctuated by the large analogue clock which struck twelve reverberating chimes. Swinging below the clock face was a wide, shallow rectangle of ash-grey slate, hanging in its rightful, horizontal position. In neat handwriting, it clearly said 'TRAIN APPROACHING' in white chalk.
They heard raised voices coming from the small wooden hut at the far end of the platform. The shed was no longer in disrepair but painted bumblebee yellow and displaying window-boxes blooming with sprays of daffodils. A wisp of curling, violet smoke issued from the terracotta chimney. It smelled of blueberries. The hut's pan-tiled roof was covered with pieces of scrap metal pipes, springs, cogs, bicycle wheels and varying lengths of planks and driftwood. There was a pair of motheaten train seats, in faded velour cloth, propped up against the window-box. A long metal sign hung over the door that said:
MESSRS F & D COPPERCLOUD ESQ – STATION MANAGEMENT
DO NOT FEED THE STATION MANAGEMENT
The front door of the hut flew open and two tiny men appeared. Identical twins, no more than four feet tall. The only difference in their appearances was their beards. Both white as snow but, whereas one man sported a big and bushy mass, the other had twirled his into a pair of plaits. Between them, held aloft above their heads, was a paint-spattered wooden step ladder.
They were dressed alike. On their heads they wore wide brimmed bowler hats. Attached to the front of each hat, by a leather strap, was a miner's calcium carbide headlamp. They were smartly turned out in white linen shirts, each with a shamrock green silk cravat and waistcoat, pressed corduroy trousers, and polished shoes, although the laces had been replaced with string. They wore knee length, heavily stained, suede aprons that were covered in tools: hammers, screwdrivers, magnifying glasses, scissors, spirit levels and miniature blow torches. Plaited beard's apron even had a lemon squeezer dangling under his left armpit. The tools were arranged neatly and held in place through tiny leather loops sewn into the aprons. From their mouths hung long, curling pipes and both were puffing out doughnut-sized rings of bright pink smoke from the corners of their mouths.
They seemed to be arguing.
They erected the ladder underneath the slate sign and both tried to climb it at the same time, jostling and grappling with each other before eventually ending up together in a heap on the square tiles.
"We both know, brother," said the bushy bearded twin, trying to stand whilst simultaneously pushing the other's face into the platform with his foot, "that it is my turn."
"You are losing your mind in your old age, Fynsent," condemned the plaited bearded twin with a mouthful of shoe. "Friday departures are, always have been, and always will be, my department."
"I may be losing my mind, dear Dewlyus," countered Fynsent, finally standing upright. "But you must have lost your calendar. Today is Thursday!"
"Is it?" questioned Dewlyus from the floor. He rolled over onto his back, fumbled in the front pocket of his apron and pulled out a small, battered notebook.
"It is," answered Fynsent, ascending the creaking ladder. "Besides, I am older which puts me in charge!"
"By three minutes!" protested Dewlyus, shaking the ladder at the bottom and causing Fynsent to lose his footing.
"Three minutes or three seconds. It makes no matter," stated Fynsent as he hugged the top rung. He steadied himself and reached to unhook the rectangle of slate from its two chains. "First-born is still first-born."
"Fine," muttered Dewlyus under his breath.
"Thursday departures are, always have been, and always will be, my department," Fynsent said victoriously, struggling back down the ladder with the slate under one arm and his pipe smacking each rung as he descended.
Dewlyus produced a well-used crumpled handkerchief, delicately stitched with a monogrammed 'DC', from his trouser pocket and blew his large, bulbous nose before smoothing out the dirty grey cotton square on the ground. His older brother carefully placed the slate on top of the hanky and removed a board rubber from beneath his hat. Painstakingly, he rubbed out the letters before selecting a chunky stick of fresh white chalk from a loop at his hip.
"Dear brother, if you could be so kind," said Fynsent, flicking down a hinged pair of square-framed spectacles from beneath the brim of his hat. "Remind me how you spell departure."
Dewlyus looked at him in disbelief. "You have been writing departure on that board every other day for ninety-two years, you idiot!"
"Which means I have had plenty of time to forget!" responded Fynsent impatiently.
Dewlyus sighed. "Very well. D – E – E – P – A – R – C – H – U – R."
"Of course. Thank you," replied Fynsent earnestly. He stuck out his tongue in concentration as he completed the sign writing. He stood, returned the chalk to its rightful place, picked up the slate and ascended the ladder to replace the sign on its hooks. He slid back down the ladder to join his brother. They looked up at the sign proudly, with their arms folded and resting on their round tummies.
"A thing of beauty, brother," congratulated Dewlyus.
The sign read:
THE NEXT DEEPARCHUR WILL BE WHENEVER TWIGPEPPER WAKES UP
"Thank you," Fynsent gushed. "That was not that difficult, was it? Do you feel better for helping your elder?
"Three minutes!" exhaled Dewlyus as they walked off in the direction of their hut, carrying the folded-up ladder between them.
"Technically, it was three and a half," replied Fynsent smugly from the front.
"Technically, you are a miserable old turd gremlin," Dewlyus mumbled from the back.
"What did you call me?"
"Nothing!"
"Because if I find out you called me a turd gremlin again..."
They disappeared into their hut and the door slammed shut behind them, causing the window-box to shudder. Seconds later, there was a crash of breaking glass and the end of the ladder protruded awkwardly through the smashed panes of the hut window. Beyond the hole, the arguing started again.
The children turned back towards the train in bewilderment, leaving the shouting twins behind them. Eeleye Slugcandle was seated on the goods compartment steps, picking bits of fluff from the sleeve of his jacket.
"You're not an actor?" enquired Charlie with a puzzled expression.
"I am a conductor," said Eeleye plainly. "I would have thought the uniform and the big train made that obvious."
"This isn't part of the tour?" queried Isla for confirmation.
"This is the 10:13 from The Leper Swamp," replied the conductor.
The six huddled closely together out of Slugcandle's earshot.
"What the hell is going on?" whispered Jack.
"We're not in Kansas anymore," said Rose.
"Are we even in London anymore?" asked Isla with a worried look on her face.
"Wherever we are, it's near a place called the Emporium," stated Charlie, recollecting the train guard's words. "I think we should head over there."
"Is that a good idea?" asked Amelia.
"Eagle-eye Slug-Cherry over there seems to think so," shrugged Charlie.
"Eeleye Slugcandle," corrected Elliot.
"That's what I said," smiled Charlie. "Didn't we sneak off from the tour looking for adventures? We've stumbled on something amazing!"
"Whatever we do," said Elliot, "we need to stick together."
"Agreed," exclaimed Isla.
"I'm in," said Jack.
"Follow the yellow brick road," declared Rose, readjusting her Nationals cap.
Amelia was the last to agree and reluctantly nodded her head. They broke from their huddle and returned to Eeleye. Isla apologised for their rudeness and asked for the way to the Emporium.
"Marvellous!" roared Eeleye with delight. He began spouting directions. "Second left. Third right." He paused. "Listen carefully," he warned, "you will then arrive at a pair of steel doors."
He stopped.
"And?" asked Jack.
"Ignore them," continued Eeleye. "Instead, go up the stairs. Over the bridge. Slide down the pole. Through the waterfall. Under the wyvern's head. You cannot miss it!"
"How are we supposed to remember all that?" wailed Elliot.
"You do not need to remember it," chortled Eeleye. "It is signposted all the way!" He directed them towards a wide stone arch next to the Copperclouds' shed. Painted on the tiled floor in gold lettering were the words 'TO THE EMPORIUM'. "Just remember to follow signs for the Frilly Line when you want to return here."
They followed sign after sign along an endless labyrinth of arched corridors. Posters were pasted to the tiles, advertising:
Broccoli Milk
Your kids will love the colour!
***
Visit Candelwrichstrete's premier restaurant and snail-racing venue
'The Hairy Maggot'
Tuesday is Squid Burger Night
***
Where are you going tomorrow...?
'The Zoo'
Pet the GHOST WHALES
Marvel at the newly arrived BARE-FRONTED HOODWINKS
Ride a DUNGAVENHOOTER (weight restrictions apply)
Adopt a DODO
***
Wonderground SALE
Bring your Grandma for 10% off all tickets
(Grandads not accepted)
***
Isla's feet were aching as they reached a dead end. Recessed into the wall was an impressive pair of sliding steel doors. The doors were protected by a cast iron scissor folding gate. Curling around the doors and twisting upwards was a spiralling metal staircase. Another 'TO THE EMPORIUM' gold-painted sign spread across the floor before them.
"Ignore the door," instructed Charlie, heading for the staircase. As the children ascended the staircase, each of them stepped on, but did not see, two tiny words painted before the first step:
SCENIC ROUTE