“Sorry,” Raya said, “but the train isn’t ours. We just borrowed it for the evening.”
Alain clucked his tongue. “That’s too bad.”
“What would you take for that scarf?” Q pointed to a pale purple scarf sitting on top of one of the baskets. A tiny butterfly flitted on a corner of the scarf, delicately embroidered in gold thread. Alain rubbed his chin, his hooded eyes glinting in the light of a streetlamp. “How much is it worth to you?”
“If I were to answer that honestly”—Q smiled, casting a glance at Raya—“I don’t think I’d ever be able to afford it.”
Alain laughed. “Deal. It’s yours. Take it.”
“We haven’t agreed on a price yet,” Q said.
“You’ve already overpaid. Truth and a good laugh are priceless. You’re a terrible negotiator. I was only going to charge you two questions for it and you could have haggled it down to one.” He took an emerald ring from the pile and tossed it to Q. “Take this too.”
Q caught it with one hand. “What’s this for?”
“I don’t want you to leave feeling like you were cheated. Scams are for the world outside the train. Here, you get what you pay for.”
“Isn’t everything here supposed to be free?” Raya said.
Alain pulled the oar as though he had not heard her.
“How would I have paid you with a question?” Q took the scarf from the basket and tucked it, along with the emerald ring, into his pocket.
“First time in the Wandering City?” Alain scratched his bulbous nose.
Q nodded.
“We do things a little differently in this train car. Here, we use questions as currency.”
“Why?” Raya said.
“Because they’re even harder to come by than bananas. It’s a crime how people hardly ever think about them. Very few thoughts about bananas ever board the train.” Alain sighed. “I never thought about them much either before becoming a passenger. Now that they’re so scarce, I’ve never craved them more.”
Raya nodded, unsure of how to respond. Bananas did not occupy much space in her mind either.
“The longer you’ve been on the Elsewhere Express, the less you question things,” Alain said. “Like anything you stop doing, in time, you forget how to do it. But residents of the Wandering City like to stay sharp. We have to. This train car keeps us on our toes. You never know where you’re going to wake up. This morning, I tumbled off a counter in the bakery.” The sampan rocked.
Raya grabbed hold of Q’s arm.
“Like I said, it keeps us on our toes.” Alain pointed to one of the carved stone bridges spanning the river. It shook, casting large chunks into the water. “Hold on tight.”
The bridge crumbled. Waves surged toward the sampan. Raya dropped to the floor, a pavilion crumbling in her mind. “Oh god. Not again.”
Q clutched her hand.
The river rippled as though coming to a boil. Tiny rocks shot out of the water. One flew past Raya, stopped, then hovered between her and Q. What she had thought was a stone was a small long-billed bird carried by a blur of wings. Hummingbirds. Hundreds of them.
One perched on Alain’s shoulder. “This is what happens when the Wandering City changes its mind. The thoughts in this train car are restless. They can’t stay in one place or shape for too long.”
A shimmer of hummingbirds flew over the boat. Raya gaped at them. “The birds are thoughts?”
“The fleeting kind,” Alain said. “Everything in this train car is made from transient thoughts, the sort that dash through your mind so swiftly that often, you’re not aware you’ve had them.”
The birds descended over a dock, churning the wind. Raya’s hair whipped against her face. The birds flew faster, blurring into a single form.
“This train car used to have other names,” Alain said, “but it was difficult to keep up with each time it changed. Yesterday, it was a Nordic version of New Orleans. The day before that, it was a cross between Tudor London and Taipei. Everything changes. Buildings. Streets. Even the weather.”
The whirlwind of wings settled, leaving a lighthouse where the dock had once stood. The new structure stood watch over the river, sweeping its beam across the water. Raya shielded her eyes.
