“You have a lovely shop.” Raya tried to ignore the current buzzingthrough the tether and down to her toes. She kept her eyes from Q, reminding herself that however tingly and warm their laughter and banter were, it was an illusion. When the train’s map became obsolete and returned to the Archive, their connection would vanish too.
Manon smiled. “Thank you.”
“Which makes it even harder to comprehend why a perfumery would be considered an illicit business,” Q said.
“Perhaps this will make it easier to understand.” Manon took the small perfume bottle hanging from her neck and spritzed it in the air. Black pepper, patchouli, and damask rose bloomed around them.
Raya breathed it in. Piano music, mellow and smoother than good whiskey, flowed over the clinking of glasses and hum of conversation. An elegantly dressed crowd sat around a pianist’s small stage, chatting quietly and sipping pretty drinks. A man’s hand entwined its fingers through hers. Raya jumped in her seat, yanking her hand from the stranger’s grasp. The scene parted like a curtain, restoring the perfumery’s salon.
“Did you see that?” Q’s mouth hung half open.
Raya stared at her hand. Though it did not retain any marks or warmth from the fingers that had just weaved through it, her skin remembered the stranger’s touch. “I…I felt it.”
“That was a whiff of the night I met my husband.” Manon’s voice dimmed. “Unfortunately, he wasn’t lucky enough to get a ticket to the Elsewhere Express. I created this fragrance so that I could revisit that night whenever I missed him. There is nothing quite like the moment two souls find each other in life’s maze. Being lost together is the rarest of pleasures.
“My clients wear my nostalgia on their necks and wrists to experience what it’s like to long for someone you will never see again.”
“Why would anyone want to do that?” Q said.
“Why do people watch sad movies?” Manon’s gaze roamed over Raya’s face. “But this isn’t a fragrance you would ever select for yourself. You already know what loss is like. I can smell it on your skin. But this grief is not for a lover, no? Perhaps a parent? Or a close friend? Maybe a sibling?”
Raya stiffened.
“Do all of these bottles contain memories?” Q jumped in, plucking a bottle from a nest.
Manon nodded. “Memory is a perfumer’s trade.”
Warmth rippled from Raya’s end of the tether to Q, delivering her thanks. His eyes acknowledged it with a quiet smile.
“Memory is a place outside time.” Manon waved her bejeweled hand around the salon. “For as long as you are in this perfumery, all your worries are on pause. It is quite peaceful here, no?” She looked up at the tree’s canopy. “I always liked the thought of having an indoor garden, but my old perfumery could fit nothing more than a couple of flowerpots by the window. Here, there is no distinction between what you can grow in your mind and in the middle of a small perfumery.”
“You were a perfumer before you boarded the train too?” Q said.
“Yes. But my old atelier wasn’t anything as fancy as this. I sold it when my husband got sick so that I could care for him.”
A breath stopped midway to Raya’s lungs. She gaped at Manon and blinked.
“Is something wrong?” Manon said.
Raya released the breath and choked on it. “You’re not like the others on this train. You remember your past. How is that possible?”
Manon stared back at her, her eyes mirroring the questions darting through Raya’s. “When did you board?”
“This evening.”
“That explains why you are the first visitor to ever ask me that question. All my clients have been on this train for a very long time, so long that they’ve forgotten how to look at things closely. But to be fair, it’s a lot easier to sit through an endless journey when you don’t notice the lumps on your seat. Sadly, not everyone on this train has the luxury of being comfortable. As a perfumer, carrying extra baggage is a job requirement. To create fragrances, it is not enough to have a good sense of smell. You need to know what different scents conjure. This is not a skill you can learn overnight. It is knowledge that can only be acquired over time by using all your senses. I could not drink Mr. Goh’s tonic and find my place as a perfumer on the Elsewhere Express at the same time.”
“You kept your memories…” The gold knot on Raya’s palm burned into her skin. “And didn’t turn into an Echo.”
Manon closed her hand around the perfume bottle dangling from her neck. “No, I did not.”
“Is it because you found your compartment quickly? Did it anchor you to the train before your excess baggage could drag you off it?” Q’s words sounded less like questions than pleas for answers he wanted to hear.
Manon shook her head. “I boarded the train long before Rasmus invented a way for passengers to carry train tickets on their palms. I’m not sure if I would have had the courage to refuse to drink Mr. Goh’s tonic if I had to watch my knot unravel. But I would have tried. As much as I wanted a new beginning on this train, I was not going to lose my husband again.”
“That’s why the perfumery is behind a locked door…” Raya pressed her hand over her mouth.
“Rasmus’s invention is very clever, no? People obey fear better than they obey rules. Come, while you’re here, let me show you how I make my perfumes.” Manon walked over to an oval mirror adorned with an etched border of hummingbirds in flight. “All my clients find the process fascinating.”
