A wordless lullaby, sweet and warm like honeyed milk, poured out from a hollow in its trunk. Raya reached inside and pulled out a small hexagonal lacquered music box. Three tiny travelers, carved from mother-of-pearl, rode on horseback over the box’s shiny black lid. An inlaid full moon watched over them from a cloudless sky. Raya wondered if the travelers noticed that their voyage was without an end. She reached for its lid.
The box unfolded before she could open it, turning into a miniature mirrored ballroom on her palm. Porcelain dancers glided over an invisible track in the shape of an eternal knot, twirling, leaping, and pirouetting to a song and wish taking root inside Raya’s chest.
Live. Breathe. Be.
A freestanding black door, so plain that it was a stain against the ballroom’s glitter and gold, stood silent at the center of the whirling porcelain crowd.
The Elsewhere Express
Operating Manual
Section 12: Engine Maintenance
The key to safe and reliable operations is regular maintenance. To prevent breakage, stripping, and wear, it must be ensured that all moving parts are kept well lubricated. Special attention must be paid to the gears. Note, however, that excessive oiling may result in damage and so it is important to strictly adhere to the prescribed amount and frequency of application.
That is, if you are on any train other than the one for which this manual is written.
The Elsewhere Express is an engineering marvel built by the hours people have spent staring out of the window, wishing they were somewhere else. It is in constant motion, fueled by a steady stream of wandering thoughts. Every inch of the train writhes with reveries and vibrates with theconstant chatter of conversations people have with themselves. Its engine cannot spare a moment’s rest and the only maintenance routine it requires is peace and quiet. Out of the countless cars, the engine is the only place the Elsewhere Express has requested to keep for itself. We would do well to respect its wishes.
“Where is the engine located?”
Frequently Asked Questions
The Elsewhere Express
Passenger Handbook
Q
Not a single event in the history of the world was ever remembered the same way by everyone. This rule applied as much to wars as it did to high school. While some people cherished memories of fake gold crowns and satin sashes, others recalled lunch tables they weren’t welcome to sit at and stretches of hallways that made them feel small.
Q had a complicated relationship with his defining memory of boarding school. On the one hand, it taught him everything he knew about handling anxiety. On the other, it was impossible to remember a lesson without remembering its teacher. Fear was not a member of the boarding school’s faculty, but Q sat in its class at the headmaster’s office all four years of his stay.
The first rule for surviving Mr. Bailey’s interrogations about his latest disciplinary violation was to not move. Guilty people fidgeted. People who got away with their crimes did not. The second rule was to freeze his features in a mix of shock and indignation while ignoring the icy beads of sweat dripping down his nape. Feigning ignorance and offense for as long as possible allowed Q to determinewhether there was any actual evidence against him or if the headmaster was just fishing for proof.
None of these techniques, however, slowed his pulse in the slightest when he stepped into the lacquered music box and onto its dance floor. Navigating the bustling path to the engine’s black door required the opposite of being still. What he did need was a sense of grace and timing he did not have.
Porcelain dancers moved as one, following a dance choreographed to a lullaby and a rhythmic, mechanical hum. They weaved through one another, wearing faces that changed with every twirl. “Wasn’t that Alain?”
“It was,” Raya said. “And now it’s one of the chefs we saw at the Dragonfly.”
“Why do the dancers have the passengers’ faces?” Q scanned the swirling crowd.
“I don’t know, but whatever the reason, it looks like we’re going to have to find a way through them to get to the engine. How’s your sense of rhythm?”
“Let’s just say that you’re about to find out the real reason I have mismatched shoes.” Q winced. “I have two left feet.”
The swirling dancers forced anyone who wished to cross the ballroom to follow their flow. Each time Q bumped into any of them, the glittering ball’s attendees moved faster. One knocked into Raya’s back. She yelped.
“Sorry.” Q grimaced. “Left feet.”
Raya gracefully weaved her way to him, in sync with the music’s rhythm. “I have an idea.” She clasped one of Q’s hands and led the other to her waist, locking them in a dancer’s embrace. “Follow my lead,” she said, plunging them back into the path of the porcelain dancers, twirling as they did over the tracks.
Q did his best to keep in step, moving stiffly and holding hisbreath. He tripped over Raya’s foot and hit a dancer wearing Rasmus’s face. Dancer Rasmus wobbled, then twirled down the track, unwavering in its direction and purpose. The crowd of dancers spun twice as fast. “Sorry.” Q groaned. “Again.”
“Close your eyes,” Raya said.
“Huh? Why?”
