There was a rhythmic clatter of the train’s wheels against the tracks as Betty watched the commotion, frozen in fear.
Myron was writhing around with the creature on the floor as Betty, the woman who forgot her name, busily hurried around for her sword. The wooden toy for a weapon had fallen onto the floor once the carriage began snaking around reckless terrain.
The thing that climbed on top of Myron looked very much like a person, though it looked as if someone had painted a human from memory. The parts were all there, but something was missing. It had skin the color of bone, which turned to slime once it wrapped around Myron’s limbs, his throat. The shape of the creature seemed to mold and change, wisps of skin flaring up in the windy carriage and moved like the smoke and flame of a candlelight.
Betty finally appeared in front of Myron when he needed her most, her wooden sword held awkwardly in both hands. She was trembling, clearly out of her element, but her eyes were wide with desperation. Without hesitation, she swung the sword at the monster choking Myron’s neck. The blow struck with an unsatisfying thwack, but the force of the hit seemed to send a ripple through the creature''s amorphous form. It recoiled, momentarily distracted, and Betty didn’t hesitate to strike again, her sword making contact with the creature’s gelatinous surface now exposed from its human disguise that peeled away like paper. To Myron''s surprise, the blow forced it to break apart into a mess of dripping ooze.
Just when the man thought he had freed the bow that was pinned underneath him, another slime had reached where he was, wrapping its tendrils around his arms that were already wet with green blotches.
Betty went for the second slime, this time with a lunge of the sword.
“Stay down!” Betty shouted, her voice shaky but resolute.
It penetrated through the creature with initial resistance that felt to the woman like stabbing through sun-damaged leather, which must have been its rubbery skin. Once deep enough, the blade gave easily into its interior of gooey makeup.
When she retracted her weapon out of its shoulder, it quaked for a while. Waves of agony seemed to dance through the creature, before a distinct pop was heard throughout the train. All of its skin-facade seemed to shed away in bits like a popped water balloon, leaves of flesh breaking away as readily as fallen leaves from a tree in Autumn, remaining only as a cascade of a green waterfall, which, unfortunately, had just poured out all over Myron’s body.
“If there’s a tanner in this place, you’re buying me a new one.” Said Myron.
“Saving your life wasn’t enough?!” Betty shot back.
Without warning, a wet slap shoved her down with force. Betty went tumbling straight into the wooden floorboards of the carriage, and as she fell the tip of her sword became wedged.
Above her, one of the slimy masses lurched, a translucent-green lake of mucus pooling at its feet that stung the air with the smell of rotten mulch and sulphur.
Pulling and jostling the wooden blade would not set it free.
From the corner of Betty’s eye, he saw Myron shoot up with a spring in his step, chunks of mossy-colored lumps rolling away from him as he rose to his feet. He had waited for this moment for years, and it had finally come: The chance to put his bow to use.
He wriggled his fingers free of gunk and pulled a stone-tipped arrow from his back in quick succession.
But the pair saw something rather unexpected.
Moving with a mind of its own, the jelly on his skin started to amalgamate and lurch towards the spaces between his fingers with a worm-like crawl. Did these even creatures have a brain? How did they move after being sliced to bits?
The two of them stared in horror as the cut chunks of goo operated autonomously. All the while the pale man standing at Betty’s feet inched closer and closer, its maw agape as a tunnel of hungry, toothless sludge.
When Betty snapped her head towards her partner, he had already fired an arrow. Her eyes widened watching the projectile soar through the air of the carriage before shooting through the arm of the mass next to her.
It gurgled and coughed a splash of sputum and painting across the rustic wall of the train, making it look like how a forest would appear when viewed from the top down.
Myron was in his element, and she was impressed. Betty sensed that he had felt the same uncoordination, but beneath that, a glimmer of experience of using his weapon before that simply couldn’t be explained.
One, two, three, four, five. Betty listened and heard each and every loading of Myron’s bow before a shot was fired. First, they sounded like a wet splash of a puddle, followed by a distinct clink of the arrow passing through and bouncing off the metal carriage. Lastly, there was a pop before the sound of flooding water as the creatures erupted under the stress of the holes in their makeup.
There was no more shifting of feet or bubbling of green appendages. In the new carriage, the pair found themselves alone with the mess, trying to catch their breath.
From one of the stains in the floorboards where a monster once stood, Myron salvaged around a pulled out a golden ring the slime must have dropped on the floor once it evaporated. Betty gave him a weird look.
“What? I mean it might do something.”
It was then when Myron noticed the woman was holding her weapon and must have wriggled it free during the scuffle.
Betty held it far away from her face, as one would holding something with a putrid odour. “It all feels so unnatural to me. Using this, I mean.”
“Me too.” Myron nodded. “But we’ll get used to it.”
“No, don’t get me wrong. It’s not using it that’s an issue-”
“That’s not what I saw back there. Seemed like a bit of a problem.”
“Hey? What are you trying to say? I can use this thing, alright, I saved your ass the first swing.” Betty said. “But I would be better off with something else, you know? Something less… confrontational.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry. Thanks for that. How about we find you a staff?” Myron asked.
“That would be perfect. You think I can find one of those?”
“I guess we’ll find out shortly.”
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At the far end of the room, past the piles of pretend-human clothes piled in jelly, was another gate guarding path to the next carriage.
Myron stood on the tips of his boots and reached for a brass level next to the door. It groaned as he pushed down, before clicking into place. As it did, the roller door began hoisting itself up, revealing the room beyond.
Inside, nothing was like the mess the two had left in their wake in the previous carriages. There were no harsh, stained floorboards or rusty walls - this was a place of beauty and opulence. Silver chandeliers draped from the ceiling, their dainty crystal lights shining a soft, warm glow inside of the carriage. Where the walls had once been shoddy metal, they had been replaced by dark oakwood, beautifully smoothed and carved with patterns and a language neither could understand. Every detail, from the maroon carpet below their feet or the golden decorations adorning the walls, spoke of inviting comfort. A reprieve.
Most curiously, standing in the center of the car and behind a polished copper counter, was a peculiar figure. The conductor - or rather, the salesman, was a creation of brass and copper. Looking over at the pair was a steampunk creation composed of clinking gears underneath a metallic and glass body. HIs head was a short block pillar forged from ingots that sat upon oddly shaped but flattened panels of various brown and orange metals When he noticed that the carriage had been unlocked for the first time in what must have been many years, he seemingly came alive. His electronic eyes the color of frost began blinking and flashing, his straw-like limbs frantically sorting through his various wares upon the bar top. Below his engraved neck was a single golden placard that read: CURATOR OF COMBAT.
“Oh, oh! Welcome adventurers!” He sputtered. Betty immediately recognized his robotic voice, the same one that had dubbed over the induction VCR in the basement of her old workplace.
Betty and Myron approached the bar with utmost curiosity. Betty reached out one finger to inspect the robot but quickly retracted it after catching wind of Myron’s disapproving shake of the head.
“I am the shopkeeper!” It said. “Please present your coin bags.”
The two briefly exchanged a confused glance before noticing the two, conveniently and neatly placed cloth bags at the bar. They swiftly picked them up and awaited instruction.
Before they could say anything back to the mech, golden coins began to spill out towards them. From a slot hidden in the palm of the robot, they rolled across the counter and the pair caught them in their baggies.
“Each a token for slaying the creatures in the last room. Six for the archer, and two for the warrior.” The shopkeeper said, his eyes flickering with each word iterated through his speaker. “You have done well travellers! Now, the question is: How well shall you spend your bounty? Perhaps, to your left warrior, a pretty new stone sword? Or, for the both of you, a concoction of Devil’s Rye? Though, I cannot say if it will bring nightmares or dreams.”
The robot’s limbs clicked as he gestured to the various items displayed on the counter. The selection was staggering, each item more intriguing than the last. There were vials of shimmering liquids, each with a different hue, some glowing faintly and others bubbling over the lips of their vials. Potions and elixirs of all kinds filled glass bottles on shelves that stretched high above them. On one side of the counter, small mechanical gadgets ticked away—gears, springs, and even strange contraptions that seemed to pulse with barely-contained magic. The opposite side, various weapons, a birch bow, a stone sword, and a couple trinkets.
“Er, sir - uh - robot, shopkeeper,” Betty started. “Why should we purchase any of these?”
The shopkeeper tilted his head, and the pair watched in silence as they saw gears turning through the glass of his mind. As if he were thinking.
“You, my travellers, are at the last stage of your onboarding! What is through that door, I do not know, I cannot prepare you for it, but you will need my wares to have a good shot and finish your training.”
“Say, if we were successful, what comes after that?” Myron asked.
“The train stops, and the door opens. Then you’re on your own.”
Betty felt something flutter in her stomach, or chest, she wasn’t sure. It was a sensation of both excitement and fear. As daunting as this experience was, she had enjoyed the guardrails up until now. Get to the next carriage. Easy enough. But freedom?
One potion caught Myron’s eye—a liquid that sparkled like liquid glow worms, suspended in a crystal bottle. A small brass tag labeled it: “Moonlight Concoct: Temporarily grants the user the vision of an owl. Perfect for hidden enemies.”
The archer could imagine how useful that would be in an upcoming battle, if there even was one. He turned to Betty, who had eyes flicking to the second item he had seen—a small pouch of glitter dust, labeled: “Silver Mist: Create a disorienting cloud of smoke to confuse enemies for a brief moment.” Betty looked at it, her eyes lighting up with curiosity. She could definitely use something like that to her advantage.
“Be mindful, though—your coins are precious. They can only buy you so much.” The robot chimed in. “Choose wisely, for you don’t know what is in store for you. May I suggest an array of wares? A broad range of equipment may prove invaluable.”
Betty hesitated, glancing at the items on display. She could feel the weight of the coins in her bag, but she wasn’t entirely sure how to prioritize. Myron’s instincts told him to go for something that would help them see or react faster, but the weapons on the other side were equally enticing. After all, she didn’t feel quite at home using the sword.
“Myron,” she said softly, “I’m not sure what we should get... What do you think?” Her voice trembled slightly, the weight of their journey ahead pressing down on her.
Myron studied the selection. His gaze shifted from the Moonlight Concoct to the Silver Mist, and then to a set of finely crafted arrows, each one tipped with gleaming crystal. They were expensive, but the idea of having a reliable backup against whatever was lurking in the next carriage was too tempting to ignore. Especially if it meant if his arrows could cut deeper.
“Do you have anything else available?” Myron asked. "Anything not on the counter, maybe something to heal us if we get injured?”
That’s a good decision, Betty thought. A bit of brains with his brawn.
The robot whirred and clunked, before speaking: “I have just the one thing.” He began reaching under the counter for something. “You two are neither a mage. So during sorting, I thought not to put it out. My apologies, masters.”
With two hands, the robot hoisted a large two-handed staff that was under the bar.
Myron could almost feel the electricity coming from the woman beside him when she sat her eyes upon the weapon.
It was a beautifully crafted piece. The base was constructed with smoothed wood from a tree Betty couldn’t name, with small protrusions where hardened roots served as the grip. At the pinnacle was a long oval-shaped gem that occasionally sparkled with miniature flashes, as if it contained a storm for fairies.
Almost to squash her elation, the shopkeeper hurriedly scrawled the price on a piece of folded paper and plopped it adjacent.
“The staff will be eight coins.”
Betty deflated. “That’s too much for us. Thank y-”
“We’ll take it.” Myron interrupted. Betty looked at him with eyes that glossed him over.
“We can’t, that’s all our coins! We need to invest in supplies, Myron.”
“I’m investing in you.” Myron nodded. “Told ya’ we’d get you a staff.”
For the first time since waking up on this train, Betty smiled.
“Very well,” the Curator said, his gears clicking as he carefully placed a metal pipe, or vacuum, upon the bar. “Bags open, please.”
The two complied, and soon the sound of swishing violently cut the silence as they watched their coins being pulled straight out of their bags and into the robot’s suction device.
“The staff for you madam.” He handed her the weapon. It felt like a hot potato in her hands, she didn’t want to drop it.
“Remember, you’ll need more than a shiny new weapon for what’s ahead. A strong heart and teamwork are just as important.”
A speaker chimed from the chest of the mech:
–WARRIOR HAS SUCCESSFULLY CHANGED CLASSES TO MAGE….--
So, it’s official now. She thought. I just need to figure out my name.
The two still had no idea what kind of challenge awaited them in the next carriage, but now they had a glimmer of hope.
The Curator’s voice echoed in the back of their minds as they stepped toward the door of the next car: “The next challenge awaits, brave travellers. Will you survive it? Only time will tell.”
The train rumbled forward, and when the door finally opened, they both immediately regretted not buying the array of supplies.