Amanderella and the Marduk Affair Chapter 3

Chapter Three.

A Train Ride.

The two women walked briskly towards the station, Amanderella’s bag bumping against her hip and Dotty trotting to keep up. Behind them, Mrs Gaffletter’s curtains twitched once, sharply, as if giving a final inspection.

At the end of the street, Dotty patted her coat pocket with sudden urgency. “Oh good,” she said, relieved. “I’ve still got my return ticket. I came in on the ten‑twenty‑three this morning. It stops at Bryn Celyn, just long enough to get a cup of tea before the connection leaves.”

Amanderella smiled. “That is good to know.”

Dotty nodded, a little proudly. “I got a cheap day return. Librarians aren’t well paid, and it’s much more sensible.”

“Mrs Gaffletter would approve,” Amanderella said.

“She doesn’t seem to approve of many things,” Dotty replied. “But I think return tickets might be one of the few.”

They reached the platform just as the train rumbled in, hissing steam that curled around their ankles. Dotty jumped, but Amanderella touched her arm reassuringly. They climbed aboard and found a Ladies‑Only carriage, where the seats were upholstered in faded floral fabric and the air smelled faintly of lavender and boiled sweets.

“Mrs Gaffletter will sleep better knowing we’re not in with the general public,” Amanderella said, settling her bag at her feet.

The whistle blew, the train lurched, and the town slipped away in a blur of rooftops. For a while the journey was peaceful, marked only by the rhythmic humming of the wheels and a brief visit from a ticket inspector whose moustache, according to Amanderella, wasn’t “plotting anything.”

Eventually the train slowed with a final, shuddering groan at Bryn Celyn.

“Ten minutes,” Amanderella announced, checking her fob watch. “Just enough time to test the tea kettle’s structural integrity.”

The junction was a chaotic whirlpool compared to their quiet carriage. Porters dodged between passengers with trolleys of wicker trunks, and the air was thick with coal smoke and fried onions. They reached the tea stall, a small wooden hut with a whistling kettle, and purchased two teas and two triangular currant scones.

“Stability is a rare commodity in a mystery,” Amanderella noted, blowing on her tea.

Across the tracks, a smaller, grimier‑looking train rattled into view. It lacked the polished brass of the main line; its paint was scoured by salt and Atlantic gales, and it puffed dark, oily smoke.

“That’s it,” Dotty whispered, clutching her mug. “The coastal connection.”

“It looks as if it’s seen its fair share of unpredictable currents,” Amanderella remarked. “Finish your scone, Dotty. The maritime world awaits.”

They crossed the rattling footbridge, met by a gust of wind carrying the unmistakable scent of seaweed. The connection train hissed impatiently, its engine giving a cough like a disgruntled walrus.

Inside, the carriage was narrower, with wooden seats polished smooth by decades of passengers and a faint smell of damp rope. A faded notice above the window read:

PASSENGERS ARE REQUESTED NOT TO LEAN OUT, EVEN IF TEMPTED.

“There’s definitely no Ladies‑Only carriage on this one,” Dotty whispered, sitting gingerly.

“No,” Amanderella agreed. “Coastal lines don’t bother. Too many fishermen, too many wet dogs, and too much weather. Mrs Gaffletter wouldn’t set foot on it, so we’re safe from her opinions for the next hour.”

The guard blew his whistle with weary authority. With a groaning heave, the train began to trundle forward.

“Next stop… Caerglas,” Dotty said, watching the platform slip away.

“And after that, Llandust, Coed Mor, and then Pentegfawr,” Amanderella added.

The train hugged the curve of the land, the rhythm steady and determined. Outside, the first glimmer of distant water caught the light, a thin silver line between earth and sky. Dotty leaned closer to the glass.

“There it is,” she whispered. “The sea.”

Amanderella smiled as the carriage filled with the faint, unmistakable tang of salt.

Pentegfawr lay somewhere ahead, waiting at the very edge of the map.