The Talisman

good to those who do not deserve yer blessed presence . . .’ He crawled forward, and Jack saw with horror that he was about to begin that moony foot-kissing all over again.
    ‘Pretty far advanced, too, I’d say,’ Richard offered.
    ‘Get up, please, Anders,’ Jack said, stepping back. ‘Get up, come on, that’s enough.’ The old man continued to crawl forward, babbling with his relief at not having to endure the Blasted Lands. ‘ARISE!’ Jack bellowed.
    Anders looked up, his forehead wrinkled. ‘Yes, my Lord.’ He slowly got up.
    ‘Bring your brain tumor over here, Richard,’ Jack said. ‘We’re going to see if we can figure out how to drive this damn train.’
    2
    Anders had moved over behind the long, rippling counter, and was rooting in a drawer. ‘I believe it works on devils, my Lord,’ he said. ‘Strange devils, all hurtled down together. They do not appear to live, yet they do. Aye.’ He fetched out of the drawer the longest, fattest candle that Jack had ever seen. From a box atop the counter Anders selected a foot-long, narrow softwood strip, then lowered one of its ends into a glowing lamp. The strip of wood ignited, and Anders used it to light his enormous candle. Then he waved the ‘match’ back and forth until the flame expired in a curl of smoke.
    ‘Devils?’ Jack asked.
    ‘Strange square things – I believe the devils are contained therein. Sometimes how they spit and spark! I shall show this to ye, Lord Jason.’
    Without another word he swept toward the door, the warm glow of the candle momentarily erasing the wrinkles from his face. Jack followed him outside into the sweetness and amplitude of the deep Territories. He remembered a photograph on the wall of Speedy Parker’s office, a photograph even then filled with an inexplicable power, and realized that he was actually near the site of that photograph. Far off rose a familiar-looking mountain. Down the little knoll the fields of grain rolled away in all directions, waving in smooth, wide patterns. Richard Sloat moved hesitantly beside Jack, rubbing his forehead. The silvery bands of metal, out of key with the rest of the landscape, stretched inexorably west.
    ‘The shed is in back, my Lord,’ Anders said softly, and almost shyly turned away toward the side of The Depot. Jack took another glance at the far-off mountain. Now it looked less like the mountain in Speedy’s photograph – newer – a western, not an eastern, mountain.
    ‘What’s with that Lord Jason business?’ Richard whispered right into his ear. ‘He thinks he knows you.’
    ‘It’s hard to explain,’ Jack said.
    Richard tugged at his bandanna, then clamped a hand on Jack’s biceps. The old Kansas City Clutch. ‘What happened to the school, Jack? What happened to the dogs? Where are we?’
    ‘Just come along,’ Jack said. ‘You’re probably still dreaming.’
    ‘Yes,’ Richard said in the tone of purest relief. ‘Yes, that’s it, isn’t it? I’m still asleep. You told me all that crazy stuff about the Territories, and now I’m dreaming about it.’
    ‘Yeah,’ Jack said, and set off after Anders. The old man was holding up the enormous candle like a torch and drifting down the rear side of the knoll toward another, slightly larger, octagonal wooden building. The two boys followed him through the tall yellow grass. Light spilled from another of the transparent globes, revealing that this second building was open at opposite ends, as if two matching faces of the octagon had been neatly sliced away. The silvery train tracks ran through these open ends. Anders reached the large shed and turned around to wait for the boys. With the flaring, sputtering, upheld candle, his long beard and odd clothes, Anders resembled a creature from legend or faery, a sorcerer or wizard.
    ‘It sits here, as it has since it came, and may the demons drive it hence.’ Anders scowled at the boys, and all his wrinkles deepened. ‘Invention of hell. A foul thing, d’ye ken.’ He looked over his shoulder when the boys were before him. Jack saw that Anders did not even like being in the shed with the train. ‘Half its cargo is aboard, and it too stinks of hell.’
    Jack stepped into the open end of the shed, forcing Anders to follow him. Richard stumbled after, rubbing his eyes. The little train sat pointing west on the tracks – an odd-looking engine, a boxcar, a flatcar covered with a straining tarp. From this last car came the smell Anders so disliked.