Eve of Solis 80th, three years prior.
The glorious Festival of Aetherium was in full swing in the Empire’s capital. As midnight approached, a thundering chorus of explosions shook every house and set the night sky ablaze. Trails of reds, yellows and indigoes—the three colours that made up the Empire’s coat of arms—streaked up to the heavens, disappearing among the clouds for a single moment before bursting into a brilliant firework show.
The main square, lit so brightly by gas lamps that night seemingly changed into day, was packed to the brim with exuberant crowds watching the fireworks. With each successive burst, cheers of ‘happy New Year!’ and ‘long live the Empire!’ resounded, along with enthusiastic clapping and whistles. Surrounded by glowing, gas-lit snow flurries, hundreds of women in colourful plumed hats and men in their best suits met and danced. Everyone, even strangers, offered drinks and well-wishes at every street corner. Festive music played throughout the streets, accompanied by the constant roar of fireworks high above, children’s squeals of joy and murmurs of conversation thrumming through the electric air.
—at least, that was how Xavier imagined the festival would be like as his eyes mused on the inky sky. The lights and noise of the capital didn’t reach this far into the snowy countryside. In fact, his surroundings were so quiet that only the soft crunching of snow and gravel could be heard as he trekked along the remains of an overgrown railway track. He was all alone, with only the foreboding evergreen forest to keep him company.
Just as he was beginning to doubt that he was going in the right direction, the vague outline of a water tower appeared in the foggy distance. He quickened his pace immediately, relieved to find a train station sitting by the abandoned rail line a few paces later. He had finally reached the correct rendezvous point.
Though patinated with age, the gilded Wagon Lit logo on the moss-covered brick wall still shone with a faded lustre in the silvery moonlight—a sign that the world-famous Orient Express called at this station once upon a time. He could imagine just how busy it would have been back in its heyday: signalmen waving down trains to stop and pass, workers rushing to pump fresh water up the well into the water tower, a train crew working tirelessly to resupply the coaches and refill empty tenders, preparing themselves for a long and possibly perilous journey.
Ling-ding-ling.
A rusted copper bell twinkled as Xavier pushed the flimsy door open and stepped inside the dusty wood-panelled waiting room. It was no bigger than a coalshed, so a quick glance told him that the person expecting his arrival wasn’t inside. With a sigh, he took off his heavy trench coat and draped it over the bench against the side wall. Someone, most probably a homeless tramp, had left a coal fire smouldering in the grate; its warmth was weak and fleeting, yet any amount of warmth was a welcome change from the biting cold outside.
“Master sure is getting tardy nowadays…” he muttered under his breath, plopping down on the bench to relax. A tempting drowsiness came over him almost instantly, however, and he quickly got up and paced slowly around the waiting room to fight off his urge to sleep.
His absent-minded gaze fell on an old wooden bulletin board on the wall behind the bench. There were a few dusty sheets of paper tacked onto it, yellowed with age but still barely legible. Old timetables denoting the arrival times of trains that no longer exist, mostly; a sign reminding passengers to present their tickets and documents to the conductor promptly upon request; a wartime poster warning that ‘loose lips sink ships’ and ‘beware of spies’; a notice announcing the permanent withdrawal of all Orient Express trains to Constantinople following ‘unfavourable political conditions between the Empire and the Khilafah’.
The sharp ringing of the bell caused him to almost jump in shock.
A tall man stood in the doorway, his shoulders so broad and thickly roped with muscle that they seemed to stretch against his very skin. Snow filled his brows and thick beard, and he smelt of wintergreen and damp earth. Without hesitation, he removed his hat and coat, draping them over Xavier’s own coat on the bench. “What’s with the frozen look on your face? Guilty of something?”
“N-no, I’m not,” he said indignantly. “You just took me by surprise, Master, that’s all. I didn’t notice your footsteps.”
“You were distracted. Amateur mistake, my protégé.” He walked in front of the smouldering fire and rekindled the embers with spruce twigs he had gathered outside. The pale reddish glow revealed his upturned lips and a twinkle in his deep-set eyes. “Been waiting for so long that the fire’s gone out, you know? Who’s the tardy one here now?”
Xavier could only give a sheepish smile in response.
Benedict laughed, his hearty, infectious laughter filling the small room. “Never mind that. I’m happy to see that you’re still alive and well, Xavier.”
His smile brightened. “Glad to see that you’re doing well too, Master. How’s your retirement been?”
“I’m perfectly content with my quiet and peaceful life,” Benedict said with a contented chuckle. “An old friend of mine has lent me a nice, cosy place to stay in Sirap—quite the charming city, I must add.”
“Oh? That sounds fantastic,” he replied, leaning against the wall. “Invite me to your place sometime, Master?”
“Sure, sure, just don’t cause any trouble for me or my friend.” Benedict nodded his head at him. “And you? Any luck finding a partner?”
“Still working solo, I’m afraid.” Xavier shrugged. “I don’t really mind it though. It’s nice to be able to keep all of the commission for myself too.”
He sighed in mock disappointment. “Maybe you should stop acting like a rascal and start improving your attitude and personality, then people will want to work with you.”
“If they can’t deal with the way I do things, then so be it,” Xavier said in a defiant voice.
“This rascal…” Benedict smiled and pointed at his coat lying on the bench. “There’s something for you in my right pocket. Go check it out, will you?”
“For me?” He gingerly reached his hand into the coat pocket and felt a cloth bag filled with something heavy; slowly pulling it out, he realised with a start that it was a pouch filled with shiny gold doubloons. “Master, this…”
“Take it as a New Year’s gift from me,” Benedict said with his back turned to him, pretending to poke the fire.
Xavier hesitated. “New Year’s gift?”
“Well, u-uh, it’s tradition for parents to give their children a good luck token on the eve of the new year, right?”
“B-but Master, this is too much for me to accept…”
“Don’t worry about it, I can get by fine even without this sum of money.” He turned his head and gave him a comforting smile. “I know you’ve been having trouble finding work for the past two months. If you still feel bad about it, how about you share a portion of your reward with me when you make it big?”
“Master…” Xavier choked back a tear and rushed forward to hug him. “Thank you for the present, I’ll definitely repay this debt one day!”
Benedict struggled to get out of his embrace, but he didn’t have the strength to push the emotional boy off his chest. “Y-you’re very much welcome…happy New Year, Xavier—”
Xavier wrapped his arms around his neck even tighter. “Happy New Year to you too, Master!”
Outside, the snow fell softly and silently, muffling their laughter.
