On the Cardholm Train

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 There is a train in Wonderland that runs however it pleases with the clock. Behind it, with it, against it, ahead of it, or entirely above it, its lines won't run in time with the ticking of your pocket watch. The Glovemaker already knew that. 

He also knew that despite time's lack of a hold on the train, the train always ran like clockwork. It arrived as punctually as any normal train could hope to arrive at every stop along its line, and the stops on the line in Cardholm were no different from the rest. You just never knew how much time you would spend on the train between getting on at 7:42 a.m. at Whittenbelly and getting off again at 8:03 a.m at Blacktop. It could be 30 seconds, it could be 7 minutes, it could be 3 hours. At least, that was how it ran between the stops in Cardholm. He had heard, of course, that it ran differently beyond the Garden Walls. Many things did. 

As the story went, it was quite the wild ride outside the hedge, and the Queen, in an attempt to bridle the unbroken train, sunk the tracks that ran through Cardholm deep underneath the earth. This of course kept the train from bucking and rocking and jumping into the air, but the train, finding itself unable to leap through space, simply made the decision to instead leap through time. The Glovemaker was unsure how the Queen felt about this. Other than what she usually felt about everything. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say he was unsure of what the Queen thought about this. 

The train that the Glovemaker was currently sitting in came slowly to a halt, and the horn affixed to the station arch screeched loud enough to be clearly heard through the still-closed doors of the train. The Glovemaker set the Daily Bulletin, as the Queen's hateful propaganda was called, on his lap, and pulled his watch out of his waistcoat. Only seven minutes. A very short commute. The doors opened, and a few passengers filed out. A few more came in. 

The Glovemaker settled back into his seat and shook out his Bulletin again so he could read as he thought. 

The Glovemaker had begun his journey at one end of the city, and he was going to the opposite one. As they wound their way under deeper streets the train quickly filled nearly to bursting with people deeply of the city, loud and hawking their wares, quite and glaring at the floor, anxious to get home or anxious to get to work, or to get from work to work, or to get from idleness to idleness. 

The Glovemaker stood to give a woman with an angry child his seat. She looked at him fearfully, then when he looked away she sat quickly, and didn’t look at him again. Four stops from the last stop, and the train emptied suddenly. The Glovemaker sat back down in his seat, and pulled out his Bulletin. Three stops from the last stop the stragglers dispersed, and the only people left on the train were the dregs of society. The second to last stop from the last stop in Cardholm was when the dregs took their leave. The Glovemaker did not look up from his Daily Bulletin, and he was the only soul on the train when it pulled into the last stop in Cardholm. 

He didn’t look up, or so much as twitch a toe to get up when it stopped. There was no horn screeching at this stop, but there was raucous laughter and the roaring of more than one angry man talking amiably with another angry man, and other noises that the Glovemaker had no desire to know the origin of. 

He looked up only when a man came away from the firelight and violently shoved the train doors open. The Glovemaker met his eyes and the other man met his eyes and nodded. The whites of them were yellow and bloodshot. There was the flash of a grin and the doors slammed closed. The train began to go on, and as the wheels began to chug chug chug he shook out his Bulletin. The Queen Mourns Loss of Builders’ Association. That distracted him for a moment. And after that moment he found they were running through a differently-shaped darkness. 

He set the Daily Bulletin carefully on the seat next to the seat next to his, and looked at the windows. They were only reflecting the inside of the car at the moment, but soon that reflection would be pierced by sunshine. And he would get to see what it was that sunshine fell on. 

He would get himself a taste of freedom.


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