The train exhaled steam like half-forgotten myth and its gears sighed as it curled downward into the lush and shadowed valley of the Almighty River Nile. There were no pyramids in sight, not even the half-crumbling whispers of one. No golden tombs, no royal sphinxes staring across the sands. Just the river, wide and winding, thick with crocodiles and damp green flora. It was the kind of plant with massive leaves that seem to whisper secrets when brushed by wind, lotus, or papyrus, perhaps, or something more ancient still.
Bearton rubbed his bear-eyes with his round paws and blinked twice. Then he squinted, furrowing his fuzzy brow. “Bob, Bob,” bear gasped, his voice catching like a vine on a breeze, “look, crocodiles! So many crocodiles! And they’re … alive!”
Bob the cat didn’t even lower the newspaper, which rustled faintly like old parchment. He turned a page with regal indifference. “Crocodiles are often alive, dear Bearton. It’s part of their mystique,” he said with all seriousness. Then he scanned an article titled: “Liquid Memory and the Keys of Hall of Amenti.” The illustration showed a basin glowing with shimmering blue water, captioned:
Where all things forgotten go to remember themselves.
“I suppose,” Bob muttered, almost to himself, “this may be our last stop on this route.” Then he flicked his tail. The train let out a sigh and stopped with a whisper and a moment of stillness. Suddenly the intercom chimed once with a metallic hum that rippled of ancient reeds and Conductor began announcing an unexpected detour:
Dear passengers aboard the Train to Elsewhere! This is your Conductor speaking from front cabin. We’ve made an unexpected detour, my sincere apologies. Our next stop is the Valley of the Almighty Nile, a place where time trickles sideways and crocodiles read contracts. Please be advised: a certain passenger has boarded the train, traveling under the alias Nafretiri. We call her Crocodama. She is charming, eloquent, and may offer you a deal. She is, however, known to collect interest on debts that do not exist, and will happily weigh your heart in exchange for something you’ve never owed. If approached, remain polite. If offered a contract, decline with grace.
Clack. Clack. Clack. A sound on the metal steps. And then she appeared. A crocodile, sleek, stately, emerald-scaled with a faint shimmer of gold dust along her snout. She wore a smart teal blazer, carried a black leather suitcase with gold lettering that read:
Venture Capitalist of the Underworld
Her heels were lacquered obsidian. Her eyes held both the Nile and the stock market. She stepped into the cabin, glanced once at Bob, nodded politely at Bearton, and without hesitation, sat across from them and crossed her legs.
“Good day,” she said with a smooth accent that sounded like ancient silt being stirred by moonlight. “I’m Nafretiri. I specialize in transformative liquidity and metaphysical assets. You must be Bearton. And Bob the Reader of Things Not Meant to Be Known.”
Bearton stood awkwardly and gave a little bow: “I … I like your suitcase.”
“Thank you,” she replied, “it carries contracts signed in ink, blood and unweighted hearts. All equally binding.”
Bob finally folded his newspaper. “And what brings you to the train today, Nafretiri?” he asked.
She smiled, showing just a hint of fang, and reached into her suitcase. “A pitch,” she said. “But not for a company. For a journey. You’ve arrived at the Nile, gentlemen. The river doesn’t flow one way here. It remembers too much. It plans for the future.”
She leaned in, lowered her voice: “I’m offering you access to the Hall of Amenti. In exchange for some future assets, of course.”
“Fine print. We are passengers,” Bob said, “not penitents.”
Crocodama suddenly leaned forward and whispered: “Then why have you come so close to the Hall of Amenti?”
Suddenly, her smile vanished and she added: “One of you will not leave this train.”
Continue the journey
Enjoying The Train to Elsewhere?
Leave a comment