India and the Conundrum

Zhenya began walking back into the center of the station, with a determined pace that surprised even himself. Fausto had to hurry to keep up with him.

“Perhaps the man and his daughter are both magicians who have trapped us here below while they pursue who knows what nefarious purposes above ground,” he speculated, sounding a little breathless.

Zhenya shook his head.

“But don’t you see that there must be a villain somewhere, and at this moment, they are the primary suspects.”

Upon hearing no response, Fausto shrugged and tried again, “Or perhaps they are victims too. Perhaps the real villain has kidnapped the daughter, and you are the brave knight appointed by her father to bring her back.”

“Me?” Zhenya flushed. “I’m not a knight.”

“True, you aren’t exactly hero material. She didn’t look like a damsel-in-distress either, did she?”

“No,” he answered distractedly and came to a halt in front of the Map.

The subway network was a vast and not entirely sensible conglomeration of crisscrossing lines, which turned and looped around the metropolis so that there was always a station within walking distance of any intersection. However, more often than not, the nearest station would not be on the shortest possible path to one’s destination, and more than one passenger in a hurry had cursed the inefficient design that forced him to travel several miles uptown in order to transfer to a downtown line.

The seasoned commuter, of course, could expertly calculate at any given moment whether it was faster to risk an extra transfer by taking an express line or to exit and walk to another station. Less experienced underground travelers resorted to the Map. Every station had numerous Maps posted on prominent signboards, and major hubs like Cathedral Square had them displayed in full interactive holographic glory. If one stood in front of the Map and spoke the intended destination–in slow, distinct syllables, as the instructions reminded–the display would highlight the recommended path.

The nearest Map was surprisingly deserted; passengers were no longer concerned about where to go or how to go there, only how to get out. The only person consulting the Map was a small boy, who was shouting repeatedly, “Mer-ker-port Station! Mer-ker-port Station!” at the unresponsive board

“I believe it’s pronounced ‘Mer-SER-port’,” said Fausto, and the Map immediately lit up with a bright blue line.

The boy turned around and gave them a defiant glare. “I knew that.”

He was at least a head shorter than both of them, with neatly combed brown hair and a very pale, freckled face. He was wearing a school uniform and carried a bright blue cartoon lunchbox.

“Black Rook! I used to watch that show,” Fausto exclaimed. “Which one is your favorite character?”

Zhenya sighed and asked the more relevant question, “Where’s your mother?”

The boy’s mouth trembled but he said quietly, “I got lost.”

“Well, to get to Mercerport, you take the no. 11 line from here to Origami Street and transfer to the no. 3. Take that two more stops to–”

The boy gave him a nasty look. “I can read, thank you very much.”

Fausto snorted. “Ignore the brat, Venya. Where are we headed to?”

“I’m not a brat,” the boy said and stomped on Fausto’s foot.

“You little!”

“He’s just a kid, Fausto,” Zhenya said hurriedly, restraining Fausto by the shoulder.

“My name is Cedric.”

“Well, Cedric, clearly your mother hasn’t taught you any manners,” Fausto retorted with a dignified sniff.

At that, the boy’s mouth began to tremble again. “I want Mama,” he muttered almost inaudibly.

Zhenya suddenly remembered his first time in the subway: how large everything had seemed, the numerous dark corners that not even the brightest fluorescent lights could reach, the dangerous abyss where the train tracks rested, the way he had clutched his mother’s hand despite being nearly eight years old and almost all grown-up–

“We’re going to Mercerport too. Do you want to come?”

“Mercerport? But that’s all the way on the other side of the city!”

“Well, do you have any better ideas?”

Fausto consulted his notebook and scowled. “No, but–”

“Besides,” Zhenya interrupted, “I just remembered something important. Have you ever been to Mercerport?”

Fausto shoook his head.

“It’s the one downtown station that’s above ground. Don’t you want to see what happens when we go there?”

To be continued