The train station was not more than a dozen blocks from Augur Lane, although accounting for distances precisely was never an easy task along New Fiddleham’s unorthodox roadways, and no less complicated in the dim predawn light. I would never fully come to understand the logic behind the city planning. Some streets ended abruptly after only a few blocks, while others mysteriously changed names and ambled off. Roads meandered and intersected at odd angles, necessitating creative mosaics of masonry where conflicting cobblestones converged. Gradually growing familiar with at least a few of the city’s quirks felt like becoming privy to an inside joke, and I had started to feel the subtle pride of being in on it.
We made good time, and although the sky was aglow in anticipation, the sun still had yet to make an appearance when the thick marble pillars of the station house rose before us. I took a seat on a bench inside and watched the milling crowd while Jackaby went to purchase tickets. The station opened onto two broad platforms framed by heavy roman columns. The main building had a high roof with an ornate tin ceiling, which helped the space feel open in spite of the growing crowd of waiting passengers.
A group of well-dressed businessmen shuffled along, arguing about something or other, and as they passed, my eyes locked on a figure beyond them. Standing just outside the doorway to the first platform was a stout man dressed in a black coat with a dark waistcoat and a wooly scarf. His skin was sickly pale, and his chin had the bluish stubble of a day-old shave. There was no mistaking it; he was the man I had seen from my window, and he was staring right at me. Between the Jenny situation and our leaving for the valley, I had completely forgotten to tell Jackaby about him. The man caught me looking but did not drop his gaze. He only turned up the corner of his lips in a slow smirk that made my skin crawl. A family with six or seven noisy children cut between us, and when they had passed, the pale man was gone.
Curiosity burned through my chest, and before the man could get far this time, I hopped up from my seat and rushed to the door. The platform ran along the length of the building, and I caught sight of a dark coat rounding the far corner as I emerged. I glanced back, but Jackaby was still waiting in line at the counter, his back to me. Scowling, I rocked back and forth on the balls of my feet for just a moment, and then took off out the door and down the platform.
Passersby gave me affronted looks as I wove between and around them to hurry down the length of the building. I came skidding to a stop as I reached the end of the station house and rounded the corner, narrowly avoiding plowing into a little old lady in ragged clothes who was rummaging through the refuse bins. I stood, panting and peering from building to building, but the pale man was nowhere in sight. The sun was just creeping above the line of the horizon, and its reflection bounced blindingly off the nearby windows.
“Abigail Rook!” The ragged woman smiled up at me like a pleased old auntie.
I caught my breath. “Oh goodness—Hatun. How nice to see you again.” Hatun was one of Jackaby’s occasional contacts on the streets of New Fiddleham. “Did you happen to see a man run through here?”
She thought hard for a few seconds. Her face crinkled up in concentration.
“Just now?” I prompted. “Did you see someone run through here just now?”
Her face brightened “That’s what it is!” She clapped her hands happily. “You’re alive! That’s what’s different about you.”
I blinked. “Yes. Erm. I was alive the last time you saw me, too.”
Hatun waved her hand dismissively. “Right, right. Sometimes I see things a little out of order is all. All the same, I’m glad you’re not dead just yet.”
“Well, thank you for that, I suppose.”
“You’re leaving town?” she asked.
“Yes. For Gadston, on the next train. You didn’t see anyone?”