The station was a sea of Indian and British passengers. Almost all of them were rushing to get to their destinations or else to escape the crush of people, the air malodorous with unwashed bodies, urine, dust, and smoke. A woman’s red scarf fluttered wildly in the wind, and children running by tried to grab it before they were chased away by a man in uniform; their laughter escaped the roar of the crowd like birds taking flight. The homeless sat slumped against a far wall, one of them singing hoarsely for change.
“Our train is on Platform Three,” Harris yelled above the noise, pointing to the far left.
They squeezed past the crowd toward the steam train, which was already sending up a coil of white smoke. The train was comprised of seven carriages painted black and red. A water crane was currently attached to the top of the boiler, refilling the steam engine’s tank.
“We’ve reserved the first carriage for you,” Harris told Danny and Meena as they hurried to the open door. “The soldiers will spread out. We don’t want anything like the airship incident.”
Meena and Danny climbed into the carriage, where the conductor punched holes in their tickets.
“Very happy to have you aboard,” he said in an accent that was not quite Indian, but not quite English. For that matter, his skin was lighter than the other Indians Danny had seen so far. “Please make yourselves comfortable.”
The front carriage was small but roomy. Danny and Meena stored their packs in the wire mesh above the burgundy felt-cushioned seats.
“We thought it would be best if you didn’t sit with the others,” Harris explained as he also stored his pack away. “In case someone’s eyes and ears wandered.”
“Are you sitting with us, Captain?” Danny asked.
“Just for the moment. I’ll go inspect the rest of the carriages as soon as we’re off.”
He wants to be alone, Danny thought with sympathy. He would probably do the same, if his lover and he had just been caught. Remembering the time Cassie had done precisely that, his face grew warm.
Danny looked out the wide window and watched the steam roll lazily toward the sky. The whistle blew, the door to the driver’s carriage opened, and two men stepped out to exchange a word with the conductor. A woman walked out after them and spotted Danny and Meena. She smiled and approached them.
“You’ll be the ghadi wallahs, then? I’m Amala, part of the crew.”
The woman’s skin was more or less the same shade as the conductor’s. Her dark hair hung in a heavy braid, and a blue cap was perched on her head. Her eyes were blue, her accent mostly English. Unlike Meena, who wore a pair of loose green trousers with a tunic she called a salwar kameez, the woman simply wore a pair of tan coveralls.
“That would be us,” Meena replied.
“The ones going to Meerut?” Amala glanced over her shoulder at the men, then leaned in closer. “Is this about the clocks falling?”
Danny opened his mouth to reply, but one look from Meena and he shut it again.
“It’s just that everyone’s so curious,” Amala went on. “First one tower falls, then another, and time not Stopping a tick. I lived in Burma as a child, and one of the clock towers there got fair banged up. Time skittered all over the place, and no one was allowed in or out until the tower was fixed. I wonder why it’s different this time?”
“We couldn’t say,” said Meena curtly.
“I’ve crossed a line, I see. Why don’t I make it up to you? I’ll show you how the train starts up.”
Danny was immensely interested, but Meena declined the offer. Danny said he’d join Amala in the operations room shortly, then turned to Meena. “What’s wrong?”
“We can’t talk about our mission to just anyone,” she murmured. “It seemed as though she wanted to get something out of us.”
“She was being nice.”
“In any case, don’t say anything about Meerut or what you saw in Khurja.”
“I won’t.” Danny glanced at the conductor, who was now making his way to the other carriages. Captain Harris sat on the opposite bench, staring wistfully out the window.
Meena noticed Danny staring at the conductor and raised a sleek eyebrow. “They’re half-castes.”
Danny was hesitant to speak on the subject of castes. From what he had gathered in the books he’d read, it was a sensitive issue and best left unprodded. But now that Meena had raised the topic, he was curious.
“Half?”
“Many of your English men have … chosen … Indian women. Some mothers even throw their daughters at the higher officers, hoping to make a good match. The result …” She gestured toward the driver’s carriage, where Amala had disappeared. “Half-castes. Unfortunates on the fringes of society.”
“That’s a rather rude way of putting it.” Danny was startled by his own words, roughened with unexpected anger as he thought about Daphne and her father.
Meena shrugged, unruffled. “I take no offense with the people, only with their origins. Truthfully, I feel sorry for them. They do not belong in India, and they do not belong in your England. Many of them have formed their own caste. Most work on the railways.” With a finger, she traced a diamond pattern on her kameez. “Viceroy Lytton does not oversee us well. Under his eyes, society has become unbalanced.”
“I’m sure he’s a busy man,” Danny said, but Meena only scoffed. A wick of frustration was lit inside him, but he quickly doused it. Meena had every right to criticize his country.
Even so, it was still his.
Amala popped her head out and gestured to Danny. Meena’s gaze warned him to be careful. He told Harris that he’d back shortly, but the captain only gave him a vague nod.
Inside the small carriage, Danny was impressed by the valves, knobs, and levers decorating the wall connected to the boiler tender. Amala explained that she was the support crew to the fireman, who made sure that steam pressure was released from the boiler to the steam chest. It was Amala’s job to check the gauges and fuel levels when the fireman was preoccupied.
The driver pulled a small red crank and released the brakes. Amala tapped a gauge; the needle slowly arced over the numbers.
“You have to wait for the brake vacuum to reach twenty-one. Then you give a little throttle …” She pulled the large, red lever in the middle of the wall. “And we’re off!”
The fireman pulled on a rope to give two sharp whistles. The pistons began pumping, the wheels screeching as the train crawled forward. Danny thought about how much Cassie would love to be here, getting her hands on the train’s controls, asking endless questions about how it all worked.
When the train was well underway, smoke puffing from the chimney and the pistons making a loud chug chug sound as they sped along, Danny thanked Amala for the tutorial before heading back to his carriage. Meena sat looking out the window as Agra slid by and dissolved into a grassy plain. Captain Harris was already gone.