The Boundless (6 page)

Just last month came the biggest promotion of all. His father was offered the job of general manager for the railway's new steamship line, operating out of Victoria, where the great ships left for the Orient. And so here they were moving across the entire continent again to start a new life.

Rapidly Will draws the rusty boxcars at the rail yard's edge. But instead of a boy atop it, he finds himself sketching a girl doing a handstand.

He never got his sasquatch tooth back.

*   *   *

It is late afternoon when the Boundless is finally ready to depart. On the Terrace deck Will feels the brisk Atlantic wind pick up. By now the locomotive has pulled the first-class cars alongside the Bedford Basin. Miles away, out of sight, he knows the last cars are being coupled back in the rail yard.

The terrace is crowded now, and when he hears the long shrill whistle from the locomotive, an excitement beats within him, in time with the train's connecting rods. A huge plume of steam bursts from the locomotive's smokestack.

Cho—

And again.

Cho
-cho . . .
cho
-cho-cho . . .

And the train is moving, not the sluggish pulls from earlier but an intent straining.

Cha
-cha-cha . . .
cha
chachacha . . .

Picking up speed now, the grayish plume rising high into the spring sky; smaller, alternating plumes jetting from the pistons.

Cha
-ch-ch-cha-ch-ch-tchtchtchtchtchtchtch . . .

They are finally on their way!

“Some champagne, sir?” a waiter asks him, holding out a platter filled with slender glass flutes.

“Thank you,” says Will, taking one. He has a sip, savors the crisp nutty flavor before letting it bubble down his throat. He smiles, pleased with himself. He couldn't fool the bartender, but he's fooled this waiter. And why not? Everyone tells him he looks older than his age, as tall as his father now, and likely to be taller still. His first champagne.

He closes his eyes. He is going somewhere. And he has a plan.

His father just doesn't know it yet.

THE EVENING'S ENTERTAINMENT

Back in the stateroom Will and his father dress for dinner. Will's father has gained weight since his years laying steel, but he still cuts a fine figure, with his closely trimmed beard and piercing eyes.

Will feels like he may as well be wearing a suit of armor; his shirt is so stiffly starched, it scarcely bends when he moves.

“Can't I ride in the locomotive with you?” Will asks.

“Not possible, William. I've already told you.”

His father is going to be chief engineer on the maiden journey of the Boundless. Tomorrow, at the first stop, Will's father will board the locomotive and take shifts with the other engineer driving the train. When he is off duty, he won't even sleep in their sumptuous stateroom but in the sooty bunk car right behind the tender. It's his father who will guide the train over the Rocky Mountains—and after tomorrow Will won't see him again until Lionsgate City.

This is no surprise; he knew all this ahead of time. But it still rankles—he's getting left behind. Again.

“You'll be much more comfortable back here anyway,” his father tells him. He straightens Will's bow tie. “Hungry?”

They leave the stateroom and join the procession bound for the dining car. As his father exchanges pleasantries with the gentlemen, Will once more looks about for anyone even close to his own age. He feels beardless and out of place.

He's seen some fancy restaurants in the last few years but never one quite so opulent as this one. Though long and narrow, it gives the impression of palatial grandeur, with mirrored walls and a ceiling painted like the sky, complete with little angels peeping around the edges. Spiral staircases lead to galleries running the length of the carriage. From a small balcony a woman sings opera.

The waiter leads Will and his father to their table. With a flourish he places napkins on their laps and hands them each a slim leather booklet. Will stares at the menu, trying to decide, but his thoughts are aswirl.

“The lamb, please,” he finally tells the waiter. “Medium rare.”

When his father has ordered and the waiter has left, Will says hesitantly:

“I've been thinking about next year.”

“Me too,” says his father. “When you finish your studies, I'd like you to join the company.”

James Everett raises his eyebrows and grins, as though he's just given Will a present.

“What would I do?” Will asks, startled.

“You'd start as a clerk, I imagine, but once you show promise, you won't remain one for long.”

He thinks of his pencil, writing numbers in ledgers instead of drawing.

“I'm not sure,” he murmurs.

“Not sure of what?”

He swallows. “I'm not sure it's what I want. There's an art college in San Francisco, a good one. I was hoping to study there.”

“Study to become an artist?”

Will nods.

“You're talented, Will,” says his father, frowning. “No question.”

Will's pretty sure his father is lying. He's never taken much interest in his drawings. Will wonders if his father has even kept that sketchbook he gave him in the mountains.

“What I'd like to see,” his father says now, “is you putting that skill to use as an engineer or an architect for the company. Think of the things you could create! I saw the way you looked at the locomotive.”

Will nods. “It's very impressive. . . .”

“The CPR will need men to design new fleets of ocean liners and bridges to take our tracks all the way across the world. There's even talk of spanning the Bering Strait so we can pass from Asia without need of ships.”

Will adjusts his cutlery. “I'm not sure it's what I'm meant to do.”

“
Meant
to do? That's nonsense. A man does what he
needs
to do, to make his way in the world, to support a family.”

The lamb is placed before Will. It is one of his favorite dishes, but he suddenly has no appetite.

“There's no living to be made as an artist, William,” his father says. “Your mother and I have been happy to let you draw and paint—as a hobby. But these artist fellows, they live very wretched lives.”

“I don't mind being poor,” Will replies, and then adds, “We were poor once.”

“And there's no shame in being poor,” James Everett replies, though Will notices that he glances about the dining car. “But it's foolish to seek it out when there are better opportunities.”

“There's nothing I want to do more,” says Will simply.

His father looks at him closely, and for a moment Will thinks he sees sympathy in his father's eyes. But then James Everett sniffs.

“William, my boy, I see it as a fruitless course.”

Will forces himself to take a mouthful of his meal; the meat is heavy and tastes of blood. He washes it down with water.

“I've done the things you thought best,” he says. “I studied hard—”

“And why wouldn't you?” his father counters in exasperation. “You had an opportunity, a rare opportunity, to get a superior education. Studying hard was the least you could do.”

“Yes, I know,” Will says, tracing the small pattern on the tablecloth to focus his thoughts, “and I'm grateful. And I did work hard. I even played piano for a year because mother wanted me to, even though I hated it!”

“You made a terrible sound with that instrument.”

“I did it on purpose. Drawing is what I love most.”

His father shrugs. “And you draw every day. So keep drawing. But
after
your proper work is done.”

“It's not enough. I need training, that's what Mr. Grenfell said. I'm good at
copying
things. But I'm a terrible painter still. And when I do people, they're not right. They're all missing . . .
something
.”

“And you think this fancy school in San Francisco will fix that.”

“I won't know unless I try.”

“Ah. And you expect me to pay for this foolhardy experiment?”

“I'll pay my own way!”

“Will you?”

Will feels his cheeks redden. “Why not? You worked when you were my age.”

“I never would have done the things I did if I'd had your opportunities.”

“What about building the railway? You said it was a grand adventure.” He takes a breath. “I want my own adventure.”

His father's eyes look past him for a moment. “You saw what it was like in the mountains, William. Rough men doing backbreaking work. Frostbite in the winter, and a plague of mosquitoes in the summer. Bad food. Late pay. Every day a fair chance we'd get torn apart by a sasquatch or blasted to bits.” More gently he says, “You could've died up there that day. Your mother was furious with me. She and I, we don't want a hard life for you. You're not suited to it.”

Will feels another sharp sting of humiliation—though this isn't the first time his father has said such things. His father thinks he's too shy, too sensitive. Too
soft
.

“I don't know what I'm suited for,” Will says quietly. “But I mean to find out.”

*   *   *

After dinner Will and his father make their way to the Lionsgate parlor car, which has been transformed into a theater while they dined. Rows of velvet chairs face a small raised platform with Japanese folding screens on either side.

Will sits down beside his father. The rest of their dinner was quiet and tense. Nothing was decided.

More men saunter in with their cigars and glasses of port and brandy, their ladies on their arms, and take their seats. Will spots a Mountie in a scarlet uniform.

“Is that Sam Steele?” he asks his father.

“He helped keep law and order in the mountain work camps, so we invited him to be on the maiden voyage.”

To Will it's like seeing a picture torn from a book. Steele really is as mountainous and powerful as the stories said.

“We'll have at least one Mountie on every voyage,” his father says. “To do the rounds of the cars.”

When everyone's finally seated, a short, finely attired gentleman steps onto the platform, and the audience grows quiet.

“Welcome aboard the Boundless, Ladies and Gentlemen, the world's largest and most glorious train.”

There is a polite splattering of applause and a few gruff “Hear, hear”s from the audience.

“My name is Mr. Beecham, the conductor. I am delighted to have such a fine group of people aboard for our maiden journey. In this room is an unparalleled collection of our nation's best and brightest. I salute you ladies and gentlemen, nation builders all! And in honor of your first night aboard, we have a program to entertain, delight, and even thrill you. First some recitations from our poet laureate, Sir Allen Nunn.”

When the famous writer stands and begins to proclaim, Will's attention wanders. The poet seems to be talking about pulling weeds from a garden, but Will isn't sure. The man's voice drones on, rising and falling with the monotony of an ocean swell.

From somewhere comes the unnaturally loud sound of a flushing toilet. It flushes for a very long time, water gurgling and sucking through the walls in an invisible tangle of pipes. Everyone in the room is trying to ignore the noise, and Will bites his lips together. But he can't stop a muffled explosion of laughter inside his mouth.

The historian who follows the poet is more interesting, talking about the building of the railway. Will has heard most of the stories already, but at least they're good ones.

“Some of you may have noticed that our train is a large one,” Mr. Beecham says when he resumes the stage. “Our rolling city comprises first class, second class, third class, colonist class, and behind these, several miles of freight cars. But amongst these freight cars is a little town, a string of eighty carriages belonging to the world-renowned Zirkus Dante. The Boundless is conveying the circus to Lionsgate City, where it will begin its tour of the continent. And kindly joining us tonight is the ringmaster himself, here to inspire and confound us with his wizardry. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Mr. Dorian!”

Will sits up straighter. From behind one of the screens steps the circus man that Will first met three years ago. Dignified, he walks to the center of the platform, hands clasped behind his back.

The gaslights in the car are dimmed by attendants, leaving only Mr. Dorian brightly illuminated.

“I do not believe in magic, Ladies and Gentlemen. There is no such thing. What people call magic is just the unexplained mystery of our world. And there is no end of wonders along this road we're on. Cut from the wilderness, these tracks take us from sea to sea, through landscapes scarcely seen by civilized man. And so this steel road has revealed things to us that we might have assumed were the stuff of legends. Muskeg that devours trains, the man-eating Wendigo of the northern forest. Perhaps a lake leviathan or the mighty sasquatch.”