Argleton, Chapter 10: Journey to Fimden
Mysterious forces take extreme action to stop Matt getting to the third phantom town.
Read Chapter 9 first or start at the beginning.
A truly miserable day, Matt thought as he stared out at the soggy Suffolk countryside from the tiny local train that was taking him to his third phantom town. The rain sheeted down the window, each trail of rainwater reminding him of his argument with Charlie. In the years he’d known her, they’d never really had a full-on blazing row, but this one was definitely a classic of its type.
Matt had found the location of the third phantom town, Fimden, a couple of weeks after the burglary. Charlie’s father had been hugely generous, lending them the money they needed to replace their computer gear. They’d get the money back from the insurance company eventually, but their doctoral research projects were effectively hamstrung without decent machines to work on. Matt had been delighted to find Fimden, but Charlie was far from happy.
“I really wish you’d just give this whole quest up,” she had said.
“Why?”
“These people who have been emailing me, they are clearly dangerous.”
“What people? I mean, really, some troll has it in his head to give some lass online a hard time, and you give him the pleasure of taking it seriously?”
“They broke into our flat and stole our laptops, Matt! How can you not take that seriously?”
“You have no proof of that! Don’t you think that if they had really taken our laptops, they would have mentioned something explicitly about it? Instead you have a vague email that could simply be based on your latest updates. There’s nothing of substance in those emails!”
“Are you actually this much of an idiot?”
“Well, I’m glad that we’re getting down to how you really feel about me.”
Charlie had turned her back on him at that point, seething with anger that she didn’t want him to see.
“Come on, Charlie,” he had said, his tone conciliatory. “There’s nothing dangerous about this. We’re just solving a puzzle online that someone has set up for a lark. At the end of it we’ll find out what it’s all about and we’ll have a laugh. And that’ll be that. Come on, we’ll go this weekend. It’ll be fun.”
“You just don’t get it, do you Matt? I’m not going to drive you to Suffolk. It’s too dangerous.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?”
“Yes! Yes, I do believe that! I’m sorry, Matt, but I’ve been online a lot longer than you. I know trolls, and this person is not just a troll. They just don’t fit the normal troll pattern of behaviour.”
“So, on the basis of a few emails, you think we’re in danger?”
“Yes.”
“Can’t you see how ridiculous that is?”
“No.”
“Right, well, fine. I’ll get there on my own.”
Charlie had left the room and there had been a polite but chill atmosphere in the flat ever since.
Matt stared at the countryside as it dribbled past. The journey had not been a pleasant one, starting off absurdly early at Manchester Piccadilly. Thence on to Leeds, Peterborough and finally now, nearly seven hours later, arriving at Saxmundham. At least, he thought, it was dry inside the train.
He got to his feet, grabbed his small rucksack off the rack, put it on and made his way out of the carriage to the vestibule, ready to disembark when the train pulled in. He watched the final few fields trundle past, and wondered what sort of town Saxmundham would turn out to be.
There was an almighty bang. The train lurched violently to one side. The scream of tortured metal and the sound of shattering safety glass filled the air. Matt was flung against the carriage door. The train lurched again and he hit the floor. The grinding, screeching carriage slowed as it ploughed its way to a halt, leaning precariously, but not falling over. For a moment there was a strange silence, as if everyone were taking a deep breath together. Then the screaming and crying began.
Matt checked himself over. His forehead was tender and when he felt it with his fingertips they came away bloody. He mopped at the blood with the cuff of his sleeve and felt grateful it wasn’t a serious wound. His shoulder and hip hurt where he had landed on them. He had no doubt that when his bruises bloomed, they’d be multicoloured. Otherwise, all was in working order.
Some of the other passengers weren’t so lucky. He forced the doors to the carriage open. At the other end of the carriage, a woman, white with shock, clutched at her dislocated shoulder. Half-way along, a young man lay on the floor, groaning, his leg grotesquely bent at the shin.
“Come on, mate,” Matt said to him. “Let’s get you out of here.” He stooped to slip his hands under the man’s arms. “I’m going to lift you up, put all your weight on your good leg.”
“I can’t,” the man said.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to stay here.”
“Everyone stay calm and vacate the train in an orderly fashion,” a loud voice rang through the carriage. The conductor, probably called a ‘train services manager’ now, Matt thought, came through the carriage, giving people instructions on how to get out.
“Can you give me a hand?” Matt asked.
“I have to check the other carriages,” the man replied. “Excuse me?” He called to a businessman who looked a little dazed, but uninjured. “Could you help here?”
“Sure,” he said, the demand for action giving him something to focus on. He made his way through the fallen bags and suitcases to help Matt carry the injured man off the train. Outside in the drizzle, they set him gently down on the grass by the tracks. The walking wounded gathered, checking each other over, pressing torn shirts to cuts and gashes to stop the blood, or crying with shock.
“Lucky escape, eh?” said the businessman.
“Yes. Yes. Very lucky.” Matt looked around. No one seemed to be too seriously injured and he felt a wave of relief. The train itself had come off the rails but had managed to stay mostly upright. “I wonder what happened.”
“Something on the tracks, maybe.”
Matt felt coldness run through him. Yes, certainly it would be found that the train had collided with something just big enough to derail it. A concrete block, perhaps. Something that could be shifted by someone determined to keep him away from Fimden. Someone who could track him, someone who knew where he was. He shivered.
“You OK, son? You look a bit pale.”
“Yeah. Fine, thanks.”
Matt edged away from the group. The train had been coming up to a level crossing when it derailed. Although the red and white barriers were down, there were no cars in sight. He glanced behind him. Everyone was far too involved with their own problem to be paying any attention to someone wandering off.
He walked away from the crash scene, ducking down the narrow road, soon out of view behind the trees that lined the tracks. He took his phone out of his pocket and turned it off. As soon as he was sure he was out of sight, he dug out his waterproofs and gloves. It was going to be a half hour walk to the phantom town. He hoped that the drizzle would ease off before he got there.
If you want to read Argleton all in one go, download the free ebook now. And why not try The Gates of Balawat or The Lacemaker as well!