Welcome back everyone! Thank you so much for reading.
Now! On the Chapter seven! There are a lot of French words and phrases in this chapter. If you see a mistake, feel free to let me know.
"No more lies. You're going to tell me all that you know about memory tapes."
The poor boy is terrible at subtlety, the Cat remarks to herself with more than a little sarcasm. No intrigue, no polish. Like before, he stalks around her property like a raging bull... Is he appreciative that she'd allowed him inside after he'd thrown around and broken so many of her precious things only a short time ago? Oh no, of course not. She starts washing herself—a messy appearance is a personal pet peeve of hers and in general, bursts of adrenaline leaves her coat looking unacceptably shaggy. Simon averts his eyes in clear embarrassment and... Does he even volunteer to pick up that brush on the table to help her out? Oh no… of course not. The Cat sighs. He used to be so helpful once upon a time.
The Cat has hundreds of secret hideouts and cozy cottages scattered throughout the train. After all, one never knows when one might suddenly need a warm, comfy location to sleep and shower—and after that disastrous incident in The Mall Car, thankfully the Cat had retained enough wits about her to remember this place located about twelve cars down from where the ill-fated market car used to reside. Neat, cozy, and perhaps a tad more rustic than the Cat would have liked—she really has to stop allowing Frank to borrow her hideouts for his annual hibernations—but it would do for now.
"Memory tapes?" drawls the Cat. Eh bien, the Grace girl, of course. She grits her teeth in anticipation. Yes, her sagacious ears are soon going to be assaulted by more star-crossed teenage tomfoolery. The Cat almost rolls her eyes at the thought. Ah…and she had had such high hopes for him when she had first seen Simon's face without the idiotic Apex symbol. The sudden hope that Simon had left such an awful, destructive band of children stirs up some remnant of emotion deep within the Cat's mostly iron heart—it would at least finally put to rest that annoying sting of guilt she had whenever she'd thought of him. Perhaps Simon has left the group, though likely unwillingly. Grace doesn't strike the Cat as the type to forgive and forget easily if she finds out that someone has shifted through her memories.
"Memory tapes… Ah yes, Simon, what specifically do you want to know about them?" She rests on paw on top of the other. This may be a long evening yet.
"You heard me before. I said all that you know," Simon replied flatly as he plops down so rudely on her prized chaise longue—only five of the sort ever made, and the car that they that were all created for long since recycled—before he adds, "And an emphasis on how they can…hurt someone." The final two words he stumbles over very quickly like one over an object in the dark. How interesting…
"If that is what you're after, I'm assuming you have more time to listen this time around." Silently, the Cat rises to all fours. "A full explanation will take quite a while; therefore, I'm going to put on some tea." Several unnamed tins sit along a low shelf at a height perfectly suited for the cat to reach. "I have Lady Chatterley and Darjeeling. Any preferences?"
"No."
The Cat chooses the darjeeling, which she was ultimately going to chose anyway. Now all she has to do is wait for the kettle to boil. "To begin, I don't normally divulge such information without naming a price first-"
"Price?" Simon yells, sitting up straight as a ramrod. "What are you on about? I'm not playing your game! Last time there was no price."
"And during our last encounter, I lost several of my prized possessions, and I was forced to spend the next few minutes calming down a very confused Randall—the idiot thought we were all going to play at war again. Frank and I were at a very real risk of being snowed in for days, you know. It was all very distressing." The look Simon gives her all but screams how he cares not one iota for the Cat's perceived distress. "Also I have a hard earned reputation to uphold. Why, if word ever got around that I was freely giving my services even in detriment to myself-"
Rolling his eyes with irritation, Simon interrupts again. "You can stop your theatrics now. Go ahead and get on what whatever you really want to say."
Ah, non! The insolence! At the last second, the Cat's would-be hiss transforms into a purr, quite dangerous. "Do not forget, Simon, that you've come to me for help, again. As a certain madame once told you, on ne prends pas les mouches avec le vinaigre."
The Cat expects him to retort, and retort Simon does, though in a much softer and quieter manner than she expects. "You're the last person I'd listen to for moral advice…Samantha."
Samantha. Why on earth had she allowed the boy to attach strings to her, to name her such a silly name like Samantha? The Cat is the Cat; she belongs to no one. She is named by no one; she is Herself. Samantha remembers that day—Simon had been so young; he'd felt uncomfortable at constantly having to call her "cat", and therefore suggested a random name he'd considered fitting for her, right out of the blue. The Cat, who had been certifiably out of her mind at the moment—she had always found head scratches to be so sinfully satisfying—had agreed on the spot, and voilà, the name Samantha the Cat is recorded into stone. It is difficult for a denizen to reject the name a passenger grants it, no matter how ridiculous that name may be—though having one's passenger leave the train tends to reset things. How wonderful for the Cat that she is stuck with the one passenger who absolutely refuses to leave.
The Cat stares at Simon. Simon glares at the Cat. The kettle on the fire begins to sing. Adjusting her waistcoat, the Cat stands up to address it. The little room goes silent except for the clatter of utensils and the soft pit pit of dried tea leaves.
The Cat is the one who ends up breaking the stalemate. "Earlier," she says briskly. "You mentioned wanting to know specifically about memory tapes harming people." She collects a teacup. "I take it one of the Apex brats found it lying around somewhere and mistook it for a camera?" Out of the corner of her eye, the Cat studies Simon's face. That twitch! She remembers that Simon had always possessed a certain je ne sais quoi—it makes him quite interesting, in a way. The silly boy would be abysmal at poker if he ever tried it.
"N-no, I used it on Grace," Simon replies quickly, face flushing red. "And some things happened…" His voice trails off into silence.
"Meaning…? Simon, don't tell me you left her within her own tape." The Cat has no love lost when it comes to Grace. In fact the loss of her Lucky Cat Car, though no longer very recent, still stings, and Grace's anti-denizen propaganda doesn't sit right with the Cat—namely because the Cat is a denizen herself. However, being trapped in one's memories is a gruesome way to go. How long does it take for the average human to die of thirst? The Cat isn't sure. Oh well. Adieu, Grace.
"Wait! No… Not that, Grace is okay. I mean, she's walking and talking and all that stuff. It's just that…she's been having these blackout spells lately, and they've started only after the I used the device you gave me."
"Hmm…" the Cat hums into her tea. "Are you sure you haven't missed any recent head injuries?"
Simon falls back heavily onto the overly plush chaise longue. "I'm certain of it."
"Then check again, because the girl has bonked her head upon something, and both of you have missed it."
"That's not it; you're wrong." Simon shakes his head. "The thing responsible is the memory tape!"
"I, wrong? A memory tape is not able to leave lasting damage to the mind of the person it's viewing!" the Cat finally hisses, having finally had enough. "Do not lecture me, Simon, you, a boy not even two decades old! The memory tapes were designed years before you were even conceived and for a singular purpose. To you and the rest of your little troupe, this train is little more than a playground. You have no idea how this train operates—the amount of probabilities being calculated every second… En verité, you came to me for help, and I am telling you—as I have told you before— that in the hands of a stranger, the tape is harmless. It is when one finds oneself in his own memory tape where the danger lies."
"Harmless!? Harmless!?" Hardened blue eyes lock on to watchful yellow. "Then explain how Grace's blackouts are triggered by turtles! It's a null thing, I'm sure. That little girl who was traveling with us, Hazel, turns out that she was secretly a turtle this entire time."
The Cat's eyes widened at such news, at such potentially useful information… That girl? A denizen? In all of her centuries of living, she has never heard of such a thing. For a denizen to appear so human, it's… "The girl Hazel. Is she still traveling alongside the both of you?"
"No…" Simon mutters darkly, crossing his arms. "We split up a while ago. The last thing I know is that she was traveling with Amelia."
Amelia… Of course, Amelia would be drawn to such a special case. What secrets could her old enemy be hiding? "Tell me everything. Hazel, what happened to Grace, everything. Leave no stone unturned; I want to hear even the most minor detail." Her tea cools are she places her paws around the cup, and waits, and listens.
Her tea is stone cold by the time Simon is done, her mouth dry, her mind commiserating. That poor girl. The Cat acknowledges Grace's condition with some sympathy but reserves most for Hazel. Children will perhaps forever be a sort of Achilles' heel for her. Her temporary partnership with the Tulip girl, her still dealing with Simon long after he'd left her responsibility… Que serà serà, that is the Cat's primary philosophy, yet… Maybe she should have never given in to Simon's pleading the first time; she should have never given him the device. Samantha admits to herself that she had underestimated Simon—when she had given him the memory tape, she only had anticipated two outcomes: one, Simon does the sensible action and refuses to use it on Grace, learns to trust a little stronger, and hopefully choses to follow her advice concerning numbers; or two, Simon uses the tape on Grace, they separate after all the fallout by the betrayal, at long last the boy will ultimately learn to think for himself, get his number down, leave the train—but this?
Having finally unleashed all of the thoughts he had long kept inside his head, Simon is quiet, and miserable. He sits, slouched over himself, his lean figure outlined by the flickering fire, and the Cat marvels how in under forty-eight hours he had transformed from a desperate, but concerned friend to a madman willing to tear said friend's mind apart. Samantha pretends to take a sip of her disgustingly cold tea to hide her grimace. Eight years with no other meaningful interaction with any other person… Both of them highly stubborn… She, with almost two centuries of observing human behavior underneath her vest, should have seen the disaster coming. Somehow her Simon is the first since the invention of memory tapes to successfully use it in a manner completely contrary from its purpose. If the Cat isn't so horrified, she would be mildly impressed. If others found out… If such a thing could be replicated… Samantha shudders.
"Are you aware of what you've done?" She observes him as eyes stare at the polished wooden floor.
"I'm sure you're going to tell me," Simon mutters, jaw clenching and unclenching in nervous tension.
"Congratulations, I'm certain that you're the first to ever pull this stunt with memory tape. You're a first in train history, and to be a first in train history is quite a feat, Simon. Unfortunately, that is all the useful information I can provide." The Cat pauses here to sigh heavily. "Being a first means that there is no established record for what you or Grace is experiencing. Mon cher, your Grace is the mouse in this experiment. We will have to wait and see how the game plays out."
"But we can't wait! She…" His face flashes through a quick series of emotions: pensiveness, sadness, fear, and then frantic desperation. "Please, Samantha. You didn't see how she looked lying on the floor like that. Please… You must know something. You know everything about the train!"
"Not everything about this train, though not from a lack of trying…" Samantha purrs. "I'm afraid I cannot help you." And honestly, she can't.
"Then why even give me the stupid thing if you didn't know-!"
"And I tried to warn you not to, Simon! You proceeded to ignore me and do so anyway. How could I have anticipated that you would discover something so horrendous?" Samantha huffs as she stands up on two legs and tosses the remnants of her half-empty cup onto a bare patch of ashes. She pushes the kettle over the fire to prepare another steaming cup. "Who knows? Perhaps she might deteriorate enough to finally become one of your miniatures. Look at it from this perspective; you won't have to worry about her number going down ever again."
Out of the corner of her eye, Samantha spies Simon shooting up out of his chair, her priceless crystalline lamp held high in hand above his head—Mon Dieu! That's one of a kind! Stop righ—but the lamp trembles in his grasp, and he falls backwards onto the overstuffed chaise again. His shoulders are stiff as he breathes slowly, in and out.
Oh.
Samantha releases a long breath she didn't know she was holding. "Simon…?" The Cat approaches him cautiously. She cannot see his eyes, but her sensitive ears hear the hitches in his breath. He is upset, she observes offhandedly, but Samantha is not sorry for the words she'd said. When her paws wrap carefully around her prized possession, Simon releases it without any fuss. His arm drops as if someone high above has cut a string. "Sim-"
But at that exact moment the Cat is interrupted by the singing of her kettle. Setting her lamp onto a nearby table, away from any further threat of shattering via angry teenager, she turns away from him to address it. It is then, as she is measuring just enough darjeeling for four cups, that the idea strikes her.
Ah… That one? Old girl, that one's quite risky. However, the Cat is not above risky. It just might work.
And more importantly it possibly may help the boy… Samantha leaves the fireplace, the tea, and Simon behind, dashing towards the other half of the room. The other half of the Cat's cabin getaway chiefly consists of various unorganized mounds of pillows and blankets and old fishing trophies—Ugh, she really has to remind herself to talk to Frank—until she reaches a low shelf containing a row of small boxes. Like everything in her possession, the Cat knows exactly the location of the object for which she is looking. There it is, a plain brown cardboard box, entirely nondescript and as unnoticeable as humanly possible to disguise the contents therein. Samantha immediately grabs it with her mouth.
"Here." Simon jumps slightly out of his stupor when he feels the heat of steam rolling off the teacup against his wrist. However, Samantha insists. "Take it."
His red rimmed eyes peer down dismally at her. "I didn't ask for this," he croaks.
"I know," the Cat replies merrily as he accepts the cup, a little warily. He knows she is up to something. "And here." She slides the nondescript box into his lap. "Do not open until it's time." At these words Simon almost leaps out of his seat as if the box contains a venomous serpent. Which is good, Samantha thinks. He may actually heed my words this time.
"W-what is this?" he stammers.
"Your only possible shot at getting help. Tell me, Simon. Have you ever heard of the old children's fable 'Belling the Cat'?" replies the Cat silkily.
Simon shakes his head in confusion. "No… I haven't. What's that?"
"Écoutez bien, and I will explain in time. But first…" the Cat leans closer to Simon's confused face flickering in the firelight. "Just how far are you willing to go to save Grace?"
The entirety of The Mall Car grows quiet as Grace raises the hockey stick high. All attention is divided between her and the young teen kneeling before her, their breaths held collectively. All jealously wish to be in Joey's position at that moment as he bends down on one knee in front of her and quivers in barely restrained nervousness. From her position standing above him, Grace gives her best serene expression to uphold the solemnity of the ceremony. She only hopes that she is making the right decision.
"Joey Brooks, please rise." For the first time in her life, Grace Monroe is split between being a good leader and being a good friend.
The aforementioned young teen wobbles as he rises onto both feet. He stares at Grace with starry-eyed reverence.
"Repeat after me," orders Grace.
The boy obediently nods. "After me," he repeats, without thinking, and a rush of giggles breaks out like a wave among the crowd. Even Grace's mouth twitches once or twice before she summons every ounce of willpower she possesses to keep a straight face and continue with the swearing in. It's best if she continues. A body in motion tends to stay in motion, after all. She bites back the sickening feeling of guilt.
"I do solemnly swear…" she began.
"I do solemnly swear…"
"…that I will support and defend this Apex against all enemies, both null and human-"
Never before does Grace ever consider she'd be doing this. Grace is a direct leader. The day she swears in a deputy is the day she lies shriveled and dying in her bed, struggling to draw her final breaths, and yet here she is, standing here with the Sacred Scion—Jeez, where does Simon come up with these lame titles?—held high. Simon… Grace isn't sure how to think of him now. Last night… His writings… Grace alone is the only person who knows that Simon Laurent has gone off the deep end. He makes up fantasies—and no, not the nerdy Esmoroth kind—in his head, and he thinks they're real—Grace has pieced together pages upon pages of the two of them, Grace and Simon, somehow spending a good amount of time around nulls, their listening to clear and outrageous heresy such as the conductor not being real…and…some charlatan walking around named Cecilia? Emilia?
Grace will never and has never spent any prolonged amount of time around nulls—she has never met an "Emilia". The whole situation stinks to high heaven; yet Grace cannot dwell upon it too deeply, for she had soon discovered that thinking about the nulls and this "Emilia" for too long causes her to feel that familiar itching, that foreboding clenching of her hand that promises another blackout soon… The implications of that worry her more than anything.
"-and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter-"
Grace recalls laying awake the night previous and mulling over the possibilities that her best friend has gone insane. Judging by those notes, he is either gone completely off the rails, or he is heretic full blown; either way he is beyond her. And don't you find it a coincidence now, Grace, when you're suffering from sudden memory loss that Simon pulls a stunt like this? A familiar dark voice whispers this into her ear... Logic dictates that she cut him off now, especially since he's not within The Mall Car at present. In spite of recent events, Grace is the more popular between the two. She could make a move and cut Simon off from all leadership capabilities and do it stupidly easily. But then, Grace remembers eight years of friendship—years of having grown up alongside Simon, having his back, his having hers, all of the days they shared together, both the good and the bad; she thinks of that stupid, concentrated look he gives when she says something particularly witty and he is trying and failing to read between the lines… Grace feels the hint of something foreign tickle the corners of her eyes and internally slaps herself. Not now! and Control yourself!
"So help me, and may my numbers never go down," Grace finishes. The Sacred Stick, or whatever, feels as heavy as a block of iron in her grasp.
"-and may my numbers never go down." The boy completes the vow breathlessly. The rest of the Apex are silent, for now is the moment of truth.
There is some—strange, stupid, terribly strong, completely idiotic—thing deep within Grace that will always make her risk her neck to save Simon. Maybe it is a condition forged at the very moment they met, all those years ago. She doesn't know, and it irks her. Grace knows what she's read—until Simon can explain what he's written in a way that will convince her to let him re-enter The Mall Car, Grace can only assume he's gone insane. And yet here she is chasing after him, because…because she already misses his dependable presence beside her.
"Then, I Grace Monroe, leader of the Apex and possessor of highest number in this car, deem Joey Deputy pro tempore." The hockey stick comes down upon the boy's shoulder. "Rise, and claim your title."
Cheers ring out among the packed concourse, and Grace gives them all a tight lipped smile. That kid Joey gazes up at her, eyes shining with overwhelming pride and gratitude that Grace would bestow such an honor upon him. He doesn't know that he had only been chosen because he was the oldest child with the highest number, and therefore, one of the least likely to screw things up. A thirteen year old selected to lead ten year olds, all so Grace can be free to track down her co-leader and best friend so that she may smack some sense into him, insane or not. That kid has no clue of the headaches he's in for. Good job at not leaving them leaderless, Grace.
Grace is not a religious person, but she looks to the ceiling and prays to the Conductor that she is doing the right thing.
Notes: Translations are as follows:
que serà serà = "what will be, will be"
on ne prends pas les mouches avec le vinaigre = "you don't catch flies with vinegar/you catch more flies with honey than vinegar"
je ne sais quoi = a French phrase that has been borrowed into English, "a quality that can't be fully described or expressed"
adieu = "goodbye"
en verité = "in truth/truly"
mon cher = "my dear"
Mon Dieu = "my God"
écoutez bien = "listen well"
If you have any questions or corrections for better translations, feel free to comment, and I will add them! Also, you guys are going to soon receive even more of my completely inaccurate head canons.
In this chapter, Simon is out to help Grace, and Grace wants to save Simon. You know what they say, adversity builds character, right?