9.

The train was in motion again by the time we reached our living quarters (going by the tannoy announcement it sounded as if Laura was in the driver’s seat for now), but we weren’t 100 percent sure of Árpád and Chela’s whereabouts. There was, however, a skittering of claws on metal overhead that suggested our friends were running around on the roof of the train, heading back in our direction each time they heard their names called.

“God knows what they’re up to,” I said. “But I trust Árpád’s judgement. Let’s leave them to it.”

Xavier seemed dissatisfied with this, but I think we both had very clear recall of Laura’s smiley assurance that we’d be made prisoners if we created any further delays. Besides, he was still playing with the photos he’d taken of the white canvases in the gallery car, zooming in and out. As he did so, he asked me: “What have they got to do with us, these people?”

I no longer had the energy to keep lying, even though I knew that lying would set us free faster than any truth would. A break for calorie consumption would give us the strength to continue denying everything, so I borrowed Allegra’s “good question” remark and suggested eating before we tried to answer it. We’d eat, and then I’d ask Xavier how often I did that, chant “Come closer,” and if I’d done it last night. Hopefully he’d tell me he wasn’t talking about me, or that he’d only said it to take Allegra’s mind off her worries. I was happy for him to tell me anything he liked, as long as it reinforced our non-involvement with the situation onboard this train.

The track looped around an expanse of pale, glossy blue. I watched for ripples, thinking it was water at first, then deciding it was ice, even though the temperature was all wrong for it. The blue stood taller and taller as we skimmed its edge, but it only became a mountain as we left it behind. A mountain of blue quartz, foliage-free and so coolly translucent that sunset and moonrise washed along its peaks in one great wave. We silently gave each other a quick pinch; it wasn’t a dream. The smell of French toast drifted through from the pantry car and caressed our nostrils, and we gave each other another quick pinch. Still not a dream.

“Now this is how honeymoons are supposed to be,” Xavier said, ushering me food-ward.

Ava Kapoor was at the stove, transferring our extremely late breakfast from frying pan to plate. “Hello, Shin and Shin”—she accepted a swift kiss on each cheek and one of those flowery compliments beginning Madame, je suis ravie . . . from Xavier—“wearing each other’s clothes and looking as if you’ve never slept in your lives . . . I spy true romance! Please, sit, eat while it’s hot. Oh, and have you seen Chela anywhere?”

I said no, Xavier said yes, I lost the second staring match of the day, then Xavier said: “I think he meant to say that Chela’s with Árpád.”

“Ah,” Ava said. “If they’ve gone looking for the passenger you saw, we’d better get ready to meet him. He may be wily enough to slip through the clutches of one mongoose, but he could never evade two.”

The carriage had been scrubbed and wiped clean from top to bottom, and two plates stacked with French toast were already on the table, along with the cutlery needed to eat it in a civilised fashion.

Ava brought her own plate over, wiping her hands on her apron as she sat down with us.

“He’s here, isn’t he?” she said, without preamble. “Přem. You’ve brought him, or he sent you here without you knowing it. To try to drive me mad at the last minute.”

I fed a bite of French toast to Xavier and said: “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ava.”

Xavier picked up his own knife and fork, fed me a bite of French toast—an extra-large bite—and said: “Otto . . . you still don’t seem to understand that I’m not going to let you gaslight anybody.”

I choked (where was the Xavier who’d backed me up in front of Allegra, corroborating an encounter he hadn’t witnessed?), and Ava poured me a glass of water while my loving partner patted me on the back.

“Aside from his natural inclination towards deforming reality, there’s the fact that we’ve all but promised not to talk to you,” Xavier told Ava.

“You were just with Allegra?”

“And Laura. They told us about your friend’s will.”

“The will, the will . . . that’s all we’re living for these days. But about those two. Something tells me that all this has been too much for them. Suppose we succeed . . . Suppose I inherit after all, and as soon as the money side of things is sorted, those other two consider their duties done and go off together without me? They’ve had to play to each other’s strengths for an extended period of time—”

“So they respect each other,” I said.

“They’ve never felt it necessary to treat each other like invalids—”

Xavier shrugged, and so did I.

“And they’ve never flirted in front of me.”

“Oh.” I thought about the myriad ways in which friends can be flirtatious, cheekily saluting each other from either side of established boundaries. For those two not to flirt at all, when they had to have looked at each other and thought about it . . . oh dear.

“Maybe I’ve got the wrong end of the stick,” Ava said, sawing at her French toast. “Maybe they’re just tolerating each other, or they’re the kind of friends who . . . don’t happen to share a sense of humour? What did you think? Did it seem as if there might be something else between them?”

Xavier nodded, and after a couple of gulps of water I concurred. With great unease. Xavier might have thought I wanted to gaslight Ava, but I thought he was overestimating her ability to handle changes that might not be to her liking after an epoch of changes more or less handpicked to keep her happy.

Ava drizzled more maple syrup onto her toast; her hand trembled slightly, but all she said was: “It’s good to get an outside opinion.”

“Ava.” I fed her a bite of French toast too. “We’re only saying it’s not impossible. On the other hand, they seem fond of you. As far as we can tell, anyway.”

She scrunched up her face and dropped her fork onto her plate. “What is this superior feeding method that makes the French toast taste better? Do it again.”

I did, and Xavier asked her: “So did you really mean it when you told people you couldn’t see Přem, or what?”

Ava chewed, nervously and for a long time. She drank some water.

“The Přem question is the one that decides whether I inherit,” she said. “But I don’t know which answer is the one that confirms sanity. I’m not talking about the answer that satisfies Karel’s requirement, or Dr. Zachariah’s, but the one that satisfies mine.”

She accepted another bite of French toast, then stood, talking with her mouth full. “I’d better go. I’ve left a file in the bread bin . . . Laura and Allegra would never look in there. Read it and . . . add to it for me, OK?”

Her walkie-talkie buzzed in her apron pocket as she hurried away.