10

The Missing Guests

“Hello?” Hattie called in a shaky voice.

No one answered.

She limped through the passenger cars, blood dripping from her knee. Her bangs were plastered to her forehead, and one of her braids had come undone. Grease and soot stained her white pinafore. Around her, empty seats were littered with hats, purses, and jackets. In their hurry to evacuate, the guests had left their belongings behind.

Hattie stepped down from the train. There was no sign of anyone on the bridge either. Where could all the guests have gone? Something about the afternoon light was different. Shakily she touched her head. How long was I knocked out?

A few feet ahead, the wooden bridge ended. Hattie hopped off the tracks and gingerly scrambled down a rock embankment, scraping her hands and knees. She stood at the edge of the Gorge, reeling with shock.

Far below, rapids and rocks dotted the river, but there was no sign of the three cars that had fallen. Either they had sunk or been washed downstream. She stared at the moving water, unable to make sense of what she was seeing.

This isn’t happening. This isn’t real.

But it was. Tears stung Hattie’s eyes as the full weight of the truth hit her. They’re gone.

She stumbled back from the cliff’s edge, feeling as limp and hollow as the husk a snake leaves behind when it sheds its skin. Things like this just didn’t happen here. Majestica was supposed to be safe.

Evelyn is dead. Mr. Ridgewell is dead.

Awful images slammed into Hattie’s mind—the connector breaking, the cars falling, Evelyn’s hair ribbon swirling among the weeds at the bottom of the river—

Stop it. She forced the pictures to go away. Right now, you have to find everyone else.

What had happened to the other passengers? Hattie glanced uncertainly at the abandoned train. Should she get back on and search for clues? She didn’t really like the idea of walking onto that rickety bridge again.

Everything had gone black after the explosion. Hattie had thought she was only unconscious for a few moments, but it must have been much longer. Otherwise, how could everyone already be gone?

Squatting down, she studied the trampled clearing. The crew and the guests must have stood right here. She saw crushed plants, muddy footprints—too many to count—and a candy wrapper someone had dropped. A deep, harsh streak of overturned dirt led into the trees.

She dropped to her knees. This was strange. She touched the dirt marks, about two feet wide. Something heavy had been dragged through here. What could it be? Not—a trickle of cold fear went down her neck—not a body?

Hattie turned in a slow circle. There was no path to tell her which way they had gone. The footprints just…disappeared. Something about this felt very wrong. Around her, the jungle rustled ominously. It felt threatening, like hundreds of tiny eyes were watching.

“Jeffers?” Her voice cracked. “Where are you?”

But the lemur didn’t appear. She was alone.

She tried to picture the map on the train. The black line of the train tracks curved through the savannah and into the jungle. The river ran diagonally through the bottom part of the jungle, and the train crossed the Gorge at its deepest point. After that, the tracks looped around the mountain, coming out of the jungle farther north.

Don’t worry about the tracks. It’ll be shorter if you follow the river.

Hattie took a deep breath. Eventually the cliffs would get lower, and then she’d be able to cross. After that, all she had to do was find her way across the savannah to the Hotel Majestica. She touched Dowson’s knife in her pocket, trying to steady her nerves. Once I’m out of the jungle, I’ll be able to see the lights from the hotel. I can make it home by myself.

She glanced back at the train, an uneasy thought bubbling in her mind. Dowson was her friend. He would have gone back for her—she just knew it. What could have happened to stop him?

Something grabbed her ankle.

Hattie toppled forward, her knees slamming into the ground. A vine was coiled around her boot. She tugged, but it didn’t let go. Sinuous as a snake, it only wound tighter.

She tried not to panic. Instead, she racked her brain for all the things Morsewood had told her about plants. Magical plants have defense mechanisms. They probably saw her as a threat. Reaching slowly into her pocket, she slid out Dowson’s knife. She didn’t want to hurt the plant, but…

Quick as a flash, Hattie lashed out and sliced the vine. It flailed in alarm, letting go of her boot. She leaped to her feet. She had to get away before it recovered. Around her the tree branches whipped back and forth, as if battered by the wind.

A chill ran down Hattie’s neck. There was no wind.

Gripping her skirt in her hands, she ran. Palm fronds reached out like fingers, grabbing her arms. They slashed at her skin, scratching her. She yanked free of them. Above her, the jungle branches swished and creaked. Vines weaved in circles, reaching for her. She zigzagged back and forth, trying to dodge them.

Hattie’s heartbeat pounded in her ears. She’d heard stories of what wild jungle trees could do to people. Maybe someone would find her in two hundred years, wrapped in a cocoon of vines. But it would be only her skeleton they found.

She decided to retreat. Panting, she turned back the way she came—toward the Gorge. She scrambled to the rocky cliff’s edge, where there were no trees or plants. The vast height made her head spin.

A crack echoed through the jungle, followed by a rolling boom. Then another crack.

Gunshots!

Hattie flattened herself on the rocky ground. Damp cold seeped through the knees of her stockings. They weren’t shooting at her…were they? Stupid. You’re standing on a cliff, wearing black and white. Anyone can see you.

She inched forward on her elbows until she reached a large rock. Rolling behind it, she brushed off her stockings. It was no use—they were stained with blood and dirt. Overhead, thunder rumbled. The clouds had thickened, rolling in low over the jungle. It looked like soon she’d be soaked. She sighed. None of her clothes were practical for hiking, let alone bad weather.

The gunshots had stopped—for now.

Hattie leaned against the rock, catching her breath. Evelyn was right the whole time. Jack Brand and his men did have guns. They must have hidden them somewhere on the train.

She swallowed. Evelyn tried to warn us. And now she’s dead.

A cold raindrop landed on Hattie’s face. She smeared it away. It must have been Brand who’d sabotaged the train. But how? What kind of magic was strong enough to knock out the Caretaker? And what was going to happen now that Mr. Ridgewell was dead?

She tried to comfort herself. Everyone at the hotel would have realized by now that the Caretaker had malfunctioned. Someone would be getting to work on fixing it. Mr. Ridgewell was dead, but surely he had left notes or—or something. A fresh surge of panic went through her. What if they couldn’t fix it?

She scrambled to her feet. Her dress was already dotted with dark wet spots. From the look of the sky, the rain was only going to get worse. The rocks were slippery, but she didn’t dare take another chance with those trees.

I have to find a way across the river. I have to get home.

As she clambered down the rocks, she searched for signs of the other passengers. But there was nothing except the patter of the rain on the huge leaves. She thought about Rufus, the little boy who’d kicked her seat. He wouldn’t survive in the jungle very long.

Majestica’s staff are the best in the world, she told herself firmly. Dowson and Klara and the others will keep everyone safe.

If only she could find them.

The rain shower stopped, and immediately the tropical leaves began to steam. The sun had shifted to the western edge of the sky. Evening was falling.

Hattie wrung out her dress. In the tree canopy, animals chirped and called to one another. Somehow it made her even lonelier. She sank to the muddy ground. Where was Jeffers? It wasn’t like him to be away from her for so long. She would have given anything to bury her face in his fur and hear his happy chatter. Maybe he’d gone back to the train to look for her, only to find her missing.

What if they were both lost and alone?

There were predators in this jungle, and some of them ate small mammals. Hattie squeezed her eyes shut. She wouldn’t even let herself think about that. Besides, it made the most sense for Jeffers to jump back to the hotel. She pictured him huddled on her pillow, dejected and lonely. Maybe he even thought she was dead.

One of her braids had come undone. She went to tuck her hair behind her ear, and realized her maid’s cap was gone. I’ve lost it. Maude’s lucky cap. The one with the lace on it.

For some reason, that was what tipped her over the edge. Fat, heavy tears began to fall, stinging her scratched face and arms. Hattie scrubbed them away with her sleeve. She missed the hotel, with its magic lamps and freshly laundered sheets. The cheery clink of the dishes and the ding of the elevator bells. She even missed Evelyn.

Evelyn is dead.

It finally hit her, huge and black and bottomless. Evelyn was the same age as Hattie. It seemed impossible that she could be dead. I was supposed to take care of her. I failed Mrs. G. I failed Evelyn. I failed everyone.

Hattie slumped against a tree trunk. Her head throbbed, and her feet hurt. She was desperately tired, but the last thing she wanted to do was sleep. It would be too quiet. The horrible things that had happened today would come crowding back—there wouldn’t be anything to stop them—

A tear spilled over, rolling hotly down her cheek. Oh, Evelyn, I’m so sorry.

Then the tree whispered her name.