The Night Train Conductor – Part 2: Terminus

The discipline of the line was slow and severe, and wonderfully theatrical. She returned at midnight and examined him, with a torch and a clipboard, like a customs official. She asked questions, quietly, and corrected his answers. She made him stand, sit, stand again, hold the luggage rack with both hands while the train swayed. She made him recite the regulations. She tapped her pencil on the glass when he hesitated and looked at him over the top of her cap until he felt like the smallest man in Europe. All of it was exact and controlled, with not a flicker of real anger.

"Do you wish to continue, passenger?" at every station they passed.

"I do, Conductor."

"Say it clearly."

"I do. Thank you."

Rain streaked the window. The train rocked him like a hand on his back.

At six, the sky paled over a stretch of silver water.

"Terminus," said Vivienne.

She blew the whistle, one short note. The cap came off. The coat was draped over his shoulders. She sat beside him on the seat and put her arm around him, and the train carried them gently towards the morning.

"How are you?"

"Delivered," said Anton, with a tremulous laugh. "Completely."

"You were a superb passenger." She kissed his forehead.

"Is there a return journey?"

"The line runs every month." She smiled. "I have been given a promotion. I am now Chief Inspector."

"Goodness help me," said Anton, and went pink.

"Good lad," said Vivienne.

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