The Peregrines

Chapter 11

{ Edited - 27th August, 2021 }
{ Edited - 7th May, 2024 }

The train screeched to a halt as it arrived at the station. The conductor leaned out of a window and called out, "Eight-thirty to London! All aboard!"

The people resting on the benches at the depot woke up and started moving slowly towards the platform. Suddenly, a gentleman wearing a grey suit rushed past us towards the ticket window. He handed over some money to the clerk, got his ticket, and quickly made his way towards the train.

"You said it was full!" Emma said, rapping hard on the glass. "You can't do that!"

"That gentleman bought a first-class ticket," the clerk said.

"Now be gone with you, pestilent little beggars! Go find pockets to pick somewhere else!"

Horace stepped to the ticket window and said, "Beggars, by definition, do not carry large sums of money," He then dug into his coat pocket and smacked a thick stack of cash onto the counter. "If it's first-class tickets you're selling, then that's what we'll have!"

The clerk straightened up in astonishment, staring at the stack of money. The rest of us were equally bewildered, wondering where on earth Horace had managed to acquire it. As we watched, he sifted through the bills, examining them carefully. the clerk said, "Why, this is enough to buy seats for an entire first-class car!"

"Then give us an entire car!" said Horace. "That way you can be sure we'll pick no one's pocket."

The clerk turned red and stammered, "Y-yes sir—sorry, sir—and I hope you won't take my previous comments as anything other than jest-"

"Just give us the blasted tickets so we can get on the train!"

"Right away, sir!"

The clerk slid a stack of first-class tickets toward us. "Enjoy your trip!" he said. "And please don't tell anyone I said so, sirs and madams, but if I were you, I'd hide that bird out of sight. The conductors won't like it, first-class tickets or not."

As we walked away from the counter, clutching our tickets, Horace's chest swelled with pride, resembling a majestic peacock. "Where on earth did you get all that money?" said Emma.

"I rescued it from Miss Peregrine's dresser drawer before the house burned," Horace replied. "Tailored a special pocket in my coat to keep it safe."

"Horace, you're a genius!" said Bronwyn.

"Would a real genius have given away every cent of our money like that?" said Enoch. "Did we really need an entire first-class car?"

"No," said Horace, "But making that man look stupid felt good, didn't it?"

"I suppose it did," Enoch said.

"That's because the true purpose of money is to manipulate others and make them feel lesser than you."

"I'm not entirely sure about that," Emma said.

"Only kidding!" said Horace. "It's to buy clothes, of course."

We were about to board the train when the conductor stopped us. "Let's see your tickets!" he said as he tried to grab the pile from Horace's hand, but then he saw Bronwyn sneakily tucking something into her coat. "What's that you've got there?" the conductor said, rounding on her suspiciously.

"What's what I've got where?" Bronwyn replied as she attempted to appear nonchalant as she tightly clutched her coat, concealing a squirming mass within.

"In your coat there!" the conductor said. "Don't toy with me, girl."

"It's, ahhh . . . " Bronwyn tried to think fast and failed. "A bird?"

Emma's head dropped down, causing Enoch to cover his eyes and let out a groan. "No pets on the train!" the conductor barked.

"But you don't understand," said Bronwyn. "I've had her ever since I was a child . . . and we must get on this train . . . and we paid so much for our tickets!"

"Rules are rules!" the conductor said, his patience fraying. "Do not toy with me!"

Emma's head bopped up, her face brightening. "A toy!" she said.

"Excuse me?" said the conductor.

"It isn't a real bird, conductor sir. We'd never dream of breaking the rules like that. It's my sister's favourite toy, you see, and she thinks you mean to take it away from her." She clasped her hands pitifully, imploring. "You wouldn't take away a child's favourite toy, would you?"

The conductor stepped toward her. "Let's see this toy, then."

We all held our breath as Bronwyn carefully unzipped her coat, reached inside, and pulled out Miss Peregrine. My heart skipped a beat when I saw the bird, fearing the worst. Miss Peregrine appeared lifeless, completely rigid with closed eyes and stiff legs protruding from Bronwyn's hand. However, relief washed over me as I soon realized that she was merely playing along.

"See?" Bronwyn said. "Birdy ain't real. She's stuffed."

"I saw it moving earlier!" the conductor said.

"It's a—ehm—a wind-up model," said Bronwyn. "Watch."

Bronwyn crouched down and gently placed Miss Peregrine on the ground, carefully lifting her wing and mimicking winding a toy. Suddenly, Miss Peregrine's eyes popped open and she started to wobble around, her head moving mechanically and legs kicking like they were on springs. Eventually, she came to an abrupt halt and fell over, stiff as a board.

The conductor seemed almost—but not quite—convinced. "Well," he hemmed, "if it's a toy, you won't mind putting it away in your toy chest." He nodded at the trunk, which Bronwyn had set down on the platform.

Bronwyn hesitated. "It isn't a—"

"Yes, fine, that's no bother," said Emma, flipping open the trunk's latches. "Put it away now, sister!"

"But what if there's no air in there?" Bronwyn hissed at Emma.

"Then we'll poke some blessed holes in the side of it!" Emma hissed back.

Bronwyn carefully placed Miss Peregrine into the trunk. "Ever so sorry, ma'am," she whispered, lowering and then latching the lid. I suppressed the urge to laugh at my mother's predicament.

The conductor finally took our tickets. "First class!" he said, surprised. "Your car's all the way down the front." He pointed to the far end of the platform. "You'd best hurry!"

"Now he tells us!" said Emma, and we took off down the platform at a jog.

As the train let out a chug of steam and a metallic groan, it slowly started to move alongside us. At first, it was just inching along, but with every rotation of its wheels, it gained a bit more speed. We reached the first-class car, and Bronwyn eagerly leapt through the open door. She placed her trunk in the aisle and extended her hand to assist Olive onto the train.

Then, from behind us, a voice shouted, "Stop! Get away from there!"

It wasn't the conductor's voice. This one was deeper, more authoritative. "I swear," Enoch said, "If one more person tries to stop us getting on this train-"

I was startled by the sound of a gunshot, causing me to trip over my own feet as I hurried out of the doorway and back onto the platform. "I said stop!" the voice bellowed again, and I glanced behind me and spotted a soldier in uniform on the platform. He had his knees bent, aiming his rifle at us. Suddenly, he fired two shots over our heads to make his message clear. "Off the train and on your knees!" he said, striding toward us.

I considered fleeing, but when I saw the soldier's eyes, with their bulging, pupil-less whites, I decided against it. He was a wight, and I was certain he wouldn't hesitate to shoot any of us. It was best not to provoke him.

Bronwyn and Olive seemed to have the same idea, as they both exited the train and knelt down beside us. It felt like we were almost there. The train departed from the station, leaving us behind, our last chance to rescue Miss Peregrine disappearing into the horizon. A sudden realization hit me - Miss Peregrine was on that train.

Bronwyn accidentally left her trunk on the train. Suddenly, I felt a surge of adrenaline and jumped up to run after the train. However, my heart sank as I came face to face with the barrel of a rifle, causing all strength to leave my body in an instant.

"Not. Another. Step," the soldier said.

I sank back to the ground.

* * *

We knelt down, hands raised, our hearts pounding. The soldier moved around us, alert, his rifle pointed and his finger ready on the trigger. It was the most intense and prolonged encounter I had with a wight since Barron.

He was dressed in a typical British army uniform—khaki shirt tucked into wool pants, black boots, helmet—but he seemed uncomfortable in them, with the pants askew and the helmet positioned too far back on his head as if it were a costume he hadn't quite grown accustomed to yet.

He appeared anxious, his head swivelling in different directions as he assessed us. Despite being outnumbered, we were only a group of unarmed children who had managed to defeat a wight recently. His biggest fear seemed to be us, and that in turn made me fearful of him. His unpredictability stemmed from his fear.

He took out a radio from his belt and spoke into it. After a burst of static, a coded response came through. I couldn't make out a single word. He commanded us to stand up. And so we did. "Where are we going?" Bronwyn asked timidly.