Railroad: Part 7

Time for a flashback

Yesterday

Substack Writers

unexpectedly mentioned Tales from the Triverse in their latest newsletter. A big hello is therefore in order to everyone who just arrived here.

Hello!

You’re coming in on the tail end of a multi-part story, which I imagine could be quite confusing. You have some options. You can go back to the start of the ‘Railroad’ storyline, or you can go to the very beginning of Tales from the Triverse with the prologue, or you can choose your own route using the index. Your choice. Enjoy!

The Triverse is
Mid-Earth, an alternate 1970s London
Max-Earth, a vision of the 26th century
Palinor, where magic is real

Previously: Detective Lola Styles has stopped the transit of illegal migrants through the portal to London. She has now made a shocking discovery: that her partner, Princess Daryla, is somehow involved…

Bruglia.
3202. Frostfield. Earlier that year.

Princess Daryla Baltine was in a good mood. She had overseen the signing of a new trade deal with the United African Conglomerate over on Mid-Earth the week before and had only just returned from a quick visit to Max-Earth. Daryla always felt most alive when travelling, especially cross-portal, flitting between realities for critical meetings. Her presence as the Princess of Bruglia could sway negotiations in Palinor’s favour, or solve a deadlock. A skilled diplomat she might be, but often all she needed to do was enter the room.

And she liked to be in the room. To be there with those making decisions. To be a decision maker. That’s how she made her difference, to her own world and the neighbouring ones. It had taken some doing, to be seen as more than her father’s pretty daughter, but in the last couple of years she had sensed a change. She was being listened to.

Better than all of that, however, was that Detective Lola Styles had arrived in Bruglia and would be staying for the foreseeable future. Another pet project of Daryla’s: she’d been laying the groundwork for a Palinor-Mid-Earth liaison officer for months. Ever since that exciting little charity dinner on the airship, during which the koth ambassador had almost expired from a daft recipe. Lola Styles had made quite the impact, one way or another. Daryla had been even more impressed during her visit with Detective Clarke the previous year, during the prisoner extradition.

A liaison officer was a good idea, of course. Making sure that Lola was selected to be the officer was a little trickier, and took some greasing of the wheels. Not that she hadn’t earned it - she was the best in interview by far. Daryla putting in several good words with the panel can’t have hurt, though.

A week later, more-or-less.

The head chef had put on a remarkable feast, as always. This time she’d surpassed even her own high standards. Seafood from the coast - the frozen transport of which required some skilled elementalists - and meat from the mountains, with a selection of vegetables from across the continent. There were a couple that even Daryla didn’t recognise.

Perhaps it was too much. Lola had barely got her feet under the table in her new office and was still adapting to living in Bruglia.

A bell rang and Mair, one of the housekeepers, ducked her head into the dining room. “Your guest has arrived, Princess.”

Hurrying down the hallway to greet her, Daryla checked over her appearance one final time. She’d had the palace’s visualist place a spell on her earlier that day - nothing extreme, but a few tweaks here and there to her complexion, an extra glint in her eyes, and an altered, deeper hue for her hair.

She had to stifle a laugh when she saw Lola, who was dressed in decidedly London clothes and looked like she was on a safari holiday. Later that evening perhaps they could do something about that. Daryla had such an absurd abundance of wardrobe, after all.

Despite her attire, Lola Styles looked as effervescent as ever. Her attitude always shone through, and being at the tail end of a long day did nothing to dampen that. Daryla found the woman’s enthusiasm intoxicating. It was a rare thing, out of place on both Mid-Earth and Palinor, where despair was a more common reaction. Even on Max-Earth, where they only knew abundance, there was an apathetic malaise rather than a true appreciation for their good fortune.

Lola did her own thing.

Several weeks later.

They’d actually done it, Lola and Rexen and the SDC detectives in London. Successfully breaking up the stranglehold of the gangs was no minor thing, especially the one formally run by George Collins and Fred Thomas. Two accidental imports from London, who’d wasted no time carving out a space for themselves in Bruglia’s underworld.

London, always injecting its own brand of criminal into their world. If it wasn’t gangs it was the super-rich, taking advantage of Palinor’s relatively lax regulation, or companies using her world to bypass manufacturing restrictions or health and safety. They all wanted a piece of Palinor, and Palinor was happy to carve off its flesh on demand. Daryla’s father played no small part in that, lording over Bruglia and the portal itself. His power was derived from the triverse. As a kid she’d thought it impressive and had relished coming of age so that she could share in that influence.

Somewhere along the line, she’d started thinking differently.

There was a tension between her and Lola, which she’d have to resolve at some point. It was no good getting her all the way to Bruglia and then falling out over something as trifling as sex. If Lola needed some time and space, then that was fine.

Not that the woman had been sitting around during the day. She’d already turned Bruglia’s criminal landscape upside-down - not on her own, of course, but it was unlikely that Rexen would have made such a bold move without SDC support and information.

There was a vacuum. With Thomas in a cell and Collins in the wind, Bruglia was in sore need of a firm hand. Left to its own devices, the small gangs would tear the outskirts apart. The violence would tip over into the central mesa and there’d be blood in the streets.

It was an opportunity.

Daryla, clad in black and with a mask obscuring her lower face, crouched on a rooftop, her long hair hidden away beneath a tight cap. She’d started her night rounds years before, when she was still a kid. Sneaking out of her bedroom window at night and over the fence - she knew how the sensors worked and how to momentarily bypass them - then skulking through the city, out of sight, usually up high, keeping to the shadows.

For a long time that’s all she’d done: observe. Get to know the parts of her city that her father kept out of sight, perhaps for her protection or perhaps to avoid raising suspicion. There was nothing that went on in Bruglia without his permission, after all.

One evening, when she was about 14, she’d seen a woman beaten to death in an alleyway. Her only crime being that she was aen’fa, and had refused the advances of her human owner.

Daryla had done nothing. Could do nothing. She did begin to train, with the city guard and with private tutors. Self-defence, she’d told everyone, demonstrating her martial skills during parties to much amusement.

Her patrols became more than just observation, but she still kept to the shadows, and was careful.

Time for something more dramatic.

She clocked the thief from a distance, as he relieved a man of his money. Could be a lone operator, but that was unlikely. The criminals were all unionised in Bruglia. The networks went wide and deep.

Tracking him was simple; he never even thought to look up. Bruglia’s rooftops were all of a similar height, and the gaps between buildings were deliberately small in order to maximise shadowed areas during the hot months.

The thief disappeared into a nondescript building, its windows blacked out and doors barred. Daryla dropped to the ground and made her way across the street, keeping tight to the walls. The main entrance was shut and locked, but that wouldn’t be a problem as long as it wasn’t magically protected. She touched a hand to the lock and felt the tumblers within, prodding at them and visualising their shape and position in her mind. A suitably skilled micrologist could manipulate small matter, even down to cellular structures. Given enough time or energy she could simply deconstruct the lock mechanism, pulling its cells apart until it was dust.

That kind of finesse was a waste of time in this instance. She identified the pattern and nudged the pieces into place until the lock turned and the door opened. There were doors that even she couldn’t pick, but clearly this gang hadn’t the brains or resources to install one.

Inside was a maze of stone corridors, unlit and full of blind corners. It was too dark to effectively wield, so she’d need to rely on other skills.

She encountered the first goon leaning against a wall and smoking. He went down choking. The next two guys were around the corner, chatting idly about who was going to take over now that the bosses were gone. Sounded like the right place. She dispatched them within two seconds of each other. Her micrology might not be any use in the dark corridors, not without bringing her own light source, but over the years it had accommodated her an especially detailed understanding of human anatomy. It proved useful in all sorts of situations, not least when incapacitating people quickly and quietly.

It was easy up until that point, but then she was spotted by someone at the far end of a long corridor and they shouted a warning. No more being sneaky.

She ran the length of the corridor, throwing a slender blade at her opponent. He fell to the floor before she even reached him, but three more were already coming around the corner. She went high, up onto the wall, using her momentum to launch herself over the group, grabbing the heads of two of them as she passed, dragging them both bodily to the floor. One of them was knocked out of the fight immediately, with the other stunned, which left the third. He was more dangerous: fast and armed with a knife. She was faster, and better trained, and he soon had his face in the wall. A heel to the head of the other one ended his attempts to stand.

The corridor turned another corner and led into a larger room, with the ceiling giving way to the floors above. It wasn’t clear from the ramshackle state of the place whether it was by design or whether it had at some point fallen in on itself. Dim torches burned on the walls, and there were tables and chairs. A meeting space of some sort.

There were at least a dozen armed thugs, positioned and ready for her. A small fraction of the gang, then. They’d probably all scattered and gone to ground.

“Come to the wrong house, lady,” said the biggest of them, a huge, old koth with weathered, cracked skin, hefting a club that was thicker than Daryla’s entire body.

Daryla tweaked her vocal chords just slightly, enough to shift her voice an octave. Not that any of this lot would recognise her, but it didn’t hurt to be careful. “I hear you’re looking for new leadership.”

“Heard wrong,” the big koth said, rows of pointed teeth glinting in the torchlight.

The koth stumbled as they tried to approach, dropping down on one knee. They looked confused, but were unable to speak. She’d made sure of that.

“I’ve restricted blood flow to your brain,” Daryla said, slowly and calmly so that everyone could understand. “I can kill you with a flick of my finger. I can do the same to any of you. All of you. All at once. If you’d rather avoid that, I suggest you listen to my proposal.”

She gestured towards the seats, then strode over and sat down at the head of the table. Waiting patiently, she let the rest of them reluctantly take a chair each. All except for the koth, who remained crouched and struggling to breathe.

“Your gang is a mess,” she said. “Collins isn’t coming back. He might set up somewhere else, but he’s not coming back to Bruglia.” She waved at the koth. “None of you are set up for this. That’s why you’re going to do what I say. From now on, I’m in charge. You do what you’re told, you’ll live. You might even do well out of it.”

The koth held up a hand. Daryla waited another second, then loosened her grip on the artery. “What is it you want? What’s your trade?”

“Yeah,” piped up one of the others, “what are we going to be pushing? Sex? Drugs? Weapons? Kids? Slaves? What’s the gig?”

“Something much more powerful, and much more valuable,” Daryla said. “Not to mention more dangerous. We’re Bruglia’s new information brokers. And possibly some other things.”

She saw a flicker of a reaction on the koth’s face. Surprise, and something almost akin to hope. That was unexpected. Maybe there was more to the koth than just being a heavy.

Now.

“That’s how it went,” Daryla said, in that moment feeling more powerless than she’d ever felt. Lola’s apartment had faded away, leaving only Lola herself, wearing only a robe yet somehow commanding all the power in the room. Daryla realised she desperately wanted Lola’s approval, and that she should have asked for it far earlier.

“You’re in charge of a gang?” Lola spluttered.

“Sort of, yes.”

“And you’ve been using the old Barrindon cargo routes and loopholes to smuggle people through the portal?”

“Correct.”

“What the actual fuck?”

“I know it looks bad—“

“Looks bad? Do you have any idea what happens to people who transit illegally?”

Daryla held up her hands. “Not this time. We’re doing it right, I promise. We handle it both ends. It’s safe. I’ve been using all these systems to do something good. The underground railroad is helping people. Or it was, until you shut the portals, and then stopped one of the containers.”

Lola ran her fingers through her hair and let out a long moan. “It wasn’t my fault the portals got shut down! And don’t try to blame me for this. I was literally doing my job!” She paused, then looked Daryla in the eyes, somehow even angrier. “Wait, were you able to do this because I was telling you information about my cases?”

Daryla flopped down onto a dining chair. “None of it matters now. Not the railroad, at least. It’s done. So what about you?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. What now?” She looked up, into Lola’s eyes. She wondered if they could have had a normal, quiet life. But, then, they’d never have met each other. “The question is, Lola, are you going to arrest me?”

---

Thank you for reading!

Well, wasn’t that exciting? Daryla has been busy. I thought this week’s chapter would be the finale for this particular storyline, but it looks like we’ve got one last instalment before we move on. These things happen¹ when you’re writing and publishing as you go.

As I mentioned up top, yesterday this happened:

Killing Eve’s creator brings his antiheroine back to life in a Substack serialization

There were numerous exciting aspects to this article. Substack had dedicated an official newsletter to a fiction serial!

Luke Jennings

of Killing Eve fame was serialising a new story in his series, sending it directly to readers! And, er, Tales from the Triverse got a mention alongside Jennings,

Chuck Palahniuk

,

Bill McKibben

,

Eleanor Anstruther

and

S J WATSON

.

Now, to be clear, I’m not used to my name being casually sandwiched in-between Jennings and Palahniuk, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Enormously exciting, of course, and I’m especially thrilled to see serialisation as a form being showcased in this manner. I’ve been banging on about it since 2015, after all.

I’m hoping that this focus, and having high profile writers on board, will encourage Substack to innovate and add some features in the fiction/serial space. Some of this stuff, for example:

MEANWHILE.

Nishant is always worth reading. If you haven’t yet gazed upon his tiny art, you’re missing out. I missed his latest take on generative AI back in December, so here it is:

Art and Artificial Intelligence

The relating of AI art to stock photography is a good one. Occasionally useful and illustrative, but ultimately meaningless. Decoration and embellishment rather than art. A stock image can still be a lovely photo, just as an AI generated image can be a pleasing visual. But people don’t tend to frame stock photos and hang them on the wall.

Meaghan chimed in as well:

AI insists on putting me in a bad mood

My relationship with AI has been a weird one. In 2022 I was hugely excited by AI images and MidJourney. In fact, I used it to illustrate Tales from the Triverse for quite a long time. The idea of having custom-made, high quality images that could represent each chapter, produced at a higher technical quality than anything I could do myself, was deeply appealing.

I stopped using MidJourney at the beginning of 2023. I’d grown bored with the images, and was missing doing my own art. Sure, my illustrations are janky and amateur, but they’re mine. I think that works better for me, and for people reading the story.

As for ChatGPT…well, it’s a very convincing simulation of a really boring human.

I’m looking forward to the generative AI hype train derailing so that we can focus on more exciting applications of AI to things like medicine and societal infrastructure. Using AI to solve traffic congestion? Go for it. AI to put artists out of work? No.

Talking of art, here are some recent illustrations I’ve done, including for today’s chapter:

Ninja Daryla and a marshmallow roasting a human. Obviously.

Finally, and on another note, this BBC article about writing about the future intrigued me, given that I spend a fair bit of my time doing that through my fiction.

Right, let’s hop into some notes on this chapter.

Author notes

Daryla the ninja! I mean, why not? For a while now there have been hints of her pulling away from her assigned role in life. Remember when we first met her, on that airship², and she talked about mostly doing what she was told? That’s never sat right with her.

Eagle-eyed readers will have spotted other bits and pieces along the way: how she dealt with the arrival of the rebel mages in the marketplace during ‘Expeditions & Interrogations’; some clues in the behaviour of the rebel group when we’ve glimpsed them subsequently.

And then, the rest of the time, she’s playing diplomat and hosting extravagant parties. She’s far from being a political Batman here, though. As we see in today’s chapter, her methods are more ruthless, more violent.

This is another good example of a chapter rewriting itself, the closer I got to it. I’d imagined it being a direct continuation of the conversation between Lola and Daryla, and it was only when I sat down to write it that I decided to go the flashback route. It felt more surprising, more rewarding, and we don’t often get a chance to go into Daryla’s POV.

Flashbacks are weird. Growing up and as a student of film and English at university, I was essentially taught that flashbacks are bad and lazy. A cheesy and cheap way to deliver exposition. In the last year-or-two, prompted largely by my son, I’ve started educating myself a little on manga and anime, and have realised that Japanese storytelling - at least in the realm of anime - relies enormously on the flashback as a structural device.

It takes some getting used to. As do the huge monologues and obsession with systems-driven plotting. For the record, I’m still very much a noob in this arena, with my experience being primarily Naruto, Naruto Shippuden, One Piece, Neon Genesis Evangelion and Attack on Titan. Plus a few stragglers and the obvious movie classics.

The key thing, especially in the way the Naruto and Attack on Titan handle it, is that flashbacks don’t simply explain a bit of the plot, but instead entirely recontextualise everything that has come before. Rather than being simple backstory explanations, the flashbacks often upturn assumptions, characters and plot, enriching what you’ve already read/watched as well as adding depth to what is still to come.

Anyway, that’s a long-winded way of me saying that I’ve probably underestimated flashbacks as a device, at least when deployed carefully and purposefully. In today’s chapter I liked that the flashback scenes intersect with earlier chapters, existing in and around event that we’ve already seen months prior.

Thanks for reading. See you next week.

1. Except when I wrote No Adults Allowed back in 2020. With that one I titled the chapters with numbers, counting down to zero. As such, I couldn’t deviate from the planned structure without throwing the whole countdown out the window. That was a really interesting exercise in being strict with myself. You can now get it in book form here.

2. This story went out November 2021, so you’re forgiven if it’s not top of mind.