The Raven and the Rails

The sun warms my face as the train rattles onward. Not a bad life, all things considered. The rhythmic clatter of steel on steel is a lullaby I've known since I was a kid, and the endless fields blurring past are a strangely comforting constant. It's funny the things you get used to. “Good day for it, eh?” The voice startles me. I hadn'...

The sun warms my face as the train rattles onward. Not a bad life, all things considered. The rhythmic clatter of steel on steel is a lullaby I've known since I was a kid, and the endless fields blurring past are a strangely comforting constant. It's funny the things you get used to. “Good day for it, eh?” The voice startles me. I hadn't noticed the raven land on the edge of the car beside me. He's got a sharp look about him, bright eyes that don't miss a thing. “Sure is,” I reply, offering a nod. “Though I’d say any day on a train is a good one.” He hops closer, cocking his head. “You a traveler, then?” “You could say that. Been driftin’ most of my life.” “Interesting. I’m Jack Signal.” He puffs out his chest a bit as if expecting me to know the name. “Bootleg.” Jack preens a bit, then hops closer. "Say Bootleg, do you like fish?" I raise an eyebrow. "I love fish, but I rarely get any. I have a bad reaction to water, see, and the cans that some of them stay in are infuriatingly impossible to get in." Fish wasn't easy to come by when you were living on the fringes. Jack leans closer now, something mischievous in his eye. He lowers his voice. "I know a guy, see? Theo? He can get us fish. Good fish. Smoked salmon, even. But it ain't free. Everything's a trade, Bootleg. Everything." He cocks his head, studying me. I can almost see the calculations turning in his sharp little mind. He's sizing me up, figuring out what I'm worth. I can smell the scent of pine and woodsmoke coming from the trees along the railway, and the sun is warm on my back. It's a peaceful moment, despite the stranger beside me. Jack hops closer, his obsidian eyes gleaming in the sunlight. He waits, expectant.

“Trade, huh?” I say, considering. “What do I look like I got that you’d want?” Jack hops from one foot to the other, clearly excited. “Oh, I have my ways of knowing things. Let’s just say… you have access to certain… resources. Things that a certain raven might find… useful.” We talk a while longer, the train click-clacking beneath us. ...

“Trade, huh?” I say, considering. “What do I look like I got that you’d want?” Jack hops from one foot to the other, clearly excited. “Oh, I have my ways of knowing things. Let’s just say… you have access to certain… resources. Things that a certain raven might find… useful.” We talk a while longer, the train click-clacking beneath us. I learn that Jack has a fondness for shiny things, and a network of contacts that stretches further than I would have thought possible for a bird. I tell him about my aversion to water, and the trouble I’ve had with tin cans. He seems genuinely amused by my plight. We talk about our favorite meals, the virtues of good trade relations, and the best way to avoid detection on a moving train. Finally, Jack looks around, tilting his head. “Well, Bootleg, this is our stop.” I glance around, surprised. “Stop? I didn’t see any towns nearby.” “Don’t need a town,” Jack says with a wink. “Theo’s nearby, we just have to get off.” I look down at the ground rushing beneath us. We’re traveling faster than I’d care to land if I jumped. “Think I’ll pass. Thanks, but I don’t feel like splattering myself on the countryside today.” Jack sighs dramatically. “Oh, alright. Always have to do everything myself.” He pauses, then his obsidian eyes gleam mischievously. “Tell you what, Bootleg, I’ll give you a lift.” I raise an eyebrow, dubious. “A lift? You mean… fly?” “Of course, fly! What else would I mean?” He struts back and forth, preening. “I’m not just any raven, you know. I have… marvelous talents.” I hesitate for a moment, then shrug. What the hell? I figure I'll likely get hurt less than jumping. “Alright, Jack. I’m trusting you on this.” I clamber onto his back, grabbing onto his feathers as best I can. He spreads his wings, and the wind generated from the speed of the train lifts us both. For a moment, we’re suspended in the air, weightless. It’s exhilarating. Then, the ground rushes up to meet us. The landing is less than graceful. Jack, not anticipating my weight, is ill-prepared for the rapid descent once we lose our initial speed. I tumble over his head as his beak plants into the drying mud. Jack’s momentum threatens to have him tumble, head over talons, but his beak holds fast in the mud, leaving him stuck, tail feathers pointing straight up. I quickly scramble to my feet and help free him. He emerges from the mud sputtering, shaking his head. “Never,” he croaks, “never doing that again.” He shakes his feathers out, sending a spray of mud into the air. He eyes me wearily. The sunlight reflects off the mud stuck to his beak.

“Jack . . . Jack, let me help you with this,” I say, watching him struggle. “How on earth do you ever stay clean?” He pauses his frantic shaking, one muddy eye regarding me warily. “Stay clean? What’s that?” I chuckle, despite the grit of the mud that already seems to be finding its way into every crevice of my body. “Fair enough. Here,...

“Jack . . . Jack, let me help you with this,” I say, watching him struggle. “How on earth do you ever stay clean?” He pauses his frantic shaking, one muddy eye regarding me warily. “Stay clean? What’s that?” I chuckle, despite the grit of the mud that already seems to be finding its way into every crevice of my body. “Fair enough. Here, let me give you a hand, or… a tongue, I guess.” I start with his beak, gently licking away the caked mud. He stiffens under my ministrations, as still as a statue. I move on to his head, careful not to get any mud in his eyes. He remains frozen, every feather taut. “Relax, Jack,” I murmur, my voice muffled by his feathers. “I’m not going to hurt you.” Slowly, he seems to unclench, though his body is still rigid. I continue cleaning, moving down his neck and onto his back. I focus on the particularly stubborn clumps of mud, enjoying the way he flinches slightly at the rasp of my tongue against his feathers. It's a curious feeling, this connection. I’ve never groomed another creature before. He feels fragile under my care, though I know ravens are anything but. Once I’ve removed the majority of the mud, I step back to admire my handiwork. Or, rather, my tongue-work. Jack is still damp, his feathers ruffled, but he’s undeniably cleaner. “There,” I say, pleased with myself. “Good as new.” Jack ruffles his feathers experimentally. “Well, I’ll be,” he says, sounding surprised. “That’s… actually quite nice.” He preens a little, then cocks his head. “Say, Bootleg, you wouldn’t happen to be offering that service on a regular basis, would you?” He gives me a sidelong glance, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Depends,” I say, matching his tone. “What’s the going rate for a professional feather-cleaner these days?” He laughs, a dry, rasping sound. “Oh, I’m sure we can come to some arrangement. But first,” he pauses, looking around, “we have business to attend to. Theo is expecting us.” He gestures with his beak toward the treeline in the distance. The wind rustles the leaves, carrying with it the faint scent of damp earth and…something else. Something vaguely fishy. Jack perks his head toward the trees, then looks back at me, expectant.