Precognition EN ROUTE FROM BOSTON TO NEW YORK, OCTOBER 31, 1902

Most of the train’s passengers have settled into their respective cars and compartments to read or sleep or otherwise pass the journey. Corridors that were bustling with people at departure time are now nearly empty as Poppet and Widget make their way from car to car, quiet as cats.

Tags hang by each compartment door, marked with handwritten names. They stop at the one that reads “C. Bowen” and Widget lifts his hand to knock softly on the frosted glass.

“Come in,” calls a voice from inside, and Poppet slides the door open.

“Are we interrupting anything?” she asks.

“No,” Celia says. “Do come in.” She closes the symbol-filled book she has been reading and places it on a table. The entire compartment looks like an explosion in a library, piles of books and paper amongst the velvet-covered benches and polished-wood tables. The light dances around the room with the motion of the train, bouncing off the crystal chandeliers.

Widget slides the door closed behind them and latches it.

“Would you like some tea?” Celia asks.

“No, thank you,” Poppet says. She looks nervously at Widget, who only nods.

Celia watches both of them, Poppet biting her lip and refusing to meet Celia’s eyes, while Widget leans against the door.

“Out with it,” she says.

“We  … ” Poppet starts. “We have a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” Celia asks, moving piles of books so they can sit on the violet benches but the twins both remain where they are.

“I think something that was supposed to happen didn’t happen,” Poppet says.

“And what might that be?” Celia asks.

“Our friend Bailey was supposed to come with us.”

“Ah yes, Widget mentioned something about that,” Celia says. “I take it he did not?”

“No,” Poppet says. “We waited for him but he didn’t come, but I don’t know if that’s because he didn’t want to or because we left early.”

“I see,” Celia says. “It seems a very big decision to me, deciding whether or not to run away and join the circus. Perhaps he did not have enough time to properly consider it.”

“But he was supposed to come,” Poppet says. “I know he was supposed to come.”

“Did you see something?” Celia asks.

“Sort of.”

“How does one sort of see something?”

“It’s not as clear as it was before,” Poppet says. “I can’t see anything as clearly as I used to. It’s all bits and pieces that don’t make sense. Nothing here has made any sense for a year and you know it.”

“I think that is an exaggeration, but I understand how it can seem that way,” Celia says.

“It is not an exaggeration,” Poppet says, raising her voice.

The chandeliers begin to shudder and Celia closes her eyes, taking a deep breath and waiting for them to return to a gentle sway before she speaks.

“Poppet, there is no one here who is more upset by what happened last year than I am. And I have told you before it is not your fault, and there is nothing that could have been done to prevent it. Not by you, not by me, not by anyone else. Do you understand that?”

“Yes,” Poppet says. “But what’s the use in seeing the future if I can’t do anything to stop it?”

“You cannot stop things,” Celia says. “You can only be prepared for them to happen.”

“You could stop them,” Poppet mumbles, looking around at the multitude of books. Celia puts a finger under Poppet’s chin and turns her head to look her in the eye.

“Only a handful of people on this train have any idea how integral I am to the running of the circus,” she says. “And as much as you two are amongst them and you are both extremely clever, you do not comprehend the scope of what goes on here and you wouldn’t particularly like it if you did. Now, tell me what you sort of saw.”

Poppet closes her eyes, trying to concentrate. “I don’t know,” she says. “It was bright, everything was on fire, and Bailey was there.”

“You’re going to have to do better than that,” Celia says.

“I can’t,” Poppet says. “I haven’t seen anything clearly since before—”

“And that’s likely because you don’t want to see anything clearly after that, and I can’t say I blame you. But if you want me to do something to prevent whatever this is, I am going to need more information.”

She unclasps the long silver chain that hangs around her neck, checking the time on the pocket watch that hangs from it before she holds it up in front of Poppet’s eyes.

“Please, Poppet,” Celia says. “You don’t need the stars for this. Just focus. Even if you don’t want to.”

Poppet frowns, then turns her attention to the dangling silver watch as it sways in the warm light.

Her eyes narrow, focusing on the reflections in the curve of the watch, and then they soften, looking at something beyond the watch, beyond the train.

She starts to sway as her eyes flutter closed, and she falls backward. Widget leaps forward to catch her before she hits the floor.

Celia helps him move Poppet to one of the velvet benches by the table, while on a nearby shelf a cup of tea pours itself, steaming and brewing instantly in a flowered china cup.

Poppet blinks, looking up at the chandeliers as though seeing them for the first time, before turning back to Celia to accept the cup of tea.

“That hurt,” Poppet says.

“I’m sorry, dearest,” Celia says. “I think your sight is getting stronger, which makes it even more troublesome for you to be suppressing it.”

Poppet nods, rubbing her temples.

“Tell me everything you saw,” Celia says. “Everything. I don’t care if it doesn’t make any sense. Try to describe it.”

Poppet looks into her tea before she starts.

“There’s a fire,” she says. “It starts with the bonfire but  …  bigger and there’s nothing containing it. Like the whole courtyard is on fire, there’s a loud noise and this heat and  … ” Poppet pauses, closing her eyes as she attempts to concentrate on the images in her head. She opens her eyes and looks back at Celia. “You’re there. You’re with someone else and I think it’s raining, and then you’re not there anymore but you still are, I can’t explain it. And then Bailey is there, not during the fire but after it, I think.”

“What did the someone else look like?” Celia asks.

“A man. He was tall. In a suit, with a bowler hat, I think. It was hard to tell.”

Celia rests her head in her hands for a moment before she speaks.

“If that is who I think it is, I know for a fact he is in London at the moment, so perhaps this is not as immediate as you think.”

“But it is, I’m sure of it,” Poppet protests.

“Timing has never been your strong point. You said yourself that this friend of yours is also present for this incident, and your first complaint was that he is not here. This might not happen for weeks or months or years, ‘Pet.”

“But we have to do something,” Poppet says, slamming her teacup down on the table. The tea stops before it splashes onto an open book as though there is an invisible wall surrounding it. “To be prepared, like you said.”

“I will do what I can to prevent the circus from going up in smoke. I shall fireproof it as much as possible. Is that enough for now?”

After a moment, Poppet nods.

“Good,” Celia says. “We’ll be off the train in a matter of hours, we can discuss this more later.”

“Wait,” Widget says. He has been sitting on the back of one of the velvet benches, staying out of the conversation. Now he turns to Celia. “I have a question before you shoo us away.”

“What is it?” she asks.

“You said we don’t comprehend the scope of what goes on here,” he says.

“That was likely not the best choice of words.”

“It’s a game, isn’t it?” Widget asks.

Celia looks at him, a slow, sad smile tugging at her lips.

“It took you sixteen years to figure that one out,” she says. “I expected more from you, Widge.”

“I’d guessed as much for a while,” he says. “It’s not easy to see things you don’t want me to know, but I’ve been picking up bits of it lately. You haven’t been as guarded as usual.”

“A game?” Poppet asks, looking back and forth between her brother and Celia.

“Like a chess game,” Widget says. “The circus is the board.”

“Not exactly,” Celia says. “It’s not as straightforward as chess.”

“We’re all playing a game?” Poppet asks.

“Not us,” Widget says. “Her and someone else. The rest of us are, what, extra pieces?”

“It’s not like that,” Celia says.

“Then what is it like?” Widget asks.

In response, Celia only looks at him, staring directly into his eyes without wavering.

Widget returns her gaze silently for some time while Poppet watches them curiously. Eventually, Widget blinks, the surprise evident on his face. Then he looks down at his shoes.

Celia sighs, and when she speaks she addresses them both.

“If I have not been completely honest with you, it is only because I know a great deal of things that you do not want to know. I am going to ask that you trust me when I tell you I am trying to make things better. It is an extremely delicate balance and there are a great many factors involved. The best we can do right now is take everything as it comes, and not worry ourselves over things that have happened, or things that are to come. Agreed?”

Widget nods and Poppet reluctantly follows suit.

“Thank you,” Celia says. “Now please go and try to get some rest.”

Poppet gives her an embrace before slipping out the door back into the hall.

Widget lingers a moment.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” Celia tells him.

“I’m sorry anyway.”

He kisses her on the cheek before he leaves, not waiting for her to reply.

“What was that about?” Poppet asks when Widget joins her in the hall.

“She let me read her,” Widget says. “All of her, without concealing anything. She’s never done that before.” He refuses to elaborate as they walk quietly back down the length of the train.

“What do you think we should do?” Poppet asks once they have reached their car, a marmalade cat crawling onto her lap.

“I think we should wait,” Widget says. “I think that’s all we can do right now.”

*

ALONE IN HER BOOK-FILLED CHAMBER, Celia begins tearing her handkerchief into strips. One at a time she drops each scrap of silk and lace into an empty teacup and lights it on fire. She repeats this process over and over, working until the cloth burns without charring, remaining bright and white within the flame.