When he reached the bottom, he handed my parcel back to me, then he untied the kerchief from his neck and said, “Apologies, miss, but we do have to be careful.” He wrapped the kerchief over my eyes and tied it at the back of my head. “This isn’t too tight, is it?” he asked, his voice gentle.

“No. It’s merely disconcerting.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll have it off you in a minute.”

Even with the blindfold, I could tell when he lit a lantern. I wasn’t sure how he carried it because he took my parcel from me and tucked my hand into his elbow so he could guide me. He was a considerate guide, warning me when there was a step up or down and steering me around obstacles.

I tried to track each turn and how far we walked between turns, but I was soon hopelessly confused. I had a sneaking suspicion that he led me in circles a time or two to throw me off. Wherever he was taking me, it must have been a great secret.

At last, we entered what I presumed from the sound of our footsteps to be a large chamber. My guide removed my blindfold, and I saw that what I’d taken for an ornament in his top hat was the lens of a lantern. I thought that was remarkable, but then I noticed my surroundings.

I was in a first-class railway station waiting room—or, rather, what one might look like deep underground. There were rows of high-backed benches made of ornately carved dark wood upholstered with red velvet. Brass chandeliers dangled from a rough stone ceiling, and travertine tiles lay underfoot. The walls were paneled in dark wood to just above head height, with rough stone above that.

Beside the waiting area stood an odd vessel that looked something like a boat, with a pointed wooden prow and a curved glass window at the front. A steering wheel stood between the prow and the window, and there was a long red-velvet-cushioned bench behind the window, with a single back down the middle, so the passengers would sit back-to-back.

A tunnel stretched ahead of the vessel, narrowing as it left the waiting area, with a set of railroad tracks leading down it. Behind the vessel at the far end of the cavern was something that looked like the steam-powered dynamo in the theater’s basement. A group of men fed coal into it. About a dozen Mechanics sat in the waiting room.

“Can you take a couple more?” my guide called to the men working on the dynamo.

“Can you drive for us? Our scheduled driver hasn’t shown.”

“He may not make it—there’s fighting. And you know I’m always up for a drive.”

“Then we can take your passenger. We’ve room on this run. We’ll be leaving as soon as we get her charged up.”