The Kid, chatty, said, “He’s not a bad guy, is Chalky. No hard feelings. Has three claims down in Kellysburg and environs. When he sells his shipment of substance in Jericho he’ll be set for life. Eh, Chalky?”

“S’right, kid,” the large prospector said, stopping by their table. He scratched his pale forehead and a thin shower of white substance fell down gently to the floor. “I’m just going to use the jakes.”

“You do that, Chalky.”

The Stranger watched him walk away. He could see the door through Chalky’s back, and the vestibule beyond. The big man went through and shut the door. The train rocked on its bogies. The night and the darkness pressed against the glass. The train’s horn sounded, a desperate, forlorn sound. The Stranger said, “Come with me,” and rose from his seat.

“What? Why?”

“Because the train’s going to be attacked.”

The Kid looked at him but said nothing. He got up too, and followed the Stranger out of the dining car and into the vestibule. The door to the jakes hung open, and rattled on its hinges. The Kid drew his gun but the Stranger shook his head, no, and pushed it open the rest of the way. The prospector, Chalky, was sitting slumped over the open hole in the floor. The track rolled below. Chalky’s eyes were wide open, his breathing even, but most of him was gone now, had become translucent and ethereal, and through the thick frame of his body the Stranger could see, as through a screen, into that other place. On that screen, images flickered incessantly, showing a lit city, moving cars, garbage bins, people walking, shop windows, a cat that stopped and glared at them through Chalky’s skin before slinking away, a boy furtively spraying the walls of an overhang with paint, a drunk in a clown costume urinating at the egress of an alleyway. They could see Chalky, or a version of him, walking down that city street, in a suit and a tie, holding a briefcase. The Kid wrinkled his nose and the Stranger quietly closed the door on the passed-out man.

“Ever since we left Kellybsurg I’ve had a bad feeling,” the Stranger said. “There’s something going on, behind the walls of the world. Tiny forms in huge empty spaces. I saw . . . something, out there in the Doinklands, and I think people are searching for it. A sort of weapon. . . .” He shrugged. “This train’s carrying too much substance,” he said. “I think we’re going to get robbed.”

“OK,” the kid said.

“OK?” the Stranger said. “That’s it?”

The Kid grinned and drew his gun. “Sure,” he said. “Why not.”