Quiver by Holly Luhning Read Free Book Online

We do not know where yet, but if they have survived I will find them.” She said this with complete conviction. “Danica, you are staying in Vienna for how long?”
    “A couple more days,” I said.
    “Then you should see Čachtice!” she said. “We will go tomorrow, by train.”
    The next morning, I waited for Maria in the Südbahnhof. Commuters and travellers swept through the doors and moved to and from the platforms. I was sitting on a hard metal bench by Platform Two, holding my ticket to Čachtice. I kept scanning the crowd. Our train was due to leave in six minutes. She’d show up, I told myself.
    The train was standing at the platform, and I guessed the announcements over the loudspeakers were saying that it was about to leave. Maria still wasn’t there. I debated: should I wait, hope she’ll turn up later? But the way Maria had described the journey to the castle, it sounded easy. Take the train to Bratislava, then to Nové  Mesto nad Váhom, connect with the train to Čachtice, see the ruin, come back. The trains ran until midnight, so I had lots of time to make the return trip. I checked my bag: camera, wallet, phrasebook/map. Passport snugged away in my pants pocket. I stepped onto the metal steps of the train, found my way into a second-class car and took a seat. I felt slighted, and disappointed that Maria hadn’t shown up. But I’d find Báthory’s castle on my own.
    The train pulled into Nové Mesto nad Váhom at eleven sixteen; I had four minutes to make the train to Čachtice. I stepped down from the car and crossed over a set of tracks to the station. It was bustling—four sets of tracks came through this stop, and people were filing on and off the platforms at a quick pace. My ticket said the train to Čachtice would leave from Platform One. No trains to Čachtice were listed on the board, but there was a one-car train sitting on the track at Platform One. I stopped someone in a blue uniform and asked, “Čachtice?”
    He nodded, “ Áno ” and I climbed up the rusted steps.
    The car had bench seats and was half full, some mothers with little children, a few men. They all stared at me as I got on board. I was glad to see an empty bench at the end of the car. I slid in and sat next to the window so that I could see the station sign when the train approached Čachtice. The sun beat through the windows and heated the car like a greenhouse. The air was humid, heavy with the acrid smell of sweaty bodies. I held my ticket in the palm of my hand. I checked it twice; the sweat from my palm soaked the edges of the paper. According to the schedule, the ride would take eight minutes.
    Two men boarded the train and sat beside me. They were in their mid-twenties, wearing dusty jeans, heavy workboots. They stared at me, then whispered to each other. The man closest said something to me in Slovak. I shook my head, said “ Anglický ” and pointed to my phrasebook. The two looked at each other, laughed, then continued to stare.
    The train started to move, iron wheels clanging against the track. As we picked up speed, the car rocked from side to side. It was a mild movement, but twice the men pretended to be swayed by the motion and slid down the bench. At the next opportunity, one of them careened into me. He feigned he was powerless to prevent his thigh pressing against mine. I flipped through my phrasebook, at a loss for how to string together a sentence that conveyed the sentiment “get away from me.”
    I settled for Prepáčte mi, which meant “excuse me.” The two men laughed. The train started to slow down, and I looked out the window, happy to see Čachtice written in three-foot-tall white letters on the upcoming station.
    I shoved my phrasebook into my bag and stood up as the train came to a stop. I said “ Prepáčte mi ” again, loudly, tromped over the feet of my two seatmates and into the aisle. A girl, maybe five years old, was sitting on the edge of a bench. She smiled at me. I waved