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In the Pokémon world, the golden age of rail travel never ended, for automobile lobbyists never came to power. Instead, cars remained a novel form of transport in there, like dune buggies, or the jet ski; and a great spiderweb of trainlines took their place, connecting nations. The ‘Aztec Eagle’ linked not only Mexico City to San Antonio, as it once did in our universe, but surpassed them both, in both directions. The southbound line continued throughout Mexico, and beyond her, bypassing the Darien Gap by seabridge… and once one disembarked in Colombia, they could catch a connection to any South American country they chose. It was possible to reach to the very furthest tip of Argentina by train, if one wished to… winding through jungle dense with Tropius and Weepinbell, and curving, cloud-capped mountains studded with pale and sleeping Musharna.
And as for the northern side of the line, the Aztec Eagle could go as far as Chicago, to bustling Union Station. A traveller could then catch a connection into Canada, there, if he wished it; and go as far north as it took to see Ursaluna, whose regional form there were snow white. Or he could go East instead… passed the Great Lakes, passed Toronto, and into New York City, a land that locals called Unova. Or just about anywhere else he may want to go. All free, all electric.
This was the typical means of international transit for the citizens of the Pokémon world, of any continent; so common, in fact, that most wouldn’t find it worth remarking on. It took a true railway enthusiast to really appreciate how lucky they all were. Or perhaps a pair of enthusiasts.
“Just think, we’ve made it. We made it all the way to Brazil.” Said Ingo, in a groggy, early morning voice. “Unova to Sao Paulo, in just over a week.”
He was looking into the middle distance, not really at any one thing at all; but his face was still turned in the direction of the train which had deposited them there, and since departed, leaving them behind. Ingo’s silver eyes were slightly bloodshot from the journey, but exhaustion could not quite quell his enthusiasm. Ingo’s companion seemed in agreement; nodding, with a grunt, as he sat to join his twin on the hard wooden bench. The two sat shoulder to shoulder, drawing stares from the sea of work-bound pedestrians milling all around them. Alike, physically, in every regard but their coats, the two made a striking pair. They were dressed as they usually did for work, as though still posted at Gear Station… with only the addition of heavy travelling packs upon their leather-clad backs.
The pair were, after all, on a work trip.
“Try this, Ingo.”
“Try what?”
Ingo blinked, returning his gaze to the present, and scowled at what he found there. Emmet brandished a paper bag beneath his nose, red and yellow, packed with what smelled like some sort of greasy street food.
Ingo brandished the bag away, looking rather car sick.
“Try it.”
“I thought you said you were going to find us some coffee, Emmet.”
“Try it.”
“I need to check the map.”
Ingo waved Emmet away again, and retrieved his phone from his front pocket; punching in the address of their final destination with his thumb in Google Maps. He then glanced around himself, hopefully, for some sort information sign, no doubt to cross reference against the map. His eyes lit up, briefly, as he spotted a nearby sign; mounted cheerfully on the concrete wall of the platform. And then Ingo’s expression dowered again, as he remembered he did not know Portuguese.
“Try it.” Insisted Emmet, perhaps ignoring his brother’s rolled eyes, “You have not had breakfast. I got it from that vendor over there; they are some sort of fried mashed potato, with filling. I have had one; it was good. It was chicken. I am not sure if they are all chicken.”
Emmet withdrew one of the mysterious little fried nubs from the paper bag, and popped it in his own mouth with a flourish; as if Ingo might have forgotten how to do so, and needed a demonstration.
“Oh, no. They are not all chicken.” Realized Emmet, out loud “This one is filled with cheese.”
“I’ll just have breakfast when we reach our hotel, Emmet.” Sighed Ingo; stowing his phone.
“You should have one now. You must be flexible. You get cranky, Ingo, when you have low blood sugar.”
Ingo supposed rolling his eyes again would only prove Emmet’s point.
“Which are which.” He asked, defeated, eyeing the tan little cones in the bag. “Which of these are chicken, and which are cheese?”
“I don’t know.” Admitted Emmet. “I cannot tell. But we’ll be ok. We have half a pack of Lacteeze left.”
It was true, they did, and so Ingo took accepted a coxinha, though he didn’t know its name. It tasted like croquette, but richer; the silky starch warm beneath the crust, perfumed with broth. The cheese at its centre was pale, and chewy, and put Ingo in mind of baskets of mozzarella sticks split between friends in his youth. The three layers clashed, beautifully, and Ingo took a second coxinha from the bag as enthusiastically as public dignity allowed. Gratitude rose in his chest for his brother, chasing away the irritation. A near-daily occurrence.
“We have orders to alert the authorities the moment we arrive in the city.” Recalled Emmet in the silence; Ingo’s mouth being full. “But they are expecting us tomorrow, not today. Shall we call and request an early escort to our destination, as requested of us? Or shall we appear there unannounced?”
Emmet’s tone echoed Ingo’s own feelings; the longing not to make a fuss, clashing with a desire to keep one’s word. Exhausted from the journey, Ingo felt inclined to do as he pleased, and arrive unescorted. But more than simple politeness held him back.
Deep within the pack upon his back, a corner of a package Ingo carried was poking gently into Ingo’s own shoulder blade. He could feel it in there, as though reminding him of its presence. Of its immense value. Of how much it meant to him that it reached its destination, here in Brazil, on time, and without drama.
“Let’s call the authorities.” Said Ingo.
~*~
“I can’t believe you two came all the way here by train.” Exclaimed the Museum Director, warmly, as the Subway Masters were shepherded into her cluttered office, and introductions had been made. The Director looked careworn, but rather beautiful in spite of that, almost like the desk she sat behind. Scratched and faded hardwood, sagging with age and paperwork. Luckily, for the sake of the two Americans, every party in the room had English.
“8 days, they tell me the journey had to take! Weren’t you offered an Airship?”
“We’re not fond of Airships.” Replied Emmet.
“A plane, then?”
“We like planes even less.”
“They are rather wasteful.” Conceded the Director. “Still. This mission means a lot to the institution; indeed, it means a lot to the entire country. We’re all very grateful for your time.”
“We were honoured to assist.”
“You have the ‘package’, then?” Piped up one of the two men who’d escorted the twins; his tone much less warm than the Directors. His eyes had not left Ingo’s pack for the entirety of their time together, from Luz Station to this office; the man’s copper gaze locked on the obvious outline of the large box within Ingo’s backpack.
The twins looked to the director, and then to one another; practiced at communicating in silence.
“We’d like to see your identification, Director, before we hand over the artifact.” Said Emmet. His tone was pleasant, though you might not have known it from the reaction that it garnered. Both guards baulked at the request; the Director, to her credit, merely brushed a stray curl from her own cheek.
“Certainly.” She replied. Turning her own gaze from Emmet’s to produce them.
“They’ve already seen our identification, and the authorisation papers, and our copy of the international decree calling for the artifact!” Argued the second guard; the one without a moustache, who wore his sunglasses indoors. “They would not accompany us here until we provided them!”
“As they were ordered to do.” Soothed the Director, cooly; passing copies of her own information across the desk. Ingo received them, cross referenced them against his own, and held the lot to Emmet, who also glanced them over.
“Are you satisfied?” Asked the Director; amusement in her tone, as she accepted her own ID and paperwork.
“Yes.” Agreed Ingo, returning them. “Thank you.”
“Produce the artifact then, please, gentlemen.”
All eyes went to Ingo, and the obvious outline of the box within his pack; but they quickly shifted to Emmet, who was the one who actually removed his own backpack. Emmet set the pack at his feet, unzipped the top, and reached one hand inside. The package Emmet produced was smaller than one might expect for all the fanfare, perhaps the size of a lunchbox. It was a case of dark leather, obviously bulletproof, with a combination lock of the same brasswork as the handle.
Emmet set the case on the desk, before the Director. Almost unconsciously, the remaining three men grouped in a little closer, as though to get a better view, as she reached forwards to unlock it.
The air was hot, and humid; it had been threatening to rain on their journey way to the Museum from the train station, and in the time in which the five had had their conversation, the sky beyond the window had only darkened further still. The room was lit by a single golden lamp atop the desk, and the piles of paperwork around it cast long shadows on the walls. The gentle clicks,
Click, click click!
Of the combination lock were nearly the only sound. They were joined only by the soft sounds of breathing, and the tap tap tapping of soft raindrops on the window pane.
The case fell open. The moustached guard covered his mouth with his hand. The four other gasps went unmuffled.
A great, fat Diamond reposed before them, large as a dinner plate, shining in the lamplight like the pale face of a Moonstone. Donned in many facets, star-like refractions of light were thrown across the piles of paperwork, and the high, weathered ceiling. They dusted the faces of the clustered figures gathered there, kissing their cheeks with golden freckles.
“Wow.” Sighed Emmet, breaking the silence. “Cool. What is it?”
“I- You-”
For the Sunglasses’d guard, the tension had gone from the room. He laughed, along with the Director, as his moustached companion blustered- staring, shocked, at the white clad Subway Master.
“You don’t know? You don’t know what this is?? You came all this way, and you didn’t even know what you were carrying?”
“We did not ask.” Shrugged Emmet. “We were told there was a job for a powerful Pokemon Master. We are two powerful Pokemon Masters.”
“It is called ‘The Eye of Rayquaza’” Said the Director; smiling fondly at the moustached guard, in a ‘please be kind to our guests’ sort of way, before continuing,
“It was taken from Brazil over 250 years ago. It is one of the largest diamonds on earth. An international court ordered ‘the Eye’ returned to Brazil from Portugal in 1906, and Portugal agreed at the time… but the Eye was ‘lost in transit’, so they said, and never arrived. It is believed, of course, that the Eye was sold, in secret, to a private collector by the crown rather than be returned, and so was lost to time for many years. The Eye only resurfaced on the black market in Unova a few years ago, and was purchased by a good Samaritan. Once experts confirmed its true identity, arrangements were made to return the Eye to Brazil once more… and, so, here you both are.”
“I see.” Replied the twins, in unison.
The rain beyond the window could not seem to decide if it wanted to pelt, or drizzle. It lashed, hard, against the windows a few seconds more. But by the time the Director had shut the case on the Eye, locked it, and stowed it in the safe beside one wall, the rain had died back to a trickle again, and faint patches of sun could be seen through gaps in the cloud cover.
“And, now, your part in this is finished.” Concluded the Director, rather anticlimactically. “Though we encourage you to come see the Eye when it is displayed to the public. Do the pair of you plan to depart immediately for Unova?”
“We have generously been offered a few weeks leave! I plan to test the Gym Circuit. Do I hear Sao Paulo’s Gym Leader specialises in double battles?
“That is correct! Rather like yourself, I hear, Mr Emmet. Sao Paulo’s gym closes over the holiday period, however, I’m afraid. I believe they reopen on the 12th…”
Emmet visibly fought the urge to hang his head; the Director patted his shoulder. The air in the room, with the Eye of Rayquaza safely returned, had a light, relaxed feel to it. The moustachioed guard took a moment to check his phone; Ingo did the same. Emmet lugged his heavy pack back on his back.
“Shall we check into our hotel, Ingo?”
“Are you, perhaps, able to do so without me?” Asked Ingo; looking up from his messaes with the grace to sound apologetic. “Would that be alright? Can I meet you later?”
“What, you have your own plans already? This early? What am I meant to do at the hotel alone? Twiddle my thumbs?”
The moustachioed guard looked up from his phone; amicably.
“Hmm… it may not be much… but if you’d like, Emmet, my cousins are having churrasco – uh, “barbeque” - this afternoon. You’re welcome to come along; (local soccer team name) is playing the (other local soccer team), and there’ll likely be some friendly Pokemon Battles. Let me check with my wife first. You can come join us.”
“Oh!” Smiled Emmet, visibly taken aback, though pleased. “Ok! Text me the address, and I will join you after I’ve checked in, if she agrees!”
“I’m surprised you don’t want to drop your bag at your hotel before you go exploring, Ingo.” Said the Director; almost slyly. “It looks heavy.”
“Thank you for your concern, but I will be alright.” Replied Ingo, once he’d returned his phone to his pocket.
“I have to say, I thought you were the one carrying the Eye, at first.” Continued the Director; dropping subtlety, and gesturing at the box shaped bulge in his backpack.
“No, no.” Dismissed Ingo; oblivious to her prying. “We decided it would be safer with Emmet.”
“I see.” Said the Director, disappointed. And, with that, she shared a parting handshake with Ingo; as did the two guards. The brothers shared a friendly tip of the head to one another, and then Ingo was gone, rather hastily, the Director thought. Out of her office, alone, with a swoop of his black coat.
The Director knew she ought to just let it go. But curiosity got the better of her.
“If you don’t mind me asking, Subway Master…” She said, resuming her seat at her desk…
“… why did you and your brother accept a job which required such a long journey?”
“As two of Unova’s greatest Pokemon Masters, it was decided we would be able to provide the necessary security. We were asked, and we agreed.”
“But you didn’t even know what you were delivering.”
“That did not matter to us. We were asked to serve our region -and yours!- and we are honoured to do so. We are always happy to be of assistance when called upon.”
“Well, I hope you were well compensated.”
“We got a long train ride! And a visit to your lovely country. And…”
Emmet’s expression froze for a moment, mouth open- and then he jammed it shut, with an air of a child struggling to hide a secret. The Director, who perhaps sensed his suggestible nature, thought she ought not to take advantage of him. But curiosity got the better of her once more; and she smiled at Emmet, in a manner that suggested she was in on the joke. And Emmet’s smile turned mischievous, and his tone conspiratorial. His jaunty, ‘customer service’ manner of tone fell away, to be replaced by one better suited for gossip.
“and,” Continued Emmet; “the timing could not have been more perfect. My brother has a little ‘pen-pal’ in this city, one he’s never met in person… and it is exactly this day, January fourth, that Ingo hoped they’d meet for the first time.”
~*~
Ingo followed Google Maps back towards the subway, on foot, through the hot and bustling streets of Liberdade, intent upon his destination. Focused as he was, however, it was impossible to keep himself from admiring his surroundings entirely. He had seen this neighbourhood before, for it was popular online- he had been sent at least a dozen TikToks of “Brazil’s Japantown”, by his friends back in Unova, when he’d told them where he’d be traveling. It was impossible to say if it ‘looked like it did’ when he’d seen it through the screen. He supposed it did, in a literal sense. But he was surprised by the way the crowded tourist venue made him feel, even as he simply pushed through it impatiently on his way to his rendezvous. A beautiful clash, not unlike the coxinha. Tropical trees casting shade over signs bearing Japanese Kanji. Soccer balls hanging from the ceilings of vendors stalls in bunches, netted together like bags of oranges. A pack of wild Grovyle seemed to watch him as he passed them, lounging like scaly lionesses atop the weathered bow of a large, sticker-studded torii.
There hadn’t been enough time to check into the hotel, and make it on time to meet his date… But even so, he was a little early, and his shoulders ached from his pack. Ingo stepped off onto a side street, for a moment, to rest with the backpack at his feet. As he did so, he was surprised to find a shallow koi pond there- right there, in the centre of the alley; flanked on all sides by buildings, and a tall thicket of bamboo which seemed to rise from the asphalt itself.
It was a lovely thing to see, this pond. Its surface brimmed with plump Goldeen, which were almost as pretty as the dark, velveteen water through which they sailed. Dark, dark, almost black; probably black in a photograph. But a photo couldn’t capture the warm brown shimmers where the sunlight met the water... the cool, tempting depths. Had he not been wearing gloves, Ingo might have bent to touch the surface.
Instead, he checked the time. He was still early for their rendezvous. He had 6 missed messages on Whatsapp.
‘You can meet me earlier than expected?’ Ingo confirmed with his date, after he’d read them; replying quickly, his heartbeat suddenly in his ears. And, when his date answered in the affirmative,
‘I’ll be on the next train’. Ingo typed.
And, five minutes later, he had kept his word. Left the leafy streets behind for the concrete cave of the train station, and then through the turnstile, then aboard the subway.
How strange are these train cars, Ingo thought, as the train began to move again. The fluorescent lighting was as unnatural a shade as back home, but in a different colour.
The seats were all full. Ingo slid his hand into one of the handles above his head, though he was, perhaps, one of the most qualified men on the earth not to stumble on a subway. It felt good to do something with his hands.
Nerves were starting to creep up on him. Was he imaging the odd stare he was catching, from his fellow passengers? Was he conceited to notice? No, wait, of course not. He was an obvious foreigner, and dressed in a heavy coat in the summertime.
Ingo checked Whatsapp.
[Did you just get on the train at Liberdade?]
Asked Ingo’s date
And, then, when Ingo had confirmed this,
[I think we’re on the same train!!]
[I’ll come and find you!!]
What!
They were about to meet? Now? It was about to happen? It was about to happen now??
Ingo struggled to compose himself; wondering if this feeling was fear, or happiness. Surely it was fear. Though those around him rarely knew it,
(strangers certainly never knew it),
Ingo spent more of his time feeling fear then he’d like to admit.
Ingo had been friends, close friends, with this date, for years. They had become ‘closer’ than friends rather recently, only in the last couple months. But for Ingo, at least, he had fallen very hard. He had imagined this moment almost every day for weeks. This meeting mattered very much. Surely, what Ingo was feeling was fear?
A passenger entered Ingo’s train car, from another train car. Their eyes met.
Ingo had, he realized, imagined a height difference between them, though of course he’d known there’d be none. Yet here they were, in person, and fate would have it that their mouths, and eyes, were level. Their eyes lined up perfectly, in fact, with neither needing to look down. Billy’s eyes matched, exactly, the warm colours of the koi pond.
Ingo had imagined this moment many times, and he had planned what he would say. But he had planned for a meeting straight out of a novel, or a fairytale, and had never imagined their first meeting would be in such a crowded space.
“Happy Birthday, Billy.” Said Ingo, instead.
Their bodies fit so naturally together, as though this weren’t their first hug. As though this were their thousandth. As though they’d been made to slot together, pressed close in this new place, surrounded by strangers.
The train rocked their bodies, gently, together. Rocked the birthday present inside Ingo’s pack.