The stop stands at the forest's end: five minutes past Mr. Streetlamp, beneath another old lamppost.
The slender street-lamp was mottled beyond recognition, its surface carved with words that, squinting, Sen Getsusa could just make out as 'Bottom-of-Marsh Station'.
Heaven knew why this World used Japanese—or perhaps it was some script she simply understood.
The 'Sea-Train' was an old claret-and-cream locomotive that clattered toward her, belching black smoke. Two carriages coupled together, it braked precisely in front of Sen Getsusa, paintwork straight from the earliest days of public transport.
Hiss—clack.
The engine exhaled a final cloud; the doors slid open.
"Mr. Bird-Face, right on time today." Sen greeted the habitually tardy conductor, waving her pass.
The pitch-black Bird-Face gave a silent nod and turned away.
He stepped aside to let her board, craned his head for a last look outside, then shut the door and clattered off toward the cab, ticket-punch swaying at his hip.
It wasn't rush hour; only a handful of passengers dotted the seats.
Sen had long noticed that most riders kept mum, luggage in hand, boarding and alighting in perfect order.
Yubaba had once explained it to her:
'Those translucent ones aren't souls; they're beings who've forgotten why they exist, who feel no worth. They've lost "existence" and with it, reason.'
The ones steeped in gloom, black as the conductor, had simply surrendered: 'Let's just trudge on, dull and easy.'
Such creatures were walking corpses.
"Existence" was the word Yubaba repeated most; Sen suspected it was the key to this World.
To gods, yokai, even ghosts, "existence" was life itself—vitality, as she understood it.
The train lurched forward.
Past Cat Hill, the Contract Tribunal, Insect Hall, Seahorse Road, and the Yokai's Yokai-Mountain, the Bathhouse would appear.
Cat Hill, home of Cat King, was exactly what the name promised: nothing but huge, adorable eyes.
A god born of cats, His Majesty behaved like any house-cat save for the requisite divine dignity.
Sen and the Cat King had chatted about catnip; he planned to send a minion to the human World for seedlings to plant on his hill.
—She could only hope the envoy would be a cat of iron will.
Otherwise it was hard to imagine any feline returning intact.
Sen smothered a wicked grin.
She had visited the Yokai's Yokai-Mountain once with Yubaba; discounting human aesthetics, most yokai were rather cute.
While Yubaba treated every variety, Sen ran about making new friends… The Contract Tribunal was a boring office; Insect Hall she rejected on name alone.
As for Seahorse Road, Yubaba had warned: even if she overslept her stop, she must absolutely, positively not get off there.
Therefore Seahorse Road definitely had no seahorses—or nothing as harmless as seahorses.
When the train reached Bathhouse Station, the conductor escorted her off. She stepped down—and her fine boots sank deep into water.
First bugs, then sand, now marsh and puddles.
Perhaps she and boots were simply not fated to meet.
Eyes shut, she shook the price tag out of her head. No big deal, no big deal… so why did her heart still twinge?
She tip-toed like a cat that hates water, lifting each foot before the soaked ties could stain her further.
The curved track ran all the way to the shore, still some distance off.
There stood a fortress-like edifice on the cliff, its high, weather-stained wall emblazoned with a huge red character: OIL.
That was her destination.
Clearly Yubaba and her sister chose very different neighbourhoods.
Here the streets bustled, shops ready to open. Strings of lanterns webbed the façades; grotesque frog statues and tiny shrines peeked everywhere.
The farther she walked, the more black shadows thronged the street.
She glimpsed a creature nothing but arms and legs shuffle into a barber's; snack-vendors hawked words she didn't know—everything twisted in perfect measure.
A curious feeling rose in her: as though she had always belonged here.
At the far end of the long, lively street lay a lake. Lights glimmered, growing nearer: a gaily lit boat.
How entertaining, she thought.
She watched gods and yokai disembark in neat lines and toddle toward the bright avenue like children on an outing.
"Welcome! Please come inside." Bathhouse greeters were girls in traditional robes, flanked by a tall woman and a green frog.
"Right this way, honored guest—make room, make room!" The frog gestured wildly; Sen shuffled forward with the 'crowd' until she faced the tall girl.
"Good day," she bowed slightly. "I'm here to see Yubaba."
The instant the words left her lips the bustling bridge fell silent.
Everyone stared at her in horror.
Sen looked around, puzzled. "What's wrong?"
"Who are you?" The frog hopped before her, voice quavering.
"Yubaba…"
That girl doesn't look like a god at all…
Shhh, keep it down— that old witch is watching…
Is it a demon?
Troublemaker, definitely a troublemaker.
Whispers rustled around her; guests lowered their heads and detoured wide, leaving Sen Getsusa standing in a sudden pocket of emptiness.
A moment later the crowd erupted again, the hubble starting in its midst and spreading outward.
Mr. Bai is here!
It's Mr. Bai!
We're saved, saved!
Tch… don't you think Mr. Bai's even scarier than Yubaba?
True.
A cool voice cut through the throng: "Let her in."
A short-haired Boy pushed through the Bathhouse curtain. Clad in a white-and-blue Jinbe, he expressionlessly parted the crowd, stopped before Sen Getsusa, and looked her up and down.
"Come. Yubaba wants to see you," he said.
Without waiting for her greeting he turned and walked back inside.
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