After we left the witch’s mansion, I’d eaten wordlessly with Jack and Nito. By the time we’d tidied up, the slope had dried and we’d managed to get the Kettle out of the sinkhole safely. Obviously, though, we hadn’t been able to get the fastenings for the auto-trike back into shape.
We’d been driving in the Kettle a while before a bridge started coming into sight. Jack, who was sitting next to me, murmured nostalgically.
“Was the little lady’s answer not great either?” Jack asked casually.
“So you also didn’t get a good answer?”
“Any answer someone else gives you won’t be one you’d like to hear,” Jack replied, winding the window down.
He took out a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it with a match. After taking a pull, he blew the smoke out of the window.
“She seemed beat up about it though,” he added.
“You’re right...” I agreed reluctantly.
We’d gotten the Kettle out, so now I was taking Jack to the bridge to hold up my end of our bargain. Nito wasn’t with us, though, as she’d stayed behind with her auto-trike. She’d claimed it was to make things easier: that way we could just leave the luggage we’d removed from the Kettle there, and she’d keep watch and guard the things. I couldn’t exactly force her to come along with us.
“I can sympathize,” he added softly. “The more precious what you’re looking for is, the more disappointed you get.”
He took another pull. The smoke smelled really sweet.
I could imagine how it felt too. If I’d learned that the one chance I thought I had—that man in black—wasn’t part of the world anymore, then I’d probably be just as depressed. Finding him was the whole reason for my journey. That’s why, even after hearing about a witch that would answer any question, I couldn’t muster up the courage to ask one myself. If she told me there was no chance of finding the man in black, there would be no more reason for me to travel, and no reason for me to be here. If there was no reason, there’d be no point to anything either.
Eventually, we got to the bridge, and I stopped just before the crossing. Several abandoned steam vehicles that had rusted away in the rain and wind cluttered the bank. They were blatantly empty as well.
“It’s a big bridge,” I commented.
The structure was imposing, made of a mix of stone and metal. It stretched out completely straight to the opposite side of the gorge that lay below it, supported by several arches cresting up from its foundations. It felt strong, as if declaring that it wouldn’t waver with the ages, but also intensely lonely. The same sentiment struck me every time I saw man-made structures in this desolate world.
“Pops made that,” Jack said.
I whirled around in surprise to see him smiling proudly.
“He was an architect that specialized in bridges. He made bridges all over the country, and he was the best at it. See, even without the inspectors to keep up on maintenance, it’s standing strong.”
He opened the door and got out of the Kettle, stretching his hips. The afternoon sky was a light blue, with thick, fluffy clouds flowing languidly across it. Water thundered through the wide river beneath the bridge, but there was nothing on the other side, just the road and the rolling plains of greenery and white sand.
“I’m finally here,” he commented. “Man, it took a while.”
“There’s nothing but the bridge here.”
“It’s fine,” he told me.
He smiled as he pulled his rucksack from the back seat and put it at his feet. Then he put his hands on his hips and stared up at the bridge, cigarette still between his lips. His expression was that of someone looking back into the past, toward nostalgia.
When his cigarette had burned down, he flicked it to the ground, stepped on the butt to extinguish it, and spoke.
“I crossed the continent to get here.”
“That’s incredible,” I marveled.
I didn’t know how big the continent was, but I knew it wouldn’t have been some simple day trip. I’d been traveling in the Kettle for ages and hadn’t exactly gone far. Jack took out a metal tin from his pocket—so scuffed up it shimmered as if coated in mist—and withdrew another cigarette from it, sticking it between his lips.
“Sorry for dragging you way out here. Thanks for the help.”
“It’s fine,” I told him.
“Make sure to cheer up your girlfriend.”
“Seriously, she’s not my girlfriend.”
“She’s not? Well, I guess she is a bit young.”
I knew these were the phrases leading up to a goodbye. Still, I didn’t move. Despite knowing that he probably wouldn’t appreciate my comment, I couldn’t just say nothing.
“You know nothing good’ll come from dying, right?”
His eyebrows rose, and he returned the cigarette to its case with a bitter smile.
“You’re a sharp one,” he said eventually.
“No.” I shook my head. “You just looked similar.”
“To who?”
“Me, a while ago.”
He laughed.
“Yeah, I suppose you’d get it,” he muttered.
“Besides, asking me to leave you somewhere like this is just bizarre. There’s nothing around.”
“Nothing around, huh? Yeah, guess not.” He nodded to himself, then mused, “But don’t you know, otherworlder? The world’s ended. This ain’t the only place; there’s nothing left anywhere.”
I couldn’t give a reply, but he wasn’t looking for one.
“I had things too,” he added. “I earned money at work, even if there wasn’t a point to doing it. I went out to drink on sleepless nights. I had a whole bunch of stupid pals, and we’d go out betting it all and then losing it all on cards. I even had a woman I fell for. But they’re all gone now, just piles of those shitty crystals.”
He turned back to me to make sure I was listening, knocking on the hood of the Kettle twice.
“This world’s culture, its people—it’s all over. It’s warped. Whatever caused it and whoever’s fault it is aren’t important now. The sun’s set, and here’s the night. The age of magic faded away, and this time it’s the age of steam’s turn. We reap what we sow, burning away those mana stones like there’s no tomorrow. The only thing left is to have a drink and go to bed. If you have to sleep at some point, you can at least choose for yourself when to do it. Don’t you think that’s our final right as the lingering remnants of this world?”
I had no words to refute him. I’d thought much the same, after all.
I’d been dragged to this world somehow or other and found it in ruins. All I’d been doing was wandering the place at random trying to survive. I had no place to return to, and no place to go, so I just clung to the idea of searching for that man in black. He was the first person I’d met in this world and he had treated me like a friend, explaining the situation to me. If I hadn’t had the goal of finding him, I wouldn’t have been a traveler—I’d have just been lost.