The creature pointed its curious gaze toward the center of Pistol’s chest while the train returned to its usual humming silence; it was as though the creature had never arrived on the train. Pistol watched from within the bar as even the pouring torrents of rain mysteriously faded back into the night with only a cool gust of ominous to compliment the sounds of the track below.

“What’s your name Spirit?” Provoked Pistol, grabbing a mug full of mead just beneath his beard.

“Oi!? Why in the fuck do you want to know this thing’s name!? Eh!? Am I crazy?” A miner protested to the many cheers of others.

“This thing’s gotta die!” Roared many more.

“If only a moment of silence Yardrat’s! It is how you’ve survived this long! Touch the damn thing and I guarantee heads will fly right off your drunk shoulders and straight into a nice and thoughtful decorated box at the front of your door for your fucking wives to see!” Commanded Nick with sobering resolve from deep within the train.

“Myyy name, if I recall correctly, is Surnan.” Assured the spirit whilst reaching towards the mug just served in front of him.

The spirit had an ethereal yet gentle cadence in conversation. Pistol tried comparing the spirit’s voice to the many others who have ridden the Whisky Sunday and while most are indeed different depending on their origin, method of speaking, or destination, he couldn’t quite pinpoint whether or not he had encountered a spirit like this before; one with human clothing.

“Surnan is your name?” Asked Pistol, his lips twisting with doubt.

Surnan nodded its head with exaggerated force and once again began to smile while rocking his stool back and forth. Sarah couldn’t believe her eyes. “A giant frog in a somewhat normal yellow raincoat with enormous human teeth drinking mead. This spirit was one to remember”, she thought, leaning over the countertop in wonder.

“What is it that I can do for you Surnan?” Inquired Pistol, leaning over the bar counter.

“Aside from the mead, you mean? Look at it drink!? Spirits don’t drink! Do they!?” Interrupted a couple of miners in the far corner of the train.

“While I hear your train is very accommodating to my kind, I am unfortunately not here for just a special beverage. Not today at least.” Chuckled Surnan, aware of the train’s shock and general dissatisfaction.

“The mead is quite fulfilling though.” Continued Surnan, sneaking an approving nod in Pistol’s direction.

Sarah observed Surnan’s disturbingly wide smile, appearing to divide its large head in half every time it did. Its arms looked stringy and coated with thickening slime and pulsating ghostly bubbles. Some bubbles would simply ooze out of its skin and fade into the walls of the train while others rolled down it’s arms like thick dollops of life-giving honey. “The train really does look like a bayou now.” thought Sarah, sneaking a glance at Nick.

While drunk, Sarah noticed Nick doing his absolute best to keep his miners in line despite most -if not everyone- on the train being bright red drunk and stumbling still at best.

“Your King. He no longer serves the world. He has been completely corrupted.” Explained Surnan in his continued blank stare.

“How’s Pistol know what he’s sayin!?” Mumbled a miner out loud.

“What’s he sayin’ chief? All I hear is jibbering static.” Remarked another miner.

“I hear that If a spirit wants to speak with you, no matter what you’ll get the message. Some sort-a attunement. Like a bunch of voices in-” Tried speaking another miner before being knocked out with a swift yet decisive blow to the head.

“Anyone else thinks themselves a clapping harbor seal? Or can we continue allowing Pistol to decipher what may very well kill us all? Please continue with your elaborate threat spirit.” Scolded Nick, lowering the knocked-out miner’s head carefully onto the booth’s table before him.

“He’s saying, there is some sort of corruption. The king is corrupt.” Blurted Sarah to Pistol’s glare of disapproval.

“Royalty!? Why I’d never! Corrupt? Pfft.” Taunted a miner with a thick accent before being met with yet another swift disciplining blow to the head.

“What do you mean corrupt?” Inquired Pistol, ignoring the dying ruckus of miners all around him.

“Corruption is to describe infiltration of life’s purest energy source. You refer to that source… as a soul. All creatures who have ever lived only did so because of the soul inside. Like how your steam engines run your cities’ wild machinations. Without an engine, they are-” Tried explaining Surnan.

“The King’s…is a husk of some kind?” Interjected Sarah again, only this time she closed her mouth quickly and gritted her teeth, hoping Pistol wouldn’t be upset.

“People without a destination do not board this train. If I may speed this up Surnan. What is it that I can do for you?” Added Pistol, whilst serving Surnan a pint of mead.

“Kill the king.” Responded Surnan quickly, swirling his finger in the mead.

Pistol quickly shot a glance towards Sarah, signaling her for silence but before he knew it, she had already moved behind the bar at his right side. Sarah looked toward Pistol in an uncharacteristic fear, something Pistol was far too unfamiliar with when coming from her. “Still she is correct in being afraid. This spirit boards a train otherwise impossible to force you will upon and asks of something far bigger than any of us here. Who are you Surnan?”, thought Pistol, laying his right hand atop Sarah’s left shoulder.