Mara stopped the tram because the sphinx’s tail lay across both rails. The rest of it occupied the little shelter where passengers waited when it rained.
Behind her, Davin said, “This ticket includes a crossing.”
“It includes a crossing when the line is open.”
“It was open when you sold it.”
He had brought a low flatbed trolley loaded with rolled canvas. Mara had charged him for the extra space, and he had spent three stops pointing out that his trolley was cleaner than the tram floor. He wanted to deliver the canvas and return with a signature before the shop closed. From the shelter, the sphinx watched him with what appeared to be interest.
Mara called the depot. They sent a heavy recovery truck, in case the tram had to be brought back by road. The truck could approach through the maintenance lane alongside the tracks; she asked the dispatcher to have it wait by the signal hut until she understood what the creature intended.
Then she put on her cap and went outside.
The sphinx raised its head. Its face was a woman’s, very old and rather handsome. Its folded wings were patched in three places. One feather came free while Mara watched and landed in the ticket gutter.
“Your city has grown,” it said.
“Yes.”
“Those houses are new.”
“They’ve been there thirty years.”
“A rude amount of growing.”
Mara asked it to move its tail.
“You shall first answer my riddle.”
“And then you’ll move?”
“If you present a true answer for my inspection, I shall leave the track clear. Those are the terms.”
“Not eat anyone?”
“Not for answering a riddle. What sort of reputation have you people given me?”
It folded its paws more neatly and spoke in a large voice, which carried into the tram:
“My bed carries loads instead of sleepers. I travel your streets on wheels. What am I?”
“A flatbed truck,” Mara said.
“An answer must be presented.”
“You want to see a truck?”
“I am entitled to inspect it.”
A woman with a camera leaned out of the tram door. “Might the bed be a metaphor?”
“No,” said the sphinx.
“A bed of roses?”
“On wheels?”
“A parade float.”
“That could qualify. Have you one?”
The woman looked back at her small shoulder bag. “Not with me.”
The sphinx’s tail swept a mound of ticket stubs into the road. Mara stepped clear.
“Can you fly?” she asked.
“Once. Before this wing ceased to unfold.” It turned its head towards the patched left wing. “I have walked here from the old west gate. I would like to reach the winter garden across your river, where I used to sleep.”
Mara knew the winter garden. Its palms had died years ago. The city now stored spare benches beneath the glass roof.
“No one minds the benches,” said the sphinx when she told it. “So long as they don’t mind me.”
“Is that what this is about? A ride?”
“The riddle is about a vehicle.”
It turned its face away from her. A man in the tram began applauding the answer. The sphinx looked at him, and he stopped.
Mara telephoned the recovery driver. His name was Gerren. He had a truck with a loading bed, but he would not bring it into reach of an animal until he knew whether that animal had agreed to be transported.
“It hasn’t,” Mara said. “It wants to inspect an answer.”
“Inspection’s free from a reasonable distance. Loading isn’t.”
She looked along the maintenance lane. From the hut, he would be able to see the sphinx. She could see the orange top of his cab.
“Will you come closer if it steps away from the track?”
“And stays there. Nobody rides on my bed without me deciding how to carry them.”
She went back to the sphinx. It had lowered its head between its paws.
“The truck driver needs you to move first.”
“Then he should offer me a different answer.”
For a moment she considered naming the truck and arguing that the distant orange cab counted as presentation. But the loading bed was hidden beyond the hut. She would have had to stand on the tram roof to point it out, and the sphinx still might not be able to see it.
Davin came down the tram steps.
“Could you help me with the trolley?” he asked.
“I’m trying to get us across.”
“I can see that. I shall deliver by the footbridge. I’d rather walk than stand here paying for room I can’t use.”
His canvas was for the little river theatre. He needed to go down the embankment, cross the footbridge, and haul it back up on the far side. Mara imagined the loaded wheels on those steps.
“Wait,” she said.
“I have waited.”
She went into the tram with him. They lifted the trolley down together, Davin taking its handle while she steadied the end. Its small solid wheels landed with four hard knocks. He started to pull it towards the embankment.
“Could I show that to the sphinx?”
He looked at the creature, then at the folded invoice in his shirt pocket.
“Showing only. Not borrowing.”
They wheeled it to the shelter.
“This is another answer,” Mara said. “A flatbed trolley. Its bed carries loads. It travels our streets on wheels. Here’s the load. Here’s the bed. You can see the wheels.”
The sphinx lowered its face to the canvas. It examined one wheel, then the plain metal platform underneath the rolls.
“It is very small.”
“Size wasn’t in the riddle.”
“No. It was not.”
It rose, one leg at a time. Mara had never watched something so large try to avoid cracking a glass panel. The shelter roof grazed its folded wing. Davin pulled the trolley back as a paw came down near the handle.
The sphinx stepped onto the broad paved patch beside the maintenance lane. Its tail remained on the rail.
“The tail too,” Mara said.
It brought the tail round with a sharp, irritated flick. The crossing was clear.
Davin reached for his handle.
“Please,” said the sphinx.
He stopped.
“I would like to be carried to the winter garden.”
“Not on that,” Mara said. “Davin needs it for his work.”
“I was asking you.”
She called Gerren and told him the track was clear. He brought the recovery truck forward. Instead of getting out at once, he looked at the sphinx through the side window.
It lifted its chin.
“The last people who carried me said I weighed rather more than two tons. Without ornaments. I am without ornaments now.”
Gerren checked the six-ton rating of his loading bed, then walked round the truck, measuring the creature with his eyes. He asked whether the wings could stay folded, whether it could walk up a broad loading ramp, and whether it would accept restraints round its body. The sphinx said yes to the first two and nothing to the third.
“Then we’re not doing it,” he said.
“My back is ridged.”
“I can pad the restraints.”
The sphinx inspected the broad straps he showed it. It put a claw beneath one and drew it carefully between the pads of its paw.
“Not over my face.”
“Not over your face.”
For the charge, Mara called the depot again. The supervisor asked whether this would get the creature away from the terminus. Mara said it would. He authorized the additional transport as part of clearing the line and sent a worker to open the winter garden gate. Gerren spoke to him himself and wrote the authorization number on his pad.
Then they stopped traffic in the maintenance lane. Gerren opened the ramps. The sphinx put a paw on the lower edge and drew it back when the metal rang.
“It holds,” he said. “But you have to come straight up.”
Mara stood beside the ramp where the sphinx could see her. Davin waited with his trolley, because the truck now blocked the easiest way back to the tram. The woman with the camera asked for a photograph.
“After,” said the sphinx.
It climbed. The truck settled on its suspension. At the top, the creature turned its head towards the river, which was visible for the first time beyond the shelter.
“There,” it said.
Gerren asked it to lie down. It arranged its forepaws on the loading bed, then discovered its tail was still dangling beside the ramp.
“I shall fetch that,” it said, and brought the tail aboard.
The woman took her photograph while Gerren secured the padded straps. Mara checked the rails. Nothing lay on them except the fallen feather, which she moved into the shelter. Davin and the man who had applauded helped lift the canvas trolley back onto the tram.
At the first stop over the bridge, Mara let Davin out beside the theatre gate. He examined his ticket before putting it away.
“You can tell your shop I held you up,” she said.
“I will.”
The recovery truck rolled past. From the loading bed, the sphinx watched a row of new houses. Its face was still severe, but it had spread its paws as far as the straps allowed and rested its chin between them.
Mara closed the tram doors. Behind her the photographer asked whether this route usually had riddles.
“Not usually,” Mara said.
“Pity.”
Mara rang the bell. The tram moved on.
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