The central rail classification yard at Haven-Hold was four miles long and thirty tracks wide.
Usually, the air in the classification yard smelled of bituminous coal smoke, hot axle grease, and creosote-soaked railroad ties.
Today, the entire district smelled like an explosion in a confectionery factory.
A piercing, icy, hyper-packed aroma of pure winter peppermint rolled across the gravel tracks.
Switchmen on the hump yard sniffed the air, sneezed vigorously. Then it rubbed their watering eyes with red bandanas.
Giles Croft walked along Track Fourteen. His wooden ruler was tucked under his arm and his slouch hat pulled low.
Behind him walked Lady Penelope, her cheeks flushed with mortification. It grabbed a thick stack of shipping invoices.
Beside Penelope walked Mistress Rowena Mallow, wearing her canvas greenhouse smock and carrying a brass testing syringe.
