Against the Brotherhood (25 page)

“It seems he has been assigned to you,” I told McMillian as I held his coat for him. “He will travel on the train with us, and will give us transport from Ghent to our ship.” I shrugged at this arrangement. “He says he has done work of this sort before. At least, I think he has, for I am hard-put to understand him when he speaks quickly, his patois is so—”

“All peasants speak in that way,” McMillian informed me, dismissing the matter. “Probably an old soldier, if what you say about his face is accurate. Someone they’ve kept on in service because he might otherwise starve.” He made a swipe with his hand to banish the matter from his mind. “Well, come, then. We must continue the mission.”

“Certainly,” I said, as I opened the hotel doors for McMillian and followed him down the few broad steps to the waiting charabanc. I held the panel open for him, and then climbed up, taking the backward-facing seat.

The coachman, already on the box, saluted us with his whip before he gave his team the office. The carriage was well sprung and the coachman was very skilled. As a result there was little sway in our passage through the streets to the train station. It was a quiet day, with few people abroad. At the train station the porters were ready for our arrival and went to work at once. Our car had been set apart, and the guards took up their posts immediately once we boarded the train, having arrived at the station well in advance of McMillian and me. With the determined aid of the coachman, the luggage was shifted to the train in rapid order, and shortly thereafter we were under way for Metz.

FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS:

M.H. is still with G.
and McMillian, but his telegram of this morning expresses some fear that the travel changes may not be enough to keep the Brotherhood from attempting to ruin all that the treaty seeks to achieve. M.H. has identified two spies aboard the train McMillian and G.
rode yesterday and is afraid that there will be more today, for the nearer McMillian gets to England, the more determined the Brotherhood will be that he shall not arrive. If it would not draw more attention than any of them want to the mission, he would order the Mercury train to Metz, to carry them all to the coast as quickly as possible. But a fast-traveling train presents an impressive moving target, and for the time being, he is convinced the Brotherhood would rather not draw much attention to their activities. He states that McMillian is proving to be a greater liability than he had supposed at first, and therefore he is going to remain with G.
and McMillian all the way to England, in whatever persona seems most useful for the task. He asks me to offer his congratulations to Edmund Sutton, for he believes that G.
has not yet recognized him in his current guise, which has given him a great deal of amusement.

Early this morning another missive came from Miss Roedale for G.
It would appear that she is deeply displeased with what she considers his thoughtless neglect in staying away without any word to her for a week. It is her intention to deliver an ultimatum to G.
upon his return regarding what she believes is an unreliable factor in his character of which she was not previously aware. She is afraid this may mean that their married life would be irregular as well, which does not please her. I have not violated her confidence in stating these things, for she sent the note unsealed with instructions that M.H. was to be made aware of its contents as well as G., so that he could see for himself how his demands have compromised G.’s hopes of happiness.

I have obtained the information M.H. has requested in regard to Brotherhood centers in France, including those private holdings of members which have been used by the Brotherhood, and have had it wired to him. I trust he received it before he had to leave. I will send a duplicate copy to Metz, so that he will have it in hand should he not receive the information at Strasbourg.

I must go to hospital shortly. Edmund Sutton has offered to remain at the flat all through the morning, although he often has his own time in the morning for tending to his own affairs. He leaves in the clothing of a rag-and-bone man, and returns a few hours later all rigged out as a sailor. I am astonished at how complete a transformation he achieves, for even I
,
who have known him for years, do not recognize him at once. In my current situation he is willing to give up his time for himself to enable me to be with Mother. Say what you will, actors are not without compassion for those in trouble, as I have discovered these last few days. I had not realized how much sympathy he has for those as unfortunate as Mother is.

It is my hope that I will soon have further word from M.H. in Germany. These delays and silences are the very devil to endure.

BY NOON THE
rain was falling in steady sheets, taking most of the light out of the day and turning the world a monochrome sepia shade of ill-defined shapes beyond the streaming windows. The train had slowed to half its usual speed and its headlight shone as much as warning as to light the way ahead. Though the countryside in this region was not generally difficult terrain, it was hilly and there was always the chance of slides blocking the way in such weather and the engineer was not willing to risk an accident, for which sensible precaution I could heartily have cursed him.

“What sort of cowardly fellow is he, to delay us in this way?” McMillian demanded as he checked his watch for the fifth time in the hour. Boredom had long since made him surly, and he had consumed more brandy than was prudent. With the windows steamed up, he had wiped half a dozen circles on the glass but could not find a view to suit his purposes. “We will miss our connection to Liege, and then what will we do?”

“The engineer has the safety of his passengers at heart,” I answered rather more curtly than I should have.

“Don’t be insolent with me, Jeffries,” warned McMillian. “I can still end your employment if you displease me. Remarks like that one do displease me.” He rocked back in his settee as far as it was hinged to go. “If only this infernal rain would stop. We might make up for some of the time we have lost.”

“We might,” I agreed in the best sycophantic manner I could summon up. “And then it should be no later than midnight when we reach Metz.” My problem with feeling safe, I had decided, originated with the ill-at-ease feeling that possessed me when I added a
von
to the city ahead, and recalled that this region had been changing hands between France and Germany for more than a thousand years. Von Metz was undoubtedly German, and just as undoubtedly, the terri
tory
from which he took his name was now part of France, a prospect that ended any small degree of comfort I could take from our current location.

“Let us hope so,” said McMillian, soothed by my deferential attitude.

I shared his concern about the slowness of our progress and reminded myself that it was of necessity having the same effect on our pursuers. Assuming, my thoughts continued in an unwelcome manner, that they were, in fact, behind us and not waiting in ambush up ahead, in which case they might well be as restive as we were.

My fears proved prophetic. About two in the afternoon as we were crossing over a series of rills and freshets made into brooks by the rain, the train gave a lurch, then its brakes shrieked, the whistle howling in alarm. There was a loud, metallic scream echoed almost at once by human ones as the first of the cars buckled free of the track, and the two behind, including the car in which McMillian and I were riding, canted and sagged away from their rails, to lean against the hill as if taken with a sudden severe cramp.

McMillian swore heartily, struggling to get to his feet, thrashing about in his effort.

“Sir,” I said as I sat up gingerly. “It might be better to move more carefully. We do not know how precariously we are balanced.” Though I doubted even his most forceful activities could cause serious damage to us now, the notion of him blundering about in the car, where our armed guards were most certainly taking every measure to protect us, filled me with apprehension. Having escaped assassins, I had no wish to be shot by those assigned to keep me safe.

“But—” protested McMillian, only to have this drowned out by what sounded like an explosion ahead of the train.

Now I moved quickly, making my way on the leaning wall to where the door yawned over the slope beyond the tracks. In fair weather it would be an easy drop to the ground, but not now. Taking what measures I could to minimize my risk, I dropped out of the car, and pulled myself to my feet quickly, brushing mud and fine gravel from my hands as I did. The rain was everywhere; it quickly soaked through my coat to my skin and drained what little warmth I had been able to preserve for myself from me.

Ahead I saw the two conductors and their assistants walking along the side of the derailed cars, shaking their heads and gesticulating. Behind a small number of the passengers were emerging from the cars that were still on the tracks, many of them dazed, a few clearly upset.

We would not be reaching Metz tonight, not even by midnight. Another unwelcome thought intruded on this unhappy reverie—if another train were expected along behind us, it could be on top of us before it could safely stop, and then there would be a true disaster. I began to think I should warn someone of this possibility—which seemed the more likely to me because I supposed I was still being pursued—when I saw one of the two conductors take a lantern in his hand and begin to trudge down the length of the train. I hoped this meant he would continue on to some siding where a warning could properly be posted. Two of the assistants were preparing to assess the damage, tugging on oilcloth coats and taking lanterns and crowbars to help them in their work.

A short, burly fellow came rushing by me from one of the cars behind me, calling out loudly that he was a physician and was volunteering his services. He held a leather bag in one hand and clapped his hat to his head with the other. I swung around again to look behind me, and noticed that more people had left the train and were beginning to mill about in the wet.

One of the guards came out of the car, moving with exaggerated care. “What now, sir?”

“You ask me?” I wondered aloud. As I recalled, his name was Dietrich. “What does McMillian tell you?”

The guard—Dietrich?—laughed once without any amusement. “He tells us to put the engine back on the tracks, set the cars to rights and get us moving.”

“Of course,” I said, still not sure why this fellow should come to me instead.

“They told us you were to be consulted in an emergency,” said the guard in a lowered voice. “This appears to be an emergency. So—”

“Yes, it does appear to be one,” I agreed slowly, wondering where the guards had been given their orders, and by whom.

Ahead, the physician began to bustle back down the line of cars, stopping first at the one in advance of McMillian’s, calling out if any of the baggage-handlers had been hurt.

“Nothing but cuts and bruises,” came the unconcerned answer. “Worst of all is the mess.”

The physician went on, arriving at McMillian’s car next. He glanced at me. “Is there anyone else in there?”

“Yes,” I said. “Three guards and a Scottish nobleman.”

The physician nodded portentously, and declared, “I must see how they are. You seem to have been injured yourself, sir.”

“Two days ago,” I said. “The Scotsman is in a terrible temper,” I added, thinking it only fair to warn him.

“I will strive to keep that in mind,” he said as he began to climb up the leaning car toward the door to the interior, his bag clutched tightly in his hand.

“So, sir,” the guard said when the physician was gone into the train, “how does it strike you? An accident or something more?”

I had no answer for him beyond remarking, “Whichever it is, we are in as much of a pickle for one as for the other.”

“True enough,” he agreed, and took up his place underneath the door into which the physician had just vanished.

We were to the west of Sarrebourg, at the edge of the area called Etang de Lindre, where a number of large ponds turned marshy in winter. Our next station was Benestrolf, some considerable distance ahead—I assumed it was a good eight miles; Sarrebourg was perhaps a mile farther than that behind us. At this time of year and in such weather, few would be willing to walk to either place, especially so late in the afternoon.

I approached the knot of men gathering around the engineer, who held his shaking hand to his forehead. “I don’t know,” he said. “It was as if there was an explosion. Water can do that sometimes, build up behind some impediment, and then blast free, but ...” He stared at the way this engine straddled the tracks. “I would have sworn there was an explosion.”

“But who would be blasting here, at this time of day, and in such weather?” asked one of the passengers in Dutch-accented French.

“I don’t know. We’re warned about such things,” said the engineer, his dazed voice sounding as if he were a child. “Someone will have to be told.”

I knew I must not leave McMillian, especially if the engineer proved right, and it was learned there had been an explosion that put the train off its rails. I felt I had to make some recommendation. “If anyone goes, let it be two men together, in case of any mishap.”

“That’s a sensible notion,” seconded the senior conductor. “Yes, two men, walking together, in each direction. That should take care of us.” His elaborate moustaches drooped and dripped. “There’s also the Canal. We might find barges on it where word could be taken to the next lock.”

“With night coming on, is that likely?” asked one of the firemen. “They tie up for the night, those bargemen.” He gave a very French shrug. “And why should they help us, anyway? Besides, the Canal is farther away than Sarrebourg. We would reach the town first.”

“Is anyone hurt?” I asked, feeling shamed that it had taken so long for such a consideration to gain my attention.

“Nothing worse than a broken arm, as far as I know,” said the senior conductor. “The physician should be able to tell us something more shortly.”

I nodded once and hunched to turn my collar up. It did little but keep the worst of the rain off my neck, though it quickly soaked through. As I did this, I noticed out of the corner of my uncovered eye the coachman emerging from the next-to-last car where his carriage and horses were held. “Wait!” I called out, vexed that it should have taken so long for me to remember this. Over my shoulder, I said to the rest around the engineer, “He has horses. He can ride back along the tracks for us, or ahead, for that matter.”

The senior conductor slapped himself on the cap. “He’s right. How can I have forgotten? Yes, there are the two horses and the carriage.” He stopped and gave me a suspicious look. “Do you think your employer will permit us to commandeer them?”

“If he wants to reach Metz, he will,” I said with purpose. “Let me deal with him.”

The engineer moaned and swayed on his feet, but when eager hands reached out to steady him, he brushed them away. “I will be better shortly,” he informed us with all his dignity intact.

“Very good,” said the senior conductor, who was not at all convinced. He motioned me aside and said, “It’s not my place to tell you your work, but it would probably be best to give the coachman his orders before speaking to your master. Just to hurry things along.”

I nodded twice at this suggestion. “Very sensible of you.” I had not thought of being quite so audacious, but under the circumstances, I reckoned it was the wisest thing I could do.

“Men like him don’t always grasp the problems quickly,” added the senior conductor, and managed to look encouraging.

“No, they don’t,” I said, and squared my sodden shoulders before going in search of the coachman when one of the private guards—not Dietrich—assigned to protect McMillian came up behind me and tapped my arm.

“Begging your pardon, sir,” he said quietly, “but the doctor says you’d best come quickly.”

I faltered, but only for an instant. As soon as I ascertained what the physician wanted, I would deal with the coachman. “What’s the matter?” I asked as I set myself to accompany him back to the car.

“He didn’t tell me. Just said he had to talk to you at once.” The guard, I noticed, had a bruise on his jaw and a tear on the sleeve of his tunic.

“All right,” I said, and added, “Has the physician seen to you?”

The guard looked startled, and then laughed a little. “Why, thank you, sir, we get worse in drill. This is ... nothing.” He nodded along the track to where Dietrich was helping construct a makeshift shelter toward the rear of the train. “I’m going to give them a hand. There’s still two of us to look after the Scotsman, and heaven knows no one is getting away from here at any time soon.”

I gestured a resigned acceptance of this necessary-but-unwelcome fate, and as I did, I thought I heard the sound of a scuffle. At any case, I looked up the hill, and blinked as the rain sluiced into my eye and around my patch, and though I could see nothing, I was more certain than ever that something untoward was going on not twenty paces up the slope.

“There,” the guard explained, pointing out a group of men struggling to bear a broken tree branch down to the shelter. “For a fire. We will want a signal as much as the means to keep warm.”

“An excellent notion. We’ll need it before it gets much later,” I said with feeling. Damning though it may be for a man of my heritage to say it, but there are few things I dislike more than being cold and wet. “Are the ovens still working in the kitchen?”

“I understand that they are, which is fortunate,” said the guard, and paused near the entry to McMillian’s car. “If you like, I’ll give you a leg up, sir?”

“That won’t be necessary,” I answered, hardly paying any attention to him now. I was concentrating on securing a grip on the handrail so that I could swing myself aboard. I had just scrambled to my feet on the canted floor when I saw that the physician was bending over McMillian, who lay sprawled in the corridor.