Against the Brotherhood (28 page)

As we went to climb aboard the Hanoverians, I whispered to him, “Aren’t you afraid of what may become of the treaty if we throw our lot in with them? You said yourself that their goals are not ours.”

“No,” Mycroft Holmes declared as he swung aboard his big gelding.

I could not believe what I was hearing. “But don’t you understand? They cannot be trusted. Once we have McMillian, they could demand the treaty for their own purposes.” I felt a familiar soreness begin to settle into my hips and thighs as I found my seat on the Hanoverian’s back.

“That assumes that McMillian has the treaty,” said Mycroft Holmes with a wink. “He doesn’t.” And with that, he turned his mount toward the road and let him begin at a steady, long trot.

I waited only long enough to see Penelope Gatspy and Guilem climb onto their horses before I rushed after Mycroft Holmes, with so many questions in me that I felt all over bristles.

FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS:

I have spent an hour with Mother, and I
now concur with her physicians—the end cannot be more than a few hours away. I
have promised to return there by noon, and will remain as long as is necessary.

Edmund Sutton has offered to remain at the flat and receive any messages that may come while I
am away. It is most generous of him, and I am grateful to him for this help at so critical a time.

No more word from France, but I
had not expected any, not yet. It is never pleasant to have to wait for developments, which is what must be done now. If the mission is successful, we will know it by morning. If it fails, we may never know how that came about.

A STREAM LED
us toward a fold in the hills which was filled with trees, making it difficult to discern how deep the fold was, or how much of a defile was concealed there. We had been riding for over three hours and the sun was nearly overhead, suggesting rather than imparting warmth. The shadows were far more honest in their chill.

All through the ride, I had been pondering that last, enigmatic remark of Mycroft Holmes’—that McMillian did not have the treaty. Did that mean he had never had it, that all this was a diversion, or that the treaty had been stolen, and if so, by whom? And when? And if he did not have it, why had the Brotherhood taken him? And least pleasant of all, what would they do to him when they discovered he did not have the treaty? Much as I might dislike McMillian, I would not wish the wrath of the Brotherhood upon him were he a thousand times more offensive.

“That’s where the chateau is, back in those trees,” said Mycroft Holmes, drawing his horse in with care. “We had best go the rest of the way on foot. And prepared for trouble.”

“But it’s at least a mile, perhaps more,” said Guilem, pulling his handsome mare in beside Holmes. “Why not get closer?”

“Because they will be watching. They have McMillian and they expect someone to come after him.” Holmes pointed toward the trees. “And now they have the advantage of cover.”

“But if we don’t approach directly—” Guilem protested.

“They are not fools, man,” Holmes interrupted them. “As you should know better than I. They are vicious and evil men who are trying to undermine the fabric of European and British society for their own ends.”

“Yes,” said Penelope with deep feeling. “And we cannot permit it to happen. Mister Holmes is right, Guilem. We must take no chances.” She slipped out of her saddle and took her horse’s reins firmly. “Where can we tie them safely?”

“I would think we could leave them at that church, back at the village behind us,” said Holmes. “No Christian, of whatever stripe, can want the Brotherhood to succeed.”

There was a startled moment as the others considered this remark, and then I said, “True enough,” for all of us, and gratefully swung my horse around.

Penelope Gatspy climbed back into her saddle and pushed her horse to a steady trot. “It is not long until noon. We will have to move quickly if we do not want to be at that chateau at night. You know what their rites are. It would be best to be gone before sunset.”

“Because they invoke powers of darkness,” said Guilem. “They are willing to seek out the worst—”

Holmes gestured him to silence as we entered the little village. “Not here. People listen. And some will understand English.”

The Abbé at the little church was willing to look after our horses for a small donation to his parish. He also provided a wheel of cheese and two loaves of bread, which he took care to bless before handing them over.

“If we are not back by midnight, please send a telegram for me, to this place,” Mycroft Holmes added as we were about to depart. He handed over a folded note and another few francs, and then led us out of the village along the road that ran in the general direction of von Metz’s chateau.

After a brisk half-hour’s walk, we turned off the road and wandered along the stream, still moving at a good pace, but not with any obvious purpose but to enjoy the autumn scenery. As we walked, we shared the bread and cheese among us, nothing more than travelers taking a respite at midday.

“At that next group of trees, turn toward the chateau,” said Mycroft Holmes as we neared the place. “Keep well to the west side of the grove. We will be under cover of the trees, and if we are being watched, they will not know where we have gone.”

“You still think we are being watched?” I asked, my thigh now as sore as my calves and my head the worst of all. “In spite of all our precautions?”

“Don’t you think we are?” Holmes countered. “Ask these two, if you doubt me.” He nodded toward Penelope and Guilem in turn. “Killers are always sensitive to these feelings.”

Penelope bridled at the word
killers,
and defended herself by saying, “We kill only our enemies, only those of the Brotherhood who threaten the welfare and safety of millions.”

“Yes,” agreed Holmes at once, his voice soothing. “Your purposes are admirable. But your victims are dead, all the same.” He smiled at her, no trace of condemnation in his face.

“Are you any different because your deputies pull the trigger?” she asked sharply.

“No, I am not,” he said with such simplicity that I was fully convinced of his sincerity. “And for that reason, if no other, I must thank you for sparing Guthrie for me. I would be truly at a loss without him.”

We were now well under the cover of the trees, and at a motion from Holmes, we began to walk separated from one another, silently, toward the deepest part of the little defile, where the chateau had to be. With a number of simple gestures, Holmes reminded all of us to watch the trees for lookouts, and take care where we put our feet, for fear of traps.

As I walked, I could not put aside the sense that I had mistaken what Mycroft Holmes had implied to Penelope Gatspy—that she had been planning to kill me when we met in the train. Though she had admitted as much to me, how was it that her purpose was so clear to everyone but me? And had she completely abandoned those intentions now that Mycroft Holmes had intervened? These profitless speculations were interrupted by a terrible, gurgling cry off to my left. I turned in time to see Guilem fall to the ground, a small crossbow quarrel no larger than a dart lodged in his chest.

I had a single, sharp instant of recollection of the second man dying at the edge of the abyss in Luxembourg with just such a small dart or quarrel in
his neck. Was it the Brotherhood that had protected me then, thinking I was working on their behalf? And what would they do now, knowing it was untrue? I had to keep myself from imagining just such a dart biting into my flesh.

Holmes made a sharp gesture, and we were all still, and I no longer felt I was back in Luxembourg fighting for my life. He signaled us to move cautiously to a stand of hawthorn, which I did, resisting every instant the urge to break and run from this sinister place.

Once in the shelter of the hawthorn, we waited, and in a short while heard footsteps approaching. One of the two men wore postilion’s spurs, and even on this damp, leaf-strewn ground, the chains rang softly. I did not need to look out to know that Herr Dortmunder was standing a dozen feet away, bending over Guilem.

“Take him back to the chateau,” Herr Dortmunder ordered. “There may be information on his body.”

“Are there others?” asked his assistant.

“They’ve probably fled by now, if they have any sense left to them.” He chuckled and headed back in the direction of the heart of the defile.

“Don’t move,” Holmes whispered so quietly that I was not at all certain I had actually heard him speak. “Wait. Wait.”

Penelope sat watching with that dazed, glazed way people have when death confronts them. For all the killing she may have done, she had not yet come to terms with those who have been killed. I felt sympathy for her, and an irritation that she would be so willing to risk all our lives without preparing to face death herself.

She must have realized I was watching her, for she looked up over her shoulder and glared at me, daring me to express any commiseration. I looked away.

“The guard has withdrawn,” Holmes told us softly.

“Guard?” I asked, feeling foolish once again.

“The fellow in the branches of the tree,” said Holmes, pointing ahead to a large oak. “He was left to see if anyone else was coming. He would appear to be satisfied that we are gone.” He pulled his coat around him. “Come. We must be quick. They are on the alert now.”

I scowled as I tried to get out of the thicket without tearing my clothes, and almost succeeded. A bit of my coat snagged on one of the barbs and ripped free. I would have left it, but Holmes stopped me. “If they find this, we might as well carry torches and cymbals.”

Sheepishly I made sure that the bush was free of all bits of fabric, and then I followed Holmes and Penelope through the woods, taking care to keep off the two small paths we encountered, and trying to go from thicket to hedge in an effort to be in range of cover. It was cold with a chill that did not come wholly from shadow.

Finally, up ahead, I saw the looming stone walls of an ancient tower, a squat, round, forbidding fortification going back to the time when the Kingdom of Germany reached from Verdun in the west to Breslau in the east, when Frederick II reigned. It was a magnificent piece of history, but now the sight of it filled me with dread. I could not help but think of those men-at-arms who had marched against it when it was new, and I felt myself at one with them.

“I suppose it’s too much to hope for a confessor’s door,” Holmes mused softly.

“Not in a place like that; that is not a bailey, it is a bolt-hole,” Penelope Gatspy said in an undervoice. “How are we to get in?”

“Are you certain this is where they have taken McMillian?” I could not keep from asking.

“My dear boy,” Holmes told me, keeping his voice low but speaking with great precision, “this is one of the strongholds maintained by the Brotherhood I’ve told you about. You have already seen the one in Bavaria, which they would be foolish to return to, with the police looking for McMillian. The one remaining in Austria is near Salzburg. Another is near Zagreb. This location is most convenient for them. Nothing would serve their purpose better. Where would they bring him but here?”

“All right,” I said. “I only thought they might have hidden him in another place.”

“They do not know we know this location,” Holmes reminded me as he drew his pistol from under his coat. “It would be nice to have one of their crossbows. They’re much less noisy than pistols are. Perhaps once we get inside we can claim one as our own.” He nodded toward the tower. “If we work our way around to the back of it, we may find the means to get in.”

Penelope Gatspy held up her purse. “I have a revolver with me. And a length of wire.” She was pale but composed, accepting Guilem’s death with a professional calm that told me more of her experience as an enemy of the Brotherhood than any words would do.

“Excellent,” Holmes approved, and motioned us into silence again, indicating the tangle of underbrush nearby. “Stay out of that. It makes noise,” he warned us, his words hardly louder than breath.

We worked our way around the bulk of the wall, holding to the shadows of the trees while avoiding the brush where our passage would give rise to noise. It was nerve-wracking, and with each step I still half-anticipated the jolt of a quarrel smashing into my body. At least I would not fall into a chasm.

Finally we were at the rear of the place, in a steep, narrow part of the hill where berry brambles mixed with the bushes. We had all been snagged by the thorns in our trek along the hillside.

“Just as I hoped,” whispered Mycroft Holmes as he pointed to a pen with half a dozen pigs in it. “Where there is a kitchen, there must be a door.” He smiled at Penelope Gatspy and me, then motioned us to start forward.

One of the sows grunted as we approached, hoping we were bringing food. She was a good-sized animal, more than two hundred pounds, and her little eyes were bright with cunning.

“There is the door,” Holmes said softly, pointing to a narrow opening near what was clearly an abandoned bakery-and-creamery. “We must be very careful here. They will expect some attempt, I am sure.”

We were about to move when the wooden door of the old bake house swung open and Herr Dortmunder strode out, two dark-clad men in his wake.

“He is lying. He knows where the treaty is. Alert van Meter, and tell him that we may have to stop that train again, and get the rest of his luggage.”

“He will not take much more questioning,” said the fairer of the two men. I noticed there were dark patches on his sleeves and the front of his tunic. “If he goes off in another swoon, I don’t know how long he will be unconscious.”

“Use hartshorn to rouse him,” said Herr Dortmunder, then stepped inside the kitchen door, his postilion’s spurs ringing on the stone floor.

“Do you think they have McMillian in there?” I whispered to Holmes.

“Either they do, or they want us to think they do,” said Penelope in the same low tone.

“Precisely,” said Holmes. “And we will have to find out which. Although it appears they have made a classic mistake and are guarding only the front of the tower, and not the rear, assuming that nothing can come from behind them. That is a naiveté I would not expect from the Brotherhood. And so we must not indulge in the hope that they are not alert. They have Guilem’s body, and that ought to make them worried about more trouble.” He frowned. “If McMillian has been badly beaten, it will not be an easy thing to carry him out of here.” He stifled a cough. “We must first determine if McMillian is indeed being held there.”

“I will go,” I said, hating myself for volunteering.

“They know you,” said Holmes, shaking his head. “And you, Miss Gatspy, are not dressed to climb onto roofs.” He squinted up at the sky. “It is my task. Besides, I am much too large a man to hide with a knot of a tree. Better I should act.” There was grim amusement in his gray eyes. He motioned us to lie down at the base of two big elms. “You are well hidden here. If they take me, leave at once. There will be nothing you can do to save me then; you would only sacrifice yourselves needlessly.”