Hell Train (17 page)

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘It may surprise you to learn that you’re still in the British army,’ said Carstairs. ‘You don’t get away from us that easily.’

Tethered to the door, Nicholas fell back in his seat, dumbfounded.

I
N THE NEXT
compartment, Isabella pulled at the lock, but it remained stuck fast. Then, entirely by itself, it slid slowly open, an invitation from the
Arkangel
.

As much in confusion as relief, she ran out into the corridor and checked the next compartment. She slid back the door. ‘Nicholas, are you all right? What on earth has happened—’

The Major tipped at his forehead. ‘I’m sorry, Mamselle, there’s no talking to the prisoner.’

‘Isabella, he’s mistaken me for someone else.’

‘Ah,’ it dawned on the Major, ‘you didn’t tell her.’

‘Tell me what?’

‘Your fancy man is a deserter, young lady.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Apparently the British Army wasn’t to his liking, Ma’am. He left just as things were getting interesting. By a stroke of luck some of us appear to have found the same train home.’

Behind Isabella, two privates appeared. The Major waved his stick at them. ‘Get this young lady back to her compartment.’

Nicholas gave Isabella an imploring look as she was bundled away protesting, one soldier holding either arm. ‘No!’ she called, ‘Nicholas! This is your test! Be careful!’ She was pushed into an empty compartment further along the carriage.

‘You won’t be seeing your boyfriend again, love,’ said one of the two soldiers, smirking at her. ‘If you get lonely, just knock on the wall and we’ll come and see you all right.’

They closed the door, laughing, and locked it. She didn’t understand; all the doors seemed to work differently at different times. The
Arkangel
could turn upon itself like a funfair maze. She had no choice but to leave Nicholas to his fate.

I
N HIS SEAT
opposite the Major, Nicholas strained at his handcuffs.

‘You know, you might have made Captain if you hadn’t made such absurd accusations against our Brigadier,’ said Major Carstairs. ‘You should plead insanity at the trial.’

Nicholas barely found the voice to speak. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Don’t remember your own reasons for desertion?’

‘No. Tell me.’

‘You accused your commanding officer of being a lunatic. Said you saw him cut a private’s throat with a straight razor. But you didn’t. You turned coward under fire and imagined it. It was your own fear of dying turning on you. It wasn’t because we had a madman in our midst. We’re the army, nobody’s mad here.’

Nicholas tired to think. The Major’s story seemed not entirely true, nor yet completely false. His head throbbed. He struggled to understand what was happening. ‘I don’t remember... only pieces.’

The Major leaned forward, speaking confidentially. ‘Look, we’ve all seen the most frightful tragedies at the front that appear barely possible when you look back on them. It’s been a tough war on all of us, and it’s far from over yet. I must say, I had high hopes for you. You were well-liked by your men. But I’ll see you get a fair hearing.’

There was a rap at the door. A senior officer stuck his head into the compartment. Blue-chinned and long of face, his small dark eyes were set under a heavy forehead. ‘Ah, Carstairs. We’ve found some brandy. We’re in the forward car. Care to join us?’

‘Oh, jolly good, Brigadier,’ said the Major. ‘I’ll be along presently.’

Nicholas stared at the Brigadier as a bloody image flashed into his head. He saw the officer hunched and armed at the base of a flooded trench, cutting a young soldier’s throat with an army-issue razor.

‘Good Lord, that’s him!’ he said, ‘he’s insane.’

‘He’s not insane, he’s a British officer. Now look here, lad, you must try to get control of yourself.’

‘I saw him a moment ago with a razor in his hand. Drinking the blood of his own men.’

‘No,’ said the Major patiently. ‘You saw him in the doorway here.’

‘I mean in my mind’s eye. I remember now. We were in the Piccadilly trench.’ The unit had named all of the earthen passageways after London streets, so that new recruits could find their way about. Trouble was, half of them were from the country and didn’t know Oxford Street from a hole in the ground. Everyone got lost from time to time. And on one of those occasions, Nicholas had blundered upon a scene that he had tried very hard to erase from his mind. An officer taking the life of one of his own men. But now he was remembering more with each passing moment.

‘You know where you went wrong?’ said the Major. ‘Your mistake was to panic. The only crime in the British Army is failure to obey.’

Nicholas had some vague recollection that he was to be tested, and tried to think fast. His head was full of an obscuring mist. He needed to adapt to what he knew.

‘Could I have a cigarette?’

‘You’ve got a nerve, asking for favours. All right, just this once. I’ll see what I can do.’

The Major heaved himself up and left the compartment, glad of a chance to stretch his legs. Nicholas studied the handcuff attaching him to the door. He gave it a few experimental kicks with his boot. It was too strong to break, and there was no way of removing it from the handle.

What the hell have I got myself into?
he thought, and then;
Perhaps this is the life that might have been, had I stayed in the war and not fled back to England. How I behave will determine if I keep my soul or lose it
.

If she hadn’t boarded the
Arkangel
, Miranda might have spent decades as a vicar’s wife in Henley-Upon-Thames or wherever Thomas had agreed to take the diocese, running sewing circles and complaining bitterly about her lot in life. Instead she had experienced another version of her destiny, one in which she fought back from her husband and paid the price for her greed. He thought of the track ahead diverging in a hundred different directions, like all the paths of life. The
Arkangel
had switched him onto a different track in order to test his mettle.

I must not let my most base flaws destroy me,
thought Nicholas.
The train is searching out my weaknesses. It must not find them.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

THE BRIGADIER

M
AJOR
C
ARSTAIRS PASSED
what he thought was the Brigadier’s compartment, but oddly, the blind was down.

He tried to peer around the edge of the blind. The Brigadier’s bloodshot eye suddenly appeared in the gap, making him jump. He returned the Major’s gaze, warning him away. Carstairs stepped back, startled, and bumped into a young private. ‘Robertson,’ he snapped, ‘what the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?’

‘Sorry, sir,’ Robertson apologised. ‘Looking for the Brigadier. Been summoned.’

The Major pointed to the compartment door. ‘Well he’s in there, but I don’t think he wants to be—’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Just then the Brigadier yanked his compartment door open a few inches. ‘I’ll take care of this, Major,’ he said, dragging Robertson inside and slamming the door shut in the Major’s face. The blind on the window shot up for a moment and was hastily pulled back down.

Major Carstairs attempted to peer in under the blind. He moved his face close to the glass. Suddenly, there was a gasp and a dreadful, familiar gurgle. A single spurt of scarlet spattered the blind.

‘Everything all right in there?’ called the Major.

‘Fine, thank you,’ said the Brigadier. A violent kick. More gurgling and thuds. Then silence.

‘Oh, well then—right-ho.’ The Major walked away, confused.

He returned to his compartment and handed Nicholas one of his own cigarettes. They were of a better quality than the straw-filled coffin nails he filched from privates, but he decided to spare one. He seated himself opposite his prisoner. ‘The oddest thing,’ he began, then shook his head, glancing back into the corridor, rattled.

‘What is it?’ Nicholas asked. ‘What did you see?’

The Major frowned. ‘Nothing. I’m tired. That’s what comes of listening to your infernal nonsense.’

‘I once met an officer on his third tour of duty who told me he had begun to enjoy the taste of his own men’s blood,’ Nicholas said. ‘It was the only way he could survive the madness.’

‘I thought I saw blood,’ said the Major thoughtfully, continuing to look outside.

‘I knew it.’ Nicholas was elated. ‘I’m right.’

The Major reached a decision. ‘No. It’s you. You have to be kept away from the others.’

‘Sir?’

‘You’re quarantined. We can’t have you infecting any more impressionable lads with these paranoid delusions. What if they all started thinking like you? Where would the British Army be if people started believing their leaders were mad?’

‘But others could be in danger.’

The Major’s nerves were jangled. It had been a hellish tour of duty, ending in a rout. He had tramped more European streets than a Latvian whore. ‘Let it go, old chap. For my sake. We’re all exhausted.’

Nicholas slumped back in the seat, watching the Major.
Survive the test,
he thought.
You have to think this through yourself. You need a plan. You need—

‘I need the toilet.’

The Major sighed. He would get no rest on this journey. ‘I can see you’re going to be a nuisance all night. Come along.’ Digging about in his fatigues, he produced a key and unlocked the handcuff.

I
SABELLA WAITED UNTIL
the soldiers had sauntered off, and tried the door. Once again, it opened by itself. The train was like a mechanical trickster, opening and closing passageways at will, manipulating all those held within its grip. She and Nicholas had become a part of Miranda’s challenge. Could she now become a part of Nicholas’s?

Checking to see that the coast was clear, she stepped out into the swaying corridor. It was empty now. She could hear soldiers laughing further along the carriage. Making her way back along the train, she reached the guard’s van and tried the door, but it was shut.

‘Thomas,’ she begged, ‘open the door, it’s me.’

Thomas released the catch and sat down beside the shattered coffin, closing his eyes. He looked terrible.

‘Thomas? How are you feeling?’

‘I really don’t know. Quite odd, if you must know. Everything’s a terrible mix-up. Where’s Miranda? Why isn’t she here?’

Isabella hardly knew where to start. ‘You don’t remember?’

Thomas unsurely pulled himself to his feet. ‘What happened to my wife?’

‘Thomas, I am so sorry—’

‘My God, it’s all coming back to me. That ghastly thing in the casket; the fight.’

‘Miranda is dead. And Nicholas is now in danger.’

‘Dead. She shut me in—no, the creature did.’ He tried to piece together what had happened.

‘Your wife was dragged beneath the train. She had a golden chain in her hand—’

‘That’s horrible. She was determined to steal it. Wouldn’t take any instruction from me. She never did.’

‘At least her end was quick.’ It wasn’t entirely true, but the occasion called for a small lie.

‘Mind you, she hadn’t been happy since I married her.’

‘She was kind to me.’

‘Kind? Let’s be honest. She was a greedy bitch and she made my life a misery.’ He slapped himself awake. ‘Right, let’s get out of here.’

Miranda went to the door, but now found it had somehow locked itself. ‘It’s the train,’ she explained. ‘It’s keeping us apart.’

‘What are you talking about? The corpse in the coffin was still alive. Epilepsy. It had nothing to do with the train.’

‘How can you say that? It was not of this world, Thomas! You saw what happened!’

‘Mass hallucinations. Hysteria. It happens all the time in the church. You should see some of my parishioners after hymn practice. You’d think the Angel Gabriel himself had come down and made advances to them.’ Pushing her aside, he grunted at the lock. ‘Let me have a go. It’s just jammed.’ He picked up the shovel and started to smash at the hasp. ‘Stand back, we’ll be out of here in no time.’

T
HE
M
AJOR LED
Nicholas to the toilet at the end of the corridor and let him inside. A ceramic bowl, a basin, no towels, a narrow window. Nicholas looked around for a means of escape. He tried to force the window, but it proved impossible to open.

One of the young privates who had escorted Isabella away came running up. ‘Sir, the Brigadier wants a word with you. Wants to know our destination. Some kind of problem.’

The Major glanced back at the shut toilet door, weighing up the odds. ‘All right. Stay by this door. Don’t allow him out of your sight. Wait here with him until I get back.’

Nicholas heard the Major’s response. He waited, listening for the boy on the other side of the door. The private had shifted closer, also listening. Nicholas gripped the handle and opened the door hard, slamming the private in the face. Swinging himself around the door, he grabbed the young soldier and rammed his head into the wall twice, three times, until he was knocked out.

Nicholas moved up through the train, searching the compartments one by one. When he reached the Brigadier’s compartment, he saw the white blind spotted with crimson. He slowed down, filled with apprehension.

He rested his hand on the door handle. He was sure that if he opened it he would find himself face to face with his worst nightmare.

Your test waits inside.

Twisting the handle, he looked in.

The Brigadier was standing in the swaying compartment, hunched over the boy. The soldier’s boots were beating against the floor, as if he was having a fit. What was going on?

When the Brigadier heard the door open he slowly rose and turned around, the sconced wall lights casting an eerie glow on his face. His chin was bearded with crimson blood. His right hand contained an open straight razor. His eyes glittered with madness. Nicholas looked down to the floor. There was a deep hole in the prone boy’s throat. The floor was slick with dark blood.