Against the Brotherhood (17 page)

I stopped at the foot of the stairs and prepared to accost the man in the splendid Turkish robes. I folded my arms, the better to show my determination, and glared upward.

Into the profound gray eyes of Mycroft Holmes.

FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS:

There has been a note delivered from Inspector Cornell, asking for information about Vickers. M.H. left permission for me to release the basic report he keeps on the man, and to advise the Inspector to use caution when dealing with the Brotherhood. For what good it may do, I have followed these orders.

Mother has once again sunk into complete lethargy. The end is very near.

HE SALAAMED GRACEFULLY,
amusement giving his mouth a wry twist. “Good morning, good sir,” he said in terrible German as he came the rest of the way down the stairs, the robe whispering around his ankles. Where, I wondered, had Edmund Sutton come up with it, and on such short notice? Mycroft Holmes’ face was slightly darkened and his brows had been blackened; his turban successfully concealed his graying hair.

With Herr Dortmunder standing in the parlor, I had to bluster my way through. “To you it may be,” I declared in English, and then repeated it in German far better than his had been.

“You are not German?” asked Mycroft Holmes, still using his ludicrous accent.

“English,” I declared, feeling at once very foolish and in extreme danger. I must make no slip now, I realized, for it would put us both into the hands of the Brotherhood, and I had firsthand knowledge of the consequences of such a calamity.

“And you are in Bavaria? You are a traveler, as I am.” He beamed at me, as if delighted to find a commonality between us. “I have come from Bursa to see the wonderful castle of King Ludwig. Perhaps these buildings he is making are of interest to you, as well?”

“No, I am not here to see castles. We have castles aplenty, and better, in England,” I said, with all the bravado I could summon up in myself, suspecting that we were being closely observed by Herr Dortmunder.

“A pity,” said Mycroft Holmes in his Turkish guise. “To see a castle with gaslight, done in the modern way, not as we Turks have done it for centuries, now that is an accomplishment, one I have not encountered before. His Neuschwanstein is heated and lit by gas. A marvel.” He favored me with a distant-but-affable smile. “I did not see you last night. Did you arrive very late? I did not stay up much beyond midnight.”

“I have only arrived this morning,” I said, wishing I could say more.

“Ah. You were detained, possibly, on the road? Some mischance or another? Perhaps the weather? How unfortunate.” He turned away from me toward the parlor. “Madame Isolde, would it be possible for me to request breakfast? You had my instructions last night, I recall. I have no wish to impose on your staff, but I have been awake for some time, reading.” He paused in the entrance to the parlor, and then salaamed to Herr Dortmunder. “Forgive me. I did not realize you were entertaining. And so early in the morning.”

Madame Isolde’s face went scarlet under her paint and she looked uneasily from Herr Dortmunder to Mycroft Holmes, then back again, as if one man or the other would provide her response for her. When neither did, she said, “Herr Dortmunder is an old ... associate.”

“How fortunate to renew your acquaintance,” said Mycroft Holmes, and pointed toward the arch opposite the parlor. “Would you plan to serve breakfast there? The morning sun would be pleasant.”

“I’ll have Felix tend to it at once,” said Madame Isolde, glad that someone had given her something she could do at last. She called out for her major domo. “Set the table by the window. Give Herr Kamir his breakfast there.”

“Herr Kamir,” said Herr Dortmunder, “did I hear you say you were from Bursa?”

Mycroft Holmes bowed slightly. “Yes, that is where I currently reside. My family, however, is from Izmir, which you and the Infidel Greeks call Smyrna.” He stopped, continuing in a conciliating manner which changed again as he became more heated in his sentiments. “I do not mean to offend any Christians, for you are People of the Book, as are we, and the Jews, but the Greeks take advantage of the tolerance and respect we show to the People of the Book, and they seek to intrude into our country. It is a distressing state of affairs. They claim it is theirs by historical right. If we had taken Vienna, matters would be different now.” His German was now nearly unintelligible, as if Herr Kamir were being overcome with emotion. I could not but admire his performance and his great composure, for surely he was aware that we were in danger.

Herr Dortmunder showed a little interest in this outpouring. “Is there any danger of actual fighting, do you think?”

“With Allah’s help there will be peace,” said Mycroft Holmes. “It will be as Allah wills.”

I saw a smirk pass over Herr Dortmunder’s face as he said, “I suppose that’s true enough.”

Madame Isolde was becoming nervous again; she approached Mycroft Holmes uncertainly. “Your breakfast will be ready shortly, Herr Kamir.”

“Excellent,” he approved, and nodded in my direction. “Perhaps you, English, will come and tell me about the castles in the island of Queen Victoria?”

I glanced at Herr Dortmunder and saw him signal his consent. “All right. But I warn you, I will not be impressed by any of the accomplishments of King Ludwig. He has all the modern machinery and other things to aid him. The men who built the castles in England did it with sweat and muscle and will.”

“So it is with most castles,” said Mycroft Holmes as he salaamed again and turned away toward the room opposite the parlor, asking as I fell in behind him, “And what is your name, English?”

“August Jeffries,” I said at once, trying to keep up the pugnacious character I had assumed. We passed into the drawing room in time to see the major domo Felix supervising the setting up of a table by the window.

“Jeffries,” said Mycroft Holmes, as if tasting the name. “Not as hard to say as some I have encountered,” he went on in his execrable German, making a quick sign to me to do the same. “Sit down with me, Herr Jeffries, and tell me of the English castles while I have breakfast.” He clapped his hands, and when Felix turned toward him, said, “Set a place for Herr Jeffries. He will join me.”

“Very well, sir,” said Felix resentfully as he left the two servants to tend to it.

“I have a passion for castles,” went on Mycroft Holmes, speaking as “Herr Kamir” of Bursa. “Ever since I saw the ruins of the Crusaders’ forts, I have been eager to see those that are still occupied.”

I smiled, the effort greater than I had anticipated. “You Turks learned something of us English then,” I said, hoping my boast did not ring false.

“Yes,” said Mycroft Holmes. “We learned that you put on metal clothing to fight in the desert, and that you weighed too much to use our horses in battle, and so had to ship your own from great distances.” He bowed to me, and looked toward the table. “Shortly we will eat.” He added very softly, and in English. “They are listening.”

“I know,” I said in German, and straightened up. “Your soldiers might have thought ours unwise to fight in armor, but—”

“And they provided a red or black cross on their chests. Most archers yearn for such targets,” he went on in his Kamir-German. “It made our work so much easier for us.”

“And our knights were martyrs to their faith,” I blustered.

“So they were. They lost.” He nodded approval as the servants brought chairs to the table. As we approached to sit down, he murmured in English, his lips hardly moving. “Your last message was most alarming. I regret circumstances detained me for two days. I had planned to intervene before the situation became so fraught. Say something in German.”

“I wouldn’t call it lost,” I proclaimed.

He answered as Kamir. “No—it is not the way of the West, is it?” and went on again softly, “This has become difficult. More than I guessed it would.”

I kept up my German. “It was a glorious war, the Crusades.”

“All were lost,” said Mycroft Holmes again, with the good humor of a curious scholar with an appreciative student. “And it is not fitting to remark on the losses, not here.” He added in an undervoice. “How much danger are you in?”

My answer was for his private question, though I offered it as if responding to the public one. “The risk seemed worth the reward.”

“Truly?” asked Mycroft Holmes in his Kamir manner. “My dear Guthrie,” he went on quietly, “you alarm me.”

“Yes,” I insisted; the sound of my own name had taken me aback, and I tried to cover my confusion with indignation. “And no wonder. Germany is a most unexpected place, I have found.”

“Assuredly.” He looked to be unflappable, the master very much in control of his craft. We were given strong coffee; the bitter scent rose from our cups. I noticed that Mycroft Holmes had taken a packet from his robes, saying in a deferential way, “It is sugar, good sir. I find that sugar is not the same away from my own country, and it is a taste I miss. Thus” —he added in an undervoice— “it can so easily contain poison.”

I suppressed a shudder and said, “Just so.”

“There will be lamb and bread soon. Have some with me,” he offered in his terrible German. “It is good of Madame Isolde to do this for me, for it is not often she must cater to one of my compatriots.” He coughed, brought his napkin to his face and while apparently striving to stop the spasm, said quickly and softly, “Is there any immediate danger for you here? Is that man with the Brotherhood?” He set his napkin aside, and remarked, “It is often thus on a chill morning. The fog gets into the throat.”

“So it does,” I agreed, and said, “Yes, your observation is correct.”

“About Madame Isolde, you mean?” His strange accent seemed to be growing stronger.

“Your most recent remark, indeed,” I answered, feeling my vitals tighten. “I have rarely encountered such a reception as I have had in this country.” It was audacious to say this, but I knew Herr Dortmunder would expect something of the sort from Jeffries.

“Truly, it is a most gracious and remarkable place,” said Mycroft Holmes in the cadences of Kamir. “I stepped out earlier this morning before you arrived, I think, for a walk, and had a chance to admire the city, as well. It is a pity the weather was not better. Truly Munich is a jewel.”

I decided to follow his lead. “How could anyone suppose otherwise?”

He nodded, and gestured to the approaching servant to put silver and napkin before me. “Your coffee will grow cold,” he warned me.

“So it might,” I said, and obediently lifted the cup, hesitating at my lips while I tested its heat.

The window shattered, and the cup, at seemingly the same instant.

I was too shocked to do more than freeze in place until I realized that Mycroft Holmes had dropped down under the cover of the table and was pulling at my coat from underneath. Belatedly I responded, all but oversetting my chair in my haste to protect myself.

I could hear shouts in the house, and Herr Dortmunder came rushing into the dining room, a pistol drawn, and his face a mask of ire. Behind him Madame Isolde cowered. Throughout the house was the sound of hurrying footsteps as the servants came to discover the reason for all this upset.

“Good sir, good sir,” cried out Mycroft Holmes in his Kamir-German. “Someone is shooting at you. You must get away from the window.”

A second shot came, and I felt a hot crease along my forehead. I jerked away from the pain of it and my chair toppled over backward. I could feel blood on my face, hot and wet.

Herr Dortmunder rushed to the door, tugged it open and squinted out into the morning glare. He raised his pistol and fired it once, swearing as he did.

Mycroft Holmes was bending over me, still in the character of Kamir. “Are you hurt, good sir? There is blood in your eye.”

“Small wonder,” I muttered. “What the devil was that all about?” I demanded in English as I tried to sit up; my head rang like a smithy and my eyepatch was once again smirched. “I’ll be right enough in a moment,” I said, hoping it would be so.

“Good sir, I cannot understand you,” said Mycroft Holmes, whose Kamir was not intended to speak English.

I made myself change languages. “I assume I will be better directly.”

Herr Dortmunder slammed the door closed, and then came to my side, putting his pistol back into his coat as he neared me. “That was too close, Mister Jeffries.”

Madame Isolde was bending over me, fussing. She lifted the corner of my eyepatch, made a face of repugnance, and restored the patch to its place. I was again relieved that I had taken the precaution of giving the lid the appearance of severe scarring. “I will send for a basin, so we can wash ... that away.”

I had taken the napkin offered by Mycroft Holmes. “I would be grateful if you would.”

“But Herr Jeffries,” said Mycroft Holmes in Kamir-bafflement, “who is shooting at you? Good sir, you must be in some danger from evil men, to have them take so bold a step against you.”

“So you must suppose, sir,” said Herr Dortmunder for me. “It has been the misfortune of this young Englishman to be attacked three times since he has arrived on the Continent. I have taken it upon myself to see he is not exposed to such hazards again.” This was directed as much toward me as to the Turkish version of Mycroft Holmes.

“I cannot think who has any reason to do me harm,” I added in an injured tone, in English. “I came here on commission of a gentleman in London, and in the hope that I could make my way back home by taking employment with an English gentleman in need of a servant, so that I would have payment for the second leg of my travels. And thus far all I have received for my troubles is attempts on my life.”

“A horrible state of affairs,” said Herr Dortmunder.

I finished wiping the worst of the blood from my face, and discovered that the wound was still seeping. Pressing the napkin to my forehead, I did my best to get to my feet. My whole face felt raw, and my muscles were watery.