Against the Brotherhood (26 page)

“He lost his footing,” said the physician, one hand on McMillian’s wrist as if to check his pulse. “I’m afraid he struck his head. He’s bleeding.” He indicated the mat of carmined hair just above the temple.

“Call the other guards. They will help you,” I responded at once, trying to make my way toward them without mishap.

“They are busy,” said the physician, taking something from his bag, a small object like a leather-covered egg. “If you will lend me your support?” He motioned me to his side.

As I bent over McMillian, I saw something embossed or branded on the bag the physician carried—an Egyptian eye. I could not believe it and was about to demand to know what the fellow was doing with such a mark when I felt two strong arms seize me from behind.

In
the next instant the side of my skull erupted and I heard more than felt myself fall into darkness.

FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS:

It has been an endless day, with no further word from Germany, but to confirm that M.H. and G.
have not yet arrived at Metz, and that the train they were on is missing. That is the word they have used: missing. As if somehow the train has abandoned the tracks and gone careering off over the countryside to places unknown. A second telegram confirmed that the train has not arrived at the stations where it was expected, nor have there been any accounts of it on subsidiary lines. The railroad authorities fear there may have been a blockage on the tracks, or, worse still, a derailment, all of which will take time to locate and repair, given the inclement weather and the late hour of the day.

To add to these festivities, I have this evening sustained an irate visit from Inspector Cornell, who has threatened to compel M.H. to testify in regard to what he knows in the case of the murdered young woman, for the circumstances of her death continue to trouble him. He is determined to question Vickers as well. I have sent word around to the Admiralty to request they provide a few more days delay so that M.H. may be located. Willing though he is to impersonate M.H., Edmund Sutton draws the line at misleading the Law.

I will not return from hospital tonight until quite late, by which time I hope there will be news from the Continent more welcome than any I have had of late.

THE FIRST THING
I saw as my wits came back to me was the coachman bending over me, the rain forming a peculiar halo, provided by the lantern, around his slouch hat. The next thing I felt was a raging headache above my left ear. I half-sat, wincing as I did and pressing my hand to my head in the process. “What happened?”

“You were coshed,” said Mycroft Holmes, keeping his voice low. “About twenty minutes ago, judging by what we’ve been able to piece together. Quite a competent job of it, too. Enough to knock you out, but not enough to put you into a long stupor.” He shoved himself to his feet and went on in the loud, puzzling mix of languages he had assumed for this disguise. “The Scotsman by criminals has been taken away.”

I did my best to rise, taking care to steady myself as the world went fuzzy around me. When I was certain I would not stumble, I took a tentative step back toward the car where McMillian had been riding.

“I wouldn’t do that, dear boy,” said Holmes quietly, coming to my side again. “There’s a bomb inside.”

“A bomb?” I repeated, thinking I must have misunderstood the word. My hands were shaking, and it took me several seconds to identify this as fright.

“It would appear so,” said my employer in a dry undertone. “If you are well enough feeling, good sir,” he went on in his dreadful Alcasian growl, “you to your feet I will help get. Be to take care that you fall not.”

“Thank you,” I said, first in French and then in German. My legs were as uncertain as a foal’s, but I managed to keep atop them.

Mycroft Holmes turned to those gathered around us, straightened to his full height and addressed them in German so impressive that it would pass muster with von Bismarck himself. And probably had, I added inwardly as I listened. “Good people, you are the unfortunate victims of enemies of all the European states. You have had to take the brunt of the assault of an organization sworn to disrupt the carefully negotiated affairs of these countries. They have made attempts on the lives of the Scotsman and his servant before. This time they have succeeded in taking the Scotsman, as you know, and it is now imperative that his servant and I follow after them. Did anyone see which way they went?”

There was a confusing chorus of contradictory answers.

“Please,” said Holmes in his impeccable German. “It will only help us if you are able to give accurate information. Think very carefully before you answer. If we chase after shadows, these villains may yet triumph. So. You.” He pointed to Dietrich. “What did you observe?”

The guard straightened, and I noticed two bruises on his face that had not been there before. “Well, I noticed a commotion up the slope from us, and I saw that there were three or four men on horseback, with three more horses on leads. They came as far as the cover of the trees and the angle of the slope would permit them to, and when one of the men gathering wood attempted to hail them, asking for help, he ... he was shot.”

“You all agree that was the start of it?” Holmes asked, and waited for a few minor contradictions—there were four men and eight horses. No, there were eight men and nine horses. No, all the horses were mounted.

“All right. Men came on horseback to a place where they clearly anticipated finding someone.” He held up his gloved hand and ticked off this information. “Who saw what happened at this car?” he went on, indicating the car in which McMillian, I
,
and our guards had ridden.

“I think someone dropped a case out of that door,” said one of the men, with less certainty. “There was a piece of luggage, that I do remember.”

“And the Scotsman,” added the senior conductor. “He was taken out by the physician. Draped him over his shoulder like a sack of meal and went off with him, that guard bringing the luggage behind him.” He looked very pleased with himself for giving so complete a report. Now, I thought as my eye became more accustomed to the waning light, if only it is accurate.

“Very good,” said Mycroft Holmes. “Can you describe the luggage?”

The senior conductor screwed up his face and scowled. “It was a good-sized leather one, about as large as a nightstand, possibly a little smaller.” He looked at me. “You know which it is?”

I had already feared the worst, but this served to confirm my most hellish nightmares. “I know,” I said heavily as the full weight of my failure came near to overwhelming me.

“The contents are important?” Holmes asked me in German.

“Crucial,” I answered in the same tongue. “My employer will not forgive this lapse, I fear.”

“Your employer,” came the answer, still in German, “knows that you have done everything you could to protect him and his mission. He will not be harsh in his judgment of you as you are of yourself.”

“Possibly,” I said, sensing that in Mycroft Holmes’ perceptions the game was not over yet. “What are we to do?”

“There is no point waiting around to be rescued. The railroad will manage all that. We, Jeffries, are going to take the coach horses and ride after the abductors.” He said this in German and heard the protests from the people gathered on the track. “Do not worry, good citizens,” he soothed them. “When a train bearing such an important personage as the Scotsman is traveling, it is monitored very closely. We know that help is coming, but we must take action now, to prevent the worst from happening. The search for the train has begun, but we cannot wait for—”

“But what about the rain?” asked one of the cooks.

“They will first discover when we passed through Sarrebourg and then will realize we are too late. A handcar or tie-testing engine will have been sent out at least half an hour ago. Help should be arriving shortly.”

“Are you certain?” asked the engineer, who was huddled near one of two smoking fires.

“I have it on the authority of the governments in Bruxelles, Paris, and Berlin.” He straightened up. “Dietrich, select one or two men to go with you and start back along the tracks, carrying torches, so that those coming will see you. And you.” He pointed to the other two guards, both of whom looked very hangdog. “Do the same going up the track toward Benestrotf It will protect us all.”

“How did Dietrich get those bruises?” I whispered to Holmes as the men began to obey his orders.

“The ... physician struck him when he tried to stop them carrying off McMillian. He acquitted himself very well, did Dietrich.” He glanced around, as if he feared new disruptions. “Are you fit to ride? It will have to be bareback and with coaching tack for bridles. Cut the reins so that they will be of riding, not carriage length.”

The very thought of being on horseback made me queasy, but I nodded. “Yes. I will manage.”

Mycroft Holmes gave me a quick smile. “Stout fellow, Guthrie. We’re almost to the end of this, I promise you.”

All I could do was nod, which made the world swim a little before my single eye. “May I at least take this infernal thing off?” By which I meant the eyepatch.

“When we’re away from here, yes. We’ll both need all the eyes we can get then.” He glanced over his shoulder and resumed his upper-class-military German speech and deportment. “Have the horses bridled and brought out. We will need two lanterns. We will take them from the car with the horses, do not fear. And we will have to rely on all of you to give a full and accurate account to those men who come to find you.”

There was a flurry of activity as three of the baggage handlers went to prepare the horses for us.

By the time the two big Hanoverians were led out, one of the men who had started down the track with Dietrich was running back, shouting that a train was coming, and would be here in fifteen minutes.

With the help of an undercook, my carpetbag had been retrieved from the train and was now sitting in the shelter of the next car.

“Tell them about the bomb in the Scotsman’s car,” Mycroft Holmes reminded them in his Berlin best. “It is with the rest of the luggage, in an oilskin bag. You do not want a tragedy now that we have overcome so much.” He looked up at the gelding being led to him. He noticed the horse was mincing, performing little
piaffes
in his eagerness. “That had better be spirit instead of nerves, old fellow, or a loose shoe; it won’t do to have you go lame on me tonight, or to toss me in a ditch at the first sign of trouble,” he warned the animal as he gathered up the reins, took a handful of mane and vaulted onto the tall, broad back. He was in scale with the horse, tall and big of bone and frame, with weight enough to keep the animal in check. He secured his seat with his lower legs, which was possible only because he was so tall. I knew I, slighter and shorter, would not fare so well.

With my head still aching, I knew it would be stupid of me to attempt to get aboard in the same way. I settled for a leg up, provided by the senior conductor, who then handed us the lanterns Holmes had requested.

“We will climb the slope and head to the west, I think,” said Holmes as we moved away from the train.

“What you told them about rescuing trains—was that true?” I asked as I at last flung away my eyepatch.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, it was. Though there is also a train from Selestat to Saarbrucken due through here at seven tonight.” He pulled in his brown Hanoverian—who, like all brown horses, looked black except on the belly and around the mouth—and signaled me to do the same. “Listen.”

From down the slope and some distance away I could hear the urgent whoop of a train whistle. “That’s a good thing, given all the passengers went through.”

“Guthrie, dear boy, those passengers will dine out on this story for the next four years at least, or I know nothing about the human love of adventure,” said Mycroft Holmes in the same manner as he would speaking across the table at breakfast. “One of the misfortunes of our sort of work is that we are not allowed to talk about it. If we were, every hostess from New York to Buda-Pest would be after us, and we should never have any time to do our work.” He chuckled as he started his horse moving again, and now his attention was fixed on the ground, the beam of the lantern searching out the telltale signs of recent travel.

At last there was a mass of recent hoof-prints in the damp ground. They picked up a narrow trail leading off to the west.

“I think I know where they’re bound,” said Mycroft Holmes about an hour later. It was full dark now, and though the rain had slacked off, the wind was sharper and I felt stiff with cold; my legs and back ached from holding the Hanoverian with my knees and calves and my head thrummed when I moved. “We will reach the town of Dieuze in another two hours. We can spend the night there. The horses will need rest and you and I, Guthrie, will have to thaw out, have a good meal, and let Tyers know that all is not lost.”

“It isn’t?” I asked quietly.

“No, Guthrie. For I have obtained one significant piece of information that will help us, since the Brotherhood are not aware I know this.” He indicated the path between the ponds ahead. “Stay on this and we will reach Dieuze. Take the north fork when we reach it.”

“North fork?” I asked, baffled. From where I was, I could see only the single, narrow path stretching away into the darkness between the lakes. The weight of my carpetbag was immense and growing with every passing minute. Were it not for the notebooks it contained, I would have been tempted to abandon it along the trail, but could not bring myself to commit such an irresponsible act.

“The track splits at the head of one of these ponds. The south fork goes off to the village of Heming, back toward Sarrebourg.” He recited this easily, with the familiarity that often meant long acquaintance with the region.

I shook my head, too tired to question how he came by all this information. But I could not keep from asking, “What is the one thing you have learned that the Brotherhood is unaware of?”

He looked intensely pleased with himself, though the upward-flaring light of the lantern gave his face a certain demonic cast. “I know where von Metz’s chateau is. I discovered it by accident three years ago, when I chanced upon some coded records of the Brotherhood which revealed a number of their holdings. Thanks to what we learned then, four of their strongholds in Austria and the Bohemian region have fallen. But those in France, Italy, and Germany are untouched. This knowledge is my one advantage at the moment, and I must use it while I may.” He indicated the hoof marks on the track ahead of us. “And by the looks of this, so do they. That is why I want us to stop at Dieuze, so that we will be as fresh as they will be when we encounter them tomorrow.”

How had he managed, I wondered, to obtain this coded record? And what had the cost of it been? I wanted to put these questions to him, but I felt too cold and miserable to shape the words. I also had to confess that I dreaded what the answer might be. I let my mount pick his way after Holmes’, and tried to keep from imagining vast steaming bowls of stew with dumplings, which to me were now taking on the qualities of ambrosia.

It seemed to be eons later when we finally entered Dieuze and made our way between the stone houses to an inn at the north edge of the town with the promising sign:
Le Chat Pecheur,
showing a smiling tabby pulling a fish from a stream. With the Canal and the Seille so near, the sight must not be an uncommon one, I thought as Mycroft Holmes called out for assistance.