Hell Train (10 page)

With Hannah, his wife, gone, there was no-one to whom he could turn. Franz had taken the position of travelling salesman to earn enough money to escape, only to find that his nightmares were following him wherever he went.

He had certainly not intended to board the
Arkangel
, but it seemed to appear at the moment when his spirits were at their lowest ebb, as if it could somehow read his mind and bear him away. He did not care where he was going, only that he would be free from the dark thoughts that pursued him. For he, Franz Urban, was a murderer. No—something much, much worse.

He looked around the compartment. The man opposite was asleep, and drooling a little. There was something very odd about the train. Franz had never seen anything like it before. He had boarded it at a small branch-line station where only clapped-out local two-car trains usually stopped, and it had not been listed on the platform timetable. It had appeared from the mist like an avenging demon. Then there were the carriages, glorious baroque brass and mahogany interiors from a bygone age. Yet they were populated by the rudest of peasants, farmers with reeking pigs, drunk old women, rowdy soldiers—who were these people, and where were they going? There was no final destination marked on the
Arkangel
’s route. It was all most perplexing.

The war had upended the world. The old order, it seemed, was swiftly dissipating. Behaviour that was unthinkable just two years ago was now commonplace across Europe. Worst of all was the level of hatred engendered in otherwise normal mild-mannered citizens. Friends and neighbours hurled abuse at one another, fights broke out with the spontaneity of brush fires, the streets themselves were unsafe to walk at night—no, in broad daylight even. The new Europe was no place for children to be born into now.

The pills did nothing to assuage his growing anxiety. Hollow-eyed and grey, he fidgeted and finally burst into movement, rising from his seat and hobbling from the carriage, pursued by his fears. Outside, in a cluttered recess off the corridor, he found the Conductor preparing travel documents.

Without looking up, the Conductor pulled down a little circular wooden seat from the wall and bade Franz to settle himself, almost as though he had been waiting for him.

‘You must talk to me,’ he said, turning the glare of his attention to the salesman.

‘I don’t understand. I boarded the train...’

‘Not knowing where you were headed,’ said the Conductor. ‘I am aware of this. I have been waiting for you. There is something you wish to tell me.’

Franz was amazed. It was as if the Conductor could see inside him. Or was it simply that he recognised the look of a passenger with no final destination in mind?

The Conductor raised his great dark head and listened to the clacking of the tracks. ‘You hear that sound?’ he asked. ‘With each passing second you are further removed from the source of your terrors. And yet—’

‘I carry my terrors within me,’ completed Franz. ‘They are all around me, travelling on board this train.’

The Conductor lifted a cigarette from his tiny desk and lit it. ‘And it is all because of your awful secret, the secret no-one else in the world knows.’

‘How did you know?’

‘You came to me in order to unburden yourself. Many passengers on this train do so. I can help, although perhaps not in a way that you would wish. What is the nature of this secret?’

It was strange, but Franz felt that he needed to inform this cadaverous stranger about his life. ‘You might think me mad if I tell you.’

‘I might think you more mad if you don’t.’

‘I destroyed the world with a single glance,’ he said simply.

‘That is intriguing.’

‘I assure you I am not suffering from any derangement except heartbreak.’

‘I do not judge. You must share your burden,’ instructed the Conductor. ‘I am nothing to you, but you are my passenger and my responsibility. There is a way through your dilemma. Share your burden with me and I promise you that it will transform the journey of the
Arkangel
. Each journey the train takes must begin like this.’

‘What must I do?’ asked Franz.

‘You must tell me of the circumstances that brought you to this train.’

‘I have not dared to tell anyone in over two years.’

‘And the weight of it is destroying you. You speak and I listen. At the end, you will decide what must be done.’

The Conductor talked in riddles, and yet it seemed to make a kind of sense. Lulled by the swaying walls that surrounded him, Franz Urban began to speak.

‘I was not always a salesman. I was born in 1885, and grew up poor in the outskirts of Dusseldorf, but I had no desire to become a farmer, and escaped my violent father at the first opportunity. One day, at an international trade fair, I saw something that changed my life, a Benz Motorwagon of gleaming lacquered metal, and at that moment I knew the world was about to be transformed. I could see that there would be no more need for horses and carts. The piston engine, transplanted into a personal carriage, could become a mode of transport for all the world to use. In America, I heard, the Oldsmobile factory was beginning mass production of such vehicles, so that people of all classes could afford to ride them.

‘Of course, I could not afford such an engine or even have access to such a marvel, so I became apprenticed to an automobile engineering firm. Soon I became a driver for the new automobile, a profession few had been able to master. I quickly saw in it a way to make money. I drove the first Daimler-Mercedes. I was one of the few men in Austria who had mastered this skill, and my services were greatly in demand. I was asked to go to America and train further there. But—’

‘—there was a woman,’ completed the Conductor.

‘Yes, sir. There was a woman named Hannah, with whom I had fallen in love. And, I felt sure, my love was to be reciprocated.’

‘To be reciprocated?’ The Conductor looked puzzled. ‘It was not initially?’

‘No. We were separated by our stations in life. Hannah was a Lady-In-Waiting to the Duchess of Hohenberg. High-born and highly strung. She had no interest in a man such as I. And yet, with each meeting, her attention grew stronger.’

‘How did she come to meet you?’

‘I was delivering cars to the palace. The royal interest in the new automobile was strong. At this time I had the great good fortune to become a chauffeur in the service of Count Harrach, a nobleman of the Austro-Hungarian Empire who was also a close friend to the heir of its throne. A most important personage whom I was to have the privilege of serving.’

‘Not bad for a boy who had been expected to become a farmer,’ said the Conductor, tapping his ash. ‘Did this levelling of the classes endear you more to Hannah?’

‘I like to believe that she warmed to me for who I was, and not because of my new position in life,’ said Franz coolly. ‘Over the next few months, we saw more of each other, and I was invited to walk with her—chaperoned, of course—on several occasions.’

‘And you proposed.’

‘At the first available opportunity. It was difficult to get Hannah to myself, to find the privacy for such a conversation. As you can imagine, she was usually surrounded by members of the household staff. But one afternoon in the gardens, I was able to separate her from the others and spoke of my intentions.’

‘She accepted, I take it.’

‘She asked for a period in which to consider my proposal. For the next few nights I was unable to sleep—’

‘This is all very romantic,’ said the Conductor, impatiently waving smoke from his face. ‘Let us assume she accepted and you were married.’

‘Indeed, sir, that was the situation. I was wed with the blessing of her family—although some members stayed away from the nuptials, feeling that my parents were below hers in station. We began living as man and wife, and all was well for a while.’

‘But something happened.’

‘Something happened.’ Franz gave a bitter laugh. ‘I fear to tell it, for you really will think I am quite insane.’

‘I am used to insanity on this train,’ said the Conductor, examining the end of his cigarette. He checked his watch. ‘I must hurry you. I have to begin my duties, and you must reach the end of your story.’

‘Then I shall tell you of my dreadful shame,’ said Franz. ‘Tell me, do you believe in fate?’

‘Most certainly,’ said the Conductor. ‘Our paths through life are set as rigidly as railway tracks, but we alone have control of the points over which our lives will run.’

‘I did not believe in fate before these events, but I do so now. And if, as you say, we control the points of our lives, then the fateful day came when I changed not just my fate, but the fate of the entire world.’

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE GLANCE

F
RANZ SAT BACK
as he remembered, his head lolling with the clatter of the tracks. ‘My hours were long,’ he said, ‘and I was sometimes required to drive great distances for the Count, which took me away from Hannah. Often my trips were for the most trivial of reasons—the collection of a vase, the delivery of a letter, but the job was well paid and I became an expert Mercedes driver. Meanwhile, life in the royal Bohemian household required Hannah to be at the beck and call of her mistress at any time of the day or night, although as the now married Countess Sophie Chotek had herself been a Lady-In-Waiting, she proved a kind and understanding employer.

‘Still, in the first few months of 1914 Hannah and I seemed to spend less time than ever in each other’s company, a situation that made us both fractious and argumentative. I realise it now, I had been spoiled by my new position. I had been ushered into a world that no-one in my family had ever seen, and still I could not be entirely happy. I see now that the downfall of men hinges on tiny things—in my case a stray glance, a new shoe, a perfume bottle, a pair of scissors. These things were enough to bring about the disaster for which I must now hold myself accountable.’

‘You look a little pale,’ said the Conductor. ‘I think that perhaps for the next part of your tale we should get you some fresh air.’ He rose to his full height and helped the little man to his feet. ‘Follow me.’

The Conductor led Franz through the train, passing Nicholas and Isabella, asleep in their compartment. He made his way to the observation deck, where the final portion of the carriage had been cut away to allow air in.

‘Breathe deep from the darkness of the forest,’ the Conductor instructed. ‘I find the effect most beneficial.’

Franz drew a deep breath and smelled, pine, earth, rotting vegetation and something more disturbing, the bitter tang of cordite and tobacco that revealed the presence of troops. He stood against the rushing darkness, recalling the events that had led him here.

‘It began with a girl of some seventeen summers,’ said Franz.

‘There is always a girl,’ sighed the Conductor.

‘This one was radiantly beautiful, the niece of the Count, and when Elizabeth walked into court it was as if the sun had emerged from clouds. Everyone admired her. Since my wife’s employer and the great friend of my own employer had married, I now saw Hannah in the imperial household, although we were rarely able to speak.

‘It happened one morning that she emerged into the courtyard as I was bringing out the car, and I saw the young Princess Elizabeth heading our way. When members of the monarchy appear, all employees are required to make themselves scarce, and after a while you become used to halting whatever you are doing and dropping into the nearest doorway. The royals like to move through a world of stillness, uninterrupted by the chaos of life. Hannah saw that the Princess was coming and swiftly found an arch support, stepping behind it, but there was nowhere for me to go.

‘In this situation, we are required to simply become statues. I froze and waited for her to pass. But she stopped and smiled at me. What could I do but look back?

‘Hannah was a jealous woman, and hated the fact that there had been other girls before her. That night, she accused me of flirting with Elizabeth. I told her not to be so absurd, but she would not be consoled, and cried her way to bed. I see now, looking back, that this irrational behaviour was a symptom of some mental derangement.

‘The next morning I discovered that Leopold, the Archduke’s chauffeur, had not appeared for work. Nobody knew where he was, so I was asked to take his place. It was well-known that the Archduke liked and respected his chauffeur, so I was asked to do this without informing anyone of the change in personnel, for fear that people should think the Archduke capricious in his favourites. I was to accompany the Archduke to Sarajevo, where he would inspect the imperial garrison. I was to drive a beautiful automobile, a black 1911 Graf & Stift ‘Bois De Bologne’ Tourer.

‘The night before I left, I bought a bottle of perfume for Hannah, Atar Of Roses, her favourite. I meant it as a reconciliation gift, but I found her in a worsened state. She had somehow convinced herself that I was about to leave her for a member of the royal family. I tried to explain the outright absurdity of this idea, but she only grew angrier. I had left the perfume on her dresser while I tried on the chauffeur uniform that had been arranged for me. There was a problem with the shoes—the soles were of new leather, and extremely slippery.

‘Hannah opened my gift and, with a scream, smashed the perfume bottle on the floor. I ran in and saw the mess; broken glass everywhere, the overpowering scent of roses, and my beloved wife rending her nightdress and slapping herself between sobs of anger. Fearful that she might cause further injury to herself if she tried to clear up the glass, I began to pick up the pieces. In doing so, the rose oil covered my right shoe. I removed the shoe and left it to air in the corridor, then retired to bed.

‘Hannah refused to sleep in the same room, and removed herself to another bedchamber. At 6:00am the next morning I looked in on her, but she had already dressed and left. I was upset and wished I had been able to say goodbye to her. I did not know that morning that we would never see each other again.