The Derring-Do Club and the Empire of the Dead (7 page)

“Of course.”

Charlotte’s fingers wrapped around the wooden handles as Zala stepped behind her, wrapping his body around her. His hands over hers were still very much in control.

“Take the strain,” he said.

Charlotte’s knuckles stood proud as the Graf let go. For such a solid man, his hands hovered like butterflies over hers until he was satisfied. He stepped back leaving Charlotte in control of the 128 metre leviathan and she could feel the massive length of the machine at her fingertips.

“Turn to starboard,” said the Graf.

Charlotte glanced at the compass joggling in position as the vast vehicle succumbed to the whims of the air currents.

“Turn to starboard,” the Graf repeated. “Right hand down.”

Charlotte pulled; it stuck and then gave with a lurch. The central handle leant and a moment later the horizon pitched.

The Graf was delighted: “That’s it!”

Somewhere far back the rudder flexed and changed the airflow, the big lazy propellers whined in protest and long cables zinged. The airship turned.

Charlotte laughed aloud.

“Too much,” said the Graf.

As the airship turned sharply back to port, a nervous ensign took a few steps to steady himself. Charlotte threw her head back, her blonde hair flying away from its moorings, as she began to master the beast.

“You are a natural,” said the Graf.

“Sir.”

“Now trim–”

“Yes,” Charlotte already held the lever. She pulled it causing the cabin to tilt upwards. “How high can we go?”

The Graf laughed, deep and hearty: “All the way to the stars.”

Chapter IV

Miss Deering-Dolittle

The coach brattled over the medieval bridge into Ravensbruck, and when they finally came to a halt, Otto directed Prince Pieter, Kroll, Metzger and Earnestine towards a large timber-framed building. Soldiers were already commandeering the inn, rudely hustling guests into the street, who had no choice but to join the clutch of braver villagers gathering to watch from a distance.

Earnestine decided to give the functionary an explanation of where he was going wrong: “Otto, is it? When the British Consulate finds out how you have treated a subject of Her Majesty the Queen, you–”

The man pushed her forward and she stumbled on the uneven road surface.

Pieter stepped towards them, but he was stopped by Kroll’s heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Perhaps,” Earnestine said, “you could persuade these people to take me back to the school.”

“That wouldn’t be wise,” said Prince Pieter.

“No,” said Kroll, “they’ll have killed everyone at the school.”

“Kroll!”

“Yes, don’t interrupt,” Earnestine agreed. “I don’t think you… excuse me?”

“The untoten that attacked us came from the school,” Kroll explained. “Then they came after us. They will have killed everyone at the school.”

“Everyone?”

“We don’t know that,” said Pieter.

“But my sisters?”

“I’m sorry.”

Earnestine’s rising anger was extinguished by a cold feeling of dread. Her ears buzzed, but she ignored it:
stiff upper lip.

“No, that can’t be right,” Earnestine chided. “Mother gave me strict instructions to look after them: no exploring, no trouble, no adventures. So, you see, Mister Kroll, you must be mistaken…”

The buzzing noise increased. A shadow fell across Earnestine’s face. It seemed unreal. She couldn’t take it in. He was lying. He didn’t understand English. That must be it.

“We must go back for them,” she insisted, trying to make herself clear over the increasing noise.

“Nein!” Kroll was adamant.

“Now!” Earnestine screeched and grabbed for his jacket, all reason lost.

A shout: “Zeppelin!”

“What?” Earnestine looked about and then, seeing the pointing hands, she looked up. The beautiful blue sky, complete with scudding white clouds, was blemished by an immense black shape as an airship thudded overhead. Shielding her eyes from the bright sun, Earnestine could make out the gondola section below the rigid frame.

“Zala?” Pieter said.

“Zeppelin,” Earnestine replied, correcting him.

“Nummer Drei,” said Kroll. “Ja, Graf Zala.”

“Strange that he was here,” Pieter said.

Metzger glanced at Earnestine: “He was bringing your… verlobte.”

“Strange route then,” Pieter said.

The dark shape moved up the valley, turning until it presented its cruciform fins and delicate looking propellers.

When it was a speck, the soldiers seemed to come back to life. They jostled Earnestine and the others up the steps and into the inn.

“Careful,” Prince Pieter said.

“Mein–”

“English.”

“We are under orders.”

“Only to escort.”

“Ja.”

Inside the inn’s hallway, it was dark, almost black before Earnestine’s eyes adjusted from gazing into the bright clear sky. Out of the gloom, an old man with grey hair and a drooping moustache limped from a back room complaining.

“Achtung!” Two soldiers unslung their rifles and pointed them at the man. There was shouting, two sides locked in an escalating conflict until Prince Pieter stepped between them.

“I believe we should sign in,” he announced. “Do you have your visitor’s book to hand?”

The landlord blustered until Pieter repeated what he’d said in German. The book was produced and the Prince made a show of finding the right page and signing with a flourish. He passed the pen over to Kroll, who snorted and signed too. Metzger was next. He handed the pen back to Pieter.

“And I’ll sign for the Fräulein,” he said, scribbling.

Earnestine interrupted: “Excuse me.”

“Yes?”

“I’m quite capable of signing for myself.”

With a smile, the Prince passed the pen. Earnestine went to the leather bound volume of lines and writing. Pieter had signed his name neatly and added ‘Prince’ in the second column. Kroll was ‘Oberst’ and Metzger was ‘Advisor’. Although Pieter had left the name in the next row blank, he had written ‘Maid’ in the second column.

He leaned against the reception top casually and whispered: “I think your presence needs an explanation.”

“I am well aware of why I am here,” Earnestine replied.

The landlord said something to her in German.

“He wants to carry your bags,” Pieter said.

Angrily, Earnestine wafted her hand to indicate the empty floor around her feet.

The landlord tutted, took the Prince’s bag and led the way to the stairs. He took each step one at a time and the Royal party bunched up behind him. Eventually they reached the landing.

As the old man led the way along the corridor, he pointed out various items in German, but with such a mumble that no–one could understand the importance of the pipe spigot in the wall, the heritage of a faded watercolour, the design of a blue chair or why a perfectly blank plastered wall should be of interest. Finally, he reached a door and ushered Kroll and Metzger inside. Further along was another room and he held the door open.

Pieter ducked his head under and Earnestine followed.

The landlord pointed to various items in what was clearly his best room. It boasted a wash basin, a writing desk and chair, an extraordinary view of the white peaked mountains and the large, robust four–poster that dominated the space.

Pieter tipped him a coin.

The man nodded, smiled and chuckled before leaving, closing the door behind him. Pieter and Earnestine were left standing next to the comfortable and inviting bed.

Earnestine coughed politely.

Pieter undid the top button of his jacket.

Earnestine blinked at him.

Pieter smiled, continued unbuttoning and the dark material teased open to reveal the white frills of his shirt.

Earnestine tapped the heel of her shoe on the floorboard.

Pieter took off his jacket.

Earnestine folded her arms and glowered.

Pieter placed the jacket over the back of the chair.

Earnestine pointed at the bed.

Pieter pretended not to understand.

Earnestine lips narrowed into a fine line.

Pieter held up his hands in surrender: “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Yes,” Earnestine said sharply, and then when he didn’t take the hint, she added: “In another room.”

Pieter looked round as if somehow he could examine the entire inn: “I doubt there is another free room.”

“I have a reputation.”

“So do I.”

“Exactly.”

“No–one will know.”

“I will know!”

“I don’t see any alternative.”

“Herr Cheshire Cat can sleep with the Hatter and the Dormouse!”

“I doubt there’s enough space.”

“That is hardly my concern!”

Earnestine snatched Pieter’s jacket off the chair and handed it to him. The Prince contrived to hold Earnestine’s hands as he took it back, but Earnestine jerked away.

“Out!” she commanded.

Pieter paused in the doorway to click his heels and bow: “Jawohl, mein Fräulein.”

“I am not your Fräulein.”

“But Liebchen, I–”

“Liebchen!”

Earnestine slammed the door, bolted it, pulled the chair in the way and then decided that the writing desk would be better, so she heaved the mahogany weight across. Once she’d finished, there was a knock on the door.

“Yes?”

“Sleep well.”

Earnestine entertained a few choice retorts, but they all involved the B–word and so she held her tongue.

Miss Georgina

Quickly and breathlessly with leaps back and forth, Georgina told the three British men about the Austro-Hungarian soldiers’ arrival through the snow, Miss Trenchard being attacked, the dogs, the shooting and the urgency of rescuing her sisters. When she’d finished, Caruthers had forced her to sit down and go through it all again from the beginning.

The three of them then went into the other room to discuss the matter privately. Georgina sat and fidgeted. When they came back in, Caruthers simply nodded.

“B– but you have to stay here,” said Merryweather.

Georgina let out a strangled screech: “You don’t know the way.”

“She is right,” Caruthers agreed.

“B– but…” Merryweather flapped his arms in exasperation. “Ah! She has n– nothing to wear.”

“That’s true,” Caruthers said, “doesn’t Mac have some spare cold weather gear.”

McKendry got to his feet: “Aye.”

Merryweather turned to the others: “That wasn’t what I meant.”

Georgina was amused that Merryweather was still trying to think of an objection, or at least that’s what she assumed the procession of expressions across his face meant – it was endearing.

McKendry came back in with a variety of bulky outfits and dumped them onto the table.

“We’ll get changed in there,” said Caruthers and the three departed.

The jumble sale of kit was extensive, but Georgina soon realised that she had to choose from the smaller outfits. Some of the overcoats were more like tents beside her frame. She selected a few, knowing that she needed layers, changed out of her petticoats and bustle and struggled into some heavy trousers and shirts. When she turned to pick up a windcheater, she saw Merryweather standing in the doorway. His horseshoe moustache extenuated his adorable hang–dog expression. They considered each other for a moment, Georgina trying to work out how long he had been there.

“I, er… d– d– didn’t see… if that’s what you were… Miss.”

Outside it was crisp, the sunlight having that brightness that only seemed to exist with snow on the ground. Georgina, impatient, had to admit that Caruthers had been right last night. Even in the daylight, she had little idea which way to go to the school. The blizzard had covered all trace of any paths.

“Up or down?” Caruthers asked.

“I beg your pardon.”

“Did you go uphill or down?”

After a brief reflection: “The lake… downhill… downstream.”

“That figures. People being chased tend to go downhill.”

They set off trudging upwards and after a while the landscape started to make more sense. Stuck in the College for Young Ladies, Georgina had spent a lot of time staring out of the window, so she knew the surrounding mountains from a particular angle. She pointed out the peaks and, down the valley, the small village with an inn which was just visible.

She strode ahead, the three men following in her footsteps. Eventually the gothic architecture of the building came into view as a brick edifice sandwiched between the snow on the ground and the snow on its roof. Georgina took them through the arch in the wall at the back of the building. She showed them the stonework.

“Fresh,” said McKendry, when he examined the pock marks made by the bullets. “Eight millimetre, Ruck–Zucks.”

The men exchanged looks. They hadn’t exactly disbelieved Georgina, but now they clearly took her story far more seriously, and Georgina found herself affected by the new professional air they had about them.

The door to the equipment room was ajar, a horror that Miss Hardcastle would never have countenanced: her precious heating, what little she allowed of it, escaping into foreign climes. The door to the corridor was closed and once inside each of them dropped their voices to a hushed reverence. Somehow the vastness of the building sounded empty.

“It’s freezing in here,” said Caruthers.

“Is it?”

“Can’t you feel it?”

“It’s always like this. Miss Hardcastle doesn’t agree with heating, she says it makes one indolent.”

“Sounds like my boarding school days,” said Caruthers.

Further in, Georgina hesitated: “It was down there, Miss Trenchard…”

“Don’t worry,” Merryweather patted her gently: “We’ll look.”

The three explorers went down the corridor.

“There!” Georgina directed. “Just to your right.”

“Mac?” Caruthers said and his colleague crouched down to examine the floor. He rubbed wood and brought his fingers to his nose.

“Blood,” he said, standing. “The evidence fits the lass’s story.”

Georgina could stand it no longer: “What is it?”

“We’ve found the place your teacher was attacked… no body.”