Uncle Nat turned his head and Hal shuffled backwards, colliding with the legs of a waiter carrying an armful of empty plates. The waiter wobbled, then, like a dancer, pivoted, regaining his balance and lifting his plates to stop them from tumbling. A single fork fell to the floor.
‘Pardon,’ Hal said, with his best French accent, jumping to his feet and returning the fork. His head was buzzing as he stumbled to the bathroom. What was in Uncle Nat’s past that he didn’t know about? What code word was the baron talking about? And what did he mean about a crisis?
CHAPTER FIVE
ENIGMA VARIATIONS
There were two train tickets on the table when Hal returned.
‘The Paris-to-Moscow express leaves Gare de l’Est this evening at 18.58 and arrives in Berlin a little after seven tomorrow morning,’ the baron was saying. ‘I’m afraid all the first-class compartments were booked. You’ll be sharing a bedroom.’
‘As long as Hal and I are together.’ Uncle Nat picked up the tickets.
‘Are we going to Germany, then?’ Hal tried to sound casual, and did his best not to smile.
‘It’s up to you, Hal. If you don’t want to go, we won’t,’ Uncle Nat said seriously.
The baron looked at Hal.
‘I’ve drawn the family tree.’ Hal held up his pocketbook. ‘I’m not going home until I’ve solved this mystery.’
The baron looked relieved. ‘I’ll cover all of your expenses.’
‘Well then –’ Uncle Nat stood to let Hal sit back down – ‘you’d better tell us who we will be masquerading as at Alexander Kratzenstein’s funeral.’
‘Alma has a brother, Ferdinand. He married a woman called Jessica McLain – she’s Scottish, from the island of Muck in the Inner Hebrides.’
‘There is never an island called Muck!’ Hal exclaimed, adding Alma’s brother and wife to the family tree.
‘There is. I have been there,’ replied the baron. ‘It is mainly shoreline, seals and birds, with a tiny population of humans, barely enough people to hold a football match. Ferdinand and Jessica have a smallholding. They grow their own food and live off grid.’
‘You want me to pretend to be Alma’s brother?’ asked Uncle Nat.
‘No, he’s too old. I thought you could be his daughter. She’s about your age.’
Uncle Nat blinked with surprise and Hal giggled.
‘Ferdinand has three children, all girls, grown up now. The middle daughter, her name is Natalie, but she is known as Nat, like you. I suggest you be Nat Strom, and Harrison be your son.’
Hal liked the idea of being disguised as Uncle Nat’s son. He drew three daughters below Ferdinand and Jessica on the family tree.
‘Won’t anyone know that I should be female?’
‘The Kratzensteins pay very little attention to the Stroms. They only like Alma because she married an influential baron.’ His eyes twinkled with humour. ‘A farmer on a tiny Scottish island doesn’t interest them. I’d be surprised if anyone knew Ferdinand had children. When I was at Schloss Kratzenstein, I mentioned that I’d sent funeral invitations to the Stroms and that Nat Strom was coming with his son to represent that side of the family. Nobody passed comment.’
‘Does it matter that I can’t speak German?’ Hal asked.
‘No. As Harrison Strom, your grandfather would be German, and might have taught you a few words, but you would not be expected to know the language. And Nathaniel is fluent—’
‘Hardly.’ Uncle Nat cut him off. ‘We’ll need a crash course in the Strom family history before we arrive . . .’
‘I have prepared a dossier for you.’ He took a black plastic sleeve from the briefcase beside his chair. ‘Everything you’ll need is in there. And, seeing as you are going to be visiting the Brocken, may I recommend you read Goethe’s Faust, Part One?’
‘What’s that?’ Hal asked.
‘An old play, partly set on the mountain. I think your uncle might enjoy a bit of classic German literature, although you will find it dull.’ He glanced furtively at Uncle Nat. ‘And Hal, you won’t be the only child at the funeral. My grandchildren Hilda and Ozan will be there, as well as Alexander’s sons.
‘Oliver’s children?’ asked Uncle Nat. ‘But we’ve met. He’ll know who I am.’
‘I’ve explained the situation to Oliver. He’s more interested in the Kratzenstein library than his cousin’s funeral.’ He looked at Hal. ‘Oliver is a scholar. Books are his first love.’
‘Who else will know we’re not who we’re claiming to be?’
‘Only Alma, Oliver and me.’
Uncle Nat frowned, and Hal was surprised by how concerned he looked.
‘Nathaniel, Harrison, let me say once again how grateful I am that you two have come to my aid,’ the baron said, finishing off his coffee and getting to his feet. ‘I know you will uncover the truth of what is happening at Schloss Kratzenstein.’ He shook Uncle Nat’s hand and then Hal’s. ‘I will meet you in Berlin, when we will pretend not to have seen one another for many years.’ He winked, and it was only after he’d left that Hal realized he’d discreetly taken care of the bill without it being brought to the table.
Uncle Nat pulled out the pages inside the black dossier. ‘An old newspaper cutting about Ferdinand Strom’s marriage to Jessica McClain, some typed notes about the family, which I’m guessing the baron has written for us, a map of Muck.’ He rifled through the pages. ‘Look, here’s an old photograph of Ferdinand with his three daughters. I wonder which one I’m supposed to be?’
Hal studied the picture and then turned it over. ‘There’s something on the back.’ He peeled off a yellow sticky note that read:
‘That’s the book the baron recommended. We’ll buy a copy before we go to Gare de l’Est.’
‘Won’t the books here be in French?’
‘I happen to know of a wonderful bookshop by Notre Dame Cathedral, set up by an American over a hundred years ago, and they sell books in English,’ Uncle Nat said, sliding the pages back into the dossier. ‘I’ll just nip to the bathroom and then we’ll get going.’
While he waited for Uncle Nat to return, Hal tucked the photograph of the Stroms into his pocketbook and flicked to the drawing he’d done of the baron and his uncle whispering over the table. What had the baron been talking about when he’d said he’d used a code word? What had he missed in that letter? His eyes flickered to his uncle’s coat, which was hanging from the hatstand at the end of the banquette. The Baron’s letter was in the inside pocket. It was addressed to him as well as Uncle Nat. Quick as a flash, he reached in and grabbed it. Glancing towards the bathroom, his heart lurched as Uncle Nat came out. Getting up, he quickly pulled on his yellow anorak and shoved the envelope into his pocket.
Descending into the Métro, they travelled swiftly across the city, emerging by the river Seine. Hal did up his coat to protect him against the wind, all the time uncomfortably aware of the letter in his pocket.
‘Notre Dame,’ Uncle Nat proclaimed, pointing at a Gothic cathedral wrapped in scaffolding. Hal recognized it from the animated Hunchback of Notre Dame that he had watched when he was younger.
‘After we’ve got the book, we’ll go to a boulangerie and get food for the journey. What do you say to a picnic dinner on the night train? We can grab a baguette, some nice cheese and a bit of fruit.’
Hal nodded. ‘Brilliant.’
Shakespeare and Company was a double-fronted bookshop with a green sign, and a trolley of books outside for browsing. On a bench, in front of the shop window, sat an artist with a canvas on an easel. She was painting the cathedral. Propped up at her feet were other paintings marked with prices. It had never occurred to Hal to sell his pictures. He liked to keep the things he drew, unless he was making a gift. He wondered if it made her sad to sell them.
The bell above the door tinkled as they entered and Hal found himself inside a wonderfully higgledy-piggledy place, lined with books that spilled into nooks and round corners.
‘What’s
Faust about?’ Hal asked.
‘A man who wants to understand the meaning of life. Unsatisfied with learning from books, Faust turns to magic and makes a deal with the devil, giving up his soul in return for one moment of experience that is so satisfactory and fulfilling that he understands what it is to be alive.’
‘It’s about magic?’
‘Not really, although there are witches in it, and some of it takes place on the Brocken mountain, which is why the baron recommended it.’
‘Is it OK if I go outside and look at the artist’s painting, while you get the book?’ Hal felt like the envelope was burning a hole in his pocket. He was desperate to read it.
‘Of course,’ Uncle Nat replied. ‘I won’t be long.’
Hurrying out into the street, Hal went to stand on the other side of the artist so that he was hidden from the doorway. He pulled out the baron’s letter, reading it again, but couldn’t see anything that looked like a code. He turned it upside down, held it up to the light, tried folding it, but saw nothing. He sighed, looking over at the artist working away at her canvas, and a thought occurred to him: to look at the letter as if it were a drawing. He concentrated on the space in front of the letter, letting his eyes shift focus so the words became blurred, and he tried to see it as a picture. The first capital letter of each paragraph stood out and he suddenly saw that they spelled a word!
The tinkling of the shop bell shook him from his trance. He rammed the letter into his pocket, turned towards the artist’s picture and arranged his face into an interested stare. But he needn’t have panicked. Uncle Nat shuffled out of the door with his nose in his book.
Hal thought about the hidden word, and what he’d heard his uncle say, that his family didn’t know about his past. He wondered what kind of a friendship the baron and Uncle Nat had that meant they shared a secret code.
CHAPTER SIX
THE NIGHT TRAIN TO BERLIN
When they arrived at Gare de l’Est, they were laden with food for their train picnic, and sought out two empty seats to sink into while they waited for their platform to be announced.
Hal felt uncomfortable. His uncle’s secretive behaviour and the code he’d discovered in the letter made him nervous about the trip to Germany. Being left out made him feel like a child. He wanted to talk about it, but wasn’t sure how. ‘Uncle Nat, are you all right?’
‘I’m a bit tired from travelling, but—’
‘No, I mean . . .’ Hal searched for the right words. ‘This journey . . . it feels different from our others.’
‘Yes, I suppose it is.’
‘And, well . . . you’re being a bit weird.’ Hal struggled with words. ‘You look worried all the time and you’re closed off. Did I do something wrong?’
Uncle Nat’s expression softened. ‘Hal, you haven’t done anything wrong.’ He sighed. ‘You’re right. This isn’t like our other adventures, because I was in control of those journeys. I booked the tickets. They were supposed to be holidays. This trip is not a holiday.’ He pushed his glasses up his nose. ‘I’m worried about what is waiting for us in Schloss Kratzenstein. On the one hand, the baron is an important friend, and if he needs my help then I want to give it. On the other, there’s the possibility that I’m taking you, one of the people I love the most, into a risky situation. I promised Bev I’d keep you safe.’ He shook his head. ‘Whatever I do, I feel like I’m doing the wrong thing.’
‘You’re not doing this alone,’ Hal said firmly. ‘I know I’m only twelve, but I’m here and I want to help the baron too.’ He dipped his head to catch his uncle’s eye. ‘You can tell me anything, you know. I’m on your side.’ Uncle Nat smiled, but didn’t volunteer anything about the secret Hal knew he was keeping. ‘I won’t be the only child at the funeral. No one will suspect why we’re there, because they’ll think we’re family. Neither of us thinks curses or witches are real, and if someone did kill Alexander Kratzenstein they picked a silly way to do it.’
Uncle Nat laughed. ‘Unassailable logic.’
‘You shouldn’t worry about if you’re doing the right thing – you should be preparing me for anything that might happen, by telling me everything.’ Hal let the word hang.
Uncle Nat looked at him as if only seeing him for the first time and clapped his hand to his forehead. ‘I’m being an idiot!’
‘You’re being a good uncle, but I need you to be the travel writer Nathaniel Bradshaw, my friend and partner in solving crimes, because neither of us can do this alone.’
‘Message understood.’ Uncle Nat sat up straight and for a second Hal thought he was going to tell him the meaning of the code word: H A N G M A N, spelled out by the first letter of each paragraph in the baron’s letter, but instead he pointed to the screen above their heads. ‘Our train has started boarding. Let’s find our compartment, eat our bread and cheese, and plot our way to Germany.’
Hal felt frustrated that Uncle Nat had changed the subject but was relieved to see the guarded look had gone from his eyes.
The Trans-European Express was a grey train with a red geometric pattern on the side. As Hal boarded the carriage, he saw that the sun was setting and marvelled that this morning he’d been in London and tomorrow he would wake up in Berlin.
Uncle Nat strode down the red-carpeted corridor to a functional compartment with four empty berths, and checked that the numbers on their tickets matched the top two bunks. He pulled out a couple of books, the brown envelope and the black dossier from his holdall, then heaved it up on to a bunk before helping Hal put his rucksack up on the other one.
They sat beside the window, opposite one another, and Uncle Nat held up a well-thumbed book entitled Train Travel: Europe. ‘Want to see the route we’re about to take?’ He laid the book flat on the table between them and Hal leaned forward. ‘This is us, this is northern France, and this is Germany. The train travels to Strasbourg, here, at the edge of France, where our papers will be checked. Over the border, that’s Kehl. While we’re sleeping, we’ll travel through Frankfurt, then Erfurt, waking up in time for breakfast before arriving in Berlin.’ He flipped over the page. ‘It’s a shame we aren’t going on to Moscow. After the Polish border, they jack the train up on stilts and swap the bogies over for ones with wide wheels, because the track gauge is different there.’
‘While passengers are still on board!’
‘Yes,’ Uncle Nat replied, enjoying Hal’s surprise.
‘I’d love to go to Russia one day,’ Hal said wistfully as the train eased out of Gare de l’Est. Their heads turned to watch the concrete towers of the Parisian suburbs glide past the window.
‘Right.’ Uncle Nat slid the compartment door shut. ‘Let’s build our cover stories. I am Nathan Strom, Nat to my friends, and you are my only child, Harrison Strom.’
‘Why Nathan?’
‘If someone calls me Nathaniel, I’m liable to give myself away.’
Hal gave an involuntary shiver of excitement. ‘Who is my mother? Is she dead?’
‘No, the key to going undercover is creating a character and a story that are close to your own, so you can talk truthfully and with confidence about your life.’ He thought for a moment. ‘How about . . . your mother and I are divorced? We married too young. She’s now married to a nice man called Colin and they have a baby called Ellie – your half-sister – and you all live together in Crewe. I live miles away, in Edinburgh, and you spend every other weekend with me and some of the holidays. As it’s Easter, you’re with me. You could even pretend to be unhappy that I’ve dragged you to a distant relative’s funeral.’
‘That’s good.’ Hal was impressed, and immediately felt more confident about his disguise.
‘The hardest thing will be that you must always call me Dad. You mustn’t accidentally call me Uncle Nat or people will become suspicious. To practise, we should start now.’ Uncle Nat lifted the bag of food on to his lap and opened it. ‘Are you hungry? I’m going to make sandwiches.’
‘Yes please,’ Hal replie
d, but Uncle Nat looked at him sharply. ‘I mean, yes please, Dad.’
‘Good.’ Uncle Nat made his voice low and gruff. ‘Show your father some respect!’
Hal giggled.
It turned out to be harder than he’d thought, remembering to call Uncle Nat Dad all the time. As they ate their picnic dinner, Uncle Nat went through each page of the baron’s dossier, explaining how K-Bahn, the Kratzenstein family business, worked, who each member of the family was and who they could expect to meet at the funeral. Every time Hal accidentally called him Uncle Nat, he would make a bad buzzer sound and they would laugh.
They played a game called ‘The Hot Seat’, where they each had to answer twenty questions in character. At first, Hal made up wild, fanciful answers, but Uncle Nat pointed out that he’d blow his cover if he had to remember his favourite colour was meant to be puce when it was actually green, and suggested he stick to the truth when possible.
‘The important questions to know the answers to are things like, “How do you get on with your dad?” or “How old were you when your parents split up?” . . . “Is it hard living so far away from your dad?” . . . “Do you like living with your mum?” or “Why did your dad bring you to the funeral?” . . .’
Hal got better at answering these questions and created a convincing story about how he missed his dad, because he didn’t get to see him much, and he had wanted to come to the funeral to spend the holiday with his dad and visit Germany.
When it was his turn to ask Uncle Nat twenty questions, Hal was surprised by how truthful his uncle’s replies sounded. ‘You’re a really good liar, Dad!’
‘Thanks, son.’ Uncle Nat looked uncomfortable. ‘I prefer to think of it as acting. At university, I was a member of a drama club called Footlights. I loved it, and it taught me some useful life skills.’
It was late when the train pulled into Strasbourg. A small woman in navy trousers and poloneck, with silver-streaked black hair, entered the compartment.
Danger at Dead Man's Pass Page 3