Danger at Dead Man's Pass

by M. G. Leonard

  ‘Bonsoir,’ she said, taking a book and a green bottle from her handbag. Sitting down, she opened the bottle, took a sip and began to read.

  Hal looked at Uncle Nat and pulled a face, mouthing diabolo menthe – the name of the drink. He had tried it in America and didn’t like it. It tasted like fizzy toothpaste.

  As the train left the station, a pair of border police officers came to the doorway of the compartment and asked to see their tickets and passports. Uncle Nat spoke to them in French and the woman gave him an appreciative look before showing her papers. Hal wished he could speak another language and resolved to listen in French class.

  ‘It’s getting late,’ Uncle Nat said. ‘We’ve got a big day tomorrow and an early start. Why don’t you take your pyjamas and toothbrush to the bathroom, get changed and clean your teeth?’

  ‘Yes, Dad.’ Hal pulled his washbag from his rucksack.

  As he headed out of the door, Uncle Nat said, ‘And, son, don’t forget to wash your hands.’

  Returning to the compartment, Hal was keen to clamber into his bunk. His eyes were dry, and his head heavy. He piled his stuff at his feet and pulled the blanket over himself. ‘Night, Dad.’

  ‘Night, son,’ Uncle Nat replied, and they grinned at each other from their bunks.

  Pulling out his copy of Faust, Uncle Nat propped himself up to read.

  Hal wondered if he was going to struggle to drop off with the Frenchwoman sitting beneath him, but as he thought this his eyes closed.

  Waking with a start, Hal’s heart reeled as he failed to recognize his surroundings. He heard a terrible growl, and realized with horror that there was something in their compartment. The noise was coming from below. He peeped over the edge of his bunk. The Frenchwoman was flat on her back in the bunk below Uncle Nat, slack-jawed, mouth open. A ferocious snore ripped the air. Hal rolled back in his bed, stifling a giggle. Pulling his coat from the pile at his feet, he wrapped it round his head, but he could still hear her. He sat back up, wide awake and a little annoyed.

  Uncle Nat stirred and, seeing Hal, propped himself up on his elbow. Hal covered his ears and pointed at the bunk below.

  Holding up his finger, Uncle Nat reached into his duffel bag, pulled out a pouch and tossed it across the aisle to Hal. Inside was an eye mask and a pair of foam earplugs.

  ‘Go back to sleep, son,’ he whispered.

  ‘Thanks, Dad,’ Hal replied, sticking the earplugs in and thinking how lucky he was that his uncle knew all the tricks of travelling.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  DECEPTIONS AND DISGUISES

  ‘Morning, son. How did you sleep?’ Uncle Nat said as Hal sat up in his bunk.

  The Frenchwoman was gone. Her bunk was now a seat upon which Uncle Nat was sitting, nursing a cup of coffee.

  ‘All right, once you gave me the earplugs.’ Hal threw off his blanket. ‘She snored louder than my dad . . . I mean, stepdad.’

  Uncle Nat laughed. ‘There’s a hot chocolate here for you.’ He pointed at the table as Hal clambered down from his bunk. ‘We’ll be arriving in Berlin soon, so you’d better get dressed.’

  Hal’s stomach flipped as he looked out of the window. They were in Germany!

  Uncle Nat seemed to know Berlin well. He led Hal from the station down to the U-Bahn, the Untergrundbahn, which he explained meant ‘underground railway’, like the Paris Métro or London Underground. They took a yellow train to Wittenbergplatz and walked for two minutes before arriving at the giant glass doors of a department store with the words Kaufhaus Des Westens above them.

  ‘This is KaDeWe, the German equivalent of Harrods.’

  ‘Are we going shopping?’

  ‘Absolutely. Neither you nor I came with the correct clothes for a funeral, but the baron said something that has been bothering me. He mentioned that the German newspapers ran a story about you solving the case on the Safari Star. It would be a disaster if anyone recognized you as Harrison Beck. We must take precautions, so they don’t.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Disguise,’ Uncle Nat replied, pushing the door open and ushering Hal inside. They took an escalator up to a floor exhibiting children’s clothes as if they were art. Uncle Nat walked through the rails and shelves, picking up two shirts, a thick-knit cream fisherman’s jumper, and a black turtleneck. He held a pair of black chinos up against Hal’s body to check the size, before picking up a second pair in navy, then piled all the clothes into Hal’s arms and pushed him in the direction of the fitting room.

  Hal put on an outfit and looked at himself in the mirror. The clothes looked plain but felt luxurious. They weren’t like the ones from the high street in Crewe. He looked at the price tag, but it was in German and he couldn’t remember how much a euro was in pounds, but he guessed the clothes were expensive.

  He opened the curtain, and Uncle Nat nodded his approval. ‘The black jumper and trousers are for the funeral. I’ll find you a jacket to go with them. The other clothes are for general wear. Keep the white shirt and fisherman’s jumper on, with the blue chinos, and I’ll explain at the till that you want to wear them.’

  Uncle Nat selected a black suit and several polo-necks for himself, and black leather hiking boots for them both, adding thick socks to the pile. Then he picked out a wheely suitcase. ‘For you,’ he said to Hal. ‘Put your rucksack inside it. It’s scruffy.’

  ‘Isn’t this all going to cost a lot of money?’

  ‘Yes, which is why it’s a good job the baron is covering our expenses.’ Uncle Nat waggled his eyebrows and Hal grinned.

  On their way out, they passed through a hall of art materials. ‘Wow!’ Hal whispered as his eyes greedily scanned the sketchbooks and rainbow displays of pens, pencils and paints.

  ‘I’m sorry, Hal, you can’t bring anything that might give away who you really are.’

  ‘I know.’ Hal sighed. ‘I’m just looking.’

  ‘Come on, we’ve got to get to the barber.’

  ‘You’re getting a haircut?’

  ‘No. You are. And I know just the man to do it. We’ll grab some lunch on the way.’

  They got back on the U-Bahn, this time travelling east. The line rose above the ground on stilts, offering a view of apartments and office blocks. They crossed the river Spree, getting off at the end of the line and walking to a neighbourhood called Friedrichshain, where Uncle Nat bought them currywurst – a delicious hot dog with spicy ketchup – from a street stall.

  ‘This part of the city looks different,’ Hal said as they ate and walked.

  ‘This is East Berlin. After the Second World War, control of Germany was divided between the victors. The Soviet Union, which we now call Russia, occupied East Germany. The western democracies of Britain, France and the United States occupied West Germany. They divided Berlin, because it’s the capital city, and built a wall between the two areas that you couldn’t cross.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound very friendly.’

  ‘It wasn’t. For years there was tension between the East and the West and the threat of another conflict. It’s known as the Cold War. It ended with the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991. Germany was reunified and the wall was torn down.’

  ‘And the barber is in East Berlin?’

  ‘He is right round this corner.’

  They turned into a quiet street decorated with colourful graffiti, and entered a small barbershop with a polished concrete floor, black walls and factory lighting. Uncle Nat warmly greeted a beefy, tattooed man with close-cropped blond hair and a nose ring. The two men hugged, and Hal was startled to hear Uncle Nat talking in fluent German. He pointed to Hal, and the barber studied him, speaking while counting on his fingers.

  ‘What’s he saying?’ Hal was suddenly nervous.

  ‘Karl says we can either dye your hair dark and crop it short, or make a centre parting and shave the sides . . .’

  Hal looked at Uncle Nat in horror. ‘I’ll look like an idiot!’

  ‘Or we trim the sides and curl your fri
nge and the longer hair on top.’

  ‘Curl it?’

  ‘Your hair would stay its natural colour, but you’d have a curly fringe.’ He nodded. ‘You’d look completely different.’

  ‘Do you mean a perm?’ Hal imagined the look on Ben’s face if he went home with curly hair. ‘What about when I go back to school?’

  ‘It’d be a semi-permanent curl. After a few washes, it falls out.’

  ‘My hair?’

  Uncle Nat laughed. ‘No, the curls drop out. Your hair goes back to being straight.’

  ‘OK, let’s do that.’ Hal sat in the leather chair and stared into the mirror as Karl wheeled over a black trolley loaded with rollers, silver foil segments and bottles of chemicals. He watched with fear and fascination as the man sectioned his hair, covered it in pungent liquid from a squirty bottle and wound it round a roller that he secured with a piece of foil and a clip.

  ‘I’ve got to run an errand,’ Uncle Nat said. ‘I’ll be back in twenty minutes.’

  When he returned, Hal’s head was inside a heated helmet. Uncle Nat stood behind him to watch Karl remove the rollers. Hal couldn’t help but giggle at the sight of his hair in corkscrew noodles. His head was washed, conditioned, the sides were cut, the edges shaved into a neat line, and then Karl blow-dried and scrunched Hal’s hair until a bunch of curls dangled over his forehead, sweeping down over his right eye.

  ‘These are for you.’ Uncle Nat handed Hal a little white bag with a black oblong case inside. Hal opened it to find a pair of thick-framed tortoiseshell glasses, like Uncle Nat’s, but smaller.

  ‘They have clear lenses,’ Uncle Nat said. ‘Try them on.’

  Hal stared at the reflection of an intelligent-looking, well-groomed and wealthy boy in the mirror. ‘I don’t believe it,’ he whispered, leaning in to study his face. The shorter hair at the sides made his face look longer and more angular. The glasses defended his eyes from the dangling curls and hid the shape of his nose. ‘Mum wouldn’t even recognize me like this.’

  ‘Yes she would. There’s no disguise you could put on that would fool your mother.’

  As his uncle followed Karl to the till, Hal took out his pocketbook and drew a quick self-portrait.

  ‘My name’s Harrison Strom,’ he said to the mirror. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  Karl let them use a room at the back of the shop to sort out their belongings and cut the price tags from Hal’s clothes. By the time they walked out on to the street, Hal felt like a new person. Uncle Nat hailed a taxi and gave the address for Alexander Kratzenstein’s apartment.

  ‘There’s no turning back once we’ve met the Kratzensteins,’ Uncle Nat said as they got in.

  ‘I’m ready, Dad,’ Hal replied, trying to ignore the booming heartbeat in his ears. He caught his reflection in the taxi window and for a second didn’t recognize himself, which stabilized his wobbling confidence. Realizing he was still wearing his silver train whistle, he took it off and slipped it into his trouser pocket.

  ‘This is it,’ Uncle Nat said as the taxi pulled up in front of a grand, white, stone-fronted building. ‘Are you ready, Harrison?’

  ‘Yes, Dad, I’m ready.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  FAMILY GATHERING

  Uncle Nat pressed the buzzer and after a pause the door clicked and opened, revealing a cavernous lobby with a marble floor and a grand staircase climbing round a lift shaft of wrought iron. Hal pushed his glasses up his nose as they stepped inside. A high whirring indicated the lift was descending. The lattice gate was pulled open by a smartly dressed woman in a dark dress with pinned-back hair.

  ‘Guten Tag,’ she said. ‘Herr Strom?’

  ‘Ja,’ Uncle Nat replied.

  ‘Wilkommen.’ The woman ushered them in and pulled the gate shut.

  They rose up to the fourth floor, stopping in front of a wooden door as large as the entrance to the building. The woman went ahead of them and Hal heard music as she opened the door, a high melancholy tune. Uncle Nat’s hand on his back steered him down an ocean-blue hallway. Glancing through an open door, Hal saw a pale, silver-haired boy, dressed in black, sitting at a grand piano. He was young to be playing such a complicated piece. That must be Herman, Hal thought, Alexander Kratzenstein’s youngest son.

  At the sound of their footsteps Herman stopped playing and turned. His eyes were ringed with purple shadows. Hal raised his hand in greeting, but the boy dropped his head and carried on playing.

  The next room was the size of Hal’s school hall. Tall panelled windows threw sunlight on to exposed brick walls, and a giant dining table set for dinner. A balcony overlooked the street. On the wall hung three huge canvases covered in thick white paint. Dark smudged shapes in the middle were splattered with red and orange. A woman with almond-shaped blue eyes, and a smattering of freckles across her elven face, got up from a low settee. She swept her long fair hair back over her shoulders as she rose, and her black chiffon dress billowed delicately.

  Hal knew immediately that this was Herman’s mum, Clara – Alexander’s second wife. She was beautiful.

  ‘Guten Tag, Frau Kratzenstein,’ Uncle Nat said, stepping forward.

  ‘Oh no, let us speak English.’ She clasped his outstretched hand with both of hers. ‘It’s good to meet you.’ She turned to Hal. ‘And you must be Harrison. Wolfgang tells me you don’t speak German, so it would be rude for us to.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Hal replied, remembering that Wolfgang was the baron’s name.

  ‘Do you play an instrument, Harrison?’ Clara asked hopefully. ‘Herman’s learning Bach.’

  ‘I play the recorder, but not very well.’

  ‘It was kind of you to invite us to dinner today,’ Uncle Nat said. ‘This is the first time Harrison is meeting his German family. I only wish it could have been under happier circumstances. I am very sorry for your loss, Frau Kratzenstein.’

  ‘Oh!’ A sharp line of distress appeared in the centre of Clara’s forehead and her lip trembled. ‘Thank you, but you must call me Clara.’ She pushed her lips together as her eyes filled with tears. ‘And, please, don’t be too kind or I shall cry, and my face will go all red and puffy.’

  ‘Kind? Me?’ Uncle Nat pretended to frown. ‘Impossible. I’m a perfect monster. Just ask Harrison’s mother.’

  Clara laughed gratefully. ‘Let me show you to your rooms.’ She took Uncle Nat’s arm and walked beside him. ‘Harrison, I’ve put you in with your cousins, Ozan and Hilda.’ She looked up at Nat. ‘You are in our smallest guest room. I’m afraid the apartment is full.’

  ‘Are Wolfgang and Alma here?’

  ‘They went out, but will be back for dinner. Do you know Oliver? He’s upstairs. And Arnie’s here too.’

  ‘Arnie came from Wernigerode?’ Uncle Nat said casually, giving the impression he knew him.

  Clara leaned close. ‘I think his mother has sent him to make sure I don’t sell the silver before the will is read. She is controlling Alexander’s father using that nurse she hired to take care of him, but she can’t control me.’

  Hal felt a jolt at the mention of the will. Did Clara not know it was missing?

  ‘Arnie brought the family train to Berlin for us to travel back in,’ added Clara.

  ‘You have your own train?’ Hal asked.

  ‘Yes. It’s an old-fashioned thing, but Alexander loved it. He was the last person to use it, when he went to Wernigerode. . .’ She paused and Hal could tell she was trying not to cry.

  ‘You have a lovely home,’ Uncle Nat said, tactfully changing the subject.

  ‘Thank you.’ Clara smiled. ‘The changing sky is my palette for the walls. Each room is a different shade of blue, and the earth inspires my floors.’ She rested a hand delicately on the iron balustrade as she climbed the stairs. ‘We own three floors of this building, but only live on this one and the one above. The top-floor apartment I offer to artists who wish to come and make work inspired by Berlin’s rich culture.’

  ‘Very generous of you,
’ Uncle Nat said.

  ‘Harrison, this is where you’ll be sleeping.’ Clara opened the door to a teal room with a thick sandy carpet. Sitting on a pair of twin beds were a boy with a mop of unruly locks and a girl with long straight dark hair. They stared inquisitively at Hal.

  ‘Hi,’ Hal said awkwardly.

  ‘Lina will make up a bed for you and bring up your case,’ Clara said, closing the door.

  ‘Are you our cousin from Scotland?’ asked the boy.

  ‘No. I mean, yes, but I don’t live in Scotland. Not most of the time.’ Hal felt himself getting hot. ‘I don’t think we’re actually cousins. We’re twice removed or something.’

  ‘Cousins is easier,’ the boy pointed out. His accent was strong, but his English was surprisingly good.

  ‘Yes.’ The girl smiled. ‘Let’s be cousins.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘I’m Ozan.’ The boy shook Hal’s hand. ‘And you are Harrison. Opa told us about you.’

  ‘I’m Hilda.’ She scrambled off the bed, clutching a yellow book called Emil and the Detectives, her finger marking her page.

  ‘Isn’t this funeral great?’ Ozan said, enthusiastically. ‘We get to go to Schloss Kratzenstein and meet our cousins.’

  ‘Um . . .’ Hal wasn’t sure how to respond.

  ‘And the adults will be far too busy to tell us what to do,’ Ozan added.

  ‘Papa says Schloss Kratzenstein is haunted,’ Hilda said with glee. ‘And the library is so big it has ladders on rails.’

  ‘Pfff!’ Ozan rolled his eyes. ‘Harrison doesn’t want to look at books when Großonkel Arnold has a model railway to rival Opa’s.’

  ‘Opa has the best model railway in the world,’ Hilda replied sniffily, taking offence on his behalf.

  Hal guessed that Opa meant Grandpa, as he knew the baron’s model railway was famous.

  There was a knock, and Lina wheeled Hal’s case in. The children got out of her way as she expertly took out a mattress from beneath one of the beds, pulled it up to the same height, and clothed it with white linen.