Danger at Dead Man's Pass

by M. G. Leonard

  ‘Where’s Arnie?’

  ‘Gone,’ Hilda replied without looking up. ‘If you need it, the bathroom is there.’ She pointed to a door behind the spiral staircase.

  ‘Don’t you want to see upstairs?’

  ‘No.’ She looked up. ‘Arnie says there are bats hibernating in the tower. They have their own tiny door to come in and out of.’ She shuddered. ‘I don’t like bats.’ She lifted the book. ‘And I’m at a good bit in my story. The children of Berlin have become detectives to help Emil find the man who stole his money on the train.’

  Hal took a tour of the four turrets, looking out of each of the windows to orientate himself. His eyes followed the track through the courtyard out the other side. It passed a pair of train sheds, he spotted the points, then it curved away up towards the mountain. He gasped.

  ‘What is it?’ Hilda asked.

  ‘Dead Man’s Pass,’ he whispered.

  Hilda came to his side. ‘Is that where Arnie saw the witch?’

  ‘It’s where Alexander died . . .’

  ‘. . . of a heart attack . . .’

  ‘. . . with a twisted look of terror on his face.’

  ‘What?’

  Hal’s stomach lurched as he looked into Hilda’s dark, questioning eyes. He’d slipped up. The others didn’t know about the mysterious details of Alexander’s death. ‘You mustn’t tell Herman,’ he whispered, in a panic. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry if it gives you nightmares . . . I . . .’

  ‘Nightmares?’ Hilda said scornfully. ‘I’m not six! Why did he look terrified?’

  ‘You must swear not to tell.’

  ‘I swear.’ Hilda crossed her fingers over her heart. ‘Was he killed by the witch?’

  ‘The adults think he was frightened to death.’

  ‘Really?’ Hilda looked thrilled. ‘How do you know about it?’

  Unable to think of a better lie, Hal blurted out, ‘I listen at doorways!’

  ‘Me too!’ Hilda grinned. ‘You have to if you’re going to be a detective.’

  ‘A detective?’

  ‘Yes. When I grow up, I’m going to be a detective. I love reading about mysteries because I can never find real ones to solve. Maybe this is a real mystery.’ She looked thrilled.

  Hal wanted to tell her that he was a detective and working the case already, but he knew he couldn’t. Worried that something might slip out if they kept talking, and keen to be alone with his uncle and have the talk he’d promised, he said, ‘I’ve got to go downstairs and find my dad.’

  ‘Keep your eyes peeled for clues,’ Hilda said, going back to her bed and her book, ‘and I’ll do the same.’

  Hal stuffed his pocketbook and pen into his trouser pocket. Looking for clues was exactly what he planned to do on his way to find Uncle Nat.

  Arnie had taken the lift, so Hal took the stairs. He came out on the carpeted landing of the first floor, and through an open door saw Arnie in a messy bedroom bobbing his head to loud rock music. These were the family rooms where Clara had wanted to stay. They were laid out around the base of the tower. Hal thought if he was going to search the house for clues he should draw a floor plan, so he pulled out his pocketbook and pen.

  Hearing a buzzing tickety-tack, he looked up at a model passenger train running above his head on the architrave. Spurred on by the joy of the thing, he followed the train until it disappeared through a tunnel in the wall beside a door. Without thinking, he pushed the door open and found himself in a small-scale railway wonderland.

  Tiny tracks wove across a maze of landscaped tables, linked by tunnels and bridges. A dozen model trains whirred around them. From a rolling field, miniature children waved at a steam engine passing a level crossing, while yellow U-Bahn carriages rattled on stilts above a model city. Workmen rested on the fence of a quarry, while a diesel engine pulled a string of hoppers filled with miniscule rocks. In a siding, Hal spied the train of condiments from dinner. It was beside a tunnel built up over a hole in the floor and he realized this room was directly above the dining room.

  ‘Pleasing, isn’t it?’ Arnold said.

  Hal jumped. He hadn’t heard the door behind him open, or Arnold’s wheelchair roll in. ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he blurted out, realizing he’d strayed into the old man’s private rooms. ‘I didn’t mean—’

  ‘Don’t be.’ Arnold chuckled. ‘You’re the first to find this room. You must have an adventurous spirit.’ He considered Hal. ‘You like trains?’ Hal nodded. ‘Of course you do.’

  ‘Arnold, are you playing with your trains again,’ came the softly chiding voice of Connie. The nurse smiled brightly as she came into the room, and held out her hand to Hal. ‘Forgive me, I’ve forgotten your name. I’m Connie Müller.’

  Hal shook her hand. ‘Harrison Strom.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Harrison Strom. I hope you don’t mind, but it’s Arnold’s nap time and it’s my job to see that he takes it.’ She leaned forward. ‘He’s a terrible grouch if he doesn’t get a nap.’

  ‘Give me five minutes with Harrison,’ Arnold said. ‘Then I’ll come.’

  ‘I’m relying on you, Harrison,’ Connie said with a wink. ‘Once Arnold starts talking about trains, he can go on for hours.’

  Hal grinned. ‘We won’t be long.’

  ‘Come and take a closer look,’ Arnold said, wheeling himself to a passage between the table and the window. ‘This is my favourite place. From here I can see my trains, big and small.’ He pointed to the window and the table. ‘This room is where Schloss Kratzenstein’s model rail services start and end.’

  Hal came to stand beside him and looked out of the window. The Bombardier TRAXX locomotive had gone, and Aksel was on his back with his head under one of the carriages.

  ‘What’s Aksel doing?’

  ‘Uncoupling the carriages. The track up the Brocken has a narrow gauge, so he will shunt them to the train sheds to change their bogies. On Monday, our Class 99 – a vintage tank engine – will pull the funeral train up the mountain. She’s been in the family for over a hundred years.’ He sighed and after a long silence, said, ‘It’s a terrible thing to outlive your sons.’

  Hal wanted to say something kind. ‘I’m sorry,’ was all he could think of.

  ‘Me too.’ Arnold nodded sadly, staring past him at Dead Man’s Pass. ‘It was me she wanted,’ he muttered with a tiny shake of his head.

  ‘Who wanted?’ Hal asked in a whisper.

  Arnold blinked, and then forced a smile. ‘Aksel will show you the steam engine if you ask him. His English isn’t good, but he can understand what you’re saying.’ He turned his chair round. ‘I must go, or Connie will come and scold us. Enjoy the house and the trains, Harrison. Don’t let the grown-ups prevent you from having fun.’ He rolled through the doorway, then looked back over his shoulder, and said, ‘See if you can make Herman smile, will you?’

  The door closed, and Hal stood rooted to the spot, only the fizzing, clicking sound of trains audible as Arnold’s words echoed in his head. It was me she wanted . . .

  Was he talking about the witch?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  A BATTLE OF WILLS

  Connie had seen the witch, Bertha was scared of the witch and Arnold thought she’d come for him. Did everyone in Schloss Kratzenstein believe in her curse?

  Marking Arnold’s room of model trains on his plan, Hal left by the opposite door, and found himself in a hallway. He wasn’t sure of the way to the guest rooms, but it occurred to him that a snoop about might be a good way of uncovering a clue.

  Looking through a doorway to his left, Hal saw a thin corridor with three rooms branching off it. Checking no one was coming, he darted down it. The first was a bathroom; the second was a fastidiously neat bedroom with only a hairbrush and a pot of Nivea face cream on the dressing table. A silver-framed family photograph was on the bedside table. He stepped inside to get a closer look and immediately realized whose room this was. His heart thumped against his ribs, warning him
not to get caught. The picture was of a younger Bertha smiling up at Alexander; he was looking at her lovingly, and between them was little Arnie, holding their hands. In the picture, Bertha looked happy and pretty.

  The third room was a characterless sitting room, with a sofa, a TV as old as the one in the tower and a sideboard with a coffee machine and two cups, one containing little packets of sugar. There were no books or magazines, but beneath the window was a narrow desk. One of the drawers had been closed in a hurry because a triangle of paper was poking out.

  Taking a step towards the desk, Hal froze as the distant click-clack of heeled shoes announced he was about to be caught. Leaping backwards, he hurried to the end of the corridor, and found himself face to face with Bertha.

  ‘What do you think you are doing?’ she demanded.

  ‘Oh, thank goodness, Mrs Kratzenstein,’ Hal spluttered. ‘I’m looking for my dad’s room, but I’m lost!’

  Bertha’s expression relaxed, but she didn’t smile. ‘Your father’s room is that way.’ She pointed behind her. ‘At the end. Third door on the right.’ She paused. ‘Harrison Strom . . .’

  ‘Yes?’ Hal’s heart was thumping.

  ‘I know why your father is here.’ She leaned forward, so the tip of her nose was barely an inch from his face. ‘And it is not to pay his respects to my Alexander.’

  Hal stared into the angry face of Bertha Kratzenstein, trying to think of something to say.

  ‘You tell him I know what he wants to get his hands on, and he’s not going to get it.’ She pushed past him, going into her sitting room and closing the door.

  Hal wondered what Bertha could have meant by her strange warning. Did she know who they really were? He didn’t think so, but she seemed to think Uncle Nat had an underhand motive for being here. She was suspicious of everyone. She didn’t like Freya or Clara, and he wondered if it was because they threatened her position as the housekeeper of Schloss Kratzenstein.

  An ornate wooden arch signified the entrance to the guest bedrooms. Hal knocked at the door Bertha had said belonged to Uncle Nat, but there was no reply. Feeling frustrated, he tried the handle and the door opened.

  Uncle Nat’s holdall was on the bed, unzipped, his things scattered on the counterpane. Hal went in and picked up the copy of Faust they’d bought in Paris, opened it to a page where a piece of paper had been inserted, and saw that Uncle Nat had made a mark next to some lines of the play.

  Up Brocken mountain witches fly,

  When stubble is yellow and green the crop.

  Gathering on Walpurgis night,

  Carrying Lucifer aloft.

  Over stream and fern, gorse and ditch,

  Tramp stinking goat and farting witch.

  Hal snorted. What kind of play was this?

  The piece of paper he was holding was covered in scribbled letters and numbers, as if Uncle Nat had been working out a crossword clue, but they didn’t make any sense to Hal, so he returned it to the page and put the book back on the bed.

  When he knocked at the next door, it was opened by Alma Essenbach.

  ‘Hello, Harrison.’ She looked over his shoulder, expecting her grandchildren to be with him. ‘Are Ozan and Hilda behaving themselves?’

  ‘They’re in the tower.’ Hal nodded. ‘Ozan is playing video games with Herman, and Hilda is reading. I was looking for my . . .’ He blushed, remembering that Alma knew the truth about who he was and what he was doing. ‘Uncle.’

  ‘He’s in the study with Wolfgang and Oliver.’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘At the front of the house,’ Alma said, glancing at his pocketbook. ‘Are you investigating? Can I help?’

  ‘I’m mapping the house.’ Hal pointed to the opposite door. ‘Whose room is that?’

  ‘Oliver’s. Clara’s room is at the front of the house beside the study.’

  ‘Why is Clara upset about having the front room?’

  ‘Clara has always stayed in the family’s part of the house with Alexander. Now that he’s gone, Bertha has used Freya’s sudden arrival to put her in the formal side of the house. It’s like saying she’s no longer a part of the family.’ Alma shook her head. ‘Bertha is jealous of Clara, because Alexander fell in love with her.’

  ‘If Bertha and Alexander are divorced, why does she still live here?’

  ‘She and Alexander were matched by their parents when they were teenagers. They married young, lived here and had Arnie. As their marriage fell apart, Alexander spent more and more time in Berlin until one day he announced he was going to live there and that he was in love with Clara. Bertha was devastated. She loved Alexander and still does. Arnold took pity on her and said she could stay living here with Arnie. I think Alexander expected Bertha would leave once Arnie turned eighteen, but when the old housekeeper died, Bertha took on her role, to earn her keep, and Arnold agreed she could stay permanently. It was a cause of argument between Alexander and his father. But Arnold said Bertha took care of him, as well as her being the mother of his grandson, and he wouldn’t hear of her leaving if she didn’t want to.’ She paused. ‘I think that’s why Alexander hired Connie.’

  ‘Alexander hired Connie?’

  Alma nodded. ‘To show Bertha wasn’t needed.’

  ‘Oh!’ Hal felt sorry for Bertha. He thought of the framed family photograph. ‘Alma, when Arnie frightened us with his story at the dinner table yesterday, he said something about a skull face in Dead Man’s Pass. What was he talking about?’

  ‘The rock face at the entrance to the pass has the features of a skull. The story is that when the Kratzenstein’s blew their way through the mountain to make a cutting for their private railway the skull was revealed as a sign that the family was cursed.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘You can’t miss it if you’re going into the pass.’

  ‘Thanks. I’d better get on with my investigation. I need to speak to Uncle Nat. How do I get to the study?’

  Alma pointed down the corridor. ‘Go left at the end. You’ll find yourself in the gallery above the Banqueting Hall. Walk past the double doors – the study is the next room.’

  Hal thanked her and hurried away. The shadows in the old house had grown longer throughout the afternoon, and there were more dark corners now than when he’d first arrived. He sped up, racing round the corner, and yelped as he came face to face with a giant, amber-eyed wolf.

  The wolf was stuffed and mounted on a wooden plinth with a metal plaque at its feet that read: Adalwolf (Canis lupus). It was positioned so it was looking straight at anyone coming down the corridor and had one paw lifted and teeth bared. Hal had never seen a wolf before. It was large, its unblinking stare unnerving.

  From the gallery, he looked down into a vast banqueting hall big enough to race remote control cars around it. The curtains were closed and dust sheets covered the paintings. Hearing the muffled sound of voices, he tip-toed to the study door and put his ear to it.

  ‘That is not Alexander’s will,’ Clara was saying angrily. ‘He replaced his first will when he replaced his first wife.’

  ‘You’ve seen the second will?’ It was the baron’s voice.

  ‘Of course. Alexander rewrote his will after Herman was born.’

  ‘Did he make a copy?’

  ‘Why would he make a copy? He kept it locked in the family safe.’

  ‘This was the only will in the safe,’ Uncle Nat said.

  ‘But that’s not his will!’ There was a note of hysteria in Clara’s voice.

  ‘I’m sure there’s an explanation.’ The baron was trying to soothe her.

  ‘Yes. Yes, there is.’ Clara drew in gulps of air trying not to cry. ‘That herrschsüchtige Frau. She’s taken his will. Bertha cares more about being a Kratzenstein than she did about being Alexander’s wife. She’s trying to . . .’ She hiccupped and burst into tears. Hal heard shushing noises and the movement of furniture.

  Thinking back to the corner of paper he’d seen poking out of Bertha’s desk,
Hal chided himself for not being more decisive when he’d had the opportunity to look. Could that have been Alexander’s will?

  Something brushed up against his leg and Hal went rigid, fearing he’d been caught, but it was Belladonna. The black cat made a figure of eight through his legs, purring noisily. Backing away from the study door, Hal silently shushed the cat, picking her up. The double doors to the next room were ajar, so he peeped in. He saw a grand piano and guessed it was a music room. Belladonna struggled in his arms, landing on the ground with a thud. Fearing the cat would get him caught, he stepped into the dark room and grabbed for her, but she disappeared into the shadows.

  ‘Harrison?’ There was a woman silhouetted in the doorway and Hal opened his mouth to cry out, but she stepped back and the Banqueting Hall light revealed it was Connie. She put her finger to her lips and took Hal’s arm, pulling him back towards the gallery. ‘I wouldn’t go in there if I were you. Arnold asked me to come and give Baron Essenbach a message, but Clara is angry about the missing will and I dare not intrude.’

  Hal gladly walked with her. He had a question he’d been itching to ask Connie since he’d arrived. ‘Arnie says you saw the witch.’

  Connie closed her cardigan across her body, hugging her arms around herself as if suddenly cold. ‘I don’t know who I saw.’

  ‘But you saw someone?’

  Connie nodded, looking unhappy.

  ‘What did she look like?’

  ‘I was coming back from a walk and lost my way on the mountain. Ice mists appear fast here. It’s the climate.’ Her eyes flickered to a window, as if she could see through the closed curtains. ‘I wandered into a clearing and was startled to see a dead rat cut open on a boulder, its guts all pulled out.’ Her face screwed up in disgust. ‘There was a woman standing behind it. She wore a grey hood. Her eyes were as black as night, her cloak the colour of the mist.’ Connie stopped walking.

  ‘And?’ Hal prompted.

  Connie looked at him, haunted by the memory. ‘She vanished. Right in front of me. One moment she was standing there, the next, gone. I called out, reaching through the mist, but it was as if my seeing her had dissolved her. I have never been so terrified.’