by Blake Pierce
Contact Fern Weh.
London’s heart sank. That was not her mother’s name.
But she asked herself—what did she expect?
To accidentally come across a personal ad left by Mom herself? That would have been too amazing to believe.
Fern Weh, she thought.
She wondered whether the name might be Asian.
She turned and saw that her tour group all seemed ready to leave.
Without quite knowing why, she tore off one of the little dangling tags with Fern Weh’s phone number and put it in her pocket. Then she and Emil gathered the group together, and they all headed back to the Nachtmusik.
London was glad to see that the passengers all looked well-fed and satisfied.
The next leg of this trip should be smooth and easy, she thought. At least as far as the passengers are concerned.
She’d been warned that tomorrow’s leg of the trip might be rougher going. But surely their brand-new high-tech riverboat would be up to any challenge.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Nachtmusik was sinking.
London felt it again—that odd sensation of slowly dropping downward. And she knew it wasn’t just her imagination.
It was very late at night, and she was standing at the rail on the open top deck of the ship. All she could see was a massive, blank concrete wall that was weirdly illuminated by massive industrial floodlights.
Sitting by her side, Sir Reggie let out an unsettled little whine.
“I know, Sir Reggie,” she said. “I’m having trouble getting used to it too.”
The Nachtmusik was slowly descending, foot-by-foot, down into a lock on the Main-Danube Canal.
This was the ninth lock the boat had passed through since navigating from the Danube into the canal earlier that day. London had never been on this canal before, but she knew its route. It stretched between the Danube to the south and the Main River to the north, making it possible to travel by water all the way from the Black Sea to the North Sea. The Nachtmusik’s remarkable itinerary, rare among river tour boats, would be impossible without it.
She was finding it a strange experience, especially in contrast with their trip until now. Completed in 1992, nothing about the canal felt “Old World.” It felt very modern, very man-made, and very different from the river cruise so far.
The canal carved a narrow, monotonously direct route through the hills, forests, and cities of Bavaria. In fact, it sometimes seemed more like a modern highway than a river. In places, the canal rose above the level of the land surrounding it. The waterway even bridged some highways on its own overpasses. More than once, London had glanced down from a deck or a window to see cars driving below her.
And then there were the locks.
Boats eventually had to be raised to more than 3,000 feet above sea level to cross this countryside. So from time to time the Nachtmusik had to stop between massive gates where the water was adjusted to the next level. At first the locks had lifted the Nachtmusik higher and higher. But now the ship was descending, and it would continue to descend until its arrival in Bamberg.
Tonight the strange sounds and motions had made it impossible for London to sleep, and Sir Reggie had been restless too. They had joined a handful of passengers up here on the Rondo deck, where they could at least see what was going on. Now the others had wandered away, to bed or perhaps to the bar.
London stood listening to the rumbling and churning of the water and massive machinery as the boat slipped lower and lower along the wall of the lock. Sir Reggie whined again and nudged her ankle, so she picked him up in her arms.
“It will be easier going after we get to Bamberg,” she told him. “I promise.”
In a way, this descent seemed an eerie contrast to the tour group’s underground visit to the Document Neupfarrplatz. The descent into that archaeological site had taken the group deep into European history, while this descent seemed to lead …
Where?
Nowhere, I guess.
For the first time since she’d arrived in Europe, London felt like she was a long, long way from home.
But where was home, exactly?
She didn’t ask herself the question very often. But whenever she did, she realized she simply didn’t know the answer. She’d been traveling for years and didn’t have a permanent home anywhere.
And now she felt a growing desire to reach out to someone familiar.
A couple of nights ago, while the Nachtmusik was sailing between Gyor and Vienna, she’d gotten a call from Dad, who still traveled the world as a flight attendant. He’d called her during a layover in Tokyo.
Should I give him a call? she asked herself.
But she didn’t know where in the world he might be right now or what time of day or night it might be for him.
Then there was London’s older sister, Tia.
London had been visiting Tia and her three kids in Connecticut when she’d gotten the call offering her the job of Social Director aboard the Nachtmusik. She glanced at her watch and calculated that it was late afternoon in Gaitling, Connecticut.
Sitting on a deck chair, she put Sir Reggie back down, then took out her cell phone and dialed Tia’s number.
The phone rang a couple of times, and she heard Tia say “hello.” But before London could reply, she heard an alarming crash, followed by the sounds of explosions and gunfire.
“Tia!” London exclaimed.
After a lot of clattering noise, Tia spoke again.
“London. Is that you?”
The sound of gunfire and explosions continued.
“Tia, are you all right?” London asked.
“Sure. Bret just overturned the end table. But nobody got hurt.”
Then she said to her son, “Bret, Mom’s talking with Aunt London. Go play with your sisters, OK?”
London realized that the clamor sounded the same as when she’d been at her sister’s house just before this trip began. Seven-year-old Bret was Tia’s youngest child. And now London realized that the ongoing racket must be Tia’s daughters, ten-year-old Stella and twelve-year-old Margie, playing a video war game. Tia somehow managed to maintain her calm, or her detachment, thorough it all.
She heard Bret complain, “I want to talk to Aunt London too.”
Tia let out a sigh and said, “OK.”
Then London heard Bret’s little voice.
“Hi, Aunt London.”
“Hi, Bret.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m traveling in Germany, sweetie.”
“Where’s Germany?”
“It’s in Europe.”
“Oh. Europe is over across the ocean, isn’t it?”
“That’s right.”
“That’s a long way away.”
“I suppose it is.”
London felt uneasy about this innocent little interrogation. She wished Bret would hand the phone back to his mother.
Then Bret asked, “When are you coming home?”
London felt a jolt of emotional surprise.
Home? she thought.
Does he really think of their house as where I live?
London supposed it might make sense in the mind of a little boy. After all, whenever London wasn’t voyaging around the world, she’d often stayed with her sister and her family.
London was relieved to hear Tia say again, “Go play with your sisters, Bret.”
“OK,” Bret said.
A second later Tia was back on the phone.
“Bret misses you,” Tia said.
“I know,” London said.
“So do the girls.”
Actually, London doubted that. Unlike little Bret, the girls had never shown a lot of interest in her.
“Where are you right now?” Tia said.
“On our way to Bamberg,” London said.
“Is that in Germany?”
“Yes.”
“Have you been enjoying Europe?”
London was a bit surprised by t
he question. But then she realized—Tia surely had no idea that London had dealt with two murders since they’d set sail from Budapest, much less that her own life had been in danger. Enjoying Europe hadn’t exactly been her first priority.
“It’s been fine,” London told her.
“I’m glad.”
But Tia didn’t sound so glad at all, and London now more than half regretted reaching out to her.
“How are you and Bernard?” London asked.
“Pretty much like always,” Tia said.
“And the kids?” London asked, still hearing the sounds of combat in the background.
“The same,” Tia said. Then she said again, “They miss you.”
Then came an awkward pause. London knew what she was supposed to say—that she missed Tia and her husband and the kids too, and couldn’t wait to get back to Connecticut. But the truth was, London had barely given them any thought since she’d left. And she certainly was in no hurry to get back to Connecticut.
Then Tia said, “It’s not too late to change your mind, you know.”
“About what?”
“About Ian, of course.”
Oh, that, London realized.
The night before the phone call offering her the job aboard the Nachtmusik, her accountant boyfriend Ian Mitchell had asked her over an elegant dinner to marry him. Actually, he’d made his proposal more in business terms—as a “merger” that would be advantageous to both of them.
“Um, Tia,” she said, “I think that ship has sailed—so to speak.”
“What do you mean?”
London stifled a sigh. She didn’t want to tell Tia how Ian had reacted when she’d called him from the airport to turn down his “merger,” explaining that she was on her way to Europe instead.
“The deal is off,” he’d said. “I’m afraid the matter is no longer up for negotiation.”
And that had been that.
“Never mind,” Tia said with a groan of resignation. “You’ll never settle down. You’re determined to follow in Mom’s footsteps.”
London’s mouth dropped open.
Is that what I’m doing?
Following in Mom’s footsteps?
Tia continued, “Not that we have any idea where those footsteps finally took her, or where she might be now. And I guess that’s fine with her, no matter how we felt about it. All we know is she … well, she didn’t care enough about us to hang around. You seem to take after her that way.”
London felt a deep tingling all over.
She doesn’t know what I found out.
London wondered for a moment—was it a good idea to tell Tia? But surely her sister had a right to know.
London spoke cautiously.
“Tia, I … I’ve got some idea of what happened to Mom.”
“What do you mean?”
London took a long, deep breath.
“During our stay in Salzburg, I met a woman—her name is Selma—and she said she knew Mom. She said Mom has been traveling around Europe working as a language tutor. Mom tutored Selma’s daughter in Salzburg for a few months. When she left, she only told Selma that she was on her way to Germany.”
“Hold on a minute,” Tia gasped.
Then London heard her sister say, “Out of the kitchen. Now. Close the door.”
When the noise diminished, Tia said to London, “And that’s where you are now. In Germany.”
Well, Germany is a big country, London almost said.
Also, Mom might very well be in a different country by now.
“London, don’t even think about it,” Tia said.
“Think about what?” London said.
“Looking for her.”
Did I say I was looking for her? London wondered.
Am I looking for her?
Tia continued, “She never wanted to be found. And I for one don’t want to find her. And you shouldn’t either. I’m sure Dad feels the same way. Think about his feelings, London.”
“Tia—” London began.
“I mean it, London. Mom is just being true to her nature. Remember what she told us about her name?”
“No,” London replied.
“She told us Barbara comes from the Greek word barbaros, which means ‘strange’ or ‘foreign’—the same word ‘barbarian’ comes from. ‘That’s what I am,’ she used to tell us, ‘just a wandering barbarian at heart.’”
Yes, I remember, London realized.
She had been very little when Mom had said that, and she’d forgotten it. But now, for the first time in years, those words were coming back to her.
Suddenly London heard a raucous metallic clatter.
“Stop that, Bret!” Tia shouted.
But the noise continued.
“I’ve got to go,” Tia said. “Bret’s pulling all the pans out of the cabinet. Call me again when you get a chance, OK?”
Tia ended the call before London could say another word.
Meanwhile, the boat’s slow descent had come to a stop, and the enormous metal gate in front of the Nachtmusik was sliding upward with a thunderous roar of machinery.
Sir Reggie nudged London’s ankle again, and she picked him back up.
“It’s OK, boy,” she said over the noise. “Everything’s OK.”
But she didn’t feel like everything was OK. Her conversation with Tia had left her rattled for reasons she couldn’t quite put her finger on. It had something to do with what Mom had said about her name meaning “strange” or “foreign.”
And now she found herself thinking about that advertisement she’d found posted at the restaurant back in Regensburg: “Sprachleher zu mieten”—“Tutor for hire.” She reached into her pocket and took out the little slip of paper with the phone number on it. For a couple of seconds she wondered …
What was the name on that ad?
Oh, yes.
Fern Weh.
At the time she thought maybe the name was Asian.
Looking into Sir Reggie’s eyes, she said it aloud.
“Fern Weh. Does that name mean anything to you, boy?”
Sir Reggie let out a grumbling sound, as if he wondered the same thing.
Then London said it again and realized something.
“Fern Weh. Fernweh! It’s one word, Sir Reggie! One German word!”
Sir Reggie grumbled again, as if he wanted more of an explanation.
It took London a couple of seconds to remember what that word meant.
“Of course,” she said aloud. “It means ‘wanderlust.’”
And now she’d been reminded that Mom’s name meant “stranger” or “foreigner.”
Were the meanings of those two names just a coincidence?
Or was it possible that Mom had posted that advertisement after all?
London struggled to make sense of her own thoughts.
Why Fern Weh? she asked herself.
Then she remembered something Selma had said about Mom.
“She seemed … well, a little mysterious somehow. As though she just didn’t want to talk about herself in any detail.”
Might Mom have started traveling under an assumed identity?
It seemed like a crazy idea. But then, Mom was hardly what anyone could call a normal person.
London looked carefully at the phone number, wondering if she should call it.
Tia’s words echoed through her ear.
“London, don’t even think of it.”
Maybe that was good advice after all.
“She never wanted to be found,” Tia had also said.
But London suddenly realized—she didn’t care. Mom had left a family behind. As much as she might want to disappear without a trace, it wasn’t her decision to make—not when her disappearance affected the lives of people she loved.
London set Sir Reggie down. Her fingers shook as she read the number on the slip of paper and punched it into her cell phone. She heard a couple of rings, then an automated voice.
“Die von Ihnen erreich
te Nummer ist nicht in Betrieb.”
London sighed aloud as she translated the words in her head.
“The number you have reached is not in service …”
And of course, the message continued to advise London to try again if she thought she’d called this number in error.
London did try again, and she got the same message.
Staring at the phone, she inhaled and exhaled slowly, not certain whether she felt disappointed or relieved.
The Nachtmusik was now sailing under the gate between two massive towers. Spread before her along the canal were the lights of Nuremberg—an industrial area, hardly anything scenic.
She got up from the chair and said to Sir Reggie, “Let’s go back to the room and try to sleep again, OK?”
As if in agreement, Reggie jumped out of her arms and trotted in front of her toward the elevator.
As they rode down to the Allegro deck, London remembered how the message on the bulletin board had been mostly buried under other ads and messages, and also that it looked yellowed and old. It probably had been posted quite a long time ago.
Anyhow, the number was out of service now. And of course, she had no idea whether “Fern Weh” really was Mom. The whole thing was a dead end.
London admonished herself to forget the odd message and focus on her job. She had plenty of things to take care of right here on the Nachtmusik.
Tomorrow they would be in Bamberg. Surely that would give her a nice break from any personal concerns. She was looking forward to a quiet and peaceful visit to a lovely historical town.
CHAPTER NINE
Strange and unexpected sounds drew London toward the rail on the Rondo deck.
What on earth …?
Was that music she heard, or something else entirely?
She had first noticed the noise from her stateroom when she was doing research and planning today’s tour while having a light breakfast. Sir Reggie had kept right on sleeping soundly after spending a restless night passing through the locks, so she’d left him there and hurried up to the ship’s top deck.
Several passengers were already gathered at the railing, staring out over Bamberg and chattering with each other. When London joined them, she saw that the Nachtmusik’s crew was finishing up their docking procedures, tying massive ropes around the shore bitts and preparing the gangway. With its steep red roofs and half-timber houses and church spires, the town of Bamberg looked like the fairy-tale setting she had expected.