Michel helped the Countess down from the carriage and walked her to the cottage door. She knocked several times, and a woman in her mid-fifties opened the door. She was short, almost half the size of Melbourne, with strands of silver hair running down her long, dirty blonde hair held up in a chignon. Although she must have been the Countess’ age, she seemed much older, the lines on her face running deep around her grey eyes and thin lips. Melbourne thought that something looked familiar about her. As soon as she saw the group outside, she smiled wide and wiped her hands on her brown, worn-out blouse.
“Countess,” she said in a deep, slightly croaking voice. “It is such a joy to see you here.” She took the Countess’ hands in hers and shook them firmly.
“You too, Lucinde. You too. I brought you a guest today.”
“A young gentleman, I see. Well, don’t stand outside. Come in! I’ll tell Albert to take a break and put on the kettle for you.”
They stepped inside the house and Melbourne’s nostrils were swept with a strong scent of flowers. The house was decorated beautifully, with simple, yet classy wooden furniture and carpets. He guessed they were all made by artisans of Libremont, and some were probably made by Lucinde and her family. Melbourne could tell they were simple folk, but they surely knew what taste was. He tried to suppress a sneeze as Lucinde walked up to him and extended a hand.
“I hope you don’t mind the smell of the flowers. And excuse my rudeness, I did not present myself earlier. I am Lucinde, and I welcome you to my house.” Melbourne shook her rough hand.
“Julie’s mother,” the Countess said. That’s why she looked familiar.
Melbourne was about to present himself when a tall man carrying a large box walked into the living room, his boots creating creaking sounds on the wooden floor. He was in his mid-twenties, with a set of large shoulders, brown hair that seemed to have had a brusque day, and a short, scruffy beard. He set the box down as soon as he saw the Countess and greeted her warmly. Turning towards Melbourne, he extended a large hand with a kind smile.
“And this is — ” But the Countess was cut short by Melbourne.
“Melbourne Summers.”
“Albert,” he said as his smile slowly faded. Melbourne had heard that name somewhere. “Summers? You don’t mean…”
“He does,” the Countess said. “Melbourne is Henry Arthur’s brother.”
Albert dropped his hand rapidly and headed back towards his box. “We’ve had enough trouble with one and now you bring us the other one? In our house?”
Melbourne didn’t know what was going on but he felt slightly embarrassed.
“Albert!” Lucinde’s tone was disapproving.
“Albert, he is here to help us, to finish what his brother had started,” the Countess said.
Albert spun around, frowning. “What his brother had started was a wave of trouble and death. Remember what happened to Luc? And the rest of the band? He will be of no help and he must leave this house immediately or it will just be more trouble for us all.”
“May I remind you,” said the Countess, her voice going up an octave, “that it is you who is bringing trouble to this house and this family. You and your ideas of resistance. One day you are going to get caught with your explosives and this family will be destroyed, just like your merry band of troublemakers.”
“At least I am doing something meaningful. At least I am fighting back for real,” Albert said.
“And we are not? And your sister Julie is not? Albert, you are breaking our hearts, you know that? You know how badly your sister and your mother disapprove?”
Albert picked up the large box and headed for the door. “Keep whistling your tunes and looking around. I’m sure that will beat the Boche someday.” He disappeared through the door and a heavy sound of silence settled in the room.
At last Lucinde sighed loudly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Summers. My son is a troublesome one. He believes that violence is the only way to solve problems around here.”
“He is doing business with the wrong crowd, a miniscule band of resistance fighters that believes that exploding German cargo and setting houses on fire is the only way to win this war. Albert, doesn’t know that he is playing with fire. I’m afraid to say it will only be time before…” The Countess looked at Lucinde who nodded, knowing what she was going to say.
He will get caught, is what she was going say, Melbourne thought. “Don’t worry about me,” he said.
“Can I get you all some tea?” Lucinde asked.
“Thank you, Lucinde, but we have little time,” the Countess said. “We have come here for the crows.”
Crows?
“Come with me,” Lucinde said.
They followed her through the house to a door which led to the fields of crops behind the home. For a split-second Melbourne felt peaceful among the patches of cabbages, carrots and other vegetables. He could see the cows he’d heard earlier, strolling about the grassy field beyond the garden, minding their business. Not a single sound could be heard, only the rustling of the leaves moved by the gentle wind that came from the east. The silence was only broken by every once and while by the bells hanging from the cow’s necks.
“What did you mean by crows?” Melbourne asked the Countess.
“Trains. We call them crows.”
Lucinde walked up to Melbourne and tugged at his sleeve. “Look.”
She pointed her finger towards the horizon in front of them, moving it sideways from left to right in a straight line. He followed her directions with his eyes but he could not make out anything.
“Look further, over there. That black line,” she said.
He began picking it out. A thick black line at the far end of the large field that started in the east from as far back as the eye could see and seemed to go on forever across the horizon.
“Train tracks,” Melbourne said.
“Exactly. The main line between Brussels and Koblenz. That’s where the crows pass.”
“How many?”
Lucinde shook her head. “It was one long freight train with multiple locomotives a day, besides the usual local passenger and freight trains. But there have been three of them a day in the past two days. They keep coming. Nobody really knows what their final destination is.”
“Have you tried following them?” Melbourne said.
“That’s far too dangerous,” she said. “This is enemy territory now, and travel is closely restricted. If one of us were discovered, they would find us all, and you know what that would mean.”
“But I’m sure someone from the resistance knows something.”
“Only what we, and other train watchers further east, are able to tell them.”
Melbourne stared out at the horizon. He remembered Julie’s word. They come from the east and head to the west. He pictured three long freight trains. “That’s a lot of material.”
“Moving from Germany, entering Belgium, heading west.”
Melbourne put his first to his lips, thinking. “Is there any information on what they carry?”
“None. They are all closed freight cars, with only a few open carriages. And those are covered with tarps. Some contain strings of passenger cars, as well. We are clueless on their contents.”
Melbourne stared out at the thick black line on the horizon. His brother had indeed stumbled upon something large. And he knew why he was murdered. “Could you give me an estimate of how many have passed in, say, the past month?”
“My goodness, let me think,” Lucinde said. “Must have been fifty-two trains.”
Melbourne raised his eyebrows. He thought he might have heard it wrong. “Fifty-two trains? Is that what you just said?”
Lucinde nodded. “Fifty-two. We see them when we tend to our crops. Large, black, terrifying, even from this distance. They move slowly.”
Melbourne felt fear. He knew what fifty-two trains of that size meant. “Where does your information head to?”
“The resistance,” she said. “They pass
it to the informers of our allies.”
There was something odd, something off in all of this. Melbourne knew it. If the information was passed on to the resistance, why was his brother sent here? What in God’s name was the Iron Shadow?
A thought crept into his mind as he stared out at the thin, dark line before him. The trains were carrying something else. A secret.
Germany was preparing to break through the front.
XXXIII
Danielle sat alone at one of the outside tables of the restaurant Chez Leon, just up the road from Le Rossignol Chanteuse, on the left side of the colonnade of the Gallerie de la Reine. The police had not interrogated Melbourne any further, but he decided it was best to stay clear from the club and suggested a different spot. The evening had grown chilly and Melbourne could see that she wore a heavy brown scarf around her neck as he slowly approached her. Perched between her lips was her usual cigarette in the holder, smoke drifting ever calmly into the air. Melbourne thought she was quite an eyeful as much as she smelled like a living ashtray. He tried to brush away the thought of the dead German soldier that had been shot just a little up the road.
She spotted Melbourne as he approached the table and flashed him a smile. She removed the cigarette from her lips, allowing him to give her a soft kiss.
He sat down and she instantly took his hands in hers. They were freezing cold. “Well? Did you find the castle?”
Her expression could not betray her curiosity. He took a deep breath and could smell that she had put on perfume that night. Roses mixed with something else. She eyed him with raised eyebrows.
“I did, and I think I know what the Iron Shadow is.”
A waiter came over and handed them their menus. They both ordered a pot of mussels cooked in white wine.
“There are trains,” Melbourne said as soon as the waiter left, “moving from east to west. These trains are made for carrying troops, artillery, ammunition, and anything else needed on the Front. But here’s the catch, there are too many of them moving along that railway.”
Danielle frowned, her eyebrows creating a little crease in between her eyes. “So, the Boche are planning a full-scale attack on the Front?”
“Exactly. That’s what my brother discovered and I believe that’s what cost him his life. The Germans don’t want the Allies to know of the attack, or even suspect it. This is extremely important and dangerous, Danielle. This — ” He looked around and lowered his voice. “This could be an assault that could tilt the war in favour of the Germans.”
She leaned back against her chair and placed a hand on her forehead. “If they break through our defences, climb over the trenches, then — ”
“They will be inside of France.”
“And they will march towards Paris. God, if Paris falls…” Her hand shook as she drew the cigarette to her mouth.
Melbourne placed a reassuring hand over hers. “We won’t let that happen. But in any case, best brush up on that German. You never know.” He winked at her.
“Nein, dankeschoen.” She said, her French accent exaggerating the final word. “No… thank you?”
Melbourne nodded and let out a laugh. “You’ve already got a head start.”
“How did you find out? What happened when you got there?”
“I met the Countess who lives in the castle, a wonderful old lady called Priscille de Libremont.”
He went on, telling her of his encounter with the Countess, their conversations, the birds, how she knew his brother. He went on describing their journey to Rixensart, of Julie and her songs, of her house back in Libremont, Lucinde, the train tracks…
When he was done, Danielle blew out a large puff of smoke. “What’s going to happen now?”
Melbourne pulled out an envelope from his jacket and placed it on the table in front of her. “This is what’s going to happen.”
She placed the cigarette holder between her lips and took the envelope. She carefully opened it and took a peek inside. Her blue eyes widened as her stare moved back to Melbourne’s face.
“How did you — ”
Placing her index finger and thumb of her left hand into the envelope she pulled out a pink rectangular piece of paper the size of a hand. Its colour and contents were unmistakable. She stared at it incredulously before putting it back inside with haste, worried that someone might see it.
A passport.
“I asked a favour to a person I know, an old lawyer that is hosting me here in Brussels.” He winked at her. “I told you I could get you out of here.”
“Melbourne, I… I don’t know what to say.”
Melbourne drew himself closer to Danielle, lowering his voice. “Tomorrow we leave. I came here for one thing and I got it, I got much more. So now listen to me carefully, Danielle. Meet me outside the Gare du Nord at noon sharp. Bring only the things you need and care about the most. You are now Mrs. Amelie Dieudonné, heading back to Switzerland after a short sojourn here in Belgium. Once we make it to Geneva, we take the first train to Paris. You will be back home, Danielle, away from this place that took so much of you, away from that wretched night club, away from the drunken soldiers, away from having to scrape money for that lousy room you live in, away from everything. It’s over. Tomorrow we leave this place forever.”
Danielle stared at him, speechless.
The waiter came over and placed their mussels in front of them together with a small dish of strange, thin, yellow fried sticks. Melbourne picked one up and studied it.
Danielle smiled, her gaze fixed down at the envelope. “They call them pommes frites.”
He warily put one in his mouth, but it only took one bite for his eyes to lighten up. She smiled, then placed three frites in her mouth at the same time.
Their laughter echoed in the small, winding street.
XXXIV
Monsieur Esmond frowned as he stared at the set of six cards in his hands. He held them close to his face, eyeing Melbourne every once and while, sitting across from him in the large, red armchair. He sighed.
“Well?” Melbourne asked.
“Still thinking,” Monsieur Esmond said.
He looked at the cards laid down on the table before them – a five of spades, a two of hearts, a four of spades, and a four of diamonds. He smiled and, startling Melbourne, smacked down his set of cards on the table unexpectedly. “What do you say to that?” He smiled underneath his curled-up moustache.
Melbourne sighed and shook his head. “You’re bust.”
Monsieur Esmond’s smile faded. “Bust?”
“It means you lost. Your cards sum up to the number twenty-two. That’s called a bust. I’m sorry Monsieur Esmond but it looks like you are the loser in this round.”
The doorbell of the house rang.
Madame Esmond sighed. “I will go and get it.” She had finally found an excuse to not be around the men.
“That is nonsense,” Monsieur Esmond said. “I made more points than the bank over here.” He pointed at the cards on the table. “I win.”
“No,” Melbourne said. “The idea of beating the bank is correct, but you can’t go beyond twenty-one or else you lose. Twenty-two is beyond twenty-one, hence you lose.”
Monsieur Esmond scoffed. “That makes no sense.”
“It’s simple. Anything above twenty-one is bad.”
“Stupid game.”
“You just don’t know how to play.”
“Ha! Ridiculous! Did I ever tell you of the time I beat the mayor in a game of poker? Did I? Of course not! It was the most epic game that this damn city has ever seen.”
Melbourne began to realise that he should have listened to his inner voice telling him that teaching pontoon to Monsieur Esmond was going to be a bad idea.
“Behave children,” Madame Esmond said. “Remy, there is a girl for you at the door.”
Melbourne laid down his cards and got up. Why had Danielle come searching for him at this hour of the night? Was there something wrong? He ran down the stai
rs and found her looking at a painting, her back to him. A large, brown scarf was covering her head. He was about to say her name when she turned around.
It was Julie.
“I’m sorry for disturbing you at this hour,” she said.
He walked down to the last few stairs. “It is no problem at all,” he said.
“The Countess told me where to find you. I have information that might be of the greatest interest to you.”
“What is it?”
“One of the trains just passed by earlier. A big one, heading west like all the others. For the first time it stopped at the station of Vlezenbeek, just a few kilometres away from Libremont.”
“Stopped? But why?”
“Most likely for the night. It could be the best opportunity.”
He knew what she meant. “Can you bring me there?”
“It might be dangerous. The streets outside of Brussels are patrolled but I can get you through, as long as you stick close to me.”
“I’ll go get my coat.”
Melbourne ran back upstairs and wished the Esmonds a goodnight. They eyed him strangely but didn’t ask any questions. He grabbed his coat and followed Julie outside. It was bitter cold, colder than on most nights. She had parked her bicycle just outside the house, a beat up Peugeot from the last century, with a straw basket in front.
Melbourne stared at it. “How in the world did you…”
Julie arched an eyebrow “What?”
“Well, it’s just that I’m really not in the mood to get shot tonight.”
“You have to know the right streets, the ones not patrolled by the Boche. There are lots of them. So, have you got one?”
Melbourne nodded and went inside to pick up the Esmonds old bicycle.
When he was back outside she said, “Like I said, stick close to me and do exactly what I do.”
Melbourne saddled up and began following her down the street, sticking to her as close as possible. They navigated through the dead, empty streets of Brussels, ducking down alleyways, stopping every once and while if she heard any sounds, then continuing their journey silently. They had had to change directions a few times as patrol cars, or guards, obstructed their covert passage.
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