The Forbidden Territory

by Dennis Wheatley

  He backed before her, waving her feebly from him with ineffectual motions of his thin, knotted hands.

  “Be careful, I beg, Barina, be careful, pray—it might go off, the little gun—I have a use for both my ears, point it the other way.”

  “It will go off, Rakov—if you do not do just what I say.” She stood in the doorway of the inner room—he upon the far side by the wall. “Hands above your head, Rakov, and turn your face to the wall.” She nodded approval as he obeyed her order. “Listen now—if you so much as move your head the bullets will come crashing into that ugly curved back of yours. This door remains open, and I will shoot you for the dog you are.”

  A movement at her side made her turn quickly—it was Rex, appearing from the cupboard.

  “Great stuff,” he said, with his jolly laugh. “Netted the whole party. I’ll attend to this bum”; he walked over to Rakov.

  The peasant swung round, his small eyes lit with the terror of death, he wrung his knobbly hands. “Mercy, master, mercy,” he pleaded. “I have a family, little ones—they will starve. I am an old man.”

  “What about the horses?” asked Rex, in halting Russian.

  “Yes, master, the best—and I should only ask a little price—less, much less than before; also you shall have my sleigh.” He trembled as he eagerly spread out his greedy hands.

  “No,” said Marie Lou, decisively. “He would play us some trick. Deal with him as with the others.”

  “What you say goes,” Rex agreed, with a smile. “Come here, you.” He seized the whining Rakov by the collar, and threw him face down on the bed. Kneeling on the peasant’s back, he tied his hands behind him with a scarf, and gagged him with a towel. His feet he secured with the man’s own belt. Then, picking him up bodily, he thrust him under the bed.

  “What of the others,” asked Marie Lou, anxiously.

  “Easy money. While they were giving you the once over down here, we made a sand-bag out of some sacking and your box of nails. De Richleau coshed ’em as they put their heads through the trap, and I drew ’em in. They’re trussed up now all swell and dandy.”

  “Mademoiselle, my congratulations.” It was the Duke who had joined them. “As I speak Russian I was able to appreciate every word of that exciting conversation; your presence of mind was beyond all praise.”

  The dimple on Marie Lou’s little chin deepened as she smiled. “It was a difficult moment, Monsieur, when the man of the Ogpu decided to go up. I feared that you would shoot. He was a brave one, that—or foolish!”

  “Guess he thought he’d found our hide-out, but reckoned the birds had flown,” Rex laughed.

  “Our danger is not over, Monsieur,” said Marie Lou, seriously. “If Rakov has spoken of me at the police office, others will follow when these do not return.”

  De Richleau nodded. “Mademoiselle is right, we must leave immediately.”

  “What of your wounded friend?” she asked.

  “We must take him with us,” the Duke replied. “Poor Simon, it will cause him much pain, but it is the only thing to do. I dread to wake him—he has slept soundly through all this.”

  Marie Lou shivered slightly. “It is terrible—two wounded men, and no shelter but the woods.”

  “Let’s think a bit,” said Rex. “The Duke and I can manage someway. It’s Simon who’s the jamb. Can’t you think of some folks who’d take him in—a lonely farm, maybe. We’d cash up handsome if they’d do it. Then we’d come back and pick him up when he’s able to move round a bit again.”

  “I would do it gladly, Monsieur, if it were possible—but it is not. No one would take that risk—it is too dangerous, and I, myself, shall soon be sought for by the police.”

  “It is as I feared, Mademoiselle,” De Richleau said, sadly. “We have brought misfortune upon you. After what has happened tonight you are forced to leave your home because of us.”

  She shook her head. “No, you are not to blame. I knew quite well the risk I ran—but ever since I can remember I have had a feeling of waiting—waiting for something to happen. I knew that I should not grow to be an old woman among these forests here. It may be that we shall die—it may be the beginning of a new life for me, who can tell—but I am not sorry, I am glad. It is, I think,” she smiled, “the second chapter in the fairy story of the Princess Marie Lou.”

  “I think you’re just marvellous,” Rex grinned. “Things aren’t so almighty wonderful with us at the moment—but they might be a darn sight worse. We’ll get out of this jamb yet—someway!”

  De Richleau unthinkingly shrugged his shoulders; the sudden pain made him grimace. “I wish I was so optimistic as you, my friend. Living in the woods in the depths of winter will play the devil with my old bones. How we shall keep from freezing to death, I cannot think.”

  “We’ll take every covering we can lay our hands on,” said Rex. “We’ll be all right if only we can throw the cops off our trail.” He yawned, loudly. “Lord, I guess I never knew what it was to be so tired.”

  “Which direction do you suggest?” asked the Duke.

  “North—just as far as we can hike it. It’s ten grand to a single greenback that they’ll figure we’re beating it back to Tobolsk and the steam-wagons!”

  “That was our argument before,” said De Richleau, slowly. “We might have been successful had it not been that Leshkin knew you were after the jewels. Now we have no sleigh, and Simon cannot be moved more than a few miles in any direction. I am for doing the unexpected; let us stay in the heart of danger, while they are beating the country on every side. Mademoiselle, do you not know a cave, or some place in the forest near here where we could hide. We can take food for several days.”

  “No, Monsieur, there are no caves, and the forest, as you know, has little undergrowth.”

  “Wait!” exclaimed the Duke. “I have it, the Château! They will never dream that we shall return there, where we faced so much danger—there must be a hundred places in the ruins where we can hide.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Rex nodded. “Leshkin and the boys’ll be back in the town or the air-park long ago. That is, what’s left of them.”

  “You agree, Mademoiselle?” De Richleau asked, eagerly. “I value your advice.”

  “Monsieur le Duc has reason,” she smiled. “I know every corner of those ruins—there are many places that are easy of defence, and there will be shelter for the little one.”

  “Come then.” The Duke looked round quickly. “Every scrap of food must go with us—also all the warm clothes that we can carry. Bring down the haversacks from the loft, Rex; also the arms and any ammunition you can find on those men. Let Simon sleep until the last moment. I will assist Mademoiselle.”

  Marie Lou began at once to strip her bed, and spread out the blankets to make bundles. Unfortunately her food supply was very limited, but the iron rations in the haversacks remained practically untouched. She produced quite a number of furs and rugs.

  Simon was lowered gently from the loft—the morphia had dulled his pain, but his face was deadly white—his eyes bloodshot and haggard. They laid him on the divan while they made their final arrangements.

  “Now, Mademoiselle,” said De Richleau. “If you are ready, we will start.”

  She looked sadly round her little home, running her hand over the shelf of books. “We cannot take anything that is not necessary, I am afraid,” added the Duke, gently.

  She nodded, unhooking from the wall as she did so a large abascus, painted in many colours.

  “Say, what’s that thing?” asked Rex. “Looks like the beads I used to count on when I was a kid.”

  “It is for the same purpose, Monsieur.” Marie Lou held it up. A solid square frame with wires stretched across—on each wire a set of gaily coloured beads.

  “Every Russian merchant uses one to do his sums,” supplemented the Duke. “They use them as a kind of ready-reckoner. But, surely, Mademoiselle, it is not necessary to take it with us?”

  “It belonged to
my mother, Monsieur,” she said, simply, as she placed it in the bundle. “She painted it for me.”

  “As you wish, Mademoiselle,” agreed De Richleau, impatiently. “But let us go.”

  “One minute,” she said, as Rex was about to pick up Simon in his arms. “Why should we not carry him on my bed—it is a framework of wire springs only.”

  “Now that’s certainly an idea. Let’s take a look at that bed of yours.” Rex went into the inner room.

  “It is not as the Russian beds,” Marie Lou added. “It is part of the loot which came from the Château. See, the framework lifts off.”

  “That’s fine,” Rex nodded. “Wait a minute, though. I’d forgotten the Duke’s arm. He couldn’t hump the other end with his shoulder all messed up.”

  A muffled groan came from under the bed. “Rakov,” she suggested quickly. “He shall take the other end. He shall carry other things as well. We will shoot him if he tries to escape.”

  “Keep him prisoner until we escape ourselves?”

  “It is the only thing to do. He’ll give information if we let him go before.”

  “Sure thing, and his help in carrying that bed will be mighty useful. I’ve been scared stiff of this jaunt. If Simon loses any more blood he’ll peg out.”

  A few minutes later the little procession set out into the night, Marie Lou leading, the stretcher-bearers next, Rex at its head, and Rakov at the feet. Lastly De Richleau, automatic in hand, with which he occasionally prodded Rakov in the back. All were loaded down with heavy burdens; it was a slow and painful journey. Three times before they reached the gates of the gardens they had to rest. In spite of his magnificent physique Rex was almost dropping with exhaustion. His head was aching for want of sleep, and for all his care to avoid jolting Simon, he was so tired that his feet stumbled in the snow—he found his head sinking forward on his chest as he walked—black spots came and went before his eyes.

  De Richleau was in a slightly better state, but he was weary and haggard. Centuries seemed to have passed since they had left their comfortable compartment on the Trans-Siberian. With grim humour he suddenly realised that the same train had only that afternoon steamed into Irkutsk. He was brought back to the present by seeing the stretcher-bearers set down their burden, and Rex stumble forward in a heap.

  “If Mademoiselle will keep a watchful eye on our friend,” he suggested, indicating Rakov, “I will attend to the boy.”

  He shook Rex roughly by the shoulder. “What the hell!” exclaimed Rex, crossly, as he hunched his back against a tree.

  “Stand up, man!” said the Duke, sternly. “You cannot sleep yet. Come, Rex,” he added, earnestly. “Another half-hour, no more. I will make a reconnaissance, and if all is well we can bed down in some corner for the night. If you sleep now I shall never be able to wake you on my return, and you are too big to carry! Keep moving, my friend, I beg.”

  Rex struggled to his feet. “O.K.” he said, wearily. “My head’s aching fit to burst, but I’ll be all right.”

  After a short consultation with the girl, the Duke crept forward through the gates. He made a great circuit this time, approaching the house from the front; no sound came from the gaunt pile of masonry.

  The moon had risen, but it was a night of scurrying clouds; the light was fitful and uncertain; big flakes of snow began to fall. De Richleau blessed their luck, for it would hide their tracks from the cottage. He lingered for a little in the trees, examining first one part of the Château, then another, as the light gave occasion. He could make out no sign of movement.

  With the greatest caution he mounted the steps to the great roofless entrance hall; it was still and deserted. The room in which Leshkin had examined them must surely be the danger-spot if the place were still occupied. The Duke edged down the passage, holding his pistol ready. The door stood open and the room was empty. He re-crossed the hall to the big salon, here, too, the silent man who had stood waiting in the darkness had disappeared—the window to the terrace stood open just as he had left it.

  The Duke breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He was a man of immense determination; in his chequered career he had faced many desperate situations. That he was in the depths of Siberia, fifteen hundred miles from the European frontier, that their enemies had wireless, aeroplanes, and machine-guns, did not matter. One thing, and one thing only, was essential—they must have rest.

  Given the strength of Rex, rested and refreshed—given Simon, able to travel again and use his subtle brain—given his own experience and courage renewed after he had slept—they would get through. How he did not attempt to think—but somehow. Thank God the Château was unoccupied, and they could get that blessed rest.

  Without hesitation he walked quickly down the terraces and rejoined the group by the gate.

  “All’s well,” he said. “You know the Château, Mademoiselle. What part do you think would afford us the greatest security?”

  “The foundry, Monsieur. It is at the far end, on the right. Monsieur le Prince carried out his lock-making there in the old days. The place is like a fort—with narrow windows and sheet-iron on the walls.”

  “Lead on, then. Come, Rex—one last effort, then you shall sleep.”

  They made their way up the terraces once more, and into the small building to which Marie Lou led them. There were windows on one side only, and one door which opened on a roofless corridor connecting the foundry with the main block.

  The Duke flashed his torch round the place. In one corner was a rusty furnace with a great funnel chimney. Along one wall a tangled mass of wheels and piping, broken and rusted. For the rest, the place was empty.

  Simon was set down in the corner farthest from the windows, blankets were piled on him, and he was given another dose of morphia. For a moment Rex toyed with the rusty machinery, thinking of the jewels, but fatigue overpowered him. The Duke had to lash the whining Rakov to the furnace and gag him. He took a last look round before switching out his torch. Simon and Rex were sleeping, Marie Lou sitting cross-legged on her coverings. He drew his blankets about him. “We shall beat them yet, never fear,” he said, softly. “We must do without a sentry tonight, but you shall take tea in Paris before a month is out!” Next moment he, too, was asleep.

  The girl rose softly to her feet, and dragged her bedding to the doorway; she had her little pistol in her hand, the Duke’s automatic lay heavy on her knees. Wide-eyed, alert, but motionless she sat, guarding the sleepers and weaving the fairy-story of the Princess Marie Lou, until the coming of the Siberian dawn.

  Chapter XX

  Sanctuary

  For six days they lived in the foundry of the Château. In all that time they only saw one human being—a peasant walking with a load of firewood across the bottom of the garden.

  The first day the three friends slept until the sun was high. It was difficult to wake Rex, even then, and almost immediately he went to sleep again. Simon’s wound was re-dressed, and he was given a further dose of morphia.

  The Duke watched during the afternoon while Marie Lou curled up like a kitten in her rugs, and slept well into the evening.

  The second day they were in a better state; Rex completely revived, De Richleau’s wound healing well, Simon able at least to talk cheerfully again, and Marie Lou flushed with health and excitement. Only Rakov was unhappy.

  His ration consisted of a small piece of rye bread from Marie Lou’s store, and as much water as he cared to swallow. During the first two days he was never free of his bonds and gag, except when he was feeding.

  Their supplies were their principal anxiety; after the first two days their fears that the ruins might be searched were lessened; evidently they were believed to have taken to the woods, but their supplies would not hold out for ever.

  The Duke was in favour of their remaining where they were as long as possible, in order to give Simon’s wound a better chance to heal. Marie Lou offered to visit the farmers in the neighbourhood whom she could trust. The three friends all admired t
he courage she had shown on the night when they had sheltered in her cottage, but they would not allow her to take further risks. They would have kept from her, if they could, the fact that their supplies were so limited, but this was impossible, since she insisted on taking charge of that department herself.

  They suffered considerably from the cold, which was intense; the second, third, and fourth day of their stay the snow fell unceasingly. Had it not been that De Richleau was well supplied with Meta fuel, they would never have survived the arctic weather.

  On the second day Rakov began to have shivering fits, and, as they could not bring themselves to let the poor wretch die of cold, he was unleashed three times a day and made to skip, in order to restore his circulation. De Richleau would listen to no suggestion that he should remain permanently unbound—the loss of their previous prisoner, with the horses and sleigh, was too recent in his memory.

  Rex spent much time among the broken machinery. When he woke, on the second day, his eyes were bright with excitement at the thought that, after all, fate had decreed that he should reach this room, which had held his imagination for so many months. He had no doubt that he would find the missing jewels; eagerly he set to work examining the rusty mass of struts and girders. Piece by piece, with infinite patience, he went over them. Marie Lou became his assistant, and the treasure was a constant joke between them. She would look at him with a humorous twinkle in her blue eyes each morning, on waking, and ask:

  “Is it today that we shall find the jewels?”

  “Sure,” he would cry, with enthusiasm. “Today’s the great day.”

  Simon followed the search with interest from his corner.

  “Try here—try there,” he would suggest.

  Only the Duke remained uninterested in this perpetual treasure hunt; his thoughts were busy with more vital matters. When the food was exhausted they would have to make a move in some direction—but how? How, without horses, in a hostile area, were they to get away? In vain he racked his brains over this impossible problem, while he beat his chilled hands against his sides to restore some semblance of warmth.