“Would you like some more cheese? Or bread?” Brian offered.
She shook her head and shifted into a sitting position. Now that she was awake, the unpredictable drafts and jostling made it impossible to relax again. “What time is it?”
“A couple of hours before dawn.” He drew himself up to talk to her more easily. “We’ve been pulled over several times for fast trains.”
“Troop trains?”
“Possibly. From what I overhead, I suspect we’re maybe an hour from the border.”
She frowned, trying to calculate where they were.
The brakes screamed, a harsh cry that echoed through the walls and the wheels underneath. Next door, metal banged loudly and shattered. Somebody yelled a profanity.
The boxes around them rattled hard and hurtled toward the boxcar’s rear. Morro woke with a howl. Meredith’s hips slid out from under her, sending her straight for a stack of falling equipment.
Time suddenly stretched until all she could see was Brian’s face, all she could feel was her pulse slowly beating in her veins.
Brian grabbed both her and Morro, his fingers locking like bracelets around her wrist. He braced his feet against a pair of wheels bolted into the floor and held grimly on, his jaw set in an unspoken challenge to fate.
The boxcar shuddered, shaking and wavering on its wheels. The basket shot past them—but she didn’t care if it exploded, not if she had Brian.
The train finally stopped, its overtaxed metal complaining vehemently to the end.
He released her immediately, a silent question in his eyes.
She nodded her all-clear. She was well now, since he was. Morro gave her fingers a quick lick, making her smile a little tremulously. The rogue had probably enjoyed that wild ride.
Italian voices rose in bitter complaint from the railroad cars behind them to be answered by men tramping alongside the train.
“Accident ahead?” Brian whispered.
She shook her head, listening hard.
“The police then.” He tossed her the map case and she caught it automatically, silently questioning him. “Sazonov won’t hurt anyone who’s carrying it.”
She reared up in immediate outrage and started to hand it back. He needed the protection more than she did. But he shoved her hat into her hand before she could move.
“Besides, it could get in my way. Now hurry up.”
She glared at him and dropped it over her shoulders, twisting it so the precious cannon plans rested over her back. She pinned her soft hat on her head with more violence than necessary and snatched up her fragile basket and the staff Brecht had insisted she take.
Morro glanced back from the door he’d been sniffing. The footsteps were moving forward along the train, heading for them.
“Ready?” Brian was standing by the other door, calm, deadly, utterly poised.
She nodded to her warrior, an echo of his calmness sinking into her bones.
Mayer and Brecht had arranged for a false lock to be placed on their door. If it still worked…
Brian pulled the well-oiled latch back, taking the lock with it, thank God. He jumped silently down and Morro promptly stuck his head outside to inspect their surroundings.
Her lover jolted in surprise then waited.
Morro looked back at him an instant later, ears pricked forward, and chuffed softly. An instant later, Brian had brought both her and his canine cohort onto the ground.
He silently closed the door behind them and grabbed her hand. Even after the dimness inside the boxcar, the outside night was bitterly black and she could barely see the mountainside’s rocks and trees.
“I do not care if these cars are protected by diplomatic immunity. These criminals tried to kill a policeman.” Sazonov’s voice broke through the confused blur of men’s voices.
Meredith’s fingers tightened around her lover’s. How typical of that Russian to exaggerate in order to gain what he wanted.
Brian tugged her forward, moving unerringly into the forest. “Wait here.”
“But…”
He was gone.
She seethed at how he’d blocked any objections. She fretted within an instant, unable to see him. She’d already once watched Sazonov hold a gun to his head; must she do that again?
Morro’s ears came forward and he snuffled happily. A darker shape loomed up against the night, announcing Brian.
“I should slap you for leaving me alone,” Meredith hissed.
He kissed her cheek. “I’ll buy you a Paris wardrobe,” he offered.
She sniffed. “And a week in bed at a good hotel.”
He spluttered and lifted her to her feet.
“Why are we following the railroad tracks?” she asked a minute later. “Assuming you did something unkind to the train…”
He didn’t answer.
“Do we want to stay near it?”
“How better to reach the pass?” he countered. “We’re higher on the mountainside than the army’s line, which ran to Schloss Belvedere and the summer maneuvers.”
“There’s an old cart trail just ahead. If we use it to veer even farther up the mountain, we should be able to find one of the great horse farms. The mountain meadows are highly prized for fodder.”
There was a thoughtful silence.
“We’d still have to come back down to cross into Switzerland.”
“If we continue to swing away from the railroad, we’ll come to Old St. Nicholas Pass, the one used by the Romans and Napoleon. It’s not the one suggested by the railroad to tourists.”
Why was she even mentioning this? Because it was the route least likely to bring Sazonov.
“Is it very dangerous?” His voice sharpened.
“It’s barely maintained now. But it is the steepest and the fastest route.” She had to take Brian away from the Russian before his recklessness brought him into more danger.
“It’s the most frightening for you.” He paused but she couldn’t disagree. “The railroad will suit us.”
“No! I can manage the hike, truly.” She caught his sleeve. “Brian…”
“Sweetheart.”
His hand closed over hers.
Down below, wheels began to rumble very slowly. Somebody shouted a warning, followed by other men’s loud objections. Metal began to move, pounding its rhythm across the ground. It roared into motion, thundered down the line—and slammed into a solid wall of more metal. It tumbled over and over down the mountain, every monstrous thud echoing through the ground.
The very trees shook. Men shouted and cursed, their words dimmed by distance. Meredith staggered but Brian’s strong arms kept her from falling. Morro barked loudly, jumping up and down to emphasize his objections.
She silenced him, stooping down with her beloved to soothe her oldest friend.
“Now we’re definitely taking the old pass,” she announced when she could trust herself to form sentences again. Thank God for Brecht’s foresight in providing them with gear.
“Why?” He glanced over at her.
“I don’t know how you sabotaged Sazonov’s train…”
“Cut the brake lines on ours and pulled the pin between two of the front cars. But they took longer than I expected to start rolling.”
“I won’t ask who taught you that trick.” She stood up and briskly brushed out her skirt. They definitely needed to leave this area.
Brian chortled softly.
“But I’m certain that Russian fiend will chase us twice as hard and fast because of it. I refuse to go anywhere except the Old St. Nicholas Pass.”
“Are you certain? It appears the best route but not if it will cause you problems.”
“I’m certain I’ll be fine.”
No matter how bad it was, it would be better than giving Sazonov a better chance to kill Brian. And surely it would be no worse than unpleasant. Surely.
Chapter Sixteen
Dawn swirled over the mountains high above, hiding Old St. Nicholas Pass in a brilliant pa
norama of light and shadow. The Iron Mountain’s ancient gray cliffs closed in tighter and tighter on the trail. Water trickled out of its sides and bounded into waterfalls. It danced over the rocks and swept into the Eisenbach, the stream which bordered the path.
Meredith had come here last year with her brothers for a picnic. The boys had hunted for a long time to find someplace to swim. But today? The Eisenbach almost swept over the road, instead of six feet below it, and small waterfalls misted passersby every few minutes.
But this morning, she threw back her head and laughed, determined to enjoy the temporary freedom of a good horse under her. Her tweed skirt bunched and shifted across the sidesaddle under her, unlike the smoother comfort of chamois breeches and a crisply tailored riding habit. She’d brusquely declined to ride astride as being even more awkward, since she was wearing the ordinary drawers which lacked a crotch.
Brian’s head snapped around from where he’d been watching their back trail to assess her. He relaxed quickly and tossed her a two-fingered salute, his blue eyes glinting under his soft-brimmed hat.
Riding with him anywhere at her side was a foretaste of heaven—no matter who was following or how much her bones ached. Even Morro thought so, judging by his happy yips from where he trotted alongside.
It hadn’t taken long to find a horse farm after they’d left the train and arranged to borrow these horses. But that had been the largest establishment they’d encountered. Now the thread of green meadow was narrowing behind them, edged by trees and towering gray cliffs. Up ahead, a slim steeple marked a tiny mountain chapel, dedicated to climbers who’d lost their lives among these peaks. A barn beside it provided cover for curing hay, the sole crop grown here. Thank God, the grand duke hadn’t strung telegraph wires through here yet.
“How far do you think we can take the horses?” Brian asked. He didn’t add that the trusting beasts were starting to tire.
“Not even half a mile,” she admitted, casting an unhappy glance at the sharp turn immediately past the chapel.
“We’ll dismount here and let them drift home,” Brian decided.
“Of course.” The railroad’s route for tourists allowed packhorses throughout it. “Do you know which route your family will take?”
She couldn’t bring herself to refer to his father.
He shook his head and her heart sank. But if she’d been the first one to tell Brian about the old pass, how could his family plan to use it?
“We’d best hurry.” Brian jumped down off his big gelding in front of the chapel and rapidly began to unbuckle the satchel Mayer had provided.
Meredith swiveled in her saddle—and blanched. A heavy dust cloud was forming over the road at the narrow little valley’s entrance. It had to be Sazonov, together with the secret police.
At least her beautiful little mare should have a pleasant journey.
Meredith leaned her head forward against the rocks, panting too hard to care whether she was in sunshine or shade. Thank God she was wearing the lightweight modern corset Brian had given her, which allowed her to drag deep gasps of air into her lungs, unlike the more fashionable versions.
Brian had set a brutal pace but she’d matched it, desperate to save him. Sazonov might keep her alive to recreate Zorndorf’s masterworks but he’d undoubtedly kill Brian without a second thought.
Only the felt-soled boots Brecht provided had kept them ahead, since their enemy was using more fashionable foot-gear on the treacherous ground.
The cliffs were streaked granite blocks here, as if giants had decided to play nursery games and gone home without cleaning up. They towered to the sky in all directions, drowning the light and trapping ice and snow among their crevices and narrow spires. The route through the old pass was really a series of ledges, linked by steps cut into narrow chimneys, next to the fast-moving mountain stream.
In dry years, artists competed to paint it. In wet years, waterfalls ripped boulders out of the walls.
Thank God for the alpenstock Mayer had shoved into her hand at the last moment. That wooden staff with its pointed metal end had saved her balance more than once when the path slipped away under her foot.
“Steady, boy, steady,” Brian crooned.
She wiped the sweat out of her eyes and leaned back to check on Brian and Morro. Morro was their leader, his prerogative due to his uncanny ability to sense weak ground. Brian came next, as the strongest climber.
Brian lifted Morro to his shoulder, pointing him toward the next section.
A boulder had fallen out, undercutting the path to a shelf where the trail started again. The result looked like a ladder cut into stone and she’d need both hands for it.
Her alpenstock had a leather loop which she could drop around her wrist. But the basket? It was ordinarily used for shopping, which meant it couldn’t be slung over her back or hooked over her shoulder, not if she wanted to climb that wall.
“There they are!” Sazonov shouted. Echoes swirled through the canyon, stabbing into her bones like knives.
She peered around the corner. A thunderstorm was brewing among the peaks, an eerie reminder of her father’s killer. But that was an old peril, not today’s.
Sazonov was close, too close, about fifty feet below. He was in the lead, as ever, with his big, ugly rifle slung eagerly over his shoulder. A dozen men trailed him, some also carrying guns.
On a city street, the route might take five minutes but here? The trail was so steep and the intervening turn so sharp, she might have ten minutes before he arrived.
Meredith gnawed her lip. How many choices did she really have?
She set the basket down and began to hastily unpack it. By the time Brian turned around with Morro safely deposited on the trail’s next segment, she’d tucked her vials of explosives amongst the plans for the world’s greatest cannon. She slung the sturdy, fabric map case along her back, silently vowing to be very careful about leaning against the rocks.
“Ready?” she asked brightly.
“Always. Are you sure you don’t need the basket anymore?”
“Completely. But you must go first.”
He frowned, his brows drawing close together in the shadows under his hat. “What was in the basket, Meredith?”
“We don’t have time to chat, Brian.” She glanced desperately over her shoulder. She’d stolen the plans; she’d take the deadly risk of carrying this, not him.
“Sazonov could have shot you for catching it, back at the church. But you risked your life.” He took a step toward her and she backed away from him, her hand outstretched against the wall.
“Don’t come near me!” Her voice caught flight among the rocks.
“Me, me, me…” they sang back to her.
“Explosives?” he whispered.
She nodded desperately and shooed him away with her hands.
Morro barked unhappily from up above.
“Miss Duncan?” Sazonov called. “Please believe I want only the best for you.”
“I won’t move until you’re up there.” Meredith folded her arms across her chest. She was startlingly calm.
“Meredith.” Brian gritted his teeth.
“There’s no time.”
His beautiful eyes promised painful retribution later but he turned and ran. She’d gladly accept his punishments, since it meant he’d be alive.
One, two, three, four, five grips—and he swung himself up beside Morro. “Come on, Meredith!”
She took one last, quick peek around the corner and flinched.
Sazonov and his men were unlimbering their rifles to shoot at Brian.
Like hell she’d allow that to happen, no matter what it cost.
She slipped the map case over her shoulder and ran around the corner.
“Meredith, no!” Brian shouted. Morro exploded into barking.
She took a few more steps, winding her arm as her brothers had taught her, and hurled the map case end over end at the path below. Her momentum carried her forward and she hurled h
erself into the stone wall to brake herself.
Nothing.
There was no explosion.
Sazonov and his men were shouting triumphantly.
She leaned over the side to look down, uncaring for once of the awful abyss below.
Oh, dear God, the map case’s strap had caught on a boulder just below the lip, where it swung violently. When it smashed against the rock or somebody below picked it up…
She raced for her life back up the path, praying the sharp corner and solid wall of granite would protect her.
“You fool, Meredith! Grab my hand and I’ll pull you up!”
She leaped upward and Brian’s iron fingers closed around her wrist. Her feet scrabbled for a hold and he yanked her up, her toes barely fast enough to aid him before he hauled her over the edge. He half-carried, half-flung her off the unstable overhang onto solid ground. She grabbed Morro and pulled him close just before Brian slammed down on top of her.
Brilliant yellow light flashed past the corner of her eyes, startling against the gray crags and black storm clouds.
KERBOOM! The mountain rumbled behind them.
BOOM! BOOM! The ground shook underneath them like giants hammering out a new forge. Dust surged into the air, tainted with the stench of rotten eggs and hiding the few remaining glimpses of the sun.
And the plans were gone, burned beyond even the chance of ashes. Eisengau’s workers would never use them to gain their rights. They’d have to find their own road, no matter how long that took.
Meredith buried her face in the crook of her arm, hot tears burning her eyes.
Brian lifted her onto her feet the instant the dust cloud died down. “I’m sorry about the plans but thank you for saving my life. You saved many men’s lives.”
“I’ll try to think of it as a pleasure.” She leaned up to kiss him, ignoring her abominably tight throat and undoubtedly tear-streaked face. “How far back is Sazonov? Or are we lucky enough to have him disappear?”
“He and his men are alive, with the path cut before them. But they have climbing gear…”
“So he’ll manage a way around the gap.” She sighed and beat the dust out of her skirt. If—when!—they made it out of here, she’d beg Brian to indulge her in some of the nonsense her mother adored, like a long indulgent soak in a scented tub, layers of frilly, silken petticoats, or even a lacy tea gown, simply to wear something other than sweat-soaked tweeds. “We’d best be off then.”
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