After Hours: Tales From Ur-Bar

by Joshua Palmatier; Patricia Bray

  As he managed to blink away the last of his treacherous tears, their host returned with an anonymous bottle and two small glasses. “Drink this.”

  Eustace looked doubtfully at the clear liquor. Pa had warned him never to drink from an unlabelled bottle. But the man was cradling Hal’s head with one broad hand, easing the rim of the glass between his nerveless lips. Hal coughed and opened his eyes.

  Faint with relief, Eustace reached blindly for his own glass. Even Pa wouldn’t deny him a stiffener in this dire emergency.

  The liquor filled his mouth with subtle warmth. He smelled mingled perfumes of summer fruit, sweet without being sickly. As he swallowed, he could swear the warmth spread from his stomach to the tips of his fingers and toes, soothing every ache and bruise along the way. He still knew he’d been in a fight but he no longer feared he might pass out.

  As the man released him, Hal sat upright. He coughed again, pressing a hand to his mouth. Eustace was inexpressibly relieved to see no fresh blood on his lips and a healthier color return to his cheeks.

  “Thank you.” He set his own glass down. “Please, forgive this intrusion. Eustace Ferrars, at your service.” He braced himself for the strong man’s grip, only to discover this chap felt no need to grind another man’s knuckles to prove himself.

  Even more disheveled and bloodstained, Hal offered the barman his hand. “Harold Brandon,” he said, stiff with embarrassment. “So sorry to have troubled you.”

  The barman simply smiled, teeth white against his black beard. “I am Gil, to my friends. Are you Harry to yours?”

  “Hal, as it happens.” He managed a crooked grin, only to wince as a split in his lip oozed.

  “‘Cry God for Harry, England and Saint George’?” The barman’s smile widened. “Let me guess. If you had half a crown for everyone who says that, you would dine at the Savoy Grill every night?”

  “Something like that.”

  Eustace was relieved to see Hal was too intrigued to be as annoyed as he usually was by that blasted quotation.

  “Do you know London well?”

  “I travel.” The man waved an airy hand around the cluttered shelves. “But you two are far from home.”

  “We’re travelling for the summer,” began Eustace.

  “We go up to Oxford next term. Corpus,” Hal nodded at Eustace, “and Christ Church for me.”

  “We’re travelling with my aunt,” Eustace interjected, “and her fiancé. All quite above board,” he added. Or at least it had been—

  Hal waved an impatient hand. “They’re in Salzburg but we wanted to see Vienna. So they said we could take a couple of days to make the trip while they stayed behind.”

  And wouldn’t Pa cut up rough about that, when he learned what had happened? Eustace sighed, his head drooping.

  “What misfortune befell you?” the barman Gil enquired.

  “We had trouble with our motor. We would have been fine until that stiff-necked, sauerkraut-munching Prussian turned up,” Hal glowered at the thought of their erstwhile foe. “Arrogant brutes, every man jack of them. Just as my Pa says.”

  “Is that so?” Their host sounded amused.

  “You’re not—” Eustace looked up, aghast.

  “Prussian?” The barman’s grey-green eyes held his, penetrating, as though he could read every thought inside Eustace’s head. “Would it make any difference if I was?”

  Before Eustace could answer, the man stood, gathering up bottle and glasses. “Excuse me, please.”

  As their savior departed Eustace glared at Hal. “Will you hold your tongue?”

  “What—” He fell silent as an old lady bustled up, full skirts dark beneath her snowy blouse and embroidered bodice.

  Her sympathetic tone needed no translation, even if her heavy dialect defeated Eustace’s rudimentary knowledge of German.

  She set a tray on the table and handed them each a glass tumbler and spoon. Then she placed a dish of eggs and a smaller one of butter between them. As the young Englishmen exchanged a puzzled glance, she clicked her tongue in toothless exasperation.

  “Eier im glas!”

  Still mute as schoolboys, they watched her take an egg from the dish and tap it all over with a spoon.

  “It’s boiled,” Eustace realized.

  The old woman’s gnarled fingers stripped the soft whiteness of every fragment of shell and dropped the naked egg in the tumbler. Just as quickly she peeled a second and added a slice of butter.

  “So?” She handed the glass to Eustace, looking at him expectantly.

  Realizing he was utterly famished, he dug the spoon into the egg’s golden heart. His mouth full an instant later, he nodded as he swallowed. “Good. Sehr gut,” he essayed sheepishly.

  The old woman smiled as Hal followed Eustace’s lead, talking all the while. Now her tone rang with incomprehensible indignation, though Eustace didn’t think it was directed at them.

  “You feel better for something to eat?” Gil returned, bearing two tankards of foaming beer.

  “My oath, I do.” Eustace sucked the last trace of yolk from his spoon. “Beg pardon, but what is she saying?”

  “She’s so sorry you were attacked by gypsies.” The barman broke off to speak briefly to the old woman. Satisfied she nodded and headed back to her kitchen.

  Hal was puzzled. “Why on earth would she think that?”

  Gil shrugged. “Gypsies are responsible for every evil that strikes a traveler, according to her. They are cursed by God, ever since they cast the Golden Calf for Moses’ brother. They even forged the nails for the crucifixion.”

  “That’s not something I’ve ever heard,” Eustace said cautiously.

  Granted, some of the gypsies that came and went around his father’s estate weren’t above poaching pheasants. But plenty helped with the fruit picking and the potato harvest and they worked hard for their day’s pay.

  Hal was more forthright. “That’s superstitious tosh. Anyway, gypsies had nothing to do with it.”

  “You won’t persuade her of that.” Gil placed the tankards on the table. “Any sooner than your Pa would give a Prussian the benefit of the doubt.” His eyes glinted vivid green in some trick of the light.

  Eustace saw Hal redden but before he could say anything foolish, a gentleman arrived at their table. He was wearing a gray and green loden jacket, buckskin knee breeches and polished brogues. They had seen several men in such garb, as they’d driven along without a care in the world.

  “Good evening.” With a punctilious bow of his head, he removed his black-cockaded hat. While his English was far more heavily accented than the barman’s, it was perfectly comprehensible. “May I present my card?” He hesitated, not knowing where to offer the pasteboard.

  “Please,” Eustace invited with instinctive politeness. “Join us.”

  The gentleman pressed the card into his palm, though he didn’t sit. “Konrad von Ledebur, at your service. Please, this dreadful business—” Distress momentarily overwhelmed his English. “By the time the alarm was raised, no one knew where to find you—”

  Gil broke in with swift reassurance and Eustace was relieved to see the gentleman nod, mollified.

  “I understand you have trouble with your automobile?” He cleared his throat. “Perhaps my own chauffeur could be of assistance? He is the most competent engineer.”

  “That would be marvelous.” Eustace looked helplessly at Hal.

  “The Lanchester is in the market place,” Hal said stiffly.

  Eustace couldn’t tell if he was still suffering an excess of pain or smarting from the barman’s rebuke.

  “Also,” Herr von Ledebur said in the German style. “I drive a Daimler. I bought it in London last year.”

  “You’ve visited England?” Why wouldn’t the chap? Eustace silently rebuked himself.

  “Many times. Also, Ireland.” Their new benefactor smiled tentatively. “I very much like to hunt the fox in your beautiful country.”

  “You ride to houn
ds?” That instantly won Hal’s attention. “Whereabouts?”

  “Northamptonshire and Leicestershire,” Herr von Ledebur explained with careful precision. “In Ireland, in the Qveen’s County.”

  “We live in Devon.” Hal instinctively reached for his pocket book and visiting cards. “We have some very fine coverts—oh, lord!”

  Aghast, he withdrew his hand from his inner pocket. Ink stained his fingers. “Those blighters broke my fountain pen!”

  Eustace might have been amused, if he hadn’t seen sudden tears glisten in Hal’s eyes.

  “Also.” Herr von Ledebur hastily clicked his heels while donning his hat. “If you will excuse me, I shall see what I can discover of your auto. And of these blackguards who assaulted you.” He said something scathing in his native tongue.

  “Thank you, sir, you’re very kind.”

  As Herr von Ledebur departed, Eustace’s eyes resolutely followed him to the door, to give Hal a chance to get his emotions in hand.

  Hal scrubbed his face with his ink-free hand. “Mater gave me that pen for passing Common Entrance,” he said gruffly.

  Much as Eustace wanted to offer his sympathies, he searched desperately for a change of subject. He nodded at their untouched tankards. “Have a drink, old chap.”

  He was as glad as Hal to drown the sorrows of this horrible day in the fragrant ale.

  “Gosh!” Hal exclaimed after a deep draught. “That’s the finest brew I’ve tasted yet.”

  “I’ll say so,” Eustace agreed. They’d enjoyed some excellent beer on their journey through Bavaria but this outclassed everything.

  Though getting pie-eyed wouldn’t improve their situation. What should they do now?

  He looked around the tavern again. While some patrons were now intent on their own conversations, others were stealing glances at their table. As sympathetic smiles caught his eye, he nodded self-conscious acknowledgement.

  There was a fine variety of ages and complexions among them, he noted belatedly. An elderly man with ferocious whiskers was deep in conversation with a younger, darker-skinned man. A few tables away, two mild-faced scholarly types were intent on the chessboard between them. One wore a skull cap so was clearly a Jew. No one was giving him a second look though. Eustace couldn’t imagine that in an English country inn, where dubious glances would warn off anyone with a touch of the tar-brush.

  “Do you think this place has rooms for the night?” he wondered. “Even if our new friend’s chap can mend the motor, it’s surely too late to set off.”

  “You want to stay?” Hal looked at him dubiously. “After our welcome in the square?”

  “What about our welcome here?” Eustace countered.

  Hal looked obstinate. “We don’t know these people.”

  “They don’t know us,” Eustace retorted, “and a right pair of hooligans we must look, all muck and blood. But they’re helping us and that chap von Ledebur is a gentleman without question.”

  He waved to catch the barman’s eye. The tall man was talking to a purple-bonneted lady. Gil came over, bringing her with him.

  “Excuse me, but do you have rooms for the night?” Eustace began.

  Gill nodded. “We do and Magdalena is making them ready. Frau Bauer will fetch some of her sons’ outgrown shirts—”

  “Oh, I say,” Hal protested.

  “Don’t you be silly, my lad.” The purple-bonneted woman wagged an admonishing finger. “You can’t go on your way in rags.”

  “Madam.” Her Kentish accents propelled Hal instinctively to his feet before words failed him.

  The comfortably plump woman patted his hand. “You and yours would do the same, if my boys washed up on your doorstep.”

  “Then—thank you, Madam.” Hal bowed, rigid with mortification.

  “Frau Bauer met her husband when he served in the Kriegsmarine,” Gil explained.

  “We met in Malta when I was visiting my sister. Her husband was Royal Navy.” A saucy smile dimpled her cheeks. “Two of us girls all the way from Chatham. Just fancy.”

  “You are a long way from home.” For the life of him, Eustace couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “Aren’t we all?” The purple-bonneted lady glanced around the inn before nodding to Gil. “I’ll just step out and fetch that linen.”

  “We really are most grateful.” Eustace called after her. “To all of you,” he added hurriedly to Gil.

  The barman chuckled deep in his barrel of a chest. “You are very welcome.”

  “Thank you.” Sitting down again, Hal studied the foam on his beer. “And I’m sorry. I was talking through my hat earlier.”

  Eustace was quite knocked off his stride. He couldn’t recall when he’d ever heard Hal offer such a heartfelt apology.

  He cast around for some fresh topic of conversation. “We’re not the only travelers here, from what that lady was saying?”

  Gil regarded him for a moment before replying. Eustace found his intensity rather unnerving, until the big man smiled.

  “Your British Empire may span the globe but you’re too used to life among your own kind, in your own islands. Here we have Slav, Magyar, Czech, Rumanian, Istrian.”

  He indicated different men and women round the room, beginning with the elderly man with the fine whiskers. “The margrave rode with the Austrian Imperial Cavalry in his younger days. His nephew is visiting from Zagreb.” He nodded towards the chess players. “Dr.Aslan Bey is a Mohammedan scholar from Bosnia. Herr Schneider’s family lives in Prague.”

  The barman picked up Herr von Ledebur’s card from the table and tapped the smaller writing below the name. “Kaiserlich und königlich. Imperial and Royal. Do you know that the Austrian Empire encompasses three kingdoms, two archduchies and countless lesser fiefdoms, alongside the Hungarian Kingdom of St. Stephen? There are almost as many languages spoken within these borders as there are across the rest of Europe. Catholics live alongside Orthodox Christians and Lutherans have Calvinists for neighbors.”

  His gaze encompassed the room. “Naturally there are tensions and misunderstandings, old hatreds and feuds still cause trouble from time to time. But when people stop to share a meal and a drink and have the leisure to talk, they discover they’re not so different.”

  “It takes a broad field to make a horse race.” Eustace recalled his Pa saying that more than once.

  Gil smiled, enigmatic behind his beard. He gestured towards the stairs. “Once you’ve eaten your dinner, I imagine you would welcome a hot bath.”

  “That sounds wonderful.” Eustace reached for his pocket book. “What do we owe you?”

  He froze, appalled. His inside pocket was empty. Somehow in the fracas, their money had been lost or stolen. What on earth would they do now?

  His throat closed with panic. This was all too much, after such a long and fraught day.

  “Keep your money.” Where Gil’s eyes had glinted green, now they were mysterious gray. “Repay me by remembering this night, every detail, the good and the bad. Both of you,” he emphasized. “Remember who was so quick to accuse without reason and who was so quick to take offense with as little justification.”

  “Right-ho,” Hal said nervously.

  Eustace looked down at his grazed knuckles. But they hadn’t actually told the barman how the fight started. Had Herr von Ledebur? But he hadn’t been in the market square to hear the quarrel.

  Eustace raised his tankard and drank deep. At least this splendid beer was straight-forward.

  Rain lashed the tall windows. Todd glanced up at the gray sky outside. Nope, no trip to the beach today. But, hey, Patti loved visiting these grand old houses.

  What had Morgan said, when they’d told the guys they were going on vacation to England? “Europe’s where history comes from!” Pretty cute, for a third grader.

  All the same, he was keeping a close eye on the boys. All these antiques and paintings and vases were so tempting, and a few velvet ropes weren’t much of a barrier.

 
For now, they were both behaving. Morgan was studying some kind of square piano just the other side of the rope. Eliot stood, mouth open, staring up at the awesome painted ceiling.

  “Honey, can you see one of those cards?” Over by a dresser loaded with photos, Patti was looking around. She’d caught on real quick how much information was available in these places, if you only knew where to look for it.

  “Here you are, my dear.” A little grey-haired old lady rose from her seat in the corner, a plastic-laminated sheet in her hand.

  The British sure had a different approach to security guards. At least this one in her tweed skirt and cashmere sweater didn’t glare at the kids like they were here to steal the silver.

  “Is that the Queen?” Patti was pointing at one of the pictures.

  “That’s right, my dear,” the old lady said warmly. “With Sir Harold, Sir Andrew’s grandfather.”

  “He’s the current owner?” Patti nodded as the old lady handed her the guide to the pictures. “Hey, Todd, there are army photos. My husband’s grandpa spent some time over here before the D-Day landings,” she explained.

  “He sure did.” Todd went to look, while keeping one eye on the boys.

  “That’s Sir Harold in the Great War.” The old lady used the aerial of her walkie-talkie to point. “Enlisted in 1914 with the 5th Dragoon Guards. He was in some of the British Army’s last cavalry charges.”

  As she shook her head, Todd shared her wonderment. Horsemen riding against tanks?

  “After France, he served in Egypt,” the old lady went on, “then India and Palestine.”

  “Who’s that?” Patti pointed at a different photo, where Sir Harold stood beside another young man.

  “Sir Eustace Ferrars. Lifelong friends, right from school.” The old lady smiled. “That’s Sir Harold as best man at his wedding.”

  “What a beautiful bride.” Patti glanced at Todd and he could see the memory of their own wedding in her eyes. What a great day that had been.

  “Beatrice Dashwood was the prettiest deb of her year,” the old lady said fondly.