The Derring-Do Club and the Empire of the Dead

by David Wake

  “Very good, Julietta.”

  Julietta beamed a smile just for Georgina.

  It was so unfair, because it had been Charlotte whose action had led to their incarceration in this Swiss–bordered prison, and yet somehow it was Georgina’s fault for not keeping an eye on the wayward child. The responsibility was surely the faultless Miss Deering–Dolittle’s: after all, it had been her idea to delegate. But the blame had landed on Georgina, who was such a disappointment: the older Earnestine had even gained credit for having the fortitude to bear the indignities heaped upon her by her younger sisters.

  The problem was that no–one understood how much worse life was for the middle sister of three: Earnestine had that bearing and deportment that came naturally to one with such a regal, elegant appearance, and Charlotte had blonde prettiness on her side, but Georgina knew that she was dumpy with a round, blank face. She was the one who would be passed over when it came to marriage.

  Miss Price marched between the desks to the front and began stabbing the Latin word for ‘love’ with her long rule.

  A pellet of paper struck Georgina from behind and when she turned round, several of the other girls were pulling faces. Georgina ignored them and tried to concentrate on the board instead, but her gaze was drawn back to virgin snow before Miss Price reached the first person plural.

  When the first group reached the College buildings, men split off to go left and right around the building. Georgina continued to watch as the distant majority, a mass that lurched forward with a strange mix of marching and stumbling, negotiated the stone archway into the grounds. There were dogs too, great barking beasts that strained at their leashes with a wild ferocity.

  In the first group, the lead figure, striding ahead, looked by his bearing like an officer. He pulled off his leather gloves, gathered them together and then slapped his palm before glancing up: Georgina caught sight of his aquiline features, dark moustache and saturnine beard. She jerked back like any guilty schoolgirl and when she leant forward again, her breath freezing on the pane and creating a complex craquelure of ice, he had vanished from view.

  “…amant,” said Miss Price.

  Somewhere in the distance, a bell jangled for attention and Georgina heard barking and male voices.

  Glancing across to the East Wing, Georgina saw that light again and this time it was joined by another.

  There was pounding on the front door and she heard the Caretaker’s voice, shouting and then subdued. It couldn’t have been the Caretaker in the East Wing then, Georgina realised, could it, because he couldn’t be in two places at once? She’d tell Earnestine and that would show her, the pompous–

  There was a sharp crack, like a distant shot.

  “Georgina!”

  Georgina snapped her head round to study the conjugation of ‘amo’.

  “The third person second participle is?”

  Georgina was saved by a commotion outside the room.

  “Wait here, page fifty two onwards,” said Miss Price. She went outside, ready to vent her spleen at the girls responsible for the noise; however, she returned forthwith. “Girls, we’re wanted downstairs. Girls!”

  The class rose quickly, eager to be away from Latin, and began filing out.

  “Leave that!” Miss Price commanded: “Hurry along now!”

  At the top of the stairs, Georgina saw the other classes gathered below in the hallway with a group of officers. There was a barking dog and some strange shambling men. Miss Hardcastle was arguing with them, but they seemed adamant. Charlotte would probably be able to identify them as Dragoons or Fusiliers or–

  Oh my giddy aunt!

  Charlotte was not with her class. The stupid girl had wandered off – just typical, absolutely typical. Didn’t the silly thing hear any of the taunts and jibes from the other girls? Earnestine wasn’t there either. She was probably searching for Georgina, armed with disapproving looks, to ask why Georgina had lost Charlotte – again.

  The man–in–charge was shouting: “All of you in the library! All, I say!”

  Georgina tarried, knowing just where to slip out of line and down a side corridor to the back stairs.

  A voice shouted after her, mocking: “Off exploring!” It was Julietta, smiling in that sweet and irksome manner.

  The others joined in: “Amazo, Amazon, I’m–a–spot, am–as–gone, am–as–lost, as–an–ant?”

  Georgina turned back: “Don’t be so childish.”

  “Derring–do, derring–do…”

  “Drop dead.”

  “Oooh…” but one of the teachers shuffled the line along and Georgina slipped away.

  The back stairs had been the servants’ stairs before Miss Hardcastle had taken over the building. Down Georgina went and then along to the Geography Room. This was where Charlotte would be, daydreaming about soldiers no doubt.

  Except, she wasn’t.

  Nor was she in the next classroom, History, reading about famous battles.

  “Georgina!” It was Miss Trenchard. Georgina was in trouble now, but at least it wasn’t Earnestine scolding her. “What are you doing here, girl?”

  “Miss, I’m trying to find Charlotte.”

  “Are you lost, Georgina? Going off to search for another family member?”

  Georgina’s face burned: it was awful getting these comments from her school ‘chums’, but utterly unbearable for the teachers to be joining in.

  “I’m sure she can find herself,” Miss Trenchard continued. She tapped her yardstick on the floor impatiently. “Come along, you are wanted in the Library.”

  “Why, Miss?”

  “Don’t be impertinent, girl.”

  Miss Trenchard ushered her into the corridor and propelled her along towards the library. When Georgina glanced back, the teacher was just going into the Geography Room, presumably to check for other errant pupils.

  Georgina’s head stopped first, her feet a moment later, so that she was left leaning backwards, sniffing. The smell was off–putting and it took her a moment to fail to recognise it. What was that?

  At the far end, a group of men shambled towards her. Perhaps they would know, she wondered, but something was wrong, very wrong. They moved awkwardly like puppets, as if they weren’t put together properly, and a low moaning issuing from their throats. Their clothes were old, worn and filthy, and their skin was yellow. On the side of each of their heads was a brass box that – Georgina saw with wide eyes – was nailed into their skulls! A spark, like miniature lightning, played inside the metal casing, and the creatures jerked and straightened up.

  “Ach,” said a smart officer standing behind the monsters, “do you like my little pets?”

  He held up a device, wooden with brass fittings, and pressed a switch. The boxes attached to the men sparked again and the creatures shuffled towards her.

  Georgina turned and fled.

  A cry came up behind her: “Achtung!”

  The moaning increased and she could hear the sounds of pursuit.

  Georgina sprinted back the way she had come, paying little heed to the risk that the polished parquet represented. She had to get away: Earnestine, she needed Earnestine. Her sister would know what to do.

  “Don’t run in the corridor!” Miss Trenchard shouted after her. “Girls should not exert themselves.”

  Where would her sister be?

  Georgina was panicking as she skidded to a halt by the entrance to the East Wing. Earnestine would not have crossed the ‘Out of Bounds’ sign, so where else could she be?

  Behind her, Miss Trenchard screamed like a frightened child, a high–pitched and harrowing trill. Georgina looked back and wished she hadn’t. The teacher defended herself, her yardstick striking at the brute, but to no avail. Georgina ran away in the only direction left to her, fear driving her onward, and, without having a plan, she found herself in the ski locker room.

  Get help, she thought, outside help.

  Everything was locked away.

  She’d
need something to keep warm outside, but there was no time; perhaps she could keep warm by running. Running did seem like a good idea.

  She pulled open the outer door and plunged into the whiteness. Gunshots sounded and an angry bee zipped past her left ear, but she didn’t look behind her. Instead, she kept going, aiming for the small stone archway that was her escape route from the grounds. It was close, closer, and she was there. The stonework shattered, spreading shrapnel in her path: she held her hand out to ward it off as she sprang through, and sharp stabs of pain peppered her palm.

  Above, a terrifying black shape dominated a worsening sky as a massive, ominous lump hung impossibly in the air. Huge propellers whined and complained as they manoeuvred the bulk above her. The turbulence picked up the snow falling and whipped it into huge spirals. This was the incredible object that had cast a shadow across the school earlier.

  There were distant shouts behind her: “Lassen Sie die Hunde los!” and the mad barking of the dogs changed pitch suddenly.

  Beyond the arch was an open area, hidden by the wall, and then there was the treeline.

  Her boots disappeared into the drift with each step to slip and stumble on who knew what. The hem of her long dress became soaked, the heavy snow leaching into her petticoats and pulling her down. Cold water reached her toes and it seemed that icy fingers rose up her stockings. She went downhill and suddenly a huge white arena opened up as she reached the frozen river. Slipping at first, she found a gait that worked and began running across the wide open space.

  She heard snarling and risked glancing back: huge dogs smashed through the undergrowth towards her. The three mastiffs slid around too, but their four legs were more stable, and so they pounded onwards getting closer all the time.

  Georgina ran, her lungs aching from forcing the cold air in and out.

  The middle of the frozen river was marked by a cut where the water flowed still. To her right, the river narrowed to stepping stones and to her left, someway off, was the waterfall leading down to the valley. Which way?

  The dogs were nearly upon her.

  Georgina turned to run along the irregular channel, but her speed was too great. She slipped, fell and hurtled towards the churning water, scrabbling as she slid to slow herself.

  Her hunters realised the danger too. One squealed as its paws came from under it and it crashed into Georgina. Animal and human went into the water.

  The air slammed out of Georgina as the cold shocked her. The water frothed as the dog thrashed about. The other dogs tried to reach Georgina as she grasped the edge of the ice sheet, her hands blue, and she tried to pull herself up towards the snapping, biting jaws. She knew that she had to get out of the freezing water, had to.

  But she couldn’t and slid back, pulled by the current under the ice.

  Deep breath!

  Above her, the two dogs clawed and attacked the thin transparent sheet that protected her as she slipped away underneath.

  Miss Charlotte

  As for the youngest of the Deering-Dolittle sisters: Charlotte knew that Georgina would murder her and, far worse, Earnestine would disapprove - for Charlotte was on the Zeppelin when it took off.

  Chapter II

  Miss Deering-Dolittle

  For the men kidnapping Earnestine, it had gone badly. In an undignified rush they had bundled the struggling young lady along a corridor, up some stairs and then towards the stables. Earnestine had not been worried or afraid, because she was so thoroughly vexed with a kind of spitting rage that her usual refined and controlled demeanour did not know one end of from the other. For her part, she had lashed out at the March Hare, Mad Hatter and the Dormouse with her sharp pointed Baker Street boots whenever the opportunity had presented itself, and was rewarded as often as not with a yelp and a Germanic curse. Nevertheless, the indignities had continued and the Cheshire Cat, that irritatingly handsome Gardener’s Hand, had eluded her.

  The cold air on her ankles – oh, her dress must be riding up… it was mortifying!

  They were outside and barely across the snow covered croquet lawn when Earnestine found herself pitched into the air and slung across the back of a horse. The beast’s haunches forced the wind out of her lungs, blowing up the disgusting great coat that still imprisoned her like a bag. Her feet, stuck out of the coat, froze, and yet, struggling inside the thick material, she was too hot. Someone, she was fairly sure it was that upstart oik, mounted the saddle to her right and took control of the reins.

  A man’s hand slapped her derriere and they set off at a mad dash.

  It was clear that the rider was deliberately choosing the most uneven ground as Earnestine was thrown about, bounced and bucked. She felt utterly sick, bruised and battered despite the armour of her corset, and then suddenly it was over. Hands grabbed her and manhandled her down like a package. She tipped alarmingly to one side as she slid from the horse’s neck. Even dazed and confused she managed to kick out, unsure whether her frozen toes would know it if she did find a target.

  “Hellcat!”

  Luckily, she landed on her feet and she stood upright before, to her embarrassment, she dropped into a sitting position, hurting her pummelled and bruised dignity. When finally, by sheer pertinacity, she freed herself, the shock of cold air was stupefying. She sat, panting, almost retching as her internal organs shifted back into place.

  The four ruffians had gathered around each other, speaking German.

  “Excuse–” she managed.

  “Sorry, we must get the horses inside,” said… well, Earnestine didn’t know, because they were just dark shapes in the swirling snow.

  “Excuse me?”

  They ignored her.

  This would have made Earnestine apoplectic had her frame known how to generate such a state, and a barrage of ‘excuse me’s did not disturb them from their worried sounding Germanic mumbling.

  Their attention was focused with quick glances up the road.

  It was intolerable, utterly intolerable: “Excuse me!!!”

  “Shhh, Fräulein, please.”

  This Gardener’s Hand, even dressed up in some pseudo uniform, had the utter temerity to tell her what to do. Her!

  “We must go back for the others,” the Gardener’s Hand said in English.

  “Isn’t one enough,” the March Hare replied. He limped – ha!

  “Excuse me!”

  The March Hare raised an insistent finger: “Fräulein, quiet.”

  “I will not.”

  “You will,” he said.

  “We are responsible,” said the Gardener’s Hand, coming over to Earnestine.

  “Pieter, we must get the horses inside,” the Mad Hatter repeated.

  The Gardener’s Hand reached down and kindly helped Earnestine to her feet. She hit him, and then she ran off away from the looming building and into the white nothingness.

  “Ach!” The man gave chase, slipping and stumbling after her. “Earnestine, Earnestine, we must get indoors.”

  “Get away from me!”

  “Earnestine.”

  “Go to hell!”

  She’d sworn!

  Hopefully the wind had carried her words away and he wouldn’t have heard. She glanced back: he wasn’t far behind and she recognised the building now as the inn in the village down the valley. It was, as Miss Hardcastle had often pointed out, absolutely out of bounds: under no circumstances, girls, are you to go down to the village. Earnestine had tried so hard to be responsible, only to be thwarted by the Family Curse: I must not explore.

  Pieter was a few paces away.

  Earnestine forced her cold fingers into a fist. He stopped, scared, and finally Earnestine felt she was gaining control of the situation.

  “Now, Pieter,” she said, “you are to apologise, take me back to the college immediately and explain to the Principal. Do you hear? Do you hear?”

  He hadn’t – he was looking over her shoulder.

  “Listen to me!”

  “Earnestine–”
/>   “Miss Deering–Dolittle to you.”

  “Miss, you must come with me now.”

  She wasn’t going to look, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction, but, of course, she did.

  Behind a flickering curtain of falling snow that sparkled where the gaslight from the inn caught the swirling flakes, the road led up into the stygian night. In the distance were other lights, eerie and fizzing like lightning. She saw figures marching towards them in an uneven line, their distorted faces illuminated by the sparks in their… helmets? Their clothes were rags and yet they moved with complete disregard for the icy storm.

  “Come with me or we will die,” Pieter repeated, his hand touching hers gently.

  She snatched her hand away: “I will die then.”

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  “I am not going on an adventure.”

  Pieter put his hands together as if he was praying and then touched his lips in thought.

  He began carefully: “My colleagues, Herr Metzger, Hauptmann Schneider and Oberst Kroll, and I will protect you.”

  Earnestine followed his indication from the March Hare to the Dormouse and finally resting upon the solid frame of the Mad Hatter: Metzger, Schneider and Kroll… and Pieter: names to remember to tell the Head Mistress.

  “We need to go to the inn.”

  “The inn?”

  “It is a strong building and… they are nearly upon us.”

  “Oh, very well.”

  He marched towards the inn and Earnestine had to run to keep up.

  Inside it was warm; the lights cast a red glow over the furnishings and a fire burned in the hearth. A woman, the Innkeeper’s wife, bustled about, making everyone welcome.

  “Barricade the doors,” Pieter said.

  The other gardeners had already selected the heaviest furniture.

  The Innkeeper’s wife started to protest and her clientele stood to assist. About twenty villagers, arranged around small tables, scraped their chairs back as they stood. The gardeners ignored them until one burly giant of a man grabbed the bench he was moving. They exchanged angry words in different languages.

  “Achtung!”