The Derring-Do Club and the Empire of the Dead

by David Wake

  “Perhaps where you left off,” Earnestine said. “What did you talk about last time you met?”

  “We have never met.”

  “I see.”

  “What do you think I should write?”

  Her pen hovered over the parchment, ready, the nib at the correct angle for her finest calligraphy, but she was conscious of the blankness and size of the page as well as the pregnancy and length of the silence.

  “What do you want to say?” Earnestine asked finally.

  The Prince sat on the bed and wrung his hands.

  “Do you want me to be honest?”

  “Honesty is the best policy.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Earnestine was emphatic: “Yes.”

  “What I would like to write is… erm,” said the Prince: “Your Royal Highness, thank you for the honour you are prepared to give to myself and my family – I’m not going too fast am I?”

  “Not at all.”

  “…myself and my family. Regretfully I must decline.”

  Earnestine scratched across the parchment.

  Pieter leant forward trying to look: “Is it?”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Where was I?”

  “Declining.”

  “The truth is that I have fallen in love with an English girl, she is nothing… not even from Surrey – ha, but she has captivated me from the first moment I saw her: by her beauty, by her strength of character and by her honesty. I know that duty is important, but in this matter I must follow my heart. I intend to propose and marry her and… you’ve stopped writing.”

  “I thought it wise.”

  Sitting upright on the chair, Earnestine was higher than the Prince, who was still sitting on the bed, his hands together as if in prayer or to beg as he leant forward eagerly. She had read the works of Jane Austen: Pride and Prejudice, and other, vanity–published, three–volume novels. She thought it foolish when they described how men constantly dropped to one knee to propose. Girls in the Common Room, common girls, even boasted of the number of times some gentleman, if that was the correct word, had popped the question. She thought it akin to cricket statistics: so many proposals per marriage, the number of catches and bowlings over. She had always thought it was empty boasting, as made up as Austen’s novels, but here she was, a mere three days out in the field, and here was no less than a Prince with his knee at the crease.

  The Prince motioned at the letter.

  What now, Earnestine wondered?

  “Did you get as far my proposing?” he asked.

  Earnestine glanced at the letter: “I didn’t get as far as falling in love.”

  “Would you perhaps reach that far?”

  “I am hardly a free woman.”

  “You are spoken for!? I apologise, I had no idea.”

  “Free as in ‘not kidnapped’.”

  “Ah, yes, I had forgotten.”

  “I have not.”

  “But if you were free?”

  “Would it be a condition of my release?”

  The Prince stood and paced. A few times he paused as if to ask another question or make a debating point. Earnestine watched him, alternately amused and exasperated. Finally, he stopped.

  “Perhaps this letter is a mistake,” he said.

  Earnestine put the pen back in its holder and crumpled the paper into nothing. Meanwhile, the Prince went to the door for her.

  “Please convey my feelings to Her Royal Highness, the Princess,” he said. “And find out what you can.”

  “What feelings are those?”

  “Whatever feelings you deem appropriate,” Pieter said. “My own are not wanted.”

  “If that is your wish?”

  Prince Pieter did not reply, but instead showed her into the corridor and signalled to the Vögte, who was waiting at the far end by the leaded windows.

  The Vögte, whom Earnestine saw more and more as some fawning troll, changed his posture as soon as the door closed behind her. Whereas he had bowed and scraped to the Graf, and showed a reluctant deference to the Prince, he was now erect and arrogant. Clearly, he held mere secretaries, even secretaries to royal personages, with contempt.

  “You took your time,” he sneered.

  “His Royal Highness, Prince Pieter, wished to compose his letter carefully,” she replied, enjoying the sound of his title and name as she said it.

  The man’s gaze raked downwards to fix upon Earnestine’s empty hands.

  “I am to convey his feelings in person,” Earnestine explained.

  “His Royal Highness’s future consort is this way.”

  They started off down the various corridors, Earnestine making a careful note of every turn and making sure she glanced down the side passages as they went. She counted steps too, hoping that it would not be complicated and that she would be able to draw a good map while the memory was still fresh. She knew she would be capable of the task so long as she was not distracted.

  “The Princess is very pretty,” the Vögte said.

  Pretty, indeed.

  Earnestine remained concentrated on her task: thirty two, thirty three…

  “No more than fifteen or sixteen,” the Vögte continued.

  …thirty four, thirty fifteen or thirty sixteen – honestly.

  The Prince needed someone he could turn to. The offices of state clearly needed a confidante, someone trustworthy, to hear his thoughts and assess them objectively and truthfully. If he was surrounded by these fawning Jawohl–men, then he would lose touch with reality. What he really needed was someone firm, but honest; someone who understood duty, someone like… well, someone like herself.

  She gasped.

  The Vögte turned indignantly: “Did you say something?”

  “Oh nothing, just a slight cough.”

  She looked behind her and realised that she had no idea where she was in this stone maze.

  “Forgotten something?”

  “Not at all,” she said firmly. “Shall we continue?”

  By the time they reached the landing and the Vögte came to a halt, Earnestine was sure they were at the far end of the world. The Vögte lowered his voice: “Remember to speak only when spoken to.”

  “I will.”

  “Remember, the Princess is your better.”

  “Of course, I know my place.”

  The Vögte rapped on the door three times.

  A voice answered from within: “Come!”

  The Vögte signalled Earnestine to wait outside before he opened the door, bowed low and entered.

  Earnestine could not help herself leaning forward to listen.

  “Ah, Vögte, come in.”

  “Your Royal Highness, I have a messenger from His Royal Highness, Prince Pieter.”

  “Not the Prince himself.”

  “Alas no, custom here says that it is bad luck to see your betrothed before your wedding.”

  “Surely that’s only on the day of the wedding.”

  “Here it only allowed during a short betrothal ceremony, Your Highness, but you are permitted to exchange tokens and letters; hence, this messenger.”

  “Very well, show him in.”

  Earnestine snapped upright just in time as the Vögte reappeared. He gestured impatiently and then held the door open for her to enter. As she passed him, he hissed: “curtsey.”

  Earnestine curtseyed, formally, and as she rose she admired the fine blue dress of the Princess, its embroidery and lace work, the tight waist signifying the very best of whalebone corsetry, the bare, elegant neck replete with pearls and finally the noble brow and regal countenance of…

  It was Charlotte.

  Miss Georgina

  Caruthers was talking: “Nothing at Ingolstadt and nothing in his Geneva home, which leaves us with one choice.”

  McKendry’s drawl answered him: “So you reckon it’s the Austro–Hungarians?”

  “Zeppelin sightings and a lot of supplies have been taken to their Eagle’s Claw stronghold.” />
  “They built that railhead. If nothing else we ought to find out what they’re up to there.”

  The train clattered on, the scenery rushed past. As the line curved, Georgina, with her face against the window, could see along the carriages to the engine steaming away in front. Her face felt frozen to the glass, but she didn’t dare move. She’d been pretending to be asleep for what felt like hours and only now had the three Gentlemen Adventurers relaxed enough to start talking as if she wasn’t there.

  “They’re… men?” Caruthers said. “Controlled in some way?”

  “Draugar,” said Merry. “It’s Norse mythology for golems, but they are made of clay.”

  McKendry took up the theme: “In Haiti, there are stories of ‘Zombi’. It’s a tradition in ‘Vodou’ of raising the dead to do your command. It’s false though, the witch doctors use drugs to convince someone that they’ve died and been brought to life. They use other drugs to weaken their spirit and make them suggestible.”

  “That’s all superstition,” Caruthers said, and then he lowered his voice further. “Miss Georgina talked about control boxes, which suggests a scientific explanation.”

  “Which will be at the Eagle’s Claw.”

  “We can’t go there with…” Merryweather said. There was a pause and Georgina felt her face flush as she knew that they were all looking at her.

  “We can’t very well leave her here,” Caruthers said.

  “Perhaps we could split up, one of us looks after the girl and the others do the reconnoitring,” Merryweather suggested.

  “Who would look after the girl?” McKendry asked. “Should we draw lots or ask for a volunteer, Merry?”

  Caruthers snorted and McKendry coughed as if they were sharing some joke: Merryweather was utterly silent.

  “The idea has merit,” Caruthers admitted.

  There was some rustling and Georgina resisted the impulse to look. Presently the three men were talking and pointing at possibilities on a map: this connection here, that train there, let me check the timetable. The train clattered on, making its appointed stops according to the said timetable. The condensation on the windows formed droplets which cried down the glass.

  Eventually Caruthers decided that they’d change at Innsbruck. After taking another journey, he and McKendry would follow a mountain trail to observe the Eagle’s Claw, while Merryweather would set up ‘camp one’ at another station and collect supplies.

  The idea of spending time at some hotel with Merryweather filled Georgina with conflicting emotions, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on what those feelings were. She tried listing them: anxious, safe, apprehensive, excited…

  Miss Georgina, they observed, could help him prepare the sandwiches.

  Ah yes, at last, she thought: valued.

  Miss Charlotte

  The sisters stood two sword lengths apart.

  Earnestine took a deep breath: “I–”

  “Speak only when spoken to,” the Vögte commanded, before he spoke to Charlotte: “This is His Royal Highness, Prince Pieter’s Secretary.”

  “Secretary?” repeated Charlotte.

  “Yes,” Earnestine said, “it’s a fine profession and I am employed by a true Gentleman. And you?”

  Charlotte beamed: “I’m a Princess!”

  Earnestine’s lips narrowed to a horizontal slit, which was so typical of Earnestine when she was angry, and she said nothing, which wasn’t.

  “So you say to me, ‘Your Royal Highness’,” Charlotte reminded her.

  Earnestine gritted her teeth: “Your Royal Highness.”

  “You may go, er…”

  “Vögte.”

  “Yes, leave us.”

  “Your Royal Highness,” said the Vögte. He bowed low, but also somehow managed to sneer at Earnestine, which was funny.

  Earnestine and Charlotte were alone.

  Charlotte had been naughty, she knew that, but her only real infraction had been getting on the Zeppelin. After that, everything else had followed from her genuine desire not to make the situation worse. Earnestine would understand that, surely? And getting into a Zeppelin had been curiosity, nothing more… and she’d helped the real Princess, hadn’t she? She’d helped her, she’d done what a real Royal Personage had asked her to do. That was a good thing, a jolly good thing, so really Earnestine should offer praise and thanks. And congratulations over her engagement!

  “Lottie!” Despite Earnestine’s low volume she managed to pack a lot of indignation into the two syllables.

  “Ness?”

  “I think we should have a talk.”

  Charlotte fidgeted: the last thing she wanted was for Earnestine to give another of her lectures and ruin all the fun. Earnestine had put her hands together as if praying for the right words, a prayer that Charlotte knew was always answered, because Earnestine was never short of words for Charlotte.

  “I simply don’t know where to begin,” her sister began, as she always began: what she really meant was that she didn’t know when to stop.

  So, before Earnestine got started, Charlotte decided her best plan was to change the subject: “I’m engaged.”

  Earnestine looked appalled.

  “You can congratulate me,” Charlotte suggested.

  “Engaged!!? You are the youngest sister. Before you can get engaged, there’s Georgina and before her, myself.”

  “But I’m a Princess.”

  “That may be what people here believe you to be, but you are really a thoughtless and disrespectful child. What of us? If people discover you’re engaged, then they’ll naturally assume that there’s something wrong with Gina and myself. We’ll be on the shelf. I don’t mind for myself, but it will break poor Gina’s heart.”

  “Well, she’s not here and I’m a Princess, so I can do what I like and you can’t stop me.”

  “Charlotte Deering–Dolittle, you are–”

  But Charlotte was holding up her finger to her sister: “You can only talk to me when spoken too.”

  “You spoke first.”

  “I did not.”

  “You most certainly did.”

  “Did not.”

  “Princess or no Princess, I am still the eldest and I can still send you straight to your room.”

  “I’m in my room. This is my room. It’s a Royal Suite.”

  “So it is.”

  “Because I’m royal.”

  “Why? How? Everyone thinks you are a Princess. Charlotte what have you done?”

  “I didn’t do anything, she… the real Princess wanted to swap clothes–”

  “You stole her clothes!?”

  “I didn’t! I… did as I was told.”

  “Did you?”

  “Like a good girl.”

  Earnestine snorted derisively: “Why are you not in school?”

  “Why aren’t you?”

  Earnestine gave her a sharp look.

  “Ness,” Charlotte whined. “I wanted to see the airship and the Graf–”

  “Graf?”

  “Graf Zala, lovely uniform and so manly and tall. He showed me round and let me fly the Zeppelin. You should have seen me, Ness, flying the Zeppelin, turning it and going up and down and everything. And he talked about the future, airships, aerial navies, glorious battles, military plans and… I wore trousers – imagine that, trousers.”

  “Women wearing trousers is bloomerism.”

  “It’s–”

  “Tell me, Charlotte, what was the one instruction you were given?”

  “One instruction – what are you talking about?”

  “The one instruction.”

  “I’ve had a thousand instructions.”

  “The important one.”

  “They’re all important according to you.”

  “No exploring, no trouble and no–”

  “That’s two instructions.”

  Earnestine raised her hand and Charlotte cowered, she couldn’t help herself. She wanted to be brave and assertive, and
stand up to her eldest sister, but Earnestine was such a cow.

  “Adventures!”

  “My fiancé won’t allow you to punish me,” Charlotte wailed.

  “Your fiancé will thank me… oh, Pieter!”

  The blood drained from Earnestine’s face: she looked genuinely shocked. Charlotte had only ever seen that expression when news of Papa had reached them, and then of Mama…

  “You’re engaged to Pieter,” said Earnestine. She’d turned to look at the door, her hand now a fist and she was breathing short and sharp breaths.

  “Have you seen this Prince Peter?”

  “Pieter! Yes, I have seen His Royal Highness Prince Pieter.”

  “Is he very handsome? Does he wear a uniform..? Oh, Ness, don’t be angry. You must tell me, you must tell me everything.”

  Charlotte took her sister’s arm and led her to the bed and they sat next to each other, Lottie and Ness, Ness and Lottie, just like old times: Charlotte remembered all the evenings that Earnestine had read to her and Gina. She’d taken them through the looking glass, to Treasure Island and from pride to prejudice, and although Charlotte had discovered later that her sister had often skipped certain sections of certain books, they were happy memories. And now they were having their own adventure together and wouldn’t Gina be cross to have missed all the fun. Charlotte bounced up and down on the bed.

  “Tell me everything about him,” she said.

  Earnestine began composing herself: “Well, he is handsome, tall, and he does wear a uniform.”

  “Good, good, go on, go on.”

  “Looks are not everything, Charlotte, nor the cut of his cloth, nor money, nor anything else, except that which is in his character. Does he marry with the best of intentions or does he intend to run off with one of his staff?”

  “Oh, I’m sure he won’t.”

  “So am I.”

  “Do you have something in your eye?”

  “Of course not, don’t be silly, Lottie!”

  “Sorry, Ness.”

  Charlotte had come a long way from Kensington and she wondered if this was the dreaded ‘growing up’ she’d been threatened with. Many, many times she’d been told what ‘little girls’ don’t do: these rules, never written down she’d noted, tended to ban activities that ripped dresses and scraped knees like climbing and scrumping and fighting. There had been other rules too, those for the ‘big girls’, which involved avoiding boys of any size. This was why they’d been incarcerated in Switzerland.