The Derring-Do Club and the Empire of the Dead

by David Wake

  She paused to examine herself in the mirror: she looked smart.

  She was still wearing the ruby ring. She took it off and flung the hateful thing down on the dresser. There, she wasn’t going to play.

  She strode along the corridor and then sprinted up the spiralling stairs.

  Outside the wind whipped her hair loose; she saw the mighty behemoth dominate the sky. It roared like a beast, its rotors whining as it strained against its moorings to be free.

  A guard stopped Charlotte at the gangway.

  “Nein.”

  “I am your Crown Princess,” she told him: “Stand aside!”

  He didn’t move.

  Above, Graf Zala was passing the entrance. He saw her, their eyes met. They looked at each other over the distance from ground to air, and he laughed.

  “Come, come!” he shouted.

  With five strides she was aboard.

  “Welcome aboard, Your Highness,” he said. “We shall be airborne in a moment.”

  There were shouts, desperate activity below, and then Charlotte looked out of the front windows at the sky ahead.

  There was a lurch and the ground no longer held them in its sway. The airship pitched, the gusts of wind pushing it dangerously close to the tower. The Graf gave an order, sharp and direct, and the pilot pulled the wheel around fighting the rudder, which did not want to turn against the wind. Charlotte leaned across, grabbed a handle and gave the last push required. The mighty vehicle turned and rose sharply, everyone leaning forward as the floor became a slope.

  It rose, cleared the castle and picked up speed as it entered the valley proper where the air funnelled into a rapid stream. The ravine walls rushed past at an exhilarating pace.

  Charlotte was laughing. She dragged her attention away from the flight to exchange a glance with the Graf. He too was excited, thrilled for her. Every foot climbed took her further away from the unholy actions below and closer to heaven. She would be like a bird of paradise and never land.

  “Faster,” she implored.

  “We are at maximum revolutions,” the pilot said.

  “Faster!”

  “Ja,” said the Graf. “Faster.”

  The airship soared over the mountains and Charlotte felt so alive.

  In the map room, the Graf had shown her the intricacies of navigation. It was not as simple as drawing a line between their start and destination, in this case Eagle’s Claw and Strasburg, as the wind’s direction and strength needed to be taken into account. Their height was a factor too as the air did not all flow in the same direction, but apparently varied at different altitudes. Once these calculations were made, the final heading was passed to the pilot either by shouting down a voice pipe or by written note. The pilot steered the airship on this heading and the wind blew them into the correct direction.

  There had been reports that the spies were heading to Munich and the airship could intercept them at Strasburg.

  Under the Graf’s approving gaze, Charlotte herself had plotted the heading to Strasburg.

  “The advantage of airships is that they can go in a straight line,” the Graf explained. “Everything else has to follow a set route. Trains in this terrain must follow the contour lines, but we soar as the eagle flies over mountains, fields, lakes and English Channels.”

  Their heading was North–Northwest, 340 degrees, but the easterly wind was dragging them further west. Charlotte continued marking their progress on the map, sighting every so often or taking a reading given to her by another air officer. Their progress became a series of jumps marked in pencil rather than a continuous straight line: the wind direction and strength was not consistent and it did shift as they changed altitude. They reached 250 metres, which, Charlotte thought, must be nearly the moon in miles.

  It was so thrilling and before long she was so tired.

  The Graf insisted that she rest and on his third attempt, Charlotte relented. There were fine rooms, small cabins, which she remembered from when she first sneaked aboard the Zeppelin. She was shown the same room in which she’d met the real Princess, and yet it was different. This was another Zeppelin, identical in design and manufacture, but fitted out with subtle differences.

  “How many Zeppelins do you have?” she asked.

  “A fleet… four, fitted with different ordinance: bombs, incendiaries and this one, the fastest my Liebchen, is one of three fitted with chemical dispersion units.”

  “Chemical?”

  “Ja, all in good time: navigation today, warfare tomorrow.”

  When he left her, she slipped out of her uniform and went to sleep in the bunk wearing only her chemise. With the occasional creak, the gentle shifting of the whole world as the Zeppelin manoeuvred was utterly relaxing.

  Charlotte thought about… she was tired and…

  The airship tilted again, this time downwards, and there was a knock at the door.

  “Liebchen?”

  “Yes!”

  “We are arriving in Strasburg.”

  “I’ll get my uniform.”

  Chapter XII

  Miss Deering-Dolittle

  The train hissed to a stop: Strasburg.

  Merryweather came back, finally: “They are searching the train.”

  Strasburg wasn’t France, it was still in Germany, so they hadn’t escaped. They weren’t due to cross the border until dusk. It was only about 25 kilometres away, which sounded close, and it would seem even nearer in miles. It wasn’t dark yet, but the evening was approaching. They’d be safe in an hour, if only the train would start rolling again.

  Merryweather rocked back and forth in the cabin, clearly wanting to pace, and he rubbed his chin in that ‘what to do’ manner.

  Earnestine pushed her face against the window pane. Outside there were men running about, the spikes on their helmets catching the light even if their insignia weren’t visible through the begrimed glass. Far ahead, towering above the others, Graf Zala directed the search.

  “They started at the front,” said Merryweather. “We’ll stick together and try and bluff it out.”

  “We don’t have any papers,” said Earnestine.

  “I’ll say… I’ll come up with something.”

  “I’m sure you will, Merry,” Georgina said.

  Of course, Georgina was too busy simpering to the Captain to realise the gravity of their situation.

  Earnestine coughed to command their attention.

  “They don’t know you, Merryweather, or Georgina, but I’m a liability.”

  “Well, M– Miss, I’d hardly–”

  “Quiet! The Graf will recognise me. There’s more at stake than us, any of us. The message is more important. You go on. You’ve got papers. My letter. Here, have the silver io–wotnot,” she fished out the envelope and passed it over.

  “I really think–”

  “Luggage!”

  “There’s no time to move luggage, Ness,” Georgina said.

  Earnestine ignored her: “Did you book this cabin under your own name?”

  “Captain Merryweather, yes.”

  “But not ours?”

  “No.”

  “Then we move our luggage and you sit tight.”

  Earnestine grabbed both their bags, manhandled them round in the cramped cabin and out of the door into the corridor.

  Whistles blew outside, shouts, and there was some disturbance. The soldiers were flushing out various wrong–doers in their search. That would give them a few more moments. Earnestine clicked her fingers and pointed. Georgina quickly gathered their belongings. Luckily Merryweather hadn’t known what to purchase for two young ladies, so there wasn’t the usual mountain of paraphernalia strewn about.

  They were in the last sleeping coach, and they couldn’t go forward because of the soldiers, so the only option was the baggage coach at the very rear of the train. Earnestine stowed their bags and looked about. The carriage was filled with trunks, expensive items of luggage, and a huge number of hat boxes. Further down, th
ere were bags for mail and supplies.

  Standing on tiptoe, Earnestine could just see through the tiny, barred windows. The line of activity seemed closer. Merryweather was standing on the platform casually smoking a cigar. There were other passengers: one portly woman in blue was berating a soldier. Merryweather glanced at the carriage, looked along and then stared at the baggage coach. Earnestine pulled back and then looked again. He couldn’t see her, the window was too small and dark, but he must know that Georgina and she were hiding there. He frowned, worried, and nodded towards the carriage. He must mean, Earnestine thought, that there were soldiers on the train moving along.

  “Hide!”

  Georgina immediately started searching for a place. Earnestine found a gap between the mailbags and the wall. No, this wasn’t going to work.

  The door burst open, clattering, and Earnestine heard men bursting in.

  “Achtung!”

  “Ah, there it is,” Georgina said sweetly.

  The soldier started barking orders at her.

  “That’s all very well, but I’m afraid I don’t understand German.”

  “Platform! Everyone!”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Platform!”

  “But I needed my hat. It’s such a sunny day and the sunlight affects my skin terribly.”

  “Now! Now!”

  “Of course,” said Georgina. Earnestine hunkered down as she heard Georgina’s footsteps move away and hobnailed boots clomp closer as the soldier started to search the coach.

  “Door please!” Georgina commanded.

  A soldier swore in German.

  “If you would hold the door open for a lady: manners maketh man.”

  There were some choice grumblings and Earnestine heard the door catch again.

  “Thank you, most kind.”

  The door closed: everything was quiet in the baggage coach.

  Earnestine waited, convinced that a soldier was standing silently, waiting to ambush, but when she finally crawled out, she saw she was alone. The view through the small window was tantalising and uninformative.

  Earnestine sat on a hat box, splitting it beneath her, and wondered what to do. She should hide, logically, and the baggage coach door made such a clatter when she went through, but she wanted to see what was going on: curiosity wasn’t a crime.

  She quickly scooted into the rear passenger coach and tried the first cabin… the second along was unlocked. She thought it best not to go to their own cabin. Bent double, she shuffled to the window. When she looked out, she was careful to keep the lace curtain in front of her.

  On the platform, Graf Zala pushed through the throng, barging Merryweather himself out of the way. The Captain’s fist clenched.

  “Miss Deering–Dolittle,” the Graf exclaimed triumphantly.

  Georgina kept her face away from him.

  Captain Merryweather stepped out of the throng: “I say.”

  There was a scuffle as Merryweather was bundled away and… the window didn’t afford an adequate view particularly when the Graf came right up to Georgina. Earnestine ducked down. Georgina was facing the window, looking straight at Earnestine, as the Graf blotted out the light above her.

  “Fräulein?”

  Georgina turned: what choice did she have?

  The Graf faltered: “You are not Fräulein Deering–Dolittle.”

  “No,” she said, “I’m… Merryweather.”

  The Graf screeched at his men: Earnestine doubted even a German speaker would have been able to follow the actual words, but the meaning was clear. The soldiers actually cowered, slouching their shoulders and looking away. The Graf snapped off a few German phrases. The soldiers went about at the double.

  “Fräulein Merryweather,” he said, “ich bitte um Entschuldigung.”

  “I beg your pardon,” said Georgina.

  “My apologies, Fräulein.”

  “I should think so too.”

  They bowed to each other and then the Graf clicked his heels and marched away.

  A station porter began shouting in German, French and then, finally, English: “Back on the train, back on the train.”

  They’d got away with it. Earnestine couldn’t believe it.

  She crawled out from the cabin, jumped up and pretended she was supposed to be inside already. She’d simply be one of the first to get back on the train. She straightened a loose wisp of hair, realised that she probably looked dreadful and made her way to their cabin. Sooner or later, Georgina would appear, Captain Merryweather would kindly come to check they were all right and Earnestine would be sharp with him and tell him to wait in the restaurant. They could have tiffin, afternoon tea or… she had no idea of the time.

  They were travelling west, so they were moving through the various European time zones, which was… oh dear. Jules Verne’s Around the World in Eighty Days had Phileas Fogg going east and he gained a day, so they must be losing hours. So starting at breakfast, Tiffin would be an hour early and afternoon tea, assuming the train made good progress to Paris, would be another hour earlier still. Her stomach seemed to suggest the opposite, but perhaps the recent excitement had given her indigestion.

  She giggled: her hands were shaking.

  Must get a grip before Georgina returns, she thought.

  Where was she?

  She’d have to go and look for her.

  No – impossible.

  The Graf hadn’t recognised Georgina, but his use of their surname meant he was looking for Earnestine herself. The Graf had seen her at the castle; he must know now that she’d escaped and come to the conclusion – correctly – that she knew something.

  Georgina arrived: “Ness!”

  “Don’t make a fuss,” Earnestine chided.

  Earnestine sat down, held her traitorous hands together on her lap and pecked her head slightly to indicate that Georgina should take the seat opposite. Georgina sat, fidgeted and stood again.

  Georgina opened her mouth: “Arthur–”

  “Calm down,” Earnestine snapped.

  “Captain Merryweather isn’t in the restaurant.”

  “You went to the restaurant first?”

  “Of course. He’s not there.”

  “Then he’ll be in his cabin.”

  “This is his cabin.”

  “Oh yes.”

  Georgina glanced out of the window: “Where is he?”

  “He’ll be along shortly, I’m sure.”

  The train clattered, doors banged shut, a shrill whistle filled the air and there were shouts.

  “Arthur!”

  “Gina! Sit down! We can’t do anything,” Earnestine said, putting her hand on her sister’s arm and gently, but firmly, pressing her back into her seat. “We would jeopardise our safety, our mission. And his safety.”

  The steam engine hissed loudly, tugged, the carriages jerked back and forth before settling. Strasburg station began to creep away behind them.

  Georgina looked out of the window, looked and looked, craning her neck from one side to another.

  “He’ll be on the train,” Earnestine said.

  “There was some commotion, some… The soldiers took him away!”

  “He’ll be on–”

  “They’ve got him!”

  “Nonsense.”

  Earnestine shifted over and looked out herself: suddenly, she was staring at the Graf and he stared back, his face a picture of surprise superimposed over the reflection in the glass of her own shock. Try as she might, she couldn’t break eye contact as the train pulled away, picked up speed, then his face was obscured by the lace curtain and the spell was broken. Through a delicate hole, Earnestine saw him shouting and pointing at the train. Men moved, jumping towards the train. Earnestine pressed her cheek against the glass, pushing as hard as she could to see the rear of the train, men running down the platform and a few reaching the door of the baggage train, pulling it open, jumping on: one, two, three, he stumbled and fell. A fourth made it and then the station was
too far behind and the train too fast.

  “They’re on the train!” she said. “Three. We’re out numbered.”

  “There’s Arthur.”

  “Yes.”

  Earnestine opened the door, sliding it as quietly as possible. Despite the iron foundry racket of the wheels on rails and the roaring wind, the door’s slight squeak seemed to screech above the clamour. She stuck her head out, glanced right and left, and then right and left again: all clear.

  Georgina went ahead, shuffling through those patrons who were still settling in their cabins.

  Glancing back, Earnestine saw the soldiers coming into the coach at the far end, ducked away and then sneaked another glance. They were checking each cabin in turn and, Earnestine was relieved to realise, this would slow them down.

  Moving from one coach to the next gave Earnestine pause. The gap between the metal footplates showed the ground whizzing underneath. Everything clattered and the coaches moved in relation to each other, so the step across was nerve wracking.

  Georgina was coming back, when Earnestine met her halfway along the next coach.

  “He’s not there,” Georgina said.

  “I see,” Earnestine said.

  “Where is he?”

  If they stopped here, then the soldiers would find them. Earnestine shooed Georgina back towards the restaurant. Once they’d crossed the frightening divide, they were surrounded by genteel customers from all the nations of Europe: a fat Frenchman here, a moustached Belgian perhaps, a tall Englishman, an elegant lady from Vienna and so on, as well as the porters and waiters. Captain Merryweather was not amongst them.

  “Ness, where is he?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  They were in German territory, so the soldiers would have some jurisdiction. What was she thinking? They had guns.

  “Ness?”

  “Don’t whine.”

  There were three options: return to the cabin, stay here in the restaurant or go on. At the door to the restaurant coach, a soldier jostled with a patron.

  Earnestine took Georgina’s hand and they went forward between the tables and through a menu of aromas.

  There was another terrifying gap to negotiate before the next sleeping coach. The going was easier now that everyone had settled, so they reached the next frightening gap and the forward, longer coach, quickly. The one after that brought them into the forward baggage coach. Earnestine knew that they were just running without a plan.