Against the Brotherhood

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  I have rarely encountered so soulless a smile as his. I could say nothing.

  Herr Dortmunder folded his arms to let me know he did not believe me. “A shame about the coat,” he allowed.

  “That it is,” I agreed promptly, and continued my explanation of my changing trains.

  “You have been asking for telegrams everywhere you stop,” said von Metz in a speculative manner. “Why is that? You’ve sent some, as well.”

  “To my solicitor, feckless lot that he is, wanting money before raising a finger to pen a writ,” I told him, appearing to sulk. “He’s supposed to be looking into the trust I was left. It’s got conditions in it that are ... a hardship on me and my family.” I nodded, confirming Jeffries’ own low opinion of the legal profession. “I have a wife and children, but I can’t afford to bring them to England until my father’s trust is wound up so I have my hands on the ready.” I had repeated this story often enough that it was beginning to seem real to me, in an absurd way. I did my best to look stricken without intending that either man be convinced.

  “No wonder you are willing to do these things,” said von Metz, as if this were the first he had heard of it, though I was reasonably certain it was not. “How inconvenient this arrangement must be for you, given what you seek to accomplish.” His crocodile smile was intended to show sympathy—without success.

  “I have to get that money, and that lawyer won’t act if I don’t keep at him. He’s like all that breed,” I temporized. “Too ready to take your money, and too slow to get the work done right.”

  “Alas, it was ever thus,” said von Metz with a look in his icy eyes that made me sorry for any man having to represent him in court. “Well, when this is over, you should be able to pay the whole of it.”

  “How do you mean?” I asked.

  “Considering what you have endured thus far, it is appropriate that the sum Vickers promised you be increased. You may telegraph your solicitor that his payment is assured, and inform him that you will contact him again once you return to England.” His smile made the absolute order more horrible, for it implied the gratification the man would have in making me pay for disobedience. I looked at him and felt my viscera go cold.

  “If I do that, how am I to know he’s doing his job, then?” I demanded, and heard my voice three notes higher than usual.

  “You will find a way, good fellow,” said von Metz. “If ten pounds are sent to him as an installment on his eventual fee, he will no doubt be pressed into action on your behalf.” He came toward me; I took an involuntary step back. “I do not want your attention diverted from your work for us, Herr Jeffries. Given what you have said today, it is apparent to me that we have cause to be concerned, and I must be certain you will not allow yourself any distractions from what Mister Vickers has demanded you do.”

  I did not like that word demanded, but I made myself shrug. “If that’s what you want and you’re willing to pay more for it, then I’ll manage. I’ll notify him of the money coming, as you said, and then mum’s the word until the work is done.” I found it difficult to breathe.

  “Very good.” Von Metz took a turn about the room. “I don’t know if Mister Vickers made it clear to you why your work is so important. This Scotsman you are to become acquainted with holds the key to some negotiations that are most important to me and my organization. For some years my Brotherhood and I have watched while fools determined the fate of our country. Yes, fools! And what better example of it than King Ludwig, who seeks to build nothing but fantastic palaces; and his ministers permit it. Such men have failed to see my value and foresight. I have plans for a brilliant future for Europe, grander than Napoleon ever conceived. I am an incisive leader who is not limited by ordinary conventions.”

  I had expected much ambition from the head of the Brotherhood, but I had not supposed the man would be completely self-aggrandizing as von Metz was. I lowered my head and muttered something to the effect that the times were uncertain in so many places. I wanted to appear impressed, for less than that might cause the man to turn on me. I had a moment when I had to suppress an urge to laugh at his vainglorious ravings. But I knew from what Mycroft Holmes had told me and what I had now observed for myself: von Metz was in deadly earnest, no matter how mad his vision.

  He continued on with little regard to my emotions. “The Brotherhood knows that it will take very little before the entire ridiculous cobbling called ‘peace’ collapses. The buffoons attempting to hold all together are desperate. War between Serbia and Bulgaria, so recently freed from the bondage of the Turks, and so naive, can be the spark that puts all Europe to flame. Then I, who have been ready for this, will make myself an alternative to chaos. I, and my Brotherhood, will ascend the heights by the acclaim of the people.”

  “But the Brotherhood is ... secret,” I said, wanting to show I was paying attention to him.

  “It was factored into my plans. Certain of the mad Ludwig’s ministers have been brought into our ranks, so that I am sure of their support. We might have struck within the month had it not been for the intervention of England.” He spoke the name of my country as if it were despicable. “But the Brotherhood is not daunted by the activities of busy little men. There are those who can be made to dance to our tune. To that end, we seek what the Scotsman has.” His smile reminded me of nothing so much as the gaping maw of a deadly serpent. So you see, I must have your full cooperation if I am to succeed in my aims. The King is tolerant of us for the moment, but he cannot be depended upon for anything but building palaces and castles. If he should take a notion that he is more in tune with the Golden Lodge, we could be exposed. Which I would not like, as I am sure you must appreciate.”

  I appreciated more than that: I realized that he would not let me live with the information he had given me. I also realized that he would have me killed when I ceased to be necessary to him.

  Herr Dortmunder heard this out with a faint sign of approval. He was determined to impress me with his knowledge and close ties to von Metz, for reasons that troubled me greatly.

  “There is a difficulty,” said von Metz. “There are those in the British government who would like to stop me. They have much riding on this foolish treaty. And there is the Golden Lodge, as well.” He said this casually, but I knew he was weighing my reactions. Any slip now would be very dangerous.

  I stared at him. “The Golden Lodge?” I repeated, hoping I sounded as foolish as I felt.

  “Yes. They used to be part of the Brotherhood, but in the last decade they have split off from us, going on their own for reasons that are as reprehensible as they are dangerous. They have declared themselves the enemies of the Brotherhood, pledged to bring all our efforts to ruin. Those men in Luxembourg were certainly with the Golden Lodge. None of the spymasters in Europe are aware of me, let alone of the Golden Lodge.” He scowled and made a gesture with his hands that suggested he wanted to strangle the life out of all of them.

  “Whoa there; this is getting too deep for me,” I protested. “Brotherhoods and Golden Lodges. What next?”

  “Very little. The two are ample,” said von Metz.

  “That cove in Calais—was he one of them Golden Lodgers?” I hated the question as much as I needed the answer.

  “He might have been,” said von Metz. “He may also have been sent by the British government, or—”

  I dared to interrupt him. “Not that one. He had a strong German accent. Like Herr Dortmunder.”

  “Ah,” said von Metz as if he had gained understanding from my words. He paced a few steps away, and then turned back, as if those few steps had given him wisdom. “Then he may well be of the Golden Lodge.” He paused. “Or it may be that there are men in Bavaria who have learned more than they should have and are trying to keep this treaty protected. I would anticipate such actions from them, given their determination to keep the treaty a secret.”

/>   I heard him out without satisfaction. “And what am I going to do about it?” I asked sharply. “It’s my neck that’s on the line. How am I going to watch out for these Golden Lodgers and half the civil servants in Germany? And deal with a King who’s dicked in the nob?”

  “You will not concern yourself with these issues, Mister Jeffries,” said von Metz, menace infusing his simple order.

  “Easy for you to say,” I muttered.

  Von Metz shot an angry glance in my direction. “I did not think we had employed such a coward,” he said casually.

  “Not a coward,” I corrected him. “A cove what’s careful of his skin.” And given all that had happened in the last three days, I had more than sufficient reason to be.

  “If you say so,” said von Metz in total disbelief. “I would have thought that you would be more willing to defend yourself than you have shown yourself to be thus far, but it may be that I have misunderstood you.”

  “Well, you haven’t. August Jeffries don’t turn his back on a real fight, but I’m damned if I’ll get killed for something I have no part in, and for nothing.” I let my indignation override my trepidation. “How do I know you don’t want me out there as a decoy, someone for those other-Lodge coves to shoot at while you do your real work? How do I keep from making another mistake about who’s after me, the next time someone tries to kill me? Tell me that, will you? Do I just ask them who they’re working for before they deliver the coup de grace? Do I offer them a sign to see if they have one to give back? And how do I know that you are going to pay me a single farthing for my services? Oh, yes, you say you will, but what happens to my wife and kids if you lope off and leave me in a pauper’s grave?”

  “We would not do such a thing,” said Herr Dortmunder, as affronted as I was.

  “How do I know that? Because you tell me so? Because you have a castle and armed men around you? Because of your bloody Brotherhood?” I made myself give a bark of laughter. “After the last few days, I don’t find it easy to believe you.”

  “You are offensive, Mister Jeffries,” exclaimed Herr Dortmunder.

  “But you can’t blame him,” said von Metz in a mild voice, which silenced both Herr Dortmunder and me. He went on. “I will make a deposit in any London bank you stipulate, in the amount of one hundred pounds, for your family, if that would reassure you,” he offered. “This must ease your conscience in regard to your wife and children.”

  His very blandness distressed me. “Make it two hundred,” I blustered, now more certain than ever that he would not let me live through this venture; we were haggling over my blood-money.

  “Done,” said von Metz with satisfaction. He rubbed his hands together and went to a bell-pull that hung beside the hearth. “We will dine, and then you will rest. Tomorrow you will continue on to Munich with Herr Dortmunder. The Scotsman is there for another two days. Herr Dortmunder will see to the disposal of his valet. The rest will be up to you. Fail us, and you will lose more than your eye.” He indicated my patch, and grinned.

  I heard this out with a sinking sensation, for surely I had just heard von Metz issue my death warrant.

  FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS:

  At last it is arranged. M. H. leaves in two hours for the coast, traveling in a private compartment on the night train. He will arrive in France in the morning, God and the Channel willing. The Mercury train will be ready to speed him on his way to Germany. And Edmund Sutton was able to supply the necessary clothing and complements for his other personae for this journey.

  Sutton is installed now as M.H., and has elected to use his hours here to learn the role of Angelo in Measure for Measure. He has played M.H. enough that he no longer finds the role challenging, or so he claims.

  I will visit Mother this evening, and then contact her solicitor regarding the disposal of her house in Redding.

  AFTER AN UNEASY night in a drafty unadorned room with a bed like a sepulchre, a small hearth with an inadequate supply of wood, and an oil lamp with a smoking wick, I found myself grateful for the first time that my codebook had been ruined. I should not have wanted to have to try to conceal it in this place. I thought my few reconstructed notes were as noticeable as smelting ore, and kept them under my shirt the whole night long; they felt massive as boulders. I was awakened at dawn by one of the schloss guards, who told me I had forty minutes to dress, shave, break my fast, and present myself in the courtyard for departure.

  Herr Dortmunder was waiting at the calash; the hood was raised and two bearskin rugs were lying on the seat. “It is supposed to rain this morning,” he explained. Those were the first and last words he addressed to me until we approached the outskirts of the old town of Freising, where the Bishop had once maintained his See. There was nothing much to the place now, the greater part of the region having directed its attention to Munich. “Do not show yourself,” Herr Dortmunder said then. “We may be observed.”

  There was an old church in the town, not on the Domberg with the Cathedral, St. John’s Church, and the Benedict Church—for, being the center of the Bishopric, the place had more than the usual allotment of churches—but below. We went past it quickly, although it looked to have some interesting stained glass work, having the lines of a building of the late Gothic period. I leaned forward and craned my neck as we went by, hoping to see more of the place.

  “That is Saint George’s Church. It is in disrepair,” said Herr Dortmunder, with an underlying satisfaction that caused me distress, for though I do not subscribe to the Roman Rite, I respect the history that building represented. “Sit back. Quickly.”

  I did as he ordered, and just in time, for Herr Dortmunder ordered the coachman with a signal to spring the horses. I clung to the arm-strap while the carriage lurched through the muddy streets. When we had to slow down, I was pleased.

  Then a shot rang out, and the fabric of the hood tore as a bullet ripped through it. The off-side horse neighed in distress and tried to rear, preparing to bolt. He flung his head up, attempting to wrench free of the reins. With vociferous and incomprehensible oaths, the coachman got the horses under control while passersby in the street ran for shelter, many of them shouting as they did. One woman all but swooned and had to be carried from the street. Other drivers strove to move their wagons and carriages aside. Children screamed and wailed.

  “What the devil—?” I asked.

  There was a second shot, and a third. This one struck the coachman, who roared with pain and outrage, then collapsed onto his side. There was blood on his neck-cloth and the side of his face.

  “Down on the floor. At once. Cover yourself.” Herr Dortmunder shoved me hard as he scrambled onto the coachman’s box, his postilion’s spurs jangling, flinging the man aside without ceremony as he grabbed the Hungarian reins and seized the whip, and shouting to people and vehicles to clear a path for us.

  “Who is shooting at us?” I demanded. “And why?” I was startled to realize the team had not bolted. “Your horses—“

  “Are army-trained. Gunfire doesn’t frighten them. They will hold as long as we need.” He looked around quickly as if to assure himself no one was coming up behind us.

  “Who?” I cried.

  “Later!” Herr Dortmunder thundered as we rushed through the last bits of the town, hurrying beyond the limits, and racketed along the road on the bank of the Isar toward Munich. Only when we were three miles or so from the city did Herr Dortmunder rein in his weary team and let them walk, though he continued to glance over his shoulder, as if in anticipation of pursuit.

  “What was that all about?” I got up from the floor of the calash, and looked condemningly at the rents in the hood. “And don’t try to fob me off with easy tales and vague comments.”

  “Of course not,” said Herr Dortmunder. He had lost his hat in our precipitous escape and I noticed his face was flushed to an unhealthy deg
ree. As he spoke, he kept up an uneasy surveillance, his eyes never fixing on any object for long. He made the horses walk out, though the off-side bay was beginning to flag and I could see he was favoring his on-side front foot. “That is why I told you not to let yourself be seen. There are many who do not want you to reach Munich. You will discover they are ruthless, the men of the Golden Lodge, to say nothing of the agents of the German and British governments who operate here in Bavaria. As a Servant of the Valley of Kings knows better than I.” He laughed once. “But they like to think themselves as patriotic gentlemen, and often lack the will to do the things that must be done. They suppose that they will smirch the honor of their countries, and are of little concern. The Golden Lodge has no such compunctions.”

  “And what of your coachman? Have you no thought for him?” I did not like what that fellow’s treatment implied where I was concerned.

  “He cannot speak. And if they attempt to force him to reveal his knowledge some other way, he has a vial of poison, and he will use it.” The cold confidence with which Herr Dortmunder spoke was truly frightening.

  More than anything I wished now I could speak directly with Mycroft Holmes. I knew that he would be able to unravel this coil. I cleared my throat. “Well, if I’m going to be set upon by men of that sort, you had better let me send a telegram to my solicitor at once. So I can arrange to file my will with him.” I had wanted to sound disgusted and brave, but to my own ears, my words seemed hollow, petulant and frightened.

  “We will arrive there shortly. When you go to the train station to send the telegram, you will have to go in disguise. Whoever is following us, they are no longer fooled by that new coat of yours. We will have to find some other costume for you.” He spat, and whipped up the pair to a trot, though the foam on their coats from the maddened rush from Freising had not yet dried. “We will be there shortly. And I will search out the Scotsman, to take care of his valet. The rest is up to you. I advise you not to fail.”