The Tin Princess, Page 20

  "Your Majesty," he said quietly. "Put your cloaks on, if you've got 'em. Then follow me, and don't make a sound. Becky - you got that pistol? Good. Don't fire it unless I tell you. The main thing is quiet - we'll talk later."

  They threw their cloaks around them in a moment. Becky took the carpet-bag and they followed Jim on tiptoe out of the room that had been their prison into the wider Castle that still was.

  About two minutes later, the Captain sent a man down to the guardroom to order them to bring Jim out. When he saw the stout soldier barefoot, struggling at the wall and apparently in the act of eating a sock, he laughed; but the grunting, snorting noises, the anguished heaving of the pinioned arms, the rolling eyes, soon stopped the laughter.

  "Where's he gone?" he asked, dragging the sock out of the man's trembling mouth.

  "Upstairs - to her room - the Queen - and then out through the kitchens - wait! What's he done to Trautmann? He never come back from taking his food -"

  "You go and see! Damned fine guard you are - I don't fancy being in your shoes when the Captain finds out -" The newcomer stumbled over the empty boots on his way out, and flung them at the guard with a curse. "So you better put 'em on yourself."

  And he ran off to raise the alarm.

  Endless corridors, endless staircases; archways, vaults, blind doorways, windows barred with iron; and at one point a hall whose dusty wooden floor was big enough, Jim thought, to play a decent game of cricket on. Vast columns of stone rose to the distant ceiling, carved like entwining plant-stems. Immense windows thick with grime - some of their panes broken many years before - overlooked the snow-bound city, and all three of them stopped to gasp at the icy beauty, and then caught their breath again as they saw a line of silent watchers along the wall behind them.

  Jim's finger tightened on the trigger - and then he caught the dull gleam of empty suits of armour.

  But which was the way out?

  He'd got them lost in this abominable maze.

  "Hey, Jim?" whispered Adelaide.

  "What?"

  "Remember the Animal Charcoal Works? When we were running away from Mrs Holland?"

  "I'll never forget it."

  "Nor will I. I was just thinking - at least this is clean."

  "Same result if they catch us. Let's try that door over there..."

  A high archway led to a wide, shallow, stone-flagged staircase leading down. They moved along it silently, three ghosts, only the faint glimmer of the lantern - which Jim kept masked as much as possible - to give them away.

  "Here - what's this?" he said, stopped by a window.

  It overlooked a garden, or the ruins of one; bare trees and shrubs held up their arms of snow, and a leaden statue or two, a silent fountain-basin sheathed in ice, and a broken pergola gave off an air of deserted melancholy.

  But more to the point, the window was only ten feet or so above the ground, and beyond the garden wall was the open street, where dim lights glowed behind the shutters of the old houses.

  "Hold the gun," he said to Adelaide, and took the wooden dagger out of his sock.

  It took no more than a few seconds and a creak of rust to prise open the catch. The air they breathed in was fresh and welcome.

  "What are we going to do? Not jump?" said Becky.

  "It's only ten feet, and snow to land on. You first, then the Queen, and I'll come last. When you land, keep your knees bent and roll over. Then you won't twist an ankle. When you've got up I'll drop the bag to you. Go on, don't think about it, jump."

  Encumbered by her thick skirt and cloak, Becky struggled to get through, and fell more suddenly than she expected to. She hit the ground with a thump that shook a loud gasp out of her, and fell on her face in the snow, but got up unhurt as soon as she'd recovered her breath.

  Jim dropped the bag to her, and then helped Adelaide out - far more considerately than he'd done with her, Becky thought.

  Adelaide fell lightly, almost like a bird landing, and rolled over as Jim had told her, to get up in a moment. Jim was fiddling with the handle of the window; Becky couldn't see what he was doing, but when he jumped, he looked around in the snow and picked up a ball of dark wool that was attached to something above. Rolling it up, he tugged carefully, and the window seemed to pull itself shut. He snapped the wool and put the ball in his pocket.

  "We can't hide our prints in the snow," he said, "but there's no need to draw attention to them with an open window. Come round to that door - and keep in the shadow of the wall - that's it."

  Retrieving the lantern, he led the way along the edge of the garden.

  "Stay behind this bush. Don't come out till I've got the door open."

  When he looked at the padlock, he saw at once that there was nothing to be done with it; the thing was fused into a mass of rust. He took the dagger, inserted it through the staple, and twisted hard. Sure enough, the flimsy hoop snapped at once, and there was the door, open, with the street beyond it.

  Adelaide and Becky hurried through the powdery snow and joined him, and then they were through the door and hurrying away down the narrow street.

  "Any idea where we are?" said Jim.

  "I think if we follow this down we'll get to the river..." said Becky doubtfully.

  "There's the Rock!" said Adelaide.

  They stopped to look. Between the tall buildings, and some way off, the white-crowned Rock gleamed under the black sky.

  "Right, we'll navigate by that," said Jim. "We'll make for the Cafe Florestan. Come on, step out lively, and keep your hoods up."

  Fifteen minutes later, Becky and Adelaide stood in the shadow of a doorway. Jim bent and took a handful of snow to clean his face with, and when he was reasonably free of dust, he pushed open the door of the Cafe Florestan and entered the steamy, beer-flavoured warmth.

  The place was full, and there was an air of tension about the customers; a lot of talk but no laughter; frowns and drawn faces. One or two looked up curiously as Jim threaded his way through the tables and towards the corner where the students sat, and put his hand on Karl's shoulder.

  Karl leapt.

  "Jim! Thank God! Come and sit -"

  "Not yet. Hello, gentlemen. Karl, come outside a minute."

  Karl followed him out at once.

  "What happened?" he said urgently, in an undertone. "You know the Queen's missing? There are all kinds of rumours. They say Godel's going to have her shot... Who's this?"

  Adelaide pushed back her hood and moved forward six inches so that the light from the gaslamp over the cafe door fell on her face.

  Karl gasped and bowed his head, but Jim caught his arm and said, "Not here. Listen, we need to go indoors. Is the back room safe? We've just escaped from the Castle. We need food, drink and warmth, but we can't just go in and sit down."

  Karl nodded. "Give me a minute. I'll get Matyas to open the back door - it's that one down the alley there."

  He went back inside; and two minutes later, the door in the alley opened, and a minute after that, Karl showed the three of them into a small room where a porcelain stove glowed with heat, a lamp on the table shone warmly over the clean checked tablecloth, and a tabby cat purred on a rocking-chair.

  Karl pushed the cat off, and Adelaide sat down gratefully.

  "I've told Matyas, the landlord. He'll keep quiet. He's bringing some soup and a bottle of wine. May I take your cloak, Your Majesty?"

  There was a soft knock. Karl opened the door, and in came the landlord with an immense tray, which he put down before bowing to Adelaide. He was a stout, blue-eyed man of fifty or so, and as wonderstruck as a child at Christmas to see the Queen in his own parlour.

  "Ma'am - Your Majesty - I hope you'll forgive these rough arrangements - if there's anything else you'd like, just let me know and you'll have it at once. You're safe here, Your Majesty, as safe as in your own Palace."

  "I hope I shall be safer than that," said Adelaide in her best German. "But I am sure I have never felt more welcome. Thank you."


  The landlord bowed again and he left. He'd brought soup and bread and wine, and as the three of them ate, Karl found some glasses and opened the bottle.

  "By God," said Jim, "that was the best soup I've ever had. I could eat a gallon. When did you two last eat?"

  "This morning," said Becky. "Jim, they tried to poison her! The Queen!"

  She told them everything, and Jim exchanged grim glances with Karl. Karl told them of the fight at the grotto, and of the two students who died. Jim looked murderous.

  "There's the woman too," he said. "We shouldn't have let her drift off into the dark like that."

  "No one could have stopped her," Karl said. "We've been over and over it. We've asked the watermen to watch out for her in case the stream reaches the river, but--"

  Karl broke off, because there was a knock at the door. He got to his feet, and so did Jim, who raised the pistol. Karl opened the door, and a student came in, breathless, and bowed hastily when he saw Adelaide.

  "I beg your pardon," he said, his voice shaking. "I've just come from the Tristan-Brucke Station. They're blocking it off - no one's allowed in - and a number of trains are coming in from the north. I managed to hide and see what was happening - German troops are getting off, hundreds of them, with guns. As soon as I could I got out and ran here - but Your Majesty - what's happening?"

  "Thanks, Andreas," said Karl. "Well done." But he looked bemused, as if it were too much to take in. He turned to Jim and said, "Well, what do we do now?"

  "Listen," said Adelaide. "How many of your friends are there in the cafe now?"

  "About a dozen."

  "Are they armed?"

  "Most of them, yes. They'll fight whether they're armed or not."

  "I'm sure of that, Herr von Gaisberg," she said. "But I'll need their help, because I've got a plan. I thought of it in the Castle, to stop Baron Godel, but it's even more important now. I mean the flag, of course."

  Jim looked at her with sudden understanding. She saw his grin, and went on: "While the eagle's in my hands, Razkavia's free. I want to do what Walter von Eschten did back in 1253. We can't defend the Rock like Walter did, not against howitzers and Gatling guns. But we can take the flag to Wendelstein, and rally the people there. So that's what I want to do. Will you help?"

  Karl stood, on fire with excitement, and nodded vigorously. "I'll go and get the others!" he said, and left.

  Jim was looking at Adelaide with true admiration. Dirty and untidy as she was, she looked more beautiful than any girl he'd ever known, and yet the same frail little ghost of a thing he'd seen all those years before when she slipped into the office of his employers looking for Sally. The determination that had taken her there, when she was so nervous she could hardly raise her voice above a whisper, was sustaining her now; but now she was the embodiment of a nation, proud and angry and beautiful. She smiled at him, and he knew the smile meant I trust you, Jim. We can do it. He smiled back.

  Then one by one they came into the crowded little back parlour of the Cafe Florestan, the students of the Richterbund, and knelt to Adelaide their Queen and kissed her hand as a commission. They stood around the table and peered over each other's shoulders and tried not to dislodge the ornaments from the sideboard with clumsy elbows as they all listened to her.

  She spoke swiftly through Becky, telling them that they were going to rescue their country's flag, the most sacred emblem of the nation, from falling into enemy hands. Any one of them who did not want to take part could stand down now and leave with his honour unstained; those who stayed might well not live to see the next day dawning. Not one of them moved, and when she saw it she had to blink rapidly and turn away. Then she said in German, "Thank you, gentlemen. I expected courage, but you have given me hope as well. Please sit down while we discuss the best way of carrying out the plan."

  She sat herself, and awkwardly they perched on the arms of chairs or sat cross-legged on the floor.

  "We must work out what to do in detail," she said. "So if anyone knows anything about the Rock or the funicular railway or anything that might help, speak up, for God's sake. Oh, and if anything happens to me... If anything happens to me, the flag is to go to Herr von Gaisberg. He's the Adlertrager next."

  There was a tremor of understanding and approval. Karl looked as if he were about to say something, but held his tongue. His cheeks were blazing.

  Jim said, "Right, gentlemen. Speak up. The more we get right now, the less there'll be to go wrong later. Who's first?"

  Chapter Seventeen

  THE FUNICULAR RAILWAY

  All through the city, rumour was spreading like fire along a thousand fuses. In cafe, Bierkeller, Weinstuhe, in private parlour and kitchen, in hotel lobby and Opera House foyer, on street-corners and squares, voices spoke and ears listened:

  "Ten thousand German troops -"

  "Guns on railway carriages!"

  "The Queen's run away with a lover--"

  "Count Thalgau's dead! He's shot himself!"

  "No he hasn't - he's under arrest!"

  "Have you heard about the treaty? It was going to give our sovereignty away! No wonder they didn't want it made public!"

  "They shouldn't have shot her like that -"

  "Shot her? The Queen's been shot?"

  "In the Castle. I saw the squad going in. They had to draw lots, and even so half the men refused to obey orders!"

  "You'll never believe this - Prince Leopold's alive. My cousin, he's footman in the Palace, and he says Leopold had a terrible disfiguring disease, but he's come out of hiding to save his country at the last hour!"

  "Have you heard -"

  And so on.

  The streets were busy, but patchily: some places deserted, others thronged. A big crowd was collecting outside the Station, for example, from which the German troops had not yet emerged, though sounds of heavy equipment being moved came from inside. Another crowd, less concentrated but angrier, was beginning to move towards the Palace, and (in the way of crowds) tilting in mood from one passion to another as the cry, "We want the Queen! We want the Queen!" was taken up. Individuals who'd had no idea what they wanted ten minutes before were now infused with the desire to see Adelaide and defend her against - well, against what no one knew; but they were passionate to defend her against something.

  In the Palace, Baron Godel was trying to retain command of the situation, without knowing from minute to minute what the situation was. The German invasion had taken him horribly by surprise: he wasn't expecting them to march in, but to support him from a distance when he restored Leopold to the throne. This wasn't the plan at all. Seeking someone to blame, he had burst into the private apartments of Count and Countess Thalgau. The Countess tried to hold him back, but he forced his way into the Count's bedroom, to find the old man lying down, his face drawn in pain, his eyes shadowed, the fierce moustache like wisps of straw. Even Godel was taken aback by the change in the old warrior.

  "What was your agreement with Berlin?" he demanded. "I insist that you tell me at once."

  The Count looked at him briefly and then closed his eyes. "Where is the Queen?" he said hoarsely.

  "Damn you, Thalgau! Answer my question! What did you agree with Bismarck?"

  The Count sighed. It was a deep, groaning sigh that seemed to rake out his entire soul. "I had no agreement with Bismarck. My agreement was with his banker. I was to let him know the substance of the treaty twenty-four hours in advance, that was all. In return ... sum of money. I regret it bitterly. I didn't know ... ought to shoot myself... But what you've done, Godel ... Prince Leopold ... thousand times worse... Where is the Queen? What have you done with her?"

  As he said that, he raised himself up by sheer willpower and confronted Godel like a spectre, blanched with the pallor of the grave. Godel took a step backwards.

  But before he could reply, an aide ran in, saluted clumsily, and thrust a piece of paper at the Chamberlain, who took it with trembling fingers.

  "General von Hochberg to Baron God
el..." he read. "Who is this General von Hochberg?"

  "The officer commanding the German forces," the aide stammered. "This message came by hand from the Tristan-Brucke Station a minute ago."

  The Chamberlain read:

  I understand that the instrument by which legal authority is transferred is the flag that flies on the Rock. Please arrange to have it conveyed to my carriage at Tristan-Brucke Station within the hour. Failing that, my troops will remove it by force.

  Godel tottered. The paper fell from his hand, and he clutched the arm of the young aide.

  Then he pulled himself upright again. Ignoring the Count and Countess, he ran for the door, the aide following after.

  Halfway down the corridor, the Chamberlain stopped suddenly. He was a subtle, cautious, fearful man, not used to acting on impulse, and when he had to, he felt unsure of his ground. He beckoned the young man.

  "They want the flag," he said. "They want me to give them the flag. But if I have it - if it's in my hands..."

  His eyes prompted a response from the aide.

  "You needn't give it to them at all?" he said.

  "Quite. Now, listen carefully. I want a carriage at the West Door at once to take me to the Rock. Then tell the nurse to wake Prince Leopold and have him dressed. The moment he's ready, have him taken in a closed carriage to the Botanical Gardens Station. Got that?"

  The aide repeated it. Godel continued: "Finally, go to Tristan-Brucke Station and arrange for a locomotive to be attached to the Royal Train so as to take it to the Botanical Gardens, and then on to Prague. And for God's sake don't let the Germans see what you're up to."

  "Locomotive - Royal Train - Botanical Gardens - Prague," said the aide dutifully, and hurried away.

  Baron Godel mopped his brow, and hastened to his own apartments to pack a bag.

  In the apartment, the Countess picked up the paper he'd dropped and read it aloud to her husband.

  He listened sombrely, and then said, "Minna, has that soldier gone from our door? Are we still under arrest?"

  She looked. "No one there," she said.

  "Where are my field-glasses?"

  Perhaps it was all too much for him, she thought. She had prudently removed the bullets from his revolver earlier in the day, when his despair and self-loathing had been at their peak, but he couldn't harm himself with field-glasses. She brought him the leather case and sat down wearily.