Chapter 16
Sophie opened her own trunk and laid out clothes for a nice young lady, including a pair of her own sensible ankle length boots. An old fashioned trunk yielded the sort of clothes suited to an elderly gentleman, including a folding opera hat; but many older men still favoured a top hat as day wear so it would be suitable.
“Svetelina, would you like to be my mother?” said Sophie. “It would make us no longer two girls of similar age.”
“We’re similar size, I wondered if you fancied being a boy,” said Svetelina.
“If we can find a boy’s trunk with a good big floppy hat,” said Sophie. “A peaked newsboy’s hat, for example.”
“Or another top hat; you could get all your hair in that, and pin it on well,” said Svetelina.
“Leave this one with the elderly lady’s clothing, in case,” said Sophie. “You could be the schoolgirl anyway, and I can be your mother, and hide my red hair with powder.”
“I’ve found a boy’s trunk here with a sailor-suit school costume, and I think the hat will cover all your hair,” said Svetelina, suppressing a squeal of delight.
“Fine; you change into my clothes and I will use my own boots as they are enough like those a boy would wear,” said Sophie. Quickly, they changed, and re-roped trunks, leaving money for what they had taken. Sophie also tucked a long skirt and matching waist from the elderly couple’s trunk inside the valise she had found, for they should have hand luggage. A headscarf and a shawl would give several different looks, including that of a gypsy. She tucked her hair roughly into the cap. She left the wig in the boy’s trunk; perhaps he could have fun with it in amateur dramatics.
Sophie stopped and gazed in awe at a case which could be only one thing. It was a fisherman’s case of rods.
She smiled.
Dmitry had managed to reduce the length of the weapon a little, and it would probably fit this case.
Then they went back to the ladies’ waiting room, with the two changes of clothing for the men, tweeds with knickerbockers and a flat hat for Karol, and the more formal wear for Dmitry.
They had got inside just in time, as the sound of boots could he heard. The door started to open.
“What are you doing, idiot?” asked a voice, sharply. “It says ‘nur für Damen’ and we are not women.”
“Where better to hide?” said another voice.
“You are disgusting,” said the first. “I shall have demerits on your record.”
“And this is why hiding from hidebound idiots is not difficult,” said Sophie. “That man should be promoted, not given demerits.”
“I’m glad he isn’t,” said Dmitry, dryly. He was staring at Sophie.
“What’s wrong?” asked Sophie, sharply.
“Nothing! Er, I mean… nothing wrong,” said Dmitry.
“He’s admiring your legs and probably your backside,” said Karol. “A woman dressed as a boy is a very… affecting… thing for a man.”
“Oh!” said Sophie. “You saw my legs in my shift when I was confusing Zbiggy.”
“Yes, but… it did not sink in as much as we were in a hurry,” said Dmitry. “How did you get shorter than Svetelina?”
“She found some heeled boots which fit her, and we pouffed up her hair and I have flat heels and a flat cap,” said Sophie. “Are we ready? Herr Müller, with his daughter Selma, and his son, Sebastian.”
“And Schmidt, my man and chauffeur,” said Dmitry.
“No, your brother, Karl Müller; he is too precious to be a valet,” said Sophie. “You asked him to come, if anyone asks, for when the direction of travel diverges for your son, who is going to a naval academy in… Gdansk, whilst your daughter goes to Prague. And my fishing gear!” she flourished the case.
“Perfect,” said Karol, opening it to stow the weapon.
“Yes, of course. And we are going to catch the Transcarpathian Express in Svardovia,” said Dmitry.
“Let us go to find a shop that sells rolls and butter and coffee,” said Sophie. “Then, we can go to the station when the early train is due, and it will seem more natural. We do not know the neighbourhood for we have just moved into a house not far out of town, after our mother died. You cannot cope with two lively young people, and we are off to school.”
“Do we need so much detail?” asked Svetelina.
“Oh, yes,” said Sophie. “It’s like acting. If you know everything about the person you are being, you will act like them, even if the story never comes out. When we see children with their mother, we will look on them in envy, and you might dab your eyes delicately with a handkerchief, and I will scowl, so, and hunch my shoulders, and put my hands in my pockets like an angry little boy. I am an angry little boy, my mama is dead and it isn’t fair. And anyone who knows anything will read how Papa is in black, and we are in school clothes, and are being packed off because we are bereaved.”
“You do it so naturally,” said Dmitry. “I think my wife is my spymaster.”
Sophie laughed.
“But for now, your son is your son,” she said. “And you find my boyish high spirits irksome. If you cuff me or swat me, it will be in character.”
A bakery was found which served coffee and rolls, with a choice of butter, various preserves, or honey. Svetelina had intended to play with her food a little, but was too hungry when overcome by the scent of hot, fresh bread. Sophie happily dunked her bread in her coffee, being used to this custom.
“Papa, we should buy something for pausenbrot; we will not be able to get second breakfast on the train,” said Sophie. “And perhaps as well as sandwiches, some apfeltashe…” she added.
“Great God, do you never stop eating, boy?” asked Dmitry.
“I’m growing, Papa,” said Sophie. “Why, soon, I shall be as tall as Selma!”
Dmitry grunted, and dug in his wallet for money.
“Go get what you want,” he grunted.
This little byplay meant that nobody would wonder on them stocking up on food as they had had to abandon most of what was left of their supplies. Some woman in the waiting room would doubtless welcome some tinned fruit and meat, as they had kept only a couple of tins of evaporated milk. Left luggage had provided a worn carpet bag, a large satchel, and a small suitcase. Svetelina might carry the valise, and Sophie the satchel, and she filled it well with food.
And then they might go and wait for the train.
oOoOo
“What do you mean, you lost the prisoner?”
The sergeant was nonplussed; he was being questioned by no less a person than his own Archduke, who was no less intimidating for having singed eyebrows.
“Er… well, the captain sent me and three of the lads to march ahead, and he and the corporal were on either side of the prisoner, and then two more behind. Well, the prisoner made a fuss, said he wasn’t this Ónodi the captain said he was, and then he was singing those awful Austrian tramping songs, and yodelling, and I heard the captain hit him, and tell him to be quiet. And we were nearly here, but when we got here and reported, and they looked at us funny, and when I turned round, they’d vanished into mid air. Do you suppose they were snatched by some flying ship?”
“Dolt! The guard went out and found your captain and the other men tied up and gagged by the side of the road!” screeched the Archduke. “I don’t know where they have gone, but it wasn’t into thin air, fairlyland, nor snatched by a flying ship. Here is a photograph; is that your prisoner? A blond man?”
The sergeant looked carefully at a picture taken in the Archduke’s vestibule, a security measure Dmitry had not known about.
“Oh, no, my lord. The prisoner had a longer face, and darker hair, more light brown than blond.”
“What?” the Archduke was nonplussed. “But if he is not Ónodi, what was the point of rescuing him?”
“I don’t know, sir, but I followed orders, and my orders were not to turn around and gawp, so I did not,” said the sergeant, stolidly. He was not going to take the blame for something which was the captain’s responsibility.
As the captain was still unconscious, he could not answer harsh questions himself but marks had been found where people had come down to the road from the wooded slope above, from near the Gargantua; and presumably they had gone back up that way, with intent of meeting a flying machine at some point. Ferdinand would have this village searched, on the off-chance of the fugitives having been so bold as to make for the railway, but he did not really believe it.
oOoOo
Sophie had risen to take Svetelina’s chair for her, to rise and leave, when a patrol of soldiers marched in. They stood back out of the way to permit them passage.
“Have there been any strangers in here?” barked the sergeant of the patrol. “They might have been wearing military trousers, but were pretty unkempt.”
“No, soldier, no strangers in here,” said the pretty serving girl. “Only locals.”
Sophie had told her that they had moved in after their mother had died, and hoped she would keep an eye out for his poor papa. Therefore, Herr Müller was not a stranger, in her eyes.
“Are you certain?”
“Of course I am certain, and don’t you go bullying me, Wilhelm Martin, just because you have a uniform. Herr Müller might know. Herr Müller, have you seen any strangers around?”
“I keep myself to myself, and don’t take account of any strangers,” grunted Dmitriy. “And I take my shotgun to dirty travellers and their whores creeping about my place.”
“And where is your place?” asked the sergeant.
“Why, everyone knows that,” grumbled Dmitry. “It’s a half an hour in the motor vehicle, up the ridge.”
“The old Steiner place,” nodded the serving wench. “A bit of work needed on it. My young man is always ready to do odd jobs at the weekends.”
Dmitry grunted and nodded.
“He’ll be at it half a year,” he said.
“Well, perhaps it will be less, he is a hard worker,” said the girl.
“Well, here’s some on account, and he’d better arrive early,” said Dmitry, giving her paper money. It disappeared into her bosom. The sergeant moved on, disgusted.
“Them!” said the girl. “Always nosy about things that are none of their business. But he seems to be after prowlers.”
“He’ll have a job,” said Dmitry. “One of them fell in the old well.”
That would go around, and give the army something to do.
They walked to the railway platform, and sat down, not hurrying or making a display of themselves. They occasioned very little interest, and when the train pulled into the station, they got on, Sophie apologising for her cumbersome ‘fishing rods.’
They had paid for their tickets, and might show them to the inspector, and kept themselves to themselves at the longer wait at the big station in the capital.
“I thought we might go right on into Svardovia,” said Dmitry, in a low voice. “I considered having Sebastian pull the communications cord once we had got through the cutting, but that would bring too much attention, we could not just leave the train.”
“It’s not as if there was Victorina to worry about, after all,” said Sophie.
Their plans were to be somewhat disrupted.
After the capital, there was another halt before the border crossing, through the mountains, but the train waited, and continued to wait.
And then there were soldiers pouring onto the train. Sophie stifled a gasp.
“Attention!” cried a soldier in a stentorian voice. “You are to take your hand luggage and leave the train immediately! Do not pause. Anything you leave might be lost, so move down the carriage in a orderly fashion!”
There was nothing to do but obey; and like the other passengers, they milled about on the small platform. The train shunted off onto a siding; and down the line came striding a small army of Gargantua.
