Blue Damask (6 page)

     Sonnenby had dropped his fists and was bent over, breathing in uneven gasps.  He wavered and looked like he was going down.  She caught his shoulders and steered him to his bunk where he collapsed.

     Elsa lifted her bloody gown and climbed into the bunk beside him.  “Henry,” she murmured.  He shuddered at the sound of his name but did not answer.  She put a hand on his shoulder.  “I am going to find Mr. Marshall.”

     He lay very still.  His eyes stared up at her but did not see.  Elsa leaned back against the wall and put a hand to her eyes.  She did not want to leave him alone, but she would not stay in the compartment with two dead men, waiting until they were found.  She must act immediately.  And she must find out what happened to Marshall.

     She looked at Sonnenby and wondered if she could leave him alone for a few minutes. His eyes seemed unfocused and lost.  His mind was far away.  She could go and get back before his sense returned.  Maybe.

     She gently patted Sonnenby’s cheek and pushed herself out of the bunk.  She lifted her nightdress again to navigate the splayed limbs and the blood on the carpet.  The attacker’s knife lay in the doorway where it had come to a spinning stop.  She bent to pick it up as she entered the corridor.  The blade was longer than her hand and slightly curved, the grip made from bone or ivory.  It was not an eating knife, or a cooking knife.  This was a hunting knife.  It was heavy.  She held it like a sword as she moved in the darkened corridor toward Marshall’s room.

     As she expected, at the end of the car the steward lay still, a glistening pool of blood beneath him.  Marshall’s compartment was here, by the door.  She pounded on it first before she pushed it open and blinked in the darkness.

     Open spaces have a feeling to them when they are empty.  Elsa knew that Marshall’s compartment was empty even in the dark.  The air in his room was free from the metallic odor of blood that filled the corridor.

     Elsa moved past the dead steward and onto the platform that separated the cars.  The next car was the dining car.  Closed for the evening.  Through the window she could see men working, cleaning the tables and sweeping.  She entered, meaning to pass through to the next car where a conductor might be stationed.  She swayed with more than just the train’s motion.  She was beginning to feel a little lightheaded.  Elsa leaned on the back of a bench seat as the cleaning men looked up from their work.

     She tried to tell them what happened, but strangely could not remember where she was.  “
Bitte
, I need help,
por favor, pouvez-vous m'aider, s'il vous plait
,
Merci
.”  One of those languages should work.

     She saw from their eyes that she must be as covered in blood as Sonnenby.  She looked down at her gown, splattered and soaked bright red in spots.   Her hair was crusting in long planks of blood.  The two men paled.  One of them rushed toward her, dropping his broom.  The other fled through the far door.  One of the men took her elbow and sat her down, eyeing the blood-crusted knife in her other hand.

     “Madam, what terrible thing has happened?”

     “There has been a murder…murders in Lord Sonnenby’s car.  I need the conductor to come.”  She set the knife on the table.

     “We will get him.  Allow me to get you some water, miss.”

     “Give her something stronger.  She is shaking like a leaf.”  Marshall said as he entered the dining car from the opposite end.  He strode past her through the other doors into the private car.  The other man brought her a glass of wine.  She looked at it dumbly for a moment before tipping it back and finishing it in one swallow.  A moment later Davies was at her side with what looked like whiskey in a short glass.

     She stretched her hand out for it. “
Mein
Gott
.  Thank you, Davies.”

     “Lord Sonnenby?” he asked.  “Is he all right?”  He looked at the knife.

     She knocked back the whiskey and took a deep breath, waiting for the warm glow to spread from her middle to her fingers.  “He is fine…” she coughed a little on the whisky fumes.  “
Nein
, no.  He is not fine.  Of course he is not fine.  But he is alive.  His injuries are minor.  But
ach du lieber
, he is not all right.”

     Davies squeezed her shoulder.  “No.  He is not all right,” he agreed.

     Marshall re-entered the dining car slower than he left it.  He signaled to Davies to join Sonnenby.  The conductor and three stewards passed them in the aisle going into the private car.  Marshall sat down across from her.

     “
Fraulein
.  How horrible.  Tell me how you feel.”  Marshall’s face was composed, but his voice was strained.

     “You would be the analyst now, Mr. Marshall?”  Elsa eyed the bottom of her whiskey glass.  “I feel exactly as a woman would feel after fighting for her life, hearing one man kill another with his bare hands, and stumbling over the bodies of two others.”  She set the glass down firmly on the table.  “I feel like I need another drink.”

     “I will get that for you.”  He stood and went to the end of the car and came back with a bottle and another glass.  Another three men in uniform passed them and entered the private car.  He poured two generous glasses of the amber fluid and handed her one.

     They sipped the whiskey and stared at one another for a moment.  Elsa took a short breath to signal she was ready to talk.  Marshall shook his head and finished his whiskey first. He put a hand over the knife but did not touch it.  “Was this the Turk’s?”

     “Yes.  He tried to slash Lord Sonnenby’s throat.”

     “
Fraulein
Schluss, I am amazed and astounded.”

     She glanced up at him.  His expression was amazed and astounded. “Mr. Marshall.  Where were you when these men were being murdered?”

     “I was in the sleeper car. Talking to Mr. Hammond, a curator of the British Museum.”

     “I see.”  She finished her whiskey.  “I suppose that is a good thing.”

     His face darkened at her insinuation.  “I was only gone for an hour.  He is an old friend.”

     She nodded.  “Did it occur to you that there might be some who would not like to see Lord Sonnenby arrive in Damascus?”

     He seemed to deflate.  “No.   El Zor is a small district.  There will be objections to our governance and control from the locals, but there has been no hint that something this elaborate would be organized against Lord Sonnenby.  In fact,” Marshall looked puzzled. “My correspondence shows that the locals are eager to see him again.”

     The door to the dining car opened and the conductor entered looking neither to the right nor the left.  Behind him Davies pushed Sonnenby down the aisle, both hands on his arms, followed by two more uniformed staff. 

     Marshall followed them with his eyes.  “We are getting new rooms,” he said dryly.

     A few moments later more men passed through the dining cars with luggage under their arms.  “The engineer and the chief conductor would like to interview you.  I have been asked to detain you until they are ready,” Marshall said.

     “Understandable.”

     “Lord Sonnenby is all right?” He asked her.

     She turned incredulous eyes on him.  “No.  He is not ‘all right’, as you say.”

     “I mean physically.”

     “He had a man’s fingers on his throat.  I imagine he will be sore.  His voice may sound hollow or strained for a few days.  His hands…”

     “You observed him, then.  You saw him kill the intruder?”  Marshall was gentle.  “If he were truly suicidal, I should think he would have gone limp and let the Turk do his work.”

     She looked at him, trying to see his real meaning in his eyes.  “I should think we should wait for the engineer and chief conductor,” she answered.

     Marshall stretched his hand across the table and covered hers.  She did not rebuke him for the contact.  “They will want to know the specifics for their report.  I want to know if you are all right.”

     “I am fine.  Really.”  The whiskey made her feel quite all right, indeed.  She took her hand from his and pushed her tangled hair over her forehead.  “I did not see him, but I heard him kill our attacker with his fists.  My head was under the bunk at the time.”

     Marshall shifted in his chair imagining the scene.  “Horrible.”

     “Yes.”

     The two officials arrived in the dining car and joined them.  One was tall and distinguished with gray hair and an impressive military-looking hat.  The other just as distinguished, but more practically dressed and somewhat shorter.  Introductions were made.  Everyone was seated.

     The train manager leaned forward, his pencil poised over his paper.  “Tell us,
fraulein
, what happened.”

     Marshall paused before the door to her new compartment.  “This is your room,
Fraulein
Schluss, but I would like you to come into the next compartment for a moment.”  He took a few steps and indicated the next door.  “I need to talk to you and Lord Sonnenby before you retire.”

     He pushed open the door and stood aside so she could enter.  She saw Sonnenby and Davies at the far end of the small room.  Sonnenby was sitting at the table and Davies leaned over him with a white cloth in his hand.

     “Brunhilde,” Sonnenby said.  Relief was evident in the sound of his voice.

     “I am not Brunhilde,” Elsa said.  Marshall picked up the other chair by its back and set it near her, indicating that she should be seated.

     “You were magnificent,” Sonnenby said, inclining his head toward Elsa.  He winced as Davies touched his lip after dipping it in something from a glass dish.  “You saved my life.”  He turned to Marshall.  “The Valkyrie saved my life.  Did she tell you?”

     Marshall looked surprised.  “No.  She did not.”

     “She leaped on the Turk’s back and dug her fingers into his eyes and rode him like a bull until he bucked her off.  Magnificent.”

     Davies hand paused in mid-air and Marshall’s eyebrow lifted almost to his hair.  “
Fraulein
?” Marshall said.

     Davies shook his head.  “Them Germans is fierce.  Even their women.”  He returned to cleaning Sonnenby’s face.

     “I am Austrian,” Elsa corrected gently before tilting her head toward Marshall, “I had four older brothers.  I have been in wrestling matches before,” she said by way of explanation.  She quickly changed the subject, “I see you have everything under control, Mr. Marshall.  I would like to get cleaned up and changed.”

     “I will release you soon,
fraulein
.”  He sat on the bunk.  “But first I want to make myself clear.  The train will stop in Budapest for an hour.  It had been my intention to leave the train briefly to make some phone calls and post my reports.  I am reticent to do this now, and yet the information is more urgent.  With the unfortunate Mr. Jones now deceased, we are down one man.”  He glanced up at Davies who echoed his concern by pressing his lips together.  He shook his head.  “I cannot leave him alone, and I do not want you off the train.”

     Elsa nodded.  “I agree.  I will not leave the train--”

     “I do not want you to leave your
compartment
,” he insisted.  “I want you locked in while the train is stopped. Not even to use the showers. Will you agree?”

     Sonnenby spoke, “I will stay with her.”

     Both men turned to look at him.  “It is not only her safety that is in question, Lord Sonnenby, but yours.”

     “I will stay with her,” he repeated.  “Put Davies on the door.  I believe there will be two stewards in this car for the next leg of the trip.  Am I correct?”

     Elsa agreed.  “Let him stay in my chamber.  We will talk.”  She looked steadily at Marshal to remind him why she was attending Sonnenby in the first place.

     “Talk.  Yes.  Of course.”

     Marshall opened the door for her and Elsa went into the corridor and then into her new chambers.

     She was pleased to see that a steward had brought her three pitchers of…she tested one…warm water for bathing, so she would not have to stand at the tap filling shallow cups.  She took off her nightgown and robe and put them in the rubbish bin. No amount of water would make them clean enough for her to wear again. She bent her head over the basin and poured the first pitcher slowly over her hair and watched the water in the basin turn pink and then red as it swirled down the drain.  She dried her face with a towel and put a handful of shampoo in her hair and began to work it into the strands.

     Her mother had told her to cut it when she had graduated from nursing school but Elsa could not bear the thought of scissors.  She set her mouth firmly as she rubbed the hair and tried to dislodge the clots of dried blood and loosen the tangles from its length.  She wanted to keep her long hair regardless of fashion and she was prepared to care for it.  She knew its length was irrational in many ways, and admitted her stubbornness to herself as she caught the comb in a snarl.  It was an hour before she was tucked into her bunk, slightly damp but ready for sleep.  The sun rose behind the blinds as she closed her eyes.

     It was Sonnenby’s voice that woke her later in the morning.  She sat up as her door shook with an insistent knock.  The train had stopped.  They must be in Budapest.  “
Fraulein
,” she heard him calling.

     She swung her legs out and was able to unlatch the door without getting up from the bunk.  Sonnenby strode in and went immediately to the window.  Davies peeked in before nodding to her once and closing the door with a click.

     Sonnenby turned from the window and sat on the little chair, much as he had the night before.  Elsa pulled the blankets up to her chin.  “Perhaps you could have waited until I was dressed,” she said.

     He shrugged.  “I was also asleep until a few minutes ago.  Marshall said they were opening the cars at the station.  There was no time to prepare you.  He would have had to leave one of us unguarded by Davies.”

     She made a face.  He was correct.  “Please turn your head, then, while I get my things from the suitcase.”

     He turned the chair around and faced the window, tapping his knee while she opened her suitcase and removed the dark skirt and white blouse on top.  She wiggled into the skirt and then buttoned the blouse as quickly as possible.   Her stockings and shoes slipped.  Her hair was still a mess and her dress wrinkled, but neither of those things was important.  Her notebook was important.  It was near him on the dressing table.

     “May I have my notebook and pencil?” She asked him.  He handed them over his shoulder without turning.  She said as she took them from him, “I’d like to talk about last night.”

     He tilted his head.  “Can I turn around now?”

     “Yes.”  She sat on the bunk and put the notebook on her knees.

     “You surprised me, Brunhilde.  You were on that Turk before I even realized he was trying to kill me.”

     “Please stop calling me ‘Brunhilde’.”

     His brown eyes were merry and he tried to grin but stopped, touching his swollen lip with a grimace.  “As you wish.  Though you flew through the air like a Valkyrie with all that blonde hair streaming behind you, and you screamed like a harpy when you leaped on his back.  You scared
me
. 
He
must have been terrified.”

     “I screamed?” Elsa’s pencil paused.  She did not remember screaming.

     He nodded to himself.  “Valkyrie,” he murmured.

     “Mr. Sinclair,” she tried to sound firm.  “This is serious.”

     His face became more than serious.  His brows knitted and his face darkened.  “I am deadly serious.  This Turk burst into my cabin and tried to slit my throat.  He would have slit yours as well,” he paused and looked at her sideways.

     She sat up straighter, thinking about that for the first time.  “Yes.”

     He said, “I swore to myself never to kill another man, Elsa Schluss.  And yet here I am,” he held up his swollen and bruised hands, “a killer.  Again.  I am deadly serious.”

     Her pencil moved across the paper.  “You made this oath when you were released from service?”

     He rubbed his chin.  “Before that.”

     She paused.  “That must have been awkward for a military man.  Did you continue to bear arms?”

     “I did.”

     “Perhaps the opportunity did not present itself,” she offered him a way to explain further.

     “The war ended in Britain and France and Germany…” his voice faded, “But the war had no clear ending in the Levant.”  His eyes hardened.  “It still hasn’t.  That is why I am being shipped there now.”

     “Yes.  I have been reading the newspapers, and Mr. Marshall shared some of his reports with me.  I saw that the French and English have divided great swathes of what was once the Ottoman Empire.  It is the French Mandate that concerns the locals.”

     He leaned back in his chair.  “The area is rich in petroleum.  This mineral is becoming the twentieth century’s gold mine, Miss Schluss.  The tribal people who live over those deep black pools of money have no use for it.  Their ignorance feeds the greed of the French,” his face fell, “And the British.  My father was deeply involved in moving petroleum from the ground and into his bank account.  You have heard of the Anglo-Persian Oil Company?  Turkish Petroleum?”

     “No,” Elsa finished writing that down.  “But I am not surprised.  The recent war has emphasized the value of fuel for their ships and tanks and trucks and trains.”  She lifted her pencil and her eyes. “If you are being sent there to make a treaty,” she said, “make one that favors both sides.  Everyone profits.”

     He gave her a dangerous look.  “You claim to be free of ignorance, but you are naïve to a fault.”

     Elsa felt her cheek twitch.  She could not argue.  It seemed reasonable when she said it.  That is how she would have solved the problem.  “Granted,” she admitted.  “Would you like to explain what you think will happen when we get to Damascus?”

     “What will happen is that I will be dressed in flowing robes and topped with a veil.  I will be mounted on a handsome Arab stallion and paraded to the settlement of my natural father.  The French and English government representatives will be there in their armored cars dressed for a northern European summer instead of for the desert sun.  They will redden and wilt in the heat while I make a speech that no one will believe about
entente
.”

     “And then?” She nearly whispered.

     “And then,” his voice became bitter, “The French and English will rape the land of its oil and turn my father’s people from proud tribe who make a meager living from sand and wind into beggars and thieves.  When my treachery is discovered I will be unceremoniously murdered by any number of cousins.”

     He didn’t seem to be particularly troubled by this form of death.  Elsa put her pencil down.  “What kind of relationship did your father, I mean the previous Lord Sonnenby, have with the tribesmen?  Is there a reason this…Turk…tried to kill you now?  Before your treachery is discovered?”

     “My father brought all manner of luxuries with him, horses, women, gold, olives and fruit from Jerusalem.  He flooded them with goods he purchased for very little and in return they allowed British engineers and geologists on their land.”

     Elsa leaned forward.  “Why cannot this arrangement continue?”

     “France and England want it all.  They have made it impossible for individuals to negotiate with the locals.  Now only corporations and governments have the rights to the oil.  There is a swath on both sides of the German railway now under negotiation due to the end of the war.  It is extremely complicated.”

     “So the French and British would drive the natives away from the oil fields? All of them, Turk and Arab?”

     “Or massacre them.  It is what happened in Africa, as with every colonial system, or do the Austrians not read history?”

     She shot him a nasty look.  “You accuse me of
naiveté
.”

     He stood up like he would pace the cabin, but sat back down again, as there was not enough room for even one good step and a turn.  He stood again and then sat hunched over.  Elsa picked up her pencil but kept a wary eye on him.  His eyes were no longer focused and he seemed to be consumed with a sudden anxiety.  He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, clasped his hands together and bent his head low over them.

     “Mr. Sinclair.  Please.” She looked at his swollen knuckles.  “You could just say ‘no’ to them.”

     “And there you are with a simple answer,” he answered, looking up at her through his hair.  “Can one man say ‘no’ to two governments?  Governments drunk with recent victory in a brutal war?”

     She frowned, “Of course. You have free will.  You can refuse.”

     He curled his upper lip.  “I think women are sheltered from the ugliest parts of politics.  My free will has been taken from me.”

     She thought about this for a while and he sat in silence as well.  It was true that politics did not interest her at all.  It never occurred to her that the halls of government might not run the way her father ran his brewery.  She thought about what she had read in the papers during the war.  She turned frightened eyes on Lord Sonnenby.

     “What…what will they do to you if you refuse?”

     He gave her a bitter laugh.  “What is the worst thing any government can do to a man?  Prison.  Or an asylum.  Death is better.”  She saw him struggle to keep his face together, but the fractures were there in the way his eyes deepened with memories and his mouth turned down at the corners.

     His voice was soft when he continued.  “They cannot hurt me any more than they have.  I am beyond their threats.  What they will do, however, is hurt my honor.  I am responsible for my actions as they pertain to me.  But France and England have now made me responsible for innocent people.  Family I have never met and never will meet.  They have made my compliance necessary to my honor.”  He unclasped his hands and set them on his knees.  “Did you write all that down,
fraulein
?”