They entered the dining hall and set up the projector on the dining table. Melbourne turned on a gas lamp and began toying with the sharp jagged edge of the microfilm in his pocket. Did the piece of celluloid house moving or still images? And images of what?
“Close the door please, Mr. Summers,” she said.
Melbourne closed the door and locked it, leaving the key inside the keyhole.
Miss Cavell was pouring a bit of paraffin from a lamp into the reservoir of the projector. “I remembered we had one of these strange projectors somewhere in our cellar, probably left behind by the previous owner of this building.” She dusted off the lens with her apron, then touched a match to the wick. A bright spot of light appeared on an empty space on the wall.
“Pass me the film,” she said.
Melbourne removed the microfilm from his pocket and handed it to Miss Cavell. She placed in the small frame and slit it into the old machine. As if by magic, a grainy black and white still image appeared on the wall. Melbourne turned off the gas lamp, letting the image light up the room.
“Dear God, what is that?” she asked.
Melbourne drew himself closer to the wall where the image was being projected. He recognised the thing that was being shown, but he had never seen anything like it. If he was right, this was bad.
Miss Cavell pushed the frame further into the device, and the second image appeared. She gasped.
It was terrifying.
“What has this world come to?” she said.
Melbourne stared at the projected picture, wondering the same thing. Before him was the Iron Shadow, or an image of it. It was an invention from hell. The empty trains now made sense. They needed to trick the Allies into moving resources near the Front. Something of that size would not go undetected so easily.
“Is that…” Miss Cavell asked.
“That, Miss Cavell, is what I have been looking for all this bloody time.”
“Good God.”
She moved to the third image. Then the fourth. All pictured the same thing from different angles, each one showing a different face of the monstrosity. The fifth and final image was a welcoming, yet enigmatic, change from the previous frames – a map of the area surrounding the town of Aalst. An X marked what looked like a castle, its name scribbled in barely readable handwriting.
She pointed to the bottom right hand corner of the map. “There’s something written down here.”
Melbourne drew himself closer to the projected map. In fact, there was something written. Crudely scribbled with a pencil.
“30th of April at 8 in the evening. That’s what it seems to read,” he said.
“Tomorrow.”
Melbourne turned to look at Miss Cavell, part of the map projected on her face. “Forget about the false documents for me, just get my friends out of the country,” he said.
“And what about you?”
“Our dear friend Doctor V just gave me my next assignment.”
“Oh no,” Miss Cavell shook her head. “That is one terrible idea.”
Melbourne grinned. “Terrible ideas are what I do best.”
XLIV
- 1 day
April 30th
The castle marked on the map stood out like a sore thumb from its lush and graceful surroundings. It was not an elegant summer home given the title of ‘castle’ out of tradition. It was a genuine fortress, meant to hold off a besieging army. Two large towers at the front and back, with arrow slits rather than windows. The entrance was a towering pair of oak gates. Crenelated walls, just right for pouring oil down on attackers, a steep hill running up to the wall’s base to foil siege ladders. The only thing missing was a moat, and for all Melbourne knew, it had been filled in to form the gardens. Two large German flags flew high atop the two towers at the front of the fort. So, the enemy was already within.
Hefty torches lined the dirt road that led to the main entrance, adding to the sense that time had stopped here a few hundred years ago. It was the motorcars, neatly lined up next to each other on the adjacent field, that brought one back to the present.
Melbourne studied all this from behind a bush deep inside a small grove of pine trees next to the massive outer defensive wall on the east side. Even though the wall was crumbling in spots, it had taken him quite a bit to climb it, but that wasn’t really the hard part. The hard part was coming down; a four-metre fall onto a bush that luckily saved him from snapping him in two. Still, it hurt.
As he massaged his back he saw another car enter through the gate, its black silhouette making its way to the entrance along the dirt road. As it stopped at the large entrance a man, dressed in full German military uniform climbed from behind the wheel and made his way around to the other side. As he opened the back door, an elegant lady in an evening dress stepped out and took the man’s hand. He pulled out a slip of paper from a pocket and handed it to a nearby guard, most likely an invitation. The guard nodded and the two guests entered the fort.
Latecomers, just like him. It was well past eight o’clock, but Doctor V’s date and time scribbled on the map were correct. And bless Julie and her knowledge of hidden and unpatrolled roads.
He had little idea of what was going on inside, but by the looks of it, it seemed that there was a party going on. And he was going to crash it.
Soldiers patrolled around the fort, and Melbourne saw a couple more on the towers with rifles in their hands. He was lucky he managed to get inside the complex. How to tackle the Château.
Melbourne got up on his feet and flinched at his aching back. He ignored it and marched out of the woods and into the open grassy space not too far from the dirt driveway. He had to keep away from the fires and the light; the darkness would let him blend in with the other guards. The soldier’s uniform and bayonet that he had stolen from a German patient in Miss Cavell’s hospital was a little too big for him. He tucked in his shirt as tight as possible.
“Soldat!” a voice called to him.
Melbourne rolled his eyes and turned to face an officer, not too far ahead of him. Great. He pointed at himself with a questioning look on his face.
“Ja, sie Mistkerl! Toilet break is over, back to your post!”
Melbourne nodded and marched towards the east side of the fort, keeping his head low and hoping his trousers didn’t drop. He looked up at the massive medieval structure as he passed next to it. There was no way in except through its front doors. All windows that weren’t arrow slits had gratings on them, and there were at least three to four guards on each side of the fort. Forget the back entrance. Forget climbing anything. He turned back to glance at the officer behind him. The man had pulled out a small metallic flask containing alcohol and took a few sips. He probably knew he would not be seen for some time, the night’s guests were being entertained inside.
Melbourne spun around and stopped dead in his tracks. That might work.
He patted his pockets and found what he was looking for. The man from whom he had stolen the uniform was not a drinker but a smoker. He removed the box of matches in his left pocket and looked inside. Only one single match remained. It would be enough. He hoped.
Melbourne began patrolling the area with nonchalance, avoiding eye contact and saluting whenever he was greeted by another soldier. He circled the fort slowly, moving towards its western side. He eased into the darkness of the trees close to the protective wall and then dashed as quietly as he could for where the various cars were parked. By the time he reached the parked cars he looked around him and quietly slipped behind one of the vehicles, crouching low.
About fifteen cars where neatly parked next to each on the grass with another row just in front of them. The dirt road lit by the torches was a little beyond the grass field with the cars. Two guards stood by it, most likely guarding the automobiles. They were chatting among themselves, completely unconcerned with their main duty. Other soldiers stood guard but were further down the road closer to the gates. The main gigantic wooden doors that led inside the fort were just a mere
twenty second walk, Melbourne guessed. Two soldiers stood guard on either side, and a third one patrolled the front, pacing from the doors down to the dirt road and back again. The soldier perched on top of one of the main towers looked out at the horizon, only occasionally moving his gaze down to the scenery below.
Melbourne got to work.
He placed his rifle down on the ground next to the car and removed the bayonet. As quietly as he could, he opened the back door of the car, a spacious Renault limousine, and crawled in. He sat on the rug on the floor of the car and closed the door behind him. It was a little tight but he could do it. Bayonet in hand, he began softly hitting the blade against the compartment that held the gas tank just below the front seat ahead of him. He stopped and looked up over the seat to see if anyone had heard him. No eyes were staring back at him. He pushed the blade a little harder.
No use. The wood was sturdy and he would have to hit it fairly hard to poke through. The last thing he would ever want was for a contingent of German soldiers to find him in that spot.
He sat in silence, thinking, looking around him for any signs in inspiration. It was the tire of a nearby car that brought back a memory of something he had seen at the base of No. 2 Squadron some time ago. It was worth a try.
He crawled back out of the car and went to the rear. Bayonet in hand, he began carving pieces of rubber off the back tires of the car, slowly and quietly. Once he had a handful, he moved back to the backseats of the vehicle. He placed the rubber strips on the wool rug and, after drying them a bit on his uniform, he removed the box of matches from his pocket. Picking out the single remaining match, he lit it and placed it on top of the rubber strips.
Nothing happened.
He began moving the match around. “Come on, come on.”
He began worrying that the humidity in the air was sabotaging his idea. The match burned, slowly creeping up to his fingers. It was already half-way through.
Finally the smell came, that nauseous tinge of burning rubber. He dropped the match on the strips and cupped his hands over the flame as to protect it. A small pillar of grey smoke began ascending, working its way up in spirals.
It was working. The rubber began catching fire.
A small, timid flame began flickering over the pieces of tire, but he waited and watched to see if it would spread. It did, setting alight the wool carpet, then the broadcloth upholstery. Melbourne shut the backdoor, placed the bayonet back in his rifle, and moved away from the car. As he walked out of the parking zone the smell of burning rubber began getting stronger.
He wasn’t the only one to notice. The two guards standing not too far from the cars began turning towards the vehicles. Melbourne ran up to them.
“There’s a fire in one of the cars!” he said in German.
“Dear God!” One of them ran off to inspect what was happening.
By then, the Renault was fully ablaze, the wood-framing of the body feeding fuel to the fire. As Melbourne watched, the flames burst through the oilcloth top. And that gas tank under the seat must be –
The gasoline exploded with a whoosh, scattering flaming bits over the field.
One of the soldiers placed his hands over his head. “Oh dear God!”
“Stay here, monitor that the fire doesn’t spread to the other cars,” Melbourne said. “I’ll go fetch some water!”
Melbourne dashed off towards the front doors of the fort. The soldier on top of the left tower was already giving the alarm. When he reached the entrance, one of the guards grabbed him by the arm. “What is going on?”
“What are you blind?” he said. “The cars are catching fire dammit! We need water, and fast!”
Melbourne turned to see the entire car had turned into a massive torch. The fire was already spreading to the other cars nearby. He didn’t really expect that big of a mess.
“All right, go in quick,” the guard said.
The soldiers opened the doors and Melbourne ran in. As the doors shut behind him he found himself in a short, cold, and damp corridor lit by a few torches that hung on its wall. He ran down the length of the corridor and entered a bigger opening. He could hear music coming from behind a door.
“Soldier! What is happening?”
He turned and saw an officer standing guard.
“A fire has started outside, Sir. I have been sent to retrieve buckets.”
“A fire?” asked the officer.
“There is no time to waste!” Melbourne said. “The kitchen!”
“Just down the corridor over there. Hurry then!”
Melbourne ran past the man and down another damp corridor to the left. As soon as he had turned the corner he stopped. Farther up was a larger corridor with wooden doors on its left side. He could still hear the music playing not too far away and imagined that the party was most likely behind the door he had seen earlier. How was he supposed to get in? Low voices echoed throughout the corridor most likely coming from the kitchen behind one of those closed doors. He needed to somehow blend in with the rest of the partygoers.
He needed new clothes.
He began walking hurriedly down the corridor, past the voices he had heard. Venturing further down, he reached a bend. At that same moment an elderly man dressed in a black suit stumbled upon Melbourne and gasped.
“Oh, dear Lord, I am sorry Sir,” he said. “This place gives me the creeps. I excuse myself if I have caused you a fright.”
“No need to apologise, Sir,” Melbourne said.
“I seem to have lost myself in these endless corridors. Maybe you can help me, young man. I am trying to find my way back to the party after a little sightseeing. Would you happen to know the way back?”
“Of course, Sir. Follow me.”
The elderly man smiled as Melbourne led him back to where he had come from. He tried one of the doors but it was locked.
“Wrong door,” Melbourne said.
The elderly gentleman frowned.
He tried the door after and it opened. Melbourne peeked inside. There was absolute darkness.
“Right this way, Sir.” He held the door open for the man.
“But my, it is dark in here! Are you sure — ”
The man could barely finish his sentence when Melbourne knocked him behind the head with the butt of his rifle. He caught the man as he collapsed and dragged him inside the room. He left the door slightly ajar so as to let some light in and began working.
Sorry, he thought.
Three minutes later, he left the room, shut the door behind him, and headed back down the corridor to where the music was coming from. His new suit was slightly tight around the shoulders, and the pants were a little baggy but it ought to do. To his luck, the officer that he had met earlier was not there – probably out dealing with the fire. He stood in front of the door, where the classical music came through, hesitating. As voices began echoing from one of the corridors he turned the handle and walked in.
The atmosphere in the room was a shocking change from the cold medieval dankness of the rest of the castle. Adorned in polished wood, oriental carpets, and vibrant-coloured marble, with golden chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling, it could have been a ballroom from the Vienna of the previous century. The room was packed with hundreds of people all drinking, laughing, and dancing. The men all wore elegant black suits and ties, with the exception of officers in full military pomp, while the ladies wore long, beautiful dresses embellished with garish jewels dangling from their necks, wrists, and earlobes. A small orchestra played a waltz on a dais at the far end of the room as they watched servants bring in champagne and small mis-en-bouche to offer to the guests. An area near the orchestra had been cleared for anyone who felt that they could not keep still to the music.
Melbourne began wandering around among the tables and the people. What did this celebration have to do with what he had seen in the photographs hidden by Doctor V? All around him, people were having fun, chatting, smiling, consuming champagne and wine at terribly fast rates.
There was no connection to the horror that the magic lantern had projected on the wall. Then a thought occurred to him. Could Doctor V be among them?
He moved farther in, grabbed a champagne flute, and tried not to stick out too much. A woman with a long grey dress had to place a hand on the shoulder of a nearby man so as not to fall over whenever she laughed. Empty champagne flutes were peppered around the table in front of her. An elderly man with a great white beard with tobacco stains fumbled to a small group of officers about the lack of coordination in trenches. A young officer was flirting with a lovely woman not too far off, holding her hand while she used her other one to shyly hide a smile. On the other side of the room, an enormous man, who looked as if the buttons of his shirt were about to shoot out and kill someone, thundered for more wine to be brought to his table. A general with long, curled moustache began distributing cigars to the men that surrounded him saying it was for their health. Waiters had to dodge puddles of champagne on the floor if they did not want to slip or crash onto the ground.
The chatter and laughter of the people almost drowned out the orchestra to the annoyance of the musicians who frowned and played louder. A violin player shot an angry look to a nearby woman who dropped her wine glass, shattering it into tiny fragments, frightening a few nearby guests with the loud crashing sound. She just laughed and stumbled to a nearby table to get another one.
It was a strange party indeed. The motley crew of guest seemed to have nothing to do with the Iron Shadow. And yet, Melbourne believed something was going to happen here that night. Something important.
He took another champagne flute from a servant and stood to one side, sipping slowly as he watched more curious and entertaining scenes. He was about to draw closer to a small group of men talking, when he felt and arm slide over his shoulder and down to his chest. It was of a woman’s, her arm length white glove and golden bracelet seemed familiar to him. However, it was her voice that sent a chill down his spine.
“Hello my dear,” Danielle whispered in his ear.
The Iron Shadow Page 24
