Ghost Song

by Rayne, Sarah

  Their English was virtually non-existent, but nods of greeting were exchanged. Toby, by this time wondering what he had got himself entangled in, watched their faces as they talked, trying to glean meanings from gestures or expressions, but not really doing so. Eventually, Petrovnic spoke in English, stating that the Archduke Franz-Ferdinand would leave the army camp where he had reviewed the troops at ten o’clock the next morning. The fleet of motor cars bearing him and his attendants would travel down a wide avenue called the Appel Quay to Sarajevo town hall for a formal reception, and Toby thought Petrovnic just managed to refrain from spitting at the prospect of something so traditional and formal.

  ‘There will be much security?’ asked Ilena.

  ‘There will be some,’ said Petrovnic, and broke off for another of the incomprehensible exchanges with the hollow-eyed Princip. ‘It seems His Imperial Highness does not regard Sarajevo as hostile territory,’ he said. ‘He expects a warm welcome from the people of Bosnia.’ He said this with what Toby could only think of as a sneer, and saw Ilena and Ivor exchange smiles with the three young men who had joined them.

  ‘Here are your places for the procession,’ said Petrovnic, producing a rather dog-eared sketch map. ‘Mr Chance, you and Miss Kaplen will be at the Appel Quay. There are several stone bridges spanning the river and your places are near the Cumurja Bridge.’ He indicated the place on the map then, glancing at the others, said, ‘The main body of the protest march will set out from the museum which is here. We shall converge on the Archduke’s car when it reaches the intersection and surround it with our people.’ He looked at them. ‘You understand?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Toby, and as Petrovnic struck a match and burned the map he stood up. ‘If you don’t mind, Miss Kaplen and I will take a walk to the Appel Quay now and find the exact spot.’ He stood up. ‘Sonja, will you come with me?’

  Once outside, Toby said, ‘This isn’t a protest march—you do know that, don’t you? Petrovnic wouldn’t dot people round at different places for a march.’

  ‘He’d group them together,’ said Sonja, nodding in agreement. ‘There’d be banners and placards, and we’d be told what to shout as we went along.’

  ‘There speaks a veteran of protests,’ said Toby. ‘I suppose you’re a member of the suffrage movement, are you?’

  ‘As a matter of fact I am and I’ve marched with them several times, but I don’t see—’

  ‘Good for you,’ said Toby, ‘I’m all in favour of the vote for the ladies. My mother is as well—I believe she’s thinking of joining the movement.’

  Sonja stared at him. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really.’

  ‘Wouldn’t that go a bit against the grain with Sir Hal?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so. If it did she wouldn’t pay any attention.’ Despite the severity of the occasion, he smiled. ‘You really do have an extraordinary image of my family, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m adjusting it by the hour,’ said Sonja. They had reached the end of the street, and were within sight of a small park.

  ‘Shall we go in there?’ said Toby.

  ‘Yes, let’s.’ They walked along a narrow path to a small wrought-iron seat overlooking a copse, and sat down.

  Toby said, ‘I’ve listened to my father talking about the situation here—about the resentment that’s felt towards Austria. It’s not just the Bosnians themselves who resent what Austria did: it’s most of Europe.’

  ‘Also Russia,’ said Sonja, nodding. ‘And now Germany is Austro-Hungary’s staunchest ally—’

  ‘And the Kaiser will make a friend of any country who will help him. It’s all a tangled spider’s web of hatred and jealousy and greed,’ said Toby. He broke off and looked at Sonja. ‘You have no idea how refreshing it is to talk to someone who understands what’s going on in the world.’

  ‘Of course I understand. But you know, Toby,’ said Sonja, ‘I don’t often admit to fear, but I’m beginning to be very frightened of what’s happening here today.’

  ‘So am I. Because I think,’ said Toby, ‘that what we’re seeing is a plot to attack Franz-Ferdinand. Even to kill him.’

  She turned to look at him. ‘Twenty-four hours ago I would have strongly disagreed,’ she said, ‘but now I’m dreadfully afraid you could be right. But I can’t see why they would do something so appalling.’

  ‘As a message,’ said Toby, grimly. ‘A message to Austria—no, not a message, something much stronger. A warning. Narodna Odbrana and the Black Hand and all their satellite groups telling Austria to get out of this country.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sonja slowly. ‘Oh God, yes, I hadn’t seen it like that.’

  ‘Austria has occupied Bosnia for over twenty years; five or six years ago, she actually took the country over and made it part of Austria.’

  ‘Yes, I know all that,’ said Sonja rather impatiently. ‘That’s why I thought Tranz came here. To protest at Austria’s imperialist greed.’ She hesitated, then said, ‘Toby, I might not approve of imperialist archdukes, but I do draw the line at outright murdering them.’

  ‘I’m very glad to hear it,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘I’ve never entirely trusted Petrovnic for all his extravagant rhetoric and dubious charm, and I certainly don’t trust that shady baroness, or those three ruffians we’ve just met. And if bullets really are fired at the Archduke tomorrow—or if knives are used…’ He made an impatient gesture. ‘I can’t believe I’m even saying this,’ he said. ‘It’s like something out of fiction. It’s like the Prisoner of Zenda. But if I’m right—I pray to God I’m not—but if I am, and if the Archduke dies or is injured tomorrow,’ said Toby, ‘then it could be the final act that will push Europe into war.’

  ‘And we’d be part of it. We’d appear to have condoned it.’

  ‘Worse than that,’ said Toby, ‘we’d appear to have contributed to it. If there really is a plot to assassinate the heir to the imperial throne, we’re already part of it.’

  ‘Will you be all right on your own?’ said Toby, as they went up to the sparse bedrooms that night.

  ‘Yes, I will, and if that was a suggestion that we might share the same bed—or even the same room—the answer’s no.’

  ‘Sonja, the last thing on my mind at the moment is seduction,’ said Toby. ‘In any case, I don’t think you’re someone I’d want to simply seduce.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, a bit blankly, and Toby reached out to trace the line of her face.

  ‘I think this is going a bit deeper for me than seduction,’ he said, very seriously. ‘But I think we’d better get plots and archdukes out of the way before we talk about that.’

  ‘Quite right,’ said Sonja briskly, and went into her own bedroom.

  The previous evening Toby had been so tired from the long journey that he had slept very well, but tonight he did not. Just as he was dropping off to sleep, a church clock in the square outside sonorously chimed midnight. After this, it chimed determinedly every hour for the entire night and marked the half hours with a sequence of notes that sounded like a cat being strangled.

  Or, thought Toby, trying to get comfortable in the narrow bed, like a man screaming not to be murdered.

  By the time Toby and Sonja reached the Appel Quay next morning, the day was already uncomfortably hot and the streets were packed with sightseers, eager to cheer the imperial couple as they drove through the streets.

  ‘Except that they aren’t all eager,’ observed Toby to Sonja. ‘There are quite a lot of resentful faces.’

  Before breakfast, Toby had told Sonja that if they had the least shred of proof as to Tranz’s intentions, he would find the British Embassy and ask for their help.

  ‘But it’s all so vague—nothing would stand up. So I think all we can do is watch Petrovnic and the others as closely as possible, and draw everyone’s attention to them if they look like doing anything suspicious.’

  ‘Such as drawing a gun,’ said Sonja, thoughtfully. ‘We’d have to be very loud about it all though; i
f we just say politely, “Oh dear me, that man’s got a gun,” no one will understand us. Especially since we do not speak their language.’

  ‘That’s true. But if we yell and point and indicate that something’s wrong, it should alert people and halt Petrovnic and his gang in their tracks.’

  They were in place shortly after ten, fairly far apart, but within sight of each other. A nearby church clock chimed several times—half past ten, then a quarter to eleven—and Toby began to feel extremely nervous. Shortly before eleven a cheer went up, and his heart performed a somersault. This is it, he thought. If anything’s going to happen, it’ll be in the next few minutes. He edged his way to the front of the crowd, who were leaning forward, eagerly trying to see the first approach of the cars, lifting children onto their shoulders for a better view. Nothing’s going to happen, thought Toby, looking at the happy anticipation on the faces of the people. Nothing so violent as murder could possibly happen in this old, sun-drenched city, with the mellow stone buildings and bridges, and the sunlight glinting on the river. This is the civilized twentieth century for goodness’ sake; assassinations don’t happen.

  A military band struck up nearby, and a delighted cheer went up. Toby saw the first of the imperial motor cars coming slowly along the wide avenue, a faint heat haze in its wake from the exhaust fumes. The crowd surged forward, waving flags, some of the young girls throwing flowers onto the road, the children shouting excitedly. The car crossed the Cumurja Bridge, the second one close behind it, and Toby saw it was open-topped and the imposing figure of the man on all the posters was seated in the back, a lady next to him. That’s the infamous Countess Sophie, he thought. The one the other Habsburgs said wasn’t good enough for the imperial line, but who Franz-Ferdinand married anyway. He studied the lady with interest.

  Franz-Ferdinand and his wife were nodding regally to the crowds, occasionally raising their hands in a majestic salute. And then, as the open car came over the bridge, the Habsburg pennant on its bonnet fluttering in the breeze, something came spinning out of the crowds—something that was squat and black against the bright sunshine. As it hurtled through the air Toby heard several people shout in sudden fear, and his heart lurched with terror. It was happening after all—someone had thrown a bomb, and he had missed seeing it.

  The bomb was still spinning across the street when the Archduke’s car suddenly shot forward, as if the driver had realized what was happening and was trying to get clear of the bomb before it went off. Instead of landing inside the car, which had obviously been the intention, the bomb skidded across the bonnet and fell into the road immediately behind. There was a split-second when everything froze and Toby was aware that he had thrown both his arms up to cover his head. A fierce explosion tore through the air and scarlet flames shot upwards. Splinters of glass and metal rained down over the crowds and spirals of black smoke billowed up into the sky, tainting the air with an acrid stench. People screamed and clawed at their neighbours in an attempt to get clear of the mess, shouting for their children, wringing their hands and crying. With deep relief, he saw Sonja about thirty yards away; she looked stunned and there were smears of grime on her face, but she was clearly unhurt, and after a moment, she plunged into the screaming tangle of humanity where the bomb had exploded.

  About a dozen people were lying on the ground, most of them bleeding and bewildered-looking. There was no sign of Petrovnic or any Tranz people, but as Toby scanned the crowds, he saw a man whom he recognized as one of the students from Zlatna Moruna running away. That’s the bomb-thrower, thought Toby, and in the same moment several people started after the student. The boy ran towards the parapet of the bridge, and leapt onto it. For a moment he was outlined against the smoke-smeared sky, then one hand went to his mouth and he threw his head back. Five seconds later he jumped from the bridge into the river.

  Toby glanced back at the line of cars and saw to his relief that they were moving away, and the figure of the Archduke had turned to look back. Then he’s all right, thought Toby. They’ve failed. And it doesn’t look as if anyone’s very much hurt. Oh, thank God.

  The man who had jumped into the river was already surrounded by several men who had gone in after him. Toby took them to be police of some kind; they were trying to handcuff the man. Toby saw with a slight shudder of disgust that he was retching and bending over to be sick.

  ‘He must have swallowed something,’ said a voice at his side, and he turned to see Sonja. ‘He meant to kill himself—either by poison or by drowning.’

  ‘He miscalculated on both counts from the look of it,’ said Toby, ‘because the poison’s only made him sick and the river’s barely two feet deep at that point—he was lucky not to break both his legs.’ He took her hand and hooked it firmly under his arm. ‘But it’s all right,’ he said, ‘they failed. It’s all over and they’ve caught that boy.’

  ‘What about the injured ones? Can we do anything to help them?’ said Sonja, looking towards the bridge.

  ‘I think they’re all being tended,’ said Toby. ‘Let’s walk along to that park again, shall we? I think we should keep out of the way if at all possible. We could try to buy some ham and rolls or something and have lunch there.’

  By dint of pointing to the food on the shelves, they managed to buy not ham, but a kind of liver sausage which the obliging shop owner sliced and put into crisp rolls for them. They ate them sitting on the same seat as yesterday, neither of them saying much, both of them still deeply shocked. Toby saw Sonja shiver, and he at once put his arm round her and drew her against him.

  ‘It’s just that I’m cold,’ she said, leaning against him.

  ‘That’s the shock. It’ll go off after a while. No, there’s no need to move—you aren’t heavy and it feels comfortable like this.’

  ‘It is comfortable like this,’ said Sonja in a subdued voice.

  The smoke from the Appel Quay seemed to be clearing, and Toby was about to suggest they walk back to the house where they were staying, when they heard shouts from the centre of the town, and cries that were clearly cries of panic.

  ‘What on earth—?’ began Sonja, standing up and looking towards the park gates.

  ‘Oh God, did we relax too soon?’ Toby grabbed her hand and they ran back towards the streets.’

  ‘Appel Quay again?’ said Sonja, as they went.

  ‘I don’t know. No—the Archduke was going to the town hall, wasn’t he? If anything’s happened to him, that’s where he’ll be now.’

  But they did not need to go as far as the town hall. The Archduke’s unmistakable motor car was skewed across the road just off the Appel Quay, in Franz Joseph Street. It was surrounded by people, but Toby and Sonja could see the two figures in the back. Franz-Ferdinand had blood streaming from his mouth; at his side, his wife was slumped forward, blood staining the front of her gown.

  Within an hour it was known throughout the city that both the Archduke and his wife were dead. It was also known that the man who had fired the shots that killed them was Gavrilo Princip, and that he, like the bomb-thrower, had swallowed poison which was so old it had done nothing more than make him sick.

  Toby managed to talk briefly with a Reuter’s man who was French but who had reasonable English to match Toby’s smattering of French. He told Toby that as Princip was led away, he had shouted defiance, telling the military that he was dying anyway so they might as well nail him to a cross and burn him alive, and his flaming body would be a torch to light his people on their path to freedom.

  ‘He has, I believe, the tuberculosis,’ said the French journalist, tapping his chest descriptively. ‘A wild and misguided young man, one feels.’

  ‘We’ll have to get out,’ said Toby to Sonja afterwards. ‘If we stay here we’ll be dragged into this. The minute they know who my father is…’ He looked at her. ‘How far will you trust me?’

  ‘Infinitely. But what are we going to do?’

  ‘I think,’ said Toby slowly, ‘we’re going to disappear.
’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  July 1914

  THE SMALL, HASTILY assembled group of men sat round the table in the Westminster room, and looked towards the man seated at the head.

  ‘Thank you for attending this meeting,’ he said. ‘We’ll waste no time, we all know what’s happened in Sarajevo, and we all know what the consequence will be for this country and several other countries. But this afternoon we need to address a more personal part of the situation. Hal, you still haven’t heard from your son?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He told you he was bound for Paris?’

  ‘He did, but I was later told it was Sarajevo,’ said Hal. ‘I made what enquiries I could, but you know how impossible communications are with that part of the world. The information I was given seemed reliable enough, but I wasn’t entirely sure of it. People frequently have personal vendettas, axes to grind.’

  ‘I’m afraid it seems Toby really did travel to Sarajevo though,’ said the chairman. Then, clearly uncomfortable with what he had to say, ‘Hal, I’m afraid I have to tell you—and all of you—that our embassy in Bosnia has telegraphed to tell us that two official police statements have been received, both saying Toby Chance was present at the two incidents on the twenty-eighth: the bomb-throwing near the railway station which missed the Archduke, although it killed and injured a number of people. And then, shortly afterwards, he was part of the shooting, which killed Franz-Ferdinand and his wife.’