Pointing at the pertinent parts of Tyer’s drawing of the train, Mycroft continued, “With the configuration I’ve requested, we can leave the train at any point without being seen by the other passengers, here and ... here. It is very unlikely the assassin will actually venture to strike on the Scotsman itself. He would be at a great disadvantage, outnumbered and unable to retreat easily from any failure. The trained assassin prefers to have three means of escape; you can be most certain we are facing an accomplished assassin. Our concern must be discovery and an ambush awaiting us at Edinburgh Station.”
“Why do you believe this is the case, Mister Holmes?” asked Wordswell, his keen, fussy features showing his full attention.
“Experience, and a comprehension of the rail route.” With nothing more than a cursory glance my employer reached behind him and drew out a copy of the Ordnance Survey. Turning to a page in the middle, he placed the book in front of the Directors. “As you are aware, a typical train has to slow to almost a walking pace to safely pass the ‘S’ curve at Portabello before reaching Edinburgh Station. If there is the slightest indication that anyone awaits us in the station, we will be able to depart at this point without undue hazard. There will be special men from Scotland Yard in every station along the route and a substantial number available on call. If anything untoward is noted we will leave the train, an advantage not readily offered to those traveling by ship, and thus avoid any unpleasantry. All we need is an appropriate warning. You have your profit, the government’s gratitude, and the gratitude of the future king of Sweden-and-Norway.”
“You have that wonderfully pat,” said Smith.
“I have, have I not?” My employer then granted the five Directors his most sincere smile. They were all comrades and patriots, it said, and they would profit from their patriotism as well.
“So there must be some way to feign trouble on the line, and some way to signal the need for it.” He looked around at the Directors. “I suppose I must tell your managers my plans in this regard and will do so at the earliest opportunity.”
“Do you doubt our willingness to help, Mister Holmes,” said Tennant, “when we have granted you this extraordinary meeting?”
“No, I do not doubt it, nor do I doubt your patriotism; but, gentlemen, I submit to you that we are facing a subtle and ruthless opponent whose agents might be much nearer to you than you suppose.” Mycroft Holmes leaned forward, his height making him more imposing than a shorter man would have been, or a slighter one. “Do not deceive yourselves. If word of this gets out at all we stand to lose everything Her Majesty’s government has worked so hard to achieve in its relations with Scandinavia.”
“The enemy you describe is subtle: the so-called Brotherhood is unknown to us,” said Smith. His chin jutted out in stubborn disbelief.
“If they made their presence known, they would not have the power they possess. Secrecy is their most potent weapon. Their very obscurity gives them potency they would lack if they were subjected to scrutiny. Those who have tried to bring their activities to light have paid high prices for their altruism.” He paused a moment. “Only those willing to work in the same shadows they inhabit have the least chance of any success in putting an end to the nefarious ambitions of the Brotherhood.”
Bromley gave a ponderous sigh. “I’ve been a banker and invested on the Continent for years and never heard of this conspiracy. Don’t you think you may be making too much of this Brotherhood, and the threat to the Prince? Having him travel incognito in such a harum-scarum fashion—well, it is demeaning, don’t you know? Fellow like that deserves better, some proper recognition of his place in the world.” His hand was large and his fingers thick, with white hairs sprouting from the backs of them like miniature, exotic ferns; he slammed his palm down on the table. “Why should we believe that such elaborate—we must call them shenanigans—are required? Disguises, doubles, misdirections.”
“Because the footman was killed yesterday morning, and a constable before dawn today, both assigned to the Prince of Sweden-and-Norway,” said Mycroft Holmes in a blunt kind of laconic style that held the Directors’ attention because it was not as aggressive a response as the challenge he had been issued. He modified his delivery and diminished the edge in his voice. “Two men have died within twenty-four hours, their common link is Prince Oscar, and we know the Prince has had his life threatened before. It would be unpardonably remiss of England to neglect his safety after the calamitous events of the past days.” He looked from one Director to the next. “I may be overcautious, but suppose the Prince should be killed following one of his established itineraries? What then? When you know that this deception of ours might have saved him? What will this do to railroading in Sweden-and-Norway, and how can you accept the harm this will do Britain?” He was silent then, not prodding them by word or gesture. “I will await your answer in the Reading Room,” he said, and signaled me to withdraw with him through the vestibule door.
I knew the Reading Room was the last place we would be allowed to speak, so I hesitated there. “What do you think, sir?” I asked, keeping my voice low as much for respect to the club members as any fear of eavesdroppers from the other side of the door.
Mycroft Holmes angled his long head and contemplated a place on the far wall. “Patriotism and greed: they should be enough. If Tennant and Smith will support the request, we will have nothing to worry about. If they do not, then this may have been in vain.” He made a gesture of resignation. “We can but hope, Guthrie, we can but hope.”
FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS
What a frenzy of activity we are in since the Directors of the North Eastern consented to MH’s plan to take HHPO to Scotland on the train. It is the more chaotic because we must preserve the impression that no change beyond that which is accountable has taken place. Sutton has already taken up his post in the parlor, a vast number of books piled around him in case any villain is observing this fiat through a glass; his sketches are already tucked into their portfolio ready to be taken in the morning to the train where G may claim them for his own.
MH has sent Hastings round to Baker Street to collect the Prince while he puts the final arrangements for the train into effect with the support of the Directors. As soon as MH returns, there will be a rehearsal for the personae all are to play on their journey north. Guthrie has been memorizing a series of codes for sending and receiving messages along the way, as have I.
There was some discussion in the lobby, which I happened to overhear when I brought the Admiralty memoranda to MH there: apparently some scandal about a race horse. It seems the animal, a great favorite, was deliberately injured on its way from the stable to the track and the jockey was thrown and killed as a result of this injury. This was seen as a sign of social decay, when so honorable a sport as racing should be compromised by such a deed.
CI Somerford has stopped by to deliver a report on the death of the constable and to express his thanks to MH for his concern in regard to the policeman’s sacrifice ...
LISTENING TO Prince Oscar speak English, Edmund Sutton’s frown deepened. “That accent of yours is as much a problem as Guthrie’s eyes. The trouble is, you might fool an Englishman, but anyone truly familiar with German would know you are neither German nor Austrian.” He began to pace, our employer’s clothing now looking inappropriate on him as he revealed himself as he was.
I did not want to concur, but could not deny that Sutton had a point. “I speak German, and I can hear that this man—no offense intended, Your Highness—does not sound truly German. And there is no disguising that my right eye is green and my left is blue.”
“No offense whatsoever,” said Prince Oscar, clearly enjoying himself, like a schoolboy who has escaped his instructors for the day and is on a romp. “Tell me what I must do and I will make every effort to comply.”
The sitting room was shuttered against the falling nigh
t; the fireplace was ruddy with new-lit logs, and the gaslights lent their glow to our work, softening the harsh purpose of our preparations. Tyers had removed a lavish tea and had put out the port and Stilton, and had promised a supper at midnight. Now, with nine approaching, we all sensed the urgency of our endeavors, and increased our efforts.
Mycroft Holmes rubbed his chin, his deep-set grey eyes distant with contemplation. “Do you think you could pretend to have a cold?” he suggested suddenly. “You know, cough now and then and talk as if your head was stuffed up?”
Sutton grinned. “That’s just the ticket!” he enthused. “Can you do that, Your Highness?”
Prince Oscar nodded vigorously and gave a demonstrative cough that made Sutton hold up his hands. “Too much?” the Prince asked, crestfallen.
“I’m afraid so. You’ll scare the other passengers off the train if you do that,” said Sutton. Then he displayed a series of coughs. “Something along those lines should do the trick. And speak like this,” he went on, speag lyg dis.
Prince Oscar tried it, and looked for approval. “Is that better?” Dad bedder?
“You will need to practice a little more,” said Sutton, “but it isn’t bad.” He went pale. “I’m sorry, Your Highness.”
“Not at all, not at all. I must get this right, and without correction it will not happen,” he said with a winning smile. For a stiff-rumped Swede, Prince Oscar was more of a regular chap than you would think. I began to see why he had spent time in Sir Cameron’s company: he had been kicking over the traces.
Mycroft Holmes came up to Prince Oscar. “We must discuss something more, Your Highness,” he said very carefully.
“I am sure there are a great many things we must discuss, including how I am to address you.” He looked around as if he expected to see lists everywhere. “Money, for another. I’ve never carried money, you know. I suppose I will on the train.”
“Yes, you will have to, and we will make appropriate arrangements. That we’ll address later,” said Mycroft Holmes. “There is something far more pressing, and considerably more hazardous.” He waited until he had Prince Oscar’s full attention, then he said, “Your titles.”
Prince Oscar nodded several times. “Yes, that occurred to me as well. You cannot say ‘Your Highness’ and expect to maintain our little deception, can you?” He clapped his hands together. “You will need another name for me altogether, won’t you?” From the way he said it, this was a delicious treat. “Let me think. I may have a nick-name you can use.” He tapped his fingers on the buttons of his waistcoat. “My Uncle Einar used to call me Skynda er”—sheundah air—”because I was always telling everyone to hurry up. I would answer to that readily. I would not have to think about it, or remember it.”
“It is a bit cumbersome,” said Mycroft Holmes diplomatically.
“Schere?” I suggested. The sound was similar I thought. “Is that near enough? There is no ‘n’ in it or ‘d’ but—”
“Schere?” Prince Oscar tested it, saying it several times. “Yes. I think that may do. And you will remember it easily, won’t you?”
“And,” Mycroft Holmes declared, “we have a code word that is marginally safe. We can use ‘scissors’ instead of anything more obvious.” He made a sharp sign of approval. “Excellent work, Guthrie. Now to a first name; something unobvious.”
“Osrich?” said Edmund Sutton. “It’s enough like Oscar to catch his ear, but Englishmen, hearing it, will think of Hamlet and not this Scandinavian Prince.”
Holmes actually laughed aloud and clapped Edmund Sutton on the back. “Inspired, dear boy. Inspired.”
“Osrich Schere?” The Prince tried out the name, his good-natured features wreathed with an affable smile. “Osrich Schere it is. From now until I leave Scotland, I am Osrich Schere, and you will call me nothing but that.”
“Thank you very much, Herr Schere,” said Mycroft Holmes, watching the Prince narrowly to gauge his response to the name.
“I am most grateful to you, Mister Holmes,” Prince Oscar went on. “You find a way to protect me that is nothing like anything I have done before. I am going to enjoy this very much.”
“So I hope,” said Holmes with great purpose.
“And remember, you have a cold,” said Sutton, taking on the manner of a seasoned instructor. “You will want to keep a muffler about your throat at all times, and you will be able to excuse yourself from conversation by coughing, or claiming a sore throat. It will also make any absences we must impose on you explainable. You will help us if you complain about your condition. And keep in mind, your speech must be thickened.”
“I will do it,” said Prince Oscar, his energetic stance enough to make it clear he was in the best of health.
Mycroft Holmes gave a little sigh. “Work with him, Sutton, will you? Guthrie, come with me. You, I, and Tyers will finalize our codes.” He plucked at my sleeve and all but dragged me from the room, saying under his breath once we were in the hall, “He will be more biddable if we do not watch.”
“Sutton will manage handily,” I replied, knowing how well he had tutored me.
“That he will,” said Holmes as we stepped into the study where Tyers was composing what seemed to be innocuous telegram messages. “The Prince is ‘scissors’,” our employer announced. “Herr Schere to you.”
“Osrich Schere,” I added. “Osrich was Sutton’s idea.”
“Very good. I will mention this to no one,” Tyers declared. “And I will use whatever name you designate for our communications. I will send the memoranda you have prepared to the police in the morning after you have left for the station. I will give them to Sid Hastings to deliver.” He was reciting in that strangely sing-song way that I had come to realize was his way of committing things to memory.
“Very good,” Mycroft Holmes approved. “While Sutton works with Herr Schere, we will make our last arrangements. I want all that in order before supper is served, for Herr Schere will need to get some sleep tonight, to be alert on our long journey. You have the route of the Flying Scotsman, and the schedule it is supposed to keep?”
“I have,” said Tyers. “A pity the old route isn’t still in use,” he added. “Even a year ago, you could put Herr Schere on a ship at Boston, or Newcastle and no one the wiser, but”—he shrugged—”The East Coast route isn’t used by the Scotsman anymore, not in the last few years, and those trains using that route would be too vulnerable to attack.”
“Precisely. There is no use in mourning the past, for it cannot be recalled.” Mycroft Holmes spread the maps open. “So. In our various aliases we depart from King’s Cross at—”
“The Directors confirm that the train will leave on time, and in the confirmation you requested.” Tyers held up an envelope and its heavy cardboard case. “It came half an hour ago,” he went on.
“Any new information from the police?” asked Holmes, a careful tone in his voice.
“Only a short note from Chief Inspector Somerford that came while you were busy with Sutton choosing clothes for this journey; he says someone has been found who may have seen a fair-haired man of medium height running from the house where the constable was shot a little after four. He is putting five men on it, though he doesn’t expect much. Nothing from Superintendent Spencer yet.”
“ ‘Someone who may have seen ...’ Not very specific, but safe enough in its way. They’re all going to ground,” said Mycroft Holmes with grim satisfaction. “Not one of them is going to expose himself to any criticism. The police are pulling in, wanting no scandal to touch them, and so they will wash their hands of this as much as they properly may.”
“Then you will have the glory when we succeed,” I said, laughing enough to show that I had no expectations of reward for my employer.
“No doubt, if we manage to get the Prince home without harm or incident, Cecil will find
some way to show he had masterminded the whole.” He sighed again. “I would not mind his relentless hunger for credit if he would be more willing to accept blame. But it is hardly surprising a man of his character should be so—so unscrupulous.”
I had been aware for some time that Mycroft Holmes had a more than usually precarious association with the Prime Minister, the history of which I had never learned. My curiosity about their dealings was piqued again, but I knew it was unwise to pursue the matter now. “What about the Swedes?” I asked, intending to turn the subject.
“I do not blame the Ambassador—indeed, how could l? He was given the assurance of Her Majesty’s government that Prince Oscar would come to no harm here, and the Ambassador took us at our word. A shocking turn of events.” His mock horror ended in a faint smile. “But we have a train to catch. Let us be about our plans.”
“I have marked those stations where the train halts long enough to send and receive messages,” said Tyers, pointing to the red ticks on the map. “A pity the Scotsman no longer goes through Hitchin and Peterborough, but there it is.”
“Bedford is the first halt with time to send or receive telegrams,” said Holmes thoughtfully. “Guthrie, I depend upon you to tend to that duty. I have no wish to let the Prince out of my sight.”
“I will do anything you require, sir,” I said, my voice firm and my posture worthy of a Guard. The police might fail him, but I would not; it was an honor to be worthy of his trust, an honor I would not betray.
“Very good, very good,” said Mycroft Holmes, not quite dismissing my fervid avowal. “Guthrie, you have long since proven your dedication. You need not make such a display for my benefit.” He put his finger on the map. “So Leicester after Bedford, and Sheffield after that.” He sighed. “Leeds is the next stop we must pay attention to, then Kirkby Stephen—it is the smallest and therefore the most hazardous—then Carlisle, where the Glasgow cars will be shifted over from yours. At Saint Boswells, you will have your last chance before Edinburgh to send word of what has happened. That stop is for fuel and water, and is twenty minutes long. Some of the passengers will leave the train.” He recited this as if it were nothing more than a packing list.
The Flying Scotsman Page 11
